#illi posts

A/n: some Leon smut with fem reader hehe. Requiem Leon in mind!

Contains: 18+, Minors DNI. Explicit sexual content, smut, established relationship, body worship (chubby/plus-size reader), praise kink, slight possessiveness, unprotected sex, mentions of alcohol (whiskey), post-mission intimacy, Requiem Leon Kennedy being a soft dom for his girl.

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The air in the dimly lit room was thick with the scent of whiskey and something uniquely Leon—a mix of gunpowder, leather, and the faint, clean smell of his cologne. He sat on the edge of the hotel bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his back to her. The broad expanse of his shoulders, tense even in rest, was a testament to the years of survival etched into his very being.

She watched him from the doorway, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Leon now was harder, colder, the years of fighting having carved away the boyish charm she remembered from stories, leaving behind a man forged in fire. But his eyes, when he turned to her, still held that flicker of something vulnerable, something that made her ache.

He finally looked over his shoulder, his piercing blue eyes catching the low light. "You gonna stand there all night?" His voice was a low rumble, a gravelly sound that vibrated through her.

She took a hesitant step into the room. "I was just... thinking."

He turned fully, swinging one leg up onto the bed, his gaze sweeping over her. It wasn't a judgmental look, but an assessing one, as if he were memorizing every curve. He'd seen her naked before, touched every inch of her soft, ample body, yet his intensity never failed to make her feel like the first time. It made her feel seen, truly seen, in a way no one else ever had.

"Come here," he commanded, his tone softening just enough to be an invitation rather than an order.

She moved to him, stopping between his knees. His hands came to rest on her hips, his thumbs tracing circles over the fabric of her simple cotton shirt. The warmth of his touch seeped through the material, sending a shiver up her spine. He leaned forward, pressing his face against the softness of her stomach, his breath hot through the thin shirt.

"You're so soft," he murmured, his voice muffled against her. It was a statement of fact, but it sounded like worship. He nuzzled deeper, his hands sliding around to grip the generous curve of her ass, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hard press of his arousal through his jeans, a stark contrast to the yielding softness of her body against his face.

His hands roamed, mapping the landscape of her with a reverence that made her breath catch. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her leggings and tugged them down, his eyes never leaving hers as the fabric pooled around her ankles. He helped her step out of them, his gaze darkening as he took in the sight of her—her thick thighs, the soft swell of her belly, the curve of her hips.

"Perfect," he breathed, the word a raw, honest confession.

He stood then, his movements fluid and predatory, backing her toward the bed until her legs hit the mattress and she fell back with a soft gasp. He followed her down, caging her in with his body, his weight a welcome pressure. He was all hard lines and lean muscle, a beautiful, dangerous contradiction against her softness.

His mouth claimed hers, a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of whiskey and longing. It wasn't gentle; it was a claiming, a reminder that they were both alive, here, in this moment. His hands were everywhere, tugging her shirt over her head, unhooking her bra with practiced ease until she was bare to his appreciative gaze.

He kissed his way down her body, his lips and tongue worshipping every inch of her soft skin. He lingered on her breasts, taking one peaked nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, his teeth scraping just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to her core. His other hand kneaded her other breast, his thumb flicking over the sensitive bud.

She arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He moved lower, his mouth tracing a path over the soft curve of her belly. He didn't shy away from it; he reveled in it, his tongue dipping into her navel, his hands gripping her thick thighs, pushing them apart.

"Leon," she gasped, his name a plea on her lips.

He looked up at her from between her thighs, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something that looked terrifyingly like love. "I've got you," he promised, his voice a low growl.

And then his mouth was on her, hot and insistent. He licked and sucked with a single-minded focus, his tongue delving into her folds, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it mercilessly. She bucked against his mouth, her hands fisting in the sheets, her breath coming in ragged sobs. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave building deep inside her.

He slid one finger inside her, then another, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her see stars. He worked her with his mouth and fingers, pushing her higher and higher until she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her trembling and breathless.

He didn't give her time to recover. He moved up her body, his own clothes disappearing in a flurry of motion until he was as naked as she was. He settled between her thighs, his hard length pressing against her still-sensitive entrance.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes burning into hers. "You're mine," he said, his voice a raw, possessive rasp.

"Yours," she whispered back, her hands coming up to cup his face.

He pushed into her in one smooth, deep thrust, and they both groaned at the sensation. He filled her completely, stretching her in the most delicious way. He started to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, building a rhythm that was both punishing and pleasurable.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies moving together, their harsh breaths, and the soft, desperate sounds of their pleasure. He bent his head to her neck, his teeth scraping against her skin, marking her as his.

The pressure built again, a coiling heat in her belly that grew tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust of his hips. He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in tight, firm circles.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice strained with his own impending release.

That was all it took. She shattered again, her inner walls clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. With a guttural groan, he followed her over the edge, his own release pulsing deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, his weight a comforting, grounding presence. They lay there for a long time, their bodies tangled together, their breathing slowly returning to normal. He rolled off her, pulling her into his arms, her head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady, reassuring rhythm against her ear.

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers stroking her hair. "Stay with me," he murmured into the darkness.

She tightened her arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Always."

In the quiet aftermath, with the weight of the world outside the door momentarily forgotten, they were just two people finding solace in each other's arms, a soft, chubby woman and a hardened survivor, two halves of a whole, bound by something far stronger than just desire.

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Tag list: @leon-must-die if anyone wants to be added to the tag list lemme know!! For all my future works for resident evil and Leon as well!

Also gonna put the link to me and the bfs server here as well! For anyone who wants to join!! We are all crazy and feral in good ways haha. I also share my writings over there as well!

A/N: I am taking one piece requests! For those who are fans of one piece as well me! I will soon be making a one piece Masterlist but knowing me and my love for Trafalgar Law he will have separate Masterlist haha check out my pinned post to see who I write for! It will be updated a lot so be sure to check periodically!

Contains: fluff, soft domestic moments, gentle kissing, Law being soft, mild overworking/exhaustion, comfort, established relationship

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The sea was calm that evening, a rare mercy for the crew of the Polar Tang. The submarine drifted gently beneath the surface, its metal hull humming softly as it cut through the water. Inside, most of the Heart Pirates were either asleep or scattered through the corridors, keeping their usual watch.

In his office, Law sat hunched over a stack of medical charts and maps. The dim overhead light cast shadows across his sharp features, and his spotted hat rested beside him on the desk. He had been working for hours, long after he had told everyone else to get some rest. It was typical of him—shouldering responsibility in silence, convincing himself he functioned better that way.

The door creaked open softly.

He did not look up at first. “If it’s Bepo, I already said I’ll be done soon.”

“It’s not Bepo.”

Her voice was gentle, warm in contrast to the sterile quiet of the room.

Law’s pen paused mid-scratch. He glanced up, and the tension in his shoulders eased almost immediately when he saw her standing there. She wore one of his oversized hoodies, the sleeves falling past her hands, and her hair was slightly messy from sleep. She looked far softer than the cold steel surroundings deserved.

“You should be asleep,” he said, though there was no bite in his tone.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “I could say the same thing to you.”

Law exhaled quietly through his nose, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t need as much sleep.”

She raised a brow at that. “That’s a lie.”

He almost smirked.

She walked around the desk without asking permission, because she never needed it, and stopped in front of him. For a moment she simply looked at him, studying the faint dark circles beneath his eyes, the crease between his brows that only appeared when he was overworking himself.

Without a word, she reached up and brushed her fingers against his temple.

Law stilled.

Her touch was soft and careful, like she was afraid he might disappear if she pressed too hard. She traced the line of his sideburn gently, then slid her hand down to cup his jaw. His skin was warm beneath her palm.

“You’re tired,” she said quietly.

He did not argue this time.

Instead, his hand came up to wrap around her wrist, not to move her away, but to hold her there. His thumb brushed lightly over her pulse, slow and steady. It grounded him in a way nothing else did.

“I had things to review,” he murmured.

“And they’ll still be there tomorrow.”

Silence settled between them, but it was comfortable. It always was with her.

Law finally pushed his chair back slightly and reached forward, pulling her closer by the waist. She let out a soft sound of surprise before settling easily between his knees. His hands rested at her hips, fingers spreading possessively but gently against the fabric of his hoodie she wore.

He tilted his head up to look at her.

For someone so stoic and intimidating to the outside world, the way he looked at her was something else entirely. His golden eyes softened, the usual calculating sharpness melting into something tender and almost vulnerable.

“You worry too much,” he said quietly.

She smiled. “Someone has to.”

His thumb brushed under the hem of the hoodie at her waist, tracing idle patterns against her skin. He leaned forward slightly until his forehead rested against her stomach. It was an unguarded gesture, one he would never let anyone else see.

She froze for a second, surprised by the intimacy of it, then gently ran her fingers through his dark hair.

Law closed his eyes.

Her nails lightly scratched against his scalp, and a soft sigh escaped him before he could stop it. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer as if anchoring himself to her presence. In this small room beneath the ocean, with miles of water pressing around them, she was the only thing that made him feel light.

“Stay,” he murmured, voice quieter now.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He shifted, guiding her carefully until she was sitting sideways on his lap. His arms wrapped around her fully this time, one hand resting at the small of her back while the other settled over her thigh. She curled into him naturally, one arm looping around his neck.

The room no longer felt cold.

She pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Then another to his cheek. When she reached the corner of his mouth, he turned slightly and caught her lips with his.

The kiss was slow and unhurried. Law was not rough, not demanding. His hand slid up her back, fingers splaying gently between her shoulder blades as if memorizing the shape of her. He kissed her like he had nowhere else to be and no battle waiting for him tomorrow.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together.

“You’re going to bed,” she whispered.

He huffed lightly. “Bossy.”

“And you love me for it.”

A pause.

“…Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

It was rare for him to say it so plainly, but when he did, it meant everything.

She smiled softly, brushing her nose against his. “Come on, Captain.”

He stood, still holding her, refusing to let go even as he moved. His hand slipped into hers as they left the office, fingers intertwining naturally. The hallway lights were dim, the submarine quiet except for the low mechanical hum.

Inside his cabin, he finally removed his coat and hat, setting them aside. She crawled into his bed first, pulling the blankets back invitingly.

Law hesitated for only a second before sliding in beside her.

The moment he settled, she moved closer, pressing against his chest. He wrapped both arms around her instinctively, pulling her flush against him. His chin rested on the top of her head, and his fingers slowly traced lazy patterns along her back.

The world above the ocean could be chaotic and cruel. There were enemies to defeat, alliances to navigate, storms to survive.

But here, in the quiet hum of the Polar Tang, wrapped around the woman he loved, Trafalgar Law allowed himself to relax.

His breathing evened out first.

She felt it before she heard it—the slow, steady rhythm of sleep finally claiming him.

Her fingers continued to move gently against his chest, and she smiled softly in the dark.

Because no matter how fierce the sea became, she would always be here to bring her captain home to rest.

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A/N: wrote some comfort with law (as he's my comfort character) because I needed some comfort as I'm not doing to hot rn I'm sick and it's very exhausting at the moment. This is seen as gender neutral reader! So can be seen as any! In third POV as well as I prefer third POV

Contains:Emotional exhaustion, mental burnout, comfort, soft physical affection, gentle reassurance, reader feeling overwhelmed, fluff

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The Polar Tang was unusually quiet that evening, the steady hum of the submarine’s engines the only sound drifting through the metal halls. Most of the crew had turned in for the night after a long day, leaving the ship cloaked in a calm, dim stillness. It should have been peaceful. Yet they sat curled up on the small couch in Law’s quarters, hands clasped tightly in their lap, feeling as though the weight of the entire ocean rested on their shoulders.

Their thoughts had been spiraling all day. Every little thing felt like too much—the noise, the expectations, the constant movement of life around them. Even simple tasks had drained them until all that remained was a dull, heavy exhaustion pressing behind their eyes. They hated feeling like this. Hated the way their chest felt tight and their mind refused to quiet down.

They hadn’t meant to end up here. At some point their feet had simply carried you to his room, the one place on the ship that always felt steady. Safe.

The door slid open quietly behind them.

“You’re still awake.”

The low, familiar voice made their shoulders jump slightly. Law stepped inside, long coat brushing against the doorway as he entered. His grey eyes immediately landed on them, sharp and observant as always. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just studying the way their posture curled inward, the faint tension in their jaw, the tired shine in their eyes.

Law noticed things other people didn’t.

He closed the door behind him and crossed the room slowly, boots soft against the floor. “You’ve been avoiding everyone today,” he said, voice calm but firm. It wasn’t an accusation—just an observation.

Their fingers twisted together. “I didn’t mean to.”

Law exhaled quietly through his nose, pulling his hat off and setting it on the desk. “Didn’t say you meant to.”

He stopped in front of the couch, arms folded loosely as he looked down at them. Up close, the exhaustion on their face was even clearer—the kind that didn’t come from lack of sleep, but from thinking too much, feeling too much, carrying too much all at once.

His expression softened.

Without another word, he sat down beside them.

The couch dipped slightly under his weight, and the warmth of his presence filled the small space. For a moment neither of them spoke. Law wasn’t the type to push or demand answers; he knew better than that. Silence, when used correctly, could be more comforting than any question.

But eventually, their voice broke the quiet.

“I’m just… really tired.”

Not physically. He could hear that much.

Law leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind them. “Your mind’s running again.”

You gave a weak, embarrassed laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

There was something oddly reassuring about the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it was normal for him to notice every small change in them. Like he had already accepted it as part of caring about them.

Their shoulders slumped further, the effort of holding themselves together finally slipping. “Everything just feels… like too much today,” you admitted quietly. “I feel like I can’t turn my brain off.”

Law was quiet for a second, thinking.

Then he reached over and gently took their hands.

The gesture surprised them. Law wasn’t overly affectionate in front of others, but in private moments like this he could be unexpectedly gentle. His tattooed fingers carefully untangled theirs, thumbs brushing softly over their knuckles.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

They lifted their gaze.

His expression was calm, steady, the kind of calm that felt grounding.

“You’re allowed to be tired,” he said. “Your mind works harder than most people’s. That doesn’t make you weak.”

Their chest tightened slightly at the words.

Law shifted closer, one arm sliding around their shoulders and pulling them gently against his side. The motion was slow, giving them time to pull away if they wanted—but they didn’t. Instead they melted into him, resting their head against his chest as his coat draped around them like a shield.

His heartbeat was steady beneath their ear.

“Just breathe,” he said quietly.

His hand moved to their hair, fingers combing through it in slow, rhythmic strokes. It was such a simple motion, but the consistency of it began to ease the tight knot in their chest. Each gentle pass of his fingers seemed to pull a little more tension out of their body.

“You don’t have to fix everything tonight,” Law continued softly. “Or tomorrow.”

They let out a shaky breath. “It just feels like I should.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “That’s your problem.”

They looked up at him slightly.

“You think you have to carry everything alone,” he said, voice still calm. “You don’t.”

His thumb brushed lightly against their cheek, wiping away the small tear they hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“You’ve got me,” he added.

Something in their chest cracked open at those words. The exhaustion didn’t disappear completely, but it softened, like a storm finally easing into rain.

They shifted closer without thinking, arms loosely wrapping around his waist. Law didn’t comment on it—he simply tightened his hold around them, resting his chin lightly on top of their head.

The submarine continued humming quietly around them.

And for the first time all day, their thoughts finally began to slow.

Law kept stroking their hair, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can stay here as long as you want.”

Their eyes fluttered closed.

“Rest,” he murmured.

In his arms, with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath their cheek and the quiet strength of his presence surrounding them, the weight on their mind finally began to lift—just enough for them to breathe again.

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A/N: feeding y'all so many writings currently guys hehe

Contains: Angst, mentions of injury, blood, emotional distress, major character vulnerability, post-traumatic stress, established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, gender neutral reader, in third pov, resident evil 2 leon in mind. No infection au

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The slam of the apartment door echoed the finality of a guillotine. They flinched, the sound cutting through the tense silence that had settled over them like a shroud. Leon stood rigid, his back to them, shoulders squared as if bracing for an impact that never came. The faint, coppery scent of blood clung to him, a grim souvenir from a night they both wished they could forget.

He hadn't said a word since he'd gotten back. Just walked in, kicked off his boots, and stood there, a statue carved from exhaustion and sorrow. The usual lines of humor around his eyes were gone, replaced by a deep, haunting weariness that seemed to have settled in his very bones.

"Leon?" Their voice was a fragile thing, barely disturbing the heavy air.

He didn't turn. "Just... give me a minute."

The request was soft, almost a whisper, but it held the weight of a command. They watched him, their heart aching with a familiar, helpless pain. They knew this dance. The aftermath. The way the horrors of his job would follow him home, clinging to him like shadows. He'd try to build a wall, to keep the darkness contained, to protect them from the worst of it. But they were past the point of being kept at arm's length.

Slowly, they approached, their footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. They didn't touch him, not yet. They just stood beside him, a silent presence, sharing the weight of the silence. They could see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his knuckles were white where he clenched his fists.

"You don't have to carry it alone," they said, their voice steady and sure.

A shaky breath escaped him, the sound cracking through his composure. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"I see you," they countered gently. "I see the man who came home to me. That's all that matters right now."

That seemed to be the breaking point. His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him in a rush. He finally turned, and the raw, unguarded vulnerability in his eyes stole their breath. He looked lost, a young man burdened by things no one should ever have to witness.

Without another word, they closed the small distance between them and wrapped their arms around his middle, burying their face in the worn fabric of his jacket. For a moment, he was stiff, unyielding. Then, with a choked sob, he collapsed against them, his face pressing into their shoulder as the dam finally broke.

His body trembled with the force of his silent tears, his fingers clutching at the back of their shirt like a lifeline. They held him tighter, one hand stroking his hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back. They didn't shush him or tell him it was okay. They just let him fall apart, providing a safe harbor in the midst of his storm.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as the tremors subsided, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. He felt heavy in their arms, but they held him steady.

"Let's get you cleaned up," they murmured into his hair.

He nodded mutely, letting them guide him to the bathroom. They sat him on the edge of the tub, gently peeling off his jacket and the blood-stained shirt beneath. They worked in comfortable silence, their touch clinical yet tender as they cleaned the shallow cuts on his arms and wiped the grime from his face. He watched them through half-lidded eyes, his gaze soft and filled with a profound, weary affection.

Once he was clean, they led him to the bedroom, pulling on one of his soft t-shirts for them to wear. They both collapsed onto the bed, Leon immediately curling around them, his head resting on their chest. The steady rhythm of their heartbeat was a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

"I thought..." he started, his voice rough and hoarse. "For a second there, I thought I wasn't coming back."

Their hand resumed its stroking motion through his hair. "But you did. You're here. You're safe."

He tightened his arm around their waist, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the skin over their heart. "Only because I have something to come back to."

The words hung in the air, a simple truth that held the weight of his world. They tilted his chin up, their eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room. They leaned in and kissed him, a slow, gentle press of lips that spoke of comfort, of home, of unwavering devotion. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but of solace. A promise that no matter how dark the night, they would always be there to greet him in the morning.

When they pulled back, his eyes were clearer, the shadows receding just enough for the Leon they knew to peek through. A faint, tired smile touched his lips.

"Stay with me?" he asked, the vulnerability still present, but now softened by trust.

"Always," they whispered, settling back against the pillows. "Always."

As sleep finally claimed him, his breathing evened out and his body relaxed completely against theirs. They watched him sleep, their heart full. The storm had passed for now, leaving behind the quiet, peaceful calm of the morning after. And in their arms, Leon Kennedy, the rookie cop who had seen too much, was just a man who was loved. And for tonight, that was more than enough.

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A/N: couldn't help myself, had to write some Levi smut hehe

Warnings: Smut, Explicit Content, P-in-V sex, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Established Relationship, Mild Language, Levi being Levi (grumpy but caring), Semi-Public Setting (his office)

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The only sounds in Captain Levi Ackerman's office were the rhythmic scratch of his quill against parchment and the occasional crackle from the hearth. She sat in the worn leather armchair opposite his desk, pretending to read a book she'd already finished three times. In reality, she was watching him. The way the firelight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the intense focus in his steel-grey eyes as he scoured over supply reports, the slight furrow in his brow that she longed to smooth away with her thumb.

He hadn't looked up in over an hour. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken things. They were careful, always so careful. Their relationship was a fragile, secret thing, kept behind locked doors and meaningful glances in crowded hallways. But here, in the sanctuary of his office, the rules felt a little less rigid.

"Levi," she finally said, her voice soft but clear in the quiet room.

He didn't raise his head, but his scratching quill stilled. "What is it?"

"You're going to burn a hole in that paper."

A low sigh escaped him. He set the quill down, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. The exhaustion was plain on his face, etched in the faint shadows beneath his eyes. "These reports don't file themselves."

"I know." She closed her book, placing it on the small table beside her. She rose and walked slowly around his desk, the floorboards creaking softly under her weight. She came to stand beside his chair, her hand resting on the high back. "But it's late. Even the Captain needs to rest."

He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to look up at her. The firelight softened his features, making him look less like Humanity's Strongest Soldier and more like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "And what do you suggest I do? Go count sheep?"

A small smile played on her lips. "I can think of better ways to unwind."

His eyes darkened, the exhaustion momentarily replaced by a flicker of something else—something primal and possessive. He reached out, his fingers circling her wrist. His touch was firm, a stark contrast to the gentleness she sometimes saw from him. "You're playing with fire."

"Am I?" she challenged, her voice dropping to a near-whisper as she leaned closer, her free hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he tugged on her wrist, pulling her down onto his lap. She settled against him, straddling his thighs, the hard line of his arousal already pressing against her through the layers of their uniforms. His hands moved to her hips, gripping her tightly, holding her in place.

"Look at what you do to me," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. He nipped at the sensitive skin just below it, sending a shiver down her spine. "One look from you and all my discipline goes to shit."

She tilted her head, giving him better access as his mouth trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. She rolled her hips against his, earning a sharp intake of breath from him. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."

His hands moved from her hips to the laces of her uniform jacket, his fingers working with practiced efficiency. The jacket fell open, and his hands slid underneath, palms flat against the thin fabric of her shirt, the heat of his skin searing through to hers. He was all heat and hardness, a solid presence that made her feel grounded and cherished all at once.

"Levi," she breathed, her head falling back as his thumbs brushed over the peaks of her breasts.

"Shut up," he commanded, but there was no malice in his tone. It was a raw, desperate plea. He made quick work of the buttons on her shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose the simple cotton bra she wore. He hooked a finger into the cup, pulling it down to free her breast. The cool air of the room pebbled her nipple, and then his mouth was on her, hot and wet.

She gasped, her fingers tangling in his dark hair as he suckled, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he gently bit down. The sharp, pleasurable pain shot straight to her core. He worshipped her breast with his mouth, his other hand kneading the neglected one, before switching his attention.

"Levi, please," she whimpered, grinding down against him, desperate for more friction.

He released her with a soft pop, his eyes meeting hers. They were dark, almost black in the dim light, filled with a hunger that made her stomach clench. "Stand up."

She obeyed, her legs feeling shaky as she stood before him. He rose from his chair, his movements fluid and predatory. He cleared his desk with a single, decisive sweep of his arm. Papers, inkwells, and books clattered to the floor, forgotten. He lifted her effortlessly, setting her down on the now-empty surface of the dark wood.

He knelt before her, his hands gripping her thighs, pushing her skirt up to her waist. His eyes never left hers as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slowly drew them down her legs, tossing them aside. He spread her thighs wide, exposing her to his gaze.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

And then he leaned in, his mouth finding her most sensitive flesh. She cried out, her hands flying back to brace herself against the desk as his tongue delved between her folds. He ate her out with the same intensity and precision he applied to everything else—methodically, thoroughly, with an unwavering focus that left her breathless.

His tongue circled her clit, teasing her before he sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth. He alternated between broad, flat strokes and pointed, precise flicks, driving her closer and closer to the edge. He slid one finger inside her, then another, curling them just so to press against that spot deep inside her that made her see stars.

The tension coiled in her belly, tight and hot. Her hips bucked against his face, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly giving her. "Levi... I'm close... please..."

He hummed against her, the vibrations sending her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed over her in a blinding wave of pleasure, her body arching off the desk as a choked sob escaped her lips. He worked her through it, his tongue and fingers drawing out her release until she was a trembling, boneless mess.

He rose to his feet, his face glistening with her arousal. He quickly unbuckled his belt and freed his cock, hard and heavy. He stroked himself a few times, his eyes locked on her still-quivering form.

"Turn over," he ordered, his voice rough with desire.

She complied, turning to lie face down on the desk, her cheek pressed against the cool wood. He entered her in one smooth, deep thrust, filling her completely. She moaned at the stretch, the feeling of being so full of him intoxicating.

He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against hers with enough force to make the desk scrape against the floor. One hand gripped her hip, holding her in place, while the other tangled in her hair, pulling her head back slightly.

"Mine," he growled, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. "You're fucking mine."

"Yours," she gasped, pushing back to meet him thrust for thrust. "All yours."

The words seemed to undo him. He let out a guttural groan, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles that pushed her toward a second orgasm.

"Come with me," he commanded, his voice strained.

The combination of his deep strokes and the skilled pressure on her clit sent her hurtling over the edge again. Her inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he found his own release, spilling himself deep inside her with a final, powerful thrust.

He collapsed against her back, his weight a welcome, grounding pressure. They stayed like that for a long moment, their ragged breaths the only sound in the room, the fire now just a bed of glowing embers.

Finally, he pushed himself up, pulling out of her gently. He helped her sit up, his hands surprisingly tender as he straightened her clothes. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

"You're a distraction," he said, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

"A good one, I hope," she replied, her voice still husky.

"The best," he admitted, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "Now get dressed. The reports won't finish themselves."

But as she dressed, she noticed he didn't immediately return to his chair. Instead, he stood by the fire, watching her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. For the first time that night, the exhaustion in his eyes seemed to have been replaced by something else—something that looked a lot like peace.

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A/N: I keep forgetting this omg. I'm so sorry guys! I blame my boyfriend for distracting me smh haha

Event masterlist

Contains: established relationship, playful tackling / tickling, chaotic couch wrestling, teasing banter, laughing until crying, affectionate kissing,light physical play (non-violent, mutual),soft confession (“you’re my favorite person”),domestic fluff energy

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Frank was a menace. Not in a dangerous way. Not really.

Just in the way he looked at them across the living room with that glint in his eye — the one that meant he was about to start something.

They were sprawled across the couch, scrolling on their phone, dressed in one of Frank’s oversized hoodies and mismatched socks. It was one of those lazy afternoons where time didn’t matter and responsibilities felt fake.

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” they asked suspiciously, not even glancing up. “I’m not,” he lied instantly.

They finally looked over. He was absolutely looking at them like that.

“Frank.”

“What?”

“Don’t.”

It was too late.

He lunged. They shrieked as he tackled them into the couch cushions, the phone flying somewhere onto the carpet. His hands immediately found their sides, merciless fingers digging into the spots he knew made them crumble.

“FRANK—” they wheezed between laughter. “I swear to—”

“To what?” he grinned, hair falling into his face as he continued his attack. “You’re defenseless!”

They tried to squirm away, but he had them pinned, knees bracketing their hips, curls tickling their cheeks as he leaned down dramatically.

“You’re evil,” they gasped, tears forming at the corners of their eyes from laughing too hard.

“I’ve been told,” he replied proudly.

They managed to twist just enough to grab his hoodie and yank him down with them. Suddenly they were both half-fallen off the couch in a heap of limbs and breathless giggles.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then they burst into laughter again — the uncontrollable kind. The kind that makes your stomach hurt and your lungs burn and your face ache from smiling too wide.

Frank rolled onto his back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “Okay,” he panted. “Okay, you win.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” they laughed, wiping their eyes.

“Exactly. Psychological warfare.”

They snorted.

Frank turned his head to look at them. Really look at them. Their hair was messy. Their hoodie was twisted sideways. Their face was flushed from laughing so hard.

God, he loved that.

He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from their face. “You know you’re cute when you’re plotting revenge, right?” he teased.

They narrowed their eyes playfully. “Keep talking.”

"Oh, I will.”

They rolled on top of him this time, hands braced on either side of his head. “You started it,” they reminded him. “And I’ll do it again,” he said without hesitation.

They leaned down like they were about to kiss him — slow, dramatic — only to blow a raspberry against his cheek instead.

Frank froze.

"You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.”

He gasped in mock offense and flipped them again, the chaos restarting immediately.

Somewhere between wrestling and laughter and breathless threats, it stopped feeling like teasing and started feeling like something softer.

Frank stilled first.

They were still smiling when he leaned in properly this time, pressing a real kiss to their lips. Quick. Warm. A little crooked because he was still half-laughing.

“You’re my favorite person to be stupid with,” he admitted quietly.

They softened instantly. “Good,” they murmured. “Because I’m not stopping.”

“God help me.”

They grinned. “You love it.”

He did.

Because in a world that could be heavy and loud and overwhelming, this — this chaos, this ridiculousness, this shared laughter that felt endless — was theirs.

And Frank would start a hundred tickle wars just to hear them laugh like that again.

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A/N: slowly but surely getting caught up on this haha, just haven't felt well lately. So I'm doing day seven and eight tonight!

Event Masterlist

Contains: established relationship, soft domestic moment, quiet vulnerability, hand-holding, gentle affection (cheek kiss), introspective conversation,themes of uncertainty / fear of the future,melancholic tone, “calm before the storm” vibes,emotional foreshadowing

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The sun was setting too early.

That was the first thing Gerard noticed.

The sky outside the old apartment windows had turned that strange shade of pinkish orange that only lasted for a few minutes before night swallowed it whole. The light poured into the living room like honey, warm and golden, catching in the dust floating lazily through the air.

She was sitting on the floor near the couch, legs stretched out in front of her, flipping through one of Gerard’s sketchbooks like it was a sacred artifact.

In a way, it was.

Gerard leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, a mug of coffee growing cold in his hands as he watched her. She had this habit of studying his drawings carefully, like she was trying to understand the parts of him he didn’t always know how to explain out loud.

“You know those aren’t finished,” he said quietly. She glanced up, smiling softly. “I like them better this way.”

“Half done?”

“They feel honest.”

Gerard huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a nice way of saying messy.”

“I didn’t say messy.”

“You implied messy.”

She set the sketchbook down on the floor beside her and tilted her head, studying him now instead of the drawings. “You’re staring again,” she said. He didn’t bother denying it. “I just like looking at you,” he replied simply.

That made her cheeks warm slightly, and she shook her head like she didn’t quite believe him. Gerard walked over slowly, setting the coffee mug on the nearby table before lowering himself onto the floor beside her.

The wood was cool beneath them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, the sunset deepened, stretching long shadows across the room.

“You ever think about how fast things change?” Gerard asked suddenly. She glanced at him, curious. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” He picked at the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Sometimes everything feels… good. Like this moment right now. And then I get this weird feeling that it won’t last.”

Her expression softened. “You’re overthinking again,” she murmured gently.

“Probably.”

He leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer answers. Life had a strange way of shifting under his feet when he least expected it. Good moments always seemed fragile to him, like glass that might crack if he held it too tightly.

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed. Without a word, she slid her hand across the floor until her fingers brushed his. The contact was light at first — tentative.

Then he turned his hand over, intertwining their fingers. Gerard looked down at their hands like the simple gesture surprised him. “You do that a lot,” he said quietly.

“Hold your hand?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged slightly, squeezing his fingers. “You look like you need it.” That made him laugh under his breath, but it wasn’t mocking. It was fond.

“You’re probably right.”

The sun dipped lower outside the window, turning the room darker by the second. The warm glow faded into softer shadows, the world shifting slowly toward evening.

Gerard watched the light disappear from her face. A strange ache settled in his chest. “Promise me something,” he said suddenly. She blinked at him. “What?”

“If things ever get messy… if everything falls apart…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Just remember that this was real.”

Her brow furrowed slightly.

“Gerard—”

“I’m serious.” His voice softened. “This. Right now. Sitting on the floor like idiots watching the sunset.”

She studied him for a long moment before leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.“I don’t think I could forget this if I tried,” she said. That answer seemed to settle something inside him.

He rested his head lightly against hers, their shoulders touching as the last streak of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon.

The room grew quiet.

Darkness crept slowly across the floor.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them knew what the future held — how fragile peace could be, how quickly love could be tested. But for that brief moment, as the sky outside faded from gold to deep violet, the world felt still.

And Gerard held onto the warmth of her hand like it was the only thing keeping the night away.

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A/N: I'm so late to this my bad guys! Haha I've been busy (being in love with my bf haha) BUT ANYWAYS here y'all go!

Event Masterlist

Contains: established relationship, performance anxiety/self doubt, protective partner dynamic, emotional reassurance, forehead kiss, hand holding, soft pre show intimacy, cheering each other on, healthy communication, just ray being the sweetest man ever ahhh

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Ray knew that look. The one she got when doubt started creeping in.

She was standing just offstage, fingers nervously twisting the rings on her hand, eyes fixed on the floor like it had personally betrayed her. The venue buzzed around them — crew rushing, amps humming, muffled voices from the crowd waiting beyond the curtain.

Normally, she was steady. Confident in her own quiet way. Tonight, she looked small. Ray crossed the room without hesitation.

He didn’t make a big scene of it. Didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. He simply stepped in front of her until she had no choice but to look up at him.

“Hey,” he said gently.

She tried to smile. It didn’t quite stick. “Hey.”

“You’re overthinking.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he said softly, not accusing — just certain.

Her shoulders slumped. “What if I mess up?” she admitted. “What if I freeze? What if I’m not good enough?”

Ray’s expression shifted instantly.

Protective. Fierce in that quiet way he carried.

He reached for her hands, stilling their nervous movement. His palms were warm, grounding. “You’re good enough,” he said firmly. “You’ve always been good enough.”

She shook her head slightly. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“No.” His voice deepened, steady and sincere. “It’s easy for me to say because it’s true.”

The distant roar of the crowd swelled as the lights dimmed further. Ray stepped closer, lowering his voice so it was just for her.

“You think I don’t get scared?” he asked. “You think I don’t stand back there sometimes and wonder if I’m about to screw everything up?”

Her eyes flicked to his. “I do,” he continued. “Every time.” She blinked, surprised.

“But you know what helps?” he said, squeezing her hands gently. “Looking over and seeing you there. Seeing you believe in me.”

Her breath caught slightly.

“That’s what we do,” Ray murmured. “We hold the belief for each other when one of us drops it.” The stage manager signaled — two minutes.

Her heart started racing again, but Ray didn’t let go.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he told her. “You just have to be you.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead — not rushed, not dramatic. Just sure. His curls brushed against her temple, his hand sliding up to cradle the side of her face.

“You’ve got this,” he whispered.

The crowd’s energy surged as the opening notes began. She swallowed.

Ray stepped back toward the stage entrance, then paused and held out his hand.

“Come on,” he said, a small grin breaking through. “Let’s show them what you can do.”

She took his hand.

The lights hit them both at once — blinding and electric — but this time she didn’t flinch.

Because when the noise grew loud and the world felt too big, Ray was right there beside her. Not shielding her from it.

Standing with her in it.

And when her voice finally rang out — clear, strong, alive — Ray glanced over mid-song, pride written across his face.

Not because she was flawless.

But because she was brave.

And if she ever forgot that again, he’d be right there to remind her. Always cheering the loudest.

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