mlem 𝜗ৎ

side blog of @mlemiie ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა mostly just shameless reblogs <3 "Kiss me, kiss me until I'm sick of it."

[littlemlem]

mlem’s love letters ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ

meow — she/her — cancer — 20 ۶ৎ erotic/sensitive — infj & gyaru

"tag navigation"

#mlem’s shameless stash ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა🤍 [my collection of nsfw fics] #mlem’s favs 𝜗ৎ🤍 [fics i like] #‘​૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ hidden magazine stash [art]. #'꒰gyaru manifestギャル꒱ [gyaru inspo]

[k44rds]

彡 Crawling Back To You.ᐟ

ʀᴏʙ ʟᴜᴄᴄɪ × ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

cw: implied stalking | wc: 1186

—ROB LUCCI is a man of few emotions. The very few that have become second nature are sadism and bloodlust. However, affection of any kind was unaccounted for. Worst of all, he could not stop it and, for a time, he hated that.

He hated how he craved those feelings.

Still, much as his mind yelled at him to stop staring at the owner of the café he's become a regular at, he refused to listen. His eyes, usually devoid of emotion, glazed with... something whenever they fell on her. It was odd for the man.

He hadn't spoken to her once (though Hattori solved that problem rather easily), and he never lingered long enough to engage in conversation, much less make eye contact that lasted longer than fifteen seconds and that's being generous.

He had a simple routine. Leave Galley-La during break hours, go to her café, order the usual, and sit at the usual spot all the way in the back. No conversation, no eye contact, just his presence. Every day like clockwork. He was fairly certain Kaku might have picked up on his... habit, though he cared little for it. It was supposed to be nothing after all.

But then, that routine was disrupted one day. Not in the way one would expect, no. He still visited the café and did the usual, but something changed.

After another full day's work, instead of going home, he went to the café. And he waited. He waited until closing time, when she came out and was, understandably, startled by his eerily quiet presence.

“Oh! Mr. Lucci!”

He cut to the chase.

“May I walk you home?” he inquired through Hattori.

It had caught her off-guard. This was the same stoic Galley-La employee who barely took a second of his day to acknowledge her outside of ordering the usual. The very same man now stood there nonchalantly, hands in his pockets, gaze averted, and asking if he could walk her home.

He was an enigma, that much was certain—but that did not stop her from allowing him to accompany her.

The walk was awkward at first. Painfully so. However, despite the complete silence, the mood seemed to lighten as if he got more comfortable as the journey went on. Eventually, it became comfortable silence until she reached home. It was then that, for the first time since his two years on Water 7, he learned to interact with someone beyond the bounds of professional silence.

He watched her open the fence to her front yard as she walked to her door. Before she reached the porch, she turned around, smiling with more than mandatory politeness, and waved at him.

“Thank you for accompanying me, Mr. Lucci. Have a pleasant evening.”

At that very moment, he knew it was far too late to flee.

So, like any fool in his emotions, he acted. His visits remained constant and now so did the walks. It started off as something inconsistent. However, Lucci being Lucci, it quickly became a part of his routine. He didn't want to name it anything. It wasn't supposed to be anything.

Though, he wasn't fooling anyone with that thought.

Things progressed, and eventually he found himself living in her peaceful home, experiencing the mundane and—worst of all—the domestic.

He didn't hate it.

That was the worst of it.

And so it remained for the coming three years until the Straw Hats arrived and ruined his perfect little, if temporary, life on Water 7. Nevertheless, he got what he was sent to retrieve and captured Nico Robin.

However, a victory that felt deeply gratifying moments ago now felt hollow. He had to watch her witness him turn to the monster he is known as. He had to watch the same beautiful eyes that once stared into his with warm admiration be filled with shock and a type of fear he had seen on so many before her.

And yet it felt wrong.

So terribly wrong.

He didn't like it. No.

“Rob...?”

His ear twitched. Why did she sound like that? That wasn't how her voice sounded when she saw him. She wasn't supposed to—

“Lucci! Come on!”

Water 7 became history. The life he led there was over and his mission was complete. There was nothing to miss nor was there anything to return to. After all, it's what he'd been waiting for the entire time, no? To get out of Water 7 as soon as possible and return to Cipher Pol.

For a long time, that is what his mind whispered to him deep in the night when he tread the realm of unconsciousness. He stopped one day.

He was no fool nor had he plans of becoming one. Certainly not after a specific defeat.

Kaku noticed—the only one who was able to truly read Lucci in ways Kalifa and Blueno cannot. Kaku himself missed Water 7 dearly, even if he tried to (terribly) lie his way through the allegations.

Because of that, he recognised the certain hollow Lucci felt and inadvertently displayed, even if Lucci himself never really noticed unless he found himself spiralling a bit too far.

It did not change what he felt deep down.

That is why Lucci was so distraught when he located her in Dressrosa. A coincidence he was simultaneously grateful for and came to loathe with every passing second he realised that she resided in Doflamingo's territory.

Still. The mere sight of her lifted the ache of separation from his heart instantly. He froze when he saw her. He observed her as she lived the mundane, as she moved in the kitchen as if it was the bakery he had known in Water 7. Hattori grew mildly concerned at how still Lucci was until he snapped out of it.

He wanted to approach, but... other matters demanded his attention.

And so, reluctantly he removed his eyes from her and retreated into the shadows. However, he had made up his mind.

Their separation wouldn't be permanent. He could not allow it, and he knew precisely why.

No longer did he deny the reason why he lingered. Why he somehow found ways to infiltrate Dressrosa and simply observe.

Water 7 had changed him for better or for worse. In his eyes, she changed him for the worst in the best way possible. It was a change he willingly allowed after many futile attempts at resisting.

It was a change that showed in his office, a change that showed in photographs taken of her living the mundane. Photographs of her smiling, working, assisting the elderly, sitting in the park in peaceful silence. It was a change that had him staring at those photographs for hours, burning each image in his memory.

No. He could not—he would not be separate from her again.

And so, he watched. Even as he saw her turn and observe her surroundings anxiously at the feeling of eyes on her, unaware of who awaited her within the shadows.

a/n: rob lucci angst was lacking so I did it myself. I like making him specifically suffer.

[sunandflame]

Hiiiii! Hope you're doing well! ❤️

I was wondering if you could write a little something where Lucci proposes to the reader? I'd love to see how he would do it.

The Only Answer

Ohhh this is delicious. Lucci proposing is not going to be the sunshine-and-roses kind of thing—he’s not the type for grand gestures or soft speeches. His “proposal” would be intense, quiet, possessive, and almost a little unnerving… but still deeply sincere in his own way.

Warnings: possessive behaviour

Word Count: 780~

Pairing: Rob Lucci x Reader

crossposted on AO3

The door opened without warning, like a blade sliding from its sheath. No knock, no greeting—just silence. You looked up from the chair where you’d been waiting, the half-read book still in your lap.

Rob Lucci stepped inside, as he always did, wordless and grave. His coat fell across his shoulders like a shadow, movements deliberate, controlled. You’d grown used to his presence filling the room before his body did, but tonight it felt different. Heavy.

He closed the door with a quiet click and didn’t move for a moment, simply stood there watching you. His eyes—green and sharp as a predator’s—didn’t flick away as they normally might. They stayed, unwavering, cutting through you as if weighing every breath you took.

The silence stretched.

“You’re early,” you said softly, voice breaking the hush.

He didn’t answer right away. His gloves came off with unhurried precision, fingers flexing once before his hands slid into his pockets. He moved forward, each step unhurried yet final, until he stood just in front of you.

“Something wrong?” you asked, cautious.

His gaze lowered, tracking the slope of your shoulders, the way you set the book aside. His silence was not unusual, but tonight it carried an edge—like a bowstring pulled taut. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, and yet something under it trembled, a thread pulled too tight.

“You’re not leaving me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a verdict.

You blinked, caught off guard. A laugh almost escaped you—half nervous, half incredulous. “I wasn’t planning to.”

That should have settled it, you thought. But his jaw tightened and his stare stayed fixed on you as though waiting for a different answer.

Then, without preamble, his hand withdrew from his coat pocket. A small, square box sat in his palm—plain, unpolished, as unceremonious as the man himself. He didn’t open it. Didn’t soften. He just set it on the table beside you with a sound far louder in the silence than it should have been.

“Then prove it.” His voice had dropped to something even quieter, almost dangerous. “Marry me.”

The words didn’t land like a romantic confession. They hit like an order, like the final word of a sentence he’d been turning over in his mind for too long. A demand for permanence, not decoration.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Slowly, you looked at the box. Not velvet, not extravagant—just practical. Heavy. Like him.

“Lucci…” You breathed his name, uncertain.

He leaned forward slightly, close enough for his shadow to spill over you, close enough for you to feel the coiled restraint in his body. “I don’t ask.” His tone sharpened, cutting through your hesitation. “Not for this. You say yes, or you’ll regret the other answer.”

It wasn’t a threat—not exactly. It was a confession, delivered in the only way he knew how. You had always known he was possessive. Always known that beneath his restraint was a violence that only you were allowed to touch. But now it burned in his words, stripped bare of pretense.

You reached for the box, lifting the lid with careful fingers. Inside was a ring—unadorned, no glittering stone, just a solid band of metal that gleamed in the dim light. A ring meant to last, to withstand, to endure. Just like him.

Silence fell again as you looked at it, at him, then back down. Your heart hammered, caught between fear and something deeper, something bone-deep that had rooted itself in you the day you first chose to stay by his side.

When your eyes rose to meet his again, the hunger there was unmasked. He wasn’t asking for an answer. He was claiming it.

“Yes,” you whispered.

It was enough.

The air shifted. The tension holding his shoulders rigid bled away in increments so small most people wouldn’t notice. But you did. You saw it in the way his chest eased, in the faint unclenching of his jaw, in the slow exhale he allowed himself.

He took your hand in his, large and calloused, his grip firm and unyielding as he slid the ring onto your finger. It was heavy, grounding, a band you could never mistake for anything delicate. His hand lingered over yours, thumb pressing against the ring, as if to seal it there.

When he finally leaned down, his lips pressed against yours with the kind of intensity that made your chest ache. No tenderness, no hesitation—just raw, consuming need.

“Good,” he murmured against your mouth, breath hot and unrelenting. “You’re mine. Always.”

And for a moment—dangerous, suffocating, and yet achingly real—you believed that was exactly what you wanted to be.

Taglist: @auryborealis @tenaciouskittenanchor @7wanne @hethia @thatanonymouschocolate @mellyrally @sagyunaro @kreaturehorder-blog @cryptip0wer-blog @katmihawk @toga-003 @nin-dy-tro @superbeaglewitch @poe-slittleraven13 @wontknowbetter @angeliciousness

[ohmylaw]

𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒋𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ⠀﹒୨𝑒 nsfw, based on this ask

with a quiet huff, you rummaged through your clothes, after shuffling through hangers you’ve decided to pull out the whole wardrobe onto your bed and start from there instead of pulling outfit after outfit. the accumulated clothes flew around your room, discarded for not being good enough—not when you wanted to look your best for your on-deck crush.

you’ve been like that for a couple of minutes, wearing only a cute set of underwear while you looked through your clothes. it was a simple lacy set that always got you a boost of confidence, and today you wanted to see if sanji would like to have a drink with you after dinner. you hummed a soft tune as you pick a skirt from the pile on your bed and walked over to the mirror to check it out.

that’s when you hear the door open, the loud creek of wood startling you. “my lady, have you seen the—”

sanji stood there, paralyzed with his mouth open, almost slack-jawed and face beet-red. his visible eye was open with shock and the cigarette almost fell down to the floor. you could see his nostrils flare, you’ve known him enough to know that was a major nosebleed threatening to occur. the wheels were obviously turning inside his head, but the shock of walking in on you, seeing you in nothing but that lacy underwear that covered practically nothing must have him frozen in place.

you huffed and covered yourself with the nearest blanket, draping it over your chest and holding it to cover your bare ass too—you were still standing in front of the mirror, after all.

at this point, not a sound has came out of sanji, which was rare. the woman-loving cook seeing one of the crew girls’ naked and not even a screech of excitement? no, he just…turned. the door slammed behind him so hard it surprised you it didn’t come off its hinges.

“…sanji?” you asked, softly, trying to supress a smile.

“I AM THE WORST MAN ALIVE.” he screamed from the hallway. you laughed at his dramatic reaction. “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING, CHERI—ohmygod i saw everything.”

you were now laughing out loud, satisfied that he did actually react to seeing your body almost naked, and positively so. that had to mean something, right?

“IT’S NOT FUNNY, DON’T LAUGH.”

“it kind of is.” by that moment you were already dressed in the previously picked skirt and a tight top. his embarrassed whines fueled something in you that fed off his attention, they served as a nice background music as you finished getting ready.

you opened the door and found him down on his knees in front of you. one of your brows raised, interested in this whole situation. “i’m decent now, sanji.” if you forced your voice to sound smoother, it was something only you had to know.

and—okay, the way he looked up to you kind of turned you on, and his kneeled position didn’t help your situation. you couldn’t help but fall for that puppy-eyed look, how his thick eyebrows furrowed preoccupied and his lips pouted, a faint pink line staining his cupid’s bow. his visible eye roamed over your figure from below, and you noticed the moment it landed on the underskirt view of your panties. his face redened again, but this time he tried to hide it by lowering his head.

“i’m so sorry, my angel, it was unchivalrous of me to walk in on you without knocking.” you had to supress the excited eyeroll when you hear that pouty murmur.

“it’s fine, sanji.”

“no, it’s not fine, ma chér, please let me make it up to you.”

oh, well. your plan could finally become true after all.

“let me think about it…”

“hmm, fuck! there, sanji—ohmygod.”

electricity traveled from your belly through your legs, his skilled mouth worked with a blend of hunger and reverence between your quivering thighs—broad strokes along your wet slit turning into more precise, more hard circles around your swollen clit. his index and middle fingers held your folds open for him, between licks they even thrusted shallow into your hole, teasing you.

he was good, sososo good. it felt like he somehow knew your whole body; how fast, how hard, where to pay special attention.

his lips latched onto your clit and your hands automatically pulled at the blonde strands on his head. the low, long hum he produced vibrated against your pussy and sent even more fuzzy sensations to your core.

he separated for a second to look at you, and you almost cried when he did—you were so close. he laughs, wiping the mix of spit and juices from his redened lips. “mm, you like that, mon chéri?” your hips jerked at his words, a fresh wave of slickness coating your slit from the raspy accent of that beautiful man.

“yes—fuck, i’m so close, please, sanji…”

“why such hurry? we have all day.”

[cheseely]

misc one piece doodles/wips dump 🖤

[traflawgarr]

𝘾𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 | 18+

pairing- lucci x f!reader

cw: smut, reader wears a dress, primal play, chasing, size dıfference, outdoor sex̌, chasing, biting, knottıng, fıngering, overstimulation, praise, degradatıon, breedıng kınk

Getaway like these, away from responsibilities of CP0, responsibilities of the world in general, you were grateful. You were especially grateful for your husband, Lucci, for choosing such a beautiful and isolated destination.

"It's so beautiful out here! The forest is really amazing." You stare in awe, leaning over the log railing of the cabin. Lucci stood behind you, clad in his casual attire, his normal uniform nowhere in sight. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to your temple.

"A well deserved view, don't you think?" He awaited your answer, looking down at you. Returning a smile, you replied, "Very much so. It's so quiet and peaceful. No more of Kaku's chatter about how giraffes are great. No more nagging from the higher ups." You leaned into his tall frame. His hold on you tightened.

Lucci leaned forward a bit and spoke in a tone that was uncharacteristic of the agent, "Shall we take a walk through the forest? I didn't choose this place for us to idle around." You nodded eagerly and Lucci watched you run inside to dress more appropriately for a walk in the vast forest.

You walked out in a pink babydoll dress with white walking shoes. Lucci curled an eyebrow, walking over and feeling the frilly fabric between his calloused fingers. "Doll, might I mention we're going on a walk and not a fashion show?" You pouted and retorted, "What? I just wanted to look cute!"

"For who? The animals?"

You froze and twirled your fingers, "Well...for you?" Lucci sighed and patted your head, "You don't have to try for me. Now let's go, my dear. The sun will set soon." He guided you, hand on the small of your back. The two of you walked around the trail. You took in the scenery, giggling at every small animal that you two came across. Lucci kept his gaze on you, eyes occasionally flickering for any sign of danger, to which there was none.

"Man, I wish I brought the camera snail! It's so nice here!" Lucci kept a mental note to bring a camera snail the next time he brought you out here.

It was so quiet. Lucci explained the nearest group of people were hundreds of kilometers away so it was truly isolating in the best way possible. "Lucci, love! Look! I found a log so we could rest! There's so many flowers it's so perfect!" You ran over but your foot got caught on an uproot and you nearly fell. Thanks to the speed and reflex of your husband, he caught you before you'd be caked with mud.

"Careful, my dear. Can't have you ruin that gorgeous dress of yours...of course it'll be me." He whispered that last part but your ears didn't catch his nasty comment. "Ah, sorry." You chuckled softly and sat next to him on the log. Lucci watched you fiddle with the flowers, admiring your innocence and beauty.

Your softness.

Your gentle soul.

Your perverted side that no one would believe with one look at you.

"You know..." Lucci began and you turned your head, "...This forest is isolated. No one would hear us, hear you scream." He leaned down, a deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh? And what are you implying, love?" You twirled a strand of his black hair, feeling it between your thumbs before dropping it.

"An experiment is all I'm saying. Don't think I don't notice the times you'd freeze during missions, toggle at me when I've used my Devil Fruit...growing needy in the middle of battle? Not very professional of you, my [name]." He tilted your chin up and you swallowed the lump in your throat. He could tell you were growing needy at the sound of his voice and egged you on, watching you press your thighs together.

"I can say with confidence that you have this perverted fantasy of me chasing you like my prey, is that right?" He pressed his lips to your temple, feeling the quick pulse. He recalled the rather explicit conversation you had with Kalifa weeks ago.

"N-no I don't!" You were quick to deny and he chuckled slowly, deciding to let you off the hook for now.

"Come now. It's sunset. I have dinner ready for us." He helped you up and guided you back to the cabin you two were staying at. The entire walk back was silent, save for your heavy breath. Was the whole reason Lucci brought you here was to fuck you until dawn without interruption? Surely that wasn't the case. Lucci is a man of logic and never dabbled in silly fantasies, though the idea made your stomach flip.

Dinner was quiet, save for the idle chatter. You complimented his dishes, to which he acknowledged your words, talking about the recipe. You listened with intent but your mind began drifting. Lucci was just in his tank top and loose pants.The subtle flex of his biceps made your heart stutter.

Under the table, your thighs clenched, trying to ease the ache that was building. Lucci's soothing, baritone voice, sharp eyes, firm muscles, you were bound to be aroused every waking moment with this man. Lucci knew his effect on you and decided to play along with your active imagination.

"Thirty seconds." Was all he said and it snapped you out of your perverted fantasy.

"What do you mean?" "Thirty seconds to run, starting now." He began to count down slowly, making you panic.

"Thirty." You quickly stood up and shook your hands.

"Wa-wait! What is thi－""Twenty-nine."

You quickly caught on.

One second passed by and you bolted out the door. It was well into the night, the sound of owls and crickets filled the air along with the crunching of leaves under your foot and the sound of your heavy breathing. You thanked yourself for building stamina with CP0, otherwise you wouldn't have made it far.

"Twenty-eight, twenty-seven." Lucci counted while cleaning the kitchen, and grabbing one of his coats.

You continued to run. The adrenaline was pumping through you, making you equally nervous and turned on at the same time. You controlled your breathing, lightened your step to not alert your husband.

"Hah, hah" You inspired slowly before exhaling. You decided to deter Lucci by leaving a ribbon from your dress on the floor and making a detour on the right. "At least five seconds have passed..." You sighed and continued to run.

Lucci was stretching, cracking every knuckle. He knew his girl enjoyed the primal side of him, so he relaxed his body, still counting.

"Twenty-three."

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-one."

"Twenty...."

Lucci was out the door. He sensed your energy, hearing your racing heart that he knew was pumping with excitement and not fear.

You ran as far as you could. With ten seconds left, you took a breather before running. There was a hint of fear in you that was making you feel a tinge of regret. Ultimately, your trust in Lucci overwhelmed that thought and you continued to run.

"Five. Four..."

Crunch, crunch...

"Three, two..."

A step.

"One."

Lucci transformed into his Leopard model, running at lightning speed, already heading in the direction of you. You were hiding behind a thick tree and you couldn't hear a thing. It almost scared you but excited you even more.

Lucci spotted your ribbon, taking in the scent and ran directly to you. You covered your mouth, silencing your body, trying to hide but also not hide from your crazed leopard husband.

Lucci saw your babydoll dress peeking from the tree and he slowly stalked towards you. A snap of a twig under his foot and you jumped.

"No!" You ran away, but not fast enough as Lucci wrapped his paws around you. "Got you." He whispered into your ear before yanking off your panties, holding it up to his face for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket.

"Tell me. How long have you been this desperate, so wet and pathetic, hmm?" He tilted your head up, claw tucked in to not hurt you.

"I-I, well..." Lucci tilted his head "Hmm? Cat got your tongue, love? He does, doesn't he?" He chuckled gravelly before taking your mouth into his thick tongue swirling around yours, drinking in your whimpers and moans.

Your hands tried pushing away, only for him to pull you closer, knee between your thighs and pressing against your bare cunt. He shoved your dress up and pulled out your breasts.

Lucci pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you two before breaking. "So debauched and ruined, all from a kiss too? My pathetic slut." He whispered into your neck before biting, not hard enough to break skin. Yet. Lucci tweaked with your bare nipples, watching you struggle to form words.

"Need you so bad, Lucci." You whimpered, arms wrapping around his neck. Your hips rutted against his rough and thick thigh, trying to ease the throbbing heat of your cunt and he held your hips firmly. "Patience, my dear. You'll get what you want." His fingers found your cunt, giving it a few firm slaps.

"N-ngh! Lucciii－!" You whimpered out before biting down on your lips. "Let me hear your whorish cries. No one can hear you but me." Lucci bit on your lower lip, urging you to let loose. He pinched your clit, earning a cry from you.

"That's it..." Lucci's fingers slowly worked you open. You gripped his shoulders, anchoring yourself as he fingered you stupid. Lucci steadied you, with his free hand.

With every curl of his fingers, it brought you closer to the edge. The squelching sound, your panting, and Lucci's heavy breathing polluted the quiet air. Your cunt fluttered with every press to your spongey spot that made you see stars.

"So pathetic for me, yet so obedient. You're the perfect agent and the perfect slut for me." Lucci spoke to you through his ministries. Feeling your cunt clench, he made his pace heavier.

"Close, I'm so close, Lucci...!" You choked on your words when he pressed firmly on your g-spot. "Go on then. Make a mess of my nasty slut." His thumb caught your clit and your back arched, wetness splashing over his hand. His fingers slowed, riding out your orgasm. You clung to his neck, legs shaking like a baby deer.

Lucci laid the jacket on the grassy floors of the forest before pushing you down, capturing your lips again. Since when did he have a jacket? The thought of Lucci bringing a jacket just so you don't get dirty from the floor made your heart flutter, and his thoughtfulness made your pussy flutter as well. He ridded himself of his pants, giving himself a few strokes, covering the length of his cock with your release.

"You remember what you do when it's too much?" You nodded, dumbly. "Words, my dear. Or are you too fucked out already?" He teased you, tracing the tip of cock up and down your cunt. "I-I tug on your tail...three times?" With a small satisfied smirk, he nodded. Lucci shoved himself into you, bottoming out in one thrust, causing you to scream out loud.

"Oh, fuck!" The sudden fullness made your back bow into him, a bulge forming. "Look at you..so tiny and taking the extent of my cock in this form. Is this what your dumb and pretty head fantasizes about?" He condescendingly spoke while you lied there, shaking in pleasure. Dissatisfied with your silence, Lucci moved his hip roughly and pulled out nearly all the way, leaving just his tip, making you whine.

"Answer me before I leave you debauched for mother nature to see." He threatened and you cried.

"Yes! Fuckー I..I imagined taking you in this form...ruining my insides." Your hips chased his length, only for him to catch it.

In one swift motion, Lucci's hips moved at an animalistic pace. He folded you into a deep mating press, cockhead hitting your g-spot with every stroke. His claws dug into your thighs as he folded you into a nasty postition. Every moan and cry out of your lips was accented with each heavy thrust to your cervix. Your hands found solace on his shoulders, digging into his fur.

"So nasty for me. What would the Nobles say about their agent submitting like a prey to me, huh?" Lucci's words shot straight to your pussy, clenching tightly around his cock.

"Their perfect agent, reduced to nothing but a blabbering and nasty mess. Absolutely ruined yet begging for my cock. What would they think?" His words were nothing but condescending filth. This wasn't Cipher Pol Zero's strongest agent. This was a predator who is claiming his prey with every thrust in the middle of nowhere. "But you're a good and perfect little whore for me, yeah?" Lucci looked down at your tear-stricken face, watching you try to form a coherent sentence.

"Yesーfuckー I'm...I'm good for y-you!" Your words were slurred and incohesive. He admired your tear stricken face. Lucci's hips were beginning to stutter, the base of his cock slowly swelling.

"Gonna fill you up. Fuck you full of my cubs." His words were slowly becoming rougher and rougher. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, my dear?" You nodded to the best of your ability. "Then beg for it."

"Please!" You cried, "Need to feel you cum...wanna have your children." Your words sent him over the edge, orgasming with a curse. Lucci's mouth found your breasts and began marking you with a bite, scenting you.

"Mine." He spoke with a low tone.

"Fuck..." Your clenching cunt orgasmed at the same time as he did. Lucci's hips pushed forward, the knot stretching you beyond what you were used to.

"Full...too full, Lucci!" You tried squirming away but his large arms caged you. "Justーfuck－relax, my doll." His bare leopard teeth found the crook of your neck, slightly grazing it before biting down, marking you. Your cunt clenched at the feeling, in turn making Lucci's hip stutter.

Lucci remained inside you while his knot was swelled. You were in bliss, nothing but pleasure filled your empty mind. He looked down at you, holding you with a possessive grip while his knot was snug within you.

"It'll be a moment before this goes away. I'll carry you back to the cabin." Just as he was about to move, you shook your head.

"No...wanna stay out here." You whispered and he shook his head.

"If you come down with an illness, I'm not watching you." He spat an empty threat to which you shook your head.

"Yes you will. You love me too much to leave me to be sick by myself." You teased and Lucci shook his head in disprovement.

"That, you are right. Rest. I'll be here." Lucci reassured you while watching you fall asleep all while his knot plugged your cunt.

.

.

.

After your vacation, the two of you returned back to business, looking as sharp and professional as possible..like you two didn't fuck like wild animals in the forest. You stood in your uniform that was pristine when Kaku noticed your neck.

"Oi, what is that? That looks nasty! Are you oka-" A fang mark, "Oh don't tell me you and Luc-" You shoved Kaku to the wall and shook your head in embaressment. Lucci watched the scene unfold, unamused and leaning against the wall cooly. Under his indifference though...

...Rob Lucci was figuring out other ways to break you.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

for the one and only @mlemiie i hope you enjoyed it my love! first time writing for lucci so mlem the lucci coochie expert will be the judge of it. go support her, she's the sweetest girl and the best writer ever MUAHH૮ • ﻌ - ა🩷

somehow perfectly times this on lucci's birthday! happy birthday to pidgeon man૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

[mlemiie]

HIHIHIHI ASH YOUVE OUTDONE YOURSELF I CANTTTTT I’m reblogging this here cause i giggled throughout the whole thing THANK YEWWW 🤍💞

[fagcrisis]

i hate the word spicy can we bring back calling things erotic

[mlemiie]

happy birthday to my murder addicted leopard; Rob Lucci

i’ll fix a oneshot for him sometime today🥺🤍

[dollwrites]

ʜɪs ᴛʀᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ ┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° sɪʀ ᴄʀᴏᴄᴏᴅɪʟᴇ

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｔｙｐｅ ┊ skeazy man apocalypse / happy birthday week kuroe !

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, implied pseudo incest, croc referred to as ‘daddy’, implied age gap, implied size kink, pussy inspection, light humiliation/degradation, all characters featured are aged 18+

ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ ┊temporarily out of anime/adjacent retirement to celebrate my muse’s bday week!! please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“Good girls sit pretty for their inspection. You’re my good girl, still, aren’t you?”

there was always a bite of jealousy in his words when you’d been gone for a few days— gallivanting across the seas with men he’d assigned to watch over you, because he didn’t trust them. he didn’t trust you to an extent, but only because you were ‘naive’ to him. easily manipulated. he hated the idea of one of his men getting their hands on you.

so inspections had become a regular part of your routine upon returning to him. shedding your clothes, baring your pussy, and letting him thumb around it, practiced and critical, until he was satisfied that you hadn’t been with anyone else.

‘sweet, trusting girls like you… too innocent to say no. gotta make sure no one’s been touchin’ you behind daddy’s back.’

“Don’t squirm too much, now,” Croc could’ve purred, but it sounded more like a growl in the back of his throat. “or I’ll have to pin you down like last time.”

but you couldn’t help it; the sensation of his long, thick fingers slotting in between your folds, spreading them open to expose your slick to the cool, salty air around you, was almost too much to bear. your knees, which were spread wide whilst you sat on a massive, oak tabletop, trembled slightly, and threatened to tuck themselves back inward. “Sorry, daddy.” you mumbled sheepishly, bracing your hands against the surface just under your bum.

you were splayed out, completely. your clothes forgotten on the ground in a pool of fabric currently beneath one of Croc’s feet. golden hook slung around your neck as a makeshift lasso, and his free hand prodding between your legs, spreading you open at the apex of your hips. his dark eyes were cast downward to see your core opened up for him alone— so close to you that you were caught in the enveloping cigar smoke. you choked on it. sputtered, even, and it curled around you like a thick, suffocating screen.

you let out a little whimper, and Crocodile grumbled in approval. “There she is. Still tight. Still cute.” he swiped a finger in a lazy circle around your hole and you clenched in response, half expecting him to slide it into you. when he didn’t, and his fingertip careened up the stripe between your netherlips instead, you could stop the shudder of protest that ran through your body. “And you still get wet and needy after a simple, little inspection.” he chuckled. “Let me tell you something,” he started, his voice a gravelly baritone, “no one in the world can make this pretty, little pussy cry like I can. No one can make her scream like I can. That’s why you don’t ever give her up to anyone else. No one but me. She’s mine, right?” his question hangs thick in the air like smoke from the half-burned cigar caught between his teeth. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, cocky and slow. “Tell me, baby girl. Tell me she’s all mine.”

it was a no brainer, and you were already blurting it out before he’d gotten the demand past the curve of his lips. “She’s yours, daddy!”

“Damn right she is.” his finger never stopped moving; a second one joined the first. pressed close together, rubbing in between your folds, spreading just enough to squeeze your swelling clit between them, and he hissed, eyes fixed on the way your flesh was shiny with your own desire. “And she likes when I look at her, don’t she?”

then, he let his palm draw up, and bounce off the tender, little nub that so desperately wanted affection in a cruel, quick spank. “Look at all this,” he said, aamusement gurgling in his throat as he held his wet fingers up, glistening under the cabin lights. he spread them apart, showcasing the way your arousal webbed around his fingers. “Your little pussy’s soaked, pulsing, clenching around air and all just from me looking at it. Maybe you’re not daddy’s good girl anymore, maybe you’re more perverted than I thought.” he grinned, showing all teeth. “You like this, dirty thing? Like being checked by your daddy?”

your face burned with a blush, but you didn’t offer any sort of excuse. he could see it, and it was clear he enjoyed seeing you humiliated. ”It—“ you paused for a moment, and squirmed a bit, wiggling your hips in the process, and glance away from him. “It feels good to have your hands on me.” you admitted after several seconds.

“Mhm.” came Croc’s reply. guttural and appreciative and so very rough with want. “Naughty lil thing. You like sittin’ up here on display, don’t you? Drippin’ on my desk. Making a mess. You like gettin’ embarrassed when I stretch your little pussy open, don’t you? Of course you do; you want me to touch on you, to rub and slap and pinch and stare. You don’t care why, you just like the way my hands feel on your cunt.” he barked out a wicked laugh, the warmed golden of the hook around the back of your neck tightening as he dragged you close to the edge of the desk. his fingers delved back in, smearing your own slick over your core before his middle digit curled just enough to snag on your hole, before pushing it inside to test your stretch.

“So do I, baby girl. So do I.”

[awlayt]

One piece men reacting to you sitting on Thier lap in a Public setting, while wearing a skirt and you telling them you are not wearing any panties on

Characters: Trafalgar law,Sanji,Luffy,Rob Lucci, Eustass kid

Tags: smut drabbles,finger fucking,teasing, degradation,not proofread so excuse my mistakes plz, afab!reader in mind

Law

He is first bit shocked, a flustered mess actually. He thought you were Begin your cute self only to do that to him. His tattooed fingers are so tempted to test if you are truthful or not. He doesn't want anyone else to see him bury his fingers in your pretty cunt, yet. You made him do this. He needs to make sure you are not joking,so you better not make a noise.

"(Y/n)-ya. You really can't do this. What if someone saw you like this?" He whispers to your ear in a fake scolding tone, while his hand sneakily moves under your skirt,his tattooed finger teases your folds, and he slightly chuckles as he rests his chin on your shoulder, removing his hand away from your core and letting it rest on your thigh. "Naughty...guess we have to find somewhere private so I can help you put your panties back on," he mumbles to you, while his thumb trace a little circle on your thigh. "Can't have you walking around like that," he adds as he gets up, holding your hand and guiding you to some bathroom. From how lustful his gaze is,you doubt he will be helping you put your panties back on.

Sanji

He dies from a nosebleed. Rest in peace king. He was so excited that his ass forgot he was in public till you stopped his hand from reaching down the skirt, and he let out a little whimper of disappointment. "Oh, come on, my love..let me check" he tells you in a husky tone. Your cheek flushes in embarrassment. You were hoping to fluster him, not this overly horny reaction. You should have known better.

His hand finds its way under your skirt anyway, and he is so mesmerized by the fact you are actually saying the truth and the fact you are a bit wet too. He is at heaven. Yeah,yeah that must be it. He let his finger tease your slit slightly,just a teasing touch,while his thumb traced over your clitoral area so gently. "Want to see how far we can go before you want some privacy, my love?" Sanji whispers so huskily in your ear,making you feel shivers down your neck. You nod slowly; obviously,this is the best outcome for you after all.

Luffy

" Same " "what?" "I'm not wearing any boxers either,they get uncomfortable sometimes" "WHAT"

Literally clueless,till You yourself let your hand in his pants and his face redden a bit, his brain registering what you were trying to do by not wearing a panties as your hand warp around his dick so gently "(y/n)yy...I thought we weren't supposed to do this Infront of others" he whine to you and shush him "they don't need to know..." You say playfully,Luffy huffing ,not vibing with your teasing,he stop your hand "no,let me-" he literally shove his hand between your legs and start caressing your cunt so tenderly" No fun teasing me now huh?" He asks and you huffs grabbing his hand" Luffy They might see-" Luffy stop you with a kiss " you wanted it first yeah? so you better handle it " he tells you as his finger start pumping in your cunt so feverishly "let them see,I will fight them if they tried anything funny"

Rob lucci

He gave you an unimpressed glance ,you were almost disappointed, you look away,maybe you can go fuck with kaku or someone else,you could had more of a reaction with a Brick wall- you think, that till you felt his hands grabbing your thighs and keeping you on his lap,and then you feel something hard under you,you turn to look at him and he is looking at you with that sadistic gaze he always have when you misbehave

"Really?, Let me see then" he says with a stoic tone,he so shamelessly lift the skirt a bit up and you can feel the cold air hit your bare core,his palm moves to cover it as he let a thoughtful hum "tell me, what did you expect me to do when you decided to do this?'' he asks as he moves his hand slight ,his middle finger thrust into you so harshly earning a moan from you that cause few people to glance your way,you try to remove his hand from you,yet you couldn't even if you wanted " come on ,answer me..,no let me answer it Instead ,you wanted me to fuck you while everyone watched ,didn't you? Or were you just teasing me...ah I do expect the latter ,yet you know what happens when you tease me like this " he says with a Stern voice,his finger thrusting in your now dripping cunt,you are just closing your mouth with a hand to keep what left of your dignity "lucc-lucci stop please-i was just teasing you" you whisper so desperately trying to keep your moans low ,Lucci chuckles sadistically " yeah,figured it out...well here's the deal ,you cum on my fingers without making any noises,and I will stop, if you couldn't..then I hope you enjoy people watching, because I will be fucking you over this table"

Eustass kid

He will look at you with a questioning look as 'are you serious ' and you nod so proudly,you see his cheeks turn red and his chest puff up as his hand goes to under your skirt to see if you are fucking with him or not, spoiler alert,you are not ,Kid face turn into a little devilish smirk as instead of pulling his hand away,he start teasing your folds with his finger,and now it's your turn to have a flustered look on your face

"k-kid no touching now" you whimper so lowly that it cause kid chest to rumble with a deep chuckle "ah that's no fun shorty...you got your pretty cunt uncovered and you expect me to keep my hand to myself? That wound me ,you know me better" he says rather playfully,his finger slide so easily into your welcoming cunt,pumping in and out,hitting your g-spot so teasingly making you moan lowly,kid smirk only grow " here you go,such a pretty doll, couldn't wait for us to be alone huh? it's okay though,they can all watch,not like they will be able to touch your pretty cunt,it's all mine after all" he purr into your ear as he add a second finger into your cunt,making you moan even more,at least the only people in the room are the crew...they will soon be traumatized when they realize what you're both doing for sure

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

[coquettelust]

the skirt must stay on during sex

[gav-san]

Cyrano de Birderac: 1

Cyrano de Birderac Masterlist

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Chapter Title: A Performance at Galley-La Rob Lucci x reader Length: 3.5 K+ Rating: 16+ (Language)

How You Accidentally Got Romanced by Cipher Pol's Deadliest Duo: Featuring: Rob Lucci, the man who could kill you with a stapler, but primarily uses it to silently admire you from the other side of the office. And Hattori, his smug little pigeon with no filter, no chill, and absolutely no authorization to be this romantic. Aka, his wingman.

Next

Based on this: HERE

You genuinely thought he was mute.

Not shy. Not quiet. Not “strong, silent type” with a dark secret and a heart of gold.

No. You thought Rob Lucci was physically incapable of human speech. Like maybe someone had taken a particularly intense marble statue, dressed it in a three-piece suit, gifted it a bird, and said, “You now work here.”

The first time you met him, he didn’t say a word. Didn’t introduce himself. Didn’t shake your hand. Didn’t even blink, as far as you could tell.

He just looked at you. Eyes sharp, expression unreadable, like someone trying to determine your net worth by evaluating the alignment of your paperclips, and nodded once.

Then he turned and vanished into the Galley-La employee room like a hot, brooding ghost with a government pension and a deeply committed relationship with lint rollers.

And that was that.

You’d written him off immediately as one of Water 7’s many mildly disturbing background characters. Every town had them. Yours just happened to come with better tailoring.

Mysterious. Intense. Overdressed for the weather. Silent. Attractive enough to generate a fan club by simply existing within five meters of a reflective surface.

You assumed he worked security, probably ex-military. Conceivably dishonorably discharged for being too emotionally constipated. Definitely broody. Possibly had a tragic backstory involving betrayal, fire, or rain. Or all three. Honestly? It tracked.

He never spoke. He never smiled. He never sweated, despite the fact that Water 7’s humidity could bend steel.

And he had a pigeon.

Which. Talked.

The bird wore a tiny tie. It rode around on his shoulder like a judgmental assistant manager. It flapped dramatically. And it spoke, in a smug, overly articulate voice that made you suspect it had either been enchanted or was possessed by the spirit of a snarky retired librarian.

At first, the bird’s comments were harmless. Weird, but harmless.

“He says your notes are very organized.”

You paused mid-sentence. Glanced at Lucci.

He didn’t react. Just stood there like a particularly disapproving umbrella stand.

“He appreciates your time management skills.”

Okay. Fine. A little specific, but still within the realm of professional compliments.

Then the bird said:

“He likes the way you smell today.”

You froze mid-paperclip.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

Lucci didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. He just stared at the wall, as if it had offended his ancestors. The pigeon preened. Innocent.

“What? I didn’t say he said it.”

Your brain short-circuited slightly.

It wasn’t like you were some stranger to eccentric coworkers. You worked with Paulie, after all, a man who had once tried to fire a cannon inside a filing room because he was "testing acoustics.” You’d seen weirder. You’d survived worse.

But this? This was new.

You were just the secretary. You handled contracts, corrected dock schedules, and—crucially—stayed out of things. You liked tidy margins and lunches eaten at your desk. You liked knowing what was on your calendar for the next three weeks. You liked not having to emotionally interpret men who communicated via birds.

And yet.

Lucci. He was silent. Polished. Always at Iceburg’s side, or standing ominously by the stairwell, like a grim reaper with health insurance. He moved like an oil slick in a nice suit. Unbothered. Controlled. Maybe dangerously handsome?

But never impolite.

He opened doors for Iceburg. He returned documents exactly where he found them. He always made sure the coffee pot was full, even if he had just poured the last cup.

And sometimes, only sometimes, he stood so still in the far corner of the records room that a junior clerk tried to hang their coat on him. Lucci didn’t even react. Just stepped away once the hanger touched his shoulder, as if evaporating into the nearest wall was part of his job description.

At first, you thought it was some strange form of professional courtesy. A weird, ultra-efficient office drone who somehow had the presence of a cryptid. You chalked it up to the usual Water 7 eccentricities and moved on.

Until the bird started talking.

To you.

You were convinced Rob Lucci might be clinically incapable of basic conversation. A fully formed adult man whose soul had been replaced by a steam-powered filing cabinet. But his bird?

His bird had designs.

At first, you assumed the whole thing was a gimmick. A bizarre PR strategy has gone too far. Maybe Galley-La had decided their terrifyingly silent employee needed a mascot to soften his image and thought,“Let’s give the antisocial guy a bird! It’ll be quirky! Harmless!”

Only, it didn’t break the tension.

It weaponized it.

Because the bird? The bird had comments. And not for the room. Not for the team. Just for you.

“He says you’re very efficient with scheduling.”

You smiled. Glanced up from your desk.

Lucci stood by the doorway, hands behind his back, still as stone. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just regarded you like you were a particularly interesting spreadsheet.

“He says your handwriting reminds him of swordplay: Elegant but sharp.”

You stared.

Hattori didn’t look away.

“He says he likes how you organize your pens.”

Your eye twitched.

You told yourself he was just being nice. Probably. Maybe. Maybe he was one of those emotionally stunted types who didn’t know how to give compliments like a normal human, and outsourced the whole ordeal to his bird.

That seemed reasonable.

Until the comments got personal.

“He says your voice is his favorite background noise.”

You turned, slowly, towards Hattori.

Lucci was in the hallway this time, flipping through a folder like he wasn’t downright violating every Revery Convention on flirting.

“He memorized your coffee order. By accident. Probably.”

You nearly knocked your mug off your desk.

“He thinks your handwriting looks like it could kill a man. He finds it inspiring.”

You dropped your pen.

Lucci said nothing.

Did nothing.

He just blinked. Maybe. Once. Like a lizard.

And then, one perfectly average Thursday afternoon, with the wind off the sea and paperwork piling up around you, Hattori landed on your desk again. 

This time with no preamble. No softening lead-in. No buffer.

“He says your scent is… distracting.”

Your pen snapped clean in half.

Ink bled into your hand. You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe.

You slowly looked up, slowly, like you were checking for a sniper. Then meet Lucci’s gaze across the office.

He was perfectly composed.

Expression unreadable. Suit pristine. Pigeon, indeed, was thrilled with himself.

You just stared.

And for the first time, you wondered.

Was this real?

Was this man, this terrifyingly silent, possibly government-engineered humanoid statue, flirting with you?

Had you accidentally fallen into the middle of a slow-burn romance where one party refused to speak and the other was a bird?

You weren’t sure.

But you were beginning to suspect.

It wasn’t just the weird compliments. Or the way Lucci’s pigeon had somehow become your romantic intermediary-slash-personal hype man. It was the little things. The patterns.

The kind you don’t notice until they break.

Like the night of the storm.

You’d stayed late, as usual. A backlog of manifests had imploded in your inbox, and there was no one else qualified, or willing, to untangle the mess. Rain battered the windows like a desperate salesman. The lights flickered, the office creaked, and for a while, the only sound was the scratching of your pen and the hum of the generator.

Until you heard it.

Shoes.

And wings.

You turned, heart skipping. Rob Lucci stood just inside the doorway, water dripping from the hem of his coat. Hair damp. Expression unreadable. He looked like the final chapter of a noir novel; tall, tired, and two degrees short of poetic tragedy.

Hattori flapped forward, his usual dramatics absent. He landed on your desk with uncharacteristic softness. Almost reverent.

“He came back because he was worried. You didn’t clock out.”

You went still. Stunned.

“…How did he know that?”

Hattori looked at you. Quiet. Direct.

“He always knows.”

You stared at the bird. Then at the man in the doorway.

Lucci said nothing. He just stood there, dripping, watching you the way some people might observe a puzzle they weren’t allowed to touch.

And you didn’t know if that was sweet… or mildly alarming.

Maybe both.

You started noticing things after that.

Little shifts.

Lucci always arrived exactly three minutes after you did. Never late. Never early. Never made a show of it; just appeared, like a clock you couldn’t set but somehow always ran on your time.

You never ran out of supplies. Pens, staples, coffee stirrers, we’re always there. Neatly restocked before you ever realized you needed them.

Your chair was always at the perfect height, even after someone else used it. Even after the cleaning staff adjusted the levers. Always just right. You hadn’t touched it in weeks.

And your desk?

Never in the sun. Not directly. But always near enough to catch the warmth. To feel lit without being exposed.

It was subtle. Thoughtful.

And undeniably him.

You began to feel warm. Not just in the literal sense. But in that quiet, steady way that seeps in when someone pays attention to the details you never voice aloud. When someone doesn’t ask, but does.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t a confession.

It was a routine. A presence. A thousand invisible gestures that said: I’m here. I see you. I remember.

And what made it sweeter was that he thought he was hiding it.

Rob Lucci remained mute.

Didn’t even communicate silently to you, not directly. Not unless you counted the subtle nods and brow twitches he used like punctuation. He moved like a man made of precision and threat; silent, sharp, and suspiciously well-pressed.

He nodded. He signed things. He glared at the pirates.

And, unfortunately, he let a pigeon do the talking.

At first, it was fine. A little eccentric, sure. But this was Water 7. Half your coworkers had dramatic pasts, questionable fashion choices, or secret identities involving masks and high explosives. Lucci, in comparison, was almost normal.

Silent. Predictable. Occasionally terrifying, like if someone made a scarecrow out of malice and Armani.

But the bird? The bird had plans.

The bird had opinions. The bird had range. And worse, the bird had you in its sights.

It started setting traps.

You were at your desk, calmly reviewing the revised port schedules, when Lucci stepped into your office like the final boss of a very expensive cologne commercial; black hair billowing slightly, green eyes fixed on you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

“Here for the shipment manifests?” you asked, monotone, highlighting a line with your pen.

He nodded.

Hattori fluttered down onto your desk with all the grace of a stage actor making his entrance. He tilted his head at you with a slow, appraising blink.

“He says your organizational charts should be framed. Preferably above his bed.”

You froze. Your jaw tightened. Once. Twice.

 “…Excuse me?”

Across the room, Lucci’s brow furrowed. He made a sharp gesture—a sort of throat-cutting swipe—like he was trying to erase the bird from existence through sheer body language.

Hattori didn’t even flinch. The pigeon cooed smugly. 

“I’m paraphrasing.”

Lucci frowned. Actually frowned. Made a sharp, slicing gesture in the air like he was cutting ties with the concept of flirting itself. Hattori waves a wing like a little shit. (And for the first time, the world’s most feared assassin begins to suspect his bird has betrayed him.)

You stared at the bird. Then, at Lucci, who was now studiously examining the wall as if it contained a better reality.

You tried to go back to work.

You’d drop off files, and the bird would purr,

“He likes the way you cross your ankles.”

You’d misplace your pen, and as you leaned over the desk,

“He’s trying not to look. He’s failing.”

You once asked if Lucci was free for a team lunch.

The bird blinked.

“Emotionally or romantically?”

You nearly sued.

But Lucci?

Lucci never talked. Never smiled. Never laughed. Just stood there like a very finely sculpted statue carved from “brooding sex appeal and murder.” His eye twitched, though. 

You assumed it was a gag.

Until you passed by a window reflection and saw him watching you, not lazily, not idly, but hungrily.

Now, you’ve entered a strange state of denial.

You pretend you don’t notice the way Hattori gets more brazen when Lucci’s tired.

“He wants to know if you’re seeing anyone. And if you’d like to stop.”

You pretend it’s all just misinterpretation.

You pretend you’re not starting to pay extra attention to your clothes, your perfume, your hair.

But it’s getting harder to ignore when Lucci stands closer. When he lingers. When his gloved hand grazes yours under the guise of passing a file, the bird immediately croons:

“His hands are cold, but his thoughts are not.”

You choke on your tea.

The final straw?

You catch Hattori sitting alone at your desk one morning. No Lucci in sight.

The bird preens, fluffs his chest, and says softly, almost seriously:

“He dreams about your shared cubs. It’s making him stupid.”

You freeze. 

“…What?”

Lucci enters ten seconds later.

You pretend you didn’t hear. He pretends he didn’t send the bird ahead like a lovesick missile.

You began to realize something was deeply off when Hattori started enhancing basic conversations and turning logistical reports into accidental love letters. Your job was numbers. Timetables. Freight weights. And somehow, every interaction began to sound like a courtship dance choreographed by an over-caffeinated playwright.

You: “Please confirm the number of ships arriving by noon.” 

Hattori: “He’s saving up PTO for your future joint honeymoon. He hasn’t asked yet. Give it time.”

You: “Does he want coffee?”

Hattori: “He says your mere existence has set off seven internal alarms. He welcomes the threat.”

You: slamming a drawer shut so hard the pens rattled

 Lucci: grim silence, nostrils flaring slightly

 Hattori: “He’s begging me to stop, but he’s too proud to say it out loud.”

You looked up.

Lucci was standing near the doorway, arms folded tight across his chest like he was physically restraining himself from committing homicide. His eyes were closed. Meditative. Or possibly murderous.

The tension in his jaw could’ve cut steel.

Meanwhile, the bird, his tiny, traitorous accomplice, puffed his feathers and looked pleased with himself. Smug. Gleeful. Like this was all part of a larger plan. A slow-burn play scripted with a glitter pen and romantic sabotage.

Worse still?

You were beginning to enjoy it.

It had become your favorite part of the day. Watching Rob Lucci, the human personification of a locked filing cabinet, be undone by a bird with theatrical ambitions. The subtle glances. The growing exasperation. The brief, rare flashes of discomfort; so slight, you’d miss them if you weren’t already looking.

Which you were.

You caught the way his eyes flicked to your desk before you arrived. The exact three-minute delay between your arrival and his. The steady appearance of perfectly stocked pens, fresh staples, and your favorite brand of coffee stirrers is constantly restocked without fanfare. No one ever admitted to it.

Your chair was always at the right height, even after someone else sat in it.

Your workspace? Never in direct sun, but always near it; warm, comfortable, intentional.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

But he never said anything.

And the bird?

The bird got bolder.

“He thinks you’d look good in his tie. Just his tie.”

That last one made you inhale so sharply, you nearly choked on your spit.

Across the office, Lucci dropped an entire folder. Just: bam. Documents scattered. Eyelid twitching.

Hattori? Beaming. Practically glowing.

You start leaving little treats out for Hattori. Cleaning up your desk just in case Lucci drops by. Pretending not to notice how red his ears get when Hattori says things like:

“He dreams about the way you pronounce ‘ledger.’”

Lucci nearly crushed a clipboard that time. You almost fainted. From either horror or interest, you’re not sure.

You cornered the pigeon not long after on a late afternoon. Balcony breeze ruffling the curtains. Lucci was inside, reviewing invoices with the intensity of a man interrogating them for war crimes.

You cross your arms.

“Are you actually repeating what he says?”

Hattori fluffs his feathers. “Define ‘actually.’”

You narrow your eyes. “He doesn’t even talk to you, does he?”

The bird tilts its head. Then, smugly:

“I’ve taken creative liberties.”

You gape. “You’re telling me—he has no idea?”

“He thinks he’s just sending basic orders. I’ve been ghostwriting this romance for months.”

You gaped. “So none of this was real?”

Hattori fluffed his wings.

“Oh, no. It’s all real. He just… doesn’t know how to say it yet.”

He flapped once and landed on the railing.

“Someone had to move the plot forward.”

You looked up. Slowly.

Lucci was standing by the window, the morning light cutting across his tank top in pale gold. Still. Silent. As always.

But you noticed it now, the tension in his shoulders. The stillness that wasn’t indifference but restraint. Like he was holding his breath behind his eyes.

You met his gaze.

He looked away.

And the bird?

The bird just cooed. Softly. Like a curtain closing on the final act of a play only he’d been narrating.

He hasn’t said anything yet because he thinks he shouldn't want things like this. Things like you.”

Inside, Rob Lucci looked up from his paperwork, just in time to see you laughing.

Really laughing.

And something in his posture eased. Barely. A ripple across stone.

He didn’t smile.

But his eyes softened, just enough.

And the bird? The bird winked at you.

Then the bastard adds:

“You’re welcome.”

You’ve been working with Rob Lucci for three months now.

Three months of complete silence from him. Three months of Hattori the Hellbird™ crooning veiled compliments and romantic espionage. Three months of subtle, possibly imagined kindnesses.

And you’re starting to feel like you’re losing your damn mind.

You know better than to crush on a coworker. Especially one who doesn’t talk. Especially one whose bird might be a liar. Especially one who, for all you know, is just standing there like a statue while his bird builds an elaborate fantasy in his name.

But…

Your pens never run dry. Your coffee is always at the perfect temperature. Your broken drawer now glides like butter, and you never told anyone it was stuck.

And that one time you nearly tripped in the hallway?

Lucci didn’t even blink. But the moment you stumbled, he had a hand on your lower back; steady, firm, gone in a second.

Hattori said nothing that time.

You’re beginning to believe the bird might actually be the most honest part of this entire equation.

You finally snap during a meeting.

Iceburg is droning on about port clearance when you accidentally glance at Lucci. He’s looking at you, not just casually, but like he’s been looking at you. Focused. Faintly frowning. That same unreadable stare he always has, but this time, it catches you in the chest.

You drop your pen. Hattori says:

“He’s wondering if you drop things around him on purpose so he’ll bend over. He finds it flattering.”

You make a noise somewhere between a squeak and a groan.

You corner Iceburg in the break room with the dead-eyed intensity of a woman on the edge.

“I need to ask something,” you mutter, gripping your coffee cup like a lifeline. “But I need you to promise not to laugh.”

Iceburg raises an eyebrow. “…Sounds promising.”

You exhale. “Is Lucci… weird with everyone? Or just me?”

He pauses. “You mean silent? Or brooding?”

“Neither! I mean—yes, but—” You rub your temples. “I think he might be… doing things for me. Quiet things. I don’t know. Helpful things. Sweet things. And the bird—” 

You gesture vaguely, as if invoking some cursed spirit.

“The bird keeps saying things. Romantic things. Things I want to believe but probably shouldn’t.”

Iceburg stares.

Then he leans back and mutters, “Oh.”

You blink. “What?”

He takes a long sip of coffee. “That damn pigeon. I told Lucci not to let it speak unsupervised. It’s been running rogue since that last shop had a parrot who taught it sentience.”

Your blood goes cold. “You mean Lucci doesn’t know what the bird’s been saying?”

“Oh, no, he probably knows.” Iceburg shrugs. “Eventually. But he’s the kind of guy who’ll watch a building burn down and wait for someone else to call the fire department. If that bird is confessing for him, he’ll let it burn.”

You stare. “So you’re saying I’ve spent three months being seduced by a pigeon with zero confirmation that the man behind it is even aware it’s happening?!”

Iceburg pats your shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

You go back to your desk, shoulders tense, heart pounding.

Lucci glances up from a file. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. The look lingers a second too long.

Then Hattori hops onto your keyboard and says sweetly:

“He dreams of you in his bed. But mostly, he dreams of you staying.”

You close your eyes.

“…If I punch the bird, does that count as workplace violence?”

“Lucci wonders if you like your men quiet or dangerous. He’s asking for a friend. A very quiet, dangerous friend.”

You think he might not be just the public’s problem. He might be yours.

I'm apologizing for my last story with this one.

[pocketwei]

some storybeats I made for @reservoirmonks' incredible fic swift and spotlit strangers like 2 years ago for OP fashion zine, which I still look upon very fondly, it is always an absolute joy to collab and bring chaos and rancidity to the facility <33

I didn't remember them being so rough but it was very much at the start of my artblock so I guess it makes sense. Drawings are a biiiit rough to look at, but I still rly like the mood and colours of them <33

[rin-maru]

[lotuspetalss]

First post a little nervy

[kashun]

━━━ DRUNK IN LOVE, I WANT YOU!

𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ drunk choso comes home all clingy and lovesick, mumbling about marrying you while you take care of him and cuddle him to sleep.

✿ ◞◟) kamo choso 𝓍 female!reader

𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 domestic fluff, established relationship, caretaking, drunk!choso, future together implications, drunk texting, both are completely whipped, marriage talk, cuddling.

it's one of those quiet nights where the apartment feels way bigger than it actually is.

you're curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket that's seen better days, phone in hand as you scroll through the same three apps on a loop. there's a half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table, gone cold about an hour ago, and the only light in the room comes from the tv you're not really watching; some reality show is playing on low volume, just background noise to fill the silence.

it's not that you're lonely, exactly.

you're fine. choso's out with yuuji and his friends, and you'd told him to go have fun when he'd hesitated at the door earlier, looking back at you like a puppy who didn't want to be left behind. you'd laughed and kissed his cheek and promised you'd be right here when he got back.

so here you are, right here.

you've already texted your group chat, scrolled through twitter until nothing looked interesting anymore, watched about fifty tiktoks in a row that all blurred together. the apartment is clean enough, laundry's done, dishes are put away, and you'd even changed the bedsheets earlier, which felt productive at the time but now just means there's nothing left to do.

you check the time; just past eleven.

choso had left around seven, so it's been a few hours now. you're not worried about him — yuuji's responsible enough, and choso's a grown man, even if he sometimes forgets that when he gets distracted by a stray cat or spends twenty minutes staring at the ramen aisle in the grocery store.

your phone buzzes in your hand.

cho ♥︎ i lvoe you

you blink at the screen.

it's short, simple, and misspelled in a way that makes your lips twitch. it’s not unusual for choso to say, exactly — your boyfriend tells you he loves you all the time; in the morning when you're both still half-asleep, in the afternoon when he sends you pictures of his lunch, and at night when you're brushing your teeth side by side.

but there's something about the typo, the timing, that makes you tilt your head.

y/n i love you too baby are you having fun?

his response comes almost immediately, which is rare.

choso's not a fast texter on a good day; he types like he's learning the keyboard for the first time, one careful thumb at a time, and he always reads his messages over twice before sending them. but this one is fast.

cho ♥︎ yesss but i misss you i misss you so mcuh i wwant to go home

your stomach does something really soft and warm. you bite your lip, already smiling.

y/n it's okay, stay a little longer! i'll be awake when you get back

three little dots appear, then disappear, then appear again, then… disappear, and appear once again.

cho ♥︎ you're so pretty like rly rly pretty do you kno that you shouold know tgat

okay, something's definitely up with him.

your smile widens as you type;

y/n are you drunk, cho?

there's a pause, a longer one this time.

you can almost picture choso staring at his phone screen, brow furrowed, trying to figure out how to answer, probably squinting at the letters like they're swimming.

cho ♥︎ maybeee a little yuujii said it was jusst juice i think he lied

you laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the empty room.

of course, of course yuuji would pull something like that — not maliciously, but with that little brother energy of wanting to see his older brother loosen up for once.

cho ♥︎ my heaf feels fuzzy but in a nisce way like when you pllay with my hair except more spinnny

you can't stop smiling now. your thumbs move across the screen, warm fondness blooming in your chest.

y/n that's the alcohol baby drink some water, okay?

cho ♥︎ i lov you i alrwady said that but i loove you i wan t to marry you somedaay is that okkay can i do tgat

your breath catches a little.

you know choso is drunk, you know he might not even remember this tomorrow, but your heart doesn't seem to care about the logic of it. it's doing its own thing in your chest, beating a little faster, a little warmer.

y/n yeah, that's okay drink your water

cho ♥︎ you're not sayig no that's good i wouold cry if you said no not to make you feell bad just so you kno

you're laughing again, pressing a hand over your mouth like someone might hear you.

it's just you and the quiet apartment and your drunk boyfriend texting you from his little brother's place, and somehow it's the most endearing thing in the world.

the texts keep coming;

cho ♥︎ your handss are so soft i think abouut them a lot like when you hhhold my face or when you're coooking you havce nice hands i'm goinng to tell everyonne about your hands

y/n please don't do that

cho ♥︎ too laate i already tolkd yuuji annnd nobara annd megumi and that guy i don't rememmber his name but he knowws now too

you drop your head back against the couch cushion, laughing helplessly at the ceiling. your face hurts from smiling.

this is the most choso has ever texted you at once, and it's all drunk confessions about your hands and marriage proposals and typos that make you want to squeeze him.

cho ♥︎ i wissh you were here not becausse i'm not havinng fun yuuji is beinng so nice he keepss patting my head but i wannt your head pats yourr pats are bettter

y/n i'll give you head pats when you get home

cho ♥︎ promisse

y/n promise

cho ♥︎ okkay i’m goinng to finnish my water becausse you said to i lissen to you i'm a good boyfriennd

y/n you're the best boyfriend baby

there's no response after that for a while.

you wait, thumb hovering over the screen, but the three dots don't appear. you imagine yuuji probably confiscated his phone, or choso got distracted by something, or maybe he fell asleep sitting up. any of those feel equally possible.

you set your phone down and pull the blanket up higher, tucking it around your shoulders. the reality show has been replaced by some late-night infomercial about a vegetable chopper, and you're too comfortable to reach for the remote.

you're starting to doze off when your phone buzzes again, then again, then again; rapid fire, like someone's discovered the send button for the first time.

cho ♥︎ cominng home yuuji is walkinng me he saiid i have to be superrvised like a babyy i'm not a babby i'm a mann a man who lovess you a man who is goinng to marry you with your handds sorrry that soundded weird i meann i'm going to marry you ANND your hands noo i'll stopp texting now i lov you

y/n i love you too see you soon

you're smiling so hard your cheeks ache as you finally push yourself off the couch.

the blanket falls away, and the cold air hits your bare legs, making you shiver. you pad into the kitchen and fill a glass of water, setting it on the nightstand in the bedroom. you grab the bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet and put that next to the water, just in case. then you go back to the living room and crack the window — just a little — so the air doesn't feel so stuffy.

you're not sure how long it'll take them to get here.

yuuji's place isn't far, maybe fifteen minutes walking, but with a drunk choso in tow, who knows. you kind of hope they take their time. you kind of hope choso is leaning on yuuji's shoulder, mumbling about you, telling his little brother all the things he loves about your hands.

god, you're so gone for him.

you wait by the door, not hovering exactly, but close enough that you hear the footsteps in the hallway before the knock comes. it's soft — more of a courtesy knock than anything else, really — and then the sound of a key fumbling in the lock. it takes a few tries. you hear a soft 'fuck' on the other side, and then the door swings open.

and there he is.

choso stands in the doorway, hair messier than usual, cheeks flushed pink, eyes a little glassy but bright when they land on you. his shirt is slightly untucked, like he's been tugging at it, and his lips are parted like he was mid-sentence.

yuuji is behind him, one hand on choso's shoulder like he's ready to catch him if he tips over, and he's got this apologetic but amused expression on his face.

"hey," yuuji says, grinning at you. "i brought him back in one piece. mostly."

"mostly?" you raise an eyebrow.

"he tried to hug a lamppost on the way here. said it reminded him of you. also he's been hiccuping for like ten minutes."

as if on cue, choso hiccups. it's a small, soft sound, almost like a squeak, and his whole body jerks slightly with it. his eyes widen, surprised by his own body, and then he hiccups again.

"s-sorry," choso mumbles, and his voice is slower than usual, like his tongue is heavy. "i can't—hic—can't make it stop."

yuuji pats his back sympathetically.

"it's kinda cute, actually."

choso makes a face, somewhere between embarrassed and annoyed, and shrugs off yuuji's hand. he takes a step toward you, then another, and his balance wavers just slightly — a little sway, a little stumble that he catches at the last second. his eyes never leave your face.

"you're here," he says, voice softer than usual, a little slurred at the edges. "you s-said you'd—hic—you said you'd be here."

"i said i'd be right here."

you open your arms, and choso walks into them like it's the most natural thing in the world, like his body was always meant to end up here, pressed against yours. his arms wrap around your waist, and he buries his face in your neck, and he just... breathes. and hiccups, right into your collarbone.

yuuji gives you a thumbs up from the doorway, mouthing 'sorry' before he slips away, closing the door behind him. you hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway, and then it's just the two of you.

choso is warm.

warmer than usual, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the walk, maybe from the way his whole body seems to be trying to melt into yours. he's not heavy, exactly, but there's a weight to him, a presence that fills all the empty spaces you didn't even notice were empty until he came home.

"hi, baby," you say softly.

your hand comes up to the back of choso’s head, fingers threading through his soft hair. it's a little tangled, a little damp at the roots, and he makes a small sound when you start to scratch gently at his scalp; something between a sigh and a hum, deeper in his chest than his throat.

"h-hi," choso mumbles against your skin.

his lips move when he talks, brushing your collarbone, and it sends a little shiver down your spine.

"m-missed you—hic—missed you s-so much."

"i know, baby. you told me."

"g-gonna tell you a-again."

choso pulls back just enough to look at you, and god, his eyes; they're so soft, so honest, like every wall he's ever had just dissolved somewhere between the lamppost and your doorstep. his pupils are a little blown, and choso keeps blinking like he's trying to focus.

"m-missed you."

your heart squeezes. "i missed you too."

he stares at you for a long moment, like he's memorizing your face all over again. then his hand comes up, clumsy but careful, and he cups your cheek. his palm is warm, a little rough, and his thumb traces across your cheekbone like he's checking that you're real.

"you're so p-pretty," he whispers, and it sounds like a confession, like he's telling you something secret, something he's never said before, even though he tells you every day. "h-how are you sooo p-pretty. it d-doesn't make sense."

"you're drunk, cho," you laugh, but your voice comes out softer than you meant it to.

"d-doesn't m-mean i'm wrong."

he leans in and presses his forehead against yours, his nose bumping your nose, and his breath is warm and smells faintly of whatever yuuji gave him.

"i l-love you—hic—i kn-know i say it a l-lot. but i l-love you. i love you s-so much it's—" choso pauses, searching for the word, brow furrowing. "it's a l-lot—hic—it's a r-really big a-amount. that's n-not—that's n-not a good s-sentence. b-but you know wh-what i mean."

"i know what you mean," you say, and you're smiling so wide your eyes are starting to sting a little.

"g-good."

choso nods, satisfied, and then his whole body seems to remember that he's standing up, because he lists forward slightly, and you have to brace yourself to keep him upright.

"oh. th-the room is m-moving."

"yeah, that happens when you drink too much."

"i d-didn't drink t-too much. yuuji s-said it was juice." he says this like it's a perfectly reasonable defense, like the concept of lying has never occurred to him.

"yuuji was wrong."

"yuuji is—hic—a l-liar." choso's voice is serious, almost offended, but his head is starting to droop, chin bumping your shoulder. "i'm n-never drinking j-juice again."

you huff a laugh and guide him toward the bedroom, one arm around his waist, the other hand holding his where it's still pressed against your cheek. choso shuffles along with you, compliant and heavy, adorablely hiccuping every few steps, and choso’s body leaning into yours like you're the only thing keeping him upright.

which, to be fair, you probably are.

getting him to the bed takes some… maneuvering.

you have to turn choso around, walk backwards, and basically catch him when his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he simply... folds. choso lands in a sitting position, bounced slightly by the springs, and he cutely blinks up at you with those hazy, adoring eyes.

"w-we're in the b-bedroom," he observes.

"we are, baby."

"our b-bedroom." he looks around slowly, like he's seeing it for the first time. "our b-bed. i l-like this bed. it h-has you in it. usually. w-where are you. you s-should be in it."

"i'm right here."

you crouch down in front of choso, your hands on his knees, and his dark eyes track the movement like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

"let's get your shoes off, okay?"

he looks down at his feet like he's forgotten he has them.

"o-okay..."

you make quick work of his sneakers, tugging them off one at a time, setting them aside. his socks are mismatched — one gray, one dark blue — and something about that makes your chest ache with fondness. choso is so particular about everything else, so careful and deliberate, but he can never find matching socks in the morning.

"stand up for me," you say, and he does, wobbling slightly.

you slide your hands under the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arms automatically, letting you pull it over his head. his hair sticks up at odd angles, static from the fabric, and his cheeks are even pinker now, flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the apartment. another hiccup makes his shoulders jump.

he's so beautiful. even like this, glassy-eyed and swaying and hiccuping, he's so beautiful.

"you're l-looking at m-me," he says quietly, watching your face.

"i'm looking at you."

"wh-why?"

"because i love looking at you."

choso’s lips part slightly, and something vulnerable flickers across his expression.

"th-that's—" he swallows. hic. "th-that's a good r-reason."

you help him out of his pants next, and he steps out of them obediently, one foot at a time, almost losing his balance when he has to stand on one leg. you catch his elbow, steady him, and he makes a small, pleased sound at the contact.

"you're t-taking care of m-me," choso says, like he's realizing it for the first time.

"that's what i do."

"i kn-know. th-that's why i—" choso stops, shakes his head a little, like he's trying to clear the fog. "th-that's why i w-want to marry you."

your hands pause on his waistband for just a second before you continue, guiding him to sit back down on the bed.

"you keep saying that, cho."

"b-because i m-mean it." he looks up at you, and even through the drunken haze, there's something so earnest in his gaze, something so genuinely him. "i m-mean it when i'm s-sober too—hic—i just… i don't s-say it when i'm s-sober. b-because i get s-scared. but i m-mean it."

you don't know what to say to that.

your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel hot, and you're suddenly very aware that you love this man more than you know how to put into words.

so you don't say anything, you simply lean forward and kiss his forehead, softly and slowly, letting your lips linger against his skin. choso sighs, and his whole body seems to relax at the contact, shoulders dropping, tension bleeding out of him.

"okay," you whisper. "let's get you some water."

you carefully hand him the glass from the nightstand, and choso takes it with both hands, like it might escape if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

he drinks slowly, deliberately, and you watch his throat move with each swallow. he pauses halfway through to hiccup, almost spilling, and you have to steady the glass with your hand. he gives you a grateful look, eyes soft and apologetic, and then finishes the rest. when he's done, he sets the glass down with a soft clink and looks at you expectantly.

"i d-did it," choso says. "i drank the w-water."

"you did. good job."

"are you p-proud of m-me?"

"mmh, i’m so proud baby."

choso smiles at that; it's a small smile, sleepy and satisfied, and it crinkles the corners of his pretty eyes in a way that makes him look way softer than he already is.

you take the glass and set it aside, then reach for the blanket and pull it back, exposing the clean sheets underneath.

"okay, baby. time to lie down."

he scoots back on the mattress, clumsy and uncoordinated, and when he finally lies down, he lets out this long, heavy sigh, like he's been holding himself together all night and now he can finally let go.

choso’s hair fans out against the pillow, and his arms reach for you instinctively, fingers grasping at empty air.

"c-come here," he mumbles. "please. n-need you."

you can't deny him, and you wouldn't want to.

you turn off the overhead light, leaving just the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and then you climb into bed beside him.

the moment you're within reach, choso is on you — not in a heavy way, but in a way that feels like he's been waiting exactly for this all night. his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you close to him, and his head finds its place in the curve of your neck, and his leg slots between yours like it belongs there. hic. the hiccup vibrates against your skin, and you have to bite lip to keep from giggling.

"th-there," choso breathes, and the word is warm against your skin. "th-that's better. th-that's perfect."

you stroke his hair, slow and rhythmic, running your fingers through the dark strands over and over.

choso completely melts into you with every pass, his breathing slowing, his body growing heavier against yours. every so often, a hiccup interrupts the quiet, and he makes a tiny, frustrated sound each time.

"you smell good," he says, voice already getting drowsy. "you al-ways smell good. l-like home. you sm-smell like home."

"yeah?"

"yeah."

choso nuzzles closer, nose pressing against your jaw.

"i l-love your neck. i l-love your sh-shoulders. i love y-your—" choso yawns, wide and sudden, and it cuts off whatever he was going to say. "s-sorry—hic—i love ev-everything. all of i-it. all of y-you."

your hand moves from his hair to the back of his neck, thumb rubbing small circles into the tension there. choso makes a tiny sound — a hum, a groan, something in between — and his whole body shudders against yours.

"you're so w-warm," he murmurs. "are you al-ways this warm? i f-feel like. i f-feel like i'm f-floating. is th-that okay? is it o-okay that i f-feel like i'm fl-float-ing?"

"it's okay," you whisper. "just relax. i've got you."

"i kn-know." his voice is barely there now, soft and fading. "you al-ways got me. th-that's why i—" another yawn, this one so big it makes his whole body stretch. "g-gonna marry you. g-gonna be so h-happy. you're g-gonna be so h-happy. we're g-gonna be so hap-py t-together."

you press a kiss to the top of his head, breathing him in.

choso smells like the faint trace of cologne he put on hours ago, mixed with something else — cold air and sweat and the particular scent of him that you'd know anywhere.

"go to sleep, choso."

"ok-kay," your boyfriend agrees easily, like it was his idea all along. "b-but tomorrow. t-tomorrow i'm g-gonna tell you ag-gain. about the m-marrying. and your h-hands. i'm gonna t-tell you ev-everything."

"i'm looking forward to it."

choso hums, satisfied, and his grip on you tightens for just a moment — a reflexive squeeze, like he's making sure you're still there, next to him.

one last hiccup, soft and almost sleepy, and then, gradually, his breathing evens out. his body goes loose and heavy, all the tension draining away until he's just... warm, soft, asleep.

you don't move.

you lie there in the dim light, feeling the rise and fall of choso’s chest against yours, the tickle of his hair against your chin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his ribs. the apartment is quiet now, save for the distant sound of traffic and the occasional creak of the building settling.

your phone is still on the couch, probably. the tv is still playing infomercials. the tea is still cold on the coffee table.

none of it matters.

you close your eyes and hold him a little closer, and you think about forever. you think about what it might look like, what it might feel like. you think about mismatched socks and drunk texts full of typos and hiccups. you think about a man who loves you so much it spills out of him in stutters and stumbles when he can't hold it in anymore.

you think about marrying choso someday.

and you don't say no.

𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗲 ヾ(•̀ ヮ <)و

[traflawgarr]

SMUT 18+ | Anatomy Lesson with Dr. Law

lesson one (here) | lesson two

pairing- law x f!reader

cw: college au, slight edging and overstimulation, fingering, no pıv sẹx (yet), praise

The incandescent lights was comforting as the stress of anatomy was getting to you, specifically the muscles. You and Law were sitting in your shared apartment's living room, notes scattered, laptop open on slides that Law made for you.

"Let's start up at the head, okay?" He looked at you, determined and focused. He pointed to the forehead of the model on screen. "Could you tell me what this muscle is?"

"Aponeurosis. It's a sheet of collagen fiber that anchors muscle to bone or other muscles." You answered proudly and Law smiled.

"Good job" He kissed your forehead. "Next, what about these muscles?" Law pointed to the eyebrows

"Hmm...that's your orbicularis oris?" "Close. It's oculi. Easy to confused, but don't stress." You labeled the diagram on your notebook, Law watching with pride.

"And what are its origin, insertion, and the action?" He studied your face for a moment, watching you flip through notes, seeing how your brain was working.

"Origin is the frontal bone, insertion is your eyelids, and the action is for blinking." You turned your head to him for confirmation and he smiled. "Correct."

He taught you through the facial muscles, correcting any mistake you made. Once you were able to recite the muscles with ease, he moved on. "Let's move onto your thoracic region. We can throw in the upper extremities while we're at it." You froze for a moment, watching him remove his jacket, revealing his bare arms. His upper body was clad in nothing but a white tank top, his tattoos peaking through.

Law watched you oggle, make him smirk. "Focus. You'll have time for these muscles once you get those down." He brought a finger to your chin, closing your mouth that you didn't even know opened.

Law took the mouse and hovered it over a muscle on the neck, "Can you tell me this muscle, and all of its features?" Your mouth was dry. It was hard to focus.

"That's the uh...sternocleidomastoid. Its origin is the sternum and clavicle, inserts at the mastoid...I don't know the action." Suddenly, the room grew warm. You shrugged off your jacket and Law turned to you. He watched as a thin sheet of sweat was precipitating on your chest and he had to hold back.

"The sternocleidomastoid..." Law began. He took your chin into his thumb, middle, and forefinger, "...Is responsible for moving your your head laterally," He moves your head left and right "and for nodding." Law moves your head accordingly. "Make sense?" You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Perfect. You can feel the muscle right here." Law's two fingers traced your neck where the muscle was, making you squeeze your thighs together. He noticed the effect he had on you and decided to take advantage of it.

"Here. I'll just show you the muscle and you'll tell me the actions of the muscle. I know you're smart." He kissed your temple.

"But first, where did I kiss you and what are the features?" You let out a soft sigh before answering. "The temporalis, origin is the temporal fossa, inserts at the mandible. Helps chew" His hands were gentle massaging you up and down, making you shiver. "That's right." Law's voice was sultry, making you grow all the more aroused. You always loved when Law spoke in such a tone, making you weak.

"Is my girl feeling needy right now?" You nodded and he tsked. "Words, baby. I know you're smart." He spoke with a hint of condescension. "Ye-yeah. I am, Law." You whispered as he pulled you onto his lap.

"Good girl. Now where was I..." He hummed, scrolling on your laptop before landing on the thoracic region. "You have your pectoralis major. You should be familiar with it since you love to lay on mine." He teased. You can feel the firmness of his chest, making you blush. "What can you tell me about it?" He looked down at your face which was heating up. His hand massaged your abdomen slowly, up and down.

Law's hand was hot, making it difficult to focus. "We-well, it adducts, flexes and extends the humerous joint..." You recalled without letting out any needy sounds, though your thighs pressed together already spoke louder than anything.

"Right. In females, the pectoralis muscle..." Law's hand moved up to cup your breasts under your shirt, making you gasp. "...is under the breasts. These don't have muscle, but are rather made of fat and glandular tissue." His hand was gentle massaging your underboob, making you squirm.

"Focus. I'll give you what you want, m'kay?" Law spoke softly into your ear, biting the tip.

He continued explain the muscles, going down to your stomach. One hand traced down to your belly, the other stayed on your breast, your tank top sleeve slipping off. "The muscle here? It's your rectus abdominis. Can you tell me what is its action?" Law asked casually like you weren't losing your mind.

"It...it flexes the lumbar spine and-shit!" You lurched forward when he put a little pressure on your lower belly.

"Good...if we go down further..." Law's hand dips into your pajamas and your hip twitches. He lifts you up slightly to pull down your pajamas. "We find the ischiocavernosus..." his fingers spread open your lips, exposing your twitching clit. "Law, I'm so close." The hand on your tit and the other tweaking with your clit was too much. Your hips were lifted to chase the friction.

Law moved his fingers away from your clit and lightly spanked your thigh. "Shh, relax. You'll get what you want like I said. Now, tell me the purpose of this muscles."

You whined in frustration. "It's..It's to maintain erection of the clitoris in females and penis in males" You jerked forward when his finger was on your clit again. "Good job. You even mentioned the male anatomy." He smiled over your shoulder, watching his hand move further down to your entrance.

"One more muscle...what is this and what does it do?" Law's fingertip dipped into your entrance, teasing you. You let out a pathetic whimper, arching into his touch. Your hand gripped his forearm. "It's...fuck, Law. I need it, please!" You whined. "Just answer this last question, baby. You can do it." Law smiled against your shoulder.

"It's the bulbo－s-spongiosus. It..aids in..e-ejaculation and erection, around the op-opening of the vaginal hole and bulb of the pe-penis!" You let out a cry the minute he plunged his fingers into your pussy. The noise was nasty and filled the air.

"Good girl, so wet from just an anatomy lesson. My dirty girl." Law moved his wrist deliciously in the way he knows you like. You arched your back, moaning without a care in the world.

"Ah, fuck Law! Rightーngh, there!" He tilted your chin and kissed you messily, drinking in your moans. Feelings your walls tighten around his tattooed fingers, he made his pace heavier, curling up to stimulate that spongey spot making you see stars.

"You deserve it, so cum" He smiled into the crook of your neck, watching you cry out in ecstasy. His hand didn't slow, making you whine. Law didn't let up, even as he fingered you into overstimulation, watching you writhe in pleasure.

"Too...Too much! Law, 'm sensiti－oh fuck!" You came again, squeezing his fingers. Law slowed his pace, helping you ride out your orgasm. He removed his hand, massaging your hips softly.

Law brought the fingers to his mouth, "So sweet." He moved them to your mouth, to which you silently obeyed. He kissed your temple and whispered sweet praises.

"You're so good and smart for me. Let's rest." He lifted you bridal style, carrying you to your shared bedroom. He grabbed a warm cloth and cleaned between your legs and you let out a soft whimper.

Law chuckled, putting the rag in the bathroom and joining you in bed. You curled up to your side and you traced his muscles.

"Perhaps you need a lesson in the reproductive system. But for now, you need rest." Law whispered into your ear, making you shiver in anticipation.

"I can't wait, Dr. Law" You chuckled and he smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Good night, my sweet girl."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

everybody thank @mlemiie for fueling my creativity😹✌️

also can u guys tell im taking anatomy and physiology?😓 i wish law would talk me through it and maybe i'd pass

[littlemlem]

YAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OMFG THIS WAS SO GOOD IM GIGGLING SO FREAKING MUCH ASH IM ACTUALLY SCREAMINGGGGG