#writing request

At least your superior had a soft spot for you. A new desk made from gorgeous stained mahogany sits before you, polished to almost a mirror-like shine. It feels sinful to rest your elbows upon it as you lean forward and prop your chin on your wrist.

Though, perhaps it’s not nearly so sinful as what happens beneath.

When the president had procured this desk for you, he ensured it was the best in all aspects. Naturally, this included a spacious, enclosed area for you to stretch your legs. The legroom truly was unparalleled and quite comfortable. If you wanted to, you could easily crouch down and fit underneath. After all, that’s exactly what Loki is doing right now.

While you explain for the billionth time today that the president is not available at present, gesturing to the clone that pantomimes reading documents the next room over, the real Loki kneels between your legs and bites softly at your inner thigh. His teeth drag bluntly over the sensitive skin before he sucks on it, marking you under the mini skirt he’s bunched up around your hips.

“He… he’s clearly quite busy--” You inhale sharply when his tongue laves over the dark bruises he’s created upon the canvas of your legs. The man standing in front of you eyes you curiously with an arched brow. Canines dig into your tongue to stifle the moan at the back of your throat. Loki’s breath is hot against your core through the fabric of your underwear. “--and I am not feeling terribly well. If you could just try again tomorrow--”

“I have been attempting to get a hold of him for three weeks now!” the man exclaims as his face grows red. “This policy needs his attention immediately!”

“Sir, if I might remind you, that is not how the American government works. You would be much better off addressing this with your representative in the House, and--ah-!”

With a hand over your mouth, you bite down on your index finger to muffle any further slip-ups. You can feel the smirk on Loki’s lips as they lead feather-light kisses closer and closer to your folds. Fingers curl into a white-knuckled fist as you grip the edge of your desk.

Thankfully, your current “client” is far too focused on his own agenda to pay attention to your strange behavior.

“That’s exactly why I’m here! I called and called, and I think they blocked my number--”

You barely hear what he’s saying even with his frantic gestures and waving his arms. The man is clearly quite animated about whatever it is he’s going on about. It’s hard to focus on that when your senses hone in on the dextrous fingers that hook in the waistband of your undergarments. It’s a bit difficult while you’re sitting down, but he manages to shimmy them down your hips without too much effort on your part.

Thankfully for you, this man seems more than content to ramble on about how important this proposal is and why it should be the first thing on the agenda. So much so that he begins pacing about the room as he talks.

And then Loki’s tongue flattens and paints a fat stripe through your folds. You’re so glad this guy is turned away from you when your eyes roll back and you clamp your hand over your mouth fully. That accursed, talented appendage zigzags and swirls, drawing patterns all along your slit but never quite high enough where you want it most. He drinks of your nectar, feasts on your essence. Your breath comes out in staggered gasps and your brows knit together.

“Are you even listening to me!?” the man practically shouts, startling you and pulling your attention away from the euphoria between your legs. “I swear, the government these days--!”

“Do you wish for me to deal with him, my dear?” you feel more than hear Loki’s words as he whispers them, his cheek pressed lazily against the plush of your thigh while his verdant green eyes gaze up at you. His lips glisten with your slick, and it makes your head spin with desire. It would be so tempting, so easy…

But you snap out of it and shake your head. No, you wish to do this yourself. It’s part of your job, after all, at least in a roundabout way. And if your intuition is correct, really all you’ll need to do is change your approach.

The real challenge is staying focused while Loki gets back to work lapping at your cunt.

“I understand your frustrations, sir,” you practically coo, removing your hand from your face and leaning forward. You bat your long, fake eyelashes up at him. His demeanor changes instantly and you see his shoulders relax. “I really am listening. You were just so passionate about it that I was taken aback.”

“You… yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just such a serious matter, and no one is listening…” he bemoans.

“Such a mischievous little devil,” Loki purrs quietly. Your legs tremble on either side of his head with the effort it takes to keep yourself composed. “You’re playing this poor man like a fiddle, aren’t you? What a cruel mistress…”  The nearly inaudible chortle rumbles through his lips and onto your dripping core. It sends a shudder through your entire body and prickles your skin.

You make a show of licking your lips before pinching the bottom one between the tips of your canines. Loki is right--you have this man absolutely captivated.

“Here, sweetheart,” you begin, sliding a sticky note towards him. “I’m sorry there’s nothing more I can do today, but that’s my personal cell. Give me a call tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do for you, okay?” It’s almost sickening putting on a show like this, but it might as well be your calling with how easily he buys it. He’s cradling the piece of paper in his hands like it’s some sort of holy artifact as he thanks you profusely and finally makes his exit from your office.

As soon as the door closes behind him, in fact, you finally exhale the breath you were holding with an airy whimper.

“Mm,” Loki moans into your folds. He rewards you with a flick of his tongue at your clit that leaves you digging your nails into the wood. “What a perfect succubus you make. Tell me…” he begins, teasing a finger at your entrance. “Who did that number belong to? I know you wouldn’t dare give such a lowly creature your actual information.”

“It’s--” You keen and bite your lip when his long finger slowly curls into you. “It was your--fuck--” Loki smiles devilishly as your hips buck into his hand. “--your brother’s cell.” Your cheeks flush and you laugh breathlessly. “I imagine that will be quite… quite the conversation tomorrow…”

An almost evil laugh thrums in his chest. “Gods, but I do love that wonderfully deviant mind of yours,” he praises as he begins thrusting the digit in and out. Kitten licks flutter against your sensitive bud, and your toes curl in your heels.

“And I--” you huff, moving instead to grip the more comfortable arms of your office chair, “I need more of that deviant tongue of yours,” you joke breathily.

He slides a second finger into you and begins pressing against the soft, spongy spot, grinning wickedly when he feels your thighs tense around him. “Making demands of your president? How terribly daring of you.”

Words are beginning to fail you even before his lips encircle your clit. Your chest heaves as you whimper with every breath. He sucks on that pleasurable little bud, timing every curl of his fingers with a practiced swipe of his tongue. Ecstasy builds and bubbles in your core, and you try so desperately to contain the sounds that threaten to spill from your lips. Even if no one is here right now, someone could walk in at any moment. That thought shouldn’t thrill you nearly as much as it does, and you feel Loki chuckle as he suckles on your clit.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” he purrs. “The thrill, the danger, chasing such forbidden pleasures…” A low whine sounds in your throat as he continues. “I wonder… what would you do if someone were to discover you like this, in the throes of pleasure?” He slows his fingers, instead thrusting with purpose as your walls quiver around them. “Would you stop me?” He knows your answer when you mewl and tighten around him, but he asks anyway. “Or would the desire only intensify as you ride my tongue and desperately chase your release?”

“Loki, fuck--!” You’re so close, so desperately close, hanging off of the precipice as the pleasure below waits to consume you.

But his fingers still inside you, and the flicks of his tongue that punctuated his words cease entirely. The edge was right there, but now you feel it slipping away from your grasp as a mournful wail rings from you.

“That is President Loki to you,” he corrects you before busying his mouth by biting and sucking at the skin of your thighs. “You will address me properly if you want to continue indulging in this… deviant tongue of mine.”

Your breathing is ragged. Your nails are threatening to rip off the padding of your armrests. “P… President…” Your eyes nearly roll back when his fingers drag slowly through your velvety walls. It’s more, but it’s not enough. Your body trembles. “President Loki, please.”

Immediately you feel his fingers thrusting vigorously in and out of your soaked core. Your moaning returns in full force, potential visitors be damned.

“That’s it. You sound so terribly pretty when you beg for me,” he praises. His tongue finds your clit and swirls feverishly about the bud, and you feel all of the pleasure that had begun to fade return tenfold as you grind shamelessly onto his face. It’s a fire roaring in your belly that licks its flames outwards to tingle at your fingers and toes. Loki moans his own appreciation as he slurps and swallows, smacking lewdly as he drinks up everything you give him. The vibrations push you over the edge as you let out a silent scream, mouth agape as your thighs clamp around his head and you buck wildly against his tongue.

Your body slumps in your chair as you stare, dazed, off at nothing in particular. Your chest heaves with the effort of catching your breath. The orchestrator of your undoing merely smirks, licking delicate stripes up your sensitive folds that make you twitch and whimper from the overstimulation.

“What a beautiful mess you make,” he regards you as his tongue collects your essence from his lips. Before you have the chance to reply, to right yourself, he snaps his fingers and vanishes from his place beneath you.

Well, he doesn’t vanish completely.

No, instead he takes the place of his clone, and when your bliss induced stupor finally allows you to glance over through the window into his office, you see him smiling wickedly and patting his face gingerly with a handkerchief. Perfectly composed, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred while you try desperately to recollect yourself from a mind shattering orgasm.

POV Reader

Your eyes are tired as they take in the time on your computer screen. Past 8pm again. You sigh, burying your head in your hands. “Fuck”, you mutter under your breath, cursing the person who kept you at work this late. Again.

It had been like this ever since he started working with you. Jinho had been hired six weeks ago. You started staying late six weeks ago. To clean up after him, to fix his messes, and to get your own shit done on top of that. “He’s got experience”, your boss had said, “he won’t need much training.” Fuck your boss.

With heavy shoulders, you lift your head again, your unfinished work staring back at you. Just a bit more, maybe 45 minutes, and you’ll be free. The thought of coming home to your boyfriend soothes your frazzled nerves. There is nothing better than curling up in Seungmin’s arms after a day like this. To get the full force of Seungmin’s affection - a privilege only very few people possess.

A chuckle escapes you. It’s so silly how this man can make you smile without even being around. You love him so much. He’s the only reason you’re strong enough to endure Jinho’s incompetence, even if you’re unable to share the burden with him. Determined to finish up quickly, you take a deep breath and get back to work.

♡♥︎♡

The door falls shut behind you as you toe off your shoes. “Minnie?”, you shout, encouraged by the soft warm light streaming from the living room. The sound of fabric shifting fills the quiet, followed by the soft tap-tap-tap of socked feet coming closer. “You’re late”, he says, arms crossed where he stands, “again.” “Sorry”, you mumble, “work was a lot.”

You can’t be more specific. He doesn’t know about Jinho and the extra work he puts on your plate every damn day. It’s not that you don’t trust your boyfriend, it’s just…he has so much to deal with already. Video shoots and dance practice and vocal lessons and magazine interviews and recording sessions. It doesn’t seem fair to you to put your work troubles on top of that. Not when you got it handled.

“Was it?” He sounds skeptical. You nod, hanging up your coat with shaking fingers. You haven’t eaten and it’s coming back to bite you in the ass. “Do we still have leftovers from yesterday?”, you ask when you turn to step towards him. Seungmin shifts on his feet. He seems tense, arms still crossed, eyes wary. “Everything okay, babe?”

He huffs. There’s clearly something he’s not saying, but his eyes wander to your shaking hands. “Go sit down”, he mumbles and stomps off into the kitchen. You end up feeling even more strung out than before you came home. This was supposed to be the antidote to the long, exhausting day you’d just had. What the hell is going on?

Seungmin lets you eat before speaking up again. He’s restless though, shuffling around on the couch beside you, watching you take one bite after an other of the meal he threw in the microwave for you. When you set down your bowl on the coffee table, there’s a strange, charged silence between the two of you. It sends an uncomfortable shiver through your bones.

“So”, he begins, “work?” You try to decipher whatever is going on with him, but his face gives you nothing. “What about it?”, you ask instead. “You’ve been staying late a lot.” “I’ve had a lot to do.” He hums. Pondering. Eyes narrowing.

“It’s like you don’t want to come home anymore.”

The accusation punches the air out of your lungs. How the hell did he come to that conclusion? How could he ever think that you don’t want to be in the only place that brings you peace? Be with the only person that gets your mind to slow down?

“What?!” It’s more of a gasp than a question. He shrugs in a what else am I supposed to think kind of way. “You’re never around anymore, you rarely answer your phone throughout the day. It’s like I’m an afterthought. It’s like your don’t want to be around me anymore.”

Your eyes sting as they meet his. “Minnie”, you whisper, reaching out. He pulls his hand back. “What’s going on, baby?”, you try, confusion and hurt pooling in your stomach. “I feel like you don’t want this anymore”, he says. A beat of heavy silence follows.

And then - “like you don’t want me anymore.”

It takes a moment for you to wrap your mind around what he just said. What he’s implying. The horror of it chills you to the bone. “You think I want to break up?”

It hurts. The realization rips through you like a thunderstorm. There’s sadness at first. How lonely must he have felt with your recent absence? How alienated because you didn’t want to bother him with your troubles? How shut out because you tried to protect him from your issues?

But then the rage comes. Because how dare he think so little of your love for him? Doesn’t he know you at all? How dare he come to conclusions before even talking to you? Haven’t you proven to him time and time again that he’s it for you? How in the hells is it this easy for him to think you’d just cast him aside like that?

“Well, it’s kind of obvious”, he says. He sounds so sad, so broken, but you’re consumed by the unfairness of his assumptions. You can’t do this, can’t feel sympathy for this man in front of you. This man that you love. This man who thinks so little of you - who just decided you’d leave him by pulling away instead of having a conversation. That you’d leave I’m at all.

The insult of it grips you by the throat, heart pumping heavy in your chest. You’ve never felt less seen by anyone, never felt less understood. This was supposed to be the man who knew you better than anyone. The man you opened your heart to, who you showed your scars to, who really knew you. You were supposed to be int his together. But somehow, he decided what your intentions were for you. Without your input, without even asking.

You see red.

“Get out.” Your voice is shaking. It’s a miracle you don’t yell. Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you force yourself to stare him down. “What?” He’s the one confused now, eyebrows raised. “This is my place”, you say, “and if you think I don’t want you anymore, you can get out. You know the way.” You don’t wait for him to move, don’t give him chance to argue either. Instead, you get up, take your bowl to the kitchen and disappear to your room without another word.

The pillow is already soaked, muffling your sobs, when you hear the front door close a few minutes later.

♡♥︎♡

POV Seungmin

You’re not answering.

Not to texts. Not to calls. Not to your front door.

Seungmin’s been trying for 5 days, heart breaking a little more with each failed attempt to talk to you, to explain, to apologize. To make it right. Fix what he broke.

But you’re unavailable to him and he know he’s done that to himself. He came home crying that night, letting Felix hug him until he fell asleep - a situation so rare that Felix alerted Chan, who consequently came over the next day to figure out what had happened. But Seungmin didn’t talk, couldn’t spell it out, couldn’t speak the words. He just cried some more, sobbing into his bed sheets as his worried friends tried to comfort him.

Chan managed to get him a few days off, claiming he’s sick - which in a way, he was. Lovesick. Heartbroken. Locked in his room for 3 days before he showed up at your place, waiting all day for you to not let him in.

And now, 5 days after the fight, he just feels lost. Cursing himself for his own insecurities, for jumping to conclusions, for being too scared to talk about his fears like he should’ve done. He’s out of his depth. All he wants is to be back in your arms, to understand why you’d been so distant lately, because his own assumptions were very obviously wrong.

♡♥︎♡

“Lix?” Seungmin’s fingers play with the hem of his sweater as he stands in his roommate’s bedroom door. The blonde looks up from his phone where he sits on the bed, eyes warm and curious. “What’s up?”, he asks with a soft smile. Seungmin takes a deep breath. “I need your help.” Felix’s eyes light up ever so slightly. “What do you need?”

♡♥︎♡

His hands are sweaty and it’s not because of the steaming cup of tea between his palms. Nervous eyes dart to the clock above the counter of the coffee shop. 3:01pm. You’re late by one minute. They won’t show up, the voice in the back of his head tells him. A shaky breath escapes his lips. He tries to shake it off, the doubt, the fear. Felix said you’d come and he believes it. Or tries to.

At 3:02pm the bell above the door rings. Seungmin’s head snaps up so fast it’s almost dizzying. His heart stops. His mind blanks. There you are, pretty as always, looking around the empty shop. Well, almost empty. Felix sits behind the counter, putting the finishing touches on your favorite drink. He is who your eyes settle on. No words are spoken as Felix pushes the drink over, his signature soft smile on his lips, giving you an encouraging nod before he disappears through the “Staff Only” door in the back.

Seungmin’s eyes track your every move, watching you like a starved man. Like just looking at you can satiate him. He notices the way your fingers curl around the mug, the way you take in the sweet scent of your drink. He watches you brace yourself - deep inhale, long exhale - before your eyes finally meet his. His grip around his own mug tightens, the heat of the porcelain grounding him ever so slightly.

You set down your drink before taking a seat opposite him. The cold weather left a soft blush on your cheeks, along with a cute red nose. Pulling off your beanie leaves your hair just a tad messy. In combination with the warm light from he lamp above your table, it softens up your features in the most mesmerizing way. You’ve never been more beautiful to him.

God, how he’s missed you. He envies your mug when you put your lips to it, taking a careful sip.

The air shifts when you put it back down. “Talk.” Your voice is tight, the hurt still present within. It’s very clear that you only showed up because Felix had begged you to and it’s very nearly impossible to say no to his big round boba eyes. Seungmin was never more thankful to have him as a friend.

“I…”, he starts, but the words die on his tongue. A lump sits in his throat, and he can already feel his eyes sting. No, he has to do this. He needs to do this. Deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.” You just stare at him for a beat, taking another sip of your drink. “Well”, you say eventually, “go ahead then.”

He should’ve know you wouldn’t go easy on him. And you shouldn’t, either. His fingers press against his mug, tips whitening. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before making assumptions”, he says then, forcing a steady voice and only messing up slightly. “I was clearly wrong, and I wish I could take it all back.” Suddenly, a dry sob escapes him without permission. “I’m so sorry, Y/N”.

You take your time to answer, watching the foam on your drink swirl as you move your mug ever so slightly. “How did you even come up with that?” Your voice is so quiet, yet so loud in the empty café. “How could you think I’d do that to you? Leave you like that?” Seungmin can see your eyes redden and it breaks his heart all over again. “Leave you at all?”, you whisper, finally looking up.

He wants to reach out, wants to hold you, reassure you. But he’s not sure he’s allowed to. If you pulled away, he’s not sure he could take it. “You’re so amazing”, he says instead, “so smart and kind and funny. You’re everything. And I’m just…me. And when you pulled away, I thought you’d finally realized it. That I’m not enough for you. That I could never be enough for someone like you.”

Your eyes widen with his words, tears rolling down your pretty pink cheeks. “Oh Minnie”, you say, and the softness of it rips right through Seungmin’s chest, “you’re such an idiot.” “I know.” You chuckle. It’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

But it only lasts a second.

“Didn’t you trust me?” “No, I did. I do. I just…I got so in my head about it all. I talked myself into a spiral and then…I fucked it all up, Y/N, I’m so sorry.” You hum, contemplating, before taking another sip of your drink. He’s glad he chose to rent out the coffee shop. Glad he gave both of you something to do with your hands. With the silence.

When you set your cup down again, he notices a shift in your posture. Back straight, shoulders relaxing. “You really hurt me, Minnie”, you say, “but I’m also sorry for shutting you out. I had a lot on my plate and I didn’t want to burden you with it.” He nods, turning your words over in his mind. Pondering their deeper meaning. “I’m sorry for pulling away”, you add, eyes honest and soft.

A new silence settles between you. This one is a little lighter, almost hopeful. Not quite there yet, though. “I don’t want to lose you”, he admits. You nod, absentmindedly swirling what’s left of your drink in your cup. “Please”, he whispers when you don’t reply. It’s then that he’s finally unable to keep his hand away anymore. He reaches over with one hand, cautiously, still scared you’ll flinch or pull away. His heart is hammering against his rips as his fingers brush yours.

Your eyes snap up at the contact.

“Minnie”, you whisper, not engaging with his touch, but not moving away either. “Let me fix it”, he begs, “please, Y/N.” Fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you consider him. “If I made you feel like your troubles are a burden to me - like you couldn’t talk to me…”, his voice breaks, “please, baby, let me fix it. Let met make it right.”

He can feel his own tears now, unable to stop them. His other hand leaves his mug to reach out to you. “I’ll be better for you”, he whispers, both hands covering yours now, “I can’t lose you, Y/N, please.” You take a deep, very shaky breath. He feels your fingers flex beneath his palms, and for a split second he’s terrified you’ll pull away. But you don’t . Instead -

“Come here.” You move where you sit on the bench, making space. Space for him.

Seungmin has never switched seats this fast in his life. He’s beside you in a heartbeat, hands cupping your perfect face, lips crashing into yours without hesitation. He’s so eager, so hungry for you, so relieved that you let him in again. Let him have this second chance.

He’s resistant when you try to pull away, but gives in eventually. “Minnie”, you say once more, a bit out of breath, “I love you.” “I love you, too”, he breathes, “so much.” “We need to talk more.” He hums in agreement, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “I promise.” It’s you who initiates the next kiss. It’s much softer, much more gentle. “Me too.”

Just then, the noise of something heavy hitting the floor disrupts the quiet, followed by a loud “Fuck!” from behind the “Staff Only” door. You chuckle as Seungmin lets out a long, faux-irritated sigh. “We better make sure he didn’t die”, you muse. “He’ll be fine”, Seungmin mumbles, lips brushing yours. “Minnie”, you giggle. He huffs, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Fine, let’s check on the kitty.”

Fenya’s Masterlist

looking up from your texts, you rested your elbow on the table and rested the side of your head on your open palm. “well, this text says,” you replied, flipping the book in front of you, “that way back when, humans would sharpen rocks to create scalpels from the grand line waters because they’re ‘blessed’. a surgical knife with these ‘blessed properties’ supposedly caused successful procedures, not the skill of the doctor or surgeon alone.”

“so you’re saying that the environment was the cause of a person not dying?”

you nodded enthusiastically. “yes.”

“what about now?” he asked. “as in, with current medical technology?”

“well, you’re the doctor. you tell me.” you smiled. “do you think your scalpels and medical tools are blessed?”

law scoffed, pulled the chair back in front of the table, and turned it around so he could sit on it backward, resting his forearms on the backrest.

“i wouldn’t say blessed,” he started, “but i do so happen to be blessed with the skills of being an actual doctor.”

“well then, dr. trafalgar,” you smirked, “enlighten me.”

law raised an eyebrow. “on what?”

“how you can successfully manage surgeries without a blessed scalpel.”

and that invitation was all he needed.

“first of all, how well a scalpel works has nothing to do with superstition but instead with what it’s made of. dull scalpels can cause more damage than good. surgical steel is ideal because it stays sharp.” he started.

“so you’re saying the guys who sharpened the rocks were lucky?” you smirked.

“yes…in a way.” he admitted. “but, were their tools sanitized? that alone can cause infection.”

“of course they did their best to clean them,” you defended. “but these humans had limited resources so mistakes are bound to happen—unintentionally, doctor.” you quickly added.

law blinked and slowly nodded his head. the way you countered his points were seamless. he was finding himself dangerously close to liking this conversation.

“yes, but advancements in what tools are made of make surgery easier and safer. without technique, any tool is useless.” he scooted closer to the table. “may i?” he asked, motioning to the books.

“proceed.” you chuckled.

“if you really want to look into this seriously, i’ll find you a book that doesn’t revolve around superstitions…”