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yieldtotemptation · 2 months

Text

MINE ft. Yeji

yeji x male reader smut

9k words

it's a follow up to... NURSE

“You’re unbelievable!”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“You’re going to make me go insane!”

“That good, am I?”

“I swear one of these days—”

“I know, I know, I feel the same—”

“—I am seriously going to kill you!”

“Uh, shit, I’m out of jokes with that one.”

“Good, because I am Not. Fucking. Joking.”

Yeji’s well and truly pissed—rightfully so, mind you (you really fucked up this time), and for the first time ever there may really be no clever quip or line that can get you out of this one.

But of course, that won’t stop you from trying.

“Look around! This isn’t a fucking joke!”

She’s glaring at you, the kind of furious that could melt steel with her gaze alone, eyes narrowed into sharp slits that slice through your bullshit like a hot knife.

And so, you blink first, balking under Yeji’s glare, and decide to take her advice and look away, look around at your surroundings—at the many, many reasons Yeji is justifiably upset.

For one, there’s your current location—a hospital room, not a good look. Then, there’s the cast around your arm and bandages on your head—not the worse of injuries, but again, when you couple it with the IV snaking its way up your arm, and the morbid beeping of a heart rate monitor filling the silence, it really does not make you out to be the most intact of individuals.

Finally, there’s Yeji, her eyes verging on tears and her hands balled into fists, clutching the fabric of your hospital gown and looking like she’s ready to tear the room apart.

Add them all together: a hospital room, a handsome but seriously injured boyfriend, with his devastated girlfriend wracked with worry besides him… it doesn’t paint the best of pictures.

But yet, before you can stop yourself, another attempt at lightening the mood: “You should see the other guy.”

There it is! A crack in Yeji’s armour, a flicker of something other than righteous fury on her face—eyes widen slightly, lips part just a smidge—a ghost of a smile, perhaps?

But it’s gone before you can confirm its existence—Yeji’s façade is maintained and all you get is a minuscule quirk of her eyebrow.

“The other guy was a car,” she says through gritted teeth.

“And now that car is being turned into scrap and I get to be in the presence of the most beautiful girl in all of Korea.”

“I hate you,” she replies, lovingly (you hope).

“Most beautiful girl in all of Asia?” You’re almost there, you can see it on her face.

“Still hate you.” An ease in tension—a slight drop of her shoulders, a relaxing of her grip.

“The world?”

A sigh, a frown slowly turning upwards, success! — “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot,” you add, and that gets you a smile—a real, genuine, heart-stopping smile that lights up the room more than any fluorescent bulb could ever dream of.

“What am I going to do with you?” She’s shaking her head, letting you have your little victory.

“What would I do without you?” You ask, and she's rolling her eyes—nothing she hasn't heard you say before. “Certainly wouldn’t get to stay in a room this nice.”

Yeji blushes, her cheeks taking on the same shade of the excessive number of roses decorating your bedside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously, Yeji?” You say, and echo back to her, “look around.”

It’s Yeji’s turn to act coy—as if it’s perfectly normal for a hospital room to come with a flat-screen TV, designer furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city.

The room is closer to a luxury suite than a recovery ward—bigger than your apartment, even—and there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you to maybe risk another injury so you can maybe extend your stay even longer, especially if it means getting to have Yeji fuss over you like this.

“I might have called in a favour or two,” Yeji admits. “But they said this was the only room available!”

“Yeji, this is too much,” you say, but she’s already ignoring you, waving her hand dismissively.

“It’s nothing,” she says, rising off the bed and leaving you to your own devices, satisfied that you’ve been properly scolded.

But, you know better. While Yeji is like this with everyone she cares about—always giving, always putting others first—with you she gets especially intense with her caring, and as much as she’d probably deny it otherwise, you know that she’s more than a little smug at the sight of you laid up in this fancy hospital room, with nothing to do but let her pamper you.

“Sure, sure,” you say, but you can easily imagine her on the phone with every hospital in a fifty-kilometre radius, pulling strings left and right, leaning on the right people to get what she wants.

It’s just who Yeji is—no half measures, above and beyond in every aspect.

“I should unpack,” Yeji decides, retrieving a ridiculously oversized bag from the corner of your suite.

“Unpack?” You ask, but your question falls on deaf ears.

“I was halfway across the world when I heard what happened.” Yeji's clicking her tongue with annoyance as she struggles with the zipper for the bag. “Two days before I could get a flight out!”

“You didn’t have to rush—” you start to say, but Yeji whips her head around, a clear warning not to finish the very stupid sentence you’re about to complete.

“I didn’t have time to pack everything, just grabbed what I could from our place—” (your place, technically) “—and came straight here.”

Yeji instantly sets about your room, making sure that there isn’t a corner that hasn't been touched by her: your favourite tea brewing, the last book you were reading, a Bluetooth speaker playing her ‘songs to remind you of me’ playlist; every single thing you could possibly need to feel better.

It’s not even what she’s doing as she completes her takeover of your hospital room, it’s how she’s doing it.

She’s in her normal everyday uniform: one of your flannel shirts over a tank top that just so happens to ride up just right, showing off her toned midriff as she reaches to hang a change of clothes for you in the wardrobe. Then there’s the snug, tight yoga pants moulded to her curves that stretch over her unbearably firm ass every time she needs to bend over and take something else out from her bag.

It’s all too perfect to be accidental, and you start to get conspiratorial, like perhaps this innocent act of care is just a torturous reminder of your what you can’t have while you’re all laid up and injured.

She is dressed normally. But normal, everyday clothes for anyone else on someone like Yeji, with her body—all sleek muscles and tight lines—is absolutely devastating.

Yeji works fast, a tornado of love and care clad in a dangerous pair of leggings, and in minutes she’s done, adding a finishing touch by spraying her perfume around the room, overpowering the sterile hospital scent with the sweet, floral notes that are uniquely hers—this is her space now, anyway.

Finally, she stops at the foot of your hospital bed, picking up your medical chart, reading it like she understands it all (actually, knowing Yeji, she probably got her medical degree on the way to the hospital just in case she deemed the doctors and nurses weren't doing a good enough job and she decided to take over).

“Hm,” is Yeji’s summary of your current condition. It’s cute, seeing her stare at the clipboard with a focus she usually reserves for the stage. “Eating well, no signs of deterioration in fine motor skills, very responsive, and very… friendly?”

You raise an eyebrow. “They wrote that down?”

“Attending physician: Dr. Park Yoona, Nurses: Roh Ji Yun, Jeon Jeong ah, Bae Hye Jin,” Yeji starts to read out the list of names—female names—and you start to hear the nails being hammered into your coffin, “Nurse Kim Ji Won—seriously, like the actress? All women. Hm.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed!” Maybe feigning ignorance would increase your chances of survival. “You’d think in this day and age there’d be more male nurses now though, right?”

“Hm,” it’s that noise again. “I’m glad to hear that while I was worried sick about you, desperately trying to get over here, you’ve been well taken care of. Must be nice surrounded by all these cute women in their little nurse outfits.”

“Oh, please,” you test a deflection, “they’re just doing their jobs.”

Yeji’s eyes bore into you. “One of these nurses dots her ‘I’s with love hearts.”

You can only sigh at your impending doom. It’s been a good life.

“Who do these women think they are?”

You switch up your strategy, trying another angle: “They’re medical professionals, Yeji, not strippers.”

“Right, medical professionals,” Yeji echoes, her tone thick with sarcasm, before she suddenly switches up, putting on her sweetest, and most uncomfortable, baby voice. “Oh no, such a big, strong man that needs help. Tell me where it hurts so I can rub it better for you!”

“Stop, stop,” you protest, as much as you would like her to rub it better, you still have your pride. “I barely even talk to them—they just do their check-ups and leave. I can’t even remember what they look like, they’re probably all just plain, old ladies.”

You regret the words as soon as you say them (you really should’ve seen this coming), because before you can get any further into your pitiful defence, the door to your room swings open, and in struts a young, cheery, bouncy woman.

“Is my favourite patient ready for another check-up?” You're already cringing at the nurse’s question—her voice a squeak that’s far too high-pitched and far too cute for a hospital. If anything, she looks like an actress playing the role of a nurse, in some bad movie where they clearly casted for looks over believability.

Yeji’s eyes widen at the sight of the new, endowed occupant of the room, and she reads the name on the nurse’s tag, pinned firmly over a set of scrubs that’s a few sizes too small, and you’re immediately reminded of her earlier threat to kill you with surprising clarity.

“Kim Ji Won,” Yeji reads out loud, before suddenly remembering herself, lowering a baseball cap over her eyes and slipping on a surgical mask, hiding her face from view. She turns away, pretending to fuss with the flowers on your bedside table.

“Oh!” The nurse exclaims, and you’re starting to feel the walls of what was once a luxurious hospital room start to close in. “I didn’t realise you had a guest,” she says, as light and cheerful as ever, “is she perhaps your… sister?”

Oh God, Yeji might really kill you after this. “No, no, no, she’s my—”

But Nurse JI Won ploughs onwards, having the gall (or lack of a sense of self-preservation) to turn to Yeji, and chat away. “Your brother has been the perfect patient! Me and all the other nurses just can’t get enough of him! He’s such a charmer!”

Yep. Definitely dying. It’s been a good life.

“Oh, oops!” Ji Won giggles, as she somehow drops the clipboard she was holding, sending papers scattering across the floor. “I’m so silly, give me a second to get it together!”

“No, no, it’s okay you don’t need to—” you try, but by now you should know better, “—bend over and pick it up.”

She’s already turned away from you, pointing her ass up and straight into the air, performatively picking up the pages one by one, taking her time so you can commit to memory the exact colour of the lacy thong peeking out of her pants.

It’s so blatant that you’re almost impressed, but compared to the practiced ease of your girlfriend, it’s a pale imitation. Still, your mind can’t resist making the comparison, even though there’s no ass in the world that can hold a candle to Yeji’s cheeks wrapped in sheer nylon.

Look at you, all loyal and shit—even in the face of all temptation, you’re still a committed boyfriend, through and through.

If only Yeji, who is now evaluating you with a glare as hot as a thousand suns, could know that your mind is filled with thoughts of just her… even as you're staring at Nurse Ji Won’s ass.

You’re dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

“Aha, got it!” Ji Won is back on her feet, jumping with a cheer that suggests that maybe she could use a little more support, whilst completely immune to the sudden drop in temperature in the room. Yeji might as well be a ghost to her, the nurse looks only at you, scanning your body, searching for any new injuries that may have popped up since your last check-up.

If only she knew to just come back in an hour.

“It says here it’s about time to take out your IV!” Ji Won sunnily declares.

Consent isn’t a word that seems to exist in this nurse’s vocabulary, and she takes the opportunity to lean real close over you, pressing her ample chest against your side, making sure you get the full feel of her curves as she reaches across to the stand.

Of course, you don’t look—that would be insane. Instead your eyes are on Yeji, who’s definitely not looking at the nurse. No, she’s still boring a hole right through your skull, her hands holding a shredded flower, her knuckles turning white.

“Okay, that’s all done!” Ji Won chirps, and mercifully removes her breasts from your shoulder. “Hey, why are you acting all shy? You’re usually so much friendlier!”

“Oh?” Yeji makes a noise for the first time, and it terrifies you.

But again, the nurse pretends like she doesn’t even exist. “Let me check your heartbeat… And—”

“I’m sure it’s all fine and you can leave now, right—” You try a last-ditch effort to save this poor nurse’s life, but she’s clearly not taking the hint.

“Perfect as always, Mr. Metronome!” She says, writing down on her clipboard, clearly not noticing the seconds of her remaining lifespan ticking away. “We always talk about how you must work out so much to have a heart rate so low and consistent, I mean, obviously you do—look at you!”

You file her comments away as yet another reason your life is about to end, and try to push on, “so—I’m all good, right?”

“Of course you are,” Ji Won replies, turning the volume right up on the flirtiness, and her eyes flicker over to Yeji before she winks at you. “But I’ll just double-check everything before I go.”

“No, I think that’s enough!” Yeji breaks the conversation with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and the poor nurse jumps from the sternness of her voice. “You said he’s fine, he said he’s tired, and so that means you can leave now!”

“Oh, he’s tired? Does he need extra pillows, or is there anything I can do to make him more comfortable?”

But Yeji already has her out the door, practically dragging the girl out of the room by her collar of her scrubs. “He’s fine!”

The door slams behind the nurse, but not before you hear her giggle, “Hey, you look familiar!”

An icy silence fills the room once the nurse is gone, thick and tense. Yeji doesn’t move for several beats, it’s eerie the way she just stands there, staring at the closed door of your hospital room.

Something clicks in her head, though, and she locks the door, turning back to you, seemingly having made a final decision on your fate.

“So…” you throw out a feeler, trying your best to move straight past, well, everything. “How’s the tour going?”

“Is she perhaps your sister?” Yeji’s voice jumps an octave, a perfect imitation of the high-pitched squeak that had just left the room. She turns to you, throwing the cap off her head and tearing the mask off her face. “Vomit.”

“I have no idea what that nurse was talking about,” you say, immediately making a case to plead your innocence.

“So gross!” Her words are dripping with pure disgust, but at least it isn’t directed at you (for now, anyway). “That’s it! We’re moving hospitals!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down.”

“What is it with girls like that? Oh, you must work out a lot, I mean obviously you do!” Yeji continues her eerily uncanny impersonation. “Seriously, you’re an adult and you’re doing baby talk? ‘Perfect as always Mr. Metronome!”

“She’s just being nice, probably didn’t mean anything at all,” it’s a very weak argument you’re making, the only way the nurse could make her intentions more obvious were if she was wearing a bright neon sign that flashed ‘please fuck me!’.

“Bitch. Shameless! Hitting on my boyfriend in front of me. Acting so cute, so helpless—oops! I dropped my clipboard!” Yeji’s pouting now, fluttering her lashes, mimicking every blatant flirtation Nurse Ji Won had thrown your way.

“Really, we’re doing caricatures now?”

“Carica-what?” Yeji tilts her head to the side, and starts to sway her way over to you, her hips swinging from side to side with an exaggerated bounce. She’s playing it up to a T, making sure to sway, shake, to jiggle with each step she takes. “What does that word even mean? It’s such a big word. You must be really smart.”

Yeji settles into the role of the pretty, ditzy nurse far too easily, and her eyes tell you that she’s enjoying it far too much. For now though, you play along, clearing your throat and putting on your manliest voice—“I have been told I have a rather expansive vocabulary.”

“Wow, another big word,” Yeji’s at your bedside again, taking your hand into hers, looking up at you with wide-eyed awe. “Oh, you’re just so clever!” She giggles, as her other hand just so happens to come down on your thigh, leaving her free to squeeze and massage your muscles. “And so strong too! Do you work out?”

You grit your teeth as Yeji starts to trace her thumb in gentle circles over your skin, all the while staring up at you so innocently—she’s laying it on thick. “Sometimes…”

“I can tell…” Yeji continues, her voice trailing off as she runs her hand further up your thigh, light as a feather, but when she’s looking at you with those eyes and that smile, it’s if she’s dragging a live wire across your skin. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure as she leans in closer, lets her top hang a little loose, lets you get a peek at the soft swell of her breasts, parts those full, pouty lips of hers, her fingers tracing the contour of your leg as she moves higher and higher and higher, until her fingertips are on your—“Unbelievable! I cannot believe that actually works on you!”

“That’s unfair!” You shout in surprise, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “You can’t expect me not to react when you’re doing that!”

“Uh huh, I bet!” Yeji says, clearly not buying it. “You’re not at all attracted to the helpless, innocent, bouncy little slut that leans close so you can get a good view of her fat tits?”

“I’ll have you know I’m a singular pair of tits kind of guy.”

“This bitch,” Yeji curses under her breath, throwing her hands up in frustration. She unfortunately removes her hand from your leg, and plops herself down on your bed (it’s easily big enough for two), stewing in her emotions. You watch each cross her face: concern, jealousy, disbelief, a slight hint of amusement.

“Yeji,” you say, getting her attention, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You’re my girlfriend. I’m yours. That’s that.”

She stares back at you, her eyes light up at the declaration, and she punches your arm—your healthy one, of course. “You better be.”

It’s strange, seeing Yeji like this—so raw, so visibly affected by someone else’s attention on you. You’ve always thought of her as so strong, so confident, but there’s something in her possessiveness over you that is making you think about things that should definitely not happen in a hospital.

Fuck it, injuries be damned, without another word, you stretch forward and grab her by the waist, your good hand wrapping around her firmly, pulling her closer to you. She gasps, but doesn’t resist, no, she leans into your touch, her body melting into yours as if it’s been starved for affection.

You hold her tight, letting her settle into your embrace, and can only laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation you’re in. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be taking care of me, you’re really not helping my blood pressure right now.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Yeji murmurs into your chest, but there’s no venom in her voice. Instead, it’s filled with something else entirely—something softer, more vulnerable. Her body relaxes against you, and you feel the tension in the room start to dissipate.

“Let’s not pretend that you weren’t enjoying acting like a helpless, little slut, Yeji,” you accuse, and Yeji’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “I know you.”

“It’s your fault,” Yeji says, still hiding her face in your chest. “You and your ridiculous sexy nurse fantasy.”

“It’s a classic,” you shrug, before making an executive decision. “And this time, we actually have the right setting for it.”

Yeji looks around the room, shyly biting her lip. Again, all an act, she’s far too perceptive to not have the same thought on the forefront of her mind. “Here?”

“I saw you lock the door.” You catch the smirk that flashes across Yeji’s face. “Your mind is as filthy as mine, Yeji, I’m just better at vocalising it.”

“You think you can read my mind?”

“You know I can.” You lean in, your mouth finding hers in a soft kiss to prove your point—you didn’t need to ask to know that this is what she’s been after the whole time. Your lips find her forehead, “I can read your mind”—a kiss on her cheek—“your body”—and a whisper in her ear— “your pussy.”

You know you’re right by the hitch in Yeji’s breathing, how she leans into your touch, and when she straddles you without a second thought. Her thighs squeeze down against yours, the fabric of her yoga pants sliding against your hospital gown. She’s all soft curves and heat as she settles herself over you, her hands pressing down on your chest to keep herself steady.

“That nurse really riled you up, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yeji steals another kiss from you, a moan muffled against your mouth. But yet, there’s the slight grind of hips—slow, deliberate friction, unbearable by design. “I’m just here to take care of my helpless boyfriend.”

“Yoga pants, Yeji. Again,” you say. “I saw it all. How you just so happened to need to stretch, or bend over, or lean just right,” you tease, even though it’s getting harder and harder to get your words out by the second. “You’re just as bad as her, only you’re way better at it.”

You kiss her again, this time with more urgency, the type of kiss you’ve been dying to give her since she first walked into the room, your tongue slipping into her mouth and tasting minty sweetness on her breath.

“And you look way fucking hotter than her when you do it, too.”

A smug smile plays on Yeji's lips as she's kissing you again. “I am the most beautiful woman in Korea.”

“The world,” you correct her.

“Goes without saying,” she finished. “’Extremely hot girlfriend’, if I remember correctly?”

“On fucking fire,” you summarise, and reach out to touch her, needing to feel her, but Yeji stops you placing your hand back on the bed.

She gives you a stern look, and shakes her head. “No, no, no. You’re the patient here, remember? You’re not allowed to do anything,” she says, her voice a mix of playfulness and authority. Yeji leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “You have to let the slutty nurse take care of you.”

You see it again—that switch—and Yeji gets more adventurous, cutting off your breath as she drags her hand down, sliding it under your thin hospital gown, walking her fingers back up your thigh. She stops just shy of your hardened cock, her eyes never leaving yours, revelling in your neediness for her, your want, before finally she takes a hold of you, her grip firm and tight and sure.

There’s heat in her palm, and she pulls a moan out of you and into her mouth as she starts to slowly stroke. It’s the softness of her hand against the growing stiffness of your shaft, her fingertips grazing your skin—you know you should be more careful, more considerate of where you are, but with Yeji’s touch, all rational thought is lost.

“I bet none of those bitch nurses could make you feel like this.” Yeji’s touch is a masterpiece of precision and passion, each movement calculated, practiced, she’s right—she’s the only one who knows how to touch you in just the perfect way to make you ache. Her fingers dance along your shaft, her grip tightening and loosening in a rhythm that only she can hear.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” You groan, playing dumb, your mind filled with nothing but Yeji’s body on top of you, her fingers wrapped around you. “What other women?”

Yeji’s eyes narrow, but she can’t hold back her smile. “Good answer,” she whispers, rewarding you by moving faster now, each stroke deeper, more deliberate, reading your every reaction to the way she pumps you, timing her fingers with your stuttering breaths.

She likes—loves—taking care of you, making you feel good, there’s a thrill in it for her, knowing that she’s the one who can make you this vulnerable, this desperate. Her hand moves with confidence, her strokes become more insistent, her gaze hungrier, and she leans forward, pressing herself into your chest, letting you feel the softness of her breasts, the stiffness of her nipples through the flimsy fabric of her top.

“Does this feel good, honey?” She asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer, like she can’t feel your hips bucking up to meet her touch. "Do you like it when I take care of you?"

You nod, unable to form words, unable to do anything but keep your eyes on Yeji and marvel at just how fucking hot she is on top of you as she strokes you. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, tickling your neck and cheeks, and her eyes—those piercing, all-knowing eyes—affixed to yours, holding you hostage.

“God, I love this cock,” Yeji murmurs between kisses against your cheek, your jaw, your neck, “so big, so hard… All mine…” She’s so satisfied, so happy with herself—with your cock—her constant praise as much for her as it is for you. “Fuck, look how big you’re getting for me, barely fits in my hand.”

“God, Yeji,” you gasp, struggling to keep together, to keep from losing yourself in the palm of her hand, as each of her strokes, each of her words, keep coming, stroking your cock, your ego, fucking with you completely. “I’m getting close—”

“Not yet.” Yeji lets you go, leaving you panting, your tortured cock standing tall and missing her attention.

Before you can even mount a protest, she’s sliding up your body, stretching above your head to grab the hospital bed remote, smothering you with the soft mounds of her breasts as she does so. You groan into her, forced to feel the weight of her pressing down on you, the warmth of her skin against yours, teasing you in a way that’s both infuriating and heavenly.

With a click, the bed whirs into action, reclining back until you're flat on your back, staring directly up at her. She kneels over your head, and there’s the outline of her pussy through the fabric of her leggings, all swollen and damp and begging for your tongue.

She doesn’t have to look to know she has your undivided attention—she's pulling her shirt and her top over her head, setting her breasts, ripe and full, bouncing free from their confinement. No bra today (of course she didn’t, what would be the fucking point?) and you get a full view of those perfect tits, her dark, pebbled nipples already stiff for you.

“It’s your turn to take care of me.”

Yeji lowers herself onto your waiting mouth, lets out a noise that’s so needy, so fucking greedy, as your lips meet her heat for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

“Fuuuuuuck…”

You kiss, lick, nibble at her, tease her, groan into her thighs, as she urges herself against you, making you breathe in the scent of her sex, so immediately wet for you.

It’s not nearly enough for either of you—you need to feel her against your lips, your tongue. You move your hand up her thigh and towards her hip, digging your fingers into her waistband. But Yeji stops you again, and says the four most pleasant words in any language. “Just fucking rip them.”

There’s no hesitation—she lifts her hips off your face, you snake your hand between her legs, take one end of the fabric between your fingers, and another in your teeth: one quick, sharp yank, and you tear. The nylon gives way with a satisfying rip, and Yeji shivers above you as the cool air hits her full, puffy, exposed cunt.

“Mmmph, yesssss,” Yeji hisses as you pull her back down onto your lips, shuddering as you kiss that lovely crease where her thigh meets her pelvis, her pleasure vibrating through your own skull. She quivers, shifts, needy for your lips on her naked pussy, and she pleads, “stop teasing… I need it…”

You smile against her skin, your breath ghosting over her pussy, making her squirm. "What's the magic word?"

"Now," Yeji says, her voice firm, her thighs so magnificently tense. "The magic word is now."

With that, you give her a long lick, starting from the very bottom of her pussy and moving upward, tasting every millimetre of her juicy cunt, tracing the entire length of her slit, ending with an indulgent flick of her clit.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Yeji cries out, shivering, falling apart as your tongue finds that sweet spot, her thighs tightening around your neck. Her hands come down to either side of your head, her fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place as she starts to rock back and forth, setting her own rhythm, matching her hips with the pace of your tongue. “God, you’re so fucking good at that, always so fucking good at that.”

She’s whining, so, so desperate, so pleading, and you’re eager as you taste her, explore her, will her to come apart in your mouth. You’re taking generous licks, tongue dancing around her clit, teasing it, testing her full vocal range as she cries out your name

“Oh, please, please baby, fucking please.” She’s getting wetter and wetter, coating your tongue, your lips, your chin. “I missed this,” she gasps, grinding herself against your tongue, all desperation and utter awe. “Missed you making me feel so fucking good.”

You look up, up at her as she rides your face, she’s so fucking breathtaking. Her body tensing around you and on top of you—so tight, so firm—chiselled abs honed by decades of dancing, that gorgeous curve of her waist leading up to her perky, petite tits, so lovely, bouncing with every gasp she takes.

"I'm so wet for you, honey, so fucking wet," Yeji whimpers, “you always make me so fucking wet—I can’t—ah!”

A sharp inhale, you suck her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue against the sensitive nub. She’s moaning so fucking loud, so unrestrained, echoing through the hospital room and down the hallways, loud enough to let every nurse on the floor know exactly how fucking good it feels to be on top of you. Her hips jerk, she can’t control her own body now, and you know she’s getting closer and closer, determined to ride your tongue right to the end.

Just looking at her is all it takes for you—seeing her so damn horny, so satisfied sets you on edge, needing something, anything to take your cock and match her euphoria.

“Do you want me to help you out, baby?” Yeji’s reading your mind. You groan and affirmative into the folds of her cunt, and in an instant, you go from being smothered by her juices to being faced with the full, perfect tautness of her ass.

She makes it look so easy, so graceful, lifting herself off your face and spinning around to this new position—face down, ass up.

A second later and your wishes are granted—your cock, so heavy with need, standing neglected and alone is met by Yeji’s soft, warm lips, kissing the very tip of you, tasting the drops of pre-cum that’s already leaking out of you.

“Let me make you feel better,” is all Yeji says—just one light kiss, a whisper into your cock, and she dives onto you, swallowing your cock whole. It’s far too much, far too quickly, you’re out of breath and ready to tap out as her warm, wet mouth envelopes your whole rod in one, smooth suck.

Her tongue swirls around you, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, she takes you deeper and deeper, until you’re buried down her throat. You throb inside her, her throat muscles contracting back around you, and you can’t help but thrust up into her mouth, seeking more, needing more.

“Yeji!” You cry out her name on reflex as she takes you in, her hands digging into your thighs as she works her mouth up and down, bobbing, taking you deep and noisily, smacking her lips, sloshing her tongue. Whatever pain you had lingering from your arm, your head, or your ribs, it’s all forgotten—there’s only Yeji, and her exquisite lips, doing everything she can to wring every drop of pleasure out from your body.

It's too much, too intense, and you’ve been on the edge since she first grabbed a hold on you. This can’t end now, not when she’s sucking you so hard, practically worshipping your cock. You need a distraction—pull her hips back, gently, firmly, push that beautiful ass back into your face and indulge in her again.

“Mmmph—!” Yeji moans into you as your tongue meets her cunt, the sound reverberating down your shaft and right into your brain.

And now it’s a competition—you push through her pussy with her tongue, feel her walls tightening around you. She’s pushing back into you, grinding down on you, making sure you get the full flavour of her cunt, her ass, every inch of her on your taste buds.

She’s more frantic now, moving faster, sloppier on your cock as you push her closer and closer to climax. Her tongue slides against you, her cheeks hollow out around you, she drools and dribbles down your shaft—it’s messy and wet and absolutely fucking amazing.

But you can’t let her win, not this time. You double down on your efforts, suctioning your lips over her clit and start rapidly flicking your tongue, setting a relentless pace that you know will make her crumble. She tries her best to keep up, to keep going, but she’s a mess of sucking and moaning and quivering all over your face and on your cock.

Yeji works her tongue, her lips, her mouth—she makes sure you know it’s all yours. But then, after taking you all the way to the back of her throat, your cock pops out of her mouth with a wet smack, and she lets out a cry of pure, unbridled ecstasy. “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna—FUCK!”

She collapses, bent over and prone, only her ass rocking and grinding against your face as she utterly, completely falls apart, ruined by just your tongue, ruined by the orgasm you’re giving her.

“So good—God—fuck—keep going, keep going, keep going!” Yeji’s voice is a chant, a prayer that you’re more than happy to answer. She’s shaking, her pussy pulsing against your face as you lick and suck at her clit, clouding your mind with the heady mix of sweetness and desire that has you hooked. She’s lost, given up and given over to you now, her moans becoming screams—“your tongue, your fucking tongue—gah!”

Her body geos rigid, locking up as she hits that wonderful peak—but you’re not ready to stop. You keep licking, keep pushing through wave after wave of pleasure that crash over her, not giving a second of rest. Her juices flood your mouth and you swallow greedily, drinking her in like it’s the only medicine you need.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—fucking making me feel so good—God!”

Nothing fucking matters, all you know is Yeij’s cunt is on your tongue and her ass is in your face, and your only job is to keep licking her to her core, until she finally goes slack, crumbling on top of you.

She stays like that, her legs shaking like she’s just run a marathon, her nipples squashed against your chest, her gasps hot and ragged against your thigh. You can feel the staccato of her heart, and you hold her close, massaging her lower back as she does her best to catch her breath.

And yet, there you are, still throbbing, still so fucking hard and delirious with your need for her touch.

There’s no point in hiding it, she’s so close you can feel her breath on your cock, your close enough to poke her eye out with how hard you are.

“Someone’s feeling left out,” she says, as if she’s not entirely to blame. “Is that for me?”

“You know it is,” you respond, far weaker, more pleading than you intended.

A gentle, torturous kiss against your thigh, and you’re just about ready to explode in her face. “Then I guess as your dutiful, loving, girlfriend, I better do something about it.”

It’s so easy for her—one moment she’s exhausted, out of breath on top of you, the next she’s fully recovered, back on top and mounting you, facing you as she smears the tip of your cock with her wetness.

You try to sit up, eager to get straight to it, straight to fucking her like you need to, but her hands are on your shoulders and she’s pushing you back down.

“Lie down, baby,” she hushes you, pressing you down onto the mattress. “Just enjoy this.”

Her eyes narrow as she drinks in the sight of you, bursting with anticipation as she lowers her pussy onto your cock. It’s a special kind of torment, one that makes your hips buck involuntarily, so impatient to feel her warmth again.

But she takes her sweet time, and it’s only when she’s close enough, she bends down, mouth hovering over yours. Your eyes drift shut, and you wait for that soft contact of her lips, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, she whispers, "I've got you," and you feel the warm, velvety embrace of her cunt as she takes you in, inch by agonising inch.

Fully seated, her walls close around you, and that’s when she kisses you hard, her tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth with the same aching hunger of her cunt around your cock.

She tastes so damn good, feels incredible—it’s been too long, and you want nothing but to grab her, hold her and slam her hips down onto yours and drive deeper into her, but your body won’t cooperate.

You can only lay there as she starts to move, her hips rocking back and forth, slowly, intentionally, having you seeing stars. And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, she lifts herself up off your cock, and in one swift motion, sinks herself straight back down, whispering “holy fuck yesss” against your lips.

She needs time to get used to you, used to your cock filling her whole again. “This fucking cock,” she bites your lip as she rides you, “always so big, always so perfect.”

Yeji has to take it slow, has to let her pussy stretch around you, adjust to you, before she can start to ride you, to fuck you like she really wants to. And she does want to—wants to claim you, erase any doubt about who is the one person that can fuck you like you deserve to be—so, so much.

Each movement down the length of your cock is faster than the one before, each moan into your mouth hotter, each clench of her cunt around yours so much tighter, until she’s fucking you in earnest—harder, faster.

“So thick, so, so, riiiiight,” Yeji groans.“I’ve missed this, needed this.”

She’s riding you like she’s been waiting for this forever, like this might be the last time, bouncing her ass up and down, her eyes hooded with lust, her hair a wild mess around her flushed face, her nipples swinging every time your hips meet.

“When you get better, honey, I need you to fuck me real hard,” Yeji whispers in your ear, her breath hot and tickling, thick with lust, her tight cunt milking you, keeping you on the edge of insanity. “But I’ll take care of you for now, I’ll take care of this cock—fuck I love it—I love you—I love that you’re mine.”

“You’re mine too, Yeji,” you groan back to her.

“That’s right—I belong to you and you belong to me,” Yeji punctuates her point with a hard slam of her cunt down onto your cock. "You're My. Fucking. Boyfriend."

She’s getting faster and faster now, picking up her pace, like she needs to prove something, to herself, to you, to the entire fucking hospital.

“Those other bitches can’t ride you like I do—can’t fuck you like I do,” Yeji’s panting, each word fucked out of her, coming out like a proud battle cry. She’s right, you’re sure of it—no one else can make you feel this way, no one else can take you, claim you like she can. She’s lost in it now, lost in the heat and the friction, her whole body consumed by a burning desire to show you just how good she is at this.

Yeji leans back, sitting upright, giving herself better leverage to bounce on your cock, giving you a better view of her body—all perfectly sculpted edges and soft curves—and those fucking perky tits. They’re stunning, just like the rest of her, and you reach for them on instinct, cupping the soft mounds, feeling the weight of them in your palm. Her nipples are so hard, erect, begging for your touch, and you don’t want to disappoint—could never—so you pinch and twist them, watching her face contort with pleasure, feeling her pussy tighten around you as she cries out.

“No one can take this big fucking cock like I can—down my throat, in my cunt.” It’s a declaration—loud and proud, for every single person in the hospital to know.

“Jealous?” You grunt out the word, hoarse, rough. “Thinking about me fucking other woman like I fuck you? Making them scream—making them cum as hard as I’m about to make you?”

You can see the twist in Yeji’s face, how her pupils dilate as your words sink in. There’s a war playing out on her face, jealousy and desire, the mere thought of you fucking other woman making her pussy spasm around you. “Oh, fuck you! You would ruin them, honey, they wouldn’t be able to take you. Or is that what you want to hear? Some cute bitch screaming: ‘oh baby, oh please, oh daddy, I can’t take it—I can’t take this big fucking cock!’”

There’s truth in the mockery, and there’s a dark thrill in Yeji’s jealousy. But now’s not the time for anything (or anyone) else but her—you’re too close, too far gone, your cock throbbing with the need to spill into her.

“Only I can take it, it’s mine, mine, mine.” She’s soaking you, so needy, so deep, so fucking filthy as she whines over your cock. “You better keep fucking me—only me—or I will make your life hell.”

“Show me then,” you challenge her, and you can see something flash across her eyes—something primal, something rough.

“I’m yours,” she declares again, riding you in a way that can only be described as pure art, her whole body moving in perfect harmony with a singular goal—to be absolutely wrecked by your cock. “All yours, nobody else’s. And you’re mine.”

It takes one hard pump into her tight, sweaty body and she’s falling into you, her body pressed on top of you, her forehead pressed against yours. It’s electric, the connection between your bodies, a jolt of pleasure surging through your cock and her cunt until all that matters is the feel of her fucking you like her life depends on it.

It’s love at every thrust, every gasp and moan. Nothing but Yeji on top of you, her soft skin pressed against you, her heartbeat racing against yours, her wetness coating your cock like a silk glove. Not just pleasure, you’re claiming each other—she’s whispering it in your ear, whispering your name like a promise, a declaration of war against anyone who would dare to come between you.

“Fuuuck.” Yeji bites down on your shoulder, digs her nails in your skin, squeezes her pussy around you like a vice. “I’m gonna do it again,” she mewls, “this cock—your beautiful cock—is gonna make me cum all over again.”

She’s chasing that precious feeling, desperate for it, her hips moving in erratic circles, determined to bring you with her. You can feel it too, the beginnings rising from the base of your cock, the tension in your balls. You want to hold on, to make this last, but at this point it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave.

“Give—fuck—give me more!” Yeji’s eyes are squeezed shut; her mouth open in a silent scream as she grinds down on you, her body trembling with the effort to keep her balance. You can see the tension in every line of her body, how her abs clench, her toes curl. It's like watching a live wire, and you're the one holding the current. "Nobody can fuck me like you do—fuck—nobody can take you like I can!"

You wrap your arm around her shoulder, holding her tight, wrenching control from her, making her prove her words with every forceful thrust. You’re going to be in pain later, but fuck all that—Yeji’s so wet, so tight, so fucking hot—she’s a force of nature, and you’re just the lucky fuck that gets to be in the eye of the storm.

“You’re going to cum in me, now, okay? I’m going to cum so fucking hard and then you’re going to cum right inside me.” Yeji’s completely given herself over to you, letting you fuck her, use her, she’s all yours anyway. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!”

And then she’s there, her cunt gripping you like a fist, her walls pulsing and quivering around you. Yeji’s eyes fly open, her gaze locks onto yours, and she’s cumming hard.

Her orgasm rips through her body, she’s choking your cock with pussy, muscles tightening and release in a painful rhythm, and all she can do is shake and cry out every filthy word she knows, every sweet noise she can make as she spills and creams and comes apart on top of you.

“It’s too much,” Yeji’s barely holding on, panting incessantly, “too-fucking-much—too-fucking-much!”

The way she looks, the way she fucks, the way she cums—it’s a thing of beauty, an absolute fucking honour to witness—every twitch, every shiver, every gasp that falls from her swollen lips. Her nails pierce your skin, her teeth threaten to draw blood, her eyes wide and wild as her climax crashes over her.

“Please-please-fucking-please!”

But she doesn’t stop. If anything, she’s becoming more insistent, more urgent, fucking back against you again, her hips moving in a blur, taking you like a woman possessed. She’s pleading for you, pleading for you to give in, to let go, to follow her into bliss. Yeji’s a woman on a mission—to make you feel her, to make you fill her and you realise that maybe this isn’t just about jealousy anymore—it’s about making you know in every fibre of your being that your cum belongs in her cunt and her cunt only.

"Give it to me," Yeji demands, “I need you to—please—fuck—cum in me!”

Every word’s a trigger, sending you spiralling over the edge. It’s been building for an eternity now, an unbearable pressure needing to find a home in Yeji’s scorching, sopping wet pussy.

“Kiss me—I need you to—need to taste—fuck—please—kiss me now!”

There’s nothing left to do but obey, bringing your hand to the back of her neck and pulling her down into a fierce, bruising kiss. Your mouths crash together, your tongues dance and entangle, your teeth clash, and all the while Yeji’s clenching around you, cunt contracting in an effort to keep you still, keep you together.

“Fill me.”

A final, triumphant spear into her and your gone—releasing, spurting your cum deep inside her—so hard, so hot, so intense, emptying everything, all of you, every last drop into her greedy pussy.

“Yesssssss—this—this is what I needed.” Yeji hums a satisfied note into your collarbone, so full, so complete, so content. She’s still slowly rocking her hips back and forth, still pulsing around you, milking you dry. “I feel so…full.”

She dissolves into a puddle in your arms, nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck. Your hand finds its way to her back, tracing gentle circles, rubbing away the tension that’s been built up, the strain she’s put her body through.

She’s warm, she's so alive, and you can feel her heart beating against your chest, a stilted, hurried rhythm that's gradually slowing down. You kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, anywhere you can reach without having to strain yourself. It’s a gentle reassurance, making sure that for all the fucking and the filthiness, she knows that no matter what happens, you’re there to make sure she’s okay.

Yeji whispers an “I love you,” her words like a balm to your soul. “I really, really, fucking love you, you know?”

“I know, Yeji,” you say, low enough for only her to hear. “I really, really, fucking love you too.”

There’s still the embers of your shared climax resonating through your bodies, the come down from an epic high that’s left the two of you a tangled mess of limbs and hospital sheets. You both lay there, Yeji’s pussy still spasming around your cock, your cum and her juices dribbling down and pooling between your bodies.

“I was really worried about you.” Yeji whispers, vulnerable. The admission hangs in the air above you, a stark reminder of the fear and insecurity that’s been simmering just beneath the surface. “When they called me, I thought—I—I fucking hated that feeling.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s all there is left to say.

“And I am really pissed about these nurses,” Yeji adds with a deadly seriousness, that only makes you smile. “I’m moving you to another hospital as soon as I can.”

“We just might have to after this,” you murmur, stroking her hair as you catch your breath. “No way they didn’t hear any of that.”

“Good.” Yeji declares, a little too intensely, too smugly.

You look down at her and can’t help but chuckle. “Well aren’t you all happy and copacetic now?”

Yeji looks back at you, pauses, and then grins. “Copa-what-tic?”

You can only roll your eyes. “Copacetic.”

“Wow,” Yeji starts, her voice back up an octave, laced with sickly sweetness. “Such a big, complicated word. You’re so smart.”

“Uh huh.”

“And these muscles too! Look at you all pumped and sweaty. Have you been working out?” Yeji teases, her cheeks still flushed a bright pink shade. She reaches down to give your bicep a gentle squeeze, mouthing an exaggerated ‘wow’ in amazement of its size.

“I did just finish a pretty intense workout. Might’ve even got another concussion from having my brains fucked out.”

“In that case, as your nurse it’s my responsibility to get you good and clean.” Yeji’s kissing you again, soft and slow. “Come on now, let me give you a good, nice scrub.”

“Is this going to be a reciprocal thing, you wash my back, I wash yours?”

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” Yeji slides off your cock, peeling herself off your sticky body, and lifts herself up and off the bed.

You watch as she stretches, her body a glorious mess of grace and sweat and cum, and for a moment you’re just in awe of her. She’s glowing, and she’s not even trying.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Yeji winks, already sauntering away from you and towards the bathroom, her hips swaying, her ass calling for you with each perfect bounce. “It’s time for some serious physical therapy. Nurse’s orders.”

#kpop smut #yeji smut #itzy smut #male reader

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cosmosis · 1 year

Text

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - surprise visit modern au!

an unfamiliar secretary won’t let you into the building to visit your husband, Miguel, at his office

Visiting your husband at work may as well be the best way for you to spend your day off. He’s been working hard, his passion truly bursting at the seams when he talks to you about the latest improvement project he’s been working on for the past three weeks.

You’re walking down the sidewalk in an outfit you knew would make Miguel go crazy, holding a nice bouquet of flowers in your arm. You decided men don’t get flowers enough, so you’re here to fill in that gap. He really deserves more than flowers anyway.

With the badge embedded into your watch, you scan your wrist against the access monitor on the wall. The doors automatically open, and you feel a nice gust of air conditioning run into you.

The office is very modern, clean, and sleek. All around you are advanced units of technology; a result of your husband’s successes. It smells the same it always has; clean, crisp, and slightly minty. As you walk through the doors, you’re greeted with the exact same things you always are; same lounge chairs, same grand elevator...

Though, you don’t recognize the secretary at the desk.

She’s blonde, red lipstick smeared onto her tight lips in an unwelcoming frown. A matching pearl set adorned over her crisp, dark blue blazer.

Usually, you’d say hi to the secretary you knew, Lyla. You assume she got fired, which was a real shame, you love her sass. She was always so kind to you, saying hi with a smile, or offering to help guide you through the office and such.

But instead, you walk right past the desk, digging through your memories to find how you managed to find Miguel’s main office last time.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?“

Her voice is just as snarky as you had imagined.

“Visiting Miguel?“ You pause, your patience already growing extremely thin for the new secretary. You’d probably chat about this to Miguel later, maybe bat an eyelash or two to convince him about hiring someone different.

“Nuh uh! Miguel O’Hara is busy right now, not open for any visitors at the moment.“ She replies, fixating her eyes on the large monitor in front of her.

You pause for a moment, critically thinking things through for a moment.

“Oh! I get it. M’am, you haven’t met me before, have you?“ You ask, trying your best to not crinkle the flowers in your hands. She raises a single eyebrow, glaring as if you insulted her mother. (Which, you might as well should do.)

“I’m Miguel’s spouse. He lets me visit him whenever, I even have my badge right here-“

She holds up a single manicured finger.

“Nice try, but my charts right here say that Miguel is busy at the moment. Try another time, maybe send him a fan letter or something.“

Your blood starts to boil as the new secretary has a satisfied smirk on her face.

Instead of choosing violence and risking your hair getting ruined, you opt for the better option. Glaring at the desk manager directly in the eye, you pull out your cellphone from your pocket, manually pressing the contact button for Miguel. You wait for the phone to dial, pressing the cellular to your ear whilst examining your own nails.

And finally, he answers.

“Hm? You need something, honey?“

“Miguel.“

Miguel on the other line, freezes to a halt. Now, he knows he’s in trouble. Carefully, he clears his throat.

“What is it, sweetie?“

You take a deep breath. “Your... secretary isn’t letting me into the office. Will you fix that, please?”

Miguel pinches between his eyebrows, groaning.

“Of course, hun. I’ll be down in a sec.“

“Thank you, Miguel.“

The call ends, but the secretary still stares at you like you’ve thrown up all over her salad. She almost looks like she’s going to laugh, which makes you even madder.

Within literally a few seconds, the elevator whirs to a halt, the top light switching on with a chime. As expected, your husband walks through the sliding doors, clad in a crisp white dress shirt and office pants. He’s so undeniably gorgeous, you almost consider forgiving the secretary.

But, you don’t.

“Ah, Miguel, this p-“

“Shut your mouth for moment, would you?“

The woman is taken aback, red bursting onto her cheeks as her fake smile melts into a frown. Her mouth is left agape, watching as Miguel saunters over to you with a smile.

“What happened?“ Miguel asks, his Office Face™ dissolving into a genuine smile. He slots his hands to your waist, silently peering at the flowers in your arms.

“Well, I was going to come surprise you... but then she said that you were busy.” You reply, pouting.

“Aww, baby, it’s okay.“ He smooches the top of your head. “The flowers are pretty. I’ll handle this.“

Miguel then swerves around, this time with his Office Face™ on. He keeps his hand glued to your side, each step of his getting louder and louder as he makes his way towards the desk.

“Tiffany.“

Tiffany, in question, shudders, keeping her eyes glued to the floor while a shit-eating smirk finds its’ way onto your face. No remorse whatsoever.

“From now, until tonight, please let my partner into the building whenever they like.“

“Yes, sir. Why until tonight?“

“Because I’m firing you from any future stand-in’s, or any sort of work in here for the matter.“

Miguel: 1 Tiffany: 0

Tiffany looks like she has so much she wants to say, so much that she could scream at this very moment... but instead, she stays silent. You can see a vein practically ready to burst at her temple, her jaw grinding her teeth in her mouth.

“I will dismiss you at the end of the day, Tiffany. I expect you to cause no more trouble until then.“

Tiffany is left utterly speechless, her jaw left slightly agape. Miguel ushers you by your back towards the elevator, poking and prodding his finger at the flowers in your grasp.

Automatically, the elevator doors smoothly slide open, and you both step inside. You stare at the glass view outside, watching as the two of you get higher and higher above the city.

“I even had my badge, and she didn’t let me.“ You frown, indulgently leaning into Miguel’s chest.

“I’m sorry, hun. Lyla’s out sick for a bit, so she was the only substitute I could find for today.“

Apologetically, he rubs your back, secretly praying that you’d forget about the whole ordeal so you’d pay attention to him instead.

“S’okay. Thank god Lyla wasn’t fired.“ You mumble, breathing a sigh of relief.

“She’s annoying, but she does her job well.“ Miguel remarks, and you gasp, personally offended on behalf of your beloved Lyla.

“No she’s not! She’s super nice, actually.“

“Whatever.” Miguel scoffs. “Kiss me.”

“No. You called Lyla annoying.”

these oneshots have really skyrocketed my account! thank you guys so much for the positive feedback, i love loveee reading all the comments i get! please stay tuned for more!

- cosmosis <333

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara spider man #spider man #spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #lyla #atsv lyla #lyla across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #x reader #reader insert #fluff #romance #cosmosis-writes ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

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charliemwrites · 5 months

Text

Mean Simon Part 4

Content: Panic Attack (Non-Descriptive), Hurt/Comfort, Gaslighting/Manipulation

please be safe and careful 💕

Simon’s got a bit of a puzzle on his hands. More accurately, you’re a puzzle that’s not in his hands. And getting you there, of your own free will, is only part of it.

Sure, he could just grab you or order you. You would be helpless to his will either way. It would be simple and easy, but it wouldn’t be satisfying. Not as much as coaxing you into the trap by your own volition, anyway.

Once you were just a shy thing, now you’re downright skittish. Quick to bend the knee and bow your head, but you don’t relish in doing so. Johnny has been nothing but adoring and sweet to you, yet Simon notices you still resist flinching and tensing on contact. Never mind if Simon himself were to attempt the same, you’d work yourself into hysteria over a pat to the shoulder. Seducing you would be its own challenge - but that leaves the contradictory matter of training you.

You would be so good. He knows it.

You’re quick to learn, eager to please. But it comes from a place of fear and distrust. The former has its place, the latter its natural offspring - but neither suits Simon’s purpose in this instance. Punishment and discipline would only serve to reinforce the trenches in your mind. To stay quiet and unseen, to avoid Simon at all costs and tolerate Johnny out of self-preservation. That neither of them can be trusted, are not objects for your affection or desire. Only a facsimile with a pretty face, that makes pretty noises, and soothes Johnny with pretty touches. Nothing real; nothing either of them can actually sink their teeth into.

And so there lies the puzzle. He needs (wants) to train you into the sweet doll he knows you can be, but he has to do it in a way fundamentally different to his instinct - or he risks breaking you entirely.

Luckily, he’s a patient man. Your behavior has been acceptable so far with the barest monitoring. He has time to develop a strategy.

“Um… excuse me, Mister?” you soft voice calls.

He grunts, turning his eyes to you. You shift, fingers twisting together tightly.

“I can’t, um… so there’s a light out? In the kitchen?”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“And I don’t know where the bulbs are,” you finish.

He tilts his head. “You didn’t go looking?”

You shake out your hands a bit, shifting. “I didn’t know if I, um, if I should? Snooping, and all…”

Simon tries to recall if he’s ever implied that you shouldn’t go through the house. He knows he explicitly warned you not to go in his bedroom and the garage. But you’ve inferred it somehow, likely from those first few months after he got you for Johnny - when he would have had some objection to you treating the house as if it were your own.

You’re well past that by now, though. Spend more time here than either of them, cleaning and cooking and sleeping. In fact, he’s surprised you haven’t stumbled across the bulbs sooner.

“Hall closet by my room.”

You hesitate for another moment. “And is there, um… a step stool anywhere…?”

He blinks. “No.”

“Oh. Uhh…” you jolt a bit. “Oh! I’ll just use a dining chair. Thank you! Um, sir.”

You dart away before he can reply. That’s going to be the first bad habit he breaks, he decides.

For lack of sating himself with you, Johnny’s been especially needy. Simon accounted for this, of course, and despite it being a punishment, he’s not so cruel as to leave Johnny hanging. It’s meant to be a learning experience too.

So Johnny is still allowed to cuddle with you (to some extent) and exchange kisses (in moderation) while Simon takes the edge off the ever-burning inferno that is his libido. Sniper he may be, Simon might have miscalculated regardless. He’s already touched-out for the day.

You’re in the kitchen, prepping for a nicer dinner at Simon’s request before their next deployment. It’ll take a couple hours to cook, so you’re assembling everything early. Or at least trying to - because Johnny will not leave you the fuck alone.

He’s underfoot, making a nuisance of himself. Kissing at your neck and face, wrapping himself around you while you bustle about, stealing ingredients off of cutting boards, talking in your ear nonstop. Most days you wouldn’t mind - or would appear that way, at least. But today is not most days.

Simon is sitting on a stool on the other side of the counter when you reach capacity.

With Johnny still plastered to your back, you try to reach for something (for the umpteenth time) and trip over his feet. You knock over an open carton of stock, splattering translucent brown all over the floors, counters, cabinets, and yourselves.

“Fuck,” you cry, “Johnny.”

Your voice breaks on his name. Johnny freezes. Simon can see fault lines in every inch of your stiff body. How carefully you manage each movement as you disentangle yourself from Johnny and usher him away from the worst of the mess. You’re about to fall apart.

“Och, I’m sorry, hen. Lemme help—“

“It’s alright,” you interrupt, chin low as you pivot, snagging the paper towels off the counter. “I’ve got it. Just… stay there.”

Johnny opens his mouth to protest, about to help anyway, but Simon tuts in disapproval.

The kitchen is smothered in an awful silence as you clean, Johnny growing more shame-faced with each rip of the towel roll.

Unobstructed, you manage to clean up in only a couple of minutes, making an extra pass with a damp towel to wipe up any residue. When you’re finished, you wet another and offer it to Johnny to wipe off. Then do the same for yourself. Always, you keep your face obscured or hidden, body oriented away, tight and rigid.

When you spin to gather up the dirty towels, Simon sees how your eyes glimmer. You remember he’s there too at the same time.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I d-don’t, um…” you have to take a breath to gather your voice. “There’s not enough for dinner now.”

Simon considers that for a beat.

“Johnny’ll run out ‘n get more.”

You swallow thickly. “Okay. I’m sorry, sir.”

“‘S not your fault. Kitchen only needed one cook, yeah?”

You make a noise that, if he was hard of hearing and listening through earmuffs, could almost be agreement.

“I-I’m gonna go wash off…” you rub your hands together nervously. “If that’s alright.”

“G’on.”

You’re gone in an instant. Simon can already hear you sniffling. He stands.

Johnny turns huge, pathetic eyes on him.

“‘M sorry, Si. Really, I didn’t mean to—“

“But you did,” Simon interrupts sharply. “Because you were being a rude little shit and playing too rough.”

Johnny gulps, looks a bit misty-eyed himself. Simon sighs and scrubs an exasperated hand through his mohawk.

“Go get the stock,” he orders, milder. “And an extra treat for the sweetie. Something actually for her. Understood?”

Johnny always does better with clear instructions. He perks up at being given a mission - and an avenue for making things up to you. He hurries off with a pep in his step.

Simon waits until the door is shut before seeking you out. You’re in the bathroom, as you said you would be. He can hear you muffling cries behind the door.

He taps his knuckles twice against the wood. It goes dead silent.

“Jus’ me,” he calls.

There’s a quick splash of water, the flutter of fabric, and then you crack the door open. Your face is cry-flushed, eyes red-rimmed and still glossy. You can’t look past his chest, mouth curved down.

“I-I’m really sorry about the-the mess, and dinner, and…”

“Stop apologizing,” he says, gentling his voice to take the edge off the command. “If there was something to be sorry for, you’d know.”

You swipe quickly at a tear that squeezes out. He tsks softly.

“Bit strung out today, eh?”

“Just… didn’t sleep well, is all,” you answer. “And I didn’t get a chance to nap.”

Right, he’s noted that, in the back of his mind. That you spend small portions of the day sleeping. Usually an hour or two at a time. But Johnny’s been so high maintenance today that you’ve hardly had a moment of peace.

“Cranky? Is that it?” he asks.

You look more miserable. “Just tired,” you answer.

He hums. Willing to bet it’s more than just a bad night of sleep. Poor thing.

“Sor - I mean… I know I’m not supposed to…” you rub at your eyes, drooping.

He tilts his head. “Not s’posed to what?”

“Cry or-or be annoying or…”

He coos. “You’ve got all these rules for yourself, don’t you?”

You sniffle again, hugging yourself tightly as you shrug.

The hunter in Simon perks. There.

“Look’it.” He takes your chin between thumb and forefinger, guiding your gaze up to his.

You blink slowly, heavily, wet lashes sticking together.

“What sort of terrible world have you built up in your mind, hm?” he soothes. “Never told you not to do any of that, did I?”

You blink, confused and upset.

“N-no, I guess… not.”

“No,” he confirms. “You’re spun up so tight you’re starting to fray, little one.”

You shudder, swaying into him a bit. He used the movement to slide his hand to your jaw, massaging his thumb into the tight muscle by your ear.

“From now on, you only follow the rules I give you, yeah?” he says, low and quiet. “Dunno why you think I’m so mean. I won’t punish you if you don’t know better.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if trying to resist the hypnotic lull of letting someone else think for you. But you still lean into his palm.

“How’s this,” he offers, “if you’re ever unsure, you ask me. Wont get mad at you for asking. Yeah?”

And finally, that wire twisted up between your shoulder blades loosens.

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny comes home with a chocolate cupcake. Simon approves it before sending him to you, decompressing on the couch with a cuppa.

You blink as Johnny drops heavily to his knees, placing the packaged cupcake in your hand.

“Lass, I’m sorry for bein’ so rough,” he begins, bowing his forehead to your knees. “Dinnae mean to, but I still upset ye, interrupted dinner when ye were workin’ so hard.” He tilts his face up, hitting you with the full force of his apologetic blue eyes. “Forgive me?”

You mouth parts, genuine shock washing over your features. “Y-yeah, Johnny, of course. I know you didn’t mean to. I was just having a bad day.”

But that doesn’t mollify him.

“I couldnae tell. You were just… goin’ on as usual.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

You set your tea aside to place your hand over his, trying to reassure him. But Simon knows his pup and you’ve just unwittingly put a thorn in his paw.

“I’ll get back to dinner now.” You lean in, drop a kiss to Johnny’s furrowed brow. “Thank you for apologizing. And the cupcake.”

Johnny stands with you. “At least let me help proper this time?”

You smile, though it’s tinged with exhaustion. “Sure. C’mon.”

Simon takes his place at the counter again and keeps a careful eye on you both. Things are a lot smoother this time round. Johnny follows your quiet instructions, happy to be useful. You seem to settle with dinner plans back on track.

Once everything is set to slow cook, Simon herds you and Johnny back to the den.

“Pick a movie, lamb.”

You blink from the corner of the couch you’ve curled up in. “Me?”

“You.”

You seem so surprised that you just blurt out a title. Simon hums and queues it up while Johnny all but interrogates you for the plot. As the opening scenes flicker across the screen, you snuggle in further, even tugging a blanket off the back of the couch to bundle up on.

Johnny shoots you a longing look - you’re too engrossed in the movie - so Simon snags him by the back of the neck and tucks him into his side.

You fall asleep two-thirds of the way through, but Simon lets you. Likes watching you breathe, face soft and smooth. Can’t for the life of him even recall what’s on the telly.

That night, after a quiet (but peaceful) dinner, and everyone’s showers, Simon ushers Johnny to the room he usually shares with you. Hope flickers across the pup’s face, confusion and trepidation across yours.

“In the middle, Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “The little one by the window.”

You and Johnny comply, cuddling in. Simon takes the side closest to the door, grunting a bit when Johnny instantly clings on.

“Is this the new arrangement?” Johnny asks eagerly.

“Go to sleep,” Simon answers.

He grumbles, but settles in. On the other side of the bed, there’s a bit of shuffling. Then your voice whispering, “Good night.”

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#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #mean simon ghost riley #mean simon #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap x reader #panic attack #tw gaslighting

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queers-gambit · 6 months

Text

Damage Done

prompt: The Winter Soldier is activated and Bucky's lover is unlucky enough to be in proximity.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.4k+

note: oh, wow, Cherry wrote Bucky NOT in a Mafia AU?

warnings: takes place during Civil War, absolutely no plot - author just doesn't know how to shut the fuck up. cursing, violence, established relationship, small angst, injury, blood, hurt and comfort, Winter Soldier antics, choking, abrupt ending, maybe domestic violence? it's the WS.

it's really not that bad, it's not terribly descriptive but still tread carefully if triggered by these topics.

"Keep them together," Agent Everett Ross commanded, a little man with a raging Napoleon Complex, gesturing at you and Bucky; the latter held in mobile, restrictive captivity. "He doesn't play nice if he doesn't see her, or so it's said," his eyes rolled.

"You're making a huge mistake!" You barked, struggling in the restraints they had you wrapped in.

"No, I don't think so," he sneered, approaching you as Bucky's unit kept moving. "I think the mistake was letting you out of anyone's sight. Tell me, how long have you been in cahoots with the Winter Soldier?"

"He's not the Winter Soldier anymore, you jackass, he's a person! A real, live human being! His name's James but he prefers Bucky! He likes plums," you were yanked away, still snarling, "his favorite color is blue, likes motorcycles, he has real guilt over his past transgressions, and you've got the wrong guy!"

"Oh, right, like you're the best judge of character," Ross laughed.

"Natasha! Nat! Fucking tell him!" You pleaded, struggling in the hold of the men who kept iron clad restraint on you and were starting to drag you away. "You've got the wrong guy! Bucky didn't do this! I wouldn't lie - not to you, Natasha! Tell him!"

"That's touching, really sweet," Ross mocked, rolling his eyes as you were finally overpowered and lead away.

"Hang on a second," Nat muttered, sharing a look with Tony. "Was her DNA or facial recognition anywhere at the UN? Anywhere near where the bomb was set off?"

"What's that matter - "

"Since they met, they've not parted ways," Nat spelled out. "He won't go anywhere without her - you, yourself, are keeping them together for interrogation - "

"It's just easier," Ross scoffed.

"No, you know..." She blinked in confusion, "You know, Bucky won't talk unless she's there - you know he'll be ten times as difficult if she's not in the room."

"So?"

"So, in the past two years, have you heard about him without her? Have you seen her without him?"

"Nobody's seen or heard from either of them," Ross shook his head.

"Exactly," she nodded, lungs tightening with nerves. "If you can't find evidence of her being in Vienna... Bucky might not be your guy... Besides, they're both trained to avoid cameras - "

"Mistakes are made," Ross waved off.

"Not by two highly trained assassins like them," she snapped. "Check the files, go back - look! Actually look, run her scans through facial recognition - if you don't find her, it wasn't Bucky."

"You're so sure?" Tony asked skeptically.

"I know her," Natasha nodded, "better than anyone. She's as good as my sister, she's as good as blood. I know her. I know she wouldn't run this risk - "

"Then you also know she wouldn't get caught," Ross laughed.

"Neither would Bucky."

The silence stretched, but Ross was stubborn; sneering at the Avengers and taking his leave with his own plan of action in mind. He left Tony and Natasha to deal with Sam and Steve as he went to observe the interrogation. When he got before the monitors, he watched as it took four different men to restrain you enough to hoist your locks up the wall until they were clicked in place by ultra-strength magnets.

You jostled, feeling the full extent of your containment, grunting when the pipe you were connected to shocked your entire system into submission. Everett Ross smirked at your pain; watching your tongue swipe over your teeth, arms high above your head, readjusting your weight in your feet, but otherwise, not moving.

Ross heard Bucky ask quietly, his eyes watching you carefully from inside the reinforced cell, "You okay, doll?"

"Looks like they learned from last time," you grit, the cuffs around your wrists electrified; charring your skin, making you grimace slightly in a veiled attempt to hide your pain from your lover.

"Don't fight, you'll make it worse," he advised softly, frowning, eyes glassy from restrained emotion.

"They could've at least put me in a bit more comfortable position," you sneered, glaring up at one of the cameras, shaking your head as if in disappointment.

"I don't think they want to play nice, sweetheart."

"Yeah, could've guessed that from when they arrested us," you shook your head, puckering your lips to gather the blood in your mouth; spitting it to the floor. "You good, baby?" You asked as the men who restrained you moved to plug in the power cell caging Bucky.

He nodded silently at you, bowing his head and letting his long locks curtain his face. You frowned, shifting again as you blindly felt your cuffs and designed a way to get free; watching the men stoically as they exited the room to make way for the psychologist. Your jaw clenched, the air smelling foul - alerting you that something wasn't quite right.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," the accented man greeted casually, standing at a single table in front of Bucky, you off to the side; chains rattling as your defenses flared. The psychologist smirked and greeted you, too, assuring your real identity was known - something that Natasha released to the world about two years ago when HYDRA sent Bucky after Cap in DC. You didn't fault her, in fact, you respected her move, and after getting out of the blown-to-shit base, you had run into the Winter Soldier... Beginning your epic love story, both of you on the run from authorities and higher powers.

You smuggled Bucky out of the country, using fake aliases that had yet to see the light of day and therefor, wasn't released in the files Nat published during her takedown of the compromised S.H.I.E.L.D. agency. He was appreciative, pondering how he was meant to go forward in a world he didn't know; so, you agreed to stick around for a bit to help settle him, and that bit turned into a couple of years - the two of you inseparable.

There was an incident in London that almost exposed you, but instead, it just shined a light on your new partnership. Captain American, Nat, Sam, shit - even Tony Stark himself was unable to catch up; your trail going cold, Nat knowing your Widow training was running the show and keeping you safe. Granted, she probably could've unraveled the web you had weaved - but the truth was, she didn't want to. So, she kept quiet. Leading you all here...

"I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you both," the man you'd come to know as Helmut Zemo continued; playing his part very well, but not well enough to convince you of his innocence. Something about the man rubbed you the wrong way. "Do you mind if I sit?" He asked politely, feigning like you two had a choice. When he did, Zemo continued, "Your first name is James?"

He noted the way Bucky and you shared a look, both remaining silent. Zemo tried to assure, "I'm not here to judge you - either of you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?" Continued silence, your head subtly shaking - an act only Bucky clocked. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," he croaked, your sigh echoing around the room.

"Hm," Zemo nodded, "I take it, she doesn't want you to talk?"

"She wants me safe," Bucky answered stiffly.

"That is admirable," the psychologist offered kindly, "a great display of love, is it not?"

"Jesus Christ," you shook your head, offering a glare, "you went through all that schooling to ask stupid fucking questions? Might wanna get your money back."

Zemo chuckled after humming, "I am merely trying to establish the connection you two share. I hear it is rare to find one without the other, that you two have become, uh, joined at the hip?"

"I protect her," Bucky offered, sharing a long look with you, "and she protects me."

"An equal partnership, would you say?"

"Yes."

"Buck," you warned, wrists twisting to hold the cuffs; being zapped, making your jaw clench and the veins in your neck to bulge.

"It's all right," his voice sounded like it was being put through a grater. "We're caught, doll, it's all right."

You huffed, eyeing Zemo as his eyes flickered between you two. He nodded, making a note in his little book, "I was warned that you would be unwilling to cooperate without her present. Why is that?"

"She keeps me safe."

Zemo hummed, "So you've said, and yet... Here you both are..." You were ready to lash out, but the doctor changed course, "Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your restraints zapped you again when you jolted forward as if to physically silence Zemo, Bucky's head snapping over and his eyes drooping in sympathy. "Told you not to move, it'll only get worse," he told you softly.

"He's asking questions that will get him killed," you snarled, gritting your teeth as the electric currents seized most of your energy. But it was worth it, finding a little weak spot and letting your mind devise a specific plan.

"You fear," Zemo continued, "that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. I feel it is safe to assume, uh, your lady is privy to your past experiences? Perhaps, you two have shared a couple?"

"Just leave her out of this," Bucky pleaded.

"Don't worry," he assured you both, tapping something on his tablet before looking back at Bucky with a sick recognition. "We only have to talk about one. One mission... That I know you," he nodded at you, "were not present for."

"Kinda game you playin', Doc?" You sneered. "Think anything he says will change my opinion about him?"

"No, no, I know your relationship is too strong for that," Zemo smiled. "So, it's not so much what he will say... But what he will do..."

"The fuck does that - "

But then, the lights went out; darkening the room save for the lights individual to Bucky's holding cell. You perked up, the electric currents halting as the cuffs died with the power and gave you an opportunity to begin working on your escape. As red panic lights flickered, Bucky questioned, "What the hell is this?"

"Why don't we discuss your home?" Zemo offered. "Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no," he reached into his satchel, revealing a red notebook the world thought long lost... Buried in snow... Forgotten in time. "I mean, your real home," Zemo removed his glasses as you frantically started working.

"No, no, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey, don't - fuck!" You grit, trying harder to free yourself. "Bucky - Bucky, don't listen - ah, Goddamnit!"

The man you now understood to be a fake psychologist stood with a little flashlight, opening the red notebook, and began repeating words in Russian that would activate the decommissioned Winter Soldier. Bucky had told you all about these words, begging you to provide a shield against them should they ever be uttered again; but you had prior knowledge, the Winter Soldier someone you had been debriefed on during your time with other secret agencies.

"Longing."

"No," Bucky whispered, head tilting back in panic as he felt his stomach curl in a familiar pattern.

"Bucky - don't fucking listen, please!" You begged, still working to free yourself.

"Rusted."

"Stop," Bucky pleaded, sounding in pain.

"Don't do this!" You pleaded to Zemo. "You're fucking hurting him, please, stop!"

"Seventeen."

"Stop!" Bucky barked, his vibranium hand clenching in anger and pain; the entire arm whirring from the flex of his muscle. He began to pant, a deep growl emitting above your panicked whimpers.

"Daybreak!"

"You have no idea what you're doing!" You raged, Bucky screaming in pain as his mind was forcibly sunk back into dark recesses of his past. "Don't - Bucky, baby, listen to me - don't fucking listen to him, please, please, baby, don't do this!"

He screamed, breaking free of the iron restraints that kept him seated in the reinforced, mobile cell. "Furnace!" Zemo continued, ignoring the pain and panic you and Bucky were both thrown into.

"Fucking stop, please! You don't understand!" You begged, freeing one hand and working in vain to unlatch the other. Bucky was out of his seat, anger coursing like a palpable rain over you all - him screaming as his metal arm worked to pound into the strengthened glass surrounding him.

"Nine!"

"Bucky, please, baby, please, don't do this!" You tried a new tactic, hoping you were enough to cut through the brainwashing - but how silly to imagine. Decades of trauma was washing over Bucky again and your little words couldn't cut through the barricades of his mind.

"Benign!"

"You stupid fucking little man!"

Zemo rounded around the cell, Bucky still pounding away at the glass. "Homecoming! One!"

"DON'T!"

"Freight car!"

You whimpered in fear when Bucky punched the entire door off the hinges, freeing him at last; but the words were spoken, the damage done. He crouched on the floor, Zemo pausing to take in the sight, slowly approaching Bucky as he stood upright; the jangling of your chains louder and more frantic as you tried to free your last wrist.

"Jesus Christ," you whispered, trying to divide focus between the two tasks of freeing yourself and protecting Bucky - but being terribly unsuccessful as you watched Zemo stand in front of your dead-eyed boyfriend.

What a ridiculous, mundane label to assign someone like Bucky.

In Russian, Zemo questioned, "Soldier?"

And in Russian, the man you loved answered, "Ready to comply."

Zemo demanded in English, "Mission report. December 16, 1991."

You whimpered in fear, listening to Bucky give the report that would haunt you for years to come. Just as he finished, you managed to get out of the cuffs, but the clanging of your freed restraints caught Zemo's attention - who smirked with abundant cruelty. "Don't," you warned, backing out of the room just as officers began to flood it.

It was a brutal fight, trying to stave off Bucky once in his Winter Soldier mindset. You grunted as he engaged you, men dead at your feet - the lucky ones just knocked out. You grit your teeth, trying to defend yourself as Bucky operated mechanically; doing what you could to protect yourself, but it wasn't enough.

Blows landed, punching and kicking one another in an equal match of strength and stamina.

"Seize her," Zemo demanded, and in the next moment, Bucky had you by the neck; an effort that made you wheeze and claw at his bionic hand.

"Bucky," you begged. "Baby - baby - it's me, it's me, please, don't, it's me! Don't do this, baby, please, come back to me. Come back!" You struggled in his grip, trying to pry his hand open, "Baby, please, please, come back to me," spit drooled from your lips as he squeezed tighter. "This isn't you!" You managed to squeeze out, tears surfacing. "Not anymore, don't let them win!"

"Shut her up, Solider," Zemo commanded in Russian, your eyes widening and trying to beg Bucky again before he was sending you into a wall. He marched up to you, grabbing your hair, and surging his balled up metal fist directly into the bridge of your nose, breaking it, head jolting backwards, and effectively knocking you out.

When you came back into consciousness, it was to Steve's worried face; his hands caressing your cheeks and begging, "You all right?"

"Fucking hell," you winced, reaching up to prod the tender spot on your head; revealing blood.

"Got your ass kicked, huh?" He frowned.

"Watch your language, Cap," you smirked, wincing when your face throbbed. "Shit, how bad is it?"

He looked you over, offering, "Definitely a broken nose."

"Goddamnit - where is he? Where's Bucky?"

"Help me," a voice pleaded from the next room, Zemo playing his part by splaying out on the floor like bait.

"Don't trust him, something ain't right about him, Steve," you whispered, waving him on as you sluggishly hoisted yourself up the wall to lean against it. "Kept asking about Siberia, asking about shit nobody should actually know."

"Get yourself safe," Steve told you swiftly, nodding at Sam; who was checking on the status of the other bodies around you.

"Just find him, Steve, he's lost in his own mind - a threat to himself," you panted, slowly standing.

"I know - "

"You don't know," you shook your head, wiping a trickle of blood from your temple, "but you're gonna have to do more than understand him right now, Steve."

"I've got this," he promised, watching you nod and limp away. You had just missed the action, Bucky overpowering both Sam and Steve; getting to a safety landing and running into Natasha, Tony, and Agent Sharon Carter.

"We'll hash our bullshit out later," you panted, "but for now - "

You heard a commotion behind you, flinching out of sight when Bucky made himself known and began taking down rogue agents unlucky enough to stand before the Winter Soldier.

"He have an off switch?" Nat asked.

"Not that I've found," you frowned. "Split up."

Tony tried to engage Bucky first, using a mobile Iron Man device he wore on his wrist that used sonics to disorient Bucky. It only worked to a small extent, the two exchanging a few blows, Bucky firing a bullet at Tony's face at pointblank range that was saved by his technologically advanced glasses. Bucky got the upper hand, sending Tony flying back, letting Sharon and Nat attack.

He disposed of them both easily, stumbling when you caught him off guard and wrapped your legs around him. Normally, you'd do anything to have your legs around him - but this wasn't one of those times. You exchanged several punches, blocking one another, going for disarming hits but being of equal challenge; leaving small cuts and blooming bruises on each other as if to prove the engagement. Natasha rejoined the fight, two Widows showing Bucky up on a few instances, but he was heaving her across the room as you swung onto his shoulders in an impressive acrobatic move.

You heaved your fists down in a repeated fashion on the top of his head, Bucky charging at one of the cafe tables; slamming you down and choking you again with his metal hand. Both your hands held his, legs up around his neck to try to keep him at a distance for relief on your windpipe.

Through a strangled breath, you managed, "You could at least recognize me!"

"Who said I don't?" He growled, reaching out to snap a piece of wood from a chair.

You tried to regain normal breath, wheezing, "This isn't you, baby, you are not this person anymore - you're not a psychotic, robot killer! You're a man - please!"

"You don't know a damn thing about me," he seethed.

"I know everything about you," you strangled, "and I know this isn't you. Come back to me, baby, please! Y-You can't let the demons win, Buck, please - fucking listen to me!" But he only raised the wooden shaft above his head. "BUCKY, DON'T!"

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

You cried out shrilly when he jabbed the sharp wood into your shoulder, staking you to the table just as King T'Challa rushed onto the scene and stole your brainwashed boyfriend's attention. You hissed in pain, trying to yank the wood free but being unsuccessful; resulting in blood to splatter onto the tiled floor.

Hearing someone pant your name, you caught a glimpse of red and knew it was Nat, her face worried over yours a moment later. "Where's Bucky?" You coughed and winced in pain.

"Goin' up by the looks of it," she informed, "now hang on, this is gonna hurt. Want a belt to bite?"

"No, just do it, get it done, please," you panted, bracing yourself, and suddenly, without warning, your companion heaved the piercing shaft free from your flesh. Naturally, you cried out, groaning and clenching your jaw so tight, it nearly crushed your teeth into dust.

"Hey, you seen..." Sam arrived on scene, taking in your injury, "Holy shit, you good?"

"Yeah," you grunted, stumbling to your feet as blood bloomed into a bigger, brighter blemish on your tactical shirt. "We gotta go, Sam, we should get outta here."

"Hang on," Nat paused you two, your opposite hand holding your wound; her hands occupied by a smart device, "looks like Bucky tried to highjack a helicopter. Steve stopped him, but it resulted in them all crashing in the river."

"Shit," Sam breathed. "We gotta go find them."

"We need to get outta here, you know, away from the cops and agents," your head shook. "Get somewhere safe, away from this catastrophe. We'll regroup with Steve."

"Go," Nat permitted, "I won't say a word."

"You're one of a kind, Nat," you praised, pecking her cheek. "Let's go, Sam. And grab that First Aid kit," you pointed to the wall where the white box was mounted. He agreed and you lead the way out of the facility.

Bucky groaned as he woke up, head lulling back before realizing he couldn't move his metal arm; finding it clamped in industrial weights. Sam called you both to attention, but while Steve jogged over, you remained in your place out of sheer distress.

You only vaguely listened to the conversation, hands trembling as your shoulder was bandaged to prevent further injury or infection. You did what you could to patch up any injury, and when you heard your name, you dialed in; Bucky asking, "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"You don't remember?" Sam sneered.

"No..."

"You stabbed her," the Falcon growled.

"What? N-No, I-I-I couldn't've - I wouldn't!"

"You did," Steve confirmed, pity coloring his words. "Punched her out pretty well, choked her, too. Broke her nose..."

"Please - Steve, please, tell me I didn't."

"I'm sorry, Buck."

"That why she's not here? She's in a hospital?"

"Actually, no," Sam trailed, "she's just in the other room."

"She didn't want to come here?"

Steve sighed as Sam informed, "Don't think she wants to see you right now, man."

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"We know," Steve swiftly promised, nodding his head. "She knows it, too, you just have to give her some time."

Bucky looked utterly defeated, murmuring, "I scared her. Oh, my God, I scared her..."

"Gotta agree with you there."

"Sam," Steve reprimanded. "Look, Buck, she'll come around."

You waited until the two men left Bucky alone to regroup and stratify a new course of action. Slowly and almost sheepishly, you entered where Bucky was being kept, steps silent but he heard you anyways. His blue eyes flashed in concern as he met your gaze, mouth opening and closing as if words failed him.

"Doll," he finally breathed, "a-are you all right?"

"I'm okay."

"Don't bullshit me, how hard did I hit you? Steve said I broke your nose, I-I'm so sorry, doll, please believe me. What'd I do to your shoulder? Is that where I stabbed you?"

"Buck," you sighed, slowly squatting in front of him, "I need you to take a breath and know that I understand you were not in your right state of mind. You were forcibly triggered and sent back into that way of thinking, I know it wasn't you."

"I still hurt you, I still did it."

"Did you, though?" Your head cocked, eyes narrowing slightly, "Because I know my Bucky wouldn't hurt me, would never dare lay a hand on me - but the Winter Solider is a different story. You didn't do this, Buck, you weren't you."

"I can smell the fear on you."

"Well, yeah, it fuckin' scared me. I tried to stop that fake doctor, I tried to help, tried to save you and keep your safe. I'm sorry I was too slow, that I failed."

"You didn't fail anything, sweetheart... I-I failed you, I broke my promise to never hurt you."

"No, you didn't. The Winter Solider did all that, not my Bucky."

He frowned, repeating to ask softly, "Your Bucky?"

"My Bucky - the kind, charismatic, impossibly stubborn, kind hearted man I've loved the past couple of years who always gives me the crispiest fries, who has nightmares, who loves me unconditionally despite what I, too, have done in my past. And you know what I was doing out there while Sam and Steve talked to you?"

"What's that, doll?"

"Understanding that loving someone means loving their flaws, accepting them exactly as they are. So, while, yes, the Winter Solider scares the fuck outta me, he's still part of you and I can't authentically love you if I reject the Soldier."

His head shook "Your kindness is wasted on me."

"I think you should let me decide what's a waste and what's not when it comes to my own energy and emotion."

"I'm just gonna end up hurting you again. You're better off without me, baby, you and I both know you're better off keeping your distance. You should get out now while you still can."

"Not gonna happen. 'Cause you know what else I realized?" You reached up to caress his cheek, "I trust you beyond reasonable doubt, I trust you even if I'm afraid of the Winter Solider. I should've been faster, I should've helped you more, but I was powerless against that red notebook."

"You and I, both..."

You pet the cheek you were holding. "Buck, I know it was scary, I know how it must've felt being forced back into that mindset, but I want you to know that I'm in this for the long haul - you're not gonna scare me off. Because I love you, Bucky, and every single part of you - whether choking me out or not. Whether I earn a broken nose or not."

"I'm so sorry. I-I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry, I hate that I hurt you. I'm so sorry, baby, I can't - I can't even put it in words how much I regret putting you in that position."

You smirked, "See? The Winter Soldier has no remorse, but my Bucky does." You gingerly reached out to curl his hair behind his ear. "My Bucky apologizes and takes accountability. There's no reason to not love that man - especially when he deserves it so much. Hey? Hear me? You deserve to be loved, too, Buck."

"And you deserve a man who doesn't run the risk of being turned into a psycho killing machine over a few measly words."

"I deserve to love my best friend, so let me do that. Say whatever you want, try to push me away - but I'm like a boomerang, baby, I'll just come right back."

"What kinda man puts his best girl in that kinda position? Who hurts the most important person in his life?"

"A man who endured decades of abuse," you laid your hands on either of his thighs, "a man who wasn't allowed control of his own mind. I can't - no, no, I won't fault you for that, Buck. Today wasn't your fault and I'll remind you of that as often as it takes. Don't you dare feel guilty because you didn't do this to me, okay? You didn't put me in any position - that fake fucking doctor did this, Agent Ross did this, special ops put us here. You, my sweet boy, didn't do anything to be at fault. You were trapped, but look at you now - freed, level headed, talking to me."

His eyes gleamed with a sheen of emotion, staring at the bloodied bandage wrapping your shoulder wound before his eyes danced over the bruising and other aftermath of your injuries. "I could've killed you," he muttered, tears filling his eyes.

"But you didn't - and surprisingly, neither did the Winter Soldier. Maybe there was a part of you still alive, wanting to refuse orders and not actually hurt me."

"Perhaps," he frowned. "I'm still so sorry, doll, I hate that I did this to you. It never should've happened."

Your head nodded, "I know, baby, and listen - I forgive you. Yeah? Hear me? I forgive you, this is in the past."

"Are you sure about me? You sure you wanna do this? Knowing I could flip a switch and hurt you - maybe even worse than today?"

"I'm sure about you, Buck," you agreed. "I don't wanna be without you, so, sign me up for whatever's to come."

"You might regret that."

"The only thing I could ever regret is abandoning you. I don't want to do this without you - I love our life together. In any world, in any lifetime, I'd still choose you. There's nothing that would make me regret you - regret being with you."

"You sure? I don't want to make you do anything out of your comfort."

"I love you, Bucky, yes, I'm sure. No matter what damage you think you might've caused, whatever damage has been done, I promise, that's not the truth. There's nothing about you that I could regret."

"Well, all that's left now is to get to Siberia, stop the other Winter Soldiers."

"And figure out a way to free your mind once and for all... It's what you deserve," you told him softly, rocking to your knees to meet his forehead with yours and caressing his cheek again. When you heard approaching footsteps, you sighed and pulled away from him to stand and turn, spying Sam and Steve. "C'mon, Cap, get him outta this. He's not gonna attack anyone," you requested, gesturing where your boyfriend was trapped.

"You sure?" Sam asked stiffly. "He did a real number on you alone. Not to mention all the other agents and cops he took out back there."

"He's good," you snapped, perking your brows at Steve, "and you two would do well not to throw what happened in his face, it wasn't his fault. So c'mon, free him, he's not a wild animal."

Steve agreed and lifted the machinery from Bucky's prosthetic, him instantly snatching it back and massaging where the joint met metal. Bucky stood with a set stare at Sam and Steve, as if anticipating them to lunge at him. His throat constricted, swelled with emotion when you stepped in front of him - posing barrier between the two Avengers and himself.

"You still got that phone on you?" Steve asked you softly.

"I do."

"Is it still unregistered?"

"You know it is. Who're we calling?"

"Reinforcements. We're gonna need help now that the Avengers will be looking for us. We gotta get to Siberia."

"Here," you agreed, unlocking the device and handing it over. "Who's first on your list?"

"Any Avenger who didn't sign the Sokovia Accords."

When he walked away with Sam again, you turned to face your lover directly; staring into swirling storms of baby blues. "You still with me?" You asked softly, reaching up to caress his hair again to push it behind his ear.

"Always. Got my six?"

"You know I do, baby," you smirked, stepping into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "We'll figure this out, together."

"Together," he agreed, sighing deeply and returning your embrace tightly. His flesh hand rose to hold the back of your head, bringing his lips down to lay a chaste kiss on the top of your head. His voice rattled quietly, "Thank you..."

"Hmm? For what, handsome?"

"Believing in me. It's nice to think we can end this torment."

You smiled up at him, "You deserve freedom, Bucky, and to live without this haunting fear."

"I don't know about 'deserving' it, sweetheart. Done a lot of things that would argue against that."

"Maybe against the Winter Soldier, but Bucky deserves the world. Deserves kindness, accommodation, love and understanding. Now," you smirked and sniffled, giving his waist another squeeze before releasing and pulling back, "get your head outta this pit and focus, we've got a long day ahead of us."

He agreed, letting you take his hand and lace fleshy fingers together in a tether. Sam's face remained stoic and passive, but when Steve saw you two, he couldn't help but smile. Two years he hunted for Bucky and just today, he's learned his best friend's been shacked up with you - a warmth blooming in his chest over the idea of you two finding one another and loving each other.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

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oneshotnewbie · 2 months

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Olivia Benson and Reader break up. Two weeks after that, they're distant towards each other even though Reader is working with the SVU. Two weeks after Olivia breaks up with Olivia, she sees Reader dancing with a stranger and she is jelly. Maybe she goes to Reader, takes her by the hand without saying a word and brings her to the next room or something and then... it's up to you! Fluffy, Angst and maybe pre-smut pls?

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes pre-smut and the plot is presented. That's why I only recommend reading it if you are over 18+. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Authors note: Woah.. Lets say I got carried away. I had to cut out a whole section to keep it suitable for my younger audience, even though it hurt my heart to delete my work. There is still a bit of pre-smut like you requested. But I hope you like it anyway ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The hum of the neon lights on the ceiling and the roar of the air conditioning mixed with the muted clacking of computer keyboards seemed louder than usual in the busy Special Victims Unit. The air was heavy with unspoken words and broken promises. Everyone in the room felt the change, even if no one said it out loud.

The office was usually a place of hectic activity, where phone calls, keyboards, and hushed conversations formed a constant backdrop. But today was different.

You sat at your desk, eyes glued to the screen in front of you, the words of the report blurred before your eyes. Your mind was far away, on old memories of happy times before everything fell apart. On the woman who had broken your heart. Olivia Benson, Lieutenant and steadfast leader of the team, had been more than just your superior. She was your partner, your confidante, the love of your life. But now she was just your boss, and the distance between you was painfully real.

Since splitting up with Olivia, everything had changed. The dynamics in the office, the atmosphere, even the way others looked at you - everything was different. She had been your rock. Strong, determined, and unwavering. She had always held the team together, been a leader, and the one who never backed down, no matter how hard it was. But now there was something in her eyes that you had never seen before - a coldness, a distance that hurt every time your eyes happened to meet.

You only spoke to each other when necessary, and the times when you had worked as a harmonious team seemed far away. The rupture in your relationship was reflected in every aspect of your work. Cases that were once solved with ease now dragged on. Decisions that were once made instinctively and together now had to be laboriously and formally agreed upon.

Olivia sat in her office, the door only half open. She had tried to throw herself into her work to fill the emptiness in her heart, but it didn't help. Every time she looked up, she saw you - and every time you looked at her, it hurt. Your eyes met briefly through the glass before both quickly looked away again, unable to hide the feelings that still burned within you.

Detective Amanda Rollins, who was sitting at her desk next to Fin Tutuola, sighed quietly and shook her head in displeasure. She and the rest of the team had noticed the unspoken tension and cool politeness between the two of you. "Have you noticed?" she whispered quietly so only her partner could hear her. He nodded, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "Yes, it's hard to miss. It's as if a dark cloud is hanging over the office. Rain is pouring down on us."

"I thought they would stay together forever," she said sadly, more to herself, watching you with a sideways glance. "They were the perfect couple. Why did they have to split up?"

"Sometimes love alone isn't enough," Fin murmured, his voice heavy with life experience and knowledge of the complexity of human relationships. Amanda pushed her chair back and came to your desk, sitting on a corner of the wood, her arms folded under her chest. "What's wrong with you two? You're like two icebergs meeting in Antarctica." she began her conversation, giving you a questioning look.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. "It's complicated, 'manda. It wasn't exactly a nice break-up. Just leave it, please?"

Amanda shook her head, her face showing compassion and understanding. "I know it's hard, but you both have to find a way to deal with it. It's not just a burden on you, but on the entire team."

You nodded, but you knew it wasn't that easy. The rifts that had developed between you and Olivia were deep and painful. It wasn't just a professional challenge, but a personal catastrophe that you both tried to overcome in your own way.

Meanwhile, Olivia had made her way out of her office, a stack of files in her hands. She moved through the room with her usual determination, but there was a certain rigidity in her posture. You could see her shoulders tense as she crossed the room to your desk. In the past, you would have known how to calm her down and take away her nervousness, would have known what words and gestures she would have needed. But those days were over.

"Y/n, I need you in my office," she said, not looking directly at you. She handed you a report, your fingers touching briefly before you stood up, your heart beating faster at the thought of being alone with her. The tension between you was palpable as you followed her and closed the door behind you. She sat down while you stood across from her, the desk as a barrier between you.

"We need to talk about the case, you're the lead investigator," Olivia began, her voice professional but cool. "The evidence is thin and we need a new strategy."

You nodded, trying to focus on the conversation, but her proximity made it difficult. "I agree. Maybe we should question the witnesses again and see if we missed something."

Your eyes met again, and for a moment everything else was forgotten. The attraction, the passion, the love - all of it was still there, just beneath the surface. But you both knew it wasn't that easy. Too many things stood between you, things that couldn't be overcome so easily. "We have to stay professional," Olivia said finally, her voice breaking. How she would love to hug you right now. "The team needs us to be strong."

You nodded again, your eyes heavy with unspoken feelings. "I know. But it's hard, Liv. Working with you every day and pretending everything is fine when it isn't."

"We have no choice," she whispered, visibly tense. "We have to find a way to deal with this. For the victims who are counting on us.“

The following days were torture for both of you. You worked side by side, your interactions brief and distant. Each of you tried to remain as professional as possible, but the unspoken feelings and the broken relationship between you and Olivia weighed on you.

One evening, when most of your colleagues had already gone home, you stayed late at the office. You worked on a strategy, trying to distract yourself. Olivia was still in her office, the light on, casting a lonely shadow in the large room you were sitting in.

Finally, you stood up and went to her. You knocked softly on the door and entered when she invited you in. "Olivia, we need to talk," you began, your voice quiet but firm. She looked at you, her eyes tired and sad. "I know, y/n. But I don't know what to say. It's all so... messed up."

"Just tell me it hurts you as much as it does me," you said, your voice growing more intense with each word. "Tell me you regret it."

"Of course it hurts," she replied, her voice shaking as she placed her sweaty and shaking hands on her lap, leaning back in her chair. "I still love you. That will never change. But you deserve better."

Tears glistened in your eyes as she reached out an arm to you, your hand enveloping hers before pulling you to her side. "I love you too, Liv. I don't need anything better, I need you."

Olivia hugged you, tight and desperate, as if she never wanted to let you go. In that moment, you both knew that the love between you was strong, but the reality of your situation demanded more than just feelings. She knew she had to find a way to balance your situation and your work so as not to put further strain on the team.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Two weeks had passed since Olivia Benson ended her relationship with you. Two weeks of stolen glances and feelings that remained unspoken. But life and work must go on, and so Olivia threw herself into her duties while you behaved just as professionally. The team continued to sense that not everything was settled between you, but no one spoke openly.

That evening, the team was at Club Delirium, a popular downtown nightclub, to conduct an undercover operation. The goal was to break up a human trafficking ring, and you had volunteered to act as bait. Olivia watched the scene from a secluded table, her eyes always fixed strictly on you.

The music blared and the lights flickered in different colors. You, in a tight, black, low-cut dress and perfectly styled hair, looked stunning. You were dancing with a strange woman whose hands were on your hips. Olivia felt a stabbing sensation in her chest. Jealousy mixed with the pain of separation burned inside her. A dangerous combination.

Every step you took, every movement, every smile you gave the stranger felt like a slap in the face. Olivia knew it was part of the mission, but it didn't make the situation any less painful. Her hands clenched into fists as she tried to keep her emotions under control.

The plan was simple: get the suspect, a ring leader, to give you information by gaining her trust. But Olivia couldn't focus on the details entering her brain through an earpiece while she watched the woman she loved give herself to someone else, even if only in appearance.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you gave a signal. The suspect had given up the information, and the team moved in to arrest her. The club turned into a chaos of flashing lights, loud music, and cops suddenly appearing. Amidst this chaos, Olivia kept her eyes on only one thing - you.

As soon as the mission was complete and the suspect was taken into custody, Olivia looked for you. She found you at the edge of the dance floor, away from the crowd. She walked up to you, grabbed your hand, and wordlessly pulled you into a side room of the club that served as a storage room.

You were roughly pushed inside, Olivia closed the door behind her and turned to you. Her eyes sparkled with unspoken jealousy. "What were you thinking?" she hissed, her voice lower but charged. You looked at her in surprise and confusion. "It was an undercover mission. I only did what was necessary."

"Necessary?" Olivia stepped closer to you, her presence overwhelming. "It looked like you enjoyed it."

Your eyes widened in shock and anger. "It was part of the job, Liv! You know that better than anyone." you said and she grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer, your bodies almost touching. "I know," she whispered, her voice rough. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt me to see you like this."

You took a deep breath, your eyes searching Olivia's. "I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't know it would hurt you so much. After all, you broke up with me, remember?"

Olivia ran her fingers over your wrist, then your arms, until she reached your hands. "I don't want to lose you, y/n. I can't bear to see you with anyone else, even if it's just for a mission."

The tension between you was almost palpable as Olivia leaned even closer to you. "I need you," she whispered before pressing her lips to yours, possessive and desperate. You returned the kiss, your hands grasping Olivia's hair as the passion between you ignited.

In that moment, everything else was forgotten - the separation, the mission, the world outside that small room. There was only the two of you, your love, and the incessant longing that drove you to each other. Olivia pulled you closer to her, her kisses intense and demanding, as if to make up for lost time and broken promises.

You parted, panting, your foreheads leaning against each other. Olivia pulled back a little, her hand sliding to your neck, encircling it with a determined gesture. Her thumb gently stroked your skin while her dark, sparkling eyes searched your gaze intensely. "You're mine," she murmured, her voice deep and possessive.

You trembled under her touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. "Yes, Liv," you whispered, the words full of desire and devotion. "Only yours."

Olivia pulled you closer again, her lips found yours once more, the kiss stronger this time, even more demanding than the one before. Her hands slid down your back, reaching for you as if she never wanted to let you go again. She pushed you against the wall, her body pressed tightly against yours.

"Tell me you want me," Olivia demanded, her voice dark and rough, gasping for air. "I want you, Liv," you answered, your pupils blown with desire. "I only want you."

Olivia's mischievous and dark giggle filled the small room and she continued to glide her hands over your body. Her lips found your neck, leaving hot kisses on your skin.

Your breathing quickened, your hands grabbed at her shoulders, holding her tight as Olivia continued to kiss and touch you. The world around you faded, there was only the two of you, your love and the burning desire that drove you to each other.

The intensity of the moment seemed to stop time, every touch, every kiss was a promise, a proof of her unbroken love for you. Olivia's hands slid down your sides, finding their way under the dress you wore, leaving a trail of passion on your skin.

"I need you," Olivia whispered, her voice hotter with pure desire. "Now." You nodded, your eyes closing as you surrendered to her. "I'm yours, Liv."

The heat between you was overwhelming, the passion you felt was all-encompassing. In that small room, shielded from the world, you and Olivia found yourselves again, your love and desire for each other stronger than ever.

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dunmeshistash · 3 months

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I've had the discussion about on my mind for a while and it's made me start to believe that the Canaries, like many real world criminals, were involved in crimes but were given unfair punishment because the involvement is never specified and that's on purpose. Lycion and Cithis have life sentences, but Lycion's time in the fighting pit was done in a dungeon and dungeons closely monitored by Canaries. It's possible he was scooped up by someone who noticed his potential as a Canary after Utaya thinned the ranks so much.

Cithis may have murdered in self defense, which is still murder, but it shouldn't give her a life sentence. But if they noticed her magic specialty, the Dungeon Investigation Unit leadership may have decided she's useful and drummed up her charges to pull her in.

Fleki? Having drugs is legal for spell casters, especially familiar uses. But Fleki was arrested for position of ancieny artifacts. What for? She's shown no interest in ancient artifacts. Did she have it by accident. Did someone plant it on her because they noticed her capability with a familiar was better than others?

With Otta, it's entirely possible her human trafficking charge was because she was trafficked, not because she DID trafficking. This happens in real life. Equally, she may have been charged with human trafficking for helping people who the Elf Queen and their government wasn't fond of get out of the country.

I'm not going to say their hands are clean of any sin, but given how the long-lived races also have a lot of practices that convey real life imperialist governments, it's easy to see where there's room for interpretation.

In real life modern California in the U.S., incarcerated people are forcefully volunteered to fight wildfires on the ground at the risk of their lives because there's not enough firefighters as is to cover what's necessary. It's possible the Canaries are are in a similar situation.

This isn't meant to be argumentive or anything, but I think it's neat that even with all the solid details and interesting things laid out, Ryoko Kui was able to still able to leave things vague enough for interpretation. If anything, I should thank you for giving me more interesting ways to look at what material we've been provided.

Fleki was selling the ancient artifacts but yeah I don't doubt they have been unfairly put in this situation, several times they talk about how understaffed the Canaries are and how they always need more prisoners, Fleki might not have a life sentence but she basically does since her sentence is so long she'll be dead of very old when it's over and all she did was sell it.

#ask #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #Canaries #no problem!#meta ask

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ohtobeleah · 24 days

Text

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Chapter Four: [Like Father, Like Daughter]

Summary: You receive news from your case worker about a family member, its sends you into a spiral. Bob is awol from the Hard Deck and Jake is constantly up to his old tricks.

Warnings: Death, mentions of witness protection. Jake Seresin x F!reader

Word Count: 3k

Author Note: Been trucking along at this series. Really trying to spend a little time each day writing a few paragraphs for some projects. And I really do LOVE these two.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Throughout history, there has always been a superstition that expands across many belief systems. Mirrors can be seen as a portal to another dimension; the reflection staring back at you is another version of yourself. Another version of you from another timeline or realm.

If that were true, you’d give anything to trade places with the reflection staring back at you as you caught a glimpse of yourself in the small hallway mirror that hung for aesthetics.

“What do you mean?” Your voice shook with confusion, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. “Roger, what the fuck do you mean my dad died?”

Roger Spague was your case agent. He had been assigned your case right after the funerals of your husband and son. Soon after everything occurred, you were encouraged to enter witness protection to safeguard your testimony. As the only witness who could help bring the men who murdered your family and organised a multilevel drug syndicate to justice, your word was more valuable than gold itself.

“We couldn’t tell you,” Roger has always been a rather hard nut to crack. He took no bullshit and smiled very rarely. He saw the world for black and white more than he ever did grey. Morals were good or bad, nothing could be in between. “He, unfortunately, passed away a month ago, we’ve been informed of the burial site, Hollow Hills. However, we really advise against you visiting anytime soon,” Rogers’s monotone voice echoed in your head as you struggled to hold your composure.

“Why? Why would I not run out this door right now to visit my father’s fucking grave you asshole!” You hissed into the phone. Surely this was all some sick joke or a nightmare that never ended. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe properly. You were almost certain your heart was breaking apart yet again. The shattering pieces would surely slice into your arteries, causing you the bleed out and be at peace with the pain you’d carried for over three years.

“Because they could be monitoring the site, do you really want to risk everything you’ve worked so hard to protect?” Roger reminded you through the phone. At this stage, you were sure that all the tears you’d cried over the years had permanently stained your cheeks. Maybe one day you’d wake up with no more tears left to cry.

“Roger–” You sobbed as you made your way into your bedroom. You slumped onto the side and crumpled in on yourself. The only support system keeping you up was your elbows digging into your knees “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You don’t have a choice to quit this,” Roger, with his little sympathise and tunnel vision, reminded you. “You don’t get to leave this until those bastards are behind bars, and we’ve put too much work into this to have you throw it all away now.”

“But he’s my dad,” You never got to say goodbye. You never got to tell him how much you loved him, how much you still and always will. You never got to hold your mother or comfort your sister. Everything you’d missed, everything you’d sacrificed was starting to outway the idea, the pipe dream of justice. You were, at the very basic explanation, tired of this life. “I need to visit his grave.”

“Not until we know for certain that there isn’t anyone monitoring his grave just waiting for you to show up.” The reality was hard to accept, you didn’t want to accept it. But the fact of the matter was, that you have just lost another member of your family, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to help yourself forgive that loss.

“Fuck you,” You spat as tears spilled over your lower lash line. “Fuck you and fuck all of this do you hear me?”

“No skin off my nose there, just remember why you’re doing this, who you’re doing this for, Y/n.” Just hearing your real name, and hearing those syllables leave someone’s mouth made you feel real. That you were still a real person with real emotions and valid feelings. “Remember what’s a stake here, they get the chance to kill you now? Then what’s all this been for?”

“I hate you–” Was all you were able to get out before you broke down completely, deciding that the floor was the best place to be. You hung up the phone and made sure to throw it as far away as you possibly could.

The carpet soaked up as many tears as possible before you fell asleep crying, sobbing until your eyes could no longer remain open and a steady rhythm took over in your chest. Sleep….it never came easy, but you needed it.

By the time you slowly opened your eyes again, the sun had risen higher in the sky and the ice cream you’d brought in your weekly shop was melted into a puddle of liquid. You knew as you slowly peeled yourself off the carpet that you had to get yourself together before you lost the plot. So you trailed out into the hallway and made your way back to the kitchen to put away your groceries. The bags still sat where you and Jake had left them on the island bench.

“You’re okay,” It was two simple words, but the lies that read between the lines were big enough to make them seem like a whole novel of untruthful affirmations. “You’re okay,” Again you repeated the same two words as you unpacked your groceries. “You’re okay.” Hoping that if you said them enough……

You’d hopefully start to believe them.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Cutting lemons was one of those mundane tasks you actually enjoyed. It gave you something to do while zoning out. You’d only been at work for roughly an hour before the patrons started to pile in after work. Naval men and women from all walks of life all heading to the local watering hole. It wasn't too long after you started on your fourth lemon that Jake made his appearance in your peripheral vision. There was no doubt that his proximity to you was the cause behind your palpitations.

Jake stood on the other side of the bar, smiling his signature shit-eating grin at you while he watched your knife skills.

“What's a guy gotta do to get you to handle him like that lemon?” Trust Jake to lead with the unorthodox hello. When you looked up and met your gaze, you knew you were in deep water. The smile that smeared itself across your face was as genuine as it could ever be.

“I didn’t know you were into knife play Seresin?” You saw the way Jake's eyes slightly widened with promiscuous enlightenment at your reply. “You just after the usual?” You asked as you placed the knife you’d been using into the sink.

“Yes ma’am, and to see the pretty barkeep,” Jake replied as he sat down on one of the empty barstools. He looked far too handsome in his flight suit, but you’d never tell him that. His ego was already inflated enough.

“Penny! Hangman here to see you!” You called out as you washed your hands from all the lemon juice. Jake wouldn’t deny it if you asked that his eyes had dropped from looking at your hair to your ass as you turned around briefly to dry them on the rag that sat nearby.

“I was talking about you–” He smiled as you turned back around to face him. His elbows were resting against the top of the bar, casually, like he was truly at home.

“Bet you say that to all the ladies–” You added as you picked up a glass, going about making Jake his usual order.

“Nope, just you.” It was quiet, a little more serious with an underlying sense of admiration. Jake meant it, he thought you were gorgeous. From the moment he first met you, he saw all the beauty and grace that seamlessly radiated from your aura. “I think you’re beautiful, Brewer.”

Jake's complement knocked the wind from your lungs as you held the glass at an angle and watched the amber liquid pool at the bottom. Slowly but surely filling the glass to the top with a perfect head of froth.

“What did I tell you about flattery?” You sighed as you placed the beer down in front of the aviator who was slowly capturing your whole heart in the palm of his hands. Completely unaware that he was falling in love with a complete stranger.

“That it won’t get me anywhere–” Jake grinned, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “But if I remember correctly, it did.” The sensation of having Jake’s lips pressed against yours came flooding back as the heat in your cheeks rose. “Let me take you out to dinner?”

“Jake,” You had to sigh. “Not this again?” Playing a little hard to get wouldn’t hurt the man, would it?

“Or come over to mine then?” Jake proposed with a cheeky Serein grin you assumed he got from his mother.

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled as you let your hands rest on your bar, leaning in a little closer to Jake. “So I can contract whatever deceases you’re harbouring in that petri dish of a bachelor pad?” Jake pretended to be wounded as he placed a hand over his chest at your remark. You shook your head as you let out a small laugh. “I don’t think so, Seresin, but I’ll give you points for trying.”

Jake sat there momentarily, just drinking in the sight of the woman who had slowly become his favourite person to be around. This was his favourite part of the entire day. Getting to come to the Hard Deck, sit on his stool by the bar and talk to you. He thought about you all day long. About all the ways you did our hair and those mom jeans that hugged your waist just right. He’d catch himself thinking about the way you humbly count your tips at the end of each night, or the way you laugh with Fanboy over the most insane things. He would often daydream about your smile, your eyes, and your ability to captivate the entire bar.

“Fine,” Jake knocked his knuckles on the wood of the bar as he rose to his feet once again. “Suit yourself, but just for the record, I like my bachelor pad very much.” For as much as Jake truly did love his quick, tidy and rather put-together home, he sure wouldn’t have minded the slightest bit if you lived there too.

“I think the local community of gonorrhoea would say the same.” You took the card Jake was handing over. “Starting a tab?”

“Depends, what’s Bradshaws looking like?” Jake was always the first to add an extra beer or three onto Bradley’s outstanding tab. You were always the first person to turn a blind eye then doing so. As you looked up Roosters name in the system the number was much higher than you originally expected. It seemed as though the boys had well and truly been taking advantage of Rooster’s current love-hate relationship with the Hard Deck barkeep.

“Eh, he owes me a couple hundred.” You smiled softly back at Jake as you placed his card in the draw.

“Yeah, start a table angel, gives me more of an excuse to linger,” Jake replied with a genuine smile, his eyes were soft and swirling with ease. He’d never felt this way about a woman before. You gentled him to a point where if you asked him tomorrow to run away with you, he’d follow you to the end of the world.

“I’m sure that’s called stalking–” You sighed as you turned around momentarily to pick up your knife and head back to cutting your lemon slices.

“Consider me your biggest fan then, Brewer.” Jake grinned ear to ear as he took a sip of his beer, heading off toward the pool table where you knew he’d be for the next few hours.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The Hard Deck was rather busy for a Monday afternoon. The bar was in high spirits as you manoeuvred yourself around the floor collecting empty glasses and cans. You could feel Jake’s eyes burning into you as you spoke to patrons and cleaned up tables. But there was one person you hadn’t seen yet that you needed to talk to desperately. Bob.

“Where’s our resident underage drinker this evening gentlemen?” You cooed as you made your way over to your favourite group of aviators. “And Nix.” You added as you gave Phoenix a side hug.

“Haven’t seen him actually?” Fanboy replied, his answer wasn’t one you wanted to hear. Usually, if someone wasn’t here by this time of the night then they weren’t coming at all. You really needed to speak to Bob.

“Do you think he'll be in?” You questioned as you let go of Phoenix and went about collecting empty glasses. You knew Bob had annual leave coming up, he'd been talking about it for weeks now.

“Why the sudden obsession with Bob, Brewer?” Rooster chimed in. “You guys on the down low or something?” That very question had Jake's blood boiling. You could see the jealousy clear as day smeared across his face from across the pool table.

“I’m uh—” It came out before you knew what you were saying. “I'm seeing someone, casually, it's really new.” Your eyes very quickly glanced over at Jake who now wore that same smug grin that he normally wore. Only this time his eyes were swirling with administration. “It's not Bob, but I appreciate your interest in my love life, Bradshaw.”

“Lord help the man who ends up under your control,” Bradley rolled his eyes with a deep resentment you couldn't quite understand. The feud between the pain of you was something that formed from a mere misunderstanding. Surely the two of you could let bygones be bygones and move on.

“An apology will wipe that ever-mounting tab clear Bradshaw, you know that.” You teased as you made your way back to the bar. You could feel the back of your throat growing tighter, and the sting of holding back tears that had become an all too familiar sensation began to grow. You couldn’t keep yourself busy enough to forget your dad was dead and no one, not a single soul had told you of his passing until he was six feet under. No amount of work could keep your mind from trailing to all the memories that played aloud in your mind, drowning out the mundane chatter from patrons.

“Can I get another beer sweetheart?” You hear one of the men say as he held his head up with the palm of his hand. He was using his elbow as an anchor, keeping him from slumping over onto the bar.

“Sure, what are you drinking?” You facked a smile so easily readable that Jake saw right through it from across the Hard Deck. He could sense that you were off, something wasn’t right. One minute you were happy, the next he didn't recognise the look in your eyes.

“Whatever you don’t mind tasting after you finish your shift.” The man said with the confidence of a much taller man. It made the damn burst inside you. Fuck this and fuck everything.

“Careful, the succulent reminder of your own inadequacies walking this way might cause a scene real quick if you don’t back off.” The problem was simple, you’re doing it all on your own. Choosing to stay all closeted in your own little bubble, longing for love, friends and family. Scared of death, scared of life, taking it out on those who tried to get close. But as Jake walked towards the bar, you felt like you could rely on him. He made you feel safe even if being around you put him in unimaginable danger. “That’s what I thought too.” You chuckled to yourself as the man nodded and sighed.

“You good?” Jake asked as he decided against following the first of many of Penny’s rules for the residence group of aviators. Mavericks rag-tag team of adopted children. The first and most important being no aviators behind the bar. Jake, however, didn’t care.

“I feel like I’m rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic here,” You growled as you poured the man his beer. The last one you were going to pour him for the night. “My life is falling apart around me and here I fucking am pouring beers for America’s best and brightest tax-guzzling fighter pilots.”

Jake could very much sense that something was wrong, this wasn’t like you. He thought, however, since your shared moment in your apartment yesterday, that he had some sort of upper hand here over all the others.

“You need to take a break, just pause for a second.” Jake placed his hand softly on your shoulder as he stood behind you. Whatever was going on inside your head was bleeding out into reality.

The feeling broke you. Jake’s touch, it wasn’t your husband’s. The man you got killed. It was Jake’s touch that broke you from whatever restraints you had tangled yourself in. The barbed wire that cut you right to your bones.

“No, you can’t just pause, because in real life the trauma doesn’t just stop,” You broke as you spun around into Jake’s chest. He was quick to look around as people from all walks of life looked around to bear witness to your impending mental breakdown. He caught Bradley’s gaze before anyone else's. Even the man who had unintentionally started a war with the new Hard Deck manager was worried about you.

“Penny–” Jake sighed as he looked over at the woman who still ran the show from behind the scenes. She nodded in agreement, a silent one. One where it was now Jake’s responsibility to get you out of the Hard Deck before you could draw any more attention to yourself.

“Let's go outside alright? Get some air–?” Jake tried to reason with you as you shook your head and balled your fist into his white cotton T. Your eyes swirled with a pain he’d never be able to process. A pain so unfathomable it sounded fictional.

“God doesn’t work that way or whoever the fucks in charge of this godforsaken hell I’m living!! You can do absolutely everything right and still…. Good, people, die.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Tags: 🏷️ @a-reader-and-a-writer @xoxabs88xox @hiireadstuff

@buckysteveloki-me e @athenabarnes

@els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @na-ta-sh-aa @kmc1989 @sunlightmurdock

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@86laura11 @mickie-rosebud

#secret sacrifices // jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin angst

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ravencincaide · 11 months

Text

When you assume you make an ‘ass’ out of me and you

Summary: Finding out you’re pregnant, you decide to end things over text. Too bad Chuuya and Dazai were NOT buying your poor excuses. Or the time you made them very happy.

Pairing: preg! Reader x Dazai x Chuuya

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 5: Embracing

Warnings: pregnancy, cursing, hint at (kinky) intimacy,

Enjoy ~

______________________________________________________________

You were feeling like shit. And that was a huge statement considering that you had only ever taken a handful of sick days; turning up to work despite broken bones, staples keeping your skin somewhat together and internal bleeding. Cold was a minor inconvenience and sprained muscles could be forced to function. Ear inflammation was harder but still doable. After all, your job wasn’t all about active field work. A lot of it was information checking online, monitoring people or groups activities through other teams reports or keeping an eye on bank data so your team was within its budget for missions, leisure or other necessities. Damn, it was a miracle how you managed to fix it the last budging year when you had two subordinates who were the definition of shooting maniacs, one chronic alcoholic, and an illiterate clutz who could never find receipts or who somehow switched up numbers in their reports to the point of giving you a heart attack.

Thereby being away even for a day not only risked your office becoming a shooting range, no work being done, missions delayed however, most importantly, your steady tower of paperwork growing into an unmanageable city. You were on your second week away from the office, with no real prognosis for when you’d feel well enough to be back. And you were dreading going back.

Your boss has turned up a few days prior, had taken a thirty second look at you before you ran to the bathroom throwing up and had essentially three things to say to you while you were hugging the porcelain pony:

“ If it’s a stomach bug, get it cured before you even think about entering the office. If you’re pregnant-” the words had made your head snap up in total shock at a possibility you hadn’t even considered. Seeing as your boss brought it up, clearly she thought that you might be. Maybe not that shocking given that you were fucking more than average “ and want an abortion then hurry up and get it done before its too late. And see you in the office at the end of the month.” You could practically feel the warning look from your boss through the heavy wooden door, threatening you not to sweep this issue under the carpet and to keep her updated. “ If you intend to keep it then get your prenatals in order and see you in three years.” With those words she, being the ever caring friend she was, dropped two packets of pregnancy tests on your desk before leaving you alone.

When the results came back positive it was not necessarily a shocker. What surprised you more was that the nauseous feeling came as spontaneously as it did and how tired you felt most days. How exhausted thinking, or in your case overthinking, made you. It felt as if that little test, or five, somehow made you grow up overnight. From a carefree young adult doing whatever you wanted, missions, drinking or wild kinky sex you were suddenly expected within the next nine months to become a mother. A responsible and caring adult that would make yourself, your children and your own parents proud. You didn’t know if you were going to succeed with that but you were damn determined to give your baby the best childhood and care you could. And step one in that equation was to remove people out of your life who did not want a serious relationship with you or were interested in raising a baby together. You did not need forced commitment or alimony; what you needed was a partner and a father to your child. And since you were certain your lovers were not up to the role, you were certain you’d do a much better job alone by yourself- as always!

Still you never expected you would become the kind of trashy person who’d end things over text. You couldn’t understand how people could do it; either talk to the person you want to break up with or do a Dazai and just ghost. This felt too much like attachment issues wrapped in apology for you. Knowing you were already gonna earn a place in hell for it, you typed up a message that you were certain they’d hate you for. Which was perfect in your mind, if you were shooting yourself in the foot by breaking up with two executives who outranked you and your boss by a mile then the least you could do was make sure they wouldn’t unnecessarily seek you out. You’d deal with their revenge on you when you got back from parental leave.

Thus when the sound of pounding on your door came many hours later you were certain it was your boss again. Either to scold you for the extra workload she got from her bosses thanks to yours truly or to kidnap you to the hospital. Dragging yourself out of bed with a groan you quickly ran a brush through your hair for a more presentable appearance. Giving up on changing out of the t-shirt and shorts you headed for the door, opening it absentmindedly. Too late you realized you should have checked who it was.

“ What the hell are you two doing here?” You asked, making your meanest look as you crossed your arms over your chest. You were certain it looked more like a chihuahua barking at a rottweiler than anything threatening.

“ Checking if it’s a hostage situation, Bella” You gaped as Chuuya and Dazai brushed past you. Your dark haired ex-lover making his way to your bedroom, hand on the hilt of his gun. Before you could stop him, Chuuya, who was still lingering in the doorway, forced your attention by sticking his phone into your face with your textmessage pulled up on the screen.

Thank you for this time, I’ve found a better dick. No hard feelings.

“ What is this damned thing?” He asked, his voice far above the usual caring and loving tone he’d use with you.

“ What does it look like?” You raised your hand and studied the chipped manicure on your nails no longer able to stand the angry and hurt expression on his face. “ I’m breaking up with you, duh.”

“ Heeh what the hell do you mean by that Y/N? Better dick?” He took a step closer to you, his expression growing darker by the second “ We all know you’re a slut for us, ready to let us do whatever we want to you so stop lying and spit out what’s really going on.” he was gripping your arms tightly. When you refused to look at him he gave you a rough shake in warning.

“ What the hell-” you caught your exclamation that ‘it hurts’ knowing that it was exactly what he was going for at that moment. “ It’s as I said, I found someone new”

“ How long?!” he didn’t yell but somehow that made it even worse. When you didn’t reply immediately he shook you again “ And what’s so great about this supposed new person.”

You felt your eyes sting and closed them for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. Your next sentence was a hit below the belt; “ They’re actually sweet and caring towards me. Not just after sex.”

“ Sweetheart-” the look on Chuuya’s face was as if you had slapped him, the arguments caught in his throat.

You looked away from him, shaking his hands off your shoulders. Your heart was tearing itself in your ribcage, Begging you to stop this nonsense. But you wouldn’t- you couldn’t. You needed to protect the child in your tummy, to shelter them from the constant fighting, every other week visitation, jealousy and screaming. You needed to prevent them from becoming a pawn in a game called ‘hurt the other parent more’.

“ Sweetheart, do you really believe that-?” Chuuya asked carefully.

“ -Or is it just that you are pregnant Y/N?” Dazai’s question made you jump, your head snapping in his direction. You could see him leaning against the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. Damn you hated it when he did that.

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about '' you lied, back to crossing your arms over your chest. “ I’m done with this conversation so please get out.”

“ Come on Y/N the cats out of the bag now” Dazai looked almost too pleased with himself as he held up the pregnancy test he had fished out of the trashcan.

You felt the colour drain from your face. Your mouth opening and closing as your mind raced between forcing them out of your apartment and lying about it, again.

“ Is it a false positive?” Chuuya asked cautiously, eyeing the brunette.

“ There are five more in there,” Dazai shrugged, silently telling him to draw his own conclusions, as he took a step towards you. You cursed yourself for not taking the trash out sooner.

“ Is it ours?” The question made you hang your head in defeat. “ Belladonna is it-” Dazai growled in warning.

“ Yes” you breathed. You could feel them sharing a look of utter confusion between each other over your head.

“ Darlin, then why the charades?”

“ Because you wouldn’t want it!” you screamed at the top of your lungs “ and I- we don’t need a partner out of obligation.”

Silence lingered in your apartment for a few long moments. You wrapped your arms around yourself. You just wanted them to stop making this harder on you than it already was. Now that they knew the reason for all this, you prayed they wouldn’t cause any more hassle and just silently walk out of the apartment. That they’d walk out of your life and leave you alone. Without any fighting, pity or compromises. Just go, you pleaded silently, before you’d find yourself regretting your decision.

“ You assumed we wouldn’t want it,” Chuuya corrected you. You raised your head finally facing your lover, ready to scream at him- them to get out. The scream never made it past your lips, his expressing killing any arguments you had left; you had expected distress or anger on his face, maybe sadness or guilt but all you could see was a bright happy smile. “ And when you assume something you make an ‘ass’ out of me and you. Now come here my sweetheart” he spread his arms out beckoning you for a hug.

You had never seen that expression on Chuuya’s face. It was as if you had gifted him the sun and moon on a silver platter. You felt all fight fading out of your body, leaving behind just tiredness and longing for his warm embrace.Cautiously you came up to him, breathing a sigh of relief as he hugged you close yet gently to his body, burying his face in your shoulder. “ Oh sweets you’re gonna be a mother- I’m gonna be a father!”

“ Or uncle” Dazai added unable to stop himself from pushing Chuuya’s buttons“ You’re so cute Chuuya ready to be a dad to my kids”

“ Shut it mackerel” Chuuya muttered “ You’re just jealous she’s hugging me.”

“ And you’re just denying the undeniable”

Chuuya growled in reply before biting back the anger, turning his attention towards you instead. The smile never once leaving his face “ So don’t you dare try and break up with us over this again, ‘kay?” Chuuya moved back and pressed a kiss to your forehead before brushing your hair out of your eyes “- or you’re welcome to break up with bandages over there” he teased, making you smile slightly as Dazai let out an annoyed ‘ you dog’.

Surprisingly the argument didn’t go any further than that. Instead Dazai’s attention was shifting between you in Chuuya’s arms and the little white test still clutched between his fingers before he finally broke the silence:“ By the way Belladonna have you had your doctors visit yet? To ensure the little one is fine.”

You sighed, shaking your head a no. “ I haven’t really got around to it yet”

“ That won’t do!” Chuuya cried pulling back from you instantly, his hand already dialing his subordinates, while he was walking towards the door then turning around and pacing back into your room“ Yes I need you to find the best prenatal care doctor in Yokohoma- yes directly I don’t care how much they charge- Sweetheart where is your insurance and identification card?”

You blinked as he stopped in front of you, blue eyes staring at you intensely “ umm In the kitchen, furthest cupboard to the right- top draw. Should be under the travel pamphlet.” Before you could finish your sentence he was already out of the room going to hunt for your documents.

Still you could hear him talking on the phone, beginning to list a bunch of things he wanted delivered to your place within the next fifteen minutes; childcare books, research on food that was safe to eat during pregnancy, alcohol- he was clear to specify it was for himself- and some safe alcohol free options.

“ - and prepare statistics on best child care facilities in Yokohama, and broker offers for all the housing around those areas -and–”

“ Chuuya don't just start randomly buying things” you yelled, staring to follow behind him pausing only when a very gentle hand wrapped itself around your wrist. In fact you were half way pulling out of the touch before your mind registered it. The unusual softness surprised you. Usually Dazai was unapologetically rough during sex; unafraid to slap, hit or even whip you and it was Chuuya who showed you in butterfly touches, kisses over bruised skin and soft embraces.

“ Let him be Y/N” Dazai stated, his voice sounding strange in your ears. His hand falling away from your wrist the instant you turned to face him. You could see that his head was bowed, his hair covering his eyes from you. Sometime during your and Chuuya’s embrace he had moved to sit down on a nearby chair. Wordlessly he patted his lap, silently asking you to sit down instead of the usual act of just pulling you into it. You looked at him skeptically as you took your place on his lap. The moment you did he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms pausing inches above your skin as if you’d shatter in his arms if he touched you..

“ Are you okay?” You asked as you urged him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Taking it as permission he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you carefully to his chest, burying his face in your hair. He held you like that for a few moments, totally silent but for an almost unnoticeable shake of his shoulders “ Dazai, are you crying?”

His response was to bring you even closer

“ Dazai, are you okay?” You asked again with more worry in your voice. He hushed you, stroking your hair. You were starting to panic at his reaction, your mind racing so much that you almost missed his answer to your previous question;

“ I’m more ‘okay’ than ever, Y/N”

#chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #sweetober #pregnant #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #pregnancy announcement #breaking up over text

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ayeforscotland · 7 months

Note

Trying to limit and monitor kids’ social media usage would make so many problems so much worse and I need people to think about it objectively and not take it into consideration just because the concept is a knee-jerk reaction from a grieving mother being exploited by everyone around her.

— Kids already lie about their age, so an age limit is already unenforceable unless you literally require legal ID, which is an incredible breach of privacy with even further safety risks.

— Vulnerable children including LGBTQ kids living with bigoted families would be put in real-life danger of abuse or homelessness if their families had a way of knowing when they’re seeking support.

— The internet and technology is a requirement to navigate the world around you at the most basic level. That is a fact and schools know it too. Limiting access to that in this day and age would be massively limiting one’s knowledge, safety and basic life skills, especially if their family is neglectful or abusive.

— What constitutes as social media cannot necessarily strictly be defined. Some people consider WhatsApp to be social media despite the fact it’s a texting app, and the people you communicate with there are presumably people you’ve spoken to before if you know their numbers. Kids need a way of communicating with people for both practical and safety reasons, and blanketing almost everything as ‘social media’ and limiting access to it inhibits that.

— If you put a ban on all ‘social media’ until the age of 16 and then suddenly allow access, what you end up with is a child who has zero knowledge or experience of something suddenly being thrown into a world where anything is possible. It’s like when teens are forbidden alcohol their whole lives and the day they turn 18 they go on a massive binge not knowing their limits and end up either sick or in the hospital. It’s a recipe for disaster. They NEED exposure so they can learn.

— Let’s be real, kids would find a way around a ban through VPNs or other means anyway. We all figured out how to dodge the website blockers at school when we were 12. I doubt this would be any different.

While the fact that one of the killers watched gore on the dark web is indeed concerning, I really feel the spotlight is being shone on entirely the wrong issue here. Their conversations about the murder were all on social media and provided significant proof for the case. What kids need isn’t for adults to try to control them and read everything into their lives, it’s for adults to communicate with them and make them feel comfortable enough to talk to them when they have a problem. And that’s ignoring the, you know, whole transphobia thing.

(Sorry to write a dissertation in your inbox but despite my deepest sympathies and compassion for Esther seeing people put any stock into her awful, awful idea when that’s so clearly not the problem does quite frustrate me and I need everyone to know just how illogical it is)

I don’t need to add anything to that besides saying this line of argument is very similar to the people who campaign for an internet where no one can be anonymous, it puts so many additional people at risk.

Thanks for taking the time to share!

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flamingpudding · 1 year

Text

Fictober23 Prompt: 5 - "You're the smartest person I know."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Mensions of Blood, Injury and Violence

A/N: This is kind of a bad timeline kind of situation that plays into the Gamer Pal Prompt I wrote before but can still be read independently.

Danny gasped as he staggered along the alley wall, with no idea where he was. He leaned with his shoulder against the wall as his left hand pressed against the wound on his stomach that refused to stop bleeding. He was confused, dizzy and pretty sure his father had given him a concussion, so closing his eyes and just sleeping on the side of the street was out of the question.

Tucker had thrown him through a portal Wulf had opened and that portal had spit him out here in… he doesn't recognise anything. But he was pretty sure he wasn't in Amity anymore. His vision was blurry but he was pretty sure that there were skyscrapers or at least buildings way taller than he was used to.

"Fuck." Danny cursed as another wave of pain made his body shudder. If he could just transform than maybe these injuries wouldn't be as bad but next to the pain Danny could also feel electricity surging through his body thanks to whatever Vlad zapped him with that stopped his transformation.

He coughed, squinting his eyes at the red spots that splattered to the ground. Things had gone to shit and real quickly and for a moment Danny thought that maybe they should have listened to their Gaming friend. Listened to his words of caution and advice to find a way to leave or to have at least a couple more of back up plans if things go horribly wrong.

Well it all came back to bite Danny like usually, as he spat out another glob of blood. Maybe Tim hadn't been as paranoid as they had assumed.

"You okay there kid?"

Danny needed to blink a couple of times until the red and brown blob before him finally took the shape of a person. He blinked several times more until his brain also finally caught up with who he was seeing before him.

"You're Red Hood?" Danny somehow managed to say in between coughing again. Tim had told them about Gothams vigilantes and how he could contact them to get them to help with Amity. To get them into contact with the Justice League. They had thanked him but refused the help, citing the fact that even one overshadowed hero could spell even worse trouble than they already had.

Now he felt stupid having refused that kind of help.

"Hey there kid." Don't black out now. Your bleeding pretty heavily we should get you to a doctors and-"

"No hospitals." Danny cut the vigilante off, coughing once more. Even though Tim somehow had managed to get the Justice League started on the removal of the Anti-Ecto Acts they were not yet gone. He couldn't risk that yet.

But meeting Red Hood meant that Danny was in Gotham, which meant he could probably go directly to Tim for help. His Gaming Pal did say that he knew his cities vigilantes personally.

"Okay no hospitals then." Hood confirmed for him as the man reached out to Danny just as he lost his balance falling forward. The last thing Danny remembers was muttering something along the lines of "Tim… I need to find him."

The next thing Danny then became aware of was the soft beeping of a heart monitor and loud arguing not too far from him. He groaned audible and the arguing stopped instantly. A wight rested on his shoulder and Danny blinked through the brightness and blurreyness once more until he vaguely recognised the shape of a person he so far had only seen through video chats.

"Tim?"

"You absolute idiot." Was the response he got and yea that definitely was the voice he had heard so often during all the late night Doomed gaming sessions.

"That checks out. You are the smartest person I know." Danny chuckled lightly until a sharp pain made him gasp. "Shit, I will feel that for weeks."

"The smartest person you know is Sam. Between the four of us she has the best grades, remember? Besides that, do you have any idea what kind of panic you and Tuck send us through?"

Danny peaked at Tim and grimaced at the frustrated glare the other teen was sending him. "Tucker was the one throwing me through a portal."

"You're lucky you landed in Gotham." The other then muttered, shaking his head.

"Again. You are the smartest person I know. You would have figured out some way to track me? Like the time you hacked our phones and tuned in onto Desiree's ectosignature to find her. Works better than the Booomerang that keeps hitting my head."

"That's because that thing is only tuned on you."

"And you somehow got rid of the GIW and I still haven't figured out how you did that."

Danny watched how the other teen shrugged. There was a silence between them. Tim was texting on his phone, probably informing Sam and Tucker. Danny, meanwhile, for the first time took notice that he was in some sort of medical bay, also noting that whoever Tim had argued with had already left. If he could believe Red Hood's words, then even if this looked like a hospital room it was not one.

"Hey Tim?" Danny finally broke the silence and the other teen only hummed. "Is your offer to stay with you in Gotham and to go to school and college here still open? I think I am ready to leave Amity behind now."

Tim looked up from his phone at Danny and gave him a feral grin. "About damn time. I had all the papers ready for you for ages now. It's about time we finally make use of them."

Danny chuckled. "And you still don't believe me when I say, that you are the smartest person I know?"

"Anyone in my family can do at least that, you know? These papers are nothing special."

Danny only raised an eyebrow at the other before both teens started to laugh, with one laugh getting cut short by a groan of pain and the other by fussing over the other right after it.

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oharabunny · 1 year

Text

imagine being miguel's live-in doll

Description: You're kind of a loser and horrible at taking care of yourself so much so that he takes it upon himself to be your one and only caretaker.

Word Count: 2271

Warning: yandere!Miguel, OOC!Miguel, coercion, fem!afab!Reader, pitiful!Reader, Author projecting their problems, not beta read

So let’s say your universe collapsed and you were the only one that Miguel managed to save.

Since you have no universe to return to, he allows you to stay in HQ and provides you with a modded dimensional watch to keep you from disintegrating.

You have your own room and access to the amenities in HQ like the cafeteria and the training center.

Honestly you hit the jackpot because before your universe collapsed you were a loser who barely scraped by for your shitty apartment. You never graduated college, and you job hopped between minimum wage jobs.

The catch was that you are not allowed to leave the premises. Apparently the outside world is too dangerous and overwhelming for someone of your time. For a while, you didn’t seem to have an issue.

First couple months passed, and you loved having no responsibilities and being able to laze around, but you quickly found that to be very boring PLUS you had survivor’s guilt and wanted to be useful for Miguel, who saved you.

So you ask him for a job to do and he seems a little impressed. You are just an ordinary human so he gives you the job as his assistant that doesn't handle sensitive and complicated information.

He may have regretted a little for assigning you a job because now he sees you as a clumsy oaf. It’s not like you couldn’t do your job properly, but you always somehow trip, fall, scrape, and bump into everything. Not a single day were you not mildly injured.

What sealed the deal one day was when an anomaly broke out in HQ and you were caught in the crossfire.

Basically, you are never going to have freedom ever again.

You are rushed to med bay and diagnostics concluded that your injuries are not life threatening, but for some reason he never left your side. Was it pity? It couldn’t be, because pity wouldn’t make him stay while you healed.

He basically wouldn’t let you discharge until every single cut on you was healed and sealed.

When you are discharged, he tells you that you’re no longer sufficient for the job and will be promptly relocated to a safehouse aka his apartment.

You almost fought him on the spot because you enjoyed your job and being able to socialize with the other Spider people. (Which you didn’t know had him seething)

Also, you would be a horrible roommate.

He didn’t give you much choice because it was either his apartment or be homeless.

You couldn’t risk being homeless in a futuristic society with nothing but the clothes on your back.

He personally escorts you to his apartment and to no one’s surprise it was luxurious and spacious. However, it was plain and boring like his taste.

You have free range in his apartment since there was nothing particularly important stashed there. All of it would be at HQ anyway. He practically lives there.

While he did give you a salary when you had your job, but not enough to sustain yourself forever since he fired you. So, he lets you use his credit card to order groceries and whatever you want within reason. And yes he will be monitoring every purchase.

And of course, he also tells you you’re not allowed to leave the apartment. For any reason. Unless you have his explicit permission.

And if you ever do try to leave, the door has a very loud alarm when opened and he is immediately alerted. Even if you manage to get three steps out of the apartment building, he’ll haul your ass back.

Or if you actually do make it into the streets, he has your location pinged in real time from your dimensional watch that he also made completely locked to your wrist (to your dismay cuz it’s so ugly and clashes with your outfits).

Man, you just wanted to go for a walk.

But he’ll just tell you to sit on the balcony that is completely sealed all around only allowing light in so don’t even bother trying to jump.

Anyways.

Since he won’t be coming by often, you can basically redecorate and redesign it to suit your preferences. If anything, he encourages it.

It was fun for a while, but having no structure in life caused you to spiral. As a certified loser with executive dysfunction, you ordered take out and instant food everyday, left trash to build up over time without taking it out, slept and woke up at random hours of the day, and showered once a week.

He definitely knows you are spiraling. He hid many many cameras all over his apartment before taking you here.

He comes by unannounced one day while you are sprawled on the couch, sleeping, with the TV running.

Yeah he cleans everything and takes out all your trash. He wakes you up. You’re startled. And he just tells you that you need to shower.

Man how embarrassing is that. You stank like butt.

You apologized profusely, but he doesn’t seem to care. He wasn’t mad but he definitely pitied you.

You go to the bathroom right away to take a shower and he follows you.

You’re like wtf get out.

He then exposes the fact he knows you’re a clumsy idiot who definitely slipped and hit your head multiple times before.

Still, you think he doesn’t need to watch you shower right? RIGHT???

Wrong, he is going to personally wash you head to toe.

Yeah you are definitely fighting his ass off because you two are not that close and also you’re not handicapped! But he keeps treating you like one.

You kept struggling and kicking him like a baby which did annoy the shit out of him so he bit you so his venom can paralyze you.

He strips you bare and tests the water temperature before setting you down on the shower bench. He is very thorough with you. He scrubbed every spot and yes even your private parts which made you think he was trying to cop a feel.

Oh boy when he starts to wash your hair, you literally melted. Why is this man giving you a full scalp massage????

He even dries you off, lotions your body, and gives you a full skincare routine. WHY DOES HE KNOW YOUR SKINCARE ROUTINE???

Yeah and he also dries your hair off and comb it too. He would style it if he wasn’t too tired that day.

Bruh, he even cuts and buffs your nails and toenails. Applying creams and massages them.

The paralysis seems to wear off around your head and neck area so you’re able to eat and drink. He cooks your favorite dish but he has you drink water as your beverage because you kept having soda so he thinks you should be barred from beverages that weren't water.

And since your body is still paralyzed, he hand feeds you. And for some reason when it comes to helping you drink some water, he spits it into your mouth like a mama bird. And if you weren’t going to open your mouth, he would kiss you.

Now you’re wondering why he’s even here. Why was he doing all of this?

The only answer he tells you is that you’re pathetic and you need someone to take care of you. He took a week off just for you.

You argued with him that he doesn’t need to do all that but he insisted and said you can work through it together.

You think he was going to help you manage your executive dysfunction but nah he was going to do all the housework himself for the whole week and hang out with you.

Well he does try to give you a schedule for when you wake up, what to eat (he literally made you precooked food all labeled and everything), when to work out (he bought you workout gear), and what else you can do in between until when you have to sleep.

He says he’ll come by more often to check up on you so you don’t spiral again. (Which still includes him doing all the housework and washing you)

He went from coming by once a week to every other day, but he usually visits at night. You wondered how he wasn’t drowning in work right now like he usually does.

And every time he visits, he’s taking care of everything you forget to do like when you left dirty dishes in the sink to clean for later.

He makes you take showers with him and it always involves him washing you first before he washes himself. He’ll let you help wash his back though.

He even started making you sleep in the same bed as him and it was hell because he would snore and cough like a dying engine. He keeps you trapped in his arms and legs, and you being a smol bean makes it impossible for you to escape.

He’ll literally start dressing you up, brushing and styling your hair, and doing your makeup every morning even if you want to do it yourself. But it’s interesting to see what he finds attractive on you.

At one point he decides that it was time y’all should get married and have a baby since he literally takes care of you like a baby anyway.

You’re reluctant because you still wanted to figure out what you wanted in life, but because he’s not someone who wastes time in getting what he wants, he’ll just tell you that you can figure it out after you give him your hand in marriage and babies.

You can’t figure out if you hate him or you like him because he does a lot of things without your consent and doesn’t allow you to make your own choices in almost anything, but you also appreciate the sheer amount of effort he makes JUST to take care of you on top of being Spiderman. Plus he’s hot as hell.

In terms of marriage, he doesn’t care for weddings and wants to keep it lowkey. It may sadden you if you love weddings, but it’s not like you have any friends and loved ones anyway. He just wants to have a domestic life with you right away and is not a huge shower.

He’ll make it up to you with the best honeymoon you can ask for. <3

And honestly, especially now that you two are married, he’s going to be a lot more physically affectionate with you and expects you to be the same. Especially whenever he comes home after work, he’s dying for you to pepper kisses and hug him.

The idea of giving birth scares the shit out of you especially when you hear stories of men finding their wives disgusting or how they aren’t there for you in the process or god forbid the husband stitch.

He doesn’t do any of that. He literally worships your body and tbh he’ll be even more proactive in making your life easier that you don’t even lift a finger.

He’ll be on paternity leave so that means he’s gonna stay in the apartment 24/7.

Also, he seems the type to have multiple kids. So, uh, prepare yourself.

And honestly, his controlling and overprotective tendencies are dialed up to the nines after you give birth.

He will watch your every move like a hawk. He’ll hand feed you in every meal. Most of the time he just carries you instead of letting you walk to where you want to go. He blows your nose if it’s stuffy. Massage you when you’re sore. Always being the one to remember when you need to take your medications. Like, literally everything.

And at first when your kids are still babies, he’s extremely protective of them in the same way he is with you. Like taking care of all their bathing and feeding. But as they grow older he definitely loosens his protective hold a little and teaches them skills that helps them learn to be independent.

He even takes them to school, but he usually insists that you stay home until you fight him that you have the right to see your kids at school too.

He still literally does everything in the house and doesn’t let you lift a finger because he partially doesn’t trust you not to hurt yourself.

Which makes your own children think you’re sickly and weak. Because sometimes Miguel would have the kids help you when he’s unable to like delivering your breakfast to your room or doing your dishes.

Ironically, your own children have more freedom and independence than you do.

If he ever does let you go outside, he would be gripping your hand the entire time he doesn’t care if you’re sweating. Or if he has to let go, then his hand has to be somewhere on your body. If not, he will just leash you like a toddler.

Now, I haven’t mentioned how you guys bond, and to briefly sum it up: he is interested in getting to know you such as your personality quirks, hobbies, favorite food, favorite color, etc etc. He does take into consideration what you like especially in terms of aesthetics (you have better taste than him). But if you do anything that could lead you into independence or potential to hurt yourself, he immediately shuts it down.

Honestly, you don’t really get why he does it and how he’s not tired of you, but he enjoys that you’re his doll to take care of. And you can sure as hell bet he's taking care of you until your deathbed. (Imagine him still taking care of all of your needs when he's too old and wrinkly too and ngl that's romantic ❤

A/N: Okay I got a little tired of trying to compress my ideas while trying to describe how exactly crazy this yandere caretaker Miguel would be (even though he would 100% not act like this at all especially if you’re incredibly dysfunctional and unable to take care of yourself with ADHD like me). I rewrote like 4 times to not overwhelm you guys in detail. Even though at the same time, there were areas of detail I didn’t know how to get into. I also at some point lost all my writing and started over again. (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) Sorry if this wasn’t really well written it’s like 6 am right now. I kind of wanna rewrite it when my brain is more organized but I just wanna shoot my idea out there first.

Idk I might delete this later.

I wanted to like credit my inspos to @jessamine-rose for their fic and the manga “My Childhood Friend is Overprotective” by Kumanami Sae (you should check it out it’s so cuteeee)

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lovezbrownies · 5 days

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Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia offOffice lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia..

Making this made me blush don't ask why

The office's Monarch. (Yandere Queen?Boss? x GN!Reader.)

Nia's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: You're overworked, and your bachelorette of a boss has the remedy.

Nia Bloodwen x GN!Reader

Warnings: Big bad boss Nia, the office not liking darling, overworked darling, kinda suggestive? But that's a given with Nia tbh

Today, you couldn’t afford to do anything but work. The prospect of a lunch break was nothing more than a distant dream, as you stared at the seemingly endless rows of emails and stacks of paperwork that had been cruelly dropped onto your desk. All courtesy of a coworker who was probably basking in the sun on a beach somewhere, enjoying their paid vacation. The memory of their smug grin as they left only fueled your growing frustration. Damned rat.

The gnawing hunger in your stomach was easier to ignore than the heavy weight of responsibility pressing down on you. There was simply no time to stop and eat. Deadlines loomed large, and your priority was getting through the mountain of tasks in front of you before they became an avalanche.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair for a moment of respite. Most of the office didn’t like you anyway—no one would even notice if you disappeared for a few minutes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’d earned their disdain without ever meaning to, and truth be told, you couldn’t entirely blame them.

From the moment you had been hired, Nia Bloodwen, your boss, had taken a particular interest in you. She had carved out a special place for you in the company that no one else seemed to occupy. Whether it was extending your lunch hours, giving you extra time off, or offering extensions on projects without a second thought, Nia was always there to make sure you were treated differently. Far better than the rest of the staff, to be precise.

And everyone had noticed. There was no hiding it—Nia didn’t even try to be subtle. Her favoritism was as blatant as the sky was blue, and you’d been given the unfortunate title of “Boss’ Pet,” a nickname that followed you through the halls like a shadow. The bitterness of your coworkers was palpable. WenBlood & Co. didn’t have an “Employee of the Month” program until you arrived, but since your first week, your photo had been plastered up on the wall every single month. It was as if Nia had created the title just for you, a constant reminder to the others that you were different. Special. Untouchable.

It didn’t help that whenever someone tried to strike up a casual conversation with you, Nia would appear out of nowhere, ready to defend her favorite.

“Mister Bajaj! What are you doing loitering by L/N’s desk? Get back to work!”

Or, with an icy glare at Mrs. Alotaibi, “I expect better from you. Don’t distract L/N with idle chatter. I won’t tolerate it.”

Even minor offenses like a friendly email exchange would end in a scolding that echoed across the office. People learned quickly to avoid you, preferring to keep their distance rather than risk being humiliated by the boss. The few who still dared to interact with you did so cautiously, sending projects to your personal email just to avoid Nia’s wrath. She monitored everyone’s work emails like a hawk, and no one wanted to be the next victim of one of her public takedowns.

“Mister Bajaj, another non-work-related email and you’re done. L/N has real work to do, not time for your cat gifs.”

And it wasn’t just a casual comment. Her voice would cut through the air like a blade, sharp and cold, as she openly threatened anyone who dared waste your time. Nia’s “minions,” as she liked to call the rest of the office, were left walking on eggshells whenever you were involved.

For them, Nia was terrifying. She ruled with an iron fist, barking orders, threatening layoffs, and keeping everyone in a constant state of anxiety. But with you? She was different. For reasons you couldn’t quite grasp, Nia was always soft and gentle, as if she were a completely different person when she was around you. Her cold demeanor would melt, replaced with warmth and compassion that bordered on obsessive. She listened to your complaints, accommodated your requests—even when you didn’t ask for anything. One day, you had casually mentioned that you liked coffee, and by the next morning, a brand-new coffee machine had been installed on your desk.

That’s when you learned to stop admitting to liking things. Nia took every word you said as gospel, going to great lengths to cater to your needs—even when you didn’t need it.

Normally, you could tolerate it. You even found it amusing at times, though you were always careful to never push Nia too far. She was your boss, after all, and your job was on the line if she ever decided you weren’t worth the trouble. But today was different. Today, the sheer volume of work in front of you left no room for her theatrics.

Emails kept pouring into your inbox faster than you could respond, and the paperwork—God, the paperwork—had only grown worse by the hour. Your own tasks were still manageable, but your coworker’s load, due tomorrow, was like a ticking time bomb. You cursed yourself for agreeing to take it on. You’d wanted to be helpful, to show your coworkers that you weren’t just Nia’s little pet. But now? Now you were paying for that decision, drowning in work that wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You exhaled slowly, your hands shaking slightly from the stress. Why did you care if your coworkers liked you anyway? Half of them probably didn’t deserve your time. You barely knew them, and what little you did know wasn’t exactly flattering. Yet here you were, breaking your back for them, hoping in vain that maybe, just maybe, they’d see you as more than Nia’s golden child.

While you sat stewing in frustration, Nia had been hovering at the edge of your desk, trying to coax you into joining her for lunch. For the last five minutes, she had been relentless, her voice soft yet insistent, like a melody you couldn’t get out of your head.

“I’ll give you an extension if you’re so worried about your work. Just leave it for now and come with me. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

Her low-cut top and open blouse were impossible to ignore as she leaned forward, making her presence all the more unavoidable. Nia had never been shy about her appearance, and no one dared to say anything about it. Her last name ensured that. Even HR wouldn’t touch her, not with her father, the CEO, pulling the strings. And while Nia had always dressed fashionably, you couldn’t help but notice that she had amped it up since you started working at WenBlood. Whether you were shallow enough to care didn’t matter—she knew how to get your attention, and today was no different.

But today, you were too tired. Too worn down. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying across the keyboard as you tried to finish one last email. “No, Nia,” you muttered. “I’ve got too much to do. This can’t wait. I’ve got snacks in my drawer if I need them.” You pulled open the drawer to reveal an overstuffed collection of snacks, though you didn’t even glance at it. “Go ahead without me.”

Nia wasn’t pleased with that answer. Her lips pursed slightly as she walked around the desk, her eyes flicking to your monitor. It didn’t take her long to figure out what was going on. “Wait a minute,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the project label on your screen. “I assigned these to Miss Smith. Why are you doing them?”

You hesitated for a split second, unsure of how to respond. “She’s on vacation,” you finally said. “I told her I’d handle it while she’s gone.”

Nia’s expression darkened, her irritation evident in the way her eyes flashed. Without warning, Nia walked around the desk, now right behind you as she reached down and powered off your monitor, effectively halting your work. You let out a surprised gasp, but before you could even begin to protest, Nia spun your chair around to face her.

Her manicured nails tapped against the backrest of your chair, just inches from your head. She was so close you could smell the faint traces of her expensive perfume—something floral, with a hint of spice. The scent wrapped around you, making it impossible to think straight.

“You,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “are going to take a well-deserved break with me. We are going to enjoy lunch together, and that’s final.”

Her presence was overwhelming, her beauty almost hypnotic as she stood over you, her eyes locking onto yours. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as her words sunk in. She wasn’t asking. She was telling.

Before you could muster a response, Nia’s hand slipped into yours, pulling you to your feet with surprising ease. She wasted no time looping her arm through yours, guiding you toward the door like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your mind racing as you tried to process the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

The sudden proximity made you stiffen. Her perfume—something floral and impossibly expensive—lingered in the air between you. Your heart thudded in your chest as she pulled you along, completely ignoring the confused stares of your coworkers.

You could feel their eyes on you as Nia led you through the office, her heels clicking confidently on the tiled floor. Most of your coworkers either shrank back or quickly pretended to be busy, not wanting to draw her ire.

Outside, the heat of the midday sun hit you like a wall, and you stumbled slightly as Nia led you toward her car. It wasn’t the sleek black sports car she usually drove—it was something far more extravagant today. A silver Rolls-Royce, polished to perfection.

“Really?” you muttered under your breath, but Nia just laughed as she opened the door for you, gesturing for you to get in. “Come on, darling. You deserve to be spoiled today.”

You hesitated, glancing between her and the car. But there was no way out of this, not without making a scene. You slid into the plush leather seat with a resigned sigh, and Nia slipped in beside you, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

The restaurant she took you to was even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were lined with gold-framed mirrors. The entire place screamed luxury, and as soon as you entered, the staff treated Nia like royalty, ushering you both to a private table.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you muttered, glancing around in disbelief. Nia just smiled, unfazed. “Nothing but the best for you, my dear. Can you even think of anyone else who can do it like me? Hah, of course not!”

The restaurant buzzed with life, the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware creating an atmosphere that should’ve been relaxing. But with Nia sitting across from you, calm and poised, you couldn’t quite shake the sense that this wasn’t just lunch—it was something else entirely. Something orchestrated. Nia always had a way of making situations bend to her will, and today, it felt like you were the focus of her attention in a way that left you on edge.

"Relax," Nia said, her voice warm, noticing the stiffness in your posture. She slid into the seat across from you, her eyes shining with that same playful glint. "I promise, I’m not going to bite. Unless you want me to." Nia giggles, blush overcoming her cheeks.

Her tone was light, but there was a careful precision to her words, as if each one was chosen with intent. The waiter appeared and took your orders without even bothering to ask if you wanted a menu. Nia, it seemed, had already decided what would be best for you—an assumption that only deepened the quiet unease growing inside you.

You didn’t argue. It never seemed worth it.

The conversation began as usual, with Nia recounting bits of office gossip and teasing remarks about your coworkers, her voice lilting with amusement. But there was something else woven into her words, a subtle shift in the way she spoke about them—diminishing their roles, highlighting how little they mattered compared to you. It was easy to laugh along, but you couldn’t ignore the lingering sense that you were being nudged into a certain way of thinking.

And then, as the food arrived, Nia’s tone changed again, softening, becoming almost... intimate.

"I don’t like seeing you stressed," she murmured, her voice quiet and soothing. "You’re always doing so much for other people, taking on more than you should. And for what? People who don’t appreciate you?" Her gaze locked onto yours, her expression all concern, but her words dripped with something more. A subtle pressure.

You shifted in your seat, caught off guard by her intensity. "I’m fine," you replied, forcing a smile, though the weight of everything you had been dealing with was beginning to press down on you.

"Are you?" Nia asked, her voice soft but pointed, like she already knew the answer. "You’re too kind, too generous. It’s admirable, but it’s not fair. I don’t want to see you burning out just because you can’t say no." She paused, letting her words sink in, then leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice even further. "You don’t have to be that person for everyone. You don’t have to be that person for them. Not when I’m here."

The way she said it made it sound like a favor, a gift—like she was the only one who truly understood you. Before you could respond, she reached across the table, her fingers grazing the back of your hand in a gesture that seemed gentle, but there was a possessiveness to it. A subtle claim.

"L/N," she continued, her thumb tracing a slow circle on your skin, her eyes never leaving yours, "let me help you. You don’t need to carry everything on your own. I can make things easier for you." Her smile was soft, sweet even, but there was an unmistakable hint of satisfaction in her eyes, as if she knew she was pulling you closer, bit by bit.

There it was again—the sense that her kindness wasn’t without strings. But the way she said it, the way she looked at you, made it hard to resist. It was as though she was offering you exactly what you needed, exactly when you needed it. A lifeline, wrapped in velvet.

"You trust me, don’t you?" Nia asked, her voice now barely above a whisper. It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement—an expectation.

As you looked at her, you could feel the weight of her words settling around you, a promise mixed with something much heavier. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but lean into it, just a little.

"Let me take care of you, like I always do," she added, her smile widening ever so slightly, her tone light and playful again, though the undercurrent was unmistakable. You were hers, whether you realized it or not.

#oc x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #tw yandere #gender neutral #yandere x darling #gn reader #x reader #yandere #yandere female #female x reader #female yandere #yandere x you #Nia Bloodwen #yandere x reader

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