#stayed up way too late oof

[raylazuko]

Okay, Fontaine act 5

Fontaine. Act. 5.

I know I took my sweet time getting there but damn it was worth it.

Probably the best single act in Genshin alongside Perilous Trail. Genuinely not sure which one is better.

I won’t spoil for those who are slow like me but holy shit.

[theninjamouse]

Shorby A4, D2, E2 for the size difference post?? 👀

Decided to try out different looks for Shore with this one! I have a feeling tumblr is gonna destroy the quality again but alas

Still open for requests! If you have a version of Shore you want to see regarding hair style, skin color or whatever, you can add that too!

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which your court vision will always have her back

part one - part three - part four - part five

Wings vs. Sky. Packed house.

It’s physical from the tip.

Not in a dirty way. Just relentless. Elbows, hips, pressure defense. You’ve got your tablet in hand, clipboard under your leg as you track every Paige rotation.

So far, she’s holding her own. You can see the fatigue in her legs—second night of a back-to-back—but she’s still moving with intent.

And then, it happens.

Paige is curling off a high screen when Courtney Vandersloot turns too fast on help.

CRACK.

Head to head. A collision that echoes through the arena.

Both players go down. But Paige stays down. Flat on her back. Clutching her head. Knees drawn in, fingers in her hair. You stand instantly.

Your clipboard falls off your hands as you step forward—only stopped by the out-of-bounds line. You're not allowed on the court unless summoned.

But the bench?

The coaches?

Coach Koclanes just… stares.

He’s barking orders. Trying to call out a substitution. Not once looking at her.

Not one fucking time.

Your voice cuts through the noise. “Hey.”

He ignores you.

The ref glances at Paige, who’s slowly pushing herself upright, dazed. A trainer finally jogs out late. Paige waves them off, wobbling to her feet.

You stare at Koclanes.

“Are you serious right now?”

He doesn’t turn.

You step closer behind him, voice low but shaking.

“She hit the floor hard. She held her head.”

“She’s up, isn’t she?” he snaps back.

You blink. “So that’s the bar now? She can stand, so who cares how bad it was?”

“Back off, Assistant,” he mutters without looking.

“Oh no,” you say, stepping fully beside him now. “Don’t you dare pull rank with me when your point guard just collapsed on national TV and you couldn’t be bothered to check on her.”

He finally turns, face tight.

“I’m the head coach. I manage the rotation. If she wants a sub, she can say it.”

You take another step. “She was holding her head, Chris. That’s not about rotation. That’s a player safety issue.”

“She waved off the trainer.”

“She was dazed. You saw the hit!”

“You’re way out of line—”

“And you’re not protecting your players!”

A couple staffers behind you start moving. The assistant next to you puts a hand on your arm, sensing the energy shift.

Koclanes leans closer, voice dropping venom.

“You know I could fire you, right here, right now?”

You don’t flinch.

“Do it.”

That stuns him.

You say it again—louder.

“Go ahead. Fire me. But I’ll walk out of this arena knowing I gave a damn when you didn’t.”

The bench behind you is dead quiet.

Arike is standing now. DiJonai has a hand half-raised like she’s ready to step in. Maddy's eyes are wide. Someone mutters, “Yo…”

Two staffers grab your arm, trying to pull you a step back. You don’t budge.

“She is not just your franchise piece,” you growl. “She is a person. A person who’s taken more hits this season than you’ve acknowledged, and all she gets in return is a stare and a substitution?”

Koclanes clenches his jaw. “Let. This. Go.”

“There’s a concussion protocol for a reason,” you fire back. “You’re lucky she’s upright at all.”

“Assistant L/N—”

“She is not going to keep sacrificing her body just because you’re afraid to sit your starters for two goddamn possessions!”

A whistle blows from the refs. Time-in. The game resumes.

But you’re still standing. Face-to-face with the head coach. Seething.

Only when Paige walks back toward the bench, face pale, head still shaking off the hit—do you back off. You meet her eyes. She gives you a small nod.

She’s okay.

For now.

You sit down. Not because you’re done.

But because she needs you calm again.

“Oof, looks like there’s some heat on the Wings bench. That’s… Coach Koclanes and Assistant Y/N L/N—yep, that’s definitely not just a standard rotation conversation.”

“Y/N has a long history with Paige Bueckers, dating back to high school. She’s not just a development coach—she’s been Paige’s personal trainer, recovery coordinator, and from everything we’ve seen, something much closer than just staff.”

“You hate to see that kind of public tension, but… she’s not wrong. Paige went down hard. Someone had to say something.”

@/user Y/N L/N is fighting for her life on that bench and honestly??? I’d take her as head coach right now

@/user She was HOLDING HER HEAD. That wasn’t a foul. That was a fucking red flag. Thank god Y/N stepped up

@/user Y/N: “Fire me then.” Me: “oop—”

@/user I’ve never wanted to be protected by anyone more in my life than I want to be protected by Y/N L/N

@/user Paige doesn’t need a bodyguard. She has Y/N

The room is tense. No music. Just a dull, quiet hum of postgame routine. Paige is sitting on the floor with ice on her neck, head resting against her locker.

You crouch down slowly beside her, finally away from the spotlight.

“You good?” you ask, eyes scanning her carefully.

“I’m alright,” she whispers. “Just… saw stars for a sec.”

You nod. “You told the trainer?”

“Yeah. They’re doing protocol now.”

You pause.

“I almost got fired.”

She turns, brows raised.

“Coach said he could fire me. I told him to do it.”

Paige stares for a second.

Then she reaches out, curls her hand around yours, and squeezes tight.

“You always fight for me.”

You lean your forehead to hers, quiet. “Every time.”

You're barely through the front doors when your phone buzzes again. It’s the third message this morning, this one from your department lead.

“League office just requested footage of last night’s hit. They’re reviewing it for unsafe play and delayed medical response. FYI.”

You stop in your tracks.

You stare at the message.

Then you exhale, mutter “Finally,” and keep walking.

The entire coaching staff is present. Assistant coordinators. Player development. Medical team. Even media relations.

Coach Koclanes walks in last, drops his notes on the table like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

But the tension is different today.

Because the email came from the league office.

The head of player safety.

And it wasn’t just about a Vandersloot’s head butt.

It was about him.

“The league is conducting a formal review of last night’s on-court incident,” says the director of team operations, adjusting his glasses. “They want full sideline audio, player testimony, and post-concussion clearance reports from our staff.”

Everyone’s quiet.

Then one of the assistants asks, “Are they looking into the contact… or the way it was handled?”

“Both,” the director replies. “And specifically, whether proper protocol was followed.”

Coach doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you.

But you’re already sitting straighter. Ready.

“Do they want staff witness accounts?” you ask calmly.

“They do.”

You nod once.

Coach finally speaks. “This is being blown out of proportion.”

You turn toward him slowly. “She hit the floor hard.”

“She waved off the trainer.”

“She shouldn’t have had to.”

Another assistant murmurs, “It was a concussion risk play. That’s automatic review.”

“And the broadcast picked up your argument,” the team director adds. “Social media lit up.”

Coach leans back in his chair, clearly annoyed. “I’m more concerned with winning basketball games than internet drama.”

You stare at him flatly. “I’m more concerned with protecting the players you rely on to win them.”

The room stays silent.

You lean forward, hands on the table. “If we’re not protecting our franchise players—our rookies—especially when they’re visibly shaken, then we are failing them. Period.”

No one interrupts you this time.

And this time, Coach doesn’t fight back.

@/user The league has confirmed it is reviewing the on-court collision between Paige Bueckers and Courtney Vandersloot. Sources say the investigation includes the Dallas bench's handling of the aftermath

@/user SAY IT LOUDER! we do not normalize letting elite players get concussed mid-game and left to shake it off. The league stepping in is the bare minimum

@/user So we all agree that Y/N L/N was the only adult in the room last night right?

@/user She said “fire me” while protecting the only rookie carrying the backcourt and the league listened. Icon behavior

You’re sitting on the floor of your living room, tablet on your lap, rewatching the collision in slow motion. Frame by frame. Over and over. You’re memorizing the exact second Paige’s head hits the floor, the way her hand goes up, the dazed blink, the delayed bench reaction.

You’re so locked in you don’t hear the front door open.

“Still watching it?” Paige’s voice is quiet behind you.

You glance over your shoulder.

She walks toward you slowly, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Her eyes are tired. She’s still on watch from the medical team—symptoms mild, but present.

“I couldn’t let it go,” you admit. “Not when no one else said anything.”

She sinks down beside you on the carpet, shoulder to shoulder.

“You didn’t let them look past it.”

“I couldn’t,” you say. “You could’ve blacked out. You could’ve gone down harder. It could’ve been worse.”

She rests her head against your shoulder.

“But it wasn’t. Because you stood up.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you turn your face toward her temple and press a kiss there.

“I’ll never stop standing up for you.”

Her voice is softer now.

“I think the league knows that.”

You exhale. “They should.”

She smiles faintly, murmuring into your shoulder, “And if they don’t… you’ll make sure they do.”

The apartment is too quiet for a game day.

The only sound in the living room is the faint hum of the pregame broadcast coming through the TV speakers and the soft pop of an ice pack settling against fabric.

Paige is curled into the corner of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, the drawstrings tied in a loose knot under her chin. She’s got a pillow behind her neck, and one bare knee propped over your thigh. Her eyes are locked on the screen, but her focus is scattered.

You sit beside her—shoulders straight, arms folded—wearing a Wings staff tee and warm-up joggers that feel more like salt in the wound than uniform. You haven’t worn anything else since the league issued the notice two days ago.

Temporarily removed from bench duties pending internal review.

Which was protocol, they said. Nothing personal. Nothing disciplinary.

And yet.

It felt like exile.

The game is minutes from tip-off.

The broadcast cuts to the court.

Blue lights dance across the hardwood. The crowd is on their feet, music thumping through the arena. The camera pans the bench, scanning down the Wings sideline.

You’re not in the frame.

Neither is she.

“The Dallas Wings are without two major pieces tonight. Rookie guard Paige Bueckers is officially in concussion protocol following last game’s collision with Courtney Vandersloot—”

“And for the first time this season, development assistant Y/N L/N won’t be on the bench either. The league is still reviewing the aftermath of that play, and how the coaching staff—well, how it was all handled.”

“There’s been a lot of conversation about that. Video of their sideline confrontation went viral. And I think what you’re seeing now is the fallout of a team trying to walk the line between accountability… and silence.”

“We’ve talked a lot about how close Y/N and Paige are. What that chemistry looks like on-court. What we’re about to see tonight is what happens when that link is missing.”

Paige reaches for the remote and turns the volume down.

“I can’t listen to them talk about it like that,” she says softly.

You glance at her. “Like what?”

“Like you’re a problem.”

You shift, laying a hand gently on her thigh. “I’m not worried about how they frame it.”

“You should be,” she mutters. “You were the only one who gave a damn when I hit the floor.”

“You gave a damn, too.”

She huffs. “Yeah. I gave a dazed thumbs up. Very heroic.”

You shake your head. “You just wanted to keep playing. You always do.”

Paige looks at you then. Really looks.

“Do you think they’ll fire you?”

You pause, then answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

She’s quiet.

You squeeze her leg gently.

“They might sideline me. They might suspend me. They might decide I crossed a line.” You exhale. “But if I had to do it again? I would. Exactly the same way.”

Her voice is a whisper. “Even if it costs you this?”

You nod. “Especially then.”

The first quarter tips off.

And from the very beginning, you both see that the team is off.

Spacing is clumsy. The pace is slower. The ball sticks longer than usual.

The rhythm’s broken.

Because the one who commands it—and the one who reads it—isn’t there.

“It’s worth mentioning, that even when Paige isn’t scoring, she orchestrates spacing. And Y/N’s feedback on the bench—non-verbal corrections, in-time tweaks—you can’t replicate that mid-season.”

“They’re not just player and coach. They’re… a feedback loop.”

“And the loop’s cut tonight.”

Midway through the second quarter, Paige shifts uncomfortably, eyes fixed on a missed defensive rotation.

“She would’ve had that,” she murmurs.

You nod. “I would’ve told her to switch early.”

She leans further into you.

“You’re really not okay, are you?”

You glance at her. “No.”

She hums. “Me neither.”

She adjusts the ice pack on her neck, then pulls your arm around her shoulder, tucking into your side like a puzzle piece. The screen glows quietly in the dark.

On the court, her teammates grind out the half. But here—on this couch—you both sit quiet. Bruised. Benched. Watching the game you love play out without you.

It’s a text.

From an unknown number.

“We heard you. The review is almost done. Hang tight.”

You show the screen to Paige. She doesn’t say anything. She just takes your hand in hers and threads your fingers together like she's anchoring herself to you—because if you're not on the court, not on the bench, then at the very least, you’re here.

And here? You’re still hers.

The meeting is private, unscheduled, and dead silent when Paige Bueckers walks into the room.

Her steps are soft, but her expression is anything but. She’s in a Wings hoodie and black sweats, hair pulled back in a bun. No press-ready smiles. Just the cold, steady fire of a player who’s tired of watching everything go down from the sidelines.

Across the table, General Manager Curt Miller. Two assistant GMs. And Coach Chris Koclanes.

None of them expected her.

“Paige,” Curt says, standing politely. “You shouldn’t be up. Protocol says—”

“I’m not here for a physical,” Paige interrupts, dropping into the empty chair like she owns the room. “I’m here to talk about Y/N.”

Coach Koclanes shifts uncomfortably beside the GM. “This isn’t—”

Paige turns her head sharply. “Don’t interrupt me.”

The room stills.

No one speaks.

Paige’s voice stays calm—but there’s weight behind every syllable.

“I’ve played this game since I was six. I’ve taken elbows to the face. I’ve blown out my knee. I’ve spent more hours with athletic trainers than my own family.”

She locks eyes with Curt Miller.

“But the only person who has ever watched over me like it mattered—on and off the court—is Y/N L/N.”

Curt exhales. “We understand your connection to her, and the review—”

“No, you don’t,” Paige says, louder now. “Because if you did, she’d be on the bench tonight. Not sitting in our apartment pacing the floor with a game plan that none of you even read.”

“She escalated a sideline situation,” Koclanes cuts in. “That could’ve—”

“She defended me,” Paige snaps. “Because you didn’t.”

That shuts him up.

Paige leans forward.

“I was clutching my head after a violent collision, and you didn’t even glance my way. You were too busy managing your substitution flow to check if your rookie could stand up straight.”

“You waved off the trainer,” Koclanes mutters.

“I was concussed,” she hisses. “I shouldn’t have had to make that call.”

Curt interjects, gentler now. “We hear your frustration, Paige. And we want to be sure you’re feeling safe within the team structure.”

Paige turns to her again. “Let me make it clear, then. If Y/N loses her job over protecting mine, I walk.”

The silence is immediate.

No one blinks. No one breathes.

Lisa finally clears her throat. “You’re serious.”

Paige nods. “Dead serious.”

Koclanes scoffs under his breath.

“She doesn’t get to dictate personnel decisions,” he says.

“She knows this roster better than you do,” Paige fires back. “She watches our feet, not just our stats. She tells us what’s off before the film catches it. You’re reckless with our bodies, Chris. You push starters past warning signs. You gamble with rotations and call it ‘intensity.’ But Y/N? She works to preserve us.”

Curt looks between them.

“Paige… you’re one of our franchise pieces. This team has invested heavily—”

“Then listen to me. Because I’m telling you now. If Y/N’s not here? Neither am I.”

The room is tense.

And Paige? She’s not backing down.

“She’s not your assistant,” she finishes. “She’s our protection. Our voice when we’re too scared or too trained to speak.”

She stands slowly. Her head is still aching from the concussion. Her balance isn’t perfect. But her voice never wavers.

“You want to talk about trust? I don’t trust a single system that punishes someone for giving a damn.”

Your badge scans in clean again.

You're back.

Officially reinstated. No fine. No reprimand. No apology from the league — but the silence is as good as an admission.

The rest of the staff pretends like nothing happened. You get polite nods. Familiar claps on the shoulder. Even a “glad you’re back” from one of the interns.

But you don’t come back for the pleasantries. You come back to do your job.

Paige isn’t cleared to practice yet, but she’s there — sitting off to the side with her arms crossed and a soft smile in your direction every time she catches your eye. She looks better. Brighter. But you still check her hands every time she stretches. Still watch her pupils when she blinks too long.

Because now more than ever, you’re watching what no one else does.

You’re mid-cone setup near the baseline, clipboard under your arm, when you hear it.

“Coach L/N.”

You turn, slow and sharp.

It’s Koclanes.

Standing just off the court. Neutral expression. Neutral tone.

But you know better.

“Got a second?”

You glance at your watch. “We’re two minutes from footwork warmups.”

He steps closer. “It won’t take long.”

You exhale through your nose and follow — just far enough off the court to give the illusion of privacy. But Paige is still watching. So are the assistants. The players may not be listening, but the energy around you shifts.

You keep your stance open, but your face is a locked door.

Koclanes speaks first.

“I just wanted to say I respect your fire,” he says. “What you did? It came from a place of care. I didn’t see it then, but I see it now.”

You don’t move.

“You’re a passionate voice for the team. For Paige. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. We both lost our cool.”

He waits. Watching you. Hoping for a nod. A hand-shake. A let’s-move-on.

But you give him nothing.

“Are you finished?”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

You tilt your head. “Was that supposed to be an apology?”

“I said I respect what you did.”

“No,” you say. “You said you see it now. Which is cute. But it doesn’t erase what you didn’t see when she was laid out on the floor.”

He stiffens.

You step closer — not aggressive. Just tired of holding it in.

“You want to patch this up? You want to shake hands and pretend we’re good?” You lean in slightly. “You should’ve done that then. You should’ve cared then. When your franchise rookie was blinking through a possible concussion and you didn’t move.”

Koclanes crosses his arms. “You don’t need to drag this out.”

You smile coldly. “I’m not dragging anything. I just don’t pretend.”

He exhales, trying to keep his voice even. “You’re not going to win anything by holding a grudge.”

You shake your head once. “This isn’t a grudge. This is a memory.”

You take a step back.

“And I don’t need to win. I just need to protect my players.”

You turn and walk away.

Paige watches the whole exchange.

Doesn’t hear every word. Doesn’t need to. She sees your shoulders square. Your jaw tighten. The way you walk back toward the court like nothing touched you.

She smiles to herself.

Because she knew you’d come back stronger.

And this time? They all saw it.

It was the second week of February and the third game in five days.

Hopkins was undefeated. Paige was averaging 26 points per game. She was already on the national radar, already getting SportsCenter highlights and whispered UConn promises. But that week? She looked… slow.

Not bad. Just off.

You noticed it before anyone else did. The slight hitch in her landing after every Euro step. The way she winced when she rotated off her left foot. She hadn’t said a word. Of course she hadn’t. Not Paige.

But you’d been training with her long enough by then to know her body better than she did.

So when Coach called another full-speed scrimmage the day after a back-to-back, you spoke up.

At first, it was just a glance.

You caught her limping slightly off a cut and you looked at him. Expecting him to notice.

He didn’t.

“Keep pushing!” he barked from across the gym. “You want to play D1, you play tired. No excuses.”

Paige’s jaw clenched.

You took a step forward.

Coach blew the whistle again. “Run it back! I want more pace!”

“Coach,” you said, calmly. “She’s limping.”

He waved you off. “She’s fine.”

“She’s not.”

Now he turned. “Y/N, this isn’t your lane.”

“She hasn’t planted off her left clean in ten minutes.”

“She’s tougher than that.”

You stepped between them.

“No one’s questioning her toughness. But if you keep pushing her on that leg, she’s not going to finish the season.”

Coach’s expression shifted — more annoyed than concerned.

“She said she’s good. That’s all I need.”

You turned back to Paige.

She wouldn’t meet your eyes. You watched her swallow, force her shoulders up. That brave little smile she wore like armor when she didn’t want to be seen through.

So you said it for her.

“She doesn’t have to say it. I’m saying it. Pull her.”

The gym went quiet.

Later, she found you outside the locker room, hoodie over her head, limping a little more now that the drills were done.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered.

You leaned against the wall. “You always say that.”

“I would’ve been fine.”

You tilted your head. “No, you would've played through it. That’s not the same.”

She didn’t answer. Just scuffed her shoe against the hallway tile.

“You were protecting me,” she finally said.

You shrugged. “Always will.”

Paige looked up at you then. Really looked.

And her voice came out quiet, almost too vulnerable for her.

“Even if I don’t ask you to?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Especially then.”

[miabebe]

The Intruder's Eye (CSC)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't make one want to keep an eye at all times?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Choi Seungcheol

Word count - 6K (I failed the below 5k challenge T.T)

Genre - Oof buckle up my friends. This is a halloween special so I tried not hold back - its a psycho-thriller, there's smut and a whole lot of pyscho-ness whelp Warnings under the cut!

A/n - It's the week leading up to Halloween folks! Unfortunately I'm not the biggest fan of clowns and ghosts and vampires etc, but I do love me a good dose of psychos (who I think are scarier btw) so here you goooo! You can also check out Jeonghan's and Joshua's!

Again @tusswrites and @tomodachiii - what would I do without y'all 🫂 this piece is basically all you guys!

warnings - intruder in the house, mentions of stalking, medications, deranged characters, triggering descriptions of a home intrusion, smut, homemade porn (lol), bondage (mouth and hands), blowjobs, cum eating, riding, rough sex, mentions of toys and anal, manhandling, psycho behaviour, please forgive me I can only allow myself to be this unhinged during spooky season

It was the soft pitter patter of the rain against the car window that woke you up. 

Slowly fluttering your eyes open, you looked out down the dark, lonely road on the other side, at the street lights were still obscured by the downpour. It's not as torrential as it was when you stepped out of the grocery store a while ago. It was too heavy for you to even drive then so you settled in your car for a while, waiting for the rain to get less harsh. You didn't realise when you fell asleep. 

Looking at the 8pm flashing on your phone screen and the way darkness had engulfed everything around, a strange panic rose in you. You weren't really afraid of staying out too late but given the things that had been happening around you recently - you didn't want to take the risk. 

Turning on the engine and shifting the gears, you took a deep breath, and started driving  towards home. 

The street was empty for the most part - not many cars were on the road given the warnings for the incoming storm earlier that day. You didn't have a choice but to leave - you were suddenly running low on supplies, the shopping list in your hand was almost a page long. You glanced at the groceries at the backseat with a satisfied sigh - guess the newfound cardio routine was doing a good job in working up your appetite. 

As you neared your house, the streets became more illuminated, much to your relief. Unlike the rest of the town, your neighbourhood was a much safer space - there were streetlights, surveillance cameras and disguised cops always patrolling the area. Most people who resided here didn't know but many of the inhabitants of these row houses were in fact people placed on witness protection. You knew because you were one of them. 

One year ago, your testimony in a high profile case had led to some very bad people finding themselves behind bars. In exchange, you were promised protection, leading to your identity being morphed and your life being relocated to this locality. You were promised that nothing would happen to you here, that you would be very safe. You believed it then, but not so much now - not when you turned into your street and noticed the camera at the end of it was short circuited. Perhaps the storms over the last few days had a hand in it. 

You didn’t think much of it.

But maybe you should.

Because as you grabbed your groceries and ran to the door, fishing for your keys, you realised you didn't need them. The door was not locked. 

You racked your brains to remember if you had locked the door before you left or if you were in too much of a hurry to beat the incoming rain. Your memory is a little fuzzy, it has been like that for awhile, but you were too cold and aching to just get inside to give it any further thought.

 You must've forgotten to lock it - what other explanation could there possibly be? 

Balancing the bags in one hand, you slowly pushed the door open as you stepped in, flipping the switches with bated breath. 

Everything seemed fine, nothing felt out of place. Releasing a breath you tell yourself that everything is fine - you were clearly overthinking things. Paranoia had been a part of your life ever since the proceedings of that case - you were always wary, always suspicious, always scared. Though, you shouldn't be feeling that way anymore, you had taken your medication - you should be fine.

But how were you supposed to feel fine when every small thing made the hair on your skin stand. Like the curtains in the living room being open for example. You never kept the curtains open, especially not since your new neighbour moved in a few months ago. 

He called himself Choi Seungcheolwhen he knocked on the door to offer an introduction. You didn't know if that was his real name or the one the cops had given him as a part of the programme. Either way you didn't ask him lest he might ask you yours in return - you didn't need your identity compromised, not when the gang of those convicts was still actively looking for you. You had simply nodded and shut the door. 

Since then, you’ve always had the curtains closed. You had to, because somehow every time you looked out, Seungcheol was by his window, watching you. If you were being honest, Seungcheol was hot as fuck and a year ago, if a man like that was interested in you, you wouldn't have let him go. But things were different now - you couldn't trust anyone anymore.

Walking up to the window, you stumbled over the dumbbell in the way as you glanced at the neighbouring house. The two of your houses were the only ones on the street that weren't covered in Halloween decorations. It made sense - you were both single and did not have to deal with whining, crying, demanding children so there was no need for this facade. 

But you weren’t that lackluster, you did buy and keep some candy for the trick or treaters though you wouldn’t know if Seungcheol had done the same - he didn't seem too particularly fond of children. He never let them near the house. In fact he never let anyone into his house. You had never seen a woman or a friendly face from town or even a family member step into his place - he pretty much always kept to himself. It’s not like anyone else in this neighborhood had the luxury for such anyway.

At present, there was no sight of him or even his silhouette, with how the curtains of his house were drawn but all the lights were still on. Sighing a little in relief, you do the same, shutting the blinds. Still feeling the weight of the dumbbell against your foot, you pushed it out of the way, wondering how it had displaced itself from the rest of the workout equipment in the first place. You hadn’t even used those in a while now. 

Still lost in thought, you walked into the kitchen and as you turned the lights on, a shiver ran down your spine. 

Something was off, something did not seem right. 

At first glance everything seemed fine, but looking again carefully–nothing seemed right. The apron wasn't in its usual place by the spice rack, you don’t recall leaving out a glass of water on the counter, or leaving a packet of corn chips open. You never leave things out when you leave, you always put them away.

But things like this had been happening ever since you started your medication. You were more forgetful, and that was inconvenient but without your daily dosage it was like a fight between your nerves and caution - anything that moved invoked fear in you, every small sound made you shiver. There was no choice but to take those pills everyday. It was the only think keeping you sane. 

Shaking your head, you organized everything back in place again. Everything was fine. You had taken an extra dosage right before you left the house, you were just a little fazed from all the chemicals. Surely it was just your imagination, it wasn't like anyone could have entered the house in your absence….right? 

But there was a half eaten bowl of cereal in the sink and you… you were lactose intolerant, you didn't drink milk - that couldn't be yours. Hands shaking, you took a step back. 

Someone was in this house. 

Quickly opening the drawer, you grabbed a knife, gripping the handle hard and tight. The only question was, were they still in the house? 

Wiping the sweat off your face, you took a small careful step out of the kitchen. 

It was quiet, deadly quiet, there was not a sound to be heard, but the hum of the electrical appliances and the soft patter of the rain outside. Then you heard it, ears sharp and sensitive to the sound of water dripping. Slowly you moved towards the washroom, holding your weapon out, breath shaking. 

When you cautiously pushed the door open you noticed the floor was wet, water leaking from the shower head, drop after drop. You've never had this problem before, did you have a plumbing issue?

Stepping in, you tried to fix the faucet with your free hand. But no matter how many times you adjusted the hardware, water continued to drip, rendering you unsuccessful in your attempts. It felt like a really strong hand had broken the tap which was silly because you were definitely careful with how you handled your things? Neither could have broken this nor clearly, could you fix it. Annoyed by your failure and the thought of calling maintenance, you stepped out of the shower, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. 

There was a strange tiredness etched all over your features, hiding a stranger something behind it. Your eyes had sunken further into their sockets, thin wisps of hair framing your face - You’ve definitely had better days and was… was that a knife in your hand? 

You glanced at it quizzically. Why did you step into the shower with a knife? 

Softly smacking your head at your silliness, you walked back into the living room, leaving the tap for another day. Half yawning with tiredness were ready to retire for the night when your eyes fell on the grocery bags still waiting for you on the table - you had forgotten about it. Groaning at the thought of having to put everything away, you set the knife on the dining table and grabbed your purchases instead, taking them into the pantry. Perhaps it was because you were too deeply immersed in your organisation, but your otherwise sharp ears missed the rustling of the leaves outside, crunching under someone’s footsteps.

Going through the grocery checklist scribbled in horrible handwriting to make sure you had gotten everything, you swiftly began putting them all in their place. The pastas in the jars, the fruits in the baskets, the sauces in the tray. The heaviest thing you bought was perhaps those huge jars of protein powder. You weren't really sure why you decided to buy it - sure your doctor said you were too weak and needed to exercise to build strength but you didn't need to buy all of the products the Internet recommended to you. 

Telling yourself you'll find use for it later, you pushed them onto the shelves and turned to the meat instead, throwing them into the fridge. You didn't really know how to cook meat too well but you wanted to try. Seungcheol had once grilled some meat in his backyard and came over to offer you a few bites. When you tried to take it from him at the door, he pulled his hand back and cocked his head. 

“Are you not going to invite me inside?” 

He was always trying to make a move on you like that. You knew what he wanted, you knew what he had his eyes on but the answer was, no. You could take the deliciously cooked meat from him but couldn't let him into the house. It was too soon to trust him. 

But Seungcheol was relentless. 

It was evident with how he was the only one in town who turned up at the video store where you worked. And he came everyday. Normal people didn't borrow a new movie everyday, right? Clearly he was flirting with you. Or at least he was trying to. You only ever behaved professionally with him . Except sometimes, when he asked for movie recommendations of a very specific genre. You didn't really know many serial killer documentaries or crime podcasts to suggest, so you would simply ask a colleague to take over. Over the days, you watched him consume every last bit of thrillers available in the store and distantly wondered if he had a life outside of this consumption. 

Perhaps not. Seungcheol seemed a bit odd like that. 

He talked to everyone in town but didn't really seem to have any friends. He wasn't home for days together sometimes - you didn't really know the nature of his job so you couldn't tell why his absence was so frequent. He always drove that tiny pickup truck of his with some weird boxes and bags hidden under big blue plastic sheets in the trunk. . 

The whole deal about him was just not right. You knew something about him was not right. Even though he was incredibly pleasant on the eye, you had to be wary of him. 

You had to be wary of everything. . 

But maybe you weren't always as alert as you should be. Because it  was only as you were putting away the last of the snacks that you heard that sound - the thumping. 

It seemed like it was coming from outside…. Or was it upstairs? It felt like it was coming from right above, like the sound of someone's feet. 

And just like that,, you remembered the intruder again - the one who might still be in your home. 

Quickly you rushed to grab the knife from the table once more and held it out in defense. Whoever came to the house was most definitely still here, you could feel it in your bones. 

As you slowly made your way towards the stairs, trying to maintain a soft footfall to avoid the creaking of the stairs, another sound took you aback. 

No, not your racing heart - The doorbell. 

Turning sharply, you glanced at the door with wide eyes. Who could it possibly be?  At this late hour?

The ringing only became more persistent, morphing into knocks while you inched towards the door, grip on the knife tightening. 

As you slowly pressed down the handle and slightly opened the door, you were met with cheerful voices, much to your relief. 

“Happy Halloween!” 

Before you was a tiny ghost, a pirate, a couple of princesses and a buzz lightyear, all half your height, looking at you surprised. 

“Ms. L/n!” 

“Hey kiddos.” 

“Where's Mr. Choi?” The pirate pouted. “We thought we could finally get him to be nice to us, hand us some treats.” 

“Aw.” You pinched his cheek with your free hand. The one that was not hiding the knife behind the door. “Mr. Choi isn't in town sadly.” 

The little kid looked at you quizzically. “Then what are you doing in his house?” 

.

.

.

Oh. 

You blinked at him while he looked up at you expectantly. 

Then your lips split into a sweet, saccharine smile. 

“He asked me to look after it while he was gone.”

“When will Mr. Choi be back?” 

You glanced at the inquisitive little ghost, fiddling with the knife in your hand. 

Please, please don't make me use this. 

“Do you want an answer or candy?” You cocked your head cheekily. “I'm only giving out one.” 

“Candy!” They screamed as you laughed and reached for the packet you had just bought, ripping it open with the knife.

They watched excitedly as you dropped handfuls of chocolate into their little baskets and plastic pumpkins. With a scream of “Ms. L/N is the best!” they scurried away to their next target of the night. And so did you, tossing the knife onto the table once again.

You clutched your head and released a low hiss of irritation at the dull throb.Those stupid medicines were really getting to your head now, you were forgetting too many important things. Thank fuck for the children, otherwise you would have never remembered what really had to be done. 

Locking the door behind you, you quickly made your way up the stairs. There was no need to head softly - the stairs had a tendency to creak in your house, not in Seungcheol’s. 

The thumping from earlier was more pronounced now as your senses slowly cleared up, much like how the light flooded from underneath the bedroom door. The soft thumps are getting louder and louder as you neared it. With a twist of the knob and swing of the door, you tilt  your head with a smile. 

Light flooded from underneath the bedroom door, the soft thumping sound getting louder and louder as you neared it. Opening it wide, you cocked your head with a smile. 

There he was. 

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, Seungcheol was looking gorgeous as ever. He was dressed in just his grey sweatpants, the thick muscles of his shoulders and pecs bared before you. His biceps too were popping on either side thanks to the fact that his hands were tied at the back of the chair. Oh and his mouth was gagged shut, his words turning into muffled whimpers as he looked at you wide eyed, halting the stomping of his feet.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry.” You raised your hands apologetically. “I meant to be back soon but you know how I am, forgetful little me. I'm sorry baby.” You neared him, walking around his chair, bending to whisper in his ear. “But I see you're having your fun.” 

Your eyes flickered from the tent in his pants to the laptop you left on for his entertainment, right in the line of his vision. You see yourself on the screen, dressed in the hottest lingerie you owned, looking right in the camera with the vibrator held just where you needed him and only one name spilling from your mouth - Seungcheol. 

This wasn't the video you played from him before you left for the grocery store - perhaps they were auto playing, lucky him. You had hours of such footage of yourself - in all kinds of positions, with every possible toy, in role play costumes, in every possible color of lingerie, you had an unmatchable variety. The only thing common among all of them was his name. Choi Seungcheol. 

Could you be blamed? The man was unbelievably attractive. It wasn't like you didn't try to avoid him, to repel all that magnetism. You were well aware of your nature - it hadn't been long since you had gotten a chance to start afresh and you didn't want to spiral again. You really really didn't. 

But Seungcheol was persistent. He wouldn't stop flirting with you at any given chance, he kept trying to invite himself home, he was consistently intrusive. You kept him at bay for the longest time, at least until the day you had to return the box he had left with you, the one in which he gave you the grilled meat. 

You didn't expect him to open the door with his shirt off, slick with sweat, flushed and half panting. When you caught sight of the dumbbells behind him,  could tell he was working out but somehow you couldn't help but think this was probably how he looked when he fucked and god did that make your mouth water. 

That day he shouldn't have invited you in. Then you wouldn't have found your resolve crumbling so weakly. You wouldn't have found yourself under him being pounded like there was no tomorrow. You wouldn't have crossed the line like this. 

What started that day set off a cascade of events. Sleeping with Seungcheol became quite a regular act - there was no part of you that he had left unexplored, untouched. He was in every crevice, every cell, you were entirely consumed by him. When you were at work, all you could think about was how well he fucked you the day before. When you were on the way home, all you could think about was how well he was going fuck you today. Even after you reached, you always made it a point to immediately wash up, wear your nicest underwear and knock on his door. You always did it at his house. 

He did try to come to your place a couple of times but you consistently steered the two of you back to his house somehow. It was one thing to let him cum in you but to come into your house? You couldn’t have that happening, he’d ask too many questions - why do you never use the garage Y/n? Why was it always locked Y/n? Why did you have a ridiculous number of gardening tools in your house when you don’t even grow any plants Y/n? You knew the questions wouldn't seize and the answers weren’t good for him. They weren't good for anyone who's heard them all these years. 

Another reason you didn't want him home was because you didn't want to ruin the surprise. 

Now, Seungcheol was a self-sufficient man. He was happy with himself, his life, his home, his solitude. It was evident all he was looking for in you was a good fuck - afterall, he would never ask you to stay the night or to be his girlfriend even though you'd been seeing each other for months. You were okay with that….. for now. The two of you were still exploring, still understanding each other's bodies and limits. You didn't mind him taking his time, you needed your time as well. 

You see, Seungcheol loved his home. He loved every piece of furniture, every bowl, every mat - he was incredibly fond of his space, taking all the time and effort in the world to curate it. You, on the other hand, didn't really care much for your house. As long as it could fulfill basic needs and keep you safe, you were good - it wasn't like you stayed for long in one place anyways. But your heart knew that you wanted to stay with Seungcheol for the rest of your life. There was something dark about him too that told you he belonged with you the way you belonged to him. You wanted him to feel like he belonged to you too, you wanted him to feel at home with you. You wanted to be his home. 

That's why you took months together to design and turn your house into an identical replica of Seungcheol’s. 

And when you say replica you mean down to the T. Everything was the same. You made sure it was the same. All those times he was away for days together thanks to his job, you found yourself slipping into his house taking detailed notes of every object, every piece. You would only see, not touch or take anything away. Come on, you were no thief, thieves are bad people.. 

After that you had spent all your time online or going from store to store, finding originals and duplicates of his belongings. Given that he loved to have really exclusive pieces in his house they were not easy to procure but with a little sweet talk, a little threatening and a little unspeakable things, you had somehow managed to bring them all home. To the home you were making for him. 

Earlier this week, you had gotten hold of the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle - a childhood photo of Seungcheol's family, framed and hung on the wall. It was the hardest thing to get your hands on. His estranged sister would not leave her house for long enough - it took a major occupational accident at her husband's construction site to finally get her moving. 

With everything finally in place today, just as the sun began to set, you went over to Seungcheol's house to bring him over at last, to show him what you had done for him. Seeing how his front door was unlocked you stepped in, curiously looking around for him. But that feeling evaporated the moment you heard that sound - the sound of a woman moaning. 

It felt like the ground under your feet had slipped. Perhaps that was why you grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall, to give your shaking hands something to hold on to as you made your way to his bedroom…. He didn't even bother to shut the door. 

There he was, sitting on the bed with his laptop open before him, frantically getting himself off to the video of some pizza delivery girl getting her “payment”. 

Porn. He was watching porn. 

The moment his eyes fell on you by the door, he quickly tucked his length into his sweats and jumped off the bed, looking at you like you were crazy. Oh no Choi Seungcheol. He didn't just do that. He shouldn't have. Maybe then you wouldn't have swung the bat and knocked him out cold. Maybe he wouldn't have found himself in the middle of the room all tied up when he came around. 

You just couldn't understand him. What was the need for him to look at other women or even think of one when you were right there? Was he bored of you? Were you not enough? You did everything you could to keep him - every depraved fantasy, every humiliating act, every time he was rough to bruise you for days together, you took it all, you begged for more. Then why was he doing this? 

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't answer your questions, he was simply screaming to set free. Well of course the only thing you could do was to shut his mouth in some way and with him unable to speak, you had to find other ways to get answers. You needed to find out if Seungcheol was just not attracted to you anymore. 

That's why you brought out your video collection, little films you had taken of yourself back when you were still pushing him away, all while wondering what it was like to get fucked by him. His mouth may say whatever but anatomy couldn't lie right? There was something else that could stand up and answer you. 

You had meant to stay and watch, afterall, you were proud of the quality of your content but the flashes of thunder outside told you that perhaps it was wiser for you to go to the store first. You knew whatever was going to transpire wouldn't be over any time soon, you had to stock up before the storm locked you in. Besides, it was Halloween night, all the cute little kids would be coming around for candy, you didn't want to miss out on that. 

You didn't and thanks to them, you didn't succumb to your forgetfulness and miss out on this either. 

“There there.” You cooed, removing his gag and he coughed, unable to regain his ability to speak just yet. You waited for him to come around, walking back to sit on the edge of the bed as he looked at you meekly. 

“Water.” He whispered, voice just a little horse. 

You raised your eyebrow. How did he manage to sound so sexy all the time? 

“Thirsty are we?” You smiled. “I thought my gift might have helped.”

“Y/n please.” He groaned. “What kind of sick joke is this?” 

Oh. He thinks it's a joke. A little Halloween scare perhaps. A prank gone overboard. Oh he has no idea.

“I think it's me who you take for a joke.” You glanced down at his raging boner. “Or not, considering how excited you are.”

You got up, leaning over him, hand gripping the back of his chair. 

“I'll help you.” You licked your lips. “Either I'll untie you, take my little collection and get out of here. Or I'll help with your not so little predicament with any and every hole I have…. Pick your poison.” 

Seungcheol looked at you wide eyed. His breath was shaking, lips were quivering and a hundred and one things seemed to be running behind those pretty eyes. 

Slowly gulping, his Adams apple moving with a bob, he shut his eyes. 

“It's unbearable.” He mumbled. “It's just…. Please help me.” 

And you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

Sliding off the bed, you got on your knees, crawling up to him, slotting yourself between his legs. Seungcheol’s eyes flew open when your hands found his thigh, a soft sigh tumbling out of his mouth. He loved to fuck your mouth. He loved how eager to please you always were, always trying to take in more of him, always trying to do better. God he loved it.

He watched as you pulled his sweats down the best you could and wrapped your tiny hand around his dick. He was raging hard, the tip flushed in an angry red, precum smeared all over. You were lucky he was in your control now. If he were allowed to have his way, he might just break you. 

Stroking him agonisingly slowly, you inched closer to place a small kiss on his tip, the softest interaction that had ever happened between the two of you. Before Seungcheol could even relish that moment you wrapped your lips around his length and took him all the way in. Fucking hell. Seungcheol thought he was going to pass out with how intensely you were blowing him. He wished you'd untie his hands. He'd go anything to just push your head down his dick and feel himself in your throat. That was a sureshot at making him come, these shallow and fast bobs of your head were only aggravating him. 

Maybe that's what you wanted. Because the moment he let out his tell tale groan, letting you know he was close, you pulled away with a pop and wrapped your hand around his cock instead. Before he could complain about losing the warmth of your mouth you began stroking him fast thanks to the wetness of your spit and before you knew it, he felt himself reaching that high, meaningless words leaving his mouth. With a few more jerks, he came all over himself in spurts, ropes of white coating his abdomen. 

As he tried to battle his feelings of relief after finding a much needed release, disappointment for not coming in your mouth, and slight fear, not understanding what the hell was going on, you slowly let him go, wiping your hand on his sweats. Looking straight into his eyes, you leaned forward, gathering the cum all over his skin with your tongue and showing it to him before you swallowed it. Fuck, Seungcheol felt the blood rushing down there again. He was far from done tonight. 

Getting up you looked at him questioningly though you were well aware of the answer. 

“Do you need more?”

Unable to do anything else, he nodded slowly, whispering please. 

Smirking, you quickly stripped yourself out of your clothes. You would have made a show out of it, tease him slowly but you were equally desperate to fuck him so you quickly abandoned that idea. Throwing your garments somewhere, you clambered onto his lap, aligning yourself over his dick. You didn't need any prep or lube, you were practically dripping from just blowing him. 

Slowly sinking onto his length you threw your head back, finally feeling full. Seungcheol moaned too, burying his face between your boobs as you bottomed out, your grip like a vice. Holding onto his shoulders you began fucking yourself on his length, snapping your hips relentlessly. You could tell the feeling was too much for Seungcheol too as he bit on the soft skin of your breasts. It stung painfully but you let him - you always let him do whatever he wanted to you anyways. 

“Tired?” He looked up at you with a triumphant smirk as your pace began to falter thanks to the not so comfortable position of your legs. “Are you finally going to ask me for help?”

You shook your head. You didn't want him to have the upper hand anymore.

“Don't be stubborn, doll. You know it's better when I have my hands on you.” He ran his tongue along your breast, relishing the sweet and salty taste of you. “Untie my hands and we can make this better y/n. I know how much you love my fingers up your ass, and how much you like the grip on my hands all over you and how much you want me . Come on baby, untie me.”

You didn't want to, you really didn't want to but a part of you knew he was right. He could make you feel so good. 

Reaching over you pulled on the knot holding his hands together and in a flash his hands gripped the bottom on your thighs and with the sheer strength of his that you loved, he got up, lifting you along with him. Immediately pinning you to the wall, he began thrusting into you, drawing out the most exquisite moans from you as he hit the spot again and again and again. When unable to hold it anymore, you came around him, he tossed you onto the bed, pounding into you mercilessly, making you cum around him one more time before he painted your ass and back with his own release. Even then the night was far from over. 

After that he fucked you almost till dawn, pushing you to the limit as he made you cum so many times, you couldn't even keep count anymore. All you knew was that every bit of your body was screaming and creaming in pleasure - it was confirmed, you had to have Seungcheol for life, you had to do whatever it took to keep this insane man forever. You didn't know how but you could think about that later. For now, as day break approached, the two of you passed out in his bed. 

Seungcheol looked at you under the afternoon sun streaming into his room. You were fast asleep - he tried waking you up a couple of times but you just would not budge. Finally giving up he resorted to just staring at you. 

Last night was…. better than Seungcheol’s wildest dreams. He always knew he was a bit of a freak, but he didn't think he'd find someone to match it in this quiet town he had been reluctant to relocate to. Even when he first met you, he thought you'd be one sweet love making session at most but you took him completely by surprise. You were as wild as he was - you were down for anything he asked, you never said no and most importantly, you enjoyed it all. Seungcheol thought he had hit the jackpot with you. 

But yesterday was most definitely not normal. At that time he was thinking with his dick because all the blood in his body was clearly there but as he looked back at what happened, nothing about it was right. You had knocked him out, tied and gagged him up before you left him. You had hours of footage of you pleasuring yourself to the thought of him… 

Seungcheol had noticed the dates. It was way before the two of you had begun your little arrangement and he didn't know what to think about that. There were tiny sirens going off in his head telling him to run as fast as he could but Seungcheol couldn't stop staring at you. You were ridiculously beautiful and he just had the best sex of his life last night. 

When you whined softly and turned over in your sleep, Seungcheol finally rolled off the bed and dressed himself. Finding your scattered clothes on the floor he gathered them, looking at them with a frown. He couldn't have you wear these again and his clothes were far too big for your tiny frame. Maybe it was time to start making room in his closet for a few of your clothes.

Knowing how tired you must be given last night's events, he silently fished out the keys from the pocket of your pants and decided to bring you a fresh pair from your house. 

He shouldn't have gone over. He never should have stepped into your house. Maybe then the tiny sirens in his head wouldn't have become a full blown ringing. 

If he had never discovered the truth of your house, if he wasn’t staring at an exact replica of his space, maybe he would've never come to terms that last night was indeed extremely abnormal. 

You were not normal. 

Something was very very wrong with you, the dozens of medications on the dining table were a testament of that. Seungcheol knew he had to go. He had to leave you and that house and this town. He needed to run away from this madness.

But when he turned to leave, he felt his heart stop just for a second. 

There you were, right at the door, dressed in yesterday's clothes, looking at him expressionlessly. Your eyes ran over his face as he felt the hair on his skin stand. 

He had to go, he had to get the hell out of here. 

“Oh baby.” 

You cocked your head at him, leaning against the frame with a small smile. 

This was an expression you had never seen on Seungcheol's face before - a mix of shock and fear and repulsion. You could tell he wanted to run. You knew he would end things now, you knew it was over but alas, it was too late to let him go. 

You couldn't let him go. 

Taking a step ahead, you slowly closed the door behind you, inching closer to him, yesterday’s knife stashed safely in the back pocket of your pants.

“Do you want to see what's in my garage?” 

A/n - As usual, comments and reblogs are much appreciated - I'd love to hear your thoughts, it really helps :) You can also read Jeonghan's and Joshua's :)

[nephynes]

can u pls write smth abt jay and spanking … :,)

oof yes baby

MDNI

══════════════════════════

You weren't answering your phone, not for the past nine hours. Jay had called you seven times. Texted you four more after that. And nothing, not even a "hey, I'm okay."

Now the clock reads 3:57 a.m. and he's sitting on the couch in the dark, elbows on his knees, staring at the front door like he could will it to open.

Jay loves you so much, it makes him insane sometimes. But you just love to test him, that’s the only explanation for why you’d be out this late without so much as a text.

You know how much he worries and how protective he is. And yet you still do this—disappear into the night with your friends, leave him pacing the floor of your shared apartment while your location shows nothing but the words "can't be found."

Then he hears you fumbling with the key.

And when you walk through the door, hair a mess, heels in hand, laughing to yourself as you shut the door behind you, he doesn't even speak.

You don't notice him at first.

You just sigh and drop your bag by the entryway, mumbling, "God, my feet are killing me..."

Then you look up. And stop in your tracks.

Jay is sitting there in the dark, lit only by the blue glow of the fish tank behind him. He's staring straight at you, completely still.

"You're up?" you say softly, trying to play it off with a cute smile. "I thought you'd be asleep."

He stands up slowly. His jaw is tight.

"I called you," he says.

"I know. I saw." You shrug, kicking your shoes toward the corner. "I just forgot to text back."

"You forgot."

"I was with my friends, it wasn't—"

"You forgot to let me know you were alive?" His voice is low, but his eyes are burning. "You forgot that I'd be sitting here wondering if something happened to you?"

You roll your eyes. "God, Jay, I'm fine. Can you not be so dramatic—"

"Dramatic?"

You flinch at how sharp his tone is this time.

"Jesus," you mutter, brushing past him. "You're always so uptight—"

That's when he grabs you. It's not rough but it is firm. His hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back before you can disappear into the hallway.

"Let go," you huff, twisting slightly in his grip. "I'm tired."

"You're drunk," he says. "You didn't call. You ignored me. And now you think you're gonna walk in here like nothing happened and talk to me like I'm nothing?"

You lift your chin, tipsy and stubborn. "You're not my dad, Jay."

"No," he says, voice calm but terrifying, "but I am your fucking boyfriend. And right now? You're acting like a fucking brat."

You blink up at him, heart skipping.

"Try that again," he says, tugging you closer. "Say it to my face."

You stay quiet but that only makes him angrier. Quiet-angry. The worst kind.

He sinks down on the couch again, spreads his knees, and yanks you forward until you're standing between them.

"You wanna act like a brat?" he mutters, looking up at you. "Then you can take the consequences too. Don’t you think?"

You open your mouth to sass him—reflexively, but his grip on your hip tightens, and something in his eyes makes your words die in your throat.

You know that look.

That strict Jay. The one that only comes out when he's really, really mad. The one that only surfaces when he feels hurt and doesn't know what else to do with it.

"Jongseong?" your voice wobbles in the week attempt to ground him with his real name, suddenly not as bold.

He just shifts you, pulling you down across his lap stomach pressing over his thighs, your hands hitting the couch cushion to brace yourself.

Your breath catches.

"Jay—"

"No," he says, low against your ear. "You don't get to run your mouth, ignore me all night, come home drunk at four in the bloody morning and think I won't do something about it."

Your heart is pounding. Not from fear, but from something warmer, deeper, the way only he could make you feel small, safe, and completely undone all at once.

"I was just with my friends," you mumble, though you're already wriggling in his grip. "It wasn't a big deal."

He lets out a dark little laugh.

"You’re saying that again while you're bent over my lap?" Your breath shivers out of you, lips parted, cheek pressing into the couch cushion. You could wriggle out of his grip. He would let you, always. But you don't, instead you whimper when he pins both your hands to your back with one hand.

And you know what this is. Jay doesn't punish you to hurt you. He does it because it's how he expresses all that bottled-up concern, that frustration he feels when you act recklessly and leave him to unravel in worry. And most of all, because you asked for this once. You wanted to know what it would feel like when he got strict. When he couldn't hold back.

So when his palm comes down, all sharp and clean, making you gasp.

"That's one," he says, voice low, hand still warm on the curve of your ass.

You blink, heart jumping. "O-One."

Another slap, this time firmer. It stings, but not in a way you want to run from.

"Two."

You clench your jaw and breathe out, "Two..."

He doesn't pause. The rhythm is deliberate, paced out. The sharp crack of his palm echoing in the quiet living room as the numbers tumble off your lips.

"...Seven..."

Your voice is thinner now, breathier. Your thighs are pressing together, and you know he notices, only because he chuckles softly, one hand pressing your hands to your lower back to keep you still as he keeps going.

"Eight."

"Eight," you whimper.

The ache is spreading now, hot and sweet and dizzying. You lose count once, and he makes you repeat it. And by the time you get to fifteen, your voice is high and cracking and you're squirming across his lap like your skin's on fire.

"Fifteen," you breathe out, teary-eyed and trembling.

Jay exhales, brushing his fingers lightly over your raw skin, soothing it before drifting down.

Your panties are soaked. He barely grazes you over the fabric and your hips buck, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice a little breathless now too. "You love this, don't you?"

You nod, face hot, hair falling into your eyes.

He keeps touching you like that—slow, steady strokes after shifting over the damp fabric and rubbing over your clit, until your legs are shaking, your whines getting higher, your whole body going still with tension.

He knows your body. Every twitch, every shiver. So when he feels you just about to tip over, he stops.

You choke on a sound so high and desperate, as his hand pulls back, leaving you throbbing and helpless over his lap.

And then he gently nudges you off.

You collapse onto the floor with a dramatic flop, your hand slipping between your thighs before he can stop you in an attempt to finish yourself off. He catches your wrist instantly.

"Ah ah," he warns, smirking now as he looms over you. "You don't get to act like a brat all night and still think I'll let you cum."

You glare at him, a frustrated, teary mess. "Jay—!"

"Nope." He leans in close, brushing his lips against your ear. "Fix your attitude. Then we'll talk."

You groan, kicking your legs a little like a child, and he laughs, gently catching your ankle. There's no cruelty in his smile, only fondness and heat. So much heat.

"Don't worry," he murmurs. "I'm not gonna leave you like this all night."

He leans in, kisses your temple, and lets his voice dip to a murmur.

"But next time you ignore me like that? You'll be lucky if you get to cum at all."

══════════════════════════

• a/n: i’m insecure about this, felt cliche

[cxffecoupx]

snowflakes

yoon jeonghan + holiday shopping dates wc: 846 (got carried away) warnings: just wholesome, romantic winter vibes author's notes: a little late, but i loved writing this so much. for someone who's never experienced a snowfall before, i sure do like the concept a lot... i really hope you all like it <33 winter wonderland masterlist

jeonghan knew he was in trouble when he heard you call him by his full name.

"yoon jeonghan," he heard you speak into your phone through gritted teeth.

oh no, jeonghan thought. not the full government name.

it didn't even take him a full second to sit up straight in his bed. the next second, he rushed to the washroom.

"hey, babe. i'm just getting my jacket on; i'll be there soo-"

"you only just woke up, didn't you?"

he stops right in his tracks, and gulps. then he just chuckles, "eyyy, you know me too well."

he hears you take a deep breath before replying, "i will wait for 10 more minutes. if you're not here by then, i will buy everything myself. have i made myself clear?"

"yes, ma'am."

that's the day jeonghan realised he could get fully ready by six and a half minutes.

after a very (uncomfortably) silent ride to the christmas market, he finally sees you smile watching all the glittery jewelry and ornaments lying around — fairy lights in all shapes and forms, tinsels of different colours, little snowmen with warm, glowing lights in them, wreaths of all sizes. there's a glint in your eyes as you look at them, a sparkle only he can see. and even though you got angry at him in the morning, seeing that smile so faint on your lips makes it all worth it.

just as he gets lost in the beauty of it all, he feels a tug on his jacket sleeve, that turns into a pull so hard he gets yeeted and bumps into a couple of people on the way. before he can mumble a quiet sorry though, you're pulling him into one of the smaller shops on the street. the bells ring to signal your arrival.

after what felt like something around five hours (but honestly, was just two hours; he just likes to exaggerate), you both reach the counter with baskets full of little knick-knacks, from bells and bubbles to fake snow and candy canes. you proudly hand over each filled basket to the cashier while he decides to rest on a nearby bench.

he watches you silently as you stay there, a little hop to your feet even while you're just standing. christmas has always been your favourite holiday: the whole idea of decorating your house and inviting friends and family over, getting together, having warm, homely meals. december only started for him when he sees you bring him a cup of hot chocolate with that childlike smile on your face. and slowly, jeonghan, who'd started getting bored of the monotonous year-ends and holidays, once again started to find the joy of it all.

or maybe it's just because you have that effect on him.

anyways, he shakes his head to get out of his little bubble and sees you call out to him before exiting. just as he starts to walk out, he crashes into your body.

"oof- what happened, love?"

when you don't reply, he bends down to look at your face. he follows your gaze to see a box, and then looks back at you, standing there with a wanting glaze in your pretty, pretty eyes.

"hannie... it's so beautiful..." you say, breathlessly, and lift it up for him to see.

it was a snowglobe.

it had a figurine inside it: a couple sitting on a bench, illuminated by a streetlight beside the bench, and the moon high above. snowflakes floated around the figurine. pretty simple, but it was special.

why? because it was a scene that reminded him of your first date. a date in the park, that was almost cancelled because it started snowing unexpectedly.

"yn... it's the first snow," he'd said, voice just a dreamy whisper through the phone. "you know what they say about the first snow."

"well, my grandmother used to tell me that if you wish upon the first snowflakes, it comes true."

"oh- i... didn't know about that... you know what's the other thing they say about first snow?"

you didn't need anymore convincing.

and so you met, two lovers in the heart of the park, snowflakes floating around you as you looked into each other's eyes. it drifted around and settled on your heads. the giddy smile on your face and the rosy tint on your cheeks only grew bigger as he leaned in to kiss you, a kiss that warmed your insides in a way you could never describe.

he wiped away a snowflake that melted on your cheek. "i love you," he said. "and i'll keep loving you for the many first snows to come."

when jeonghan comes back to the present, the first thing he does is press a kiss to your lips. you smile into it, just like you had that day. buying the snowglobe didn't take any discussion like the rest of the items you bought.

back then, you'd always wished you had something to remember it by. now you believe it's all the snowflakes you wished upon that's swirling in the snowglobe.

prompt by @novelbear divider by @adornedwithlight

[kaayyyys]

How the walking dead men react to you being drunk

(negan smith, rick grimes , daryl dixon)

The house is dimly lit, just a lamp on in the living room. It's quiet, almost too quiet. Negan isn't one for silence usually. The air is thick with unspoken anticipation.

He’s been waiting. You can tell by the way the ashtray on the coffee table is overflowing with cigarette butts, and a half-empty glass of bourbon sits beside it. He’s been trying to keep himself occupied, but the tension is palpable.

The sound of your fumbling with the keys is like a gunshot in the stillness. He's instantly alert, posture straightening, eyes narrowing as he prepares himself. Is it relief he feels first? Or anger? It's a cocktail of both, for sure.

You stumble in, a little off-balance, a bright, slightly goofy smile plastered on your face. You try to be quiet, but your coordination is shot, and you bump into the doorframe with a muffled "Oof!"

His eyes rake over you, taking in everything. The flushed cheeks, the slightly glazed eyes, the disheveled clothes. He can smell the alcohol on your breath before you even get close.

For a fleeting second, a look of something like disappointment crosses his face. But it's quickly masked, replaced by a more neutral, guarded expression. He's trying to gauge the situation, assessing how drunk you really are.

He doesn’t explode. Not yet. Instead, his voice is low, almost a growl, laced with a weary kind of concern. "Where the hell have you been?" he asks, the words hanging in the air.

You try to explain, but the words come out slurred and jumbled. Something about celebrating with friends, losing track of time, maybe a dance floor involved. You giggle, trying to make light of it.

He listens, his gaze unwavering. He doesn't interrupt, but the set of his jaw tightens with each passing, slurred word. He's absorbing everything, cataloging the details. He’s not buying every word, that's for certain.

Depending on his mood, he might crack a sardonic smile. "Celebrating, huh? Looks like you celebrated a little too damn hard." There's an edge to his voice, but also a hint of amusement. He can't help but find your disheveled state a little endearing, despite his annoyance.

Despite his annoyance, he can't let you teeter around like that. He reaches out, his hand firm but gentle on your arm, steadying you. "Alright, c'mon. Let's get you inside before you fall on your face."

He leads you toward the couch, his movements careful and deliberate. He's aware of your unsteadiness, adjusting his pace to match yours.

He helps you sit down, maybe kicking off your shoes. He might grab a glass of water from the kitchen, offering it to you with a silent command. "Drink this. You'll need it."

Once you're settled, he might sit beside you, keeping a watchful eye. The questions start again, but this time they're softer, more probing. "What was so important that you had to stay out this late? Was everything okay?"

He needs to know you're safe, that nothing happened to you. His concern is genuine, even if it's masked by his gruff exterior.

If you're open to it, he might delve deeper, trying to understand why you felt the need to let loose like that. Was it stress? Were you feeling neglected? He wants to address the underlying issues, not just scold you for getting drunk.

He's not happy about the situation, that much is clear. He values trust and communication, and sneaking around or losing control isn't his idea of a good time.

There's still a simmering anger beneath the surface, a feeling of being disrespected or taken for granted. But he's trying to keep it in check, focusing on your well-being.

Despite everything, his love for you is the strongest emotion. He can't stay mad for long. He sees your vulnerability, your flaws, and he still cares deeply.

He might tuck you into bed, pulling the covers up around you. He might sit beside you for a while, just watching you sleep, a silent guardian. He might even whisper, "Don't do that again, sweetheart. You scared the hell out of me."

Expect a lecture. A serious, no-nonsense talk about responsibility, communication, and the importance of not worrying him half to death. But it will be delivered with love, a desire to protect you, and a hope that you'll understand where he's coming from.

He doesn't appreciate being kept waiting and worrying.

Your safety is paramount to him.

He expects a certain level of responsibility.

Ultimately, his love for you will temper his anger and drive him to care for you.

He's not a saint, and he won't let you off easy. But he's Negan, and beneath that tough exterior is a man who cares deeply. He'll make sure you know you messed up, but he'll also make sure you're safe, cared for, and ultimately, forgiven. He might even admit, after he's calmed down, that he was just scared of losing you, even for a night.

How Rick Grimes Would React to You Coming Home Drunk

The world outside is a dangerous, unpredictable place. Walls are up, guards are posted, and the constant threat of walkers (and worse) looms large. But tonight, you managed to escape the tension, if only for a few hours. A rare opportunity arose – a small gathering at a neighboring community, a chance to unwind with people who understand the struggle, and maybe, just maybe, forget the apocalypse for a little while. A few too many drinks later, and you find yourself stumbling back towards the gates of your own community, the world swaying gently around you. What happens when you get home and Rick Grimes is waiting for you?

Rick is, above all, a protector. Seeing you unsteady on your feet, even before he registers the reason, would instantly trigger his protective instincts. His brow would furrow, his jaw tightening, and he'd likely rush forward to steady you, his hands firm and reassuring on your arms. The first thing he'd want to know is if you're hurt. Has something happened? Did someone try to take advantage of you? His gaze would scan you intently, searching for any sign of injury or distress.

As he gets closer, the scent of alcohol would hit him, and the worry would slowly begin to dissipate, replaced by a different kind of concern. Relief would wash over him that you're not injured, not in immediate danger, but that relief wouldn't erase the apprehension completely. He'd still be assessing the situation, trying to gauge how drunk you are.

Rick is a man of few words, especially when he's processing something. He wouldn't immediately launch into a lecture or an interrogation. Instead, he'd likely observe you carefully. Is your speech slurred? Are you giggling uncontrollably? Or are you just a little bit wobbly? His reaction would depend heavily on his assessment of your level of intoxication.

If you're just a little bit giggly and your words are only slightly slurred, Rick might actually find it endearing. A small, almost hesitant smile might tug at the corner of his lips. He's seen so much hardship, so much death, that the simple act of you relaxing and enjoying yourself, even with a bit too much enthusiasm, would be a welcome change. He'd probably tease you gently, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Well, look who decided to join the party a little late," he might say, his voice laced with amusement.

He’d wrap an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the house. "Come on, darlin'. Let's get you inside before you fall and wake the whole damn neighborhood."

If you're more than just tipsy – if you're stumbling, your speech is significantly slurred, and your emotions are heightened – Rick's demeanor would shift to one of careful patience. He wouldn't be angry, but he would be concerned. He'd prioritize getting you safely inside and comfortable.

He'd likely carry you part of the way, or at least offer a strong arm to lean on. He wouldn't want you to trip and hurt yourself.

Inside, he'd guide you to a chair or the bed, his movements gentle and deliberate. He'd remove your shoes and any restrictive clothing, making sure you're comfortable.

"Easy now, (Your Name). Just relax. You're safe here." He’d say softly, his voice a calming presence.

He'd get you a glass of water and encourage you to drink it slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. He’d also try to get you to eat something, knowing that food would help absorb the alcohol.

If you're completely out of it – incoherent, vomiting, or unable to stand on your own – Rick would be deeply concerned, and perhaps a little frustrated. Not with you, exactly, but with the situation. He's responsible for your safety, and seeing you in this state would make him feel like he's failed in some way.

He'd clean you up without a word of complaint, his movements efficient and practical. He's dealt with worse in this new world, and he wouldn't shy away from the unpleasantness of the situation.

He'd stay by your side all night, checking on you frequently, making sure you're breathing okay, and ready to assist if you get sick again. Sleep would be secondary to ensuring your well-being.

There might be a flicker of anger in his eyes, directed at the circumstances that led you to this point. The need to escape, the pressure of their lives, the desperate search for normalcy – it all adds up, and he'd hate that you felt the need to push yourself this far.

Rick isn't one for moralizing. He wouldn't berate you for drinking too much. Instead, he'd want to understand why you felt the need to drink to excess. He'd approach the conversation with honesty and genuine concern.

Once you're feeling better, he'd gently probe, asking you about the gathering, about how you were feeling, and if anything specific triggered the overindulgence. He wouldn't pressure you, but he'd want you to know that he's there to listen.

"You okay, (Your Name)?" He'd ask, his voice soft. "What happened last night? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I worry about you."

This would be an opportunity for you to be vulnerable with him, to share your fears, your anxieties, and your hopes for the future. Rick, in turn, would offer reassurance, reminding you that you're not alone, that he's there for you, and that they'll face whatever challenges come their way together.

Ultimately, the incident could strengthen your bond with Rick. It would show you his protective nature, his unwavering loyalty, and his deep love for you. It would remind him of your humanity, your vulnerability, and the preciousness of the connection you share in a world that's trying to tear everything apart.

Later in the day, after the chores are done and the community is settled, Rick might find you sitting on the porch, watching the sunset. He'd sit beside you, not saying anything, just offering his presence. He'd take your hand in his, his calloused fingers intertwining with yours.

"We'll get through this, (Your Name)," he'd say quietly, his voice filled with conviction. "Together. Always."

Daryl would likely be sitting in his usual spot, maybe by the fire or at the table, meticulously cleaning his crossbow or knife. The first sign he'd notice wouldn't be your stumbling, but the sound. A slightly off-key hum, a giggle that's a little too loud, or the unsteady rhythm of your footsteps approaching the door.

His head would lift, eyes narrowed slightly, assessing the situation before you even fully enter. He's a tracker, after all; attuned to subtle changes in the environment. There would be a brief, intense stare, trying to decipher what's going on, a mix of concern and curiosity flickering across his hardened features.

The moment you appear in the doorway, a small, almost imperceptible smile might tug at the corner of his lips. It wouldn’t be mocking, but rather a soft, fond amusement. He's seen a lot in this world, and a little bit of tipsiness is far from the worst thing.

If you're leaning against the doorframe for support or giggling uncontrollably, he'd push off from his chair/spot. No words, just a slow, deliberate movement. He'd want to make sure you don't fall.

His eyes would scan you quickly, checking for any sign of injury or distress beyond the obvious intoxication. Safety first, always.

He'd try to gauge how drunk you actually are. Is it a light buzz, where you're just a bit more talkative and clumsy? Or are you completely incoherent? His reaction would depend on this.

He might ask a simple, direct question: "You alright?" The tone would be gruff, but underneath, there'd be genuine concern. He's not one for coddling, but he's fiercely protective.

If you're slurring your words or having trouble focusing, he'd move closer, offering a steadying hand on your arm. Just a light touch, but a clear message of support.

His priority would be getting you hydrated. He'd grab a canteen or a glass of water, offering it to you without a word. He'd watch as you drink, making sure you don't spill or choke.

If you're up for it, he might offer some simple food – maybe some leftover stew or a piece of bread. Something to soak up the alcohol and settle your stomach.

There wouldn't be any lectures or scolding. Daryl isn't one to judge, especially when he knows everyone needs to unwind sometimes. Instead, he'd focus on making you comfortable.

If you're in a giggly, talkative mood, he'd mostly just listen. He might not understand everything you're saying, but he'd be content to watch you ramble, a soft smile playing on his lips.

He might offer a few quiet responses, mostly to let you know he's listening. A grunt, a nod, or a simple "Yeah?" would be his way of engaging without encouraging you too much.

If you start getting too loud or energetic, he might gently steer you towards a quieter activity, like sitting by the fire or looking at the stars.

If the alcohol brings out a more emotional side, Daryl would become incredibly gentle and patient. He might not be the best with words, but he's a master of physical comfort.

He'd pull you close, offering a hug or letting you lean on him. His presence would be a silent reassurance, a solid anchor in the midst of your emotional storm.

He might stroke your hair or rub your back, small, soothing gestures that speak volumes. He wouldn't pry, but he'd let you know he's there to listen if you want to talk.

He might offer a comforting word also, "It's alright", or "You're safe".

Once he feels you're safe and somewhat settled, he'd guide you towards your bed. He'd help you remove your boots and jacket and pull back the covers.

He'd make sure you're lying comfortably, maybe placing a pillow under your head and covering you with a blanket.

He might sit beside the bed for a few minutes, just watching you until you drift off to sleep. The protector in him wouldn't rest until he knows you're truly safe.

He'd likely have a glass of water and some pain relievers waiting for you when you wake up. No questions asked, no "I told you so." Just quiet, unspoken care.

He might make some coffee or tea, the smell filling the air. He'd offer it to you with a simple, "Here."

If you apologize or express embarrassment, he'd wave it off. "Don't worry about it," he'd say, his eyes conveying understanding and forgiveness.

He might even crack a small smile and tease you a little, but it would be gentle and affectionate. Something like, "You were singin' real loud last night," or "You tried to teach me how to dance."

Throughout the entire experience, the most important thing would be the unspoken affection in his actions. He wouldn't say "I love you" outright, but his care, his protectiveness, and his unwavering support would speak volumes.

He'd show you that he accepts you, flaws and all. He knows you're human, and he understands that everyone makes mistakes.

His reaction wouldn't be about condoning your behavior, but about ensuring your safety and well-being. It would be a testament to his deep love and devotion, a quiet promise that he'll always be there for you, no matter what.

If you're married or have been together for a very long time, there would be an even deeper level of intimacy and understanding. He might even anticipate your needs before you even realize them yourself.

Ultimately, Daryl's reaction would be a reflection of his character: stoic, protective, and deeply loving. He might not be the most expressive, but his actions would always speak louder than words, revealing the depth of his affection for you.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2025: OVERGROWTH by Mira Grant.

Plant-astically delighted to report that I received an ARC via Tor (Nightfire) and Goodreads! I love Seanan McGuire's writing, and my first foray into her work as Mira Grant was INTO THE DROWNING DEEP, which was phenomenal (think all the best parts of Michael Crichton--the Science, the Speculation, the Consequences--but women and queer people are Entire Characters)(we love a good sci-fi horror paced like a thriller in this house).

The premise of OVERGROWTH is basically "the pod people are coming, they've been warning you about it for decades, and no one has been listening." Stasia, our main character and (first person, past tense) narrator, has spent her whole life telling people that she's "the vanguard of an invading species of intelligent alien plants," which is confirmed via a broadcast from space.

And the chapters are time-stamped "X days pre-invasion."

Yeah.

This book was an absolute delight and all around a lot of fun--the tone was the perfect balance of funny and heartfelt and relatable and dread-inducing, and it very much read like a love letter to the genre with lots of cross-pollinated references (Seymour? Little Shop of Horrors? War of the Worlds? Jurassic Park? Hello????).

It was also very much a book about the distinction between being human and being a person, and about alienation and belief and trust and friendship, and about queerness and neurodivergence and belonging. And, y'know, mimetic plant aliens, in myriad shades of green.

I was initially surprised by the choice to tell this story in past tense and first person (because DROWNING DEEP was patently not that, and most of what I've read of McGuire hasn't been either), but it turns out that was The Only Correct Way To Do It: For most of the book, Stasia didn't have the full picture of what was going on, but her partial understanding + our readerly perspective from inside her head carried both the relatability and the horror. It was a really interesting and cool way to do an alien invasion book (from the perspective of the invader's plant)(ahaha, botanical pun). Also, the narrative frame made me pterodactyl Hunter shriek my way through the last two pages, which. OOF. WHAT A RIDE!!! I'll be rotisserie-ing over the late-game twist (page 396/465 in my copy) and the ending for a long time.

I loved that the aliens felt alien and all too much like people; I loved Toni and Hunter; I loved the biology and worldbuilding; I loved the botanical quips ("salad bar" is, in fact, the best possible term of address to an alien invader, no notes); I loved the shady government agencies and unethical experimentation; I loved the "we are the monsters you have made". I stayed up way past my bedtime several times for this, and it was worth every second. Do recommend, check this out in May!!

Half-assed spoilery content warnings under the cut (I'm not good at these because I have a weird concept of what necessitates a warning, so please do NOT consider these complete in any way shape or form):

on-page toddler death (graphic, in prologue, signposted with "look away"); transphobia (toward beloved trans character); spider (alien); bug-adjacent (alien); vampirism/blood drinking; other usual horror/alien invasion type tropes etc. (body horror? do people tag body horror?? i was an animorphs kid i'm sorry i don't know what a normal amount of body horror is but i love it all)

[fujoshirat]

Miracle

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x female reader

Warnings: spoilers for BNHA (chapter 282), mentions of pregnancy, bleeding/pain/near-death (NO ONE'S DYING I PROMISE), slight!angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 1,294

A/N: Shouta deserves all of the love in his life ♡ (yay writing my first Aizawa fic!!) also, I apologize for being on hiatus for so long (,,>﹏<,,)

Aizawa Shouta has never been one to believe in miracles.

Not until one walked directly into him with a folder pressed against her chest. “Oof-!”

The moment he tilted his head down and her eyes looked up at his, his world shook violently.

She was the new English teacher, arriving a few years before Class 1-A would ever walk through the gates of U.A. At first, he thought of her as too bright. Like the sun at 11am. Too hot, too bright, too warm. She always volunteered to help with student events, always asked if anyone needed anything.

Aizawa thought she’d burn out in a semester.

But she didn’t.

[Name] stayed.

Her light didn’t dim, not even around him, the resident storm cloud. If anything, she smiled brighter when he passed by, nodded at him in the halls, or caught his eye during staff meetings with a little quirk of her lips.

She laughed gently, like wind chimes in the breeze. Listened better to the problems of their students than most therapists, and did he mention that the students adored her? Everyone loved her, the students, the staff, the parents. And somehow, impossibly… he came to love her too.

It started with grading together at the nearby café. Neutral territory with no workplace gossip. Just two professionals sitting in comfortable silence, sipping bitter coffee and a vanilla frappuccino with the sugar content equivalent to vanilla ice cream, while red pens marked essays and quizzes. Occasionally, she’d giggle at a student’s spelling error and lean in to show him. Sometimes, he’d mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, and she’d smile like he told the best joke she’d heard all week.

They started dating quietly: no handholding at school, no whispered confessions between classes. It wasn’t their style, aways. Little things like late-night checking in texts, them walking together while running errands in the hallways, and [Name] slipping cough drops into his coat pocket before winter arrived were much preferred.

He didn’t know how she found her way into his life.

He only knew that she fit perfectly.

Three years later, in the spring before Class 1-A’s entrance, they got married. No fanfare. No announcement. Just a quiet ceremony (besides Hizashi), close friends and family, and a promise he never thought he’d make.

Now, he wears a thin silver band on his left ring finger and eats his wife’s bento boxes in the teacher’s lounge. No one ever asks about them.

Except for Present Mic (his unofficial best friend), who occasionally leans over and smirks, “Damn, Shouta, she made you kinpira gobo again? You’re spoiled.”

He never denies it.

[Name] still smiles when he gets home from his underground, late-night patrols. She still warms his cold nights with hot tea, optimistic words, and the kind of love he never thought he deserved.

And when she tells him one rainy night that she’s pregnant, he doesn’t say anything. Just pulls her in close, buries his face in her shoulder, and holds his supernova like a miracle.

Even though a miracle appeared to him, Aizawa Shouta didn’t fully believe in miracles.

Not until he was seconds from death and chose to live.

The pain was white-hot and his mind clawed to stay conscious as the quirk-destroying bullet threatened to destroy the one thing that everyone else relied on: his erasure quirk. It wasn't strategy. It wasn’t duty. It was a singular, pounding thought breaking through the agony:

I can’t leave her.

Not now. Not like this.

She was seven months pregnant.

Her body tired and blooming with life. Her hands constantly resting on her belly like it was something sacred. His child. Their child. A tiny heartbeat heard in the silence of their shared nights.

She needed him as much as he need her.

So Shouta fought through the pain—

and he cut his right leg off before the bullet could even do anything.

He fought until they said he was stable.

Until they wheeled him into a sterile hospital room.

Until she was there—falling to her knees beside his bed, his supernova gripping his hand so tightly it ached worse than the wound. But he didn't let go. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And neither did she.

Her voice cracked as she leaned into him, her other hand trembling over her belly. “I was so scared, Shouta… I thought I’d lost you. I thought—” [Name]’s words broke with a sob. “You weren’t doing so good and! And the baby—she—she stopped moving for hours, I thought—”

He sat up slowly, weak but alive, and cradled her face in his rough hand.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

And [Name]—the woman who never asked the world for anything, who always gave more than she had—pressed her forehead to his and whispered, “She’s not coming out until this world is safe. Do you hear me? She’s staying in until the war is over.” [Name]’s voice was firm, still gentle and honeyed, but firm. Determined to sway any fate or destiny that the “gods” may have over her child.

He closed his eyes and let out a breath that tasted like blood and gratitude.

A miracle, he thought.

He shouldn’t be alive and shouldn’t have his quirk.

But the spark was still there, burning inside him,

and so was he.

A miracle.

Shouta Aizawa now believes in miracles,

And he’s holding one now.

It’s been a month since the final war against Shigaraki and All for One ended, and two since he almost lost his own quirk. The world is still aching and full of open wounds, but its healing.

And in the dim, quiet light of a hospital room, he cradles six pounds of everything he never thought he’d have.

Their daughter is small but strong. She’s wrapped in a lavender hospital blanket, her tiny fists curled cutely as she sleeps. Her soft hair is jet black—his, with the faintest violet tint when the sun hits it just right.

She has his skin, and her mama’s smile. Long lashes fluttering against cheeks as delicate as petals.

His wife rests in the bed nearby, eyes half-closed, voice hoarse but calm. Exhausted, but radiant in the way only new mothers are: touched by the divine. [Name] watches them with a quiet smile that speaks volumes: We made it.

The nurse smiles as she finishes jotting down the final notes. “She’s beautiful,” she says. “Have you decided on a name?”

Aizawa looks down at the baby in his arms.

At proof.

Substantial, physical, living proof that miracles do happen.

The breathless, burning truth that maybe, just maybe, not everything in his life has to be pain.

For a moment, he’s silent.

Shouta’s mind drifts back to a quiet evening years ago. They were in a cafe after work, not grading papers but instead, learning about each other.

[Name] had been animated, as usual, and Shouta was there, listening.

“My favorite word,” the English teacher said, voice low and certain,

“is the unexpected but much welcome event that defies all odds, defies the fate that the gods set.”

Shouta had frowned slightly, intrigued but skeptical.

“They call it a ‘miracle’ in English.”

That word—miracle—had stuck with him.

Because this tiny little girl, this fragile hope resting on his chest, was exactly that.

“Mirai,” he says finally, voice steady.

“It sounds like ‘miracle.’”

Mirai.

The third, final miracle that Shouta certainly didn’t feel like he deserved.

But maybe this time, the gods were smiling down at him, this quiet, broken man whirled up in war and left to help pick up the pieces of society.

Blessed with a child, handpicked from the stars in the universe, the perfect mix of his genetics and that of his love’s.

A star the emerged from the hatred, the bloodshed, the inferno,

a miracle.

[chadobi]

Requesting a Rise Leo trying to win over a female reader who just isn’t playing his game. She thinks he’s a player. She catches him flirting with others and she calls him out with every pick up line he tosses. She’s caught feelings, but not willing to risk it so she disappears for a bit to figure out her heart and her head. While she’s gone Leo comes to the startling realization that she’s the only one who could ever hold his heart…but is he just “Too Little Too Late”. 🎶🎵🎶 Listening to some old school JoJo today and this song came on and it’s so Rise Leo coded. Give me angst, but with a changed Leo by the end, and a happy ending for our two love interests. And listen to the song for inspo 🎧🎤

OH GOD, I wrote something with ROTTMNT Leo because OH GOD, how I love him! I really hope you’ll like this one <3

⸻

“Too Little, Too Late?”

Rise!Leonardo x fem!reader

Leo was a flirt.

Everyone knew it. He knew it. You especially knew it.

You’d seen him work his charm on every cute face that passed through the lair. Clever quips, smooth grins, that smug little gleam in his eye like he already knew how you’d react—he wielded his confidence like a blade.

But you weren’t one of the flustered masses. Not a giggler. Not a blusher. You? You caught every line like a fly ball in left field and threw it right back.

“Oh wow, did it hurt—when you fell from heaven?” he tried one day, leaning against the counter while you sipped your drink.

You didn’t even blink. “Not as much as it hurts listening to you recycle that line.”

“Oof.” He clutched his chest, grinning like you’d just kissed him instead of cut him.

But you noticed things.

The way he used charm as armor. The way he moved from one girl’s attention to the next, never staying still long enough to feel the silence. And you noticed, painfully, how your chest tightened when you caught him flirting with someone else. Again.

So you disappeared.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just space. Time. A chance to untangle your heart from a boy who never seemed to mean what he said.

⸻

It hit Leo in stages.

At first, it was just weird. No comebacks? No smirking jabs? No one calling him out for his cheesy lines? Weird.

Then it was unsettling. He cracked a joke during patrol and instinctively looked around to see if you’d roll your eyes. You weren’t there.

Then it was lonely.

He hadn’t realized how much he looked forward to your shade, your wit, your presence. The silence left behind was deafening.

It took Mikey cornering him, voice uncharacteristically serious, to make it click.

“You miss her,” Mikey said. “Like… for real, not just ‘I want attention’ miss her.”

Leo didn’t even argue. He couldn’t. Because it was true.

You were the one person who saw through him. Who challenged him. Who never let him coast on charm and jokes. And he let you go. Or worse—drove you away.

That night, Leo sat alone on the rooftop, earbuds in, song on loop. JoJo’s voice echoed in his skull:

“It’s just too little, too late…”

And for the first time, he wondered if it really was.

⸻

You came back weeks later. Not because you were ready—but because you missed them. All of them. Even him.

You didn’t expect him to be waiting outside the lair like a kicked puppy, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, pacing nervously until you stepped into view.

He froze when he saw you.

“Hey,” you said.

His voice was quiet. “Hey.”

The silence lingered.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I didn’t know I was pushing you away. I thought if I kept things easy, I wouldn’t get hurt. But I did. I do. I miss you. All the time.”

You crossed your arms, steadying your voice. “I’m not going to be one of your flings, Leo.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

You blinked.

He stepped closer. “I want the hard stuff. The real stuff. The ‘you roast me to hell and back but still sit next to me on rooftops’ stuff. I didn’t get it before, but I do now.”

A beat.

“And I’ll wait,” he added, softer. “If you’re not ready. If you still don’t trust me. I get it. I just… I want to be the guy who earns it this time. Not the one who loses it.”

Your throat tightened. That wasn’t a line. It was him—no games, no mask, no easy out.

“…You’ve got work to do,” you said carefully.

He nodded, hope flickering. “I will. Promise.”

You let him stand there, fidgeting, for one more agonizing second—then finally, finally, you stepped into him, resting your head against his plastron.

“You’re lucky I’m a sucker for character development.”

His arms wrapped around you, gentle like he didn’t want to break the moment. “Oh yeah? Just wait ‘til the sequel. I’ve got a whole redemption arc queued up.”

[syoddeye]

Absence. Price & Reader.

continuation of this. cw: referenced alcoholism a/n: this takes place in my perfect world where aa/na/etc. meetings aren't religious/militant/the worst. written for meee.

John’s absence doesn’t alarm you at first.

People miss meetings all the time. Life gets busy. Schedules shift. People find new groups. It happens.

You tell yourself that, a quiet reassurance before there’s even a cut of worry.

But when a second week passes without him, unease creeps in. Finds its voice. Gains traction in your head.

By the third week, you’re trying not to let it get under your skin, but too late, it’s there. A nagging itch you can’t scratch.

His number’s saved in your phone. You scroll past it more than once, thumb hovering, but you don’t call. Good boundaries and all that. You’re not responsible for him. You’re not in a position to be. You’re not a cop or a nark. It’s just…

You know what it’s like. To disappear and feel like no one’s noticed. And you can’t help but think—you’d want someone to call if it were you.

The thought hits harder than you expect, and it’s almost laughable how quickly your mind drifts to the old fix. How easy it would be to find the courage to call at the bottom of a glass. You can still taste it if you think too hard. Vodka and watered down cranberry juice to stretch the bottle over a weekend.

You don’t call. 

You don’t drink.

By the fourth week, that unease twists itself into a knot, heavy and tight in your stomach. You know how this goes. You’ve seen it. Lived it. A missed week turns into two, then three, and before anyone realizes it, someone’s vanished entirely. And when they come back—if they come back—it can bad. Really bad. Not always, but...

The thought simmers in the back of your mind every time you step into the hall, gaze instinctively flicking toward his usual spot. And every time, his chair stays empty.

Week after nail biting week.

Until tonight.

You’re shaking off the mist from your coat, already resigning yourself to another meeting wondering, when you catch it—

The coat. His coat. Draped over the back of his chair.

Your head snaps up, heart pounding. There he is.

John.

He’s at the table, setting out boxes of tea, pulling them from a bag clutched in one hand. Chatting quietly with Donovan, nodding along to something. Like he’s always been one to bring the tea. Like he hasn’t been gone for a month.

You freeze, gawking for a beat too long before you pull yourself together. Shrug off your coat and drift toward your usual spot, off to the side, blending into the background. You watch from the corner of your eye, phone in hand, pretending you’re not paying attention.

Then he turns, and…Oof.

He looks worn down.

His posture’s tighter, shoulders hunched in a way that makes him seem smaller despite his broad frame. The same heaviness in his eyes, tinged with dark circles, a tiredness settled deep into his bones. His skin’s a little sunburnt at the edges, a raw flush clinging to his neck and the bridge of his nose. For half a second, you almost let yourself believe he’s simply back from a long holiday—too much sun, too little sleep—but it doesn’t take. He looks like he’s been carrying the weight of the world, and wants to set it down.

He doesn’t say a word the whole meeting. Go fucking figure.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does. A twinge of something sharp and irrational pricks at your patience. Anger, maybe. Or frustration. As if he’s wronged you—and the group—by holding his tongue for weeks, disappearing, and now coming back without so much as an explanation. You know better. You do. No one owes anyone their story. You can’t force someone to talk. They must be ready first.

You just thought you were friends. Were friendly. 

Stupid.

How idiotic, overestimating your place like you always do. 

In the end, though, you can’t help yourself.

After the meeting, while everyone’s folding chairs, you work up the nerve.

“Hey.” Soft, casual, like you’re not overly concerned. “Good to see you again.”

He gives a short nod. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches, heavy and awkward. You tread carefully.

“Been a while.”

“It has,” he says, this time with an edge to his words. A tired warning.

You hesitate, but you can’t let it go. “I was worried,” you admit, keeping your tone light, shrugging like it’s nothing. “Thought maybe…” You trail off, letting the unspoken fill the space. A bad move. Clumsy.

His jaw tightens, eyebrows knitting slightly, mouth curving down beneath his mustache. “I’m alright.”

A beat.

Then, as if realizing how brusque that sounded, he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Apologies. It’s been…”

“It’s alright.”

John finally looks up, meeting your gaze for the first time all night. There’s exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, trenches beneath his eyes. More visible now that you’re not looking at him from across the room.

“Work’s been hell. That’s all. Nothing…nothing like that.”

Relief washes through you, but it doesn’t sweep away the worry entirely.

“Bad enough to keep you away for a month?”

A tired smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Bad enough.”

You don’t push further. Not tonight.

“Well, glad you’re back.”

“Yeah,” he echoes.

You wait a moment, just looking up at him. If he’s uncomfortable with your studying, he doesn’t show it. Doesn’t shift, doesn’t look away. He holds steady. Though, most people who come here are used to some level of scrutiny. Comes with the shit territory.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you finally ask, voice softer than you mean it to be.

John inhales through his nose, long and deep, then exhales just as slowly. His head shakes once. “Not particularly.”

“Okay,” you murmur.

When you part ways outside, you linger for a moment, watching as he tucks his hands into his pockets and heads off in the opposite direction. His shoulders seem a little less tight, his posture a little more relaxed. Yet the knot in your stomach doesn’t follow suit. Doesn’t unwind a bit.

Because you know what it looks like when someone’s carrying too much on their own.

And you are painfully aware that no matter how strong they are, how much they grit their teeth and bear it—everyone has a breaking point.

[eddiesxangel]

Im gonna need u to elaborate on that post abt Eddie holding ur vibrator 'what kinda microphone is this'

You say elaborate… I say I’ll write a whole fic about it 😅😅

But You Don’t Even Like Karaoke? | virgin!eddiemunson x bestfriend!reader

WC 3.3K

CONTENTS WARNING: SMUT

You invited Eddie up for the weekend to your shabby student apartment. You've been away at Indiana State while Eddie was still stuck at Hawkins High complaining about how life in Hawkins has been so shit without you and needed to get away, coming to see you would be the perfect getaway.

Eddie and you had always been close, so when you told your roomies that he was coming to stay they were okay with it, as long as he slept in your room. They didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night to get something and have a random guy on the couch, which was reasonable because they hadn't met him before. They were excited to finally meet your best friend and you planned to go out to the bars tonight after a very long week of midterms.

Eddie arrived late afternoon, you introduced him to your roommates and he settled in.

"It's so sweet you have your own space, we can finally hang out without worrying about Wayne or your parents judging us" Eddie laughed while plopping on your double bed.

"Do you wanna shower before we head out?" You ask.

"Nah I did this morning, I'm okay." He tells you.

"Ok I'm going to pop in, You can entertain yourself until I'm back" You give him a wink and leave him to his devices.

Eddie scanned your new collage room, it reminded him of your old room at your parent's house. You had pictures of you and him framed along with other friends he didn't recognize. He was always a little nosey when it came to you, there weren't any boundaries in place when it came to privacy around Eddie. You had been friends since the 7th grade, growing up together in your awkward years really bonded the both of you.

You'd told Eddie earlier that you had gotten a new strain of pot from one of the guys you're friends with and that he could light up whenever. You'd left out the baggie and your grinder but Eddie left his bong at home and didn't see yours lying around so he searched for some rolling papers. Rifling through your bedside table is where he looked first. He shuffled through your hair ties, random articles, condoms...

Eddie had known you were no longer a virgin like he still was, he has had zero experience, not even a handjob. Needless to say, Eddie doesn’t get any…. Like ever. Poor thing tries his best but most of the girls he’s surrounded by are in high school and he wants nothing to do with them. He wants a grown woman. He really wants you if he is being honest but he never thinks that would happen in a million years.

He still was riffling deep in the drawer now, he felt something soft but firm, round and long. He picks it up to move it out of the way. He looks at what is your black vibrator. Why would she have a microphone? Eddie moved on quickly because he spots what he is looking for buried under all your crap.

Hours go by and you’re stumbling into your apartment laughing around 1:00am. You offered your room for Eddie to get ready for bed while you took the bathroom. Once you're finished you walk back into your room to see Eddie tucked into his side of the bed.

"I meant to ask you earlier but I forgot because we got too high" He laughed.

"Ask away" You crawled into your fresh sheets and snuggled into bed with Eddie.

"Why do you have a microphone?" He asked. You look at him quizzically because you have no idea what he's talking about.

"Are you sure that weed didn't alter your brain?" You laugh as your head hits the pillow.

"What do you mean? I saw it" He laughs.

"Dude I have no idea what you're talking about? Why would I have a microphone? I hate karaok- oof" Eddie cuts you off by leaning all his body weight over you to reach into your nightstand and pulls out your vibrator.

You start laughing uncontrollably, partly because you're a bit embarrassed, and partly from the alcohol.

"What?" Eddie questions inspecting it, once more. you grab it from his hands and turn it on. The object comes to life and a low buzz fills the room.

"Why is it buzzing?" Oh, your sweet innocent Eddie.

"Ummmm think of it more like a massager..." you turn it off and place it back on the nightstand you turn back to Eddie and can see the wheels in his head turning but no gas.

"Ugh, Eddie don't make me say it out loud" You bury your face in your hands and pillows not wanting to look at him when you say it.

"I don't get it, you're going to have to spell it out for me, Ms.University" he nudges your arm with his elbow.

"It's a vibrator Eddie, you know... like for sex"

The room was still dimly lit, enough for you to see Eddie's eyes go wide.

"It’s… it’s a sex toy?" he reaches over you once again to grab it off the nightstand.

“Eddie!” you shout then cover your mouth remembering the time of night.

“Give me that!” You try and grab it out of his hands. This whole situation was weird. You guys never spoke about sex, it just wasn’t that kind of friendship.

Yes, you liked Eddie, you’ve been crushing on him for years but you would never act on it, or at least you don’t think you would? Like a child, Eddie reached his arm up over so you couldn’t get it.

“No come on I’ve never seen one before” he pouts.

“Ok you’ve seen it now give it back!” You weren’t afraid to crawl over him to get it, you straddled his chest, enclosing him between your bare legs.

Your tiny sleep shorts were barely covering your cunt that was practically pressed into Eddie’s face.

“Ah ha!” You say victoriously grabbing it from Eddie’s grip.

Eddie can feel the blood rush from his face and into his cock. He shifts and clears his throat.

“Oh shit, sorry!” You hike your leg over him accident exposing your pussy even more to him.

Eddie’s eyes don’t break from your core. You’re blissfully unaware you just flashed your best friend.

“Sorry Ed’s didn’t realize” you joke.

“Uh yeah, it’s fine” You see Eddie shifting under the covers.

“So you always sleep without panties or is that just because I’m in your bed.” Eddie asks.

“Eddddddddddie oh my god” you burry your head in the pillows debating on sleeping on the couch at this point.

“I love when you moan for me baby” Eddie laughs, you try and hurry yourself further into the bed but Eddie grabs your waist and pulls you into him.

“You know babe, out of the two of us I should be the one mortified. I’m the twenty-year-old virgin not knowing what a sex toy looks like.” He grips into you tighter and you bury your face into his neck.

The alcohol is slowly leaving your system but you still blame it for what happens next.

“You don’t have to be” You timidly kiss into the hollow of where his neck and collarbone meet.

“What are you-oh that feels good” Eddie sighs into your touch, his chest raging and falling at a quicker pace.

“Will you let me take care of you Eddie?” You graze your hand lower down his bare chest, across his stomach down the the waistband of his boxers.

“Yes,” he nods frantically.

You shuffle back over him so you’re once again straddling him. You look down at your best friend, taking in his features, he is so pretty. You lean in timidly to kiss his lips for the first time. His plush lips felt so soft when they connected to yours.

It quickly heats up, you ground your hips into Eddie, you could feel his hard length pressing into your slit and you wiggled your hips on him. You hear a wine come from Eddie’s throat as you disconnect and start to kiss down from his neck to his happy trail.

“I’ve been dying to know what’s under here for years” You graze your hand lightly tracing Eddie’s tented boxers.

Eddie’s hips shoot up at the connection. “Eager aren’t we?” you giggle slowly revealing his length.

“Well you would be too if you’ve waited this long for you.” He sighed.

He was waiting for you.

You’re stomach flops, at his words and your eyes bulge out of your skull at the size of him.

“You’ve been hiding that you have a horse penis from me this whole time?!” You don’t really give Eddie time to answer because you latch your mouth into his tip, not sure how much more you’ll be able to fit into your mouth.

Eddie is in heaven, he isn’t sure what karma he is getting but he knows he must have done something right to have your head between his legs at this very moment.

It’s a feeling that he’s never felt before, the warmth of your mouth, the wetness of your lips mixed with the softness of your tongue was all-encompassing. You felt his hand rest on the back of your head, you looked up at him through your lashes, his face blissed out. Your core was dripping already at the feeling of Eddie in your mouth.

The way you were making him feel good was only making you wetter. You reached up to cup his hand on your head, coxing him to push you down.

“Oh fuck baby, please” he whimpered.

You took in more of him opening your throat for him. You bobbed your head up and down his shaft while using the other hand to move in tandem. You had Eddie whimpering “Oh my god just like that! Fuck you’re taking me so well”

For someone with no experience he sure wasn’t shy about praising you. It only made you want to pleasure him more. You were the first one to ever touch him like this. You were the first one to ever make him feel this euphoric.

“Fuck I’m not going to last long fuckfuckfuck” You were enjoying yourself too much that you didn’t care about what Eddie was telling you, you wanted him to cum, he deserved to cum.

“Wait wait I wanna…shit, I want you to be my first” he gently pushed you off him.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yea… I mean.. if you wanna?” he pants.

“I do Ed’s” but I gotta get myself ready, will you help me? Eddie nods enthusiastically as you lay beside him and he climbs on top of you.

You walked him through what to do, he was a quick learner. He kissed you down your neck like you did to him earlier. He touched you over your shirt at first, a bit shy. You told him he could touch you, and begged him to touch you as you lifted the big sleep shirt over your head. Eddie’s hands immediately latched on to your breasts kneeling them like stress balls.

“Softer please, you’re pinching me” You place your hands on the backs of his to guide him. You tell him that you like it when your nipples are touched.

He bowed his head lower, and tenderly he kissed the swell of your breast

“Is this ok?” He asks.

“Yes Eddie, more of that” he brought his warm mouth around your perked nipple.

“Oh yes,” you arched your back making your breast squish into Eddie’s nose.

Your head spun as he hummed into you, the vibration jolting to your core.

“I uh, don’t know what to do with my hands.” He admitted.

You took his right hand in yours and guided it past your waistband and overtop of your mound.

“Feel me Eddie I’ll tell you what feels good” Eddie’s thick fingers explored your pussy lips, slipping his fingers through your folds he grazes your clit and you jerk at the touch.

One thing about Eddie is that he is very receptive. He does it again to test the waters “oh fuck” you moan.

“You like that baby” his confidence was showing.

“Yes Eddie, fuck keep going”

“So this is what that little toy is for? This spot right here?” You nodded your head not able to speak.

Why was he so good at this?

“Can I try?” He sheepishly asks you.

“Yes, Eddie please” he reaches over to get the vibrator you had left resting on the bed.

“Hold down on the button to turn it on”

“Which one there are three? Why are there three?” He turns it finding the buttons.

“The bottom one, the others are to change the pattern and the speed” You point to the power button.

“Oh,” Eddie smirks.

“Ok playboy let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we will start on level one” The low buzzing filled the room once again.

“I should take off my shorts…” you awkwardly suggested.

You hook your fingers into the waistband and wiggle your hips up and out.

“Ok so, just put it where you put your fingers before” you guide him by the wrist.

The vibrator makes contact with your swollen clit. “Oh god yes!” You arch your back in pleasure.

The feeling of the buzzing on your clit shot waves of euphoria through you. Eddie couldn’t wipe the Cheshire Cat smile off of his face. Having you at his mercy could have him busting a nut here and now.

Eddie kissed you while holding down the vibrator like his life depended on it. You were starting to get squirmy, your hips gyrated into him

“More Eddie, you moaned into his mouth.

“What do you want?” He asks

“Your fingers, please” you wine.

He stops kissing you, you can see the nervous look in his eyes.

“It’s okay Eddie you won’t hurt me.” You brush a piece of hair behind his ear.

A shaky hand grazed your slick folds and pushed up slowly and back out again, he repeated that until you showed him what to do next.

“That’s it Eds” you sighed into his mouth.

“Now go like this” You wiggled your index and middle finger in a come hither motion.

The coil in your lower stomach was getting tighter with each pump of his fingers you were being wound up until it snapped, Eddie feels your walls clench down in him and the thought of you doing that with his cock inside you only got him even more excited.

“Oh fuck yes Eddie!” You cried out with pleasure. Your heavy breaths and the low buzz of the vibrations filled the room.

“Woah” Edd breaks the silence,

“It’s-too much Eds” You push his hand away that was still holding the toy to your sensitive clit.

“oh shit sorry” he throws it to the side of the bed and captures your lips into another kiss.

You break the kiss to reach over to the nightstand and grab your condoms.

“Holly shit this is really happening,” Eddie says under his breath but you hear him.

“If you still want to yeah” You sit up on your knees and tell Eddie to get on his back.

“I’ll be on top to start you off ok, Then if you want to switch let me know.”

He nods his head like a kid who was asked if they wanted their favourite ice cream. You push Eddie’s shoulder back so he is propped up just a little on the pillows you straddle him again getting yourself situated.

“You wanna put it on or do you want me to?” You raise your brows at him.

“I’ll uh-I’ll do it” he clears his throat. You pass him the blue foiled pack and he expertly slips it over himself.

“You practice this before?” You giggle, he tells you to shut up and you raise up to your knees you grip his solid length in your hand.

You slowly sink down onto him, and Eddie lets out a guttural moan. You cup a hand over his mouth, you don’t want to wake up your roomies.

“Shhhhhhh” you sink down slowly, the way he is stretching you out makes you feel so full. You finally make it all the way to the hilt.

“You okay” you ask Eddie. That was a silly question, of course, he is okay. You start by grinding your hips releasing your hand from his mouth.

“Yea, more than ok baby.” You started to bounce on his cock, the way he was stretching you felt otherworldly.

“Fuck that’s it, so good f’me” he grits out.

He really had confidence for someone’s first time, but that was because he was with you.

“Fuck Eddie you’re so big” You let your head fall back.

The sight in front of Eddie only brought him closer to the brink. Your tight, hot cunt swallowing him, your tits bouncing in his face, he was so close.

Eddie remembered what you said about your nipples being sensitive, he leans forward and latches on. Your eyes roll back in your head at the sensation. The room is filled with the sound of pants and skin slapping skin.

“Yes! Eddie yes yes yes” You grab the back of his head and tug on his hair.

He lets out a moan, so you do it again. Eddie loves it when you tug on his locks.

“Fuck baby I’m not gonna last much longer.” He tilts his head up to kiss you, he slips his tongue in your mouth.

You are all-encompassed by Eddie, no one else on earth matters but him in this moment.

You let out a small yelp when Eddie unexpectedly flips you on your back. He was feral, he never had felt this before in his life he had to hold on a bit longer, needing to savour this feeling forever.

The new position forced his cock to hit your walls at a better angle. He bends your legs so they are by your ears. The look in his eyes has you swimming, he is consumed by you, and he watches his cock disappear in and out of your walls.

“Fuck Eddie I’m close, touch me please” Eddie didn’t think twice about grabbing the vibrator.

The memory of your velvety walls clench his fingers and drove him to make sure you were the first to cum. He needed you to cum on his cock like he needs air in his lungs.

Eddie hammered into you at a pace much faster than you were capable of while riding him. The tingling of the vibrations shook through your core, in less than a minute you were cumming on his cock.

You open your mouth to scream with pleasure but nothing comes out, your body shakes with pleasure as your second orgasm consumes you.

The second you clenched down on Eddie he was cumming with you. An animalistic groan leaves Eddie’s throat as his hot ropes of cum spill into the condom.

Eddie collapses onto you with a breathy laugh.

“Oh my god why did I wait so long to do this” he giggled into the crook of your neck.

“Because you never made a move!” You joke back. Eddie pecks your face with a million and one kisses.

“Fuck, sweetheart can we do that again?” He rests his head on your chest, looking at you with those baby cow eyes.

He grabs your hand and brings it to his chin.

“Sure Eds we can do that as many times as you want” Eddie didn’t give you a chance to to recover before he pounced on you for round two….

Master list

[fos-tis-zois]

thinking about co-worker!nanami kento who cannot stop staring at you every minute you are in the office.

the minute you step out of the elevator his eyes fall on your every movement. the way you rearrange your desk every morning before starting work, and what he would give to take you on your desk and eat you out until he cannot breathe. he probably still wouldn't stop. he watches you every day as you make your coffee and take your cup to your plump, glossy lips, breathing out a sense of relief after your first sip. ohh what he would give to be the one on your lips, tasting your sweet lip gloss mixed with caffeine, and giving you so much more relief than that cup. he knows he is not the only one looking at you. he sees all the other men in the office gawking at your ass hugging skirt, wanting to break their faces for even looking at the perfect body which only his discreet eyes deserved. his heart literally stops when you pass by his office and wave at him with a smile before you resume your work. and fuck….what he would do to see how that pretty mouth looks when he bends you over his desk and pounds you till fucking oblivion, if your sweet pussy can even take him all in. it had almost become a ritual to get a hard on every morning after seeing you, but he was learning to keep it hidden.

he had to keep all of this in, always. he respected the work you did and knew you saw him as a mentor. he did not want to break that trust in any way by letting you know even a little about the lewd thoughts he has been having of you. but all his caution went out the window one day when he saw you in the office lounge, getting lunch with the team. even though you were at a different table with your friend, he could not help but be jealous of the sauce coating your lips, his thoughts once again getting the best of him. the fact that you were wearing a tight shirt which accentuated your perfect big b🍒bs was not helping kento's mind from everything unholy. the tipping point was when a dollop of the sauce fell on your chest, right above your tits. you laughed with your friend about it, and wiped it off your chest with your finger and put it in your mouth to lick the sauce off. it is as if this whole thing took place in slow motion in front of kento's eyes. he immediately became so hard that he had to excuse himself saying he had an important meeting pushed up that he needed to attend. he literally had to hide himself with the empty tray he was holding, lest his co-workers see the excruciating situation your existence had put him in.

as if this was not enough, his karmic slap was when an important meeting really did get pushed up which you had to attend with him and you both got loaded with a lot of work to finish within a really time crunched deadline. this meant kento had to stay late, even pull an all-nighter maybe. that part really wasn’t difficult. what was difficult was that he had to do this with you. “You do not have to stay Y/n, it has been a long day, you are free to go home,” he tried to make you leave to relieve the sexual tension building in his pants. “thank you nanami-san, but according to this schedule we will have to finish up the presentations by tonight to meet the deadlines, it will be faster if i stay back with you too”. this is the work ethic he really did respect in you, really made restricting his urges worth it. he smiled ever so slightly and said, “You can call me Kento”. “but you’re my senior”, you hushed. “Finee, you can call me Kento when it’s just the two of us. better?” he offered. “yes, kento”, you replied. his name sounded sweeter than honey to him in your voice. he tried to shake all his thoughts away and threw himself to work.

an hour or so later, you got up to stretch out your back. nanami did not want to look but oof- the way your shirt was clinging to that perfect waist, he seemed to get frozen in time just looking at you again. “it seems like we are going to be here for a few more hours, i'm going to start a pot of coffee, want some?”, you asked, breaking his daze. “Um, what? Yeah sure coffee sounds good”, he musters, hoping you did not catch the way he was staring. you lean next to him to pick his mug up from the table, where the sight of your perfect tits got in his eyeline, and it’s like nanami forgot how to breathe. he immediately got up, entranced in your smell and almost put his hands on the small of your back to pull you close but stopped when he saw you looking at him, holding the two mugs in both your hands, confused. “Y/n…”, he started, “You are free to stop me or report me or whatever you deem necessary, but on the off chance you are okay with it, can I please kiss you?”

little did he know that you had been waiting for ages for him to ask you this. you were secretly delighted when he had been assigned your mentor. not only was he mind-blowingly good looking, he was extremely passionate, which was reflected in his work. you always wondered how that passion would convert when he took you, hopefully roughly, and made you his. you knew his eyes were on you when you entered in the mornings; you chose outfits that would make his eyes linger on your body more. as much as you respected your senior and knew this could not really happen, the forbiddenness of this dynamic was what turned you on every time you saw him, dressed up in his tight suits each time. you could not help but peek at his ass when he walked past you, or take a whiff of his sexy cologne everytime you walked together to or from conference rooms. you purposely greeted him every morning, hoping that one of the days he would finally break in and initiate something with you. you could not believe this was happening either when he finally asked you for a kiss.

“oh my god kentoo…”

“I’m sorry y/n, it was stupid-”

“i didn’t say no.

he looked at you in disbelief like he needed you to say it again. “please kiss me, kento”, you obliged. he did not have to be told a third time. he immediately crashed his lips on you, pulling you closer to him, his hands firm on your waist that he was admiring mere minutes ago. you close your arms around his neck, making the empty mugs you're holding crash into each other but neither of you cared about that at the moment. he takes one hand up to your neck and pulls your face closer to his, his other hand being on your ass squeezing it and pulling it towards his covered cock. you feel your effect on his bulging cock and curve your hips even more to press his cock onto you deeper. your hands move around the man’s entire body, lingering at his pecs and biceps. your lips aren’t stopping and he bites your lower lip softly, lips he has been looking at every morning wanting to do this forever. you part your lips and let his tongue explore every corner of your mouth. your tongues fight for dominance, neither of you wanting to let go for even a second. he breaks the kiss and attacks your neck, licking and biting like an animal in heat. he takes his one hand in your hair and pulls it down, giving him more access to your pretty neck. he moves from the neck to your ear lobes, licking it clean like a cat. your knees melt at his warm saliva being across your face, but still wanting so much more. he pulls your shirt open in with a sharp tug, letting the buttons fall loose on the floor. you open your mouth to protest, but it is replaced by the moans coming out of your mouth as he takes your tits out from your bra and puts one nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. as he is playing with your nipples, he pulls your skirt up from behind and squeezes your ass, making you moan his name loudly, “aaah kento!” he looks back at you and whispers in his deep gravel voice, “my name has never sounded sweeter to me”, and kisses you again, with vigor, as if breathing was less important than kissing you at the moment. you pull his tie out and throw it on the table and undo all his buttons so you can see his sexy chiseled abs, the one you have been imagining on your lonely nights. you run your hand across his body, your fingers lightly touching his nipple. little did you know that was his sensitive spot. he breaks off the kiss and looks at you with his darkened eyes, “kneel.”

it's like his voice cast a spell on you, and you instantly fell on your knees. it is as if heavens itself had told you to kneel and with a voice like nanami’s, it really seemed heavenly. you immediately started unbuckling his belt and removing his slacks to relieve the pressure on his bulging dick. it sprang up as soon as you removed his boxers, and you gasped. nanami was chiseled like a greek god. you had only imagined what his perfect cock would look and feel like in you, but this was so much more. he was big, but not just long. he was girthy, and you wondered if you could even fit him in your mouth. but you had wanted this as much as nanami and you were ready to take all his stress away. you looked up at him as you took his throbbing veiny dick in your hand, and licked it fully from the end of his balls all the way to the tip of his fat cock. he winced, finally having your warm tongue on his cock, something he had literally dreamed about. you swirl your tongue in circles around his tip, making him throw his head back in pleasure and anticipation. once you have teased him enough, you take it whole in your mouth, almost hitting your throat. you bob your head up and down, letting your saliva lube up his cock fully while you play with his cum filled balls with one hand. you feel his dick hit your throat over and over, but you love it. “Oh baby, you’re doing so well, taking me in completely, fuckk--ahh-- keep going”, nanami’s words gave you an extra jolt of energy and you took his dick completely in, and took your tongue slightly out to lick his balls at the same time. this made him almost feral, and you started feeling his cock vibrate against your cheeks. he took your hair in his hands and tugged it roughly, making you insanely horny. “darling i'm going to come so soon, get your mouth out”, he said trying to remove your mouth from his dick. you look up, lick his precum from your lips and say, “i want you to cum in my mouth, sir.” calling him sir awakened some kink in him and he thrust his cock into your pretty fucking throat and came instantly. you looked up, swallowed all his warm cum and smiled at him.

he got you up and lifted you by your waist and sat you on his desk. “Didn't realize you were this slutty, Y/n” he mocked. “only for you, sir” you countered with a devious smile. he removed the remnant of your shirt and bra and pulled your skirt down while his mouth worked wild on your boobs, biting and sucking them, to make sure he left his mark. he took his fingers over your clothed pussy and found a wet mess down there. “So wet f’ me, pretty? It’s as if you have wanted to fuck me all this while”, he teased you. “you were not the only one looking at me every morning”, you teased back, looking deep into his almond brown eyes. he smiled and put his hands inside your lacy panties and inserted his long middle finger inside your folds while using his thumb to rub circles on your clit. “ken--” you mewl at the unknown sensation, wanting it more and more. “You like, baby?”, he asks. “yes....” you whisper in reply. he puts his finger deeper and harder, “yes who?” “yes, sir”, you gulp. “Good girl”, he said and licked your earlobes while finger fucking your wet mess of a cunt. he yanked your panties down and took his tongue at your dripping folds and licked it generously. “ohh….fuck…ahhhhh”, you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his yellow locks. he held you stable by your ass, massaging it to relax your core muscles even more. you were getting wetter by the second, having his big nose propped up against your clit while he ate your wet pussy like it was his last meal. “fuck…sir, please don't stop, oh god….” you whimper, mentally surrendering to your sexy boss sending you to heaven. he started rubbing circles on your clit suddenly and you let a sharp exhale out, feeling yourself get close. “sir, im very close…”, you mewl out. he immediately takes his tongue out, to your dismay, and faces you. “you're not allowed to cum yet, my pretty little slut”, he said gravely, sending goosebumps down your spine. he hastily flipped you around and bent you over his desk, like he had imagined every morning. he spanked your soft ass hard, watching it jiggle against his dick. “sir…” you cried out, “please fuck me..”. “So impatient”, nanami huffed. he took his tip close to your wet folds and slapped his cock against it. your frustration had you gripping the edge of the desk. you looked back at him to beg, “sir ple-”, you did not get to finish as nanami started ramming your wet fucking cunt raw, as he spanked your ass more and more. “aaah, yess sir fuckk…” you cry out in pure bliss, your legs shaking as his fat veiny cock goes all the way to your intestines. “Mmm, you like it when i fuck you dumb princess? Is this how you think about your office seniors, my slutty little minx?" nanami groaned. he lifted your chest up a little from the desk and started pinching and pulling your nipples, while still ramming you from behind. you were helplessly standing there, using your hands to balance you on the desk with your tongue hanging, legs shaking and ass jiggling under this perfect man fucking you. he continued until you both came, moans mixing together to create the most lustful amalgam of voices.

“You can wear my shirt”, he said as he saw you looking at your shirt with its buttons lost on the ground in dismay.

“thanks, kento”, you cooed as you shyly took his shirt from his hand, taking in his scent.

before you could retract your hand, he took his hands in yours and pulled you closer, “I had planned to do this the other way around, but can I please take you out tomorrow?” he asked, looking deep in your eyes. you were finally being asked out, you could hardly contain your happiness. “kento, yes wow, i would love to but…”, “but?”, “well don't you think we would be here again tomorrow getting the deadline finished?”, you said, dejectedly. “Oh wow, the deadline. Your pretty pussy got me so drunk I forgot other things even existed.” he sighed. “Well, as long as I'm spending the time with you, i don't have any complaints”, he smiled at you, a proper rare nanami kento smile, and you knew you were head over heels in love with this beautiful man.

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | 3 AM

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around, sloppy making out, lots of cuddling and kissing, honestly this is super soft, drunk San is a whole different type of menace, a little angst on OC's part, pet names deployed as weapons (baby) Word Count: 2.1k Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: This started with talking about drunk San with @minttangerines and @kiestrokes, and then @moni-logues made me miss this couple, so boom! New vignette! I should warn you that I wrote this over the course of 2 days, entirely between the hours of midnight and 5 am because I've been staying up wayyyy too late to watch the Coachella livestreams (can we talk about Chellateez?! because holy shit!), so it's probably a mess and it's unbeta'd, so… blame any typos or incoherency on my fucked up sleep schedule! 🥱

Lyrics are from "Moondance" by Van Morrison, inspired by that one toktoq of San singing that song, which absolutely killed me.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It’s three in the morning, and you’re wide awake, at your desk, working frantically on an article whose deadline is mere hours away. For not the first time tonight, you curse your natural inclination towards procrastination and scrub your hand down your face, wishing you’d chosen a different career. 

There’s some noise outside your door and you realize San must be home. He’d been down at the Blue Bird with Hongjoong, drinking and hanging out with Wooyoung as he bartended. From the way San’s shuffling around, it sounds like Woo had been his typical kind self and given San more generous pours than he should have. A loud “oof” resonates, and you hear the armchair scrape the floor a bit, as if he were setting it back in its place. You wince, hoping he didn’t wake his sister, who has an early shift and needs to be up at dawn.

“Noona. Nooooooona.” Tap tap tappity tap. “Are you up? I can see - I can see your light.” 

San raps on your door, calling out to you in a voice that’s hushed but maybe not quite as quiet as he thinks it is. From his spot on your bed, Nero lifts his head off his paws at the sound, then blinks at you with his bright green eyes. 

“I know. He’s loud as fuck, isn’t he?” With a cluck of your tongue, you quickly hop up and open the door. San must’ve been leaning against it, because suddenly you’ve got a mountain on top of you, a loose-limbed one at that, eagerly but clumsily wrapping its arms around you. “San!” 

“Hiiiii,” San coos into your shoulder, where he’s buried his face. You shudder slightly as his breath tickles your skin exposed by the tank top you wear, and stagger away from the door enough to close it quietly as you can, not an easy task to do given the giant mass of man hanging his dead weight on you. 

“You know, your sister is sleeping just on the other side of this wall,” you remind him, but he doesn’t respond, too busy lathering the column of your neck with tiny kisses. “San. Come on, sit down.” 

With some stumbling from San and a not insignificant effort on your part, the two of you make it over to your bed. Your attempt at coaxing San into a sitting position fails miserably as he promptly splays on his back, pulling you on top of him. Nero hops off the bed in a huff. 

You go down like a sack of flour, not a gram of gracefulness in your fall, but San appears not to notice when your chin bounces off his sternum or your knee rams his thigh. He sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around your back, tucking you against him.

“Mmmm. So nice,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top of your head. 

It’s three in the morning, and you need to finish this damn article. Except that right now, your body is telling you that what you really need is to stay exactly where you are. Because the minute the warmth of San’s embrace surrounded you, your stress melted away. The steady rise and fall of his chest calms you, makes your own breathing slow. You close your eyes, nestling closer to him, sliding your own arms around his waist. You could so easily fall asleep like this. 

But he can’t sleep here. 

“San. San, are you awake?” 

“I’m awake,” he replies, but with closed eyes, which doesn’t really give you a lot of confidence in his response. “I am,” he insists when you shake him, rolling his head away, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warn him sternly. “I mean it!” 

San smiles, the one that tells you that he knows you’re going to give in to him, which is the smile you tend to see him flash the most often, because you’re weak for him and always giving in. But this isn’t one of those times when you can indulge him. No matter how much you want to. 

“Wish you’d come to the bar tonight. Wanted you there.” 

You knew that. He’d told you as much when he’d texted earlier. Unfortunately, you had to turn him down for the sake of remaining gainfully employed. He’d tried to convince you otherwise at first but finally said he understood. And then sent you a series of sad selfies, each one more pathetic than the last, lips puffing to an extreme. Because he understands the power that pout holds over you.

It’s embarrassing how bad you’re down for this man.

San’s fingers dance idly down your spine, and you sigh, eyes slipping shut again as you speak. “Believe me, I would’ve rather been there with you.” 

He hums, fingertips quickening their light minuet. He mumbles something into your hair, low and unintelligible from the way his lips are smushed against your head, so it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not talking, he’s singing. 

“... marvelous night for a moondance, with the stars up above in your eyes…” 

“San,” you begin, but before you can warn him not to get any louder, he does so anyway, raising his beautiful voice a little, starting to get into it. 

“A fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of October skies…”

“Shhh!” Your shushing is cut short by your giggling, as you clap a hand over San’s mouth. “Oh my god, now is not the time for this!” 

This is one of San’s more notable habits - when a song gets stuck in his head, you’ll hear him singing it for days, just walking around the apartment humming the melody or, if he has an audience, belting out the lines. He knows how much you love his sweet tenor. Another fact about you he’s filed away to devastate you with at the most opportune times.

Like when you need to kick him out of your bed. 

He continues singing despite your hand pressing on his lips, slurring the words directly into your palm. His eyebrows are working overtime, top half of his face playfully conveying whatever lyrics are being smothered against your skin. He’s so ridiculous, so over-the-top, even at three in the morning when anyone else would be exhausted, like you felt before he walked into your room, since his energy is infectious and perked you up better than the multiple cups of coffee you downed in your desperate attempt to stay awake. That’s San for you - he’s always giving you something when you need it - his time, his help, his energy. 

So you decide to give him something back, and replace your hand with your mouth, drawing him into a tender kiss, imbuing it with all those things you feel but never say. His muffled singing becomes a hum becomes a moan, at first surprised, then pleased. One of his hands drops to your thigh and with a bit of urgent tugging, he maneuvers you on top of him, chest pressed to chest.

His kissing is only the slightest bit sloppier when he’s been drinking, wetter from his tongue caressing yours with somewhat less skill than usual, but it’s never bothered you. You like seeing this side of him, looser with his inhibitions, with whatever holds him in place - or holds him back. One day you’ll ask him to show you more, when you’re both sober. 

And when things are different. Less… ambiguous between the two of you. 

If you reach that point. 

“Noona.” San whispers, thankfully pulling you from the heavier thoughts threatening to sink you right out of the moment. You open your eyes to look at him as he pecks your cheeks.  “I like kissing you.” 

You grin, letting your forehead knock against his. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.” 

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” The look he gives you would melt the hardest of hearts. This is why you’re not afraid to be needy with San. There’s no reason to be, not when he’s just the same. 

“I like kissing you too,” you declare, kissing the tip of his nose, laughing at the way his eyes cross as he follows your lips. “But now’s not the time for that, either.” 

“Then what time is it?”

Laughing, you gently guide him into a sitting position, keeping your arms looped over his shoulders. His lust is morphing into sleepiness, eyelids drooping as he gazes at you, and your heart goes so soft at the sight of him. 

“It’s time for you to go to bed.” 

“Okay,” he chirps, immediately flopping onto his back again. 

“Ohhhh no, not here. You gotta go. I still have to finish my work, and you…” The words stick in your throat. You can’t be here. You don’t want to say them. You want him to be here. Tonight, and tomorrow, and on and on. 

But that’s a conversation for another time. Not three in the morning.

“You have to go,” you groan, sliding off the bed and grabbing his arms, less gentle and more insistent this time. “Come on, get up!” 

San lets out a whine of protest. “But baby, why can’t I stay here?” 

Oh, he would drop a ‘baby’ now, slipping it in so casually, so naturally, like there’s nothing unusual about him calling you that. As if it’s not something new he only started doing the other day, happening maybe a handful of times since. 

Since the two of you have been doing this undefined thing, there’s really only been one unspoken rule. You sleep in your bed, and he sleeps on the couch. Even on the nights when Haneul’s working the late shift, or she’s over at Jongho’s. You never know if she’ll come home early, so you don’t risk it. It’s just easier this way.

Doesn’t mean you like it, though. 

“Because. If Haneul catches you coming out of here - “

The sound of a door opening makes you freeze right down to your tongue, leaving your sentence unfinished. Your head swivels towards your own door. A pair of feet pad down the hall, getting closer, then fading away, until you hear another door being closed. The bathroom. 

“Noona.” 

You turn to find a sober-looking San staring at you. He reaches out, hands settling on your hips, holding on to you as you stand between his legs. Clinging again. 

“She’s in early today, right?” 

The two of you probably know Haneul’s schedule better than she does. You nod.

“Then I’ll just stay in here. She’ll think I never came home.” 

He makes it sound so simple. So reasonable. He’ll stay here until she leaves. Why didn’t you think of that? Is it because you don’t like thinking of San with someone else, even if said person is an imaginary person who exists solely to provide an excuse that will allow you to get what you want? And if you get what you want now, it’s only going to hurt more when you can’t have it anymore?

Yeah, that’s probably it. 

“I don’t know…” you bite your lip.

“Come on,” he wheedles, drawing you into his lap again, cupping your face with both hands. “Let me stay with you. Don’t you want me?” 

And there it goes, the last remaining bit of your resistance. 

“Okay.”

San seems a little shocked, face lighting up in delight, and you wonder if it’s at how quickly you agreed, or that you agreed at all. Maybe both.

“But we have to be quiet. So, you know…” You trail off, gesturing wordlessly. 

“No moondancing?” He emphasizes the word heavily, lifting a brow, and you roll your eyes but grin as well.

“Right, none of that.”

“Just cuddles?” 

As if he needs to ask. You nod. “But I’m not coming to bed until I finish my work.” You reclaim your seat at your desk, folding your arms over the back of it, trying to give the appearance of someone with a solid backbone, since yours is apparently made of pudding. 

“That’s okay,” San says, already tugging his shirt off, then his pants, until he’s only in his boxer briefs. He peels back your comforter, sliding into the soft sheets, and again the action is so natural, so normal, like he does this every night, that something in your chest constricts. “I’ll just wait for you.” 

Your first thought is that you should inform him that he’s going to be waiting a while, but then again, maybe he won’t. 

You’re feeling suddenly inspired. 

(It’s three in the morning, and you’re falling in love.)

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[fawnsflowerbed]

♡ It's The Most Wonderful Time-out! ♡

A/N: is this late? 100% but it's time for some CHRISTMAS HYBRID TIMEEEEE!!! A HUGE thank you for the patience from my amazing sunshine anon for this commission <3 Personally I think the title is hilarious, do- do you get it- the most wonderful time of the year- plz laugh-

Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, puppy's first Christmas! Grumpy ol' man Vendetta Leon, Leon is referred to as daddy! Reader in time-out, visiting the hybrid park, angst and fluff, mentions and descriptions of gore, all gets resolved in the end!

Word count: 7,430 approx.

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December 23rd

Time out. Oof, those words. They were enough to take the swing right out of your tail. 

This definitely wasn’t your fault. On the scale of 1-10 you’re like, a -5 when it comes to being in trouble. Totally. It wasn’t your fault it had rained, or your fault you wanted to jump in the the new layer of snow and got all wet and muddy, the only part that might have potentially, potentially been on you was tracking said mud and sleet through the living room. The living room rug to be exact. The rather expensive, difficult to clean because daddy sometimes ‘truly can’t be fu- bothered’ rug. That was the one rule; he could deal with mess on the floorboards, the tiles, but not the carpet. The stains were just too hard to get out.

Leon could handle dirt and grime absolutely, he’d take it over guts and gore any day of the week, public holidays and Christmas included. But coming home from work after a long day, hands stinking of gunpowder and grease, only to find muddy streaks and pawprints all over the rug was his last straw. The coffee machine in the office had been broken, his magazine clip had taken three different attempts to click into place despite the million times he’d done it before, and the armoury’s practice range had been down for maintenance. This was just the gasoline flavoured icing on his flambe flaming shit excuse for cake. 

Woosh. Fire. 

So, there you were. Plopped back into your pen, favourite squeaky toy just out of reach sat beside Leon’s chair as he scrolled through whatever’s on his phone. Teddy was right there, all worn out fluff and stringy neck ribbon, you were being taunted! This was torture, punishment of 

the worst degree. The only thing that would make it even more awful was going to bed without a kiss goodnight. But even Leon wasn’t that cruel.

Don’t get it twisted, he was feeling guilty about this too. The face you made when he walked through the door told him plenty. Big, round eyes, head bowed and tail anxiously thumping. You knew you’d gotten carried away. But you also knew better. And it’d been so long since he actually disciplined you. This was long overdue, half chewed toys left sopping wet in the bath after tub time, weeks of chased squirrels and rabbits, staying up way past your set bedtime. This was what really sealed the deal though. So, you do the time, you do the crime.

Even now he could feel your eyes boring into the back of his head, like two teary, glossy lasers set to melt his old hardened heart. Every half-hearted thump of your fluffy tail, every scuttle of your nails against the floorboards as you got comfortable, every tiny whimper you seemed hesitant to let out. Not to mention your poor attempts at being ‘completely and totally cool’ with your timeout since he often caught you staring up at him through the bars, eyes following each swipe of his fingers over his phone screen. And when he craned his neck to check on you, you were swiftly looking in the opposite direction, swearing you weren’t just tracking each of his movements. How couldn’t you though? You were obsessed with your owner, Leon was your daddy at the end of the day no matter how many play pens or crates he had to put you in so you’d behave.

 His poor princess. You were killing him, really. He’d survived well over 15 years of bioterrorism just to die at the hands of his pup-hybrid’s big wet pathetic gaze. Could flood a village with the amount of tears you shed a week, but he loves you and that tender heart of yours.

The real question was how much longer could either of you take? Leon knew it was a ‘you do the crime, you do the time’ type of deal, but was this truly teaching you anything other than how to master your pouty bottom lip? You’re his favourite fluffball, fuzzed up and huffy, chuffing and rolling over onto your back like you’re ready to play dead if it gets you out. 

And honestly? He was caving. He was only a man after all.

You’d softened him, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Three years ago he’d have scoffed at the thought of even owning a hybrid, let alone being this attached. But now you were glued to his side. Now he just felt like an old man, worn and tired, your sunshiney attitude and warmth had thawed through him like no heater had. He’d been frostbitten before meeting you, whether he’d known it or not.

He couldn’t bear it. Yeah, time was up.

So his heavy footsteps muffled through socks padded across the floorboards to you, although you tried to act like you didn’t care (and failed miserably). It was pretty obvious how much this mattered to you, because your tail was whipping something fierce, so hard it had your hips wiggling. 

“C’mon, darlin’. Think you’ve learnt your lesson.”

Those big eyes pierced his very being and soul as you gazed up at him from behind your lashes, ears all floppy and face streaked with past tear tracks. God, you’d been crying over this too? Might as well just rip his heart from his chest and stomp on it. 

Even as he turned around and sat back down on the couch, looking over to you expectantly, you seemed to hesitate at first. Glancing at the spot where the rug had once sat in the centre of the living room, right in front of the coffee table, with guilty furrowed brows. Then it was back to looking at Leon, back to melting him with those heartbreaking watery eyes.

“Oh, my sweet puppy.” He couldn’t help but croon as you made guilty little steps over to him, every tap of your feet filled with shame, tail swaying with embarrassment. You were a walking heap of emotions, and he was ready to scoop you up and put you back together. “Here she comes, there we go. Tough day for our girl.”

You’d missed it, oh how you’d missed it. At your heart you truly were just a puppy, in need of the loving praise and sweet words that only he could provide. You weren’t the mushiest pup in the litter, but there was nothing like a good hug from your daddy. That much was clear from the way you melted into Leon’s body as soon as you were sat in his lap, your tail thumping delightfully against his knees while you burrowed into him. Paws kneading his shirt so you nestled into him just right.

“I know it was rough, honey. M’ sorry. But sometimes daddy has to discipline you, y’know?” the thick pad of his thumb encased your chin just enough to tilt your gaze upwards, his hand sliding over the curve of your face so he could wipe your tears away. “And it hurt, didn’t it?” “Yeah..” “So next time you think about stepping on the rug with muddy feet, you’ll remember how much we both hated this, and you won’t do it, isn’t that right?” “,,Yeah.”

“That’s right, baby. My poor girl.” That last statement came out as a small sigh, rubbing the soft fuzz of your floppy ears tenderly between his fingers. Even now as he gave you a talking down your tail never stopped thumping against his leg. 

No matter what, you loved him. That must’ve been why they called it puppy love. And it made his heart ache something fierce. You were too good.

Leon felt like the worst daddy in the world sometimes, he wasn’t gonna even try to lie about that. Sometimes he scratched behind your ears too hard, or you didn’t understand one of his jokes and ended up getting pouty and upset, sometimes he didn’t throw the ball right or pick out the right snacks. But all of that was nothing compared to the biggest issue.

His intoxicated escapades were at the very top of that list. 

Raids of the fridge and mumbling to himself, slumping his jacket off only to pass out on the edge of his bed. Leon knew you didn’t like when he got drunk, it was probably what hurt him the most about all of it. Not the gunshots echoing through his skull when his shot glass hit the table, or the recoil of a pistol wracking his shoulder when he ran into a wall too hard. 

No, it was the look on your face.

How you seemed to curl yourself back into your pen, watching with a lowered head and a hesitant gaze, tail somewhat tucked. The foggy memory of the face you pulled when he was too rough petting you or spoke too loud while sloshed. That’s what ached, what truly stung like a bitch. 

He was supposed to be the one protecting you, caring for you, and because of his own problems now you’d seen a side of him he never wanted you to. He’d made your hands awaken to the crack of eggshells beneath them when you stepped towards him, you were familiar with the shell’s powdering like that of bullet sulfur, and inner yolk gold as the streaks in his hair back then. Knew of the blood that sometimes hung in the middle of it all, and in the worst scenario the curling of bones left over. 

But still at the end of the night, drifting between a muddled haze of asleep and awake, he’d hear you make your way slowly towards his bed, the mattress dipping when you climbed up and curled up at the bottom of the duvet. Because, despite it all, you wanted to be close to him.

 Because, despite it all, he was your person. So he dumped what he could of the remaining bottles, stashed a few shitty cans for safe keeping in case things got too hard, and stopped being a regular at Jerry’s bar. 

He was doing it for you, maybe only for you.

Now he had you sat in his lap, buried in his shoulder and curling in as small as possible. Trying to become one with the skin of his arms and fabric of his shirt. You wanted to crawl up under his jacket and be carried as one with Leon, you’d do it if you could. 

He had to do something.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” Oh, that voice. Despite the icy weather outside, despite the cold that hung in his chest from time to time, his tone always tried to be warm with you. Soft. like those mutts learning to gentle their snarls and unclench their teeth, to stop growling. He was so used to the sneering, the sarcasm, snapping when someone got too close or said the wrong thing to him. But you were so fluffy, so fuzzy to the world, so unaware and loving. So he had to wear a muzzle, and he learned how to adjust.

Why? Because he couldn’t be a violent dog if he had his very own puppy. “I dunno..”

A lopsided smile spread across his cheeks at the look on your face, chin tilted and tail squirming as you look to him. There’s still the matter of that guilt still hanging in your face, stray strands like an unruly mop of hair.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna squeeze ya.” While you were still processing Leon’s comforting words and the lull of his voice, he was quick to gather you in his arms and press you tight to his chest. Immediately you were bathed in the scent of his shirt, the natural smell and comfort of his body. A warm blanket of safety had been draped over your blankets in the form of his presence. He squeezed your body nice and close until you squeaked out a yapped laugh, the fluff of your ear squished against his stubbled cheek.

“Oooo, good squeeze. Get all those nasty feelings outta you.”

“Daddyyyy, you’re smooshing me!” These were the moments he really cherished, ones where your tail swung and you squirmed in his arms with that smile of yours.

“Awww, well that’s how you know that it’s a real good squeeze,” His voice waved every time he swayed you slightly from side to side, bringing bubbly giggles from your throat that drifted up into the air and popped right at his heart. “It’s like juicin’ an orange, gotta shake and twist you till you’re all better.” “I don’t wanna be juice!” You howled out playfully, throwing your head back like the dramatic little thing that you were.

“Oh you don’t huh? Then you gotta keep smiling for me baby, it's just that simple.” He pushed his cheek up against your own. God, how he loved that smile, the sound of your tail thumping across the fluff of the sleek couch. There you sat, cute as a button, curled up atop his legs and snuggled in close like the sweetest, softest stuffed animal. “Tell you what, we get you one last snack, and then we’ll tuck you in, and tomorrow we’ll go into town. Catch everything before it all closes up.” 

You were already half asleep in his arms by the time he’d finished talking.

December 24th

Planning the day out was the easy part, executing it was hard. Not only because Christmas was right around the corner which came with its own chaos, but because you were- well, you. Overly loving, over committed, overly loyal and lovely you. Leon swore you must’ve been the cutest looking leech or tick in a past life.

You insisted on putting together an outfit that yes consisted of your favourite bows and daddy’s most comfiest shirt that smelled like him. But even his ‘I’ve worn the same blue shirt for 3 years’ ass could tell when things didn’t coordinate together. So he did the gentlemanly and not-wanting-you-to-look-like-a-disaster-oustide-ly thing and helped you into some cute fleecy stockings, complete with a soft sweater and your favourite skirt. Gloves of some sort were a must, you had a thing for pawing at whatever you could get your hands on no matter how cold it was, and you were in your fuzziest boots. Adorable. Like a Christmasy puffball, a fluffy ornament. All you needed was a pair of angel wings and a halo and you’d be ready for the top of the tree. 

“Look at her, look at that posture and stance. Look at that trot. That’s a well trained leash dog right there.” A smirk tugged at Leon’s lips as he watched you pad in step with him, the lacy trim of your skirt swaying whenever your foot met the sidewalk. This was the very same puppy who sat staring at him from her crate with the most pitiful eyes yesterday, rolling over onto your back like you might die from lack of attention. And now you were practically skipping, a bounce to your tail with every step.

You were lucky enough to live in a small enough part of the city. Not too urban, but definitely not rural. An outskirt area that was a nice walk away from the nearest hybrid park, long enough to get you warmed up for the real fun. And even after Leon had you off the leash you were staying in step with him, glued to his side with the sweetest smile on your face. In fact it took a little coaxing and the presence of some other pups for you to finally run around.

Leon knew you could be sociable when you truly wanted to be, but even for such a smiley little thing sometimes you simply preferred his company to anyone else’s. You could be skittish, a bit shy, and it truly threw him off guard when that part of you poked its head out from behind the warm rays of sunlight that radiated from your very being. It was adorable, really. Watching you curl into his leg with a slightly swishing tail of fluff, giving a small wave only to burrow into him. But today you were doing well, today you chose to shake out your jitters. And yes, he wouldn’t admit it, but he was proud of you.

No matter how many times Leon brought you out here, letting you experience the wonders of a normal domestic life, it never stopped being nothing short of magical to watch you shine. You had this magnetic aura that always seemed to follow you around, people were drawn to you and that sunbeam that clung to the smile on your face. The warmth that you spread to those around you. 

You truly were his sunshine.

“Leon?”

A voice he hadn’t heard in a few weeks thanks to his time off work caught his attention, and sure enough as he looked over his shoulder there stood Ingrid Hunnigan. Bundled up in a long overcoat with a recyclable cup in her hands, steam wafting from the lid in smooth swirls through the crisp cold air. Already her glasses seemed to be fogging up again, despite so clearly being cleaned only recently. Yeah, he didn’t realise how lucky he was to have decent vision despite all the bullshit he’d been through. Glasses on top of the trauma and broken bones might’ve done him in.

“Hunnigan? The hell are you doing out here?” It wasn’t defensive or aggressive, moreso confused. Intrigued, interested. It wasn’t often he actually saw her out and about. A little silly in all honesty for him to think that, Ingrid always had some sort of plans around Christmastime. Her holiday decorations, complete with lights and glowing reindeer atop a tiled roof, were nothing to scoff at.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen the snow in person, I figured I’d go for a walk to get a feel for it.” She shrugged, hands tucked into her pockets. 

He was listening, or at least some part of him was. The other part was blurring through his peripheral vision to make out the blob of colour and wagging tail that was you balling up snow as you ducked behind a tree, playing with one of the other hybrids. If you asked anyone in his line of work, they’d say Leon is a hardass. He’s committed to his work and gets his job done, and he’s passionate about what he does whether that’s good for him or not. 

But with you? With you he was just a man. Just your owner, your person. And that was such a relief.

“How’s she doing?” Ingrid asks out of habit. Every woman in the office can’t help but ask Leon about his perfect princess. And of course he laughs, shaking his head.

“Spoiled as ever. Really enjoying my time off with her.” Much needed confirmation, he knows he’d never hear the end of it if he dared tell Hunnigan about the time out incident. Best to keep it lighthearted now. Even as her face seems to.. Falter. What was that about?

“Listen, about the Phillis report..”

And then that lightheartedness was gone. If it weren’t for the icy chill that surrounded him, Leon would’ve gone a new shade of pale in the cool winter light. 

It never used to bother him. It never phased him on the outside. But now? With you?

The Phillis report. A family with a hybrid that had been a target for a bioterrorism attack. 

A hybrid.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you smiling, the red tips of his ears pricking at your laughter, the soft crunch of snow beneath people’s feet feeling much louder now as they passed. Everyone’s footsteps were unique, every thud and crush that left a print. Evidence. Clues. Cases. Work.

A hybrid like you. Everything was muddling together into the nastiest shade of grey water freezing over into ice. He hated his job. If he could pull the pin on a grenade, jump on top of it and coat the walls of that godforsaken office in his blood and guts he would. Because that’s what they were asking from him. They were asking him to die for them. Jumping from subject to subject, he was playing jump rope and hopscotch with his morals and intrusive thoughts over one simple statement in the middle of the holidays. How the mighty so quickly fell beneath twinkling lights and atop brightly wrapped presents.

The pulse of his heart had managed to spike, thundering fast and heavy in his chest. Eyes half an inch wider, pupils shrunk.

It could’ve been you. It- “Please, don’t. I’m just- I’m trying to not think about all of that. Not with her here.” It came out a bit too rushed, like his body had forced each syllable from his lips to get a point across. A safety measure, a precaution for his well being.

Leon had already spent countless nights tossing and turning over the paranoia of you being caught in his work. Now it had gotten so bad that even the mention of a hybrid being involved in a case made him sick to his stomach.

Because what if that had been you?

His throat almost closed itself off to the world as he got his words out. Ingrid’s face was creased in worry at the state of him. How had one statement so quickly pulled him through a 180? “It’s our first Christmas together, I can’t ruin that. I can’t.” Swallowing felt like choking down gravel but he managed to nonetheless. 

Hunnigan’s gaze softened, because she knew exactly how much it would ruin a perfectly good day if she were to stretch this out. She knew you were bouncing around somewhere without even looking for you amidst the snow and differently shaped animal ears and noses. You were the centre of Leon’s world, even if he didn’t know it. But those around him, those like her and Claire and Rebecca, could see what a difference you’d made. “I get it. Just.. don’t worry about rushing it, okay? It can wait until next year.”

“Yeah.. Yeah, thanks.” Automated. Robotic. Leon felt like he was backseating his own life as he responded, hearing Hunnigan’s shoes click as she prepared to walk back to her apartment complex. The sympathy ebbing from her expression only made him feel more sick, and yes that would’ve made him feel bad if it weren’t for him being on the brink of what was most likely a panic attack.

“Merry Christmas, Leon. Take it easy.” He couldn’t get the words out, settling for a stiff nod. Work. Work, work, work. It followed him everywhere no matter how fucking hard he tried to escape it. Think of something else, he scolded himself through the deafening heartbeat in his ears. Anything else. Think of you.

Padding your way over the snow, he watched on in an attempt to calm himself down as you bounded around the park like a bunny. Maybe a fox, the type that burrowed deep under the flurries of fresh powder with yipping laughter. All he knew was you were enjoying yourself, and that was all that mattered. That was all he focused on as his breathing steadied. With a short, still somewhat breathless whistle, your ears stood on end. Immediately your head thwipped to him, and you were merely a blur of pink and white that came scampering towards him. Yeah, that got a snort. Good. He needed to laugh more.

“There’s my girl.”

And there you were indeed, practically barrelling into his leg so he let out a hoarse ‘oof’ at the impact. Complete with a whispered “Hi daddy,’ that somehow managed to calm his heart in ways no medication or therapy could. Maybe he could start you out on service hybrid training, get you certified. Nah, you were too cuddly for that. Plus the vest would have to be pink or you just might refuse to wear it. So for now, he figured he may as well treat you.

“How about some hot cocoa, hm? You were a good girl after all, took your punishment like a champ.” Lie. Big, fat lie. If the ladies at the office ever caught word of how Leon had put you in timeout he’d be getting the most gruelling of death glares. His grave would be trampled on as they sprinted their way over to comfort you. He couldn’t really blame them, though, how could you not run someone over to pet someone as precious as you. You, currently sticking your little tongue out to catch the delicate snowflakes floating down from the sky as you approached the cafe. That’s what he had to keep reminding himself of in this moment. He did all of this for you. Trying to drown out the sinking ache in his stomach as if he’d swallowed an anvil, that son of a bitch must’ve been hidden between the bubbles of his saliva, or maybe the frost that dripped from the roof. 

So yeah, he was using you as the most sweet looking distraction right now, watching your wide eyes take in the wood grain and sleek walls of the coffee shop tucked into a corner of the park. On your best behaviour as you both stood in line until you got to the register. The metal tang in the back of his throat definitely had nothing to do with the gut weight still lingering after talking to Ingrid. Nope. Must’ve been the cold.

“Yeah, can we grab one long black and one.. Hm.” For a moment Leon caught himself rethinking his decisions. Was it really the best idea to give you something that had ‘cocoa’ in the name? You guys had yet to test how you’d react to chocolate after all. Taking the time to test and breakdown what food and beverage you could eat or simply didn’t like was a meticulous process, but better safe than sorry. “Wait, that was on our testing list..”

“Daddy?” Sorry puppy, daddy’s too busy having a small crisis over whether or not you can actually drink what he was ordering for you.“Is it- It should be safe for you to have hot cocoa, right?” “Daddy.” This time it was flatter. Unimpressed.

“I mean you haven’t had a bad reaction to anything yet despite being part puppy but, it’s technically chocolate to some degree so-

“Daddy!”

The tugging at his wrist was enough to get his attention back on you, the draw of your big dewy eyes and scrunched nose luring him in like a fish to bait.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” “Turn brain switch off.” 

Sometimes he thought you were pretending to be as curious and innocent as you are, because you so easily sensed when he was anxious or worried. Like an instinct. Sure, he loved you to bits, but you weren’t the brightest bulb in the- light store? Batch? He’d come up with a better analogy later. Either way, the point stood. And yet you always did that little head tilt when something seemed off. That bulb flickering to life.

“Right, puppy. Daddy’s turning the overthinking switch off.” Leon reassured as best as he could. And it seemed to satisfy. “Good daddy.”

He couldn’t help but snort again at that. “Thanks, baby.” Being praised for his minute efforts in managing his thoughts by his very own puppy hybrid. By the time you hit the register he was still smiling despite the storm in his head. “One long black and a hot cocoa, please.” 

But oh, how quickly it faded into thunder clouds. Even as he gave the barista his name for the order and walked over to wait for your drinks, it lurked over him. A sickening thickness in his throat, like tar tobacco and nicotine had clogged his windpipe. He was on auto pilot when he collected the recyclable cups and placed one of them into your eager hands, not recognising his own voice as he warned you about it being hot.

Leon was stuck between reality and dissociation, his feet leading both of you on the path back home that you’d taken enough times to have memorised. And even as you blew on the surface of your cocoa through the spout of the cup’s lid, you could see it in his eyes. That distant look. Deflated, the same as when you chewed on your favourite squeaky toy too hard and it popped.

“Daddy? You’re all droopy.”

Your voice was high and puzzled, all floppy ears and arched brows in confusion. Did he not like the park? You’d had a wonderful time making snow angels and bounding through the white powder like sweet icing sugar atop a winter cake. Maybe daddies just didn’t do parks well, like how you didn’t do the vet too well.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s just thinking about things.” It had him staring out so far his eyes hit the end of the sidewalk, through the ice and snow to the cement. One hand held your leash, the other swiping past his lips. Hoping to wipe away the residue of his frown. 

It didn’t work. “But the switch..” Oh, don’t give him that tone. So heartbroken, so worried. It broke him.

“I know, I know the switch honey.” Already he was rubbing over the crease between his brows. This conversation couldn’t happen, not here and not now. “But sometimes- sometimes it’s not that simple, you know? Sometimes the switch doesn’t work.”

You supposed that made sense. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder. And pry, just a smidge. You could be a little pushy and shovey, whether you meant it or not. “Well, whatcha thinking about?”

What wasn’t he thinking about was the real question. It was all blurring together.

He simply shook his head. Made the bangs of his hair sway when he did. “Don’t worry about it, pup. It’s a conversation for another time.”

Well, that didn’t seem right to you. Usually Leon was so open with his feelings towards you, so you couldn’t help but nudge him. This time not with your nose or paw, but with your words. “But..”

And then his voice was lighter, as if he’d dropped the weight he’d been carrying over to one shoulder. Giving the illusion that things were better, that things were normal. But that shoulder still slumped. “Hey, weren’t you telling me something about Jill’s dog Carlos showing up on his own today? What was that about?” 

It still dragged.

At first you were very willing to tell him, the very concept of a hybrid on their own both bewildered, confused and excited you. Carlos was a big shaggy furred fella, he always played fair and shared the good treats Jill handed out.

But you knew this tactic. It was the same as when you’d ask him questions and instead of giving you an answer he’d pick up the nearest squeaky toy and suddenly you were playing fetch instead of talking. This time you were all the wiser.

“You’re trying to distract me! I don’t get it, when people say certain things you go stiff and wonky.” You couldn’t help but frown up at him. It didn’t feel fair, not knowing these things about him. A whole year together and yet sometimes he looked more like a stranger, dodging your questions and petting your ears so you’d move on. But you weren’t expecting him to furrow his eyebrows and sigh low in his chest, the way his forehead creased and nose flared. It was the same look you got before time out, only this one seemed more defensive than the last. 

“Not now, sweetheart. Please.” Leon’s tone was flat, no room for argument no matter how much your wriggled and squeezed your body between the cracks. Your tail’s wag deflated, slowing to nothing more than a slight sway. The snow felt a little colder after that.

December 30th

Christmas had been nothing short of a success in the Kennedy household, with Leon’s living room being covered in scattered wrapping paper and a whole new variety of toys in pastel colours. He was delighted. This may have been one of the few times he actually enjoyed a holiday rather than loathing it. Maybe it was because you were there, so he wasn’t spending it alone like he usually did. The way you’d spun in circles and yapped happily about it being Christmas morning.

It had been your first real Christmas ever. Your first Christmas not spent in a cage, where you got toys and ate warm meals with the man you loved, with Claire and Becca and Chris and Jill coming over for lunch under the fluorescent glow of the Christmas lights you’d insisted Leon put up. You’d sat by the tree unwrapping gifts with the fastest wagging tail Leon had ever seen, ears perked to attention and eyes wide and sparkling. He was glad, honoured really, to witness this moment of pure unbridled joy for you.

The two of you spent most if not all of Boxing Day lazing around the house in your pajamas, cuddling by the fireplace and bundling under blankets for more than a few naps. Lazy days, oh how you both loved them. Soon it was the 26th, then the 27th,so on and so on. 

Now, the christmas paper had been collected, the tree’s decorations were slowly taken down in day by day intervals, and you sat politely by the glass door to the backyard watching the snow. Leon figured if there was ever a time to truly explain to you the truth behind his career, it was likely now. A tough conversation to have, but one that needed to happen. He just couldn’t leave you in the dark like this, not any longer. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” “Hm?”

There it was. That innocent lilt, the curve of your neck as you craned to look at him. You were something too pure to be sitting on the floor of his home. You deserved mattress upon mattress like the princess and the pea, only he wouldn’t be an idiot like the ones in that book. Leon knew better than to leave under the bed unattended in case there were coyotes trying to nip at his sweet girl’s toes and tail.

Softening, that’s what he was doing. Cracking. This wasn’t going to end well and he knew it. “Y’know how daddy doesn’t like to talk about work?”

Uh oh, now you knew it was time for a serious talk. Not like when you dirtied the rug, this time you weren’t in trouble. Still you looked at him so gently, with such trust while that mountain of fluffy fur behind you swished. Because if it was serious, it was important. “Yeah.”

Leon patted the spot on the couch beside him, complete with a pretty pink bone print blanket for you to settle on, to which you trotted yourself over as dainty as could be. Hopping up next to him, a tail curled around your back. Getting yourself cozy under his arm with your head nestled right next to his chest. Listening to the steady thrum of his heart as his pulse picked up. Doing so much, yet so little, and it all comforted him.

 It was starting to sink in. He was telling you. He was opening the casket, dragging the corpse of his past through the dirt to pose for a real, living person. How was he supposed to break this to you? How did you even word his job without saying ‘I might die one day’?

“Well, that’s cause what I do is pretty dangerous, puppy. I don’t want to worry you with all the stuff I have to do.” The violence, the bloodshed, the screaming. Flashes of red that haunted his dreams, the ones you’d nudge at his face over until he’d wake up because you heard him muttering in his sleep.

“Why?” You were so oblivious to his little inner world, the one he made sure to hide from you. The one filled with guilt and shame. He wanted to keep it that way, but what choice did he have? How could he keep you safe if you had no idea what you were being kept safe from? You should be worried about what colour skirt to wear, or if your collar matches your outfit, not this bullshit. 

“Because it’s just better for you to sit and wait for me to get home at the end of the day, baby.” It was better for you to expect him home every day. 

It was better for both of you if you just always thought he was coming home.

 It made his heart break so hard his ribs snapped thinking about you sitting by the big bay window, tail flicking and throat weeping whimpers if he didn’t show up for a few days. Then weeks. Then eventually someone would have to take you in, pack up all your toys. They’d find the list he kept stashed on the top of the fridge just in case; instructing anyone who found you on just how you liked your food and which stories to whisper in your ear at night when the thunder got too loud. 

You’d never go willingly. Someone would have to leash you and tug you out the door to their car. You’d cry. You’d cry so hard your throat would die out hoarse. It would probably be Claire or Chris or Becca picking you up, he’d have to hope. The thought of some stranger from the DSO taking you from his home, your home, the home you shared together, had him swallowing down a lump. He knew you’d never recover from it. It would shatter you, after sitting in a kennel alone for so long and finally crawling out of your shell, just to lose the person you so clearly loved more than anyone else. Fuck, Leon could feel his eyes watering.

But he couldn’t do that to you. He just couldn’t. It would be the cruelest thing in the world for him to abandon you without any choice in the matter. If he were a stronger man he’d have retired by now. But he wasn’t stronger. He had no backbone when it came to his job, the government, the United States as a whole. Some fucking hero. He was more like a lapdog, breaking his neck for a board of people who didn’t give a shit about him. Taking the scraps he was offered.

“Daddy, you’re crying..” Your sad voice pulled him back into reality, where you were now taking those soft hands of yours to wipe away his tears. Wet streaks that lined the creases forming in his scarred over skin. He was getting too old for this. Too old to be bottling up these feelings for days on end. Wearing himself down for the sake of denying what he felt.

“Fuck, sorry sweetheart. It’s just.. It’s my job to keep you safe. But it’s also my job to keep everyone else safe, too. And your daddy’s been through everything, honey. Zombies, parasites, bioterrorism, war, the whole five yards. I’ve had so many people turn their backs on me or- or look to me for help for so long that it drives me crazy to even think of you worrying about me not coming home.”

How long had it been since he’d cried? Really cried? How much more could a man like Leon take? Sure he was strong, he had to be. Built up from broken beginnings on bloodied glass, shitty past relationships and world-ending catastrophes. But he was only human for Christ’s sake.

And maybe he was finally starting to sober up to that realization.

“I always think you’ll come home..”

Of course you did. Of course you, this sweet angel of a puppy girl, looked up at him with those watery eyes filled with confidence in such a statement. As if you loved him so much it almost poured from your lash line in heart shaped droplets. You had such hope despite where he’d adopted you from. Had he done that? It was odd to think about. How someone as shitty as him (in his perspective at least) had gotten you to blossom and bloom into the sweet thing you were today.

“Yeah, why’s that honey?”

“Cause you’re Leon, and Leon is the strongest person I know.”

The weight of your head now resting against his shoulder was like an anchor that stopped Leon from washing out on the beach of his despairs. He wasn’t left to drift off into oblivion, to drown in his sorrows and regrets. He had you. You had him. A hand came out to instinctively pet over the warm fuzz of your floppy ears, and he seeked out the comfort that came with your presence.

It was comforting, the quiet. Not tense or awkward. Like the waves of the ocean sloshing to a slow and serene sway after a tsunami or a tidal wave. To know you saw him as your hero, that you held him in such high regard. It made every grey hair and creased feature feel worth it. Everything he did, he did it for you. And for once it didn’t feel like a pressure, or a burden, it was a responsibility he was glad to shoulder. Like he were your knight in shining armour.

“Why’d you never tell me you went through all that stuff?” Even now as you spoke your voice was low and soft, sweet to his ears like a drizzling of warm honey right to his cochlea. Those homemade remedies for aches and pains.

Even now he found himself chuckling to get through this, an ache in his chest with each exhale. Someone had set a cinderblock on his chest, and you were mustering up all the strength in those little paws to ease it off. “And ruin what we’ve got going on right here? I wasn’t gonna risk that.”

Apparently that was the wrong answer, because now you were perked upright with the slightest of pouts perched atop your lips. Disagreement etched into your features. “S’ not ruined, dummy. It just means I get to say I love you a whole lot more.”

Now it was his turn to snort sincerely. Always so stubborn. Adorable, sweet, but stubborn. "Oh, is that so?”

“Mhm. So when things are yuck it’ll be easier to remember that I love you. Cause I’ll say it as many times as I gotta until you believe it.”

You ruined him, and not in a bad way. You took the world’s smallest pick to the world’s coldest iceberg and chipped back his layers sliver by sliver. Sculpting him back into what he once was before the world dumped cold water onto him and froze over the softness that lay within. 

Leon’s hand stroked aimlessly over the curve of your head, tracing over the edges of your hair gently. Even with the scrapes on his knuckles and bruises on his palms he always made sure to be soft with you. His voice, half cracked and brimming with affection, was quiet as he whispered back. “I love you too, puppy. You’re my best girl.”

Firewood crackled in a low, jagged white noise in the background, smoothing into a quiet simmer that cast a warm orange glow against the walls. Bathing the room in heat, one that you both let wrap around you like a safety blanket. You found haven in each other, because no matter what, you always came back to one another. Leon was your owner, after all. It was his job to ensure you had the best life, with all the comforts you could ask for and then some.

And he planned to do just that. Whether it meant dumping out all the alcohol in his house or not.

“So.. Do I get more presents?” It’s a teeny voice against his shirt that had him tilting his chin down to look at you.

“Well no puppy, the next holiday is New Years Eve. We don’t give presents then, only Christmas.” A pretty straight forward explanation, or at least that’s what it felt like to him.

“Why?” Another chirp.

His brow arched. “Cause Christmas is only once a year, sweetie.”

“Why?” And another. “Okay, we’re not starting this.”

God, just wait until you find out about birthdays. Then he’s done for.

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[gingernut1314]

Your Name

Summary: You hear someone calling out for you and you are desperate to find them

Content: gender-neutral reader, childhood friends, reunion after years, ace giving the warmest of hugs

Word Count: 520+

A/N: Just a little something to help brighten @sordidmusings day up! I hope you enjoy lovely and know I love you so so much!! 🫶🫶 also a one piece fic? from me?? omg I feel like it has been a while oof

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You heard your name above all the noise and staticy buzzing in your ears. 

It was faint at first, but definitely your name. 

Where was it coming from? Who was calling for you?

The crew around you didn’t seem to hear it, too busy cheering and laughing and celebrating to hear it being called.

You didn’t want to celebrate. Not one bit. Especially now when someone was calling for you. Calling for you in a way that had your heart restart and beat in an urgency to find it.

Your name grew clearer and clearer the more you wandered through the crowd searching for whoever was calling for you.

You knew that voice. It was one you hadn’t heard in years but one you needed close now more than ever. 

Your eyes burned and blurred as your name was called again. You wanted to call back, but the tightening of your throat gave you pause. 

But when the voice began to float in the opposite direction, you fought through the frog in your throat and called his name. A name you hadn’t spoken, hadn’t dared to speak, in three long years. 

Your name was shouted now, coming back towards you. You stayed planted in your spot, knowing he would find you as you gave one last call of his name. 

The crowd seemed to part and there he was. Shaggy, black hair that needed a good scrub, sun-kissed skin covered in a layering of freckles. His dark, near black, brown eyes eased upon finding you, thin lips pulling at their corners. 

He called your name in relief at finally finding you.

“Ace.” You called back, voice wavering despite your wish to keep your upset nature at bay. His name on your lips was all it took to make the man you had missed so desperately rush forward, scooping you up in his strong arms. 

He held you close, enveloping you in his sunny warmth you wished to stay within forever. You buried your face in his shoulder, feeling those tears you had tried to keep back begin to wet his skin. 

You breathed his smoky scent in deep. A smell that instantly reminded you of back home. Of campfires he would put on for you, Luffy, and Sabo. Fires you and him would sit by late into the night, cuddled up next to each other. It was a smell you had craved to inhale again and nearly sobbed at its return.

“I told you I’d find you again.” He muttered into your neck, placing a soft kiss there. “Didn’t I?” You nodded, holding him just that much tighter as you sucked in a shaky breath. “Let’s get outta here, yeah?” 

“Please.” Ace pulled away, holding onto your shoulders as he took in every bit of your face he could. His lips tugged upward once more and you drank in the sight of that smirking smile you loved.

“Damn--I missed you.” And before you could even think to tell him just how much you missed him back, he was grabbing your hand and whisking you out of the crowd and into the chill night air.