#pharmaceutical floor

[hpsfloors]

Cleanrooms are typically used in manufacturing or scientific research facilities. It is a controlled environment that has a low level of pollutants such as dust or airborne particles. (The flooring must meet ISO clean room standard.) The flooring surface needs to be seamless, resistant to chemicals and easy to clean.

[gojhoes]

my good neighbor

synopsis: You've lived next door to Geto for nearly a year, yet your neighbor remains all but a mystery. But as for you- he knows everything about you, from the shampoo you use to the books you keep by your bed.

warnings: MDNI 18+, NSFW contents: geto x fem!reader, yan(?)!geto, age gap, breeding, masturbation, no curse au, dubcon(?), SOMNO, toys!, p-in-v, panty kink, creampie, size kink, corruption kink, daddy kink lowkey wc: 6.3k

It all starts when an Amazon package with your name on it somehow ended up in Geto's mailbox. He would later refer to this occurrence as his greatest gift from God; the most blessed twist of fate to ever work in his favor.

A pink cardboard box sits on his counter, jarringly bright in comparison to the deep neutral design of his apartment. If the package's appearance wasn't proof enough, printed on top is an address nearly identical to his own, except his is 3-D, not 3-C. Clearly, it belongs to the tenant to his right- an easy mistake to be made by someone who reads hundreds of names and address every day.

Geto knows that he could march back down to the mail room and leave the package in the correct mailbox. He could walk away without another thought but given that the box is this specific shade of pink, he figures it might be something you're really excited for. You're probably wondering about it right now, peering confusedly at the 'Delivered' notification from your email. Besides, you both live on the third floor, so he'd be saving you an extra trip. He's just being a good neighbor.

But then he starts to think- he recognizes this shade of pink. His ex-girlfriend had once received a very similarly shaped package in the same color. Inside that package had been a vibrator that he'd grown quite familiar with over the course of their relationship. Could it be the same thing boxed up right here addressed to you?

Your door is cracked when steps out of his apartment with the package in his hand. From this angle, all he can see is the door to the coat closet directly to the right of the entrance. In his apartment, the same closet is on the left, confirming his suspicions that your bedrooms do, in fact, share a wall.

It also meant that your living rooms were connected, but Geto was already well aware of that. Yours seemed to be the gathering place for all of your friends and given the amount of chatter that trickled through the wall every evening, you had quite a few of them. Not that he minds- he works nights as a pharmaceutical lab tech, so it's not like he's there when you're having your get-togethers.

It was less bothersome during the week than on the weekend, which was when you hosted your entire gaggle of acquaintances for what sounded like game night. He was still working out the details of all the different voices, but over time, he'd developed the ability to recognize certain voices by the pitch and cadence of their speech.

It hadn't been on purpose, but the walls were stupidly thin, hardly a step up from a curtain. It was impossible not to eavesdrop, especially when the voices dwindled to only yours and another that was undeniably male. Geto'd glue himself to the wall trying to hear what the two of you were getting up to, but it seemed you weren't that kind of girl.

Or maybe Geto was assuming incorrectly that there was any type of romance going on. But for the last several weekends, he would hear the two of you chatting, then it would be quiet for a bit, as if you were pausing the conversation to make out. He has not, however, heard any sounds of pleasure from your side of the wall, and that alone has piqued his curiosity.

However, during the day, your side of the wall typically was quiet. Just as he would be getting out of the shower in preparation for bed, he'd hear your alarm blaring right at 7am. If it was loud to him, he could only imagine how your ears still functioned properly after such repetitive torture. He'd hear you getting ready through the walls and smell the coffee you brew while you take a shower. By eight o'clock, there is a jingle of keys followed by hours of silence, and he sleeps just fine.

It had to have been nine months or so since you'd moved in, yet Geto hasn't laid eyes on you even once. Your apparent opposite schedules have managed to keep the two of you from crossing paths despite living just inches from each other.

As he stands between your neighboring doorframes, he thinks about how strange it feels to know someone's daily routine despite never having glimpsed you. Based off your schedule and the lively nature of your social life, he's deduced that you must be an undergraduate student at the nearby university. He himself had graduated the semester before, but the rent was cheap and moving was too much of a hassle.

But what were you, 19? 20? With your own apartment, an 8-3 schedule, and enough time to hang out with your friends nearly every day? He couldn't be sure of your age, not without seeing you, but your behaviors made him sure that you were young.

Geto glances down at the box again, reading your name aloud to test the sound of it on his tongue. He eyes the opening of your door again, craning his neck to see what else might be behind it, but no dice. Maybe if he should just go in and leave it on the counter. He would get to see your place and hopefully satiate this prolonged curiosity, even for just a moment.

Besides, you've left your door cracked. Every front door in the building locks automatically when closed, so technically, it would be your fault if this was a robbery situation, regardless of the value of your things. It's too tempting- he's been too intrigued by the box clutched in his hand. It was fate for the two of you to meet this way. Every time you held it to your clit as you came, you'd think of the moment you saw him with the box in his hand at your door.

His hand hovers over the doorknob- is he really about to do this? Wherever you've gone, you'll likely be back any minute if you've been so careless about your door. No, it's not the right time. He's already nervous about how you will react, even more so knowing he's going to be seeing you for the first time.

You know when someone just sounds hot? The music your body makes is so human, yet so graceful and controlled until your friends come over. You sound perfect when you're just simply existing by yourself. He feels, in so many ways, that he knows you so well already. It wouldn't take him any time at all to learn how to give you what you want. Maybe he'll tell you that, if the moment presents itself.

He's fortunate yet again for the lack of insulation used by the contractors. There is a rushed set of footsteps echoing from the stairwell at the end of hall, giving him enough warning to take a step back until he's standing just the perfect distance between your two neighboring doors. He looks up as the footsteps close in, and his heart skips a beat when he finally, finally sees you.

"Hi!" you chirp. "You must be my neighbor."

The last few steps you take give him enough time to drink you in. You can't be older than 20 with plush lips and a pretty smile, one that lights up your face and showcases your lack of smile lines. And what you're wearing makes his mouth go dry. It's a baby blue pajama set with thin straps and the shortest goddamn shorts Geto has ever seen in his life. He's staring, he knows he is, but you're even more gorgeous than he could've imagined. Your hand shoots out to shake his, small and soft enveloped within his grasp for just a wink of time.

It's not enough, not even close to satisfying the desire you've instilled in him. He forces himself to look at your face and not at the tops of your tits threatening to spill out of that useless pajama top. God, and he can see your nipples straining against the thin fabric-

"I believe this belongs to you," he says, holding out the pink box.

Your face lights up impossibly as you pull it into your hands, and Geto thinks he might die right there. He smiles at your excitement; he was right- you were excited to get this. God, he would be so good to you if you'd let him.

"Oh, thank you!" you say enthusiastically. "I've had a lot of packages go missing lately, so it's really nice to actually get this one. Thank you so much."

You're practically worshipping him with the sinful sweetness dripping from your words. So well-mannered. Would you be this polite if he brought you into his bed and offered to give you his cock? Would you smile at him as you are now, and say please every time you ask him to fuck you? He'd do it for you- he'd give you everything simply just for being such a sweet girl for him.

Geto smiles and introduces himself. "It seemed like a pretty important package."

He catches the way your shoulders tense and the slight flush of your cheeks- shit, was it actually a vibrator in there? Clearly, you're embarrassed, so it would make sense, but there's no need to be ashamed of getting one.

But you're smiling sweetly again, any trace of worry wiped clean. "It's nice to finally meet you, Geto," you say, and he swears that he sees your eyes flick down to his lips.

He hums, tilting his head to side as if to study you. "Likewise."

You send him one more polite smile before disappearing into your apartment. As he's closing his own door, he's imagining you making a cup of coffee like you do every morning. Are all of your pajamas that pretty? He's met you once, but already he can tell that you're a princess. He bets your parents pay your rent and send you money for groceries anytime you ask. A girl as sweet as you was probably well-accustomed such doting and pampering.

Someone was taking care of you, but were they making sure you were safe? Who was reminding you to keep your doors locked? You were a young pretty girl living on your own in the city- anything can happen. Clearly it seems that you need someone to look out for you, and who could possibly be better for the job than him? He lived so close by already; checking on you would be no problem at all.

And after seeing your perfect thighs in your little shorts, the swell of your breasts straining against the blue fabric...he'll do anything if it means he might get to see that again. He'd come up to you from behind and wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your ass against his hips. One hand holding your chin as he kisses the side of your neck, squeezing your thigh with the other...

You need him. Someone older and more mature to nurture you properly. Besides, he was just being a good neighbor.

That evening, he rearranges his room so that the head of his bed is flush against the innermost wall of his apartment, the one that he shares with you.

*** Geto will admit that somewhere deep inside, he does feel guilty. This part of him is disgusted and ashamed, constantly wishing he could be different and cursing himself because he's not. But he was going to make you love him. Once you let him in, you'll wonder why you hadn't come to him sooner. You'll see- he'll prove it to you, and then you'll understand that everything he does is for you.

But the rest of him, the more dominant parts of his personality, run rampant once he's fallen for you. He isn't acting right, deep down he knows that, but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. He wants to know every secret you might be hiding. The home a person keeps says so much about them, and he wants to know everything. You won't have to hide from him, not ever, and he'll make sure you know that. Maybe he's obsessed, but can you blame him? You're just so perfect.

He's starving for you, but he's got to be subtle; if he's too forward, he risks upsetting you or scaring you away. He doesn't want to stress you out, either, but it's essential that he sees your apartment. He needs to check your locks, especially the one on your balcony and make sure that you're keeping up with your cleaning.

It means taking advantage of the several minutes you leave your door cracked when you've gone down to the basement to do your laundry. Every Saturday afternoon, before your friends come and steal you away, you gather your basket and leave your deadbolt extended to avoid locking yourself out.

He's managed to pull it off twice, the first time being harder than the second. It took him three days to work up the courage to even try thinking of a plan, but after moving his bed to the wall, closer to you, he's descended quickly into absolute agony. It's a stroke of luck- no, of fate- that has made you put your bed against the same wall- and he can hear everything.

A few days have passed since the package mishap, and by that point, Geto had almost forgotten about the contents of the box. That night, just as he's getting ready for a shift at the lab, he hears a strange buzzing as he's brushing his teeth. It's an electric toothbrush, so his first thought is that maybe it's time to replace it. But as he rinses out his mouth, he finds that the buzzing had not ceased. It's go to be you, he thinks, immediately drying his face and flying over to the wall to press his ear flush to it. He's just in time to hear the beautiful, merciful sound of a mewl escaping from your lungs.

A shaky breath passes his lips. He's dumbfounded by the pleasure that flows through his abdomen when he realizes what you're doing. He'd totally been right about the package. Even through the wall, he's able to recognize the same vibrations. Maybe he's just been Pavlov'd, but immediately he can feel the blood rushing south as a faint throb starts in his cock.

He knows without a doubt that you've got the cutest pout on your lips, maybe a few strands of hair falling into your face as you lay your head back. "Feels good," he whispers, despite knowing that you can't hear him. Do your hips buck up into your hands, or do have those plush thighs squeezing them tight while you try to cum?

Is this really happening right now? Heat creeps up his neck and high on his cheeks as another moan, albeit quieter this time, blesses his ears. He can't stop his hand from finding his cock and palming at himself as he eyes slip shut.

He's dying to know- he wants to see you right now, wants to watch as you spread apart your folds and fuck yourself until you're trembling. He needs more, he needs everything that you can give him- and you will give him all that you can. He knows you will because you're just that good of a girl.

Fuck. He's got to get to work on time before the cultures expire and he fucks up three weeks' worth of data, but you are killing him with each sweet little moan that leaves your mouth. He's picturing you on your knees with your ass in the air, two fingers pumping in and out of your tight cunt while your other hand has a death grip on the vibrator.

He's waited so long to hear your pathetic little whines as you fuck yourself as fast you can on your too-short fingers. You're so desperate, and with how hard you're trying, it's obvious that you're getting frustrated. He wants to help you- it's clear from your desperate cries that you need him to. He would help you cum, over and over if that's what you wanted. "It's okay," he breathes. "Keeping going, it's okay."

Using a vibrator for the first time can feel almost painful if you're not used to the intensity. You're so overstimulated that you're struggling to reach the orgasm you chase so desperately. He feels genuine pity for you as cry out, "please! so close...mm." If you'd just asked him, he would've been able to introduce it your sensitive clit the right way.

He's begging you more, anything you could give him. He knows you'll do it for him soon. You were just that good of a girl, and maybe you were too sensitive to cum without a little bit of a help. If he was inside you, you'd have creamed all over his cock by now, too fucked out to ride him anymore as he pounds into your pretty pussy from behind.

As much as he would love to see you beg for it, he truly thought that you deserved to cum and felt frustrated for you. You were such a sweet girl; the only reason it took you so long to try your new toy had to be because you were nervous. Good girls deserve the best orgasms, after all.

Shit, were you still a virgin? Did you even know how to make yourself cum yet? That would explain why he hadn't ever heard those pretty sounds before. Fuck, you were going to make him lose his goddamn mind if you didn't cum in the next 60 seconds. "Y-you'll cum for me, right? I know you can do it."

Geto did not make it to work on time that day, quintessentially ruining over 300 specimens all because you wanted to play with your pussy right as he had to leave for work. It was terrible timing, but he can't say he regrets bringing himself to one of the best orgasms he'd ever had without even touching you. It wasn't enough, though, just hearing you. He needs to see it, needs to feel your warm, tight cunt squeezing him dry while you moan into his ear.

A plan comes to him, albeit a risky one. The next time you leave to do your laundry, propping your door open like always, he slips into your apartment. It's an inverted copy of his own- the same appliances, same gray tiles, a balcony at the back of the living room. Your apartment is so girly, so shamelessly you, and not to mention spotless. Geto makes a poignant effort to keep his place clean, but only a control freak would keep their apartment this organized. You must be an anxious person- but that's okay, because he'll be there to help you through it.

Two minutes pass- you should be back any moment, and while he has an idea of what he'll say if you catch him, he really wants to avoid scaring you. He can't have you feeling scared around him, so he turns to leave- he can always come back another time after he's more prepared. But then he sees a set of keys lying on your counter, and the gears in his head start turning.

You've left your door open, so you'll be able to get back in- he doesn't have to worry about that. He knows you won't be leaving anytime soon. He's confident that he'll have enough time and he doubts that you'll notice your apartment key missing if you're not actively needing it. So, he pockets the whole set and slips right back out as silently as he'd come.

Early on Monday morning, Geto waits until he hears the jingle of your keys and the click of the deadbolt as it slides into place. The smell of coffee lingers, and his clock reads 8:06, but he can't risk you coming back, so he forces himself to wait a little longer. He's nearly vibrating with the anticipation of getting so much unadulterated time in your apartment. The copied key in hand is representative of everything he's done to get closer to you. This observation will help him learn who you are- what shampoo you use, what you keep on hand in your fridge, what toys you have hidden away.

He decides it's been long enough when 20 more minutes pass, and Geto makes a beeline for your bedroom. Compared to the rest of your apartment, your room is much more lived-in. The white comforter topping your bed is rumpled, exposing light pink sheets under a plethora of stuffies and pillows. He's more interested, however, in the nightstand on the side.

He pulls open the single drawer and sure enough, there's the white vibrator that you've been using quite often lately. Aside from a bottle of lube, there's nothing aside from some medications and a pair of nail clippers. His suspicion that you're a virgin persists from your lack of sex toys- no wonder you were so embarrassed when he hinted at the contents of your package. Already, he was half-hard thinking about how good he was going to make you feel. He was ecstatic to think that no one else had touched you yet. Whoever that guy was, the one you your often spent evenings with alone, wasn't going to stand a chance.

Geto steps away to make toward your bathroom, and feels something soft under his foot. He glances down and bends to retrieve the black lacy thong you've left so mercifully on the floor. It's foul, it's intrusive, it's perfect- he brings the fabric to his face and breathes in your scent. His cock throbs in his pants, begging for attention- for your attention, but he can't have you yet. No, it has to be perfect because you are perfect, and you deserve nothing less.

He shoves the thong in his pocket before going into the ensuite bathroom.

Later that week, the universe finally gives him a break.

That fateful Friday evening, he calls in sick to work. His throat is a bit sore, and he knows the ache in his muscles isn't from last night's workout, so he opts to take his temperature, which reads 38.2°C. He knocks back some cold medicine before burying himself in the blankets on his couch, dozing in and out as the effects sweep him away.

He's roused by a rap-rap-rapping on his front door, and even through his medicated haze, his heart jumps- is it you? Is he really about to get this lucky? He glances at the clock above the stove to see that it's half-past 11, and from the din coming through the wall, he knows that you've got your friends over. As he crosses to answer the door, he does feel a bit better aside from the persistent fog clouding his brain.

And it is you, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink top that shows off your midriff. Your cheeks are painted with a light flush and your hair is bit disheveled, obviously tipsy from the way you're swaying a little. He smiles at you, drinking in the soft curves of your hips that he's been dying to dig his fingers into.

"Hey," you say. Your speech isn't quite slurred, but there's a lilt to your words that says all he needs to hear. "I'm so sorry to bother you like this, I know it's a little creepy, but-"

He doesn't mean to cut you off, but the words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. "No, it's no trouble at all. Bother me all you want."

You're tipsy enough that the line works- you even laugh a little, and the sound makes his heart skip a beat. Every sound you make is so sweet

"Right," you say. "D'you have a wine bottle opener by chance?"

He shoots you his best disarming smile. "I do."

"Could I borrow it for a moment? I promise I'll bring it right back, I'm right next door."

He'd give you his left lung if you asked for it. He considers inviting you in, but the state of his illness deters him. All the lights are off in his apartment and he hadn't bothered to change out of his gray sweats and black sweatshirt. His hair is down, likely tangled and flat from dozing on his couch. No, you deserve to see him at his best- he'll get you to come over soon enough.

"Of course," Geto says. "Just a second."

He leaves the door cracked in the same way he's seen yours over the last month. Your fingers linger on his own when he places the wine opener in your hand. Even that slight contact sends a wave of excitement through him.

"Swear you'll come right back?" he teases, smirking a little.

You smile again, making him fall even harder when shoot him a wink before disappearing back inside of your apartment without a response. If this was your way of flirting, he's even more enamored with you. So coy, yet so sweet as you look at him over your shoulder before the door closes.

Geto goes into his kitchen to heat up a bowl of broth. Your tits sat so pretty in that little top- did you always dress like that? Not too revealing, showing off just enough to drive him mad with desire. He didn't get to see your ass, but if it was anything like he remembered, he knew that those jeans would cling to it like a film.

As he's sipping on his soup and scrolling mindlessly through his phone, there's another knock. He's on his feet and at the door in seconds, not even bothering to hesitate to swing it open so he can see you again. This time, you're holding a bottle of rose (because of course, you are) and his wine opener.

"Can you do it for me?" You're looking up at him with what he swears is a pout, and with how you bat your eyes through the question, how can he refuse? It would be criminal not to help, especially when you're asking so nicely with that cute look on your face. "None of us can get it open."

He's delighted that you've asked him. Were there no boys over there to help you? Did you choose him over them, or were you truly just too clumsy to do it yourself?

He cranes his neck to see if anyone else stands in the hall, but it seems deserted save for you, so he pushes forward. Geto does his best to seem mildly disinterested yet nice, not wanting to scare you away with the words he really wants to say. If he didn't fuck this up, maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long to get you to come back. His plan would get to move so much faster, but he had to be careful.

"I should probably do this over the sink," he says, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp. He purposefully lets his thumb brush the tip of your pinky- enough to test the waters, but not so much that it can't be played off as sheer coincidence. As he turns to go into the kitchen, he says over his shoulder, "Feel free to come in, by the way."

The suggestion is very forward considering you've said less than 20 words to the guy since moving in a year ago. Had you been of a better state of mind, you would have politely declined- you barely knew the guy even if your beds were separated only by a few inches of drywall. But you can't deny your curiosity; not once have you glimpsed what lies on his side of the wall. So you indulge yourself and step over the threshold, making sure to pull the door as you do so.

There's no way he's getting this lucky right now. All the plotting, the strategic timing of your meetings, and his careful research are finally paying off. You are walking right into his apartment without him having to lift a finger. He doesn't think you can get any more perfect- he hasn't even touched you yet, and you seem to already know what he wants. It was proof that the invisible string was real.

You stand at a safe distance on the side of the bar opposite from his, watching intently as Geto works the wine opener into the cork. There's a satisfying 'pop' as he gives it a firm tug. What would've taken you an embarrassingly long amount of time is accomplished with one quick flex of his forearm and a small grunt of effort.

"What's the occasion?" he asks.

You stare at him blankly. "Huh?"

He returns the wine opener to its rightful drawer, drawing out the motions to maximize how long he's got you in his apartment.

"It's champagne, so I figured maybe it was for something special," he explains. "Or are you just fancy like that?"

You're smiling at him again and his heart soars. He prays that you'll always look at him like that, and only him, but he gives no indication of the depth of his feelings. He wraps his hand around the neck of the now-open bottle and extends it toward you as he rounds the side of the counter.

"You could say that," you reply with a giggle. "Thank you..um, it's Geto, right?"

He nods. "Anytime. What's mine is yours."

It comes out wrong- way too intense to say if he's trying to stay above ground with you. But you don't seem to mind. If anything, the flush on your cheeks deepens as you take the bottle from him. From where he stands, he can make out a faint scar dragging across your exposed collarbone. He wonders what it might feel like to run his tongue across you delicate skin and leave marks. Would you keen into him and clutch at him as the quick, sharp pain pulls a whine out of you?

"Um, I'm sorry if I'm ever loud or anything," he says. "I work nights, so I think we have opposite schedules." A white lie, but he doesn't want you to leave yet. If he just keeps you talking, maybe he'll get the chance to ask you to hang out. He's desperate, honestly, but he tries to hide it as he stands between you and the front door.

Your face lights with a carefree wave of your hand. "Oh no, I can hardly tell you're there most of the time. I'm a super heavy sleeper, too, so don't worry about it."

He hums and shoots you a grin. "Guess I've been worried for nothing, then."

"Same to you, though," you continue. "I have people over like, all the time, I know they can get really loud."

It's awkward now, as you stand there with your eyes darting around the room and occasionally meeting his. You're nervous, he realizes, shifting your body in a way that makes your hip jut out. He doesn't want you to leave, but he's less apt to make you too uncomfortable, so he makes to walk you out.

"Thank you again," you say, smiling at him widely. He returns your thanks, and watches you disappear into your apartment once more. Already, his mind is reeling as he checks the time. Your friends should be leaving in a couple of hours- the noise usually diminishes around 2am, which will be no trouble to stay up until.

And he makes it despite taking another dose of medicine, having long since grown used to being awake during these hours. You should've have mentioned that you were a heavy sleeper, because now he has to do this.

His clock reads 3:10 when he quietly turns the lock with his copy of your key. The lights are off and it's silent, such a vast difference from the earlier commotion. He leaves his keys on the counter in case there's an unfortunate jingle when he finally enters your room.

You sleep naked- god, you make it so easy for him to love you. Your lips are parted and the passive rise and fall of your chest signals just how deeply you're sleeping.

He slides a hand between inner your thighs, unable to help himself any longer. He teases at your entrance to see how wet you are, dipping his fingertip in just far enough to get a taste of you as he brings it up to his mouth.

And fuck, his index finger slides right in and your cunt flutters around it.

But you don't stir; there's not even a hitch in your breath as he curls his finger into that spongy tissue that he's sure should've roused you. You weren't exaggerating about your being a heavy sleeper, and Geto silently sends praise to whatever gods that were helping him pull this off. However many drinks you'd had earlier were keeping you pulled under the sea of unconsciousness.

He thinks about sliding his hands under your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking at your clit to properly taste you. Surely you'd have to wake up from that, but his patience is wearing thin.

He needs this- he needs you. He's so desperate to finally sink into you, to fuck you like he's been aching to for months. His hands are on the waistband of his sweats and he's pulling out his cock, the tip already weeping as he thumbs at his slit. He wraps his hand around his shaft and starts thrusting into it, finally letting himself begin to unravel as he lets out a pleasured sigh.

God, he doesn't know where to start. Your perfect tits bounce ever so slightly with every rise and fall of your chest. The collarbones he's been wanting to bite are so vulnerable and delicate, sitting right there for the taking. But he doesn't want to ruin the moment by waking you from too much stimulation. He leans over your still body, holding himself up on his palms as he glimpses your pretty face.

He feels that he might die if he doesn't fuck you right now, lining up his cock with your entrance before he buries himself inside you.

"Ohh, fuck," he breathes. So tight, so warm, so perfect- his own perfect little pussy, so much better than anything he could've imagined. He fears that he might cum right then, digging his fingers into the sheets in attempt to steady himself. Even in such a deep sleep, you're soaking his cock with each slow thrust. Are you dreaming about him fucking you right now? Is that how your slumbering brain is making sense of all the pleasure?

Once he's got some semblance of control, he rolls his hips into yours, sinking back into you until. It's too good, and he needs more, he needs to have his cock as deep as you'll take him. He moves his hands to your knees and bends your legs until your thighs are pressing against your chest. It's desperate, the way he fucks you, but somehow, you remain as still and quiet as you'd been when he first came in. Your body jostles with each thrust and he sees the tip of your tongue creeping out from between your parted lips- fucked dumb, even fast asleep.

He knows he should probably pull out, but he's too fucked out to think straight, not to mention the cold medicine running through him right now. It's not right, but with how fucking good you feel, he doesn't care. You're going to wake up with his cum dripping out of your aching cunt, wondering obliviously if your period came early. Traces of him will be all over you and he just knows you'll love the feeling. He can already tell you're going to be his little cumslut- you're too sweet to deny him such a pleasure.

His thrusts get faster until his balls are full on slapping against your ass and his muscles tense all over. You're squeezing him so fucking tight, it's a wonder he's lasted this long, especially with how needy you've made him.

An involuntary flutter of your cunt sends him over the edge. His orgasm wracks his entire body and he's trembling with each spurt of his cum that covers your gummy walls, uncaring as to what consequences might await him. He moans out your name, panting as he empties every drop into you, and you just take it so well. Just as he's about to pull out, your eyes flutter open ever so slightly.

But you're so tired- you don't even notice that it's Geto hovering over you before they slip shut again. "Mm," you murmur. "Wh-what are you..mm." The words trail off, and a moment later, your breaths are soft and even again as sleep takes you once more.

You're adorable. He slips out of you as gently as he can, he waits until he can see his cum start to trickle down to the curve of your ass. He lifts a hand to stroke your cheek and brush away the stray hairs on your face, but he doesn't want to risk waking you when you're already so sleepy. With how pliable and motionless you are, it's clear that you need your beauty sleep.

As he slips out of your apartment and back into his, he can't help but think of how lucky he is. He's so lucky- how is it that fate has blessed him so richly? He was going to make you his. You were going to get so addicted to his cock, to his scent, to his taste that you'd never dare to leave him. You'll belong to him, free for him to use and praise as he pleases. But he will always reward you for being his sweet girl.

And, he thinks, you are so so lucky to have such a good neighbor.

i felt like a mad scientist the entire time i wrote this. if you've thought about trying to write fanfic, JUST DO IT because sometimes it's really fun.

[vantetaes]

SPRING FLING🫧🥂

COUNTRY BOY! EREN X CITY GIRL BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! yn goes back to visit what once was her home 15 years ago, only to meet a new face.

WARNINGS!!! 18+!!! high sexual themes! oral (f receiving), penetration, slow burn before smut

a part of you missed it. waking up to the fresh smell of sausage sizzling in hot grease while grits simmered on a burner next to it. feeling the cool summer breeze whip around your sweltering body from playing kickball in the large mowed field with some of the towns kids. drinking freshly squeezed lemonade your grandmother made before tending to her garden.

as the driver slowly approaches your grandparents estate, your heart couldn’t help but to let up a little. the large white house still sat perfectly on their plot of land.

“yn, sweetheart!” the houses screen door flys open with a screech. your grandmother dressed in a flowing white dress, tan beach hat, arm decorated with small gold bangles and her wedding band catching rays of sun.

the driver places his car in park, opening his door to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk. hopping out of the yellow vehicle, the older lady meets you halfway. wrinkled hands caressing your face, she smiles.

“it’s been too long. you’re all grown up on us!”

before anything could leave your lips, a grunt comes from around the bend of the house. your grandfather, covered in motor oil and dirt caked overalls. he removes his gloves, walking towards you and his wife, smile reaching his ears.

“ah i would hug ya honey but im dirtier than the pigs!”

your grandparents liked the life they lived away from the city. the way they could sit on the wrap around porch, grandfather sipping a beer and grandmother some lemonade, their towns newspaper tucked in their palms. watching as the sun ducked their bright red barn, casting a golden glow over the crops and animals grazing on the lush landscape. the stars peeking through transparent clouds, moon creating its atmosphere in the sky.

your grandmother enjoyed picking fresh fruits from her orchard, baking pies and making jams with the delectable fruits. your grandfather loved the lake that sat on the other side of the large property. growing up you’d grown to love these things about them.

as for yourself? you wouldn’t be caught dead doing half the things they do.

your career path led you to pharmaceutical consulting. working for one of the biggest companies in the world. it wasn’t something you enjoyed, but it funded the life you wanted.

living in a penthouse, well off from the city below you. the work was intense, demanding, and you needed to stay on top of it. anyone is replaceable in jobs such as those.

which is why you put in every single pto hour you had into a month long vacation.

to the middle of nowhere.

the wheels of the suitcase clank against the wooden stairs as your grandfather lugs it up the flight. following behind the older lady, excitement bubbles out of your grandmother while she quickens her pace, rushing to the door at the end of the hallway.

when she pushes the door open, it gives way easily, the hinges murmuring softly. the air that greets you is faintly cool, laced with the sweet scent of spring. someone had left the large french windows cracked open, the lace curtains drifting in slow, ghostly ripples.

“just like you left it, darlin’!” the lady says cheerfully.

stepping in feels like stepping back into a memory too fragile to hold in your hands. the room is pale, almost dreamlike. soft white walls, still wearing faint shadows of posters long torn away, frame the space. A canopy bed sits against the far wall, its sheer, pastel pink and ivory drapes spilling down like delicate water, pooled at the floor as if waiting for someone to step through them. the bed itself is made, layered with quilts of faint creams and frilly edges, whispering of afternoons spent sprawled on its surface with a book or diary.

“mary anne, we gotta get back to town to pick up some more feed for the chickens! ‘for the sun go down! i ain’t got my glasses either.” after placing your suitcase inside the threshold, your grandfather gives the back of your head a slight hold before placing a small kiss to the top.

“okay! okay! you ain’t gotta rush, clyde!” the two eventually leave you alone to unpack and do as you need.

to the right, a dresser waits, its porcelain knobs cool and familiar, though you can see chips where small hands must have struck too hard, too often. a vintage vanity mirrors the scene beside it, its surface cluttered with an array of glass perfume bottles, now dulled with dust. the mirror above has started to haze, its edges flecked with age, but you can still catch glimpses of yourself. a cushioned stool still sits beneath, its ruffled seat faded and threadbare.

the light here is alive. golden and warm, it pours through the cracked windows, catching on floating dust motes that swirl like restless fireflies. outside, unseen branches scratch faintly against the frame, their new leaves brushing with the weightlessness of spring. the breeze curls in through the cracks, carrying the faintest hints of magnolia and freshly turned earth, slipping beneath the canopy and rustling the skirts of the curtains.

there’s a rug in the center of the room, its edges frayed, and around it—near bookshelves that haven’t been touched in years—small details stand out like relics: a porcelain music box with its lid still half-open, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye perched on the window seat. all of it feels caught in a quiet kind of waiting.

your footsteps are softened by the wooden floor beneath, the boards groaning faintly under your weight. you look around and inhale deeply. it smells faintly of lavender, of clean linens, freshly cut grass, and mahogany wood.

the hot water washes away the weight of the morning and plane rides, the steam curling in soft, misty clouds that cling to the glass. you stand under the spray longer than you need to, letting it loosen muscles you hadn’t realized were tight, letting it strip the last remnants of dust from your skin. when you finally step out, the room feels cooler, the steam clinging to the mirror and walls in beads of condensation.

lathing your body in cocoa butter and applying a fair amount of lip balm.

you pull on something simple: a soft white tank top and a pair of loose cerulean cotton shorts, light enough to let the sun find your skin. carefully pulling your shower cap off, the water droplets falling down to your shoulders, running off your moisturized skin. you grab a new bottle of sunscreen from your spwarled out suitcase, the book ‘if cats disappeared from the world’, and your black chanel sunglasses.

as you make your way barefoot down the creaking staircase, everything tucked in between your arm. the house warm and bright in a way that feels both lived-in and empty. you’re halfway to the back porch when the front door swings open, and your grandparents call for your attention.

“hey, hold up a minute-” your grandfather says, pausing just inside the doorway, his hat in one hand and the keys to the truck jangling in the other. Your grandmother lingers behind him, hands resting on her hips, her face soft but serious.

“-we’re headed into town for a bit.” she says. “need some supplies for the farm and a few other things.”

you nod, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glance toward the back porch, toward the promise of sun and quiet.

“‘fore you run off-” your grandfather adds, pulling the hat onto his head.

“one of the town boys is ‘posed to be stoppin’ by. hes gone take a look at the barn, see about fixin’ up some of the beams we been neglectin’.”

“you’ll know him when you see him.” she says, a touch warily.

“so just keep an eye out. he’s probably fine, but you know how folks can be.”

something about their tone. half warning, half habit. makes you bristle. you know how quickly people judge someone based on a name, a family, a shadow cast long before them.

“all right.” you say lightly, hoping to end the conversation before it becomes something heavier.

“i’ll be outside if he shows up.”

your grandmother nods, giving you one last lingering look, and then they’re gone—boots on the porch steps, the truck’s engine growling to life and disappearing down the road. you linger by the door for a moment, watching the dust settle in the empty yard. the house feels quieter now, a little too still.

when you turn toward the back porch, the sunlight calls to you again, warm and golden, a balm for whatever comes next.

the back door opens swiftly, letting in gusts of spring air to sweep across the floors. trudging through the plains of grass tickling your thighs, you find yourself at the small floating pond your grandfather built. it sat in front of the large red barn, creating a scene of what farm living actually is.

the pond is fairly quiet, except for the hum of cicadas and the faint lapping of water against its banks. the cows deep moo a little in the distance. the sun hangs high, drenching everything in gold, and the heat wraps around you like a second skin.

you’re stretched out on a reclined lawn chair, a thin towel draped beneath you to catch the sweat. your sunglasses shield your eyes, and a book rests open in your hands, though the words blur a little under the laziness of the afternoon. a half eaten sandwich and a glass of fresh strawberry lemonade sweats beside you, the condensation leaving rings of water on the tiny wooden table. it’s sweet and cold against your tongue, a small relief in the heaviness of the heat.

your top is flung casually over the back of the chair, leaving you in a white bathing suit, comfortable and unbothered as you let the sun soak into your skin. the soft breeze off the water kisses your shoulders every now and then, rustling the pages of your book.

it isn’t until the sharp, uneven sound of boots on gravel carries over the quiet that you lift your sunglasses, brow pinching.

at first, you only catch a shadow moving toward you from the far side of the reservoir. someone tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not your grandparents.

“hey!” the voice calls, deep but rough, like he hasn’t spoken much today.

you sit up a little straighter, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you look him over. he’s closer now, close enough for you to see the sharp lines of his face, the way dark hair falls a little too messily over his forehead. he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, worn jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed boots that kick up small puffs of dirt as he moves. there’s a toolbox in his hand, which he sets down carelessly at his feet.

“you’re, uh…-” he trails off, scanning you quickly before looking away, his jaw tight. he was issued to seeing old people on this property. but you were a sight for sore eyes. he couldn’t help but fixate his green eyes back onto you. watching as the beads of condensation dripped from the glass to your exposed cleavage, sliding down between your moisturized boobs. that were too big for the swim top your sported. his eyes fed off the way your e/c* eyes shined in the light under the black shields, lips glistening under the rays.

“im here for the barn. your grandparents said someone would be around.” his words are tight and frigid.

you blink, caught between annoyance and curiosity.

“yeah, they mentioned you.” you let your sunglasses slide back into place, leaning back in the chair as if his presence hasn’t disrupted anything.

“didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”

“you’re welcome.” he mutters, a hint of sarcasm threading through the words as he squats to grab the toolbox.

you raise a brow, bristling.

“didn’t say i was thanking you.”

that makes him pause, glancing up through his lashes like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. a scoff releases from his lips.

“you sure are a real warm welcome, huh? and you’re reading a book about.. cats?”

“and you’re a little grumpy for someone who just got here. not that it’s any of your concern, i prefer cats over mutts.”

he huffs out a breath, maybe a laugh, but it’s hard to tell, and shakes his head, muttering something you can’t quite hear. you watch as he straightens up again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as if to dismiss you entirely.

“look, i’ll stay outta your way. just here to fix the barn, ma’am.” he says, nodding toward the distant structure.

“you can go back to… whatever this is.” his gaze flickers briefly over your lemonade, the book, your sprawled-out figure in the sun, before he turns on his heel and starts walking toward the barn.

you glare after him, irritation bubbling to the surface. the nerve of him, showing up out of nowhere with a chip on his shoulder like you’re the one invading his day.

“you’re welcome.” you call after him pointedly, though he doesn’t stop, just throws a hand up in a half-hearted wave of dismissal.

the barn door groans open in the distance, and you sink back into your chair with a huff, flipping your book shut. for the first time all day, the quiet doesn’t feel so peaceful anymore.

he had been long gone by the time your grandparents arrived back at the house. watching the sun set on the horizon out of the kitchen windows, casting a warm orange and pink hue to the house. you couldn’t help but to think about how strange of an interaction that was today.

“some’ wrong, darlin’?” your grandfather asks, pulling apart a small peice of his dinner roll, slipping it into his mouth.

“nothing papa. just tired i think. not really used to the time difference again.”

-

the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and lemon zest. thick and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows. you stand beside your grandmother at the granite counter, your hands dusted in flour as you work a soft, pliable ball of dough, rolling it carefully under her watchful gaze. the little puffs of flour catch the light as they float lazily to the counter, turning the morning into something hazy and dreamlike. outside, the morning doves are already humming, and the breeze carries the faintest whiff of honeysuckle through the cracked window above the sink.

“not too thin now, dear.” your grandmother says gently, leaning over to inspect your work. her hair is pinned back neatly, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.

“these tarts need some structure, or they’ll fall apart ‘fore they make it to the church. we can’t have a lock in with no tarts, honey.”

“yes, ma’am.” you mutter, suppressing a small smile as you focus on the dough, guiding it into perfect little circles for the tart shells.

the table is cluttered with bowls and ingredients. deep red raspberries, bright and glistening, piled in a pale ceramic dish; a glass juicer with lemon pulp still clinging to its grooves; a small jar of sugar, the lid left slightly askew. your grandmother moves around the kitchen like she always has. calm, methodical, humming a hymn under her breath as she fills the air with the scent of baking pastry. you help her spoon the tart mixture into the shells, carefully pressing a few raspberries into each before she slides them into the oven, her hands covered in oven mitts patterned with sunflowers.

while the tarts bake, she chats softly about who will be at the church service, about old friends and new faces, her voice lilting as if trying to bridge the years that you’ve been gone. it’s comforting, her easy way of speaking, and you let it wash over you as you wipe down the counters, the scent of caramelizing sugar growing richer by the minute.

“i really appreciate your help this mornin’.” her sweet voice fills the silence.

your grandfather appears in the doorway just as you’re checking the tarts, a small grin tucked beneath his mustache. hes holding a set of keys. old, scratched, and gleaming faintly in his calloused hand.

“got something for ya.” he says, the words light but carrying a weight that makes you stop mid-step.

your grandmother glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as if she’s been expecting this.

“go on, now. see what he’s got.”

you follow your grandfather outside, the morning sun already high and hot, the light pooling across the gravel driveway. parked just off to the side of the house is a truck—not new by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, its pale blue paint shining faintly in the sunlight. it’s an older model, rounded and boxy in that classic way, and you can see where he’s spent hours tinkering with it. fresh tires, a polished hood, the faint scent of oil and steel lingering in the air.

“you’re givin’ me this?” you ask, a little breathless.

“sure am.” he replies, pressing the keys into your palm with a nod that’s gruff but affectionate.

“i’ve been workin’ on it a few months now. runs smooth s’ever. figured you might want somethin’ to get around while you’re here.”

the gesture hits you harder than you expect, and you swallow against the sudden warmth building in your chest.

“thank you,” you say softly, running your fingers over the keys before looking back at him.

he pats your shoulder in that firm, no-nonsense way of his.

“you go on, take her for a spin. just don’t let it sit idle too long, y’hear?”

you decide you can’t possibly drive your new truck around town in the same pajama bottoms and rumpled tank top you’ve been in since morning. after a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom, brushing your hair as the sun filters softly through the lace curtains. you choose something easy. a flowy white sundress, the fabric soft against your skin, cinched at the waist, flaring out below. it’s the kind of dress that moves when you walk, catching the breeze and making you feel like youre floating. slipping on tan sandals and grabbing your sunglasses.

sliding into the truck feels surreal, the leather of the driver’s seat warm beneath your legs as you turn the ignition. the engine rumbles to life with a satisfying purr, and you grip the wheel with a grin you can’t quite suppress.

the drive into town is nothing short of idyllic. the windows are rolled down, the warm breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of your dress as you cruise past fields of tall grass and wildflowers. radio crackles softly, static giving way to an old country song you don’t recognize but hum along to anyway. the town comes into view slowly. a handful of streets lined with brick buildings, white picket fences, and storefronts with painted signs. it’s small and familiar, a place where everyone knows everyone, and yet it feels entirely new through your eyes.

you park the truck just off the main street, slipping the keys into your bag before heading toward the square. the town is quiet, but there’s enough movement to remind you that life trickles on here. people chatting on porches, kids weaving through alleys on their bikes, a group of guys sitting on the bed of an old truck parked near the general store.

you don’t notice them at first, too busy taking in the details of the place. but their voices, loud and lazy—drift over as you pass.

“well, well.” one of them drawls, amusement curling through the words.

“ain’t expect to see you all the way out here.”

you glance over sharply, your gaze landing on none other than him. eren jaeger. leaned back against the tailgate of the truck, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his friends exchange looks that border on curious and entertained.

“didn’t expect you to talk to me.” you shoot back without missing a beat, stopping just a few feet away.

eren raises a brow, clearly enjoying this already.

“oh, don’t worry. i’m just surprised you’re not still sunbathing by the pond, princess.”

“princess? it’s yn to you. and all of you.” you repeat, folding your arms across your chest.

“also, big talk for someone who can’t even find full jeans.” your acrylic points to the dirty man-made holes decorating the boys jeans.

that earns you a snort of laughter from one of his friends, but eren just tilts his head slightly, the smirk never faltering.

“guess you’re still mad about yesterday. why you so upset at me, darlin’?”

“mad? please.” you say, rolling your eyes. “nothing even happened.”

“mmh. sure you aren’t.” he says, pushing off the tailgate to stand up fully, his height a little more imposing up close. there’s something sharp about him. his voice, his gaze, but beneath it is something else, something less certain. you get the feeling he’s used to being looked at sideways, just like your grandparents warned you about.

“you always this charming, or is it just for me?” you ask, tipping your chin up slightly. eyes meeting his low green ones.

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as his friends snicker quietly behind him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he mutters, more to himself than to you. turning on your heels, you rush to excape the uncomfortable encounter.

“see you around, princess.”

-

the next day stretches out slow and quiet. the house feels bigger without your grandparents, their absence leaving a stillness that clings to every corner. you’ve taken full advantage of the solitude, padding barefoot through the rooms in an oversized t-shirt and little else. the fabric brushes against your thighs as you move, worn soft with age, like an old friend. the back of the shirt reads something about a fishing derby from a year that predates you, and you’ve rolled the sleeves haphazardly up your shoulders, letting the collar slip wide against your collarbone.

you spend the morning lazing on the couch, your legs sprawled across the cushions as you flip halfheartedly through a book you aren’t really reading. somewhere outside, birds chatter, and the cicadas hum their slow, pulsing chorus.

it’s the kind of day where time feels like it doesn’t exist. you shuffle into the kitchen whenever you’re hungry, toast a bagel you don’t finish, drink lemonade straight from the pitcher, and leave the radio on low just to fill the silence. some soft, crooning voice filters through the speakers, adding to the lazy weight of the afternoon.

you’re perched on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, flipping through an old fashion magazine you found tucked in a drawer when the knock comes, sharp and sudden against the door.

it startles you, your head snapping up as the noise echoes through the quiet house. the second knock follows quickly, impatient this time. you glance toward the clock on the wall, but it’s no help, just another reminder that time isn’t real today.

frowning, you slide off the couch, tugging the hem of your t-shirt self-consciously as you head toward the door. the knob feels cool beneath your fingers as you pull it open just far enough to see who it is.

and there he is.

eren, standing on your grandparents’ front porch like he belongs there, though his posture suggests otherwise. hes got one hand braced against the doorframe, his other hooked loosely in the pocket of his jeans. a thin white t-shirt clings to him in the heat, faint smudges of dirt streaked across the fabric like he’s been working outside all day. his dark hair looks even messier than it did before. some tucked into the cowboy hat, other strands falling over his forehead and curling faintly from the humidity.

for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze catching on your bare legs before he flicks his eyes up to meet yours. his expression shifts, something unreadable dancing just beneath the surface. you realize too late how you must look: hair messy, t-shirt oversized and sliding off your shoulder, a little breathless from having rushed to the door.

“what?” you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest as if that might protect you from the way he’s looking at you.

“nice greeting.” he says dryly, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

“well, you did show up uninvited.” you shoot back, arching a brow.

“what do you want?”

eren exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused but trying not to show it.

“your grandparents asked me to stop by. said there’s a busted pipe in the barn and they didn’t want to wait until they got back to fix it.”

you frown, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.

“and they sent you?”

“clearly.” his lips twitch, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“believe it or not, i know how to do more than just piss you off.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“well, the barn’s out back. you know where it is. the big. red. building.”

“i do. smartass.” he says, but he doesn’t move, and there’s a spark of something in his eyes. mischief, maybe. that makes you suddenly aware of just how much skin your t-shirt doesn’t cover.

“what?” you ask again, sharper this time.

“nothing.” he shrugs, the movement lazy as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step back.

“just didn’t peg you for the type to lounge around in your underwear all day. but what do i know? you wore a bikini outside.”

heat flashes across your cheeks instantly, and you grip the edge of the door tighter.

“it’s not underwear, creep. it’s comfortable.”

“sure.” he says, smirk fully formed now as he starts toward the barn, hands tucked into his pockets.

“looks real… comfortable.”

you slam the door before he can say anything else, the wood rattling in the frame.

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of his boots on the gravel, his laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window.

the hum of the radio drifts on, and sunlight still slants through the windows, but something about the space feels restless now. like the air has been disturbed and won’t settle again. you find yourself standing by the door, chewing your lip and staring at nothing in particular.

it’s curiosity, you decide. that’s all it is. you’re just curious about him. about the boy who showed up at your door unannounced, dripping sarcasm like it’s second nature, as though he thrives on pressing your buttons. that’s why, after pacing the kitchen once or twice, you tug on a pair of shoes and head outside.

the barn stands at the back of the property, worn and familiar, its paint faded and roof patched with tin that glints under the afternoon sun. the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you cross the yard, your shadow stretching long ahead of you. you can hear him before you see him. something clattering against metal, followed by a low muttered curse that drifts out through the open barn doors.

you pause just outside, peeking around the corner. eren is crouched low near the base of a wooden post, his toolbox spread out beside him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. sweat glistens faintly along the line of his neck, dark hair curling slightly against his temple, though he seems too focused on whatever he’s fixing to notice you.

“i hope you don’t talk to the pipes like that.” you say, stepping into the doorway.

eren glances up sharply, his eyes narrowing as soon as he sees you.

“what are you doing in here?”

“just checking on you.” you lean against the frame, arms crossed, the hem of your t-shirt fluttering faintly in the breeze.

“you could be in here stealing, for all I know.”

he snorts, turning back to the pipe.

“yeah, im gonna steal an old tractor and a pile’a hay. that’ll really set me up for life.”

“you’ve got the attitude for it.” you shoot back.

eren doesn’t respond right away, just reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a wrench, testing the pipe with a faint metallic screech. you take the opportunity to wander further into the barn, your bare legs brushing against the dust-speckled air, the smell of earth and old wood thick in your nose.

“don’t distract me.” he mutters after a moment, though there’s no real heat in it.

“distract you from what?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“i do.” he replies quickly, then pauses to glance up at you again, that familiar edge of sarcasm tugging at his voice.

“but I don’t need you hovering over me like a supervisor.”

“im not hovering.” you say, wandering toward the ladder that leads up to the loft. You trail your fingers along a beam as you go, the wood rough and splintered beneath your touch.

“im just… observing.”

“observing me.” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching.

you shrug, tilting your head to look at him.

“maybe. you’re hard to figure out.”

“well… why are ya tryin’ t’figure me out?” he fires back, turning his full attention to you now. his gaze is sharp, but there’s something behind it. something curious, like he’s trying to pick you apart the same way you’re doing to him.

you hesitate, feeling your face heat up despite yourself.

“im just bored.”

“bored ?” eren repeats, his voice dry.

“well, sorry im not here to entertain you, princess.”

you bristle at the nickname, pushing off the beam to face him fully.

“will you quit calling me that?”

“what?” he says, smirking now. “does it bother you?”

“obviously.”

“good.” he huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he goes back to the pipe, adjusting the wrench with a sharp twist. the muscles in his forearm flex with the movement, beads of sweat dripping from his body.

“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you turn and start to climb the ladder to the loft. the wood creaks faintly under your hands and feet, but you ignore it, needing to put a little distance between you and him.

“where are you going?” he calls from below, sounding more amused than anything.

“away from you!” you shout back, hoisting yourself onto the loft and brushing the dust from your knees. the space is dim, beams of sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls, catching on cobwebs and hay strewn across the floor. you sink down near the edge, letting your legs dangle as you glance back down at him.

“don’t worry. i won’t distract you from all your hard work.”

eren glances up at you with a look that’s half exasperation, half something else. he stands, tossing the wrench back into his toolbox with a faint clatter.

“or you could just gone back in the house. you’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”

“you’re one to talk.” you shoot back, swinging your feet slightly.

“you act like you hate me, but you keep showing up.”

“i don’t hate you and i keep showing up for your folks, not you.” he mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead as he looks away.

“you just talk too much.”

“and you’re just cranky.”

he lets out a soft laugh, one that seems to surprise even him. when he looks back at you, his expression is different, though it’s hard to tell in the dappled light of the barn.

“you don’t know anything about me.” he says finally, his voice quieter this time.

you tilt your head, studying the man below you.

“maybe not. but I know you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

eren stiffens slightly at that, his jaw ticking as he averts his gaze. for a moment, the only sound is the wind pressing against the barn, rattling the boards, and the distant hum of cicadas.

“you don’t know that either. and what about you, huh? showing’ up outta nowhere. bein’ as bossy as you are?” he says eventually, his tone flat.

“im a pretty good judge of character. and i used to live here. a lot changes in fifteen years.”

he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it.

“you’re annoying.”

“and yet you’re still here.” you say, letting a smile creep onto your face.

the loft creaks beneath you, but you don’t think much of it at first. it’s old, worn by years of weight and weather, and the barn itself seems to hum with the memory of its age. eren is below, fiddling with his toolbox, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestles with some stubborn pipe or post. you’re perched on the edge of the loft, legs dangling as you watch him, not bothering to hide your smirk.

“you’re taking forever.” you tease, your voice carrying through the barn.

eren pauses, glancing up with an annoyed glare.

“if you think you can do it faster, darlin’ , be my guest.”

“oh, i didn’t say that.” you reply, leaning back with a huff of satisfaction.

“i’m just observing how inefficient you are.”

he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and you’re about to push his buttons again when the sharp sound of splintering wood freezes you. the beam beneath you gives a slow, aching groan. erens head shoots up, noticing the lift giving in right where you sat.

you don’t have time to react. the wood cracks loudly, shattering the stillness, and suddenly you’re falling.

it happens in a rush. your stomach lurching, air rushing past you, hands scrambling for anything to grab. you hit something solid but not the ground. the impact knocks the wind out of you, but there are arms around you, holding you tightly.

“jesus christ!” eren’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and alarmed. “are you stupid?”

your brain catches up slowly, heart still slamming against your ribs as you look up to find eren staring down at you. his face is just inches from yours, his arms wrapped firmly around you where he caught you before you could hit the floor.

“i—” you start to say, but the words catch in your throat.

eren lets out a breath, long and shaky, as he lowers you carefully to the barn floor. his hands linger at your sides, steadying you. “are you okay?”

you try to nod, but then you feel it. the sharp, searing pain radiating up your leg. you wince, shifting slightly, and his eyes dart downward.

“you’re hurt.” he says flatly.

“no, i’m fine,” you lie, but as soon as you move your leg, the pain worsens. you look down to see a gash along your shin, blood streaking your skin where the wood must have splintered against you.

eren notices immediately.

“shit-” he mutters, reaching for you before you can protest. “don’t move.”

“eren, i’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your leg.

“yeah, sure you are,” he shoots back, already scooping you up before you can argue. his arms slide beneath your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly.

“stop squirming, unless you wanna make this worse.”

you freeze, stunned at the way he carries you, like you weigh nothing at all. his face is set, focused, though you swear you can see a flicker of concern beneath the irritation.

“you don’t have to carry me.” you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck.

he doesn’t look at you. “and what, let you drag yourself back to the house? don’t be stupid. now imma have to fix up the loft.”

the walk back to the house feels longer than usual, the silence stretching between you save for the crunch of his boots against the dirt. you steal glances at him—at the way his brow furrows in concentration, at the way his arms flex slightly beneath your weight. his grip is careful, like he’s afraid of jostling you too much.

“you’re really dramatic, you know.” you say quietly, trying to lighten the mood.

eren snorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow.

“me? you’re the one who decided to fall through the damn barn.”

“it wasn’t a choice.” you mutter, pouting slightly.

“whatever you say, princess.”

he carries you through the front door like it’s nothing, kicking it open with his boot before setting you down gently on the couch. the shift makes you wince, and he notices, crouching beside you immediately.

“last door on the left, under the sink.”

“stay put.” he says, voice low but firm, before disappearing into the bathroom.

you sigh, leaning your head back against the cushions as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache in your leg and the embarrassment settling deep in your chest.

when eren comes back, he’s holding the first aid kit and a damp towel. he drops onto the floor in front of you, his knees brushing the edge of the couch as he sets everything down.

“this might sting.” he warns, wetting the towel before carefully pressing it to your shin.

you hiss through your teeth, nails curling into the couch cushion. “you could be a little gentler, you know.”

“i am being gentle.” he says, though his tone lacks its usual bite. he works quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scrape before carefully dabbing it dry.

you watch him quietly as he unwraps a roll of gauze, his movements surprisingly careful, his expression softer than you’ve seen before.

“you didn’t have to do all this.” you say softly.

eren doesn’t look up, focused on securing the bandage.

“yeah, well. you’re not exactly good at taking care of yourself.”

“is that your way of saying you care?”

he pauses for half a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. the look he gives you is unreadable, but there’s something there. something warm.

“just… don’t do anything stupid like that again.” he mutters, his gaze dropping back to the bandage.

you bite back a smile, watching as he finishes and sits back on his heels. his hands linger on your leg for a moment, testing to make sure the gauze is secure before he finally stands.

“thanks.” you say quietly, your voice soft.

eren just shrugs, grabbing the first aid kit and standing to his full height. “don’t mention it.”

you try to mimic his movements, grabbing onto the arm of the couch for support until the pain shoots you right back down. eren wastes no time meeting you at eye level again, frowing a little.

“you need to stay put. stop being so damn hardheaded, yn.”

“finally you use my name.” his eyes burn deep holes into yours, brown chunks of hair framing his face.

“eh. i still like princess.”

he pauses, just for a second, as if he’s considering something. then he turns, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“both are real pretty though.” he mutters, but his voice is quieter now, softer. there’s an edge of something else there, something that’s hard to place.

you feel your heart pick up, and before you can even process the thought, before you can even think to stop him, he’s closing the space between you. his hand comes to rest gently on the side of your face, and then, with surprising tenderness, he leans in. the kiss is slow, hesitant at first. just a brush of lips against yours. but it deepens quickly, and for a moment, it feels like time itself is holding its breath. maybe you were holding your breath. his hand curls around the back of your neck, and you instinctively lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his lips presses against yours, soft and urgent.

the kiss is over almost as soon as it started, and when he pulls back, his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your skin. his eyes are dark, a little unsure, but there’s something raw there too.

“eren?” you whisper, breathless, unsure of what to say, what to do with the sudden surge of emotions.

he doesn’t speak at first, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. his fingers linger against your skin for a second too long before he pulls away, stepping back.

“um, guess i’ll get going then.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s unsure of himself for the first time.

he basically rushes out the front door, leaving you with a bloody gauze pad wrapped around your shin and a sense of confusion.

-

the farmer’s market buzzes softly with life. the air smells of ripe peaches and freshly baked bread, and the sunlight filters through the trees, dappled and golden. you weave through the crowd, your basket swinging lightly on your arm, filled with a small loaf of sourdough and a jar of honey. it’s your favorite part of the week, wandering between the stalls, picking out produce and listening to the steady murmur of the townsfolk.

you’ve got a small crumpled list tucked into your hand: oat milk, a jar of honey, maybe some fresh greens, and you’re weaving your way through the market when you spot him. eren. he’s standing with a man you can only assume is his father. the resemblance is impossible to miss: the sharpness of the jawline, the same dark hair, though his father’s is streaked with gray, and the way they both carry themselves. quiet and a little standoffish. they’re posted at a vegetable stand, crates of carrots, onions, and cucumbers spread out before them. eren’s arms are crossed as he listens to something his father says, his brow furrowed like he’s only half paying attention.

something about the way eren glances around, almost restless, makes you hesitate. you watch for a beat longer, tucked slightly behind another booth, debating whether to approach. but then eren looks up, and his gaze lands on you. for a second, he’s still, his face unreadable. then his eyes shift slightly, narrowing, and it almost feels like he’s warning you.

you step forward anyway, hobbling a little on your sore leg.

“eren.” you say, your voice soft but steady. his name feels strangely loud against the background chatter, and both he and his father turn to look at you.

eren’s face tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. his father, on the other hand, gives you a long, slow once-over, his sharp green eyes cutting into you with a coolness that makes your chest tighten.

“who’s this?” his father asks, his tone mild but clipped, like the words have edges.

“yn, sir.” you offer quickly, stepping closer and giving him a polite smile.

“i’ve been staying with my grandparents for the spring. i’ve seen eren around, so i thought i’d introduce myself. he helps around a lot.”

you hold out your hand, but his father doesn’t take it. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the booth’s counter, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“introducing yr’self, huh?” he says, his voice light, almost amused, but there’s something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

“not many of the town folk bother to stop by our booth, let’lone introduce themselves. guess you must be curious.”

you pull your hand back awkwardly, your smile faltering as you glance at eren.

“i just thought it would be nice, sir. i apologize.” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.

“your vegetables do look great.”

his father lets out a soft huff of a laugh, barely more than an exhale.

“yeah, they do, don’t they? we put a lotta work into this land. more than most people around here would know.”

eren shifts beside him, his jaw tightening.

“dad.” he mutters under his breath, but his father doesn’t even glance at him.

“you stayin’ with the wrights?” his father asks, tilting his head slightly.

“figured. they’re good people, always minding their own business. shame not everyone in town does the same.”

you blink, the words settling in your chest like stones. there’s no malice in his tone, not directly, but the weight of them is unmistakable.

eren’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders tense.

“she’s just trying to be nice.” he says, his voice low, almost resigned, like he knows it won’t make a difference.

his father finally straightens, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“nice is fine-” he says, glancing at you again. “-but not everyone ‘round here is friendly as they seem. might be worth ‘membering.”

the air between you feels tight, uncomfortable, and you’re not entirely sure if his words are meant as advice or something closer to a warning. you force another smile, even though your face feels stiff, and take a small step back.

“well, it was nice meeting you.” you say, your voice a little quieter now.

“i’ll let you both get back to work.”

eren looks at you then, his lips pressing together like he wants to say something but can’t. his father, however, just gives you a small, curt nod.

“have a good day, darlin’.” he says, the words clipped and formal.

you turn quickly, your cheeks burning, and make your way back into the flow of the market. the cheerful voices and warm sunlight feel duller now, muted by the lingering tension.

it’s not until you’ve stopped by another stall, pretending to inspect a bunch of lavender, that you feel eren’s presence beside you. you glance up, and there he is, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pulled into a scowl.

“sorry about him.” he mutters, his voice low. “he’s… he’s just like that.”

you shrug, trying to act like it didn’t bother you, though the knot in your stomach hasn’t quite eased.

“it’s fine.” you say softly, but the look he gives you says he doesn’t believe you.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the market swirls around you, full of life and sound, but between you, there’s only a quiet tension. finally, eren sighs, tilting his head toward the edge of the market.

“come on,” he says. “let’s get out of here.”

-

you’ve learned to move quietly, to slip through the back door of the house when no one’s looking, to meet him at the edge of the woods by the lake when the sun has set and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. everything feels like it’s wrapped in silence, soft and secretive. even the air between you seems charged with something unspoken, something thrilling. for two weeks.

he was addictive.

soft whispers under your large quilts as his lips traced kisses from your neck to lips. engulfing you in a warm embrace. wind blowing through the windows he snuck into.

he loved seeing you drive past him casually in your truck while picking up groceries for your grandmother. watching your hair whip in the wind and the low hum of the trucks engine passing by.

when you and him sat in his living room, playing with the golden lab he named ‘scout’ when he was four. your fingers comb through his mane, tilting your face upwards to avoid from being licked by the drooling animal.

whenever your grandparents gave him yet another daunting task around the farm, he’d watch as your sprawled out in a bikini. sipping the sweet tea, beach hat shading your face. watching as the droplets of water dripped down your chest. he’d hate to admit how many times he’s almost nailed his hands to the barn.

“you okay over there?” your arm, half up in a wave, drawling his attention from your new position. you lay on your chest, slowly pulling at the strings holding your top up. letting them dangle off the side of the chair, you slide the waistline of your bottoms down a little.

“eren! why don’t you come have some lemonade with me?”

you were driving him nuts.

he loved how lively you would get after spending the afternoons in a tiny, quaint bar located on the outskirts of town.

the drives back usually consisting of you halfway out the passenger window, eyes gazing up at the sky as you took advantage of the open landscape. eren would watch you intensely, eyes bouncing from the road back to you.

pulling into erens dirty path driveway, he pulls your body across the long front seat, carefully tucking his arms under your knees and around your back.

“im not drunkk!” you whine, face buried into the crook of the man’s neck while he places you down softly on the dark leather couch. closing his front door, his hand runs through his brown locs with an exasperated sigh.

“you need to sober up so i can take you home, yn. i ain’t trynna deal with a angry mob of old church people.” his height blinds out everything in your path as he stands over you. his large hands cup your face gently.

“boy im grown, come here.” you whisper, pulling him down by the forearm, eyes never leaving his. green eye flicker from your eyes to your glossed lips. your essence was like a gravitational pull.

lips locked onto one another, you can’t help but to notice he much softer his lips have gotten.

“you been exfoliating?”

“i’on know what that is, shut up and kiss me.”

it was hungry. borderline filthy the way his hands rubbed you down slowly. caressing the dips of your waist, cold jewelry slides across your stomach, hitching your breath. the tank top you wore stood no chance. brown nipples poking through the sheer cotton fabric.

hes smiling. feeling his hands roam you so freely. he couldn’t help but to take his thumbs and pointer fingers, slipping them into his mouth and out with a quick pop! going back under your shirt, he takes your perky buds in between his fingers, rolling them slowly as the rest of his hands cup your breast.

“oh! eren- oh my god.”

his lips pepper kisses all over your exposed skin, nipping at spots before kissing over the pain. hands roam down to your thighs, giving them tight grips before sliding down the couch.

eyes latched onto each other, you can’t help but to whine.

“please eren.”

this was the first time in years you’ve felt this strong of an attraction towards someone else. crazy for it to be eren of all people.

“please, what?” he’s slowly tugging at the drawstrings of the shorts you wore. eyes locked on you with a burning passion. sitting up against the arm of the couch, your shorts make it to the other side of the room.

your jaw is wide , eren hissing when you tug at his long brown locks. the moment he’s sliding his middle fingers into your burning core, stretching you open as his thumb slowly teases your clit. his body proceeding lower, all you can feel is slight gust of air hitting your cunt. his lips wrap gently around the swollen bud, sucking agonizingly slow, saliva and slick stick to the man’s face. he hums into your taste, wrapping his arms around the base of your thighs. he laid fully out on the couch.

instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm and nose. feeling his tongue slip inside your clenching hole, only to add two of his slender fingers.

his fingers scissor up into your throbbing cunt, hitting your sweet spot.

“babyy” you whimper, barely able to get anything out with the man’s face devouring you below. eyes closed in euphoria and concentration. hands interlocked into his head full of hair, your moans grow louder.

“doin’ such a good fuckin’ job, princess.”

feeling how he used his thumbs to spread open your pussy, using his tongue to penetrate your clenching hole. his tongue dips into you, coating his tongue in your cum, before coming back out and circling your swollen bud. the repetitive sensation sends you into a fit of louder moans, enticing the man to keep going.

“oh! ba- fu,fuck eren! im fucking c-“ the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your abdomen until you can't hold back anymore. not even when you’re cumming all over the man’s face, does he stop. he wants more now. he needs more.

from the first day he saw you out by the water, he knew he wanted you for himself. he watched the way you interacted with the townsfolk and farm animals. how sexy you were effortlessly. walking around your grandparents farm with nothing but a bikini on and practically see through shorts.

he hated to see other men in town look at you. the way the old, decrepit men would sit in the farmers markets and watch you browse around. whispering to each other while you naively chose your fruits and vegetables.

he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

his body jolts to a standing position, with ease he’s dipping down to pick you up off the couch. a large wet spot decorated the leather where you lie. he’s carrying you over his shoulder down the narrow hallway of the house.

“where we goin’?” you ask, eyes low and hazy.

you make it to the well decorated room. posters and band prints scattered on the wall , a radio sat in the corner, humming random songs from the station eren left it on. his bed was royal blue and well kept.

that was until you were being pounded into the bed.

you nails grip for anything they can reach. digging straight into the bed set, while his throbbing cock dips in and out of you. he has your right leg thrown over his shoulder, hands pinned to your waist as he draws out. face twisting in pleasure. his dick coated in the slippery substance, a faint white line forming the base of his cock as he moves in and out of you repeatedly .

“makin’ such a mess on me. pretty fuckin girl.”

he waste no time, throwing your other leg over his shoulder, locking you in as he quickens his pace. shallow breaths escape his mouth, eyes locked in concentration. you’re stuck with your mouth in an -o- shape as the man pounds you relentlessly. with a swift pull out, he taps against your side.

“on your knees, princess.”

on all fours, he wastes no time reinserting himself, bottoming out while his nails dig into the supple skin on your waist. the sound of skin slapping together and the wet squelches of your abused cunt bounce off the walls, filling your ears.

“i’ve wanted you for so long, you’re so good to me- fuck!”

the more your honey coated words fall from your lips, the more the man wants to ruin you. he wants to see you beg for him. he needed to have it.

pulling your arms from under you, he pins them to your back, locking you in an unforgiving arch. he feeds you slow, agonizing pleasing, strokes. loved watching the way your pussy desperately gripped around him as he pulled out.

trying your hardest to escape the abuse of your cervix, you try to pull away, only to receive a fire fueled spank on your ass.

“take this dick, baby. you had all that mouth ‘member? you can do it, i know ya can.”

his pace quickens, yearning for your release. the only thing you can form is small gasps of air as the man shows no mercy on your smaller frame.

“eren! oh shit- im cumming again ple-“

he releases your hands, using his free hand to rub at your clit as he continued fucking into you.

your body goes limp, clear liquid spewing out onto the man’s blankets. he flips you back over, eyes dark and full of hunger still.

“gimme just one more? please, honey. she just so good.”

folded into a middle split off the bed wasn’t something you ever thought you could do. yet here you were, on your back, eren standing in front of you, holding your legs apart.

his hips roll into yours, digging at your inside slowly. head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low. your hands hold onto his muscular forearm, trying to keep grounded as the man was wearing you out.

with a few more thrust, he pulls out. long white ropes decorate his chest.

“you’re something special, yn.”

-

after your grandparents had gone into town for their usual errands, you find yourself at the edge of the lake, hidden in the soft embrace of the willow trees. the faint glow of fireflies flickers in the warm spring air, and the world feels still, like it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. eren’s there before you, waiting, leaning against a tree with a smile that always makes your stomach flip.

“thought you’d never show up,” he teases, his voice low and smooth, like it’s a secret only meant for you. his eyes flicker over you, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a crooked grin.

“you just like being dramatic,” you reply, though you can feel the flutter in your chest as you walk closer, the pull between you too strong to ignore.

he steps forward, closing the space between you, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours. quick, soft, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. it’s always like this, quick, a rush of feeling that neither of you can seem to contain. he pulls away just as quickly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“you’re insane.” you whisper, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he grins, taking your hand and guiding you down the worn path toward the lake. the grass brushes against your bare legs, soft and cool under the fading light. the blanket he’s spread out by the water is a patchwork of colors. faded reds and yellows that look almost too bright against the darkening sky.

you settle down beside him, the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air. the lake reflects the dimming stars, the quiet ripples in the water mirroring the racing of your heart.

“y’know. ive been havin’ a lot of fun with you.” he playfully nudges your body, rocking you to the side.

“i know. imma miss you, country boy.” the fake southern accent rolled off your tongue sarcastically. although the tone was funny, something about erens aura shifted.

“what’s up? why’ve you gone all quiet?” you ask, eyes fixated on the male. the moonlight illuminated his face, exposing every freckle, unshaven parts of his face, and his eyes locked onto yours.

“i jus’ really don’t wanna let you go, princess.”

“don’t go all sappy on me now. i’ll visit when i can, you know that right?” he just nods, taking a drink of the beer he had before your arrival. the air was thick and warm, your knees pressed together, watching the water reflect the bedazzled night sky as eren just shuffles in his spot.

“yn, promise ya wont forget me?”

“eren-“ you try to stop the conversation before it happens. instead ending up in a tight hug from the man. his arms latch around your waist, head resting over your shoulder.

“im serious, yn. i ain’t ever felt this way for nobody.” pulling away, all you can see is his bright green eyes burning into yours.

“how could i ever?”

you lean in, your free hand brushing against his jaw as you kiss him. it’s slow, deliberate, and familiar, yet it feels new in the way it sends warmth flooding through you.

his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle as he deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he can. the world around you fades. the quiet lap of the water against the shore, the soft hum of the crickets. until there’s nothing but him.

when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. eren’s thumb brushes over the curve of your jaw, and his lips curl into a small, almost sheepish smile.

“you ever thought about visiting the city?”

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

random inspo pics at the bottom? yes!

[beomcoups]

Legal Briefs

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lawyer!Dokyeom x fem!reader 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: pwp, corporate au, 18+, non-idol au 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, riding, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names, slight exhibitionism, oral (m. receiving), clit stimulation, squirting 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.1k 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dokyeom is stressed out over his case, and you use your brain in more ways than one to help him relax.

AN: Thank you to @miabebe for beta reading this for me at the last minute and @miniseokminnies being lovely. This is a repost, as this fic was originally written for another idol. I have decided to edit it and make it fit Dokyeom more. I hope you enjoy it <3. Also, tagging @onlyseokmins because that's your man, duh, lol. If you want to be tagged in future fics, sign up here🤎

Dokyeom is one of the most prominent corporate lawyers in your country, and you understand how hard he works daily to maintain that reputation. You were a lawyer when you met him, so you know the ins and outs of the legalities and how stressful it can be defending clients. Your first time seeing him was at a kickboxing gym you both frequented and then on the opposite end of the court, duking it out to protect your clients involved in a breach of contract. You may have won that battle, but in the end, Dokyeom won your heart, and you left the corporate life behind to be a housewife. 

You walk into the swanky thirty-floor office building, and the security guard greets you as you approach the elevator. You are holding Dokyeom’s favorite lunch, pizza with cheese sticks, secured in a heated lunch box. You also brought fruit and juice, which he has been into lately. It’s a nice day outside, and what would be better than spending lunch with your husband?

You hum your way up to the 20th floor, greeted by the receptionists as the elevator doors open. The anticipation is building, and the excitement and butterflies in your stomach are brewing as you make your way to his office. You speak to everyone that makes eye contact with you. Everyone knows you as the boss’s wife, a hotshot lawyer, giving it all up for love. 

“Hi,” his secretary greets you nervously as you approach her desk. “He seems a bit stressed out today. That case with the pharmaceutical company isn’t going well, and I’m pretty sure I heard papers flying around.”

This concerns you, as it is different from Dokyeom to lose his cool like that. You thank her and tap quietly on the office door, waiting to hear his voice before entering. 

“Yes?” His smooth voice makes your heart jump. 

You open the door, and your eyes widen at the scene before you. There are papers and folders all over the floor. Dokyeom is lying on the sofa, his suit jacket covering his face and his arms folded on his chest.

“I take it you’re having a bad day?” You ask gently, setting the lunch down on his desk.

His face lights up when he lays his eyes on you, jacket falling to the floor as he jumps up to greet you. 

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” he replies before getting up and kissing your cheek. “I would’ve cleaned up.”  

“And miss all this drama?” you tease him. “Come on, I’ll help you put everything back.”

You survey the papers and put the files back in their folders. You know where everything goes because you helped him set up his file system to make his life easier. You may not be practicing law right now, but it doesn’t mean you haven’t had to use your expertise a few times to help your husband win a few cases. You initially quit your previous firm because you felt burnt out and needed a break. Then, when you got married, you wanted to spend time being a new wife and try for a family. Dokyeom supported you in all of that. He never made you feel inferior or less than for stepping away from your career to be at home. Now, it’s been two years, and the children haven’t come yet, but maybe it’s just not time, as lately, you have been missing practicing law.

Dokyeom helps you and profusely apologizes. “You don’t need to apologize,” you wave him off. But this is not like you; what happened?”

His expression changes, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. He takes a deep breath before putting the last envelope into the bookshelf. 

“I am missing a critical piece of evidence, a part of a contract that proves my client’s innocence,” Dokyeom begins, clutching onto the desk. “I know who to subpoena, but the judge is being a real asshole and won’t allow me to access those documents. So my client might lose, and then they’ll drop me, which means bye to our house.”

He removes his tie and takes a sip from his water bottle, his Adam's apple shifting as he gulps. Your very frustrated husband is also very hot, and it’s taking all your willpower to stay on task.

“Listen,” you redirect your focus to his problem. “There’s no guarantee that you will lose this case, and we definitely are not losing our house. Why don’t you eat the lunch I brought, and we will figure it out, okay?”

He nods and kisses you on the forehead, his way of saying thank you that still makes you feel warm inside. You watch him take out his lunch, and you start to eat yours, making small talk about your day as you dig through the cheese sticks. 

“When did you order this, babe?” Dokyeom asks, mouth stuffed with pepperoni and cheese. “You were cleaning up when I left for work.”

“I ordered it right before I came up here,” you say proudly, feeding him some of your pizza. “I got tired of eating lunch alone and wanted to see you. Looks like you needed me too.”

He gives you a kind smile that soothes your soul like a warm hug. You talk more about the case as you clear out your food containers. Dokyeom mentions that he has been trying to get the evidence to no avail for the past week. Watching him stressing himself out bothers you, as you know how hard he has worked on this case, and you want to see him succeed. His eyes were glued to the papers in front of him, skimming over everything to find a possible loophole. You can’t help but take in how handsome he looks, focused on his work, his jaw clenching as his frustration mounts. 

So, you came up with an idea.

“Hey, babe,” you get his attention, removing your cardigan. “I’m going to help you relax, okay?”

He nods, his shoulders still tense up from reading over the paperwork. You move behind him, relaxing your hands on his shoulders before you massage them, making him feel more at ease. You start unbuttoning his shirt, reaching down to rub his chest while leaving kisses on his neck.

“Well, this is one way to do it,” Dokyeom hums, setting down his pen. He moves his head and kisses you deeply, his hands gracing your face softly, pulling you deeper into his rapture of love. You make a move to sit on his lap, taking off your tank top and exposing your favorite bra that pushes up your breasts just right. 

“Was this always the plan?” He smirks, leaving kisses down your neck. His lips suck on your sweet-tasting skin, his tongue trailing down to the valley of your breasts.

“And if it was?” You move in front of him, sitting on his lap, and your skirt hikes over your hips. “What are you going to do about it?”

He chuckles and kisses you more, removing your bra and throwing it across the office. You lift and reach down, undoing his pants and lowering his briefs, feeling the growing bulge hardening along your slit. “No panties? Aw, baby…”

“What?” You smiled coyly. “Do you want me to leave? I can just get up—”

“W-what? No, no, it’s not that,” his cheeks turn pink in a panic. “I hate to rush, but I have to be in a meeting in twenty minutes,” Dokyeom’s breathing hitches as his hand touches his manhood, stroking his thick girth to your naked breasts and exposed ass. You lower yourself until you are on your knees, moving his hand away as you take over. You kiss his dick just the way he likes it, his legs tensing up as you take him in your mouth. His thickness takes over your mouth as you suck him good, your free hand playing with your clit as you watch him cock his head back and curse softly. 

“Baby, you are so good at this,” he murmurs. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

He gently fucks your face, pacing himself so he doesn’t blow his entire load down your throat. Your eyes lock with his as you take him in deeper, drops of saliva spilling out of the corner of your mouth. Dokyeom is ashamed to admit it, but he likes it when you look like this: the makeup on your sweet face ruined with tears because you sucked him off so well. You would never tell him this, but you love how he tastes. The way his smooth cock hits the back of your throat makes you dripping wet, and if you keep up any longer, you will cum on this floor. 

“H-honey,” he sputters. “I have 15 minutes. Get on top.”

You slowly take him out of your mouth with a pop, lifting yourself and positioning yourself to sink into him. You both groan in unison when you are entirely on his lap, your nails digging into the armrest of his chair.

“This won’t take long, I promise,” you mutter, giving yourself a few seconds to get used to his size before slowly grinding on him and enjoying the feeling of him being inside of you. His body tenses at your movements and his fingers massage your clit softly. You unexpectedly let out a loud moan, and he covers your mouth with his hand.

“I know this feels good, bouncing on my hard dick, but you are going to have to keep it down, princess,” he grits. 

Dokyeom knows what that does to you, calling you princess as he fucks you into an earth-shattering orgasm. You’re a squirter, and he knows that, so it was unsurprising that your lower halves were covered with your essence. Your eyes never leave each other, whispering I love you and trading meaningful kisses. Dokyeom’s head rolls back, whispering songs of praise as you continue to ride him on his office chair. 

“Baby, I’m close,” he whines, his hands gripping your hips. You grind on him hard, finding your clit and releasing again shortly after. Dokyeom follows right behind you, spilling deep inside of you as his head buries deep into your neck. As he slows down, he kisses you lovingly, making sure your cunt is full of his cum before pulling out. You're still trying to catch your breath when you climb off of him to clean yourself up. 

“Mr Lee?” His secretary’s voice booms through the speaker, startling you both. “Your meeting starts in five minutes.”

“O-okay.”

You can see the time on his laptop, and the 5-minute reminder before the meeting stops flashing wildly on his screen. You find your bra and hurriedly put it on, with Dokyeom already dressed and holding your tank top and cardigan.

“What?” You catch him staring at you curiously. 

“You are so bad.” “Well, isn’t that why you fell in love with me? Aside from me beating your ass in court, of course.”

You finish getting dressed, helping him put his tie back on, and kissing him goodbye before heading out the door. You catch a photo you missed picking up earlier, and something catches your eye that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Babe.” You pick up the photograph and inspect it thoroughly. “What’s the name of the judge?”

“Judge Choi,” he responds, preparing himself for his meeting. “Why?”

“This wouldn’t happen to be the judge in the 17th court, would it?

You pull out your phone and look him up, confirming your suspicions. 

“Okay, I know that look,” Dokyeom comments, a puzzled look on his face. “What’s up?” 

“This judge used to give me shit when I was practicing, but I always found a way to get around him,” you start. “There was talk about him being a crooked judge and being paid off by companies, but I could never confirm it until now. Look at the picture.”

You show him the photograph of the rival company at an event, pointing at the missing piece of the puzzle: the judge and the company’s CEO, arm in arm, taking a picture. “That’s why the judge is shutting you down, babe,” you confirm. “He has ties to the other guys. Judge Choi should have recused himself a long time ago.”

Dokyeom looks at you, amazed that his wife could figure out why he had this roadblock. “God, what would I do without you?”

“You’d still be losing to me in court.” You kiss him goodbye again, letting him prepare to attend his meeting. You close the door, and his secretary smiles at you and motions for you to come closer to her. 

“You should be more careful in there, dear,” she advises. “The whole office heard you.”

[syoddeye]

like i'm winning it - 03 demotion

ghost x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 cw: alcohol, terrible boyfriend, skin picking, crude/bad jokes, mean!Ghost You hate being alone with him.

"I thought we were going to Palm Springs."

"What? Baby, no, no. I told you last week, it's all business—you'd be bored out of your mind."

A sharp slice of pain. You worry the edge of a hangnail, peeling until blood beads. You bring your thumb to your mouth, and pull the cuticle between your teeth.

"Maybe, but I'd be bored out of my mind by a private pool." 

Win steps out of the ensuite, his monogrammed toiletry bag dangling from one hand. The boyish sweep of his hair falls across his forehead just so as he flashes his perfect teeth at you. Catching you perched at the bed's edge, he chuckles, tossing the bag into his suitcase before crouching, hands landing on your bare knees.

"Trying to make me late?"

"Maybe," He pushes the hem of your dress higher, his movements unhurried, like he's weighing the pros and cons of rearranging his AV in real-time. His eyes flicker, that peridot gleam catching the light before he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he pulls back, returning to his suitcase.

"Not going to work this time, Stella." He teases, rifling through a stack of shirts. Stella. His nickname for you, the one that stuck—vintage, like out of an old movie, all tied up in his joke about your 'inevitable stardom.' It's not great , but it's better than—

"Princess." Ghost flatly intones from the doorway. "Your carriage awaits."

You don't look at him, instead grabbing Win's sleeve. "Fine. If I can't go, any news about that pharmaceuticals ad? Did they call?"

"Right," Win's tone is breezy, but his hands stall. A tell. You know the answer. "Nothing yet. These things take time, Stella." He doesn't meet your eyes. Ghost shifts in the doorway.

You release Win's sleeve, staring at the line of silver in his skin. There's a balance to maintain. You can't push him. Ghost clears his throat, but you don't bite. Win meets your gaze, a hint of apology that smooths into a grin. "Look, no one books these without a callback, you know that."

He's right. You do. Lumina Vitae was a favor. It's not like work's been scarce. Voiceovers, background gigs, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it commercial hawking a sports car worth more than your life. Enough to drop some hours at the galleria. Enough to hope it means something.

"Have a good trip. Say 'hi' to your dad for me. Call me." 

He hesitates, glances past you. "Of course, baby." The kiss that follows is sudden, hungry, a break from his usual ease. It's the same energy when he visits the club, showing off like he owns it.

When he pulls back, you repeat with a shaky breath. "Call me." 

He nods, but there's hesitation—his eyes dart to Ghost, then back. "Make sure she gets to the car."

You try not to smile too obviously. Win's protectiveness borders on caricature sometimes, but it lands right. The building's airtight, cameras and turrets covering every inch, yet he insists. He knows how to make you feel wanted, even when he can't fix everything. When he can't whisk you away or make a job appear. It's sweet. It's thoughtful. The warmth of it sticks with you, until it's Ghost in the lift with you instead of him.

Ghost looms beside you, leaning against the railing. You focus on the floor counter, watching the numbers tick down.

You hate being alone with him. Ever since that night at the warehouse, since he cornered you in this very elevator—you try to avoid it as much as possible.

His words always cut with surgical precision. Each snide remark calibrated to sting. At first, after Win's little security theater, you figured the comments were part of the act. Pressure tests to keep you on your toes, random snaps at your heels. But you don't feel sharper or more alert. It's smothering. He has a way of making his presence feel like a loaded gun pressed to your skull, and you've pleaded, more than once, for Win to send him away when you're around. But no dice. Where Win goes, Ghost follows.

Please don't talk. Please don't talk. Please don't–

"Such a shame we won't 'ave ya on the trip," Ghost doesn't look at you, but you feel his eyes in the wall's reflection. "Sunshine, spa days, little umbrella drinks by the pool. Is that what you thought would happen?"

You stiffen, say nothing. He doesn't need a reply to keep going, though. "Hate to break it to you, but 'e's never gonna introduce ya to 'is old man. Never was. Thought you'd've caught that by now."

The numbers drop—forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight. Your stomach knots tighter with every floor.

"I keep tellin' ya. You're a distraction. Flavor of the week. Eye candy for Junior when 'e's got downtime. You're on the menu, not the itinerary."

That one bruises.

After a short eternity, the doors slide open with a hiss. Ghost gestures for you to step out, one hand sweeping dramatically toward the lobby and the rain-slicked curb beyond. You clutch your bag tighter, wishing you'd grabbed one of Win's coats. The rain is relentless, dropping in sheets that turn the perpetual haze into a smear of blues, pinks, and violets across the pavement.

At the curb, one of Win's cars idles. The driver's just a silhouette. Ghost waves you toward it, his smirk razor-thin. "Go on then. Maybe next time, yeah? If there is one."

You glance back once you're inside, but his face is already gone flat and unreadable before the door slams and the car pulls off into the night.

The pharmaceuticals commercial gig comes through. It's the kind of consolation you need. It's not Palm Springs, but it's work. Another rung on the ladder to climb.

On the day of the shoot, you show up ready to channel some professional gravitas, only to feel like you're not playing a doctor so much as playing doctor.

The set is almost what you pictured: white-on-white everything, big red pill bottles lined up in rows on shelves, but then there's a king-size bed in the background and the two naked models sprawled across it. Their poses a little too languid to be for an iron supplement or allergen shot.

You're directed to a garment bag with your name on it, and when you unzip it, your expectations plummet. The lab coat is…not a lab coat. Hemline somewhere mid-thigh, neckline plunging low enough to threaten a serious wardrobe malfunction. There's also a misunderstanding over footwear—the stylist assumed you'd had stiletto implants, apparently—and you're squeezed into a pair of pumps a size too small.

And the meds you're peddling? Fuelibido: Make Them Melt!

Staring at the prop horse pill in your palm, morbidly curious about how it's taken, you briefly consider walking out but shake it off. Fortunately, you know all you need to do is to swallow your pride.

At least your lines are brief. Tight, punchy sound bites. The whole thing is a blur. Your co-star fumbles their grip on the free, promotional prostate massager five takes in a row before finally nailing it, and by then, your feet are screaming.

Then there's the pay. Instant. As soon as you sign out with a frazzled assistant, you hear the soft ping in your skull. Your cut zips into your account in real time, lighting up your new HUD. You're still getting used to the sensation, the faint vibration in the back of your head, but you grin automatically when you hear it now. All Pavlov-like. You step off set, shoes in hand.

You're barely dressed when a throat clears behind you. Peering back, you see a man whose entire head is encased in a matte black helm. It's featureless except for two oval eyeholes, and through them, there's nothing—just void.

He speaks, and his deep rumbling is immediately filtered through a translator. You catch the tail end of what you think might be Russian, the English following closely, modulated and slightly amplified. Painfully scripted.

"I am authorized to inform you that my employer found your performance engaging. We are always in search of new talent. Our engagements span several key industries. We have a proven track record—"

You tune him out once you realize what's happening. Someone's trying to poach you. You. You, with a handful of commercials and mobile ads under her belt. 

You think of the garment bag hanging on the rack behind you, the name under yours in bold lettering: Goforth Agency. Is this about you, or them? You can't tell if you're being scouted or if this is just how agencies like Goforth work, drawing everything into their orbits, junk included, without even trying. The helmeted man continues talking, but you're done.

"I am sorry, Mr…?" The man stops, but does not offer a name. "Right. Well, I'm already under contract." So many forms. "Best of luck." 

You pull your coat on, force a tight smile, and brush past him, your heart pounding too fast. Your head's buzzing.

Mere months into the real deal, and here you are, already in someone else's crosshairs.

It's really happening.

You arrive home to synthetic blue roses, the expensive ones, for a job well done and an apology. Win's trip's been extended. Another week, maybe two. Something about his father, a crisis, and all their meetings getting pushed back. It's not important. What is important is that you need to record audition self-tapes and that he'll send a car tomorrow to take you to a rent-a-booth before work.

He sends a picture in lieu of a call. Him, lounging poolside, the water a glimmering cyan, and an orange drink in hand. The sunlight glints off the silver tracks in his skin, and you follow them, naturally, to the waistband of his shorts. The frame cuts off the best part. 

>> Wish you were here.

> Me too :( 

>> You staying out of trouble? No one bothering you?

That gives you pause, your ego lifting its head, recalling your run-in with the helmeted man. You smirk as you dictate your response, carefully applying your eyeliner.

> No trouble, but I did get approached by a rep at the Fuelibido shoot.

>> Name?

> Didn't waste my time. Said thanks but no thanks, and left.

There's a delay. His typing starts and stops.

>> What did he look like? What was he wearing?

> Tall. A little smaller than Ghost. All black everything. Black helmet, didn't see his face at all. Why?

>> Next time it happens, get a name.

> Am I in trouble?

>> No, you did good, Stella. >> Tell me immediately if he bothers you again.

You hesitate this time. It feels like you stepped in shit. He sends another message while you putter.

>> Can't let someone steal my favorite star.

> Of course, Win. I'll tell you.

>> Keep up the good work, and you'll earn yourself a bonus. ;)

You smile reflexively at his cheeky tone, then tap your mirror to send a live capture. Seconds later, his reply lights up your HUD with lines and lines of flames. A gentleman, your Win.

Your feet have been killing you since morning. Spending the rest of the afternoon horizontal sounds like heaven, but you gather your things and trudge out the door. The second act of your day waits, and it's only marginally better than peddling dick pills.

The club's slow. Not unusual for a weekday night, but it lands you in the stockroom, elbow-deep in crates of vodka while a barback chatters aimlessly beside you. You pray for something—anything—to happen out front.

Then Mal sticks their head in like you summoned them.

"Small party. Upstairs. Garnet booth. Single bottle, mid-shelf. Got some money to burn. Sending you the details."

You're already brushing past them, murmuring thanks as your heart ticks up. You check your hair in the fridge's steel door, grab the selected bottle, fasten the sparkler, and head for the floor.

The doors swing open, and you pick up speed, double-timing it up the stairs as the sparkler sputters, warming up to its full show. Slowing only near the top, you adjust your grip and smooth your expression, pulling on your brightest, most practiced smile.

Small group, indeed. No overlapping voices, no bodies spilling out of the edges of the private booth. Maybe it's a promotion, a deal. Whatever it is, you've got your lines ready.

But then you skid to a halt and nearly drop the bottle.

Ghost.

He's sprawled across the booth, legs spread wide, arms draped over the back. His suit jacket is neatly folded on the chair beside him, and the shirt's top buttons hang open. Your mind flashes to the glimpse of his heavily modified torso you got at Win's place.

He tilts his head, and you know he's smirking behind the slab of polycarbonate shielding his face.

"Hate champagne." 

Ghost says for the fifth time since you sat. Sat between his legs on the table's edge, just like Win had you sit the night you met. You stare at his middle, and Ghost swirls his glass, which looks more like a test tube than a flute in his mitt.

"I can get you something else," you repeat flatly. This is the summary of his visit so far: you, trying to do your job with a plastered-on smile, and him, being a useless asshole. Summary of your relationship, really.

"No."

You glare, catching him hook a finger under his mask to pull it away to drink. You watch his throat bob as he polishes it off, then look over your shoulder instead. The club's still dead.

"If you don't want anything, can I at least go—"

"No."

Your arms cross instinctively, patience fraying. "If you're just going to make me sit on my ass all night—"

"You're getting paid. You're comfortable."

"Not really." You hug yourself tighter, glancing away, mumbling about your aching feet. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be in Palm Springs with Win? Umbrella drink in hand?"

Ghost slowly leans forward, forcing you to uncross your arms and press onto your palms behind you, ducking awkwardly to avoid him. He sets his empty glass near your hip.

This close, you can't help but look at the gap in his shirt where the buttons hang undone, at the triangle of skin. The protruding veins and cables in his neck. The champagne's scent clinging to his breath, mingling with tobacco and a twist of mint. You resist the urge to scrunch your nose. He's technically a guest, and you're still on the clock.

"Junior sent me back early." He reclines. "His old man's got more than enough security."

"So you were sitting on your ass and decided to take it out on me."

The sneer is immediate. "Not 'ere by choice. Since you failed to get a name or a solid description of the man who approached you, I'm on babysittin' duty."

Babysitting? Because some other agency took an interest in you? Your ability to sell junk pills? Your legs in a skimpy lab coat?

"That's a terrible demotion," you place a hand over your heart, voice laced with mock sympathy.

"So we're agreed."

You pause, picturing the mystery man. His helmet. The void behind the eyeholes. All this feels like overkill for some faceless rep. Then a dreadful thought pushes him to the side.

"Is Win worried I'm going to jump ship? Are you? " The questions rush out. You think of the elevator incident, Ghost's gravelly warning: One step out of line, and you'll be in the landfill. You shake your head. "Because I'm not. I like Win. And the–the contracts. I'm not stupid. I know I'd lose everything."

"No, but he's invested in you." He knocks a knee against yours. "Too much, if you ask me, but enough 'e wants to make sure no one else throws as much money at you."

"Right." You glance at the bottle, the small puddle in the bucket, then at him. "The club's secure, though," He snorts. "And I'd rather be doing something useful than sitting here, so…can I go back—"

"Aren't you supposed to dance?" 

You clench your jaw so tight you think you might crack a tooth. "No. Not in my job description."

"Seen other bottle boys and girls do it."

"It's optional," you snap. "Up to the individual. And I don't dance."

His chin tips toward his chest. There isn't a trace of red in them tonight, just a dark, cold brown. "And if I gave you five grand?"

Your lungs empty in a silent rush. You stare at him, waiting for the giveaway. Anything to prove it's a joke. It's—fuck, it's strange. Equal parts frustrating and weird that your rejection isn't as immediate as it was with Max.

In your head, you know this is another of Ghost's twisted pressure tests. He doesn't actually want you to dance for him. He just wants to see you squirm. But the thought creeps in anyway, uninvited. You picture it. The narrow space between his legs, the slow roll of your hips, teasing him. Dragging your hands up his thighs and chest. His hands sliding up your sides, gripping you—

You swallow the fantasy down, seeing for what it really is, a product of his mind games.

"No way."

"Took a second." He murmurs, his tone dry, amused. "You think about it?"

You clamp your mouth shut, but he doesn't need an answer.

"Oh, Princess," He dips into a low, dry chuckle. "You did, didn't you? Bet you had it all planned out in that pretty little head of yours. Poor thing." Ghost draws his legs in and slowly stands, forcing you to scoot down the table, knocking the glass over with a clink. You watch as he rises to his full height and then bends to grab his jacket. "I'd tell you not to let it keep you up tonight, but we both know it will."

He pulls it on one arm at a time, then jerks his head toward the stairs.

"Go get your things. We're goin' home."

[bigwishes]

Was It Something You Ate?

Devon had always had it easy, born the son of a billionaire to one of the best pharmaceutical companies in the world he never truly had to work for anything. His dad had paid his way through all of his schooling turning Fs into As with nothing but a pen and a check book. University was even easier, Devon spent a majority of his time in other countries whilst or partying, it was only when he failed every class and was barred from graduation did his dad offer to build a new research facility for the school and suddenly Devon was graduating with honours. Devon never even experienced what it was to deal with shame, as an only child both his parents showered him with praise. Even when he got drunk and crashed the family boat his parents commended his bravery in such a frightening event. Life was easy as a gay man too, his family never cared and once his dad bought Devon his own house and allowed him to hire his own help he was constantly surrounded by masculine buff men who he paid extra to walk around shirtless.

Once Devon even went as far as to give his gardener a $4000 dollar tip just to let Devon film him drinking from the hose on his hands and knees. Of course Devon leaves out the part where he threatened to fire his gardener unless he allowed himself to be filmed.

A few months ago, Devon got the worst news of his life. His dad had told him he had to work for his weekly allowance of 1 million. If he didn't then his allowance would be slashed to a pitiful $400k. He couldn't bare to live like a peasant on such a pathetic amount of money so he agreed to his dad's outrageous terms. Devon had to work 1 hour a day for 4 days each week. Like some disgusting labour mule.

Devon had been working at the head office for 3 weeks and every day he called his dad begging to quit. A man like him wasn't meant for such things.

Devon stood on the stairs in front of the massive corporate building adjusting his suit readying for another day of hard labour. He checked his watch. 11:30am. Devon let out a tired sigh as he jogged up the stairs towards the door.

His dad had told him he had to come in any time before 12pm, Monday - Thursday. Devon had been given the role of "Team Motivator" and his job was to come in and hype up the employees.

Devon's elevator arrived at his office floor, already he needed his 15 minute break for the day, looking around seeing all these unattractive people. He never understood why the poor never took their looks more seriously or why there was always a terrible odour around people like them.

Devon stood in the elevator and raised his hand above his head. He swiped his hand down slowly and inch away from his face, he narrowed his tired eyes, cocked a toothy fuck boy smile and began to walk in-between the cubicles with the swagger only a rich fuck boy could have.

"hey hey hey team, how are those numbers looking? we got the advertisements out this morning? if not make sure you get it done by lunch, hey carol what's goin on with the boys in the lab? we got that new drug ready to roll out by friday"

A few people looked up from their desks at his peacocking and parading.

Devon clapped his hands together as he got closer to his office door. "Come on Come on people!! we got work to do, lets have a great day."

Devon slipped into his office and slammed the door shut. Inside he leant his back against it and let out an exhausted heavy sigh. He had no idea how he was going to go clubbing tonight after working so hard, but a wave of pride hit him as he heard the sounds of muttering out amongst the workers, he had done his job, inspired them.

Of course in reality Devon had done nothing at all. Most of the people on his floor had been working in the office since 7am and everyone ignored his morning speech as it was the exact same rehearsed scripted speech he had been saying each morning since his first day.

Numbers weren't part of their department,

There were no advertisements due this morning,

The boys in the lab didn't have any upcoming deadline,

There was no Carol.

Devon waltzed over to his break area at the back of his office. Originally meant for small intimate meetings, Devon had decked it out with a plasma screen TV and all his streaming services. Not that he got to use it much, he only got to be in his office for 45 minutes of his working day and that really only meant he got to watch an episode of something if he was lucky. Currently he was watching a new fitness challenge show where 20 jacked dudes were pitted against each other in different fitness challenges.

Devon threw himself back on the couch in a cocky man spread and rested his hand on his crotch. Whilst he respected the fact that he couldn't jerk off in the office, it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy how his dick felt hard whilst he watched a handful of jacked men compete for money.

30 minutes into his show and Devon saw a guy in a lab coat walking past his office window. The guy was wearing a blue button down shirt that was slightly loose in the front. He let out a loud sigh and got up from his couch walking over to his office door. Devon swung the door open and called out to the man in the lab coat before gesturing him to come into his officer by curling his index finger repeatedly.

The guy in the lab coat walked into Devon's office

"shut the door behind you bro,"

The man in the lab coat shut the door and turned to Devon all confused

"What is your name man?"

"John"

"Do you know what my job here is John?"

"Ill be honest with you Devon, nobody really knows what you do here" John replied with a cheeky smirk

Devon laughed loudly whilst slapping his desk with one hand,

"Ya know man, my dad had given me the important mantis of motivating our team"

"M-mantis? do you mean mantle?" John lowered his eyebrows confused at how this guy had somehow convinced his dad to give him the biggest office in the building.

"not important. my job is to make sure the people who work at our company are the best they can be"

The thought that maybe Devon did know what he was talking about entered John's mind, he thought maybe he was trained in motivation speaking and would talk to people one on one to help them better manage their work life balance

"look buddy, I can tell, with the way that shirt of yours is sagging in the front, your shoulders not filling out giving you that hot V shape, no pec cleavage on display and that ugly as fuck white coat, you are not living your best life" Devon gestured his hands either side with a big smirk on his face like he had seen his dad do when he was talking to other business men.

The benefit of the doubt dropped out of John's mind. "Nope, this guys a fucking moron" he thought to himself.

"Devon, I appreciate the concern, but I think I'm fine"

"I'll let you in on a little secret man, if a gay stud like me doesn't want to see you on your back, you're fat.."

"WOAH, DEVON THAT IS INSANELY NOT OKAY"

"bro, I'm just trying to be the nice guy and tell you what other people won't" Devon cockily dropped down into his nice leather chair behind his desk. "ya know, my pool guy had a kid and 2 weeks after his abs started to fade and do you know what I did?"

John wanted to say something clever but it would probably go over Devon's head, or worse, if he understood it he might lose his job.

"I fired him John, I don't want some fatty in a speedo working on my pool, and I don't want fat guys working here either"

John was too caught off guard by the first part of Devon's statement

"You make your staff work in speedo's? I think that might be illegal?"

"Look, dude, don't you wanna look like me I mean, check me out. biceps hugging my shirt, shoulders pulling it apart, my chest popping out catching everyone's attention, my abs so fucking tight you can see them through my shirt. I look HOT, you look FAT Johnny"

"Okay, I'm not even chubby though? I'm 6.2 and 85kg. I'm not exactly overweight"

"Buddy you still don't get it so let me spell it out for you, a fit body is hot, a 2 pack means you are fat, no abs showing at all? you're overweight!"

John fluttered his eyes, stunned by Devon's view of the world.

"I thank you for, whatever the hell this was Devon but I have a job to actually get back to"

John began to walk out of the office before Devon called out to him, a tone of desperation in his voice.

"WAIT....can you get me a coffee, almond milk, iced, NO WHIPPED CREAM, I want a drop that weighs exactly one quarter of a gram of caramel mixed in counter clock wise with a bamboo spoon. AND NO PLASTIC OR PAPER CUPS make sure you get it put in one of those little metal ones, no lid.

"No, Devon that isn't my job"

"You work for my dad, so if you want to keep working for my dad you'll do it"

John gritted his teeth. He unfortunately couldn't call out the rich boy on any of his bullshit without risking his entire career, But maybe there was something else he could do.

A few minutes past and John returned to Devon walking out of his office.

"Ah, great timing John, I'm just leaving"

Devon snatched the coffee out of John's hand and noticed something strange. A purple swirl drifting and dispersing into the coffee.

"What's this?" Devon said raising the corner of his lip in disgust.

"oh, its purple caramel, less calories" John quickly blurted out.

All concern dropped from Devon's mind as he took a sip of his drink.

"great call man, its that kind of intimidation we want to encourage here"

John had to stop himself from slamming the palm of his hand into his forehead, clearly Devon meant initiative.

"Ya know, man you might wanna switch to this low calorie caramel I told you about, because when I take over from my dad, first thing I'll do, anyone without a six pack is being let go"

John just gritted his teeth and smiled, "great idea, I'll have to give it a try"

Devon had already left before John could finish his sentence, but John didn't care, in fact he was hoping that coffee would keep Devon away for at least a few months.

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

Devon stepped out of his car throwing the metal coffee cup on the back seat behind him. He didn't even bother to say goodbye to his driver and he began jogging up the stone stairs to the front door of his mansion.

As Devon jogged up the stairs he felt something strange. His ass felt heavier, tighter against his carefully tailored pants. He felt it bounce and jiggle on his way up and once he got to his front door he had to stop and massage it briefly. It hurt worse than that time he was grounded and had to fly to take a 12 hour flight in business class.

He entered his house and instantly unbuttoned his pants, after a long hard day at the office he just wanted to get his work clothes off and wash the smell of poor people out of his hair. Devon undressed himself as he walked down the hallway, throwing his clothes on the ground behind him. Someone would be by to pick them up later, he was never sure of exactly who picked up his clothes but it was someone on his staff. He walked into his elegant bathroom covered in tiles and stone work imported all the way from Italy, his bathroom alone cost more than some peoples houses, of course when he moved out and had his house built his dad forked out for all the costs so he wasn't even sure how much everything really cost.

Devon pulled his hair out from his short pony tail and let it hang down. He flexed his broad shoulders in the mirror, his perfectly defined muscles. He wasn't a bodybuilder by any means but he still had a much better body than most people he came across.

His pecs were the main attraction and he often experienced men he brought home squeezing them as he bounced them. His flowing locks drove men wild, being a billionaire helped to prevent any thinning so often the men he slept with were not only turned on by his angelic looks but there was also a hint of jealousy when they ran their hands through his hair, which did nothing but turn Devon on more.

But something was different about him today, his abs were wrong. Normally a beautiful and cut six pack but now he was only seeing 4, and barely 4.

He felt his stomach, the bottom towards his pelvis felt like it was sticking out, ever so slightly.

"oh well, probably bloated from the caramel" he thought to himself

Devon pressed a button on the wall and instantly the water began to flow at the perfect temperature, no need to wait or pathetically dangle his hand in the water like a peasant, he just pressed a button and stepped in. As he went to step in the shower something else caught his eye, something behind him.

"Was my ass always this big?" he asked himself allowed.

Reaching down he grabbed handful of his own ass, it was still firm but it wasn't as hard as stone like he was used to, there was a new squeeze to it, like trying to work with cold clay. Devon took his finger and placed it under his ass cheek, flicking upwards he watched as his whole ass rippled and bounced more than he was used to.

*sigh* "maybe I'll only train legs once a week for a bit, don't want anyone thinking I'm a bottom"

Devon stepped into the water, instantly he felt relaxed as the warm water washed over his face and ran down his body. He squeezed out a decent amount of his tropical scented soap into the palm of his hand and began to work it over his entire body. Washing himself but also taking the time to feel himself. He got hard as he pictured his own perfection, his own brilliance.

Using the lotion he worked his way down to his pelvis, and then to his dick. Devon closed his eyes and bit his lip as he faced into the water, using both hands to rub and pleasure his 12 inches. He couldn't help it, he loved himself so much, he loved his body. He often fantasied about cloning himself just so he could have the experience so many others had been graced with, sleeping with the perfect man.

Devon moaned feeling the water on his lips and the pleasure he brought to himself. He was so close but something started to bother him. He felt hungry, which was unusual because he had such a strict diet routine and always ate at the perfect time every day. He tried to supress the feeling instead focusing on the building pleasure, but it became harder to do so the longer he lasted. The only downside to lasting an hour was it was easy for him to accidentally edge himself if he got too distracted. Unfortunately this was one of those time.

Devon's stomach let out a loud audible groan and he started to feel not just a little peckish, but he felt starved, like he had forgotten breakfast and all his morning snacks.

"uuugggh" He moaned as he let go of himself and turned his attention to finishing his shower routine.

He started pulling out small bottles from a small alcove build into the marble walls of his shower. Starting his multi-step face routine, ignoring the pain in his stomach. It was only when he started his hair routine that he all became a bit much and his stomach tenses letting out an audible grumble.

Devon's hands dropped from his hair to his stomach as he grabbed it from the hunger pains. It felt, almost plump as he rubbed it trying to soothe it. He quickly washed the conditioner out of his hair and got out of the shower.

Pressing a button on the wall an intense heat kicked in as the light above started radiating heat into the room instantly helping the water dry up on his skin. Devon closed his eyes and looked up at the roof letting the water droplets dry up, but the noises from his stomach didn't stop, it got worse. Every few seconds his stomach would let out a loud grumble.

"fuuuuckk, who knew one coffee would get me so bloated..."

Reaching into a small draw Devon pulled out a paid of white underwear which he slipped on. As he did he felt the back struggle to fit. Everything was perfectly tailored to his body to make him look his best but this pair felt weird on him. He felt his ass jiggle as the fabric slide over. He felt the meat of his ass cheeks spilling out of the sides and he could feel the fabric tightly stretch across his behind. As he took his first steps the underwear only felt more uncomfortable, like it was three sizes too small. He walked around the small corner in the bathroom back to the mirror so he could get a better look.

"WHAT THE FUCK" Devon screamed in shock as he stared at the reflection before him.

Devon stood there in shock as he looked at the chubby man before himself.

"I-I- OH GOD, I-I'M FAT"

His stomach loudly grumbled, almost like it was responding too him

"uuuuggghhh, oh god" Devon moaned as he grabbed his new chubby belly with both hands desperately hoping he could push it back in.

His body felt like it wasn't his. He could still feel all the muscle tone it was just buried under a layer of blubber. Taking a step forward he watched as his stomach jiggled. He grabbed his phone off the counter top as he started to panic. He sent out a mass message to everyone on his staff.

"EVERYONE GO HOME AND TAKE THE WEEK OFF, GOING ON MY TRIP EARLY"

Instantly Devon's stomach grumbled. He tossed his phone down on the bench, closed his eyes and grabbed his stomach as a reaction to the pain. The pain got worse as his stomach's grumbling turned to gurgling.

Devon began taking in deep breaths, with each breath his stomach expanded, and with each exhale it deflated, but not all the way. Devon began to itch all over. With on hand already on his stomach he took his one free and desperately began to itch his chest and arms.

He watched as his thin layer of hair darkened and grew longer, slowly making him look like he had never waxed in his life. After a few minutes the itchiness began to die down and Devon's second hand moved down to help massage his complaining gut.

"wh-what's happening to me" Devon cried out, tears starting to well in his eyes.

Suddenly his stomach let out an insatiably loud groan, followed by a noise he had never heard before.

"AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGG"

Devon yelled out in pain and watched in the mirror as his chubby belly rapidly expanded into a big round gut within an instant. It took him a minute to recover and adjust to the pain. He thought his skin had surely just split open, but it hadn't, what he saw in the mirror was so much worse than anything he could have imagined.

Devon was greeted by a large hairy bouncing gut.

"OH MY GOD, W-WHAT HAPPENED TO ME, I LOOK LIKE SOME FUCKING PIG"

Devon bounced his gut with his hands and watched it shake like jelly.

Within a matter of minutes, Devon had gone from sexy billionaire who was on magazines around the world, to a fat greasy pig.

He couldn't help but bounce his gelatinous belly in shock, he almost burst into tears at what a fat freak he had become. He was disgusted by himself, he couldn't go to work like this, he couldn't let his staff see him like this, but the worst part about becoming a fat pig.

He was starving.

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

Two weeks went by and Devon's mansion had started to become a mess after he sent all his staff away telling them he was off on his trip. His towels and clothes scattered all over the floor. Take out bags and food containers were all around his house. Without someone to pick up after him, Devon was disgusting.

He sat on his couch taking a multiple food containers out of two paper bags that had just been delivered to his door. His stomach loudly groaned. Devon picked up his phone off the coffee table and opened Instagram. The first post was that of a friend who had actually gone on the trip he had planned to take.

It was a photo of his friend Todd standing next to a tall black bodybuilder on a tropical island, with the caption 'I think I found love out here in the sun'

Devon's stomped his feet causing his meaty thighs to tremble.

"ITS NOT FAIIIRRRR, I SHOULD BE OUT THERE, THAT BIG HUNK OF MEAT SHOULD BE DATING ME, M E, NOT TODD"

tears started welling up in his eyes Devon flicked open a white food box on his coffee table revealing a beautifully decorated white chocolate mud cake which he instantly destroyed by digging his hands into it and stuffing it in his face.

between in monstrous and obnoxious chewing he stuff grabbing his belly and jiggling it with one hand.

"WHEN WILL YOU GO AWAY" Devon cried as he shovelled more expensive food in his mouth and washed it down with a bottle of lemonade like a spoilt pig.

BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP

sooner or later he'd realise if he wanted it gone, he was going to have to work for it...

---------

NOTE: hope you all enjoyed this, my inbox has a bunch of requests begging for a weight gain story and whilst I don't tend to write this sort of thing too often I thought I'd feed the hunger so to speak and write one for those wishing for one.

[anon-sect]

TF Story requested by @mississippisocksblog

Drayson was in the special unit on the police force in charge of gathering intel in a special way. It was a simple get in and get out without the suspect knowing you was even present kind of job that his special unit was in charge of. It was made possible through TF advance technology. Many criminals had been put behind bars because of the expertise skills of his unit. But there were some casualties as well. Sometimes things didn't go exactly as planned and some officers were lost to the job. Yet that was the nature of his unit.

Drayson's mission was to gather evidence on Mr. Jim Brown, a big time CEO of Tangen Pharmaceutical Inc. They had been reported stories of foul play in the company and he was the ringleader of it all. All other attempts to prove it had failed.

Drayson was inspecting Jim's house while he was away on business when he heard Jim returning home a little earlier than expected. He had no way of getting out without being noticed. He took the special pill provided to operatives out in the field. He heard Jim coming up stairs to his room. The only thing he could think of was dress socks. Within seconds, he was nothing put a pair of dress socks on the floor. As long as he was ignored and not worn, he should be fine to escape sometime later.

Jim walked in to see his room had a little mess more than he usually has. "Someone was here." He spoke to himself. He knew the police were investigating him, but he didn't know how one could have gotten in without him noticing on his house cameras. It was a mystery. At the time, that didn't matter. He had another meeting to attend.

Jim went to get a new pair of dress socks, but found no clean pair left in his sock drawer. He needed to have clothes washed, he realized. He then saw a pair laying on the floor, all clean. He wondered how he had missed that pair. He picked them up and placed them on his bed. As he changed into his suite attire, he put on his dress socks and finished getting ready. He left ten minutes later for an important business meeting.

Drayson wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad thing. He could tell his suspect was heading to a big meeting, but he was now stuck on his feet. It would not have been too bad if not for some other factors. One, the guy didn't shower before changing, so his feet really reeked of foot odor and musk extremely bad. Two, his dress shoes smelled like a rodent had died in it. He really felt like gagging so badly being trapped and surrounded by such a foul stench. At least being walked on wasn't so bad. He was able to dull his pain sensors thanks to training he received by his supervising officers.

The meeting seemed to last a while, but he heard everything. Jim was money laundering almost millions of dollars. He had the evidence to take him down. All he needed to do now was get back to the station with what he knew and where to look, but there was only one problem. Jim was still wearing him. Getting the evidence was good, but he was being tortured by Jim's feet in the process. Several times, Jim would wiggle his toes. That caused the odor from between his toes to spread even more. Being on and surrounded by the foul smell was horrible. He was so ready to be off the guy's feet. He kind of wish he had thought of something else to turn into, but he was short on time at that moment.

Sometime later, Jim got back home from work, undressed and relaxed on his bed. He didn't take his socks off. For some reason, his socks were really comfortable to wear. They didn't seem like normal dress socks. He didn't know why, but he liked the way they felt on his feet. He decided he would wear them for a solid week or two just to see how comfortable they truly were.

ONE MONTH LATER...

Jim was relaxing on this bed after a long day at the office. He was amazed at his socks. He wore them to work every time for a good month, and they never tore or had a hole in them. He didn't know why that was, but he loved it. It meant he didn't have to change dress socks ever again. He could just wear this pair every time. He decided to take a nap on his bed.

Drayson was mentally pleading and crying for Jim to stop wearing him. He was forced to endure stinky experience after stinky experience for the past thirty days. It was horrible. He didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that Jim didn't know his dress socks were a police officer. But he was so over being a pair of socks, but there was never an opportunity to change back without being noticed. Every night, he was just about stuffed in stinky dress shoes, preventing him from changing back. Then the next morning he would be back on Jim's feet. He could only pray and hope an opportunity would come soon. He didn't want to be stuck as the guy's socks forever.

[amourrs]

rich!abby who lives in a veritable bachelor pad- a five million dollar penthouse strewn with loose bills on the floors & residual white powder on all the flat surfaces. she enjoys fucking models- there’s something so fucking addictive about the innocent wide-eyed hunger of a twenty year old who’s just moved to LA to “make it big” in the industry. they’re always so willing, so pliant- after all, anderson pharmaceuticals is a household name and surely it can’t hurt to get on the heiress’s good side… especially when she promises to pull some strings and get them on the guest list at exclusive clubs where the the leering scouts and creepy freelance photographers are actually famous and not just pervs. it’s at one of these clubs that she meets you for the first time- at least four years her junior, hips swaying to the beat of some shitty edm blaring from the state-of-the-art sound system. she’s instantly enraptured. you’re not one of her usual conquests- no, abby recognises you from a couple of pretty big campaigns, the kind you see plastered on billboards advertising the latest prada bag or this season’s must-have $6m watch. she can’t really promise to get you famous when you already are. instead, she approaches you and places her hands on your hips from behind, swaying with you as the song changes to something more seductive, one of the latest chart hits. abby’s heard it before, she thinks absentmindedly. probably from one of the girls she fucked last week. tuesday? no, thursday. maybe. fuck it, who cares- not her, especially not when you’ve turned around and instead of pushing her off have leaned in closer to her, bumping and grinding to the bass as abby leans in close and breathes a question in your ear. “wanna get out of here?” you laugh back at her and shake your head and abby’s shocked. nobody’s ever turned her down and she doesn’t know what to do with it- so she shoves her thigh between your legs in a desperate attempt to change your mind. you roll your hips downwards, whining slightly at the friction and yet never missing a beat. abby just stands there like an idiot and watches you as you get yourself off on her thigh in the middle of the club, clit throbbing as you bite down into her shoulder before coming undone. she expects you to maybe give her your number or something before you walk away, y’know, seeing as she just gave you an orgasm in the middle of one of LA’s most exclusive nightclubs- but you simply pick up a shot from a tray held by a passing server and turn around to send abby a wink over your shoulder. jesus h christ. abby shifts uncomfortably in her damp boxers, makes a mental note of the name of the club & then calls her driver. she doesn’t even get a mile down the road before shoving her hand down her pants.

[divorceblogger]

very invested in how lumon is explicitly described as a company that has a foothold in the medical field, initially established as a manufacturer of medicines right around the time the concept of the modern pharmaceutical industry started taking shape in the 19th century, and its products/services are floated as the sale of medical equipment and health & wellness to its customers. they facilitated the development of the surgical procedure for severance and use psychological tactics to keep their workers in line. after helly r attempts suicide, her orientation into her new situation on the severed floor is framed as a patient’s admission into a psychiatric facility - objects that can be used to inflict bodily harm on herself are locked away, which offers continued commentary on her consistent lack of access to self determination and bodily autonomy. mark s commits to the procedure anticipating that it’ll allow him to better deal with his grief.

this goes hand in hand with their forays into research - the services that macrodata refinement render are directly in service of keir’s vision of automating the human condition (re: keir’s theory that unique ratios of the tempers - dread, malice, frolic, woe - make up different people). the concepts of natural selection preceded, and eugenics was developed, within keir’s lifetime during the 19th century. also thinking about how emotional regulation goes hand in hand with shaping the perfect worker - health and wellness are once again emphasised when it attempts to corral its wayward workers; but these concepts are relative, and constructed in the corporate’s interest. they’ve also constructed company towns for their workers where, for all intents and purposes, they hold a significant amount of power over the bodies housed at their expense. where do you draw a line on the work-life balance issue when the corporate world has entered your home and your body?

[mrsshabana]

"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲."

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟐: 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Your father owes a large debt to the most dangerous yakuza clan in the country. And unfortunately for you, they send their best collector to hold you for a ransom. But things get complicated, and Gyutaro can't resist the temptation to use you while he has you to himself. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, mafia au, bondage, spit kink, daddy kink, manipulation, violence, fingering, vaginal sex, rough sex, blackmail. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.3k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist

In less than 24 hours your life had changed completely. On your way home from your father’s company, a bag was placed over your head and everything turned dark. You don’t remember what happened after that, all you know is that you woke up a few hours later. Blindfolded and gagged, lying on a cold floor with your hands zip tied behind your back. At first you tried to stand up, but as soon as you put pressure on your foot you felt an unbearable pain that caused you to tumble down again. Something was wrong with your ankle. The adrenaline that filled you had distracted you from noticing it at first, but it feels broken.

“Awake are we?” A raspy, cold voice comes from across the room. 

Heavy footsteps get closer until your blindfold is taken off. And before you stands a man you have never seen before. He’s very tall with long black hair. His eyes are ice blue, and his stare is just as cold. He has strange ink like spots that cover his face and body, along with a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms. 

And that’s when you realize the gravity of your situation. This man has a blue spider lily tattooed on his right arm. A symbol that he belongs to the most dangerous Yakuza clan in the country, the Twelve Kizuki.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you,” he grins, showing off his crooked teeth. 

The intimidating man is wearing loose fitting jeans, a black wife beater, and combat boots. His nails are painted black and in his left hand he holds a steel baseball bat.

You cry and whimper under the gag as he peers down at you. 

“Don’t scream or you’ll regret it,” he says coldly as he removes the gag from your mouth. 

“P-please! Let me go!” you pant and cry, “You have the wrong person!”

“No Sweetheart, I don’t think I do,” he grins and kneels beside you, “You’re Y/N L/N right? The daughter of Mr. L/N, the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country?”

Your blood runs cold. What could the Twelve Kizuki possibly want with your father? 

“I-I don’t understand… What do you want from my family?”

His expression suddenly turns serious. “Your father borrowed money from us. I was sent to collect his debt. I gave him three days to give us what we’re owed or I’d take something precious away from him,” he looks you up and down, “And that’s why you’re here, sweetheart. All because your daddy didn’t wanna pay his debt.”

Tears begin to flood your vision when you hear the reasoning for why you’re here. You remember your father talking to his accountants about some financial troubles, but he assured you that everything was fine and that there was nothing to worry about. 

“My dad will come for me!” you insist, “He’d do anything to get me home safely.”

“That’s the hope,” he sighs and stands, “Name’s Gyutaro by the way. I’ll be looking after you in the meantime.” Suddenly his demeanor is less aggressive. 

His name sits on the back of your tongue as you wait for hours in that room with him. Mindlessly trying to pass the time while he waits for some word that your father has paid his debt and is eagerly waiting for his daughter’s return. In the meantime, Gyutaro bandages your ankle. 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he snickers as he wraps the bandage around your ankle, “You were giving me trouble when I first took you, had to make sure you couldn’t run away. You’re lucky I didn’t take your toes one by one.”

You gulp, knowing that his words are true. The Twelve Kizuki are known for their violence, so you feel grateful that all you were left with was a broken ankle.

It’s been over 24 hours by now, and surprisingly Gyutaro has taken decent care of you. Getting takeout for you from your favorite restaurant and even bringing a futon into the room so you’ll be more comfortable. He stays and has small chats with you every few hours, making sure you don’t go insane with boredom. He’s a scary guy, but you never would have thought a Twelve Kizuki member would show any kindness like he has.

By now it’s been over 36 hours and you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. But you’re awoken by a ping coming from Gyutaro’s phone. You open your eyes to see him reading a text, grinning devilishly. 

Seeing his reaction gives you false hope, “Is it my father? Is he coming for me?” You say excitedly.

“Unfortunately not. It seems he’s being stingy with his money,” Gyutaro walks over to where you’re sitting on the futon, “But I have an idea.”

Your heart sinks when you hear that your father isn’t willing to pay his debt to get you back. Gyutaro can sense this vulnerability and intends to use it to his advantage.

“We gotta make your dad think something real bad is happening to you. Then maybe he’ll give up the cash,” he continues. 

You instantly look at him with wide eyes, full of fear as you imagine what terrible things he is capable of doing to you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he coos, “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ bad to you. We just need to make him think I’m doing something bad to you. Get what I’m sayin’?”

You nod with a sniffle, “L-like what?”

“There’s nothin’ worse than a criminal taking away a young woman’s innocence by force.”

You begin to imagine what he’s implying and it makes you feel sick. 

“You’d say we’ve gotten pretty close right?” he smirks, “Just have a little fun with me and I could send your father an audio clip or maybe a few photos for proof. That’ll surely send him running to us.”

Sex for your freedom? When you think of it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad. Especially since Gyutaro seems to be asking for your consent. He’s the one in control here, he could have just as easily taken you anyway. And you will admit, getting to know him over the past day and a half you have grown fond of him. Plus he has a unique appearance that you so happen to find very attractive too. 

Gyutaro places a hand on your thigh, looking at you with pleading eyes as you think it over. 

“Ok… we can do it,” you blush shyly as you agree to his idea. 

A sinister smile spreads across his face, “Perfect. Go ahead and strip your clothes, I’ll be right back.”

He briefly exits the room and you begin taking off your clothes. He returns with a bundle of rope in his hand. Taking in your nude form for a split second as it momentarily distracts him. He can’t help but bite his bottom lip at the delicious sight of you. Coming back to sit beside you on the futon, he undoes the rope and begins tying your wrists together.

“Wait wait! I didn’t agree to this!” You panic.

“How else will it be believable? Besides, I can’t risk you trying to run away.”

His voice is deceivingly sincere so you allow him to do as he pleases. Not that you had much of a choice anyway. 

After tying your wrists, he bends your legs and ties them so they stay bent, with your calf pressed against your thigh. 

“You look sexy as fuck,” he grins as he takes a step back to admire you. 

All you can do is blush and look away shyly, far too ashamed to admit that being tied up by him has already made you wet. 

He hastily removes his shirt and leans over you, slowly pushing you down to lay beneath him. “It’s not too tight is it?” His tone is suddenly caring. 

“N-no… it isn’t too tight,” you murmur, “Just please be gentle.”

He catches on to the shakiness of your voice and softly kisses you. Trailing down to your chin and then to your neck and behind your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy it,” he whispers into your ear.

He’s careful with your injured ankle as he grabs your thighs and pushes them apart, staring down at your soaked cunt. Cursing under his breath as he feels his cock twitch under his jeans. He can’t wait any longer, the desire to fuck you has been eating at him ever since he first kidnapped you. But he’s so glad he waited, it’ll be much more fun with your willing participation. 

You watch as he unbuckles and slides off his belt, the sound of it clanking to the floor makes your knees weak. Next, he unbuttons his pants and pulls them down along with his underwear to reveal his spotted cock. Fully erect and already leaking precum. It’s a lot larger than you were expecting, but deep down it makes you even more glad that you agreed to do this with him. 

Giving himself a few good pumps, he positions himself above you again and moves his hand between your legs - collecting your slick on his fingers and sliding his index finger inside of you. 

“Already so wet for me,” he whispers as his mouth finds its way to your breast, licking and gently sucking. 

He chuckles as you moan and squirm beneath him, “Like that huh? I knew you’d be fun.” 

“You’re not like the other women I’ve met,” he continues, “They act like they want me, but it’s only cuz they’re afraid. But not you… you actually like the fact that I’m a Kizuki, don’t you?” 

“Y-yes,” you can’t muster the strength to care about your shame when he’s making you feel so good. 

“Tsk,” he moves his digit along your walls, “I knew it. That’s why I liked you so much.”

“I like you too,” you say shyly, astonished that you’re admitting something like this to a dangerous criminal like him. “Please, fuck me Gyutaro.” 

His eagerness shows when he quickly removes his finger from your cunt, licking your slick from his finger, and aligning his cock at your entrance. 

“Beg.” 

“Wh-what?”

“Beg for me to fuck you,” he grins, “Take too long and I’ll just spray you with my cum.” He begins jerking off. 

“Please, please fuck me, Gyutaro!” You whine, but see that he isn’t phased by your pleas so you try again. “I want to feel you inside of me so bad! I-I’ll do anything!”

“Oh? Anything?” he smiles smugly, “Open your mouth.”

You’re so desperate that you obey his command without a second thought. 

Gyutaro hovers over you and opens his mouth, a long string of saliva dripping down his tongue and into your mouth. 

“Swallow,” he commands. 

As soon as you’re given the order, you close your lips and swallow. 

“Good girl,” he rasps, “You’ve earned it.” And with a sharp thrust, he’s shoving himself inside of you. You were so busy trying to please him that you didn’t even realize he was already prepared to slide into you.

Within seconds you’re filled to the brim, his hard cock invading every inch of your insides. 

“ Fuck Y/N,” he groans, “You feel so good.” 

All you can do is whimper and moan beneath him as he sets an aggressive pace. Continuously pounding into you, enjoying the way your velvet walls squeeze him.

There’s nothing you can do but make pretty noises for him. The rope around your arms and legs prevents you from moving. And he keeps a firm grip on your thigh as he abuses your cunt. 

Before he gets too carried away, he pulls out his phone and starts an audio recording. Then places it beside your head.

“You like that sweetheart?” he pants, “What a shame your daddy hasn’t come for you. Maybe if he doesn’t come for you, then you could call me daddy instead?”

“Mm hm,” you nod, about to respond to him but he digs his nails into you and thrusts harder, hitting your cervix with the head of his leaking cock. Eliciting screams of pleasure to escape your lips, no longer capable of speaking sentences. 

“You coulda had any guy you wanted. A gentleman with a good job and a respectable family,” he growls, picking up the pace, “But here you are being fucked by the lowest of the low. The ugliest bastard in the Twelve Kizuki. A murderer from a cursed family.” 

He begins cackling maniacally as he feels your thighs tremble in his hands. 

“C’mon sweetheart. Cum for me, I know you want to,” he grunts, clenching his teeth as he tries not to cum himself. 

After a few harsh thrusts, you’re left screaming his name and shaking within the confines of the rope tied around your limbs. Your gummy walls tighten around him, trying to milk him for everything he has. 

He can’t last much longer as the sensation of you cumming around him is too much to bear. He quickly pulls out of you and aims his cock towards your face. And with one pump from his fist, he’s shooting ropes of cum all over your face and chest. Sticky globs of hot white cling to your skin and roll down your breasts. 

“ Fuck ,” he curses under his breath as he grabs his phone, stopping the recording then snaps a photo of your semen covered face. 

Gyutaro grins as he looks down at you, satisfied with his work, before he pulls up his pants and cleans your face with a tissue. 

After being fucked senseless you need a few minutes to recover, shaking and gasping for breath as Gyutaro cleans you up. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Gyutaro sneers, “Your daddy isn’t coming for you. That text I got earlier was from him, he couldn’t give two shits about you.”

“Wh-what?” you begin sobbing, unable to believe what he’s telling you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” his icy blue eyes glare at you, “Remember? You said I could be your new daddy from now on.”

[hpsfloors]

In pharmaceutical manufacturing, epoxy flooring offers several advantages. Its durability ensures a long-lasting solution, capable of withstanding the demands of a manufacturing setting. Easy maintenance further adds to the appeal, providing a flooring solution that aligns with the stringent cleanliness and quality standards required in pharmaceutical production.

[mariacallous]

For half a millennium until the Holocaust, the cosmopolitan city of Thessaloniki, Greece, had a unique claim to fame: it was Europe’s only major city with a Jewish majority. 

But the golden age of Thessaloniki’s mostly Sephardic Ladino-speaking Jewish community came to a sudden end with the Nazi occupation of Greece in 1941 and turned cataclysmic with the deportation two years later to Auschwitz of nearly all the city’s Jews. By the end of World War II, some 65,000 Greek Jews — 87% of the total and 96% of those from Thessaloniki — had been killed, leaving barely 2,000 survivors in Thessaloniki (also known as Salonika).

Among them were the parents of Dr. Albert Bourla, a veterinarian who would go on to become the chairman and CEO of Pfizer, one of the world’s largest pharmaceutical companies.

In 2022, Bourla won the Genesis Prize — often described as the Jewish Nobel — for having led the development of Pfizer’s COVID-19 vaccine. Stan Polovets, co-founder and chairman of the Genesis Prize Foundation, said in announcing the reward, “Millions of people are alive and healthy because of what Dr. Bourla and his team at Pfizer have accomplished.”

Now, with global antisemitism at its worst levels since World War II, Bourla is about to realize another milestone: the long-awaited opening of a Holocaust Museum of Greece. 

Bourla donated the $1 million Genesis Prize money toward construction of the museum. The museum is also being funded by the Stavros Niarchos Foundation, and the governments of Greece and Germany. The management of the museum is currently trying to raise an additional $10 million.

“Those who know me know that in addition to being very proud of my Jewish heritage, I am equally proud of being Greek,” Bourla said in an emotional June 2022 speech in Jerusalem accepting the Genesis Prize. “My mother’s courage and optimism came from her experience of narrowly escaping death at the hands of the Nazis. In fact, both of my parents turned their experience surviving the Holocaust into something positive and life-affirming. This clearly shaped my worldview.”

The 9,000-square-foot museum occupying eight floors in an octagon-shaped structure will be located at the site of Thessaloniki’s Old Railway Station, where the first Nazi train carrying Jews to Auschwitz departed on March 15, 1943. 

But the museum, slated to open in 2026, won’t be just about the tragedy of the Holocaust. Exhibits and artifacts will tell the story of more than 2,300 years of Greek Jewish history in Thessaloniki and 38 other communities, beginning with the ancient Romaniote Jews who settled in Greece during the reign of Alexander the Great.

At an Oct. 29 groundbreaking ceremony in Thessaloniki, Polovets was joined by German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier, Greek President Katerina Sakellaropoulou, and local dignitaries and Holocaust survivors.

“I was honored to participate and was moved by the ceremony, during which President Steinmeier said he ‘felt shame’ and that the memory of what was done to the Jewish people on this site ‘cannot be erased.’ That is why this museum is so important,” Polovets said. “The memory of this once-vibrant Greek Jewish community and its near destruction by the Nazis —  especially during the current wave of rising global antisemitism — must never be erased.”

Only about 5,000 Jews remain in Greece: About 4,000 live in Athens, and the remainder live in Thessaloniki, Ioannina, Rhodes, Corfu and other communities. Meanwhile, Greece has not been immune to the wave of antisemitism sweeping Europe. Vandalism of Jewish cemeteries and Holocaust memorials is fairly commonplace.

A 2014 global survey of antisemitism by the Anti-Defamation League found that 69% of Greeks harbor antisemitic views — the highest percentage of any country in the world outside the Middle East. While those findings are sometimes disputed, Greece continues to struggle with antisemitism. 

However, physical violence against Greek Jews is extremely rare, and the current Greek government, as well as the one that preceded it, are considered among the most pro-Israel in Europe. Greece observes International Holocaust Remembrance Day, and in 2014 the parliament outlawed Holocaust denial.

A big push for the Holocaust museum came from Thessaloniki’s former mayor, 82-year-old Yiannis Boutaris, who died on Nov. 4, less than a week after the Holocaust museum’s groundbreaking ceremony. Boutaris announced that his city would build the museum at a 2017 event attended by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and other dignitaries.

“It will symbolize our shame,” Boutaris said at the time, “for what happened, for what we did, and mostly for what we could not or did not wish to do… during and after the war.”

In addition to Bourla, other famous Jews with roots in Thessaloniki include actor Hank Azaria, Israeli businessman and philanthropist Leon Recanati, his sister the philanthropist Jude Recanati, actress Lea Michele, former Nevada congresswoman Shelley Berkley and Belgian-born American fashion designer Diane von Fürstenberg. 

Polovets said Bourla’s donation aligns with the Genesis Prize Foundation’s values and mission of inspiring Jewish pride.

“With the rise of global antisemitism, education will be at the center of the museum’s activities, hosting permanent and temporary exhibitions and archives that will highlight the value of preserving the remembrance of the Holocaust, acceptance and respect for diversity, human rights, and freedom,” he said.

Polovets said he hopes the museum will inspire visitors to fight hatred from spreading today.

“Hatred in any form leads to denial, disrespect and destruction,” he said. “Democracy and respect for others are values that can never be taken for granted, and each of us has a responsibility to stand up to all forms of hatred.”

[nachrosas]

CHAPTER 01 | storm promise

pairing: spencer reid x unsub!reader content warnings: murder, case talk, mention of murders, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex (in the future), sex (in the future), revenge, and i think that's all? (i will add more if there are more) word count: 4.1K a/n: i want to thank so much for everyone who jumped on board with this crazy idea and embraced the idea of an unsub!reader with both arms! i plan to (hopefully) post one chapter every week (if my job doesn't kill me lol)! hope you guys like it! (ps: the notes from the murders scenes are from a music, if anyone is curious)

[Friday, July 16, 2019, 02:00 am. Carlisle St, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania]

Night fell like a heavy veil over the city, drowning out any of the usual sounds the city produced. You walk down a deserted street, a forgotten artery in the body of the metropolis, where life seems to have given way to abandonment. The cracks in the asphalt tell stories of neglect, their crevices filled with small puddles of water that shone with the flickering light of the street lamps. But not all the lights survive. Some of the streetlamps have gone out, leaving stretches of the street immersed in dense shadows that move with the wind.

The small buildings around them have a tired appearance as if the structure itself were a victim of the weight of time. Peeling façades and almost erased graffiti do battle with the faded signs of businesses that are no longer listed with the tradesmen's union. In the midst of this deteriorating landscape, some traders insist on remaining in the neighborhood.

A snack bar at the end of the street still keeps its lights on. The yellowish light leaking through the dirty windows was enough to illuminate the plastic chairs lined up on the sidewalk. Closer to you, a convenience store displayed an old neon sign that struggled to stay lit, flashing the word “Open” with a few burnt-out letters. Inside, you couldn't be sure whether it was one or two indistinct figures moving around, but the environment was so quiet that it seemed abandoned, even though it was still in business.

Then the silence was broken. A muffled, irregular sound comes from above you: a television on somewhere. Your eyes search for the source of the sound, going up to the second floor of a nearby building. There, an open window lets out the pulsating blue glow of the set. The light dances on the sill, still wet from the rain, forming small reflections that move with the wind.

You approach slowly, your gaze drawn to the window as if it were inevitable.  Inside, the scene was simple, almost intimate. A modest room, decorated with weathered furniture. The faded sofa is slightly sunken in the center, and a coffee table is strewn with forgotten bottles. A lamp on the side casts a dim light as if it too were tired.

The television dominates the room, a heavy, old-fashioned tube figure. On it, the news anchor speaks with a seriousness that carries the weight of the moment. His voice, clear but distant, echoes in the street, resonating like a confession made to the void.

“The country is in shock after yet another brutal murder linked to the mysterious wave of crimes against influential CEOs. Margaret Ellison, chief executive of LifeTech Pharmaceuticals, was found dead this morning in her downtown penthouse.”

You feel a chill, but the anchor continues.

“Police sources confirm that the crime bears the signature of previous cases, characterized by extreme precision and a message left at the scene. We have contacted the FBI, but as of the closing of this report we have not received a response.”

Your eyes go down to the caption on the screen. The headline seems to scream at you: “DARK MENTOR: A NEW JUSTICE?”. The photo of Ellison, smiling radiantly at a charity-focused gala ball, is a cruel irony in the face of the gravity of what has happened.

The surrounding street seems to absorb the news as if every crack in the asphalt and every shadow on the sidewalk is attuned to the weight of the tragedy. The sound of the news continues in the background, now interspersed with images of the crime scene. Ellison's luxurious penthouse has been transformed into a macabre spectacle. Blood stains the walls, their asymmetrical patterns are almost artistic, like a dark signature of the killer.

Across the street, you notice a thin man leaning against the door frame of the convenience store. He smokes in slow gestures, releasing rings of smoke that crumble in the cold air. His eyes are fixed on the window illuminated by the television, but his face remains impassive as if he were used to listening to the darkest horror stories. He says something in a dismissive tone that surprises you:

“Another one, eh? These CEOs think they're untouchable, above everyone else… until someone decides to show them otherwise.”

The man stubs out his cigarette on the ground, crushing it firmly, and walks away. His footsteps echo in the deserted street, each one more distant than the last. The noise of the few cars that ventured out onto the street cut through the silence with their growing whine.

You look around, but the street seems unchanged, swallowed up by darkness and indifference. Above you, the sound of the news continues:

“Police sources suggest that the information about this case is the same as the cases in which the FBI has acted. So far, neither the police nor the FBI have commented on the case, leaving the population adrift from the growing panic that plagues the streets of the city.”

His gaze rises slowly, leaving the street behind as he captures the city in its vastness. The lights of the skyscrapers shine like stars, indifferent to the lives fading into the shadows below. The sound of the television news mixes with the murmur of the city, before disappearing completely. 

You remain motionless for a moment, staring into the void. The night has never seemed so heavy.

[Monday, July 08, 2019, 05:20 am. Spencer House, Washington D.C., Virginia]

Monday dawned shyly, tinging the sky with a gray-blue hue. Spencer woke up a few minutes before his alarm clock went off. The room was still plunged into dimness, adjusting to the familiar surroundings, but he sensed that something was different. It wasn't the light or the silence that surrounded him. It was a feeling — subtle but insistent — as if the universe was setting the stage for something bigger that he couldn't predict.

With a low sigh, he sat up in bed, his bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. The boards creaked under his feet, a sound he knew well. He ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes before letting his fingers rest in his messy hair. The clock next to his bed read 05:20. Earlier than he usually woke up, but there was no turning back. Sleep had abandoned him.

He headed for the bathroom, turning on the light with a quick click that echoed through the small space. The mirror reflected his image: his eyes were slightly reddened with tiredness, his thin beard was starting to grow and his hair was disheveled. With a mechanical gesture, he turned on the tap and let the cold water run through his fingers before washing his face. The thermal shock woke him up completely. For a moment, he stared at his reflection, trying to find in his own face some clue as to what was bothering him. Just him and the heavy silence that filled the room.

In the kitchen, Spencer's morning ritual began. He opened the cupboard and took out the coffee grinder, the fresh beans, and the filter. Everything was done with almost surgical precision: measuring out the exact amount of beans, adjusting the grinder to the perfect texture, and heating the water to the ideal temperature. It was a routine he had mastered, but that morning, even the familiar sounds — the whirring of the grinder, the bubbling of the water — seemed amplified, almost out of place.

As the coffee dripped slowly through the filter, the comforting smell filling the air, Spencer opened the fridge and grabbed the milk. He poured himself a bowl of cereal with calculated, almost mechanical movements. He sat down at the kitchen table, the steam from the coffee rising in slow spirals. Normally, this was the moment of peace he valued most in the day: the quiet minutes when he could open a book or mentally review the previous night's readings. But that morning, he didn't touch the book on the table. Standing there, he stared at the cup as if it held the answers he was looking for.

A shiver ran down his spine, even though the room was still warm. Something was wrong. He couldn't explain what, but he felt it. The silence seemed to have a new texture, denser, almost oppressive. He shook his head, trying to dispel the unease, but it wouldn't go away.

He got up, picked up the empty bowl, and washed it in the sink. The sound of running water was a temporary relief, filling the emptiness around him. When the clock struck 6.45, he returned to his room and began to get dressed. He chose a light blue button-down shirt, carefully ironed, dark brown serge pant,s and a discreet tie. As he adjusted the knot of his tie in the mirror, he felt the pang again: that inexplicable certainty that something big was about to happen.

Before leaving, Spencer picked up his bag and did one last check: badge, notebooks, pens, an Edgar Allan Poe book, and a packet of cookies at the bottom. Everything was in place. He looked around the apartment, the piles of books, the chair in the corner with a blanket thrown over it, and the paintings lined up on the wall. It was the same scene as every morning, but something seemed… different. Almost as if it were no longer entirely his.

“What nonsense…” he muttered to himself as he shook his head.

As he stepped out into the building's corridor, the fresh morning air enveloped him, bringing a brief sense of relief. But the feeling persisted as if it were an invisible shadow that accompanied his every step. The street was quiet, and the sounds of the city were gradually waking up. A car passed by him, the sound of its tires against the wet asphalt reverberating softly. He looked up at the sky but found only gray clouds covering the first glimmers of sunlight.

As he walked to the bus stop, that nagging intuition remained firm. He felt that the next few days were going to be complicated. He didn't know how or why. But something inside him already understood: the calm of that morning was only the prelude to a great storm.

[Monday, July 08, 2019, 10:00 am. Bureau Parkway, Stafford, Virginia]

The day had started with a sequence of small disasters for Spencer. First, he had woken up forty minutes earlier than usual, causing his entire morning routine to go down the drain. Secondly, the bus he always took stopped running halfway to the subway station, causing him to run through the wet streets towards the station with his bag slung uncomfortably over one shoulder and a cup of coffee in precarious balance in his other hand. Thirdly, he was sure that most of the people staring at him were mentally mocking him - even though he did everything possible to ignore the hurried glances of the people around him. Every second that passed made him calculate how much time he was wasting and how much he would need to hurry to catch up; an exercise that, ironically, was only delaying him further.

When he finally walked through the revolving doors of FBI headquarters, he was panting, his coffee was almost cold and his bag was pressing against his ribs. He passed through the metal detector, which beeped unexpectedly, only for an impatient security guard to point at the possible metal objects in his pockets. With a clumsy apology and nervous gestures, he took out a pen and a set of paperclips he had forgotten and passed through again. This time, he was released. Late and visibly disheveled, Spencer headed straight for the elevator.

As he passed through the main door and entered the corridor that led to the BAU, the familiar sound of keyboards, hurried murmurs and footsteps echoed around him, giving him the feeling that the day was already in full swing. Spencer glanced at the watch on his wrist. Forty minutes late. For him, whose whole life was made up of routines and timed schedules, this was an unforgivable slip-up.

The corridors of the BAU floor seemed endless at that point, but finally, he reached the double glass door that gave access to the bullpen. Pushing it open, he entered the familiar environment - a space that always evoked both comfort and an incessant load of pressure.

The bullpen was the perfect blend of order and chaos. The layout was functional: tables arranged in rows that allowed for efficient circulation, but with touches of personality that broke up the monotony. Morgan's desk was a great example of this: a pair of sunglasses rested casually on a notepad, next to a miniature motorcycle. Prentiss' station was clean, but with a hint of sarcasm: a pile of files labeled with small ironic stickers. Blake, on the other hand, was a festival of elegance. His desk was an altar of elegance, with books on linguistic phonetics, dictionaries of different languages, and crossword puzzles methodically organized.

In the background, an evidence board was eye-catching, with a map of a city, photos of suspects, and small notes connected by lines that formed an almost chaotic but meticulously organized pattern. The natural light coming through the windows was swallowed up by the fluorescent lamps on the ceiling, creating a sense of perpetual urgency.

He made his way to his desk with hurried steps, but the foot of his chair betrayed him. He stumbled, swung his coffee dangerously, and almost dropped the cup, saving it at the last second but spilling a considerable amount of liquid over his fingers.

“And there he is!” Morgan's playful voice reached him before he had even steadied himself; it was like an arrow, loaded with sarcasm and a smile that denounced the pleasure of amusement he was feeling. Derek was sitting on the edge of his own desk, arms crossed and grinning mischievously. “Pretty Boy tripping over his own rush. That's new.”

Spencer straightened up, wiping his fingers with a handkerchief he hastily pulled from his pocket. “The bus broke down, which, statistically, is a rare occurrence, but considering…” he began, but Morgan interrupted him with a theatrical gesture.

“You don't need to give me a probability lesson, Spencer. You know no one here is going to fight with you… well, except Hotch, maybe he will.”

Prentiss appeared at Morgan's side with a steaming mug of coffee in hand and an arched eyebrow. She leaned across the table from Blake, who was standing next to her and cast a conspiratorial glance at Morgan.

“Reid, late?” she feigned astonishment. “That hasn't happened since… well, ever. The world really is ending.”

Spencer sighed, taking his backpack off his shoulders and placing it on his desk. “It was a fault in the bus's transmission system,” he began, adjusting his glasses. “It happens in less than 2% of cases, but…”

“Reid, stop.” Emily held up a hand, laughing. “We believe you. No one here is judging you. Well, maybe Morgan is.”

“Of course I am!” Morgan retorted with a lopsided grin. “But only because it's fun!”

JJ, who was organizing a pile of files on the next table, laughed with a warmth that contrasted with the others' teasing.

“Don't worry, Spence. Hotch hasn't come down yet. You're technically on time… if we consider a different time zone.” JJ laughed softly, looking at Spencer with a warm smile. “It's rare, but even geniuses with IQs of 187 have their bad days.”

Before he could respond and thank JJ for his words, Penelope Garcia entered the bullpen like an explosion of energy and color. Her vibrant pink dress seemed to strongly defy the cold office lights, and she carried a stack of folders as if they were trophies.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” she exclaimed, her voice laden with exaggerated drama. “Is everything all right? I heard you were late today! That's like… a solar eclipse or something!”

“Thanks for your concern, Garcia.” he tried to smile but only managed a shy gesture. “It was just the bus. And actually, solar eclipses are more common than we realize…”

Garcia placed the folders on Prentiss's desk with a flourish and turned to face him, putting her hands on her hips. “Always the bus, huh? You really need a car. Maybe something discreet, like… I don't know, how about an electric bike? It suits your style.”

Before the group could continue their teasing, Hotch's office door opened with a creak. Aaron walked into the meeting room with his usual serious expression, holding a file folder. His gaze passed through the bullpen, assessing each one with the precision of a general. When his eyes landed on Spencer, the agent felt his face heat up slightly.

“We have a new case. Conference room, everyone.” Hotch said in his characteristically direct tone before turning and stopping suddenly in the doorway. ”And, Reid, glad you could make it.”

The bullpen went into immediate motion. Morgan patted Spencer on the shoulder as he passed him. 

“Easy escape this time, Pretty Boy.”

Prentiss smiled, taking the last sip of her coffee before heading into the meeting room. “Come on, little genius. We've got a case to solve,”

Blake and JJ walked past Spencer, smiling encouragingly, as Garcia straightened her briefcase and headed towards the meeting room. Spencer breathed a sigh of relief but felt a small weight on his chest. The delay was just the first slip-up of a day that, he sensed, would be more complicated than it seemed.

Despite the friendly teasing and the delay, something in the atmosphere that day seemed different, like an omen he couldn't ignore. As he climbed the stairs behind his friends, he felt the strange sensation that the next few days were going to be challenging, in a way that he still couldn't understand.

The BAU meeting room was a space made for focus and precision, but it also carried a certain symbolic weight. Its neutral walls were broken only by paintings with maps and graphs, a functional contrast to the round table in the center, which seemed to gather all the energy in the place. The table was made of solid dark wood, which was worn from use, reflecting the intense work that went on there. On the ceiling, the fluorescent lights cast a cold, even glow, leaving few shadows but highlighting every detail: open notebooks, pens laid out, and attentive gazes.

Spencer was the last to sit down, adjusting himself almost awkwardly in the chair between Emily and Blake — while they both just watched him. His hair was still a little disheveled, and his tie was still slightly askew, denouncing his lack of time to tidy up his appearance. With a notebook in hand, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes carefully scanning the folders in the center of the table. In front of him, Hotch was already seated, his posture erect and his expression as impenetrable as ever. Morgan was twirling a pen between his fingers, while JJ was leafing through a notepad. Rossi was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, seeming to absorb the atmosphere before the meeting began. 

Garcia entered the room next, bringing an energy that immediately broke the implicit tension. His heels tapped softly on the floor, each step accompanied by a smile that seemed intended to brighten not only the atmosphere but also the mood of everyone present.

“Welcome, welcome, my saviors of the homeland!” she exclaimed, balancing a tablet in one hand and a stack of colored folders in the other. ”I hope you're all 100% ready to face the horrific images I'm about to reveal. It won't be pretty, but that's why you're considered the best, right?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. “Always with a flair for the dramatic, huh, Baby Girl?”

Garcia winked at him as he placed the folders on the table, distributing them with precision and agility. “Drama is my art, my dear. Besides, when you see what I've found, you'll understand why.”

She moved around the table, handing out the reports to each person. When it was Reid's turn, she held the folder for a moment before handing it over. “To my favorite genius, with extra graphs and tables. I know you love it.”

Reid gave a shy smile, thanking her with a nod while adjusting the strands of hair that stubbornly fell over his eyes. When everyone had their reports, Garcia positioned himself at the front of the room, connecting her tablet to the projector. With a touch of the screen, the main monitor lit up, displaying a map of the city of Philadelphia with four points marked in red. The room fell silent, the agents leaning slightly forward in unison. 

She stopped at Morgan's side, handing him an extra folder with a conspiratorial smile. “You'll want to look at pages 5 and 7 first. Trust me, Chocolate Thunder.”

“I always do, Baby Girl.” replied Morgan, winking at her as he opened the report.

“Thank you, Garcia. Let's get to the case, please.” interjected Hotch, his calm but firm voice signaling that it was time to focus on the case.

“Right, right! You're right.” began Garcia, his voice carrying a mixture of seriousness and empathy. “The city of brotherly love, better known as Philadelphia, is facing a series of… unusual murders. Not unusual, strange? Different? You know what I mean.” She pressed a button, and the photo of four victims appeared on the screen. “Four CEOs of major corporations have been murdered in less than a week. When I say 'big', I mean 'I'm buying a yacht just because I can' big.”

Spencer could hear a slight laugh escaping Emily's lips, even though she tried hard to hold it back.

“Lucinda Moreau, 52, CEO of the mining company Earth Axis Mining. She was found dead last Sunday in her home. The coroner's report indicates that the cause of death was strangulation. Of course, from the images, you can see that she… was tortured first.” 

The image showed Moreau in her dining room, tied to a chair, with financial papers scattered around. On the table, a handwritten note read: “IF YOU ARE THE DEALER, I'M OUT OF THE GAME.”

JJ leaned over to examine the details.

“Harrison Drake, 48, was the second victim. Founder of the oil company Blackstone Fuel International. The crime scene is equally symbolic.” Garcia moved on to the next image.

The photo revealed Drake lying on the floor of his luxurious living room, surrounded by a puddle of black liquid. The note next to him read: “IF THINE IS THE GLORY, THEN MINE MUST BE THE SHAME.”

Rossi shifted in his chair, staring intently at the folder in his hands.

“The third victim: Anya Volkova, 40, founder of the private hospital chain, Vitalis Healthcare Systems. She was found dead in her office.”

The images of Volkova showed her lying on a brown sofa, surrounded by syringes and medical papers. Next to her, a note read: “IF YOU ARE THE HEALER, IT'S MEANS I'M BROKEN AND LAME.”

Hotch stared at Garcia, waiting for her to continue.

“And, the latest victim: Elena Vasquez, 45, CEO of the oil company Aurora Energy Group. She was found in the garden of her home.”

Just like Harrison Drake's crime scene photo, Vasquez's body was surrounded by a black puddle. His note read: “YOU WANT IT DARKER, WE KILL THE FLAME.”

Silence filled the room for a moment. Spencer broke the silence, shaking his head slightly. “In the last victim's note, they used the word 'we'. Maybe we're dealing with more than one unsub or someone who has Dissociative Personality Disorder.”

“Or just someone who wants to fool us and the police.” Emily's face hardened as she spoke. ”Don't these phrases also seem to be something symbolic, some kind of warning?” 

Hotch looked up from the report and faced Garcia, his eyes firmly on her. “Garcia, is there any connection between the victims?”

“No, sir. So far I haven't been able to find any connection between the four.” Garcia denied it, shaking his head.

“Right.” Hotch nodded, absorbing the words. “As soon as we get there, JJ, I want you to contact the victims' families. I want more information about the last days of their lives, if they received any threats, etc. Prentiss, Morgan, you're going to start working on the suspect's profile. Reid, Blake, I want you at the last murder scene. See if you can find anything the local police missed. Dave and I are going to the police station to talk to the detective in charge of the case. And, Garcia, see if there are any patterns or connections between the victims that haven't been found yet.”

Putting the papers away in his briefcase and closing it, Hotch said. “Detective Howard will be waiting for us at the precinct. Grab your go bags and wheels up in 30.”

[gigabyte-flare]

He Comes Alive (Part 9) [FINALE]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Summary: You are found by Ada Wong, an agent from the BSAA sent to escort you to Tricell's laboratories. They promise to remove the plaga from you and your unborn child, but only if you help them first.

Word Count: 8.5k

Pairing: vampire/plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Biting, blood, gore, murder, unprotected p in v, masterbation, oral (m and f receiving), stalking, pet names, kidnapping, breeding kink, blood play/kink, age gap, dubcon, pregnancy, monster f*cking, body horror, lactation kink, C-Section DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

Author's Note at the end!

You scramble back over to the driver’s side upon hearing the woman say ‘BSAA’ and open the door, climbing out of the truck. You see in addition to the red button up v-neck top and black gloves, she’s wearing black leather pants with knee high black boots with heels. She has a pistol in a shoulder holster. You watch her brown eyes shift to your hands.

“You’re infected,” she says; it’s not a question.

You look down at your hands, the inky veins pulsating, letting out a subtle gasp before hiding your hands in the sleeves of your shirt.

“Hopefully you’re not too far along to do something about it. Grab your bag; we’re leaving,” the woman called Ada commands.

You reach into the truck, grabbing the back pack before shutting the door of the truck, following closely behind Ada.

“Wait, Leon can’t be that close by, can he?” you ask.

“No but there’s an APB on that truck and we don’t want to be around when the cops finally catch up,” Ada replies as she leads you to a black Chevy Corvette, “get in.”

You open up the passenger side door, tossing your backpack onto the floor before getting inside. Ada gets into the driver’s seat, starting the car before getting back on the highway. The two of you are silent for a while, you rest your head on the passenger’s side window, watching the scenery outside as you mindlessly caress your belly. 

Surprisingly, Ada breaks the silence, “is that Leon’s?”

You look over at Ada before glancing down at your belly, letting out a sorrowful sigh, “yeah… it is. I’m surprised you didn’t already know, being with the BSAA and all…”

“I didn’t have a lot of time to get filled in when I was sent to find you,” Ada replies, keeping her eyes on the road as she drives.

“Is… Clive ok?” you ask hesitantly, looking back over at Ada.

“As far as I know, he’s fine.”

“Can I talk to him, possibly? Once we get to wherever we’re going… that is…”

“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I’ve been instructed to bring you to Tricell’s laboratories in upstate New York. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

You shift in your seat uncomfortably before looking back out the window.

Ada looks over to you for a moment before continuing, “don’t worry. We’ll stop at a motel or two to rest up, I’m sure you need it.”

“What’s Tricell?”

Ada pauses briefly before answering, “it’s a… multi-industrial company, mostly dabbling in pharmaceutical and biomechanical research. They fund the efforts of the BSAA.”

You nod, feeling your eyes grow heavy as you drift to sleep. You awaken when the car suddenly comes to a stop. Confused, you look over at Ada, still only half awake.

“I found a motel. Stay here and I’ll get us checked in,” Ada says before getting out of the car.

You watch her walk up to the motel office, opening the door to go inside. After a few minutes of waiting, you watch her come back out, dangling a key in one hand and motioning for you to go with her with the other. You open the car door, grabbing your bag as you climb out and shut the door, following her into the motel room. 

Upon entering, Ada switches on one of the lamps next to the full size bed to give the two of you some light, the red lampshade casting an eerie glow in the room. You set your bag down on the floor next to the bed, practically collapsing into a nearby arm chair, letting out a loud sigh.

“How long have you been seeing Leon?” Ada asks, walking towards you and sitting on the side of the bed opposite of you.

“Since like… September or October I think… so much has happened; everything is a blur.”

Ada nods, her gaze shifting to her feet, “I see…”

“Do you… know Leon?”

Her eyes shift back up to yours before nodding, “I do… it’s complicated.”

One of Ada’s hands reaches up, pulling her v-neck aside a little until you can see what looks like a large burn scar, causing your breath to hitch.

“I met Leon in Raccoon City during a viral outbreak 15 years ago, crossing paths occasionally. A couple years ago, he and I hooked up and that’s when I found out he was still infected with Las Plagas. He had infected me.”

“And that scar is…?” you ask, swallowing hard to stifle your nerves.

“When it was removed by Tricell. Assuming you’re not too far along, they should be able to do the same for you, too.”

You look down at your hands, the faint inky veins still showing, pulsating. You clench your fists and tuck them back into your sleeves.

“I hope so…”

You wrap your arms around yourself, breathing deeply to calm yourself. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes until your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What was Leon like before… you know…”

Ada smirks, chuckling a little before responding, “at first? Like a little lost puppy. He was a rookie cop who was late for his first day on the force; unfortunate that he had to deal with a zombie outbreak on his first day of being a cop--”

“Wait a second… zombies?!”

Ada blinks at you a few times before continuing, “right… I forgot that wasn’t public information. Yes, zombies. The whole city had gotten infected with a virus developed by the Umbrella Corporation.”

“That big pharmaceutical company that went under? It was because they made a virus?”

“A bio-organic weapon,” Ada corrects you before continuing, “anyway, Leon became more charismatic as he got older; became quite the ladies man. Had the looks for it, too, as you clearly saw.”

You can’t help but smirk at that.

“But he had a heart of gold; it’s a shame that--”

Before Ada can finish her sentence, your head starts pounding. You cry out, gripping the sides of your head. Your eyes also start watering.

Ẅ̷͇h̸̬̪̐ē̴̦͠r̸̢̦̕ē̷̻͜ ̴̨͆ȃ̶̆͜r̴̮̈̈͜ē̴̡͋ ̴̢̞̒͂ÿ̵̨́ö̴̹́u̷͖̕͝?̸̰̎͐!̶̥̋́

“Fuck off!” you scream, the pounding in your head getting progressively worse as your finger nails dig into the sides of your head.

I̸̼̓ ̴̨̍a̴̙͌m̷̖͑ ̸̛͖g̶͓̃o̴̦̓i̵̬͗n̶̦̒ģ̵̒ ̷̳͒ẗ̴͈́o̷̘̒ ̸͓͊f̸̤͊i̶̞͛ń̸̲d̴͇̒ ̶̙͌y̵̪͒o̶̰͝u̸̲̇.̵̹̒

“Shit!” Ada says, standing up from the bed and rushing to you, one hand grasping your shoulder while the other swings up, holding something that looks kind of like a pen.

You feel a sudden sting in the side of your neck and what follows is instant relief. The pounding in your head subsides. You let go of your head and look down at your hands, seeing the inky veins slowly fade.

“Thank god I brought that with me,” Ada says, taking a step back and looking down at the device she just used on you.

“What is that?” you ask, out of breath from your ordeal.

“An inhibitor. It will slow the progression of the plaga, but not for long. We need to get you to the Tricell lab and fast,” Ada steps aside, motioning to the bed, “get some rest, we’ll get on the road first thing in the morning.”

“Right…”

You stand up from the chair, your body still weak from the outburst you just endured, staggering over to the bed and collapsing onto it on your side, falling asleep within minutes. 

Ada waits until she knows the girl is asleep before stepping outside. She looks around, spotting a pay phone at the end of the walkway in front of the motel rooms. She walks up to it, digging a couple quarters from her pocket and feeding them into the machine. Picking up the receiver, she dials a number. It rings a few times before answering to dead silence.

“It’s me.”

“Do you have the girl?” a man asks, his voice rough, but full of authority. 

“I do, however there’s one problem,” Ada replies. 

“I don’t do problems, Ada, you know that,” the man growls.

Ada rolls her eyes, “Listen, Simmons, it’s not my fault. She’s infected and the plaga is taking over at an alarming rate. I had to use the inhibitor Luis gave me.”

There’s silence for a moment, she can almost picture Derek Simmons, the National Security Advisor for the President of the United States, stroking his chin in thought while wearing that ridiculous ring on his hand.

“We proceed according to plan.”

“What about her?” Ada asks, the alarm evident in her voice, “if we don’t do something, she’ll be completely under Leon’s control.”

“Ada… are you trying to tell me you’re concerned about the girl?”

Fuck you asshole… Ada curses internally, her eyebrows furrowing as her hand squeezes the handset on the phone. She quickly comes up with a plan.

“What if we make a deal with her? We use her as bait to lure Leon to us in exchange for removing the plaga from her.”

Again, Simmons pauses, probably mulling over Ada’s idea. Then she hears his trademark chuckle, causing chills to run down her spine.

“I like how you think, Ada. That should work beautifully. To add to it, Dr. Sera believes he’ll be able to extract the plaga from her unborn child as well; that’ll make Wesker happy at least.”

Ada can’t help but smile, “that’s great, that will give her more than enough of a reason to cooperate in Leon’s capture.”

“Now then, hurry up and get the girl here, the clock is ticking.”

Ada hangs up the pay phone, turning around to head back inside the motel room. She walks up to the armchair that the girl had been sitting in earlier and sits down. She tries to rest her eyes, but sleep eludes her; instead, she watches the girl sleep. She’s sleeping on her side, her shoulder slowly rising and falling with each breath she takes. Her eyes slowly shift to her belly, which is clearly visible under the blanket. Despite only being a few months along, she appears to be almost to term; the work of the plaga, no doubt.

Ada’s thoughts shift to Leon and she finds herself reminiscing. From that bright, shy, yet noble police officer fresh from the academy to an abomination hell bent on ensuring the survival of its species, she finds her heart breaking for him. The Leon Scott Kennedy she knew was dead and gone, corrupted by the plaga inside him. 

She doesn’t realize she nodded off until she hears the girl whimper in her sleep, jolting her awake in the chair. The girl’s eyes are squeezing themselves shut, her hand gripping into the sheets as her body trembles, the tell tale dark veins pulsating on her hand. Cursing to herself, she looks over at the clock on the bedside table, reading just after 4AM. There’s no time to wake her up, they need to leave and get to the lab immediately. 

Ada springs up from the chair, tossing the blankets off the girl and carefully picking her up bridal style. Ada kicks the door open, making her way over to her Corvette, struggling to get the door open. She sits the girl in the passenger’s seat once she gets the door open and rushes over to the driver’s side. She turns the ignition, the car roaring to live which causes the girl to rouse from her slumber.

“Ada…? What’s going on…?” the girl asks, her voice soft.

“I’ve got to get you to the lab, just hang tight.”

Ada pushes her foot on the brake, reaching her other hand to the stick shift to put the car into drive. Her gaze shifts to the rear view mirror; what she sees chills her straight to her core. Standing just inside the edge of the forest, illuminated by the red brake lights of her car, is Leon. The front of his shirt coated in what she can only assume is blood, his mouth hanging agape as blood drips from it, showing off his elongated incisors. The more she looks, the worse it gets; she spots his tail whipping back and forth and four large claws coming out of his back, outstretched.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asks, panic starting to settle into her voice as she wakes up.

“Nothing,” Ada replies sharply, furrowing her brows, throwing the car into drive and slamming her foot on the gas. 

The car peels out of the parking lot, turning sharply to get back onto the main road. She has no idea how fast she’s going and she doesn’t care. She has at least another two hours of driving to do, if not more and time is of the essence. She knew the inhibitor wouldn’t last forever, but she’s alarmed that it wore off that quickly and by the fact that Leon had tracked her down that fast; she had driven well over a hundred miles before stopping at the motel. 

She has no intention of stopping now. She can already hear Simmons scolding her for not using the opportunity to capture him, but it was too dangerous, she would need backup. That was the first time she had seen him transformed like that and as much as she hated to admit it, it had shaken her. 

By some miracle, she doesn’t run into a single police car and the two of them arrive at Tricell Laboratories safely, more or less. She looks over to the girl just as she parks the car.

“Can you walk?” Ada asks as she opens the driver’s side door.

“I… I think so…” the girl replies, her voice weak.

It’s still the early hours of the morning, the sun is just barely starting to brighten the sky, so it’s no surprise to Ada that those inky veins are sprawled all over the girl’s exposed skin. Ada practically jumps out of the car, rushing over to the passenger’s side to help the girl out, wrapping an arm around her waist to help steady her balance as she guides her over to the Tricell building. Upon getting to the door, Ada slams the side of her fist into the call button, and a few seconds later, a voice comes through the speaker.

“State your business,” says a gruff male voice.

“It’s Ada Wong. I have the girl but she needs medical attention immediately.”

A loud buzzing sound comes from the door and Ada kicks the door open and rushes the two of you inside. Within moments, a group of men and women in lab coats come rushing in, pushing a stretcher with them. Ada guides the girl to the stretcher and several of the lab technicians help the girl lay onto the stretcher. Ada’s eyes shift to one of them in particular, an older man with dark skin and long dark hair. She watches as he pulls an inhibitor from his lab coat pocket, jabbing it into the side of the girl’s neck, injecting the serum into her.

“You got her here just in time,” he says to Ada; he has a thick Hispanic accent. 

“I wasn’t sure if we we’re going to make it, Luis…” Ada says, her breaths heavy.

“Take her into one of the infirmary rooms and prep her for surgery; make sure you have the UV lights on,” Luis commands the other technicians, watching as they wheel the stretcher away. 

“You won’t be able to operate yet,” Ada says once she and Luis are alone in the hallway.

Luis looks to her, raising an eyebrow at her, “and why not?”

“Simmons wants to use her as bait to lure Leon into Tricell’s custody.” Ada says as the two of them begin to walk down the hallway together.

“What does he need Leon for? Does this have to do with why that pompous prick is helping Wesker with Uroboros--”

Ada stops in her tracks, grabbing Luis by his upper arm, squeezing it as she snaps at him in a hushed tone, “keep your voice down!”

Luis glances around to make sure no one is in earshot before continuing, “what on Earth would he want with Leon?”

“I have no idea, something nefarious, no doubt. But I’d much rather keep my head than question him and get on his bad side,” Ada replies, the two of them resuming their walk down the hall. 

They come upon a set of doors; Luis swipes a keycard into the receptacle next to the door and the doors slide open, the two of them walking inside what appears to be a laboratory. Once inside, Ada lets herself relax a little, however the image of Leon in the red glow of her brake lights comes rushing back to her, causing her to visibly shiver. Luis looks over at her, once again raising an eyebrow at her.

“I saw him, Luis…” Ada says, her gaze shifting to make eye contact with him, “he’s on par with Saddler.”

“Shit…” Luis mutters under his breath, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter, putting one in his mouth and lighting it.

“What I don’t understand is… if Leon was still infected when he rescued Ashley, why didn’t he go brain dead like the others when he killed Saddler?”

Luis takes a long drag from his cigarette, grabbing it from his lips before exhaling a large cloud of smoke, “Leon and Ashley were infected with a special kind of plaga, ones that could act independently once fully turned. My guess? The plaga inside Leon could sense it was the last of its kind and mutated into a dominant, giving it the ability to infect others and breed.”

“I see…” Ada replies, her eyes looking to the floor absentmindedly as she wraps her arms around herself.

“What I don’t understand is why didn’t he tell anyone? Did he even know he was still infected? I could have saved him… it should have been me running the machine, not Ashley…”

“There’s no use beating yourself up over it. It was nine years ago--”

“But he saved my life, Ada!” Luis exclaims, throwing his hands up, “I should have died that day in the mines, the least I could have done was meet him in the lab and run the machine; that burden should never have been on the girl’s shoulders...”

The two of them stand in silence in an unspoken agreement to drop the subject. Ada drops her arms to her sides and starts to walk over to the doors leading out of the lab.

“I’m going to go check on the girl, are you coming or not?”

Upon opening your eyes, you're immediately blinded by not only bright fluorescent lights, but by the purple hue of powerful ultraviolet lights, causing you to wince and softly groan. However, your eyes quickly adjust and you attempt to sit up in the bed you’re in, only to find you are hooked up to all kinds of medical equipment.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

You turn your head towards the familiar voice, finding Ada standing next to your bed, her arms crossed as she looks down at you. Relief washes over you, as the last thing you could recall prior to waking up was the immense pain rushing through your body and Leon’s voice pounding in your brain.

“Ok… considering…” you reply, your voice hoarse and your throat dry.

You unconsciously lick your lips, finding them chapped and sore.

“Here,” says another voice with a strong Hispanic accent, “I got some water for you.”

You turn your head to the opposite side of the bed, finding a man with longer, dark hair and tanned skin; he’s holding out a glass of water to you, which you don’t hesitate in taking and gulping down.

“This is Dr. Sera, one of Tricell’s lead scientists,” Ada explains, motioning one of her arms towards the man.

“Please… just call me Luis. I’ve never been one for formalities,” he replies smiling at you, “how do you feel about getting an ultrasound done?”

You slowly nod, taking deep breaths, “I feel ok enough to do that, but what for?”

“I believe that we may be able to save your child. Depending on the development of the fetus, we might be able to extract the plaga and spare your child’s life. That’s my hope anyway. Then, afterwards, we can remove the plaga from you as well.”

Your heart skips a beat. The possibility of being able to save your unborn child didn’t even cross your mind, it gave you hope for the first time since this madness started.

“Absolutely, if there’s any chance of saving my baby, I’ll take it,” you reply, the hope within you energizing you further. 

“Alright, let me just bring over the ultrasound machine, señorita.” Luis says, walking over to the opposite side of the room.

Your tired eyes watch him attentively, feeling Ada place her hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing it.

“Alright! Let’s say hello to little Kennedy, shall we?” Luis says, his tone cheerful as he positions the machine next to your bed before powering it on. 

You watch Luis take out a bottle of gel, using his other hand to lift your shirt over your swollen belly. He rubs the gel onto your belly, the cold gel causing you to flinch slightly. Grabbing the wand for the ultrasound machine, he presses it into your belly, moving it around slowly while watching the screen. At first, you don’t really see anything on the screen but then suddenly, you see her.

The clear image of your unborn child comes up onto the monitor; your eyes frantically searching for anything that would appear off about her. You weren’t sure what to expect; a tail… claws… but you see neither of those things. For all you knew, she looked like a normal, healthy baby. Your gaze shifts over to Luis, who has a subtle smile on his lips.

“The baby is almost to term and no sign of late stage infestation; I truly believe if we deliver soon, we have a chance of safely extracting the plaga from your child,” Luis explains, a hint of hope in his voice. 

“That’s great, let’s deliver right away!” you ask, your tone eager.

“That’s the thing…” Ada interjects, “Tricell needs you to do something for them before Luis can deliver your baby, remove the plaga from them and from you.”

Your heart immediately sinks, your hand unconsciously rubbing your belly despite it still being covered in that gel, “Like… what…?”

“We need your help to lure Leon into Tricell custody. We can’t have him running amok any longer and risk him killing and infecting more people. Can you do that for us?”

Of course they’re using you as bait…

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and mulling over your options. If you don’t agree to this, the only thing that awaits you and your unborn child is death. You truly have no other choice.

“Yes. I’ll do it.”

He watches her through the spaces of the grocery store rack, his body tingling with excitement; so much so he can barely contain himself. He was also doing his best to hide his presence from her, but with the sun beginning to set, that was becoming increasingly difficult. Her back is facing him as she browses the breakfast cereal aisle, completely oblivious to the azure eyes watching her every move from behind the grocery aisle behind her.

His eyes remain locked on her as she turns to the right, walking out of the aisle carrying a small basket full of various items. She walks up to the cash register, paying for her items before leaving the store, making sure to hang back quite a bit to avoid being seen. He watches her climb into a small sedan and he gets into his “borrowed” car, following behind the sedan as it pulls out of the parking lot.

Again, he tries to remain a decent distance away as to not raise her suspicions; but now that he is in the comfort of his own vehicle, he allows himself to let loose, the inky veins spreading across his skin and his eyes shifting to crimson, softly glowing in the low light inside his car.

The sun has completely set by the time he watches his quarry pull into a hotel parking lot, parking his car in such a way so he can watch her car and the front door of the hotel. He watches her get out of the car, carrying a grocery bag in one hand. His breath hitches upon seeing her pregnant form.

“Daddy gets to see you soon, Nora…” he says softly to himself, his grasp tightening on the steering wheel.

Closing his eyes, he focuses his thoughts on you, penetrating your mind with ease; his gift almost having its hold on you completely. 

T̷̨̠͚̜͖͂̈́͌̋͗h̷̛̗̮̘̖̰̊͝e̴̛̯̐ ̶̫͇̻̱͑̾͘͠ṛ̸̡̘̒̔̑͠͝ͅͅo̷̝̅͐̔̑͠ö̴͖̙̺́̍͌̀͠m̶̖̭̈́̽̊͜ ̸̟̣̰̉̊͆i̴̢̓̓̚͘͝s̴͕̮͛̅̔̽.̶͖̙̜̏͘.̴̨̼̣̑̈́͝.̵̲͓̫̫̔ ̶͙̓̅y̷̧̞̓̂ë̶͙́̑͛̂̚s̸̠̊͌ ̷̧̨̕ͅI̶̢͓̼̲̍̅̀́ ̵̰͌̔͐́c̵̩̹̻̀̈̈́h̶̹͓͎̣͛̈́͝ë̷͔̦̮̮c̵͕͑̀͐ḱ̴̹͕̃ ̷̯̈͠o̵̱̺̩͔͎͆̈́͘u̸̝̳͆̋̓͂t̷͔̪͚̮̤͑͂̂̋̑.̷͕̈́̾͘.̶͙͔̖͈̈́̅̋.̶͔̥̤̩̖́͐̈͊͂ ̷̩̪͖̮̈́͜ȓ̸̜̒͛͑͝ǒ̷̹̲͇̏̀͋o̵̦̖̻̬͂͌m̶̯̒͋̀̂ ̵̛̝̙̰̇̉̀͘1̶̤͕̤̌̅̐͝0̶̻͚̰̝̤͐0̸̛͈͈̖͖́̓͘͝6̵͎̥͊͠?̸̛͎͕̜̊̂̚͠ ̷̘̉͋̈T̵̞̋̇̋ḩ̸̺̄͊͠ȃ̷͕͈̪n̴̠̙͂̈́̀́̄k̷̛͈͙̂̌ ̶͎͓͖̌͝ͅỳ̴͕̬̳̖o̸̫̪͉̜̅͜-̴̗̞͆̍̀̇-̴̢̹̣͂͐̊

A smirk crosses his lips as he withdraws from her mind. Now that he has your room number, getting inside should be simple. He waits another couple of hours before making his move. Getting out of his car, the inky veins no longer visible, he nonchalantly walks into the hotel, walking right up to the front desk to a tired looking receptionist. He glances over to the clock; it’s 11:00pm. 

“Hi there,” he begins, leaning against the front desk, “my wife checked in a few hours ago. I broke down on my way here so I wasn’t able to meet her here like we originally planned. I imagine she’s sleeping now and I don’t want to wake her; think I can get a copy of the key?”

The receptionist lets out a loud sigh, rubbing her temples, “what’s the room number, mister?”

“1006.”

He watches the receptionist dig inside a drawer before pulling a key out that has a tag on it with 1006 printed on it, “here you are, enjoy your stay…”

“Thank you very much,” Leon says cheerfully as he swipes the key from her before walking over to the elevator, hitting the up button.

The elevator doors open and he steps inside, hitting the button for the 10th floor, putting his hands in his denim pockets as the elevator ascends. The doors open and he steps into the hallway, quickly finding room 1006. Putting the key into the door knob, he turns it slowly and enters the dark room, quietly closing the door behind him.

As he had suspected, she’s sleeping soundly in the king size bed on her side, facing away from the door. A smile appears on his lips as he approaches the bed, sitting down onto it and gently caressing your arm with the tips of his fingers. She stirs, rolling over to see what he can only assume are his soft glowing red eyes. She inhales deeply to scream, and he slaps his hand over her mouth, pressing his index finger to his lips, softly shushing her.

“Hey, hey, hey… I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassures her, “there’s nothing to be afraid of, angel.”

He watches her gaze shift to her arms, now sprawling with the dark veins. She starts to hyperventilate, tears threatening to fall from the corners of her eyes. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away her tears.

“Please don’t cry, I promise you, it’s going to be ok. The gift will bring us closer together, I assure you.”

“B-But…” you stammer, her eyes locking onto his, completely enveloped in fear, “I don’t want to hurt anyone…”

“Oh sweetheart…” he says with a sigh, shifting closer to her and wrapping his arms around her, giving a soft kiss to the top of her head and he runs his fingers through her hair, “I’ll do all the hunting for us, you don’t need to worry about hurting anyone.”

He places his hand on her belly, feeling his unborn child stir from his touch, instantly warming his heart.

“Look at you, growing our baby girl so well. So beautiful…” he coos, lifting your chin with his fingers before kissing you deeply.

He gently coaxes her to lay onto the bed. Sitting up on his knees momentarily, he pulls his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside before he then begins to remove the rest of his clothing. Once nude he cages her body with his own, the parasitic veins sprawling and pulsing across his skin as he gently removes her clothing as well. 

“Let me show you how beautiful our gift is, angel,” he purrs, gently pulling your legs apart.

He wastes no time propping her legs onto his shoulders, practically diving into her pussy, running his tongue over her slit, stopping on her clit to suck the sensitive bud. He feels her thighs quiver on his shoulders and before long, he can hear her soft moans fill the room; music to his ears.

Letting out a low growl into her clit, he brings his hand up to gently stroke her slit before pushing two fingers inside her, curving them upwards. Her hips buck upwards in response, her entire body tensing up. He watches in delight as the veins on her skin grow darker, the gift further ensnaring her.

With a loud moan, he feels her come undone on his fingers, her juices heavily coating his fingers. He pulls them out, licking his fingers clean before he proceeds to climb onto her. As he settles his hips between her legs, his tail snakes out from his lower back, gently moving from side to side. He watches your eyes widen in fear, but he quickly brings his hands to her cheeks, gently caressing them. 

“Please… don’t be afraid, angel,” he coos as he sheathes himself inside her.

In that instant, his back claws burst from his back, acting as a cage around her as he begins to thrust into her slowly. He stares down at her longingly, one of his hands gently caressing her belly. With each thrust, he increases the speed and intensity. He closes his eyes, leaning his head back and letting out a low groan as he inches closer and closer to his release. 

The sound of a gun cocking, followed quickly by the feeling of a barrel being pressed into the back of his skull causes him to stop instantly. A low growl emanates from the back of his throat, his lips twitching and curling into a snarl as his eyes slowly open. He doesn’t even need to turn around to see who it is pointing a gun at the back of his head.

Ada Wong.

“Well, well, well… that’s one hell of a greeting,” Leon practically snarls, “couldn’t even wait until I came, fucking bitch.”

“Wow, when did you become such a prick, Leon?” Ada replies, the smirk on her face audible in her voice. 

“The moment you discarded my gift, Ada,” he replies, another growl coming out of him, “what do you want?”

“Come quietly, that’s all I ask,” she says simply, pushing the gun into his head harder.

“Let me guess, you told my angel that you were with the BSAA, didn’t you?” Leon says, a smirk crossing his lips, “why don’t you tell her who you’re really working for.”

“Don’t listen to him,” she snaps, “it’s the parasite talking, he’s full of shit.”

“Ada…” his angel says softly, her gaze shifting over to Ada, “what is he talking about…?”

“Really Ada? How long have we known each other?”

“Are you going to cooperate or not, Leon? Stop wasting time.”

Leon sighs heavily, pulling himself out of his angel, his plaga appendages receding back into his body as he stands up straight, “If I go with you, promise me whoever you’re working for won’t hurt my baby.”

At first, Ada doesn’t respond, but he hears her exhale, “I can promise it won’t be intentionally killed, how about that?”

“Fine. Let me get my clothes back on.”

Arms and legs chained together and a crude metal mask covering the lower half of his face, Leon is led through the halls of Tricell Laboratories like some kind of wild animal. The armed guards lead him into a solid white observation room. On the back wall, there are shackles which are promptly put on his arms and legs upon being brought to them. The chains and mask are then removed and the guards quickly leave. 

To Leon’s relief, they don’t have any UV lights on, so he allows himself to relax a little, his dark veins sprawling across his skin and his eyes shifting to crimson. For hours, he leans against the wall, unconsciously licking his upper canines and shifting on his feet occasionally.

Please let my angel and Nora be ok… he thinks to himself, closing his eyes.

The sound of the door across from him opening snaps him from his thoughts. He opens his eyes, immediately narrowing them upon seeing who has entered the room. He begins to growl.

“Derek Simmons… what on Earth are you doing here?”

“My, my… how the mighty have fallen,” Derek begins, standing several feet in front of Leon, crossing his arms and letting out a low chuckle, “it’s been awhile, Leon Scott Kennedy.”

“Answer the fucking question, Simmons!” Leon growls.

“I wouldn’t say working with him, it’s more like we both have a mutual interest in your condition. Wesker’s hopes are that the DNA extracted from you will help with his Uroboros project,” Derek explains, mindlessly spinning the large ring on his left thumb.

“Officially? I’m here to oversee your execution. Off the record, however, I’m here to watch you suffer as you become Wesker’s little pet project.”

“You’re working with Wesker?!”

“The fuck is Uroboros?”

“Dunno, you’d have to ask him yourself. Like I said, I just want to see you suffer, Agent Kennedy.”

“Fucking bastard…” Leon mutters to himself, glaring at him, feeling the plaga within him writhe in rage, begging to be unleashed, “what are they going to do with my angel and my daughter?”

“For starters, they’re going to attempt to extract the plaga from your unborn child, which will be used to further assist in Wesker’s ambitions, then, I believe the plan is to rid your darling ‘angel’ of your so-called ‘gift.’ She’s quite pretty, that one. I must say you sure know how to pick them, Leon.”

“You so much as lay a hair on her…”

“And you’ll what? You’re trapped here, Leon. Trapped like the fucking animal you are! You’re so pathetic, you’re not even half the man that lovely young lady deserves,” Derek taunts him, a sinister grin on his lips.

“Oh really?” Leon growls once more, his fists clenching.

He rushes forward, catching himself on his restraints, now within inches of Simmons. His tail bursts out of his back, taking a swing at Simmons’ neck, however he was able to take another step back to avoid the hit just in time. His back claws then burst from his back, his hands transforming into dark claws as he continues to fight against the shackles keeping him restrained. The sound of metal bending reverberates throughout the room as he further transforms. Leon lets out a loud roar, showing off his large and sharp incisors before his lower jaw splits in half, mandibles coming out of his mouth and his tongue elongated. 

“How about now, Simmons?” Leon replies, his voice rough and distorted due to his transformation. 

Simmons’ smug expression quickly morphs into one of concern as he continues to move away from Leon. The sound of metal breaking echoes in the room and in an instant, Leon pounces on Simmons, the sound of the chains dragging behind him.

“God dammit someone get in here and get him off me! He’s gonna-- ACK!”

Leon wastes no time in ripping out Simmons’ throat, his long tongue lapping up the blood hemorrhaging from his neck. Guards then come swarming in, firing several shots of tranquilizers into him. It takes a couple minutes for it to take effect on him. He knows they’ll punish him for this but it was worth it to finally get back at Simmons for accusing him of murdering the president some time ago, a B.O.W. attack perpetrated by Simmons himself that killed the president and resulted in the deaths of 70,000 innocent townsfolk. That was when Leon had gone on the run; Simmons had found out Leon was still infected with Las Plagas and used him as a scapegoat. 

Leon closes his eyes as his face shifts back to normal, slumping onto the ground as he loses consciousness. 

The loud cries of a newborn pull you from unconsciousness, your eyes fluttering open. Your eyes shift around the room before settling on the baby in Luis’ arms, caked in your blood and who knows what other fluids. 

“Would you look at that, a healthy baby girl!” Luis exclaims, grabbing a towel from one of the lab assistants and wrapping the baby in it.

Luis walks over to you, you weakly hold your arms out to your baby, cradling her in your arms as Luis hands her off to you. She calms down instantly, you suspect because of the plaga you both share still. She has Leon’s blonde hair, however her eyes are still shut so you’re unsure what color her eyes are yet.

“Alright, I’ve got to take her to remove that pesky plaga,” he says before motioning to his assistant, “you know what to do. Get her stitched up and bring her to the removal machine and blast that plaga into hell.”

Nervousness quickly grabs hold of you, knowing there was a chance your baby would not survive the procedure, but Luis seemed very confident it could be done, so you have no choice but place your faith in him.

“Got a name picked out yet?” Luis asks, smiling warmly at you.

You look over at your baby, sleeping soundly in Luis’ arms, a warm feeling enveloping you as you reply, “her name is Nora.”

“Well then, little Nora, let’s go get that bug out of you, shall we?” Luis says to Nora as he carries her out of the room.

The assistant sews up the incision made to perform the c-section to remove your baby in record time before wheeling your bed out into the hallway. You’re then brought into a darkened room and you see a machine with a laser like apparatus on it. The assistant rolls your bed beneath the machine, positioning the arm of the laser at your chest.

“I’m going to warn you, this is going to be extremely painful. You most likely will faint. Let me know when you’re ready, ok?”

You take a couple of deep breaths, doing your best to calm your nerves before you finally nod, “I’m ready.”

The assistant flips a couple switches and you hear the machine whirl to life. Within seconds there’s a bright flash and then you feel what has to be the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life. You let out a blood curdling scream, your hands gripping the arms on your bed so tight that your hands cramp up. Your eyes then roll into the back of your head and you pass out into a dreamless sleep.

Luis is holding up the plaga extracted from Nora, the procedure having been a success as he had anticipated. The child and her mother now resting together in one of the rooms. He looks perplexed as he examines it, turning the glass container that it’s being kept in.

“What’s the matter Dr. Sera?” one of his assistants asks, noticing the look on Luis’ face.

“I feel like something is off about this specimen. Like something is missing,” Luis replies, rubbing his chin with his fingers in the opposite hands as he continues to examine the plaga. 

“We triple checked Dr. Sera, the entire plaga was extracted from the child. You have nothing to worry about,” his assistant reassures him.

“You’re right, I’m just overthinking, that’s all…” Luis replies, setting the container down onto his desk before walking towards the door, “let’s go get some celebratory drinks, drinks’er on me.”

On his desk next to the container is a diagram of the Las Plagas parasite, each part meticulously labeled. If one were to closely inspect this diagram and the parasite in the container, they would realize that the diagram had something the specimen did not:

A head.

December 25th, 1998… Ten years later… 

You watch as Nora rips open her last Christmas present, your smile going from ear to ear as you hold your coffee to your lips. Nora gasps upon seeing the PlayStation logo on the box.

“No… shut up! No you didn’t, Mom!” Nora exclaims, ripping off the rest of the wrapping paper. 

Other things were wrapped with the game console; a game and a memory card.

“You got me Spyro the Dragon! Thank you so much, Mom! Best Christmas ever!”

Nora jumps up from the floor, rushing over and throwing her arms around you to hug you tight. 

“You’re welcome Nora, Merry Christmas,” you reply, kissing her cheek, “you deserve it. You’ve done so well in school this year.”

Nora steps back, her blue eyes gleaming with joy; Leon’s blue eyes. Everything about Nora reminds you of Leon, as heartbreaking as that is. 

He’s right where he needs to be though… where he can’t hurt anyone anymore…

“Can I hook it up on the living room TV and play it, Mom? Pretty pleeeeeaaaassseee?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” you reply as you stand up from the dining table.

“Yay! Thanks, Mom!” Nora exclaims, scooping up the PlayStation, the game and the memory card and bringing them into the living room.

You let out a playful chuckle, walking over to your phone, picking it up off the charger and dialing a number. After a few rings a familiar voice answers.

“Hello?” your mother says.

“Hey Mom! It’s me!” you reply, “Merry Christmas! I wanted to thank you for helping me get that PlayStation for Nora. She absolutely loved it.”

“Oh good! You’re welcome sweetie! How’s the weather down in Florida today?” she asks.

“A beautiful 70 degrees,” you reply with a smile, “moving here was the best decision ever. Nora loves it down here.”

“Oh that sounds lovely! I’ll have to get down to visit soon. It’s snowing up here today, your step-father is out shoveling the walkway.”

“Oh yeah! How are things going with you and Darren? I can’t wait to meet him!”

“You’re going to love him, he’s got a great personality, really funny. The other day--”

You jump when you hear a sudden knock on the door, “sorry to cut you off, Mom, but I’ve got someone at the door. I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

“No problem, sweetheart, talk to you soon! Love you, bye!”

“Love you too, Mom. Bye!”

You hang up the phone, placing it back on the charger before walking up to your door and opening it. Standing outside is a woman you haven’t seen in a couple years, her black hair framing her face perfectly. She’s wearing a simple red tank top and denim jeans with knee high boots. You notice a 9mm strapped to her right leg. 

“Ada! Merry Christmas!” you exclaim, giving her a hug, which she returns without hesitation. 

“Merry Christmas, can I come in?” Ada asks.

“Of course you can, let me make you some coffee. Have a seat,” you reply as you motion to the dining table.

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” Ada says as she sits down at the table. 

After you make her a cup, you hand it to her before sitting across from her at the table.

“How are you and Nora doing?” Ada asks, sipping on her coffee.

“Really well. Nora’s currently in the living room hooking up the PlayStation my Mom and I got her for Christmas. She’s doing well in school, she’s made friends. She’s a perfectly normal 10 year old. As for me, I just have a scar on my chest and that’s it, no adverse side effects as far as I can tell.”

Ada nods, “I’m really happy to hear that.”

You can tell her voice is strained, clearly something is wrong, “what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“You have that 50 caliber that I gave you, right?” Ada asks.

“Yes… why…?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Ada begins her explanation, “Two days ago, Tricell was transporting Leon to a new facility in Washington state when…”

Ada trails off, her gaze looking into the living room where Nora is happily playing her game, the sounds of the game softly traveling into the kitchen and dining room area. Ada lets out another sigh before continuing, “when he escaped; killing several people in the process.”

You let out a soft gasp, your heart jumping up into your throat.

“Don’t worry, the chances of him finding you are slim, this happened way out in Idaho. But I wanted to tell you nonetheless, as a precaution.”

“Right…” you reply, nodding subtly; your stomach is twisting in knots. 

Ada grabs a piece of paper and a pen that are on your table, jotting down a phone number before handing it to you, “this is my cell phone number, if you hear, see or experience anything strange, you need to call me, ok?”

“Of course,” you reply as you motion to take the slip of paper, however Ada’s hands encase yours.

“Promise me that if you see him, you take that gun and you do not hesitate. Shoot to kill, understand?”

You take a couple of deep breaths before replying, “Yes, I understand.”

Later that night, you are tucking Nora into bed, covering her up with a beautiful floral quilt that your mom had made for her a couple of birthdays ago. She smiles up at you as you cover her up.

“This was the best Christmas ever, thank you Mom,” she says.

You gently run your fingers through her blonde hair, smiling down at her, “and you are most welcome, Nora. I’m glad you had such a good Christmas. Now, it’s time to get some sleep, ok?”

“Ok Mom!”

You lean over to turn off her bedside lamp getting up from where you were crouched next to the bed and walking to her bedroom door.

You’re at the threshold when Nora once again speaks up, “Daddy says he loves us.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, turning around slowly to look over at Nora, “wh… what did you just say?”

You must not have heard her correctly…

“I saaaid, Daddy loves us. He told me so.”

Your eyes widen and your heart is racing in your chest, “when did he tell you so, Nora?”

“Today,” she replies simply, her smile wide.

“O-Ok… good night, Nora…”

“Good night Mom,” Nora says, rolling over to face away from the door.

You walk out of her bedroom, locking and closing the door softly before proceeding to your own bedroom, closing and locking yourself in. You decide you’ll call Ada first thing in the morning. You’re hoping it’s just Nora’s imagination running wild again. But then again, Nora has never mentioned anything about Leon before now. You tuck yourself into bed, quickly falling asleep to the sound of the crickets outside.

That is, until a loud thumping sound wakes you out of a dead sleep, startling you. At first, you think it is just the remnants of a nightmare, until you hear the sound again. It’s definitely coming from inside the house. You open the drawer in your bedside table, pulling out the Desert Eagle that Ada had asked you about earlier in the day before climbing out of bed. You brought it to the local gun range to practice shooting with it once a week since you got it making sure you’d be able to handle it if the time ever came to use it. 

You check to make sure it’s loaded and that the safety is off before slowly unlocking your bedroom door and stepping out into the hallway. Your first instinct is to check on Nora, maybe she had just gotten up to go to the bathroom. You slowly make your way to the bedroom, unlocking the door with a key in your pocket and quietly opening it. Nora is sound asleep, it definitely wasn’t her making the noise. You gently shut the door, locking it once more.

You hear the sound again from behind you, you turn quickly and aim your gun, but there is nothing there. Lowering your gun, you walk slowly down the hallway which leads out to the kitchen and dining room. You take a peek into the living room, thankfully not seeing anything, just the PlayStation sitting on the floor where Nora had left it. Confident that there’s nothing in the house, you turn to walk down the hallway to go back to bed.

However, you see a shadow cast from the lights of the Christmas tree of four insect-like appendages extending outwards, followed by a long tail, the shadow is also taller than you. Your breaths are ragged as you stop and slowly turn around, the gun clenched in your hands. Sure enough, you find Leon standing behind you, a soft smile on his lips that is barely visible in the low light.

It’s clear that he has aged, but admittedly he’s aged like a fine wine, still retaining his handsome features that first lured you to him in the first place. He is wearing a blue leather jacket with a black shirt underneath with denim jeans and work boots. His eyes glowing a soft red in the low light and the plaga black veins sprawling over his exposed skin. 

“Merry Christmas, angel,” Leon says, his voice as smooth as whiskey, “you are as beautiful as the day I lost you, if not more. I’ve missed you both so much.”

You swallow hard, your feelings conflicted. You missed him too, terribly. There is still a part of you that loved him; you knew deep down there is still good in him; he would have been an amazing father to your daughter.

Leon continues, “how is Nora? Can I see her?”

You take a deep breath before shaking your head, raising the Desert Eagle to aim it right between his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Leon.”

You pull the trigger. 

‘Glitch’ Text translation:

“Where are you?”

“I am going to find you.”

“The room is… yes I check out… room 1006? Thank yo--”

A/N: First of all, I want to apologize that this took so long to put out. I want to dedicate this part to my lovely friends @nexysworld @explorevenus @kaitkatme and @dollfacefantasy. They’re always supportive and have always been there for me when I needed it most and for that I am so incredibly grateful. I have made so many beautiful friends in the Resident Evil fandom. This fic is still one I am incredibly proud of and had so much fun writing it. Thank you for joining me on this incredible ride! I hope it is worth the wait

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 12 part 1 | part 11 | ao3

ha haaaa, i lied about waiting until monday. cw: angst, gory imagery, implied prescription drug abuse

In his dream it’s raining pills.

Steve is crying in his car as rainbow pellets rain from the sky, and then he’s pounding on the Munson’s door while the pills burst into fine powder against his hair, his skin, his clothes. Eddie doesn’t come to the door but suddenly he’s there, teleported outside of it, apologizing right away when Steve demands to know what’s wrong.

“I don’t understand what happened.”

A flash of eyes, of lips; his face doesn’t fully form, but he sweeps one of those perusing looks all over Steve, sees his frayed edges and invites him in to stitch them up.

They talk and laugh for hours — dream logic where the seconds are minutes are years — letting their knees knock together, letting their pinky fingers brush. All the while little pills plink plink against the siding, pharmaceutical hail storm, and suddenly it's morning; Steve has drifted off; Steve has never slept so well. There’s a throw blanket made of cat fur and the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs, Wayne humming sleepily to himself at the stove, waving a spatula in greeting when he spots Steve getting up.

“Mornin'!” he grins. “Ed’s still sleepin’, but feel free to stick around.”

Outside the rain comes harder, heavy knocks against the roof, and when Steve peers into the pan he sees that Wayne’s frying up dead birds. "Just about ready."

He spears a fork into a wing. The feathers start to smoke. “You take your coffee black?”

—

“Ma, you gotta get a job.”

“Hmm?”

She’s watching I Love Lucy.

Steve's head is in his hands.

His elbows are going numb where they’re propped on the breakfast table, and his temples throb, a steady band of pressure like a giant's palm around the sides and back of his skull, pulsing down his aching neck. He’s been staring at next month’s budget for so long it looks like hyro…hiero—?

Whatever. Egyptian shit.

He can’t tell if he’s shit at math or if the math just doesn’t work, but either way it’s not working, and neither is his fucking mom, and he finds himself thinking about this one time in middle school when they took a field trip to a factory with a big hydraulic press. Got to tour the control room; got to pick which fruits to crush.

He remembers the watermelon most vividly of all: the way the rind groaned under the machine’s steady weight, splintering slivers snaked over striped flesh; slowly, slowly, then suddenly, boom!!

Watermelon guts on the concrete floor.

(That was also the first time he got to touch a girl's butt; all the girl's squealed and jumped back from the explosion, and one of them backed herself right into his hand. It was Liz Collins, and it was one hundred percent an accident, because, like, gross, Liz Collins, but still.

Memorable day for two reasons.

God, he needs a nap.)

“A job, ma,” he sighs, a little louder this time. “I can... I don’t know, I can maybe ask around, see if anybody’s hiring? Or- talk to Claudia. Or Karen,” he snaps his fingers by his ear, “or Joyce! She might— yeah. Yeah, she might be able to call and put in a good word at Melvalds...”

She might also be busy being far the fuck away from here. He taps his pencil against his cheek as envy crashes over him. He should be in California. Should spend his time hitting on beach babes and surfing sunny waves instead of drowning in debt and wondering why he’s on a first-name basis with so many random moms.

His mom still hasn’t acknowledged a single word he's said. "Hello? Ma? What d'you think?"

She turns to look at him finally. Gives him a dreamy, lovely smile.

She always was so pretty. “…I’m sorry; what were you saying?”

—

Steve flushes his mom’s pills.

—

part 13

tagging whoever commented recently if your settings will let me @acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @grtwdsmwhr @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @lololol-1234 @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @ppunkpuppyy @rani-mayida @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @space-invading-pigeon @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @vacantwatchers @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

[fourmoony]

going lingerie shopping w JAMESSSSS

ty for requesting! f!reader, 1.2k, mdni

cw: suggestive, mdni

James can hear you shuffling around in the changing room, the clinking of hangers and your clothes landing in a pile on the carpeted floor. He'd thought you were teasing when you dragged him into the shop with you, cheeks rosy and your smile all knowing. But here he is, waiting for you to show him your top three picks of what he thinks are, essentially, scraps of lace. And you're expecting him to pick a favourite?

James thinks you look good in anything. Truly, you're the most beautiful woman he's ever met in his entire life. He questions himself daily on how he ever managed to secure you as his girlfriend. Not only are you stunning, but you're entirely too smart for him, and you have a brilliant, loving heart. You're everything James has ever dreamed of and he simply cannot believe his luck.

Especially when the dressing room door peaks open and he catches sight of the baby pink lace wrapped beautifully around your waist. Your eyes flick along either end of the hallway before stepping out fully and when you do, James' heart almost flatlines.

The intricate lace hugs your hips in a baby pink coloured dream, and when you spin, the lace dips into a thong. You look at James expectantly, but his eyes snag on the bra, pure lace that shows the darkness of your nipples and his mouth waters. "Holy shit." He lets out.

James isn't too ashamed to admit that the sight of you gets him going. The colour makes your skin look so smooth, matches perfectly with the tone, makes you look positively radiant. Your tits lift perfectly in the bra, sitting perky and James wishes that public fornication wasn't illegal because he has ideas.

"You like it?" You sound sheepish, cheeks a lovely shade of pink that compliments the lace adorning you.

You look the picture of innocence. James wants to ruin it.

"Like isn't a strong enough word, angel."

You laugh, "Okay, hot shot, keep it in your pants. Still two more to go." You tell James as you step back into the changing room and close the door.

"Why can't we just buy all of them? I mean asking me to pick a favourite is cruel." James speaks to the closed door, and he can imagine the amused smile you're giving him, the way you're probably naked and grinning and it's all getting a bit much for him.

"Because," You huff, the sound of a hanger clinking as you take the next set from it, "They're like super expensive. It's a nice little treat, but three is far too many."

James scoffs, folds his arms over his chest. You've spoken a little about James' family, their dynasty in the pharmaceutical industry. But he has a suspicion you live in denial of just how rich he actually is. "I'll buy you all three, baby. You deserve to be spoiled."

He doesn't have to see you to know you're rolling your eyes, ever the one to detest any sort of money being spent on you. You hardly allow James to pay for dinner, even when he asks you on the date.

The door swings open to reveal an emerald green set, this time. You're scowling at his suggestion, still, but you look no less beautiful. This time, there's no lace. Only string, with a scrap of silk to cover your modesty. The bra is made of silk, too. Your nipples press against the shiny material and James realises he really has to get a grip of himself. He gulps and the scowl lifts from your face.

"So the lace wasn't your thing?" You ask, lips tilting up.

James takes an involuntary step forwards, as though if he doesn't get his hands on you soon, he might very well die. "The lace was very much my thing. But this," His fingers twitch, eyes darkening, and James doesn't miss the tiny inhale from your parted lips, the way your eyes glaze over, "Baby, you're so fucking beautiful."

Your smile is saccharine like sticky honey, manicured fingers reaching forwards until they're brushing against James' forearms. His eyes shutter closed at the touch, a man gone mad, driven mad by his beautiful, sexy girlfriend in what he can only describe as the most pleasing lingerie set he's ever seen. "Thanks, Jamie." You whisper, and then you're gone.

James opens his eyes in time to see the round of your ass before the dressing room door slams shut, the sliver of emerald green string that disappears between your perfectly rounded cheeks. He has to stuff a fist in his mouth to stop from groaning loud enough for the entire shopping centre to hear.

The energy shifts, you're not joking or playful anymore, and James can tell you've worked yourself up in your endeavour to tease him. He thinks it serves you right. When the door opens for the third time, James can't breathe. This set is red, has thigh garters and a belt made of the most delicate, sensual mix of lace and silk James could ever imagine. The bra has underwire to support, but is fully lace where it covers next to nothing, and the underwear is so sheer, so small and barely covering you, that James bets all he'd have to do would be to blow hot air against it to have you writhing.

James is so hard he can't think straight. You look sinful, beautiful. He wants to rip the godforsaken lingerie off and simultaneously take his time, enjoy it. Your coy smile lets him know you're aware of his dilemma.

"What do you think, handsome? What ones your favourite?" You ask, leaning against the door jam of the changing room.

Your eyes have a shine to them. One that tells James you're as worked up as he is, that you're enjoying every minute of this like he is. He smiles, allows himself to get close to you in a serious exercise of restraint, and reaches out until your warm skin meets the palm of his hands. Your eyes flutter closed, your body relaxing at the touch. James palms at the skin of your waist, runs a gentle finger from the belt to the thigh garter and watches as your breaths shallow, as your lips quiver.

He bends, all the way until he's right by your ear, the smell of your perfume sweet in his nose, "I think you're gonna go get dressed, and then you're gonna let me buy you all three of these," He pings at the elasticated string of the red thong, marvels at the way you whimper, "And then we're gonna go home and make good use of them."

James dares his fingers to ghost along the lining of your panties, marvels when he gets low enough for you to have to grip onto him for support and finds you soaked. "Sound good, baby?" He asks, pulling away entirely.

Your body jolts at the loss of him, your eyes unfocussed and breaths shallow. "Yes." You manage to get out.

The changing room door slams shut behind you, and for the first time since James has ever known you, you manage to get changed in under a minute.

It's not until later, when there are scraps of emerald and baby pink lace and silk littered across James' bedroom, when you're curled into his side, sleepy and clad in red lace, that you admit to him you'd had every intention of buying all three sets. That the store doesn't allow try-on if you're not going to buy them. James can't bring himself to care.