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kithtaehyung · 1 month ago

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minted: two (explicit) | myg

title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god

There’s something to be said about the human gut.

Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain.

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you?

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run?

You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink.

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking.

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too.

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree.

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down.

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you!

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too?

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff.

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved.

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is.

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on?

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling.

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with.

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are.

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home.

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors.

Perfect.

“What.”

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.”

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?”

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket.

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends.

This is all too much.

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.”

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily?

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian.

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization.

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun.

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again.

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done.

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again.

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal.

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back.

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance?

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic.

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening.

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches.

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire.

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not.

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse.

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck.

Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—

As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change.

What was that about?

“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline.

“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”

You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.”

Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.

Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.

Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!

In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”

“Shower.”

“What?”

“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

Fuck. Yoongi’s right.

“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.”

When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls,

“Not interested.”

Oh. He’s…

Oh.

But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial?

The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”

A lie.

Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.”

Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core.

Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom.

Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”

“Closet.”

Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”

“Yes, princess.”

You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not.

The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room.

Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on?

As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here.

The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.

Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot.

Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light.

At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.

The whole setup is lavish.

Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use.

Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld.

Too bad you aren’t alone.

As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead.

Uhh.

What.

You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—

“You good?”

Fuck!

You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”

“Move.”

You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”

“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin.

You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air.

Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done.

Almost.

When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing.

Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state?

Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.”

Again with that little slant.

Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life.

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl.

The blood will never wash out.

Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.

Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.

Because at least you succeeded.

But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved?

Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.

Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right…

Doesn’t matter.

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.

Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.

You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.

Thank the universe.

But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck.

Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright.

Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!

You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet.

Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still.

No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut.

How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—

Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.”

You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.”

“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”

“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.”

Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel.

Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?

Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”

“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.”

You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them.

Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.

On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer.

Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so.

Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside.

A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.

Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.

Do not engage do not engage do not engage.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your—

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”

“There was a cup of them on your table.”

“So why didn’t you grab those instead!”

Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”

Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You were going to.”

As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.”

Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for?

Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.”

Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette.

And just like that, the conversation dies.

It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible.

But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead.

Your noodles.

You’re not hungry anymore.

Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill.

Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—

A hand.

A robed arm.

Your new utensils come back into view.

But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there.

Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes,

“Eat.”

Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain?

“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.”

“You are.”

“Not anymore.”

Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.”

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.”

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.”

“I literally can’t—”

“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.”

“What?”

Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight.

“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.”

“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.”

“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”

“Don’t.”

Both of you still at your words.

And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin.

Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.”

You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier.

Yoongi looks pissed as hell.

But he hasn’t moved.

And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again.

You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today.

Fuck, you wanna hurl.

“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”

Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”

“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”

There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”

You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”

You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”

Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.

“Like I said.”

Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair.

“It’s better in the long run.”

Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this.

But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes.

Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.

As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too.

Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers.

“What were you looking for.”

Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth.

“Did you find it.”

You swipe at both your eyes.

As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?”

“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.”

“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?”

Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.

This man is more dangerous than you thought.

“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”

“But I have what you want.”

You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”

“If you stay, I’ll show you.”

When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion.

And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl.

When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”

The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat.

Good riddance.

He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure.

But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out.

Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home.

Yearning pierces right through your chest.

The elevator is right over there.

You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.

Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No.

Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too.

How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase.

Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep.

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety.

A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room.

And your defense mechanism blares.

But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why?

You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too?

Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay?

Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.”

Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?”

Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.”

Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”

“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.”

Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes.

“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.”

Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms.

There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest.

Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs.

“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.”

Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.”

Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine.

Well.

So much for leaving.

You may spend more time here than you thought.

With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call.

Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.

Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that.

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now.

It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space.

Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere.

As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator.

So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”

Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area.

God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet.

When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below.

Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out.

Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart.

That was so long ago.

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time.

“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”

You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem.

Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.

Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm.

But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some.

Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter.

Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.”

“Do you even drink?”

“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”

Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.

It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying.

“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.

“This sector?”

“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.”

“It’s usually silent, too.”

Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.”

“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.”

You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”

He takes the offered can. “Mm.”

That answers that.

You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.

Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present.

The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs.

You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se.

Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day.

“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.”

“Why not?”

“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?”

“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”

“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”

“I know.”

Your look carries a slight pang.

“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.”

You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see.

But when it’s open, you freeze.

It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New.

Wait.

These patterns.

These are il-don?

Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless.

You’ve never seen them like this.

“They’re some of the last in mint condition.”

The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?”

“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.”

You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?”

Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.”

You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter.

Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.”

“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”

You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?”

Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?”

“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?”

Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.”

Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.”

“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”

“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,

“I—”

“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”

Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.

Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself.

“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”

Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear,

“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe.

Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”

“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”

What.

“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”

Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…”

With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”

Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”

“Could’ve taken another train.”

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now?

Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.

This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.

“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.”

Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away.

“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose,

“I should’ve left you for dead.”

Wait.

Stop.

This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.

Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?

Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—

Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever.

And it is frightening.

All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—

“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.”

You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”

When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist.

But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.

“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.”

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually.

But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you.

Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power?

Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk.

He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can.

But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.

This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it.

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.”

He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged.

Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes,

“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”

Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,

“That’s my girl.”

The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning.

To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it.

But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same.

So you quell that monster pacing in your core.

One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be.

“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.”

Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin.

Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.”

His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend,

“This world has already tried enough.”

Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again.

As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”

You slightly turn.

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it.

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more.

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else.

But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations.

“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,

“I know.”

The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip.

And you freeze.

Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate.

But fuck, you kinda want to.

Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed.

“What made you stay.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…”

Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to.

And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.”

With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest,

“What a shame.”

Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong?

He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore.

“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.”

And just like that, he releases you to stand alone.

Oh. You’re going home.

Good.

This is good, right?

Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short.

What was that? What was any of that?

Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over.

…But do you want it to be?

Yes.

Of course you do.

Clouds let moonlight shine again.

When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.

A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real.

Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane.

Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.

And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging.

You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out.

How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed?

They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets.

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—

A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes.

So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.

Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams.

Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own.

You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.

A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion.

There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air.

Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out.

The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too?

One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.

But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?

Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness.

Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start.

Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do.

This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.

As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows.

Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity.

For nothing.

All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all.

Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal.

What a shame, indeed.

As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.

And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder.

Fuck everything.

“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.”

Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares.

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist

#PART TWO IS HEREEE #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #*latest #ryenwrites #minted #*ryenfictalk #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: murder

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pickingupmymercedes · 4 months ago

Note

“you’re so warm.” blurbs with lewis. reader is pregnant and the hormones is acting up so she's dying to give love bites on lewis' neck.

That was fun, maybe it has its own part 2 someday. Hope you like it anon!

"You're so warm"

The sun was beaming down on the sleek lines of their yacht, the Mediterranean Sea shimmering like it always did. Y/N, laid down on a chaise lounge in a breezy sundress, tried her best to relax.

Keyword: tried.

The reason for the unrest? Lewis, of course.

He was striding across the deck, phone on his hands, a mischievous grin plastered on his face, while he sported a pair of swim shorts, the kind that left very little to the imagination, and his adorned abs.

Y/N knew for a fact there were paparazzi lurking somewhere nearby, their long lenses trained on Lewis, as photos of their little summer getaway had already filled the gossip pages.

"Lewis?” she called out; her voice laced with mock sternness despite the fluttering in her stomach "care to explain why you're practically mooning the entire Italian coastline?"

Lewis chuckled, sauntering over to her with a playful strut "Just catching some rays, love" he winked. He leaned down, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Besides, who says I can't share the beauty with the world?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow and glared at him. He knew damn well what she meant. But still there he was, flaunting his abs to the world to see as she tried to hide the small, but very visible, tiny bump on her stomach.

"You are a menace," she mumbled, but couldn't help a smile tugging at her lips. He had been extra playful and carefree during the trip, a constant reminder of one of the many reasons she had chosen him.

"Jealous?" he teased, leaning in closer.

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully. "You know I haven’t been the best at resisting you lately" she admitted, unable to tear her eyes from him, and succumbing to the urge of running her fingers across the expanse of his sculpted chest.

Lewis's grin widened. "Well then," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "how about I give you a private show later?"

Y/N's whole face and neck flushed, her body temperature going up by at least a couple degrees. "Don't tempt me" she warned, though her voice lacked conviction.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. "You’re so warm, babe. Something the matter?"

Y/N responded with the mischievous glint in her eyes. The pregnancy hormones, their new constant source of amusement and occasional bewilderment, were at it again.

"As a matter of fact" she declared puffing out her chest. Reaching out, she pulled him to her on the lounger, his arms holding his weight just above her as she gently nipped at the exposed skin just below his ear, leaving a faint mark.

Lewis yelped, more in surprise than pain, his hand flying to the exposed skin of her thighs. "Babe" he exclaimed, his voice sounding just like a warning more than anything.

She giggled, the sound his favorite melody. "There," she said, feigning satisfaction. "Now everyone knows who you belong to."

Lewis mused her a grin "Alright, alright," he conceded, shaking his head but unable to hide his amusement. "You win this one, love." He pulled her close, her warmth enveloping him.

"What’s my prize?" Y/N murmured, nuzzling into his chest.

"Tell you later" he teased, nuzzling back.

______________________________________________________________

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If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#Ella500 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lh #lh44 #lewis #lewis x reader #lewis imagine #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton x you

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strwberri-milk · 4 months ago

Note

hii !! i really like ur works and writings, can i request for the LAD boys with a reader who has a hard time sleeping? thankuu💗💗

oh you mean ME - hopefully these turn out well bc theyre all based off my own experiences :(( i def agree that 1) resting w your eyes closed is better than nothing and 2) i would sleep so much better if i was sitting in rafayels studio as he worked but for now his tender moments shall have to suffice

Xavier unfortunately does not share your struggle at all :(. He very easily falls asleep so his main issue is just staying awake. However, when you tell him that you're struggling to fall asleep he decides to do things that make him extra sleepy for you.

He'll change the temperature of his apartment to be more comfortable for you, dropping it a few degrees so you could cuddle with him easier under the sheets. He also has lots of comfortable clothes for you to wear when you sleep, holding you close to him as he softly speaks to you.

The conversation doesn't really mean anything - it's more just like white noise that you can tune out to to try and focus on something that's not your inability to sleep. He's there with you every step of the way, doing his best to wait until you fall asleep to go to bed himself.

Zayne reminds you that even if you can't sleep simply just resting with your eyes closed is much better than nothing. He'll make sure your sleep hygiene is also top notch, reminding you to stay away from your bed and that you're doing work or mindless scrolling away from your bedroom.

He'll also encourage you to keep busy during the day - the more you move the more tired you'll get, hopefully. He isn't going to make your day center around going to bed but he is going to do his best to help you.

When night comes he'll be there however you want him. He'll hold you close or talk at you until you finally manage to sleep, whatever it is. He's not going to want you to go right to medication but he might grab some things over the counter and help you find your best fit if that's something that you need.

Rafayel is ASMR extraordinaire. When you tell him that you can't sleep he isn't really sure what to do other than make bedtime as appealing to you as he physically can.

One night when you can't sleep you decide to hunt him down, knowing that he was going through another bout of no sleep thanks to his artwork. You stumble into his studio drowsily, wiping your eyes. He's immediately at your side, the soft music playing paired with his gentle touch as he leads you to a seat he bought specifically for you to be able to watch him as he works.

You watch him for a bit but the quiet music with his brushes against the canvas knocks you the fuck out, falling asleep shortly thereafter. He won't notice for a few hours, just thinking you were watching him paint but once he's figured out you've fully fallen asleep he'll put you back in bed. You've accidentally conditioned yourself to fall asleep at the sound of painting though which is both good and bad.

#love and deepspace x reader #lnds x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #lnds rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #lnds zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #lnds xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #xavier x reader

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mountainsandmayhem · 10 months ago

Text

Stay Still, Little Dove

Joel Miller x Female!Reader

18+

Series Masterlist

Summary: Joel takes matters into his own hands to deal with your newly insatiable sex drive with a little help from a u shaped friend. TW: softdom!Joel, female orgasms (like a lot of them), oral (fem!rec), this is all about her A/N: THANK YOU for all the comments, likes and reblogs on my last story! I fully believe only 1 or 2 people will read these and I'm just floored by the response so far. I wish I could write without a plot, but I added some backstory about these two. Word Count: 4.3k

Ellie has always been a tornado in your life. Her biological mom was your childhood best friend. She had her demons, so you can’t say you were surprised when during her weekend trip to visit you with her new baby she disappeared, leaving you with little Ellie.

Overnight, you went from a 22-year-old young woman starting your third year of your degree to a 22-year-old adoptive single mom pushing through your third year of college.

Your parents were helpful, driving four hours from the small town you grew up in every weekend so you could work or do homework. They offered to take Ellie for a while or help you find people to adopt her, but that little tornado of a girl was your priority and you weren’t going to abandon her like her mother.

She broke her arm at 2 on her big wheel, and at 3 she needed 10 stitches across her eyebrow from when she tried to leap from the kitchen table to the granite island. Safe to say the granite won as she still bears that scar today. At 4, she bolted up the stairs to the high dive and jumped off without an ounce of fear. Thank god she was already a strong swimmer.

She seemed to crave chaos, so when she befriended the girl with wildly curly hair on her first day of school you just shook your head, predictable little tornado.

Thankfully Sarah Miller was a sweet and kind-hearted girl, maybe even a little shy. It also helped that Sarah’s young dad, who didn’t wear a wedding ring, resembled a Greek god. Tall and broad with tanned skin, he owned some sort of contracting business based on the truck he’d do school pick up and drop off in. When the girls introduced you two, he flashed you a small smile, revealing that goddamn dimple.

You’re both pretty sure the girls played a hand in the two of you eventually getting together, granted they both conveniently don’t remember playing tiny matchmakers. They’d ask for sleepovers and playdates almost daily, or sign you both up to the same shift at school events.

“Mommy, I swear on the moon that the teacher picked!” Ellie said when you had the coat check station at the Valentine's Day dance. “Buuuut you might want to put on lipstick.”

It’s been a little over 14 years since then and he still sets your blood on fire with that dimple.

Both of you approached this new empty nest phase apprehensively, but it turns out that having the house to yourself (with no risk of one of the girls walking in) opened a whole new set of rather kinky doors. Not that you were necessarily vanilla before, but while they lived there you didn’t have ropes and paddles hanging on your bedroom wall, or the hooks on your four-poster bed.

You also never would have been how you are now, bathroom door wide open in only the trousers you planned to wear to work.

“Not that I’m complainin’ sweetheart. But why are you topless?” Joel asks on his way to the kitchen.

“It’s too damn hot in here.” You grumble, getting out your skincare and makeup.

Joel shook his head to himself as he walked to the kitchen. He knew better than to bring up that it wasn’t the temperature, it was you and your recent perimenopause diagnosis. He hated to see you suffering, but your newly insatiable libido gave him an idea.

As you get ready, Joel leans against the bathroom door frame drinking coffee, observing you through the mirror.

You see him most days in his typical work attire - dark jeans, a t-shirt with his company logo, and a flannel or denim button-up. But it will never get old to you. You almost find him sexier in this than in a suit. Especially when he has the cuffs rolled like he does today.

“Little Dove?” His voice is deep and scratchy.

A slight blush paints your cheeks, knowing that it’s going to be one of those days.

“Yes, sir?”

He slowly walks towards you as you lean into the mirror to blink on some mascara. He stops just a hair away from you, not touching you but close. Close enough for you to feel the heat coming off of him. He waits until you’ve put the mascara wand away, and uses his free hand to trace a line slowly down your spine.

A shiver runs through you, and you let out a small moan. Partly from the feeling of him, but mostly at the reprieve from the hot flash you’re experiencing.

“How many orgasms do you think I could give you before you beg me to stop?” He kisses the top of your left shoulder, watching your eyes widen slightly in the mirror.

Goosebumps spread across your body. If he wants to play, you’ll make it difficult for him. “Well, after the little kidnapping the other night you gave in after three.”

“This is about you giving up and not me giving in,” His free hand continues a light trail along your bare back.

“And didn’t you say you felt like you had done an intense Pilates workout the next day?” He adds teasingly.

You were hoping he’d forgotten about how you groaned as you lowered yourself into the bathtub to soak your sore muscles. Even though your hormones seemed to think you were a teenager again, your body took a little longer to recover. Joel cared for you in a way that only he could; making dinner, wrapping you in your beloved heated blanket, and gently massaging your hips and legs.

You don’t want to give up this easily so you scoff and say, “Please, old man. You’d get tired before I’d quit.”

The next two things happen so quickly that it’s over before the excited squeal leaves your lips. He spins you to face him and lifts you onto the countertop, caging you between his arms, his hands gripping the vanity on either side of you.

“Now now, Little Dove. I’d be careful who you call old.” His recently playful tone is back to a deep gravel-like command that settles right between your thighs.

“You will refer to me as sir in these moments and nothing else. Do you understand?”

You nod eagerly sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fuck you love him like this.

He kisses down your neck towards your right breast. Pausing he adds, “Words, Little Dove,” before gently dragging your right nipple through his teeth.

You let out a desperate moan arching your back into the pain, “Yes, sir.”

Joel quickly steps back, taking his coffee cup with him. “Be a good girl today.”

+++++

You spend your workday trying not to think about Joel. You immerse yourself in your to-do list and your team gets a few projects done early and sent off for approval. You’ve almost forgotten about the morning events when you hear your phone buzz.

Joel: When I get home I want you in that little black lacy thing, Little Dove. I’m bringing home dinner.

You reply with a funny ‘yes, sir’ gif.

Joel: Oh, my sweet Little Dove. I’m almost starting to think you like it when I punish you.

You: Do your worst, I won’t tap out.

Joel: Tell me what you’re going to be doing when I get home.

You find a photo of you wearing the aforementioned ‘little black lacy thing’ and attach it to your message that says, “Wearing this, sir.”

Joel: Be kneeling beside the couch when I get home.

You: Yes, sir.

++++

The rest of your day goes by tortuously slowly, yet the drive home seemed suspiciously fast. You laugh to yourself picturing a speeding ticket in the mail and Joel’s reaction when you tell him he has to pay it since it’s his fault. Maybe you’ll ask him when he’s in a sir mood.

You hop in the shower, shave and touch up your makeup before clipping and clasping yourself into the outfit Joel loves so much. As you step back to admire yourself in the full-length mirror you realize certain squishy parts of your body don’t look great in this.

Focus on the positive, you remind yourself.

The deep v-halter of the one-piece garment accentuates your breasts, you spin to take in the low cut back and high cut cheeky bottom that highlights the globes of your ass.

The familiar sounds of Joel’s truck pulling up the driveway sends a rush of nervous and excited butterflies through your stomach. You hurry to the sitting room, grab a throw pillow from the couch and kneel.

Your eyes follow as Joel heads to the kitchen, holding a bag from your favourite sushi restaurant. He places it on the island before looking up at you with dark eyes

“Look at the ground and put your hands on your lap.” He commands.

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling as you look down and do as he says.

“Little Dove, don’t roll your eyes at me.” His voice deepens with every word, instantly setting your core on fire.

He’s silent for a moment and you can feel his eyes on you. “From now on when I say to kneel, this is how you’ll be. Understand?”

You squeeze your thighs a little tighter, breathing starting to shallow at the sound of his voice as he slips deeper into sir mode.

You reply with a breathy, “Yes sir. Sorry.”

Joel walks over and pets your head. “You look stunning like this.” He whispers, before turning and leaving you alone.

His words feel like warm honey being drizzled down your spine. No one makes you feel as desired as Joel and immediately your earlier body insecurities vanish. You can hear him moving things around the bedroom before he walks back to the kitchen but you don’t dare look up. You’re a good girl, Joel doesn’t like brats, and right now all that matters is pleasing him.

Joel sets up dinner, arranges the sushi on plates, opens the wine and lights a candle before sitting at the table, legs spread, facing you.

“Crawl to me, Little Dove.” His deep voice washes over you. Almost as if it puts you in a trance. You know your knees are going to regret this in the morning, but you’re so turned on that you don’t hesitate to crawl across the area rug and then onto the hardwood flooring Joel installed himself.

Stopping between his bare legs, his strong hand cradles your chin and tilts it up, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and tight black boxers. But it’s the sleek black remote control vibrator in his other hand that steals your attention.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He says with a soft moan, gently stroking your cheek. “Go put this in, and then come back and have dinner with me.”

He helps you to your feet and hands you the vibrator. He turns you towards the half bath off the kitchen and pats your bum gently while you walk away.

Joel has laid out everything you might need on the counter. After cleaning the toy, you push the thin fabric of your lingerie aside and slide it inside yourself. You can already feel pressure on that little spongy part inside you that Joel loves to tease. As you wash your hands you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

I can do this, you say to yourself.

As soon as you step out of the bathroom and make eye contact with Joel the toy comes to life. Your false confidence from a few seconds ago buckles along with your knees as you brace yourself on the door frame and let out a breathy gasp.

“I want you to keep count and thank me for each one, Little Dove. Understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you moan, crossing your legs and squeezing your thighs, all while maintaining eye contact.

The vibration stops, you take a few deep breaths before standing up tall and walking over to the table. Always the gentleman, he pulls out your chair and kisses the top of your head before taking his seat.

“Eat while we go over some ground rules, Little Dove.”

You don’t have to be told twice, you love sushi and you’re probably going to need your strength for the evening.

“You are going to need a safe word tonight.” Your mouth goes dry and you become accurately aware of the small remote control in his possession.

“We are going to use a colour coding system, much like traffic lights. If I ask you for a colour tonight you have three options. Green means you want to keep going,” he emphasizes the word you.

“Yellow means you need a break and will let me know when you’re ready again. Say red and we stop.” Joel pauses and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, sir,” you reply in between bites.

He picks up his wine and takes a sip before continuing softly, reaching across to grab your hand. “But baby, you can say yellow or red at any time. If you need a break or reassurance, say yellow. And if it’s too intense and you need me to stop, say red. We’ve done our research on this. But you need to know that if you say stop, or that you need a break, or even if you’re crying and saying I’m hurting you, I will not stop. Colours only. Understand?”

You nod while taking a big mouthful of wine, the nervous excitement that you’ve been feeling all day courses through your body. As your wine glass is put back on the table the vibrating starts again, stronger this time.

“You should know by now that you need to use your fucking words, Little Dove.” He says darkly.

“Yes,” you stammer. “Yes. I under….I understand, sir.”

The vibrating stops and you let out a breathy, Oh god.

You both eat your dinner and finish the wine, this man could give you whiplash with how quickly he can go from sir to family man. He asks about your day and tells you about the new apprentice he’s hired. When you both finish eating he takes the dishes to the sink. He turns to face you, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. The sleeves of his t-shirt stretch over the ropes of muscles lining his biceps.

“Little Dove, do I have your consent to make you come until you use a safe word?”

Again, the whiplash.

Your mouth goes dry as you reply with his preferred ‘yes, sir.’

The toy comes to life again, on a higher setting than the last 2 times. You lean forward so your ass is slightly off the chair to ease some of the intensity. You’re not a stranger to a vibrator, but never one that’s pushed this firmly against your g spot and your clit. The seat of your chair is clamped between your fingers as you cry out in pleasure.

“Don’t make me tie you to that fucking chair. Sit down, Little Dove.”

You do as he says, letting out a desperate moan as the hard seat presses the two ends of the u shaped toy deeper and harder against your g spot.

“Oh fuck - fuck - m’gonna…” you close your eyes and your head falls back as the white heat in your center starts to reach its breaking point.

Joel strides over to you and grabs your chin, twisting you slightly to face him. “Look at me, I want to see it when you come.”

“J-Joel,” his hand doesn’t leave your chin and he watches you with such admiration as you start to come undone.

“That’s it, Little Dove,” he whispers as he places a few kisses along your jaw towards your ear adding, “Let go for me.”

Your orgasm hits you hard, spreading from the base of your spine and out to every inch of your body. Wave after wave flows through you, intensified by the look of admiration spreading across Joel's face.

“There you go - good girl.”

Your fingers start to ache as you fight to stay seated in the chair, his wishes are your command and you’ll do anything to hear him praise you again. You squirm against the seat as overstimulation starts to take over.

“Please, sir,” you beg, “fuck! I need…I need to move.”

“So beautiful when you beg, Little Dove….count it for me” He says.

“One sir, thank you.” It comes out weak and breathy, a voice you didn’t expect after only one orgasm.

“Give me a colour, baby.” His voice is almost soothing as he torments you with the vibrator.

Current state aside, you’re not giving up or giving in after one orgasm, even if it is still coursing through you minutes later.

“Green!” You scream, shifting yourself off the chair slightly as he switches to a new vibration setting. Its intensity varies and shifts, and the anticipation of never knowing what might hit you next is a new level of wonderful torture.

Joel slides your chair out and kneels in front of you, pushing your hips back down to the chair.

“I will tie you down if you don’t stay still, Little Dove,” he growls before slamming his lips into yours.

A second orgasm tears through your body, your hands move to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you try not to move. It’s no use, the vibrations are too intense and you buck your hips up while your head falls back breaking the kiss.

The kitchen fills with your cries of ecstasy. Somehow you manage to count and thank him for the second one before he turns off the toy and pulls you to your feet. You grip his strong forearms to steady yourself, your pussy still fluttering against the weight of the vibrator.

“You have five seconds before I turn this on high, Little Dove. Unless you can make it to the bedroom before that.”

Your legs feel like jelly beneath you, but your competitive side kicks in and you sprint down the hallway as he loudly and authoritatively counts to five. You almost make it through the bedroom when you feel the most intense vibration hit your swollen g spot. You stumble forward, folding your upper body onto the bed. Your brain scrambles to catch up to your body as it processes that you’re not in pain but instead in a state of agonizing pleasure.

Joel walks up behind you, pressing himself against your ass. “You’re doing such a good job for me,” he praises before landing a hard slap on your right ass cheek.

Your body is suspended in that moment right before you come. You almost feel like you’re floating and the pleasure is so intense that you can’t even make a noise as you clench the bedsheet in your fists to try to ground yourself.

He uses his body to pin you down, folding over you and whispering “Give me a colour,” in your ear.

“Green” comes out in a shaky whisper.

“That’s my girl.” He says proudly, biting your shoulder blade.

Again it’s his words that do it, my girl, and you finally tip over the edge and tremble underneath him. Joel kisses and sucks the skin of your upper back, every inch of your body feels encompassed by him and crying out for relief, but you’re not giving in.

“Ah - fuuuuck…” you feel like this orgasm has been going on for hours.

“I wish you could see how good you look right now.”

“Stop. P-please. Stop,” you beg in between gasps of air.

As you come down from your high the vibrating slows to a small tickle, not enough to make you come again but enough to remind you that it’s there.

Can someone die from an orgasm?

“Take off your clothes,” Joel growls in your ear, slapping your right ass cheek as he peels himself off of you. “I’m not stopping until you use the safe word, Little Dove.”

He pulls his shirt off and watches as you undo the clasps and clips of your lingerie and slide it off with shaky hands.

As you lay on the bed you say, “I’m not a fucking quitter, sir.”

Joel smirks, laughing through his nose a little as he wraps a silk cuff around each ankle, spreading your legs apart for him. “How many are we at so far?”

As he cuffs your wrists you reply. “Three. Thank you, sir.”

He kisses your forehead as he slowly removes the vibrator. “Fuck me,” he says, “look at this mess, such a good girl for me.”

You close your eyes and let the praise wash over you like a warm bath. Joel shifts his body between your legs and places two little kisses on your swollen clit making you whimper and suck your bottom lip between your teeth.

He uses two fingers to lightly circle your clit making you come instantly with a whimpering ‘four, thank you, sir,’ at the end.

Joel doesn’t stop, switching to use his tongue while keeping the same pace and pressure as you come again.

“Ah - five, thank you, sir!”

….and again….”fuck, six. Thank you, sir.”

...and again….”s-seven - oh god - thank y-you, sir.”

Your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat as a cool liquid drizzles down your pussy. You gasp at the new sensation, eyes shooting to his face.

“Stay still, Little Dove.”

As he runs his fingers up and down your pussy, the lube turns warm and tingly, heightening his touches. Joel draws circles on your clit with his thumb, pursing his lips and blowing cool air. The warmth turns icy cold, and when he stops blowing, heat rushes to your pussy, pulling another orgasm from you.

Yes, I’m certain someone can die from an orgasm.

“Count, Little Dove.”

A whine escapes your lips as you try to tug your legs together. His thumb has slowed down but it’s all becoming too much. “Eight. I can’t anymore, sir.”

He blows cool air again and the heat rushing has you keening all over again.

“Please, Joel. I can’t. Please.” Tears spring from your eyes.

“You’re ok. You can do this, baby.” Cool air hits your pussy again and you come apart. “Good girl. So gorgeous. Count it for me, Little Dove.”

“Nine. N-nine,” your eyes slam shut as he pulls away from you. “T-thank you, sir.”

Before you’ve even finished thanking him, he slides his middle finger inside you, lightly massaging your g spot that’s still so sensitive from the vibrator. He pushes one of his strong hands down on your mound as he torturously works you toward your tenth orgasm.

“No…please. Sir, I,” you gasp as you try to pull free.

“I can’t,” the pleasure is almost painful at this point as the pressure from your arousal builds. He knows your close, he’s been dying to make you squirt again after the other night.

“Color,” Joel says tenderly, slipping a second finger inside you and hooking the forward.

You swallow hard against your sore and scratchy throat. You whine ‘green’, as you arch your back to try to ease the intense mixture of pain, pleasure and pressure that you’re experiencing.

“Stay still, Little Dove,” Joel pushes harder on your lower belly. “Give me number ten. Show me, baby. Show me how good this feels.”

You swear that everything stops, including your heart and time, as you fall apart under his touch and gush all over his hand. The walls of your pussy are clenching around Joel’s fingers and you can feel a puddle forming underneath you. You think you hear Joel praising you, but the sound is muffled by your gasps and moans. If you lived in an apartment your neighbours might think you were being tortured based on the loud cries coming out of you. Joel is sure that he’ll be making you a hot toddy to ease your throat later, but right now he’s hyper-focused on getting you through this orgasm.

As you start to come down his hand slows, “relax, baby.”

“Red. S-stop. Fuck Joel, red.”

Joel gently removes his fingers, shifting quickly to undo your restraints. You’re shivering and exhausted as he pulls you into his arms and away from the soaked sheets.

Everything Joel Miller does is done with the utmost care and attention, including aftercare. Your heated blanket is already warmed up, tucked near the headboard. He pulls it over you and places a featherlight kiss on your sweaty forehead.

“I got you, darlin’. Shhh. I got you.” He holds you tighter as you melt into him.

After a few moments of silence, you tilt your face up to look at him. “Are you okay?” He asks gently.

You bite your bottom lip to stop a smile. “Ya, that was - amazing.”

You laugh a little and tuck back into his chest. “Are you sure? I’m so proud of you for using a safe word, but I need to ensure I didn’t hurt you.”

You shake your head and fight to stay awake. “No…you didn’t” you mumble sleepily, stifling a yawn. “I’m great - just one minute…then I’ll do something for you.”

Joel laughs softly and tilts your face up to his. He presses his lips to yours gently. “That was for me, Little Dove. Sleep for a little bit, I’ll wake you up for electrolytes and food.”

The warmth of your blanket takes over, you whisper an ‘I love you’ just as you drift off, thanking whoever brought this beautiful man into your life.

++++++++++

Taglist: @corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @mermaidgirl30 @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut

#joel miller #pedrohub #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel tlou #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller smut #daddy joel #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #dom!joel miller #soft!joel miller

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reiding-writing · 11 months ago

Note

I feel bad for sending one request after another but like okay hear me out, Spencer is cold and it's very obvious that his skinny ass purple scarf doesnt do much, so reader lends him theirs and he gets really flustered because it smells like them 😭

scented scarves [ s.r ]

Summary:

Vegas was a pretty warm city even in the winter, a stark contrast to Quantico’s freezing temperature. Needless to say, Spencer wasn’t fairing very well in the cold, and your offer of your scarf leaves him flustered and mildly overwhelmed.

WARNINGS: n/a

pairing: spencer reid × gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.2k

masterlist!!

a/n: this one’s pretty short but i hope it suffices nonetheless!

thank you for the request, you’re welcome to send as many as you want <33

It was -2 degrees celsius. 28 degrees fahrenheit.

In other words, absolutely fucking freezing.

The joys of living in Virginia.

It was blatantly obvious which of your team members were acclimated to the colder climates, or more accurately, who wasn’t.

Anyone who walked into your office, profiler or otherwise, would be able to tell.

Garcia was wrapped up in a chunky knitted sweater, a pair of thick tights under her skirt as she padded across the bullpen back to her tech dungeon with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands.

Prentiss was wearing a shirt and a sweater, her hands held out in front of a mini heater on the top of her desk in a desperate attempt to warm up her extremities so the rest of her body would follow suit.

And Spencer…

Spencer was sat cross legged in his chair with two pairs of socks on, a knitted vest over his shirt and a cardigan over his vest, his signature purple scarf wrapped around his neck and covering his chin as his hands gripped his coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping him from turning into a human icicle.

Poor Spencer Reid. Vegas really didn’t serve him well when it came to Quantico winters.

If his trembles weren’t so adorably funny you’re sure you’d feel bad for the boy, but instead you’re muffling a laugh as you walk across the bullpen to sit at your desk beside him, disposing of your bag under the table and unfurling your chunky knitted scarf from your neck to drape over the back of your chair.

One of the pros of being born and bred in Virginia is that you didn’t have to worry about freezing from the inside out.

Spencer’s eyes follow you as you take your seat, and you swear you can see him shudder when you remove your scarf, as if you removing a layer of warmth made him colder.

“You good over there?” You can’t help the amusement painting your face as Spencer stares at you like you’ve got a second head.

“How are you not freezing?” Spencer’s tone carries genuine bewilderment as his eyes scan what you’re wearing, a pair of black slacks and a white shirt, alongside a semi formal blazer that you also shed to lie over your chair.

“It’s climate acclimation Spence, you of all people should know that,”

His expression doesn’t change at your answer, continuing to blankly stare at you like some foreign species that had just invaded the earth. “I know that- logically… But still i’m literally shaking from how cold it is,”

“That’s what happens when you’re a Vegas baby who moves to Virginia,” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as Spencer huffs, taking another sip of his hot coffee in attempt to regulate his body temperature back to something warmer, tucking the narrow purple strips of thin-knitted fabric under his chin to expose his mouth to the mug.

“That scarf isn’t going to do you very much you know, it’s basically a glorified fashion piece,” You weren’t trying to knock on Spencer’s scarf by any means, it’d become a staple of his office wear, one that you definitely weren’t complaining about, but in weather like this it wasn’t really doing him any favours.

“I know…” Spencer sighs at his own intolerance to cold weather.

You’d think having worked in Quantico for half a decade would have stopped him from turning into a human icicle the minute the temperature dropped into the negatives, but no, of course it didn’t. Of course he continued to feel like he was sat in a bathtub full of ice despite having four layers on. Of course he did.

You push your chair back from your desk, the noise of it’s friction against the cheap carpeting of the floor drawing Spencer’s eyes to you once more, and to you bring yourself to your feet and pull your scarf from under your blazer with a small amount of struggle before walking over to him, the scarf stretched out between your two hands.

Spencer doesn’t have the time to question what you’re doing before your scarf is wrapped around his neck, immediately engulfing him in a cocoon of extra heat that his own scarf failed to provide.

He didn’t have time to thank you either, as you departed with a ruffle of your hand in his hair towards the kitchenette to fix yourself a coffee.

At first he’s confused.

Then he’s warm.

And then the lingering scent embedded in the yarn hits his nose and he flushes a bright pink, thankfully hidden under the knit.

Of course it would smell like you. It was your scarf. Your cells would cling to the yarn as you wore it and leave a permanent trace of you behind.

But it smelled like you. And any lingering molecules of coffee in his sensory neurons were immediately overridden with your scent instead.

Any conscious sense of being cold had left his body. His trembling had seemingly stopped, his brain too focused on your scent invading his nose and making him feel fuzzy inside.

You returned with your cup of coffee soon after, Spencer still coming to terms with his reality as you take your seat again. “You look much warmer now,”

You half insinuate the flush on his cheeks, although he’s unsure if you recognise the origin behind it or if you genuinely just believe that your scarf has helped insulate his neck and warm up his face. Which it had, but not as much as your scent had done.

Spencer’s normally sharp mind stumbled over words, and he couldn't help but fidget with the ends of the scarf as he tried to formulate a response.

"Yeah… thanks," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact, his cheeks tinged with a subtle blush.

His reaction brought a soft smile to your face, alongside a small chuckle at his seeming inability to form a full sentence. "You're welcome Spencer, but it's just a scarf,”

But for Spencer, it was more than that, it was a tangible connection to you. The combination of your proximity and the familiar fragrance leaving him pleasantly flustered and mildly overstimulated.

As the day unfolded, the team couldn't help but notice the change in Spencer's demeanour. Teasing remarks were exchanged, and Spencer, although still focused on his files, couldn't escape the playful banter.

At the end of the day, you approached him, a twinkle in your eye. "I think you should keep the scarf," you suggested, "You need it more than I do."

Spencer's shy smile revealed his appreciation, and he nodded, holding onto the scarf as a cherished memento of a day that had unravelled his usual composure.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #asks 🫶

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jayden-killer · 1 year ago

Text

FOR US.

(Loki x fem! Reader)

summary: A friend of Loki knocks at your house door, with the intention to tell you Loki's last words to you.

warnings: SPOILERS FROM LOKI SEASON 2 FINALE, very long one shot, other than that, no more warnings, this is so sad lol.

"On the coast, temperatures will drop sharply, dropping from eleven to four degrees, especially after the sunset. Now, let’s move on to the inner side..."

The weatherman’s voice came from the TV in the living room, but to me, it was distant since I was focused on unpacking the shopping bags on my kitchen island. The cold dyed my cheeks a light purple, although I had access to the heating in the house for a few minutes. A few sunbeams were seeping through the curtains, illuminating my face, and I was checking that you hadn’t forgotten anything from my shopping list. And yet, even though I was busy, there was a small part of me that felt like something bad was going to happen. As if my sixth sense was warning me that something inexplicable was coming. Almost as if it were fate to give me the answer rang the bell at my front door. I picked up the remote next to me of the TV, turned it off, and gently left it on the couch, then went to open it to whoever was behind my door. The moment you opened it, a gentleman appeared to me to be middle-aged, with grizzled hair and a short moustache. Despite his rather well-groomed appearance, the lines on his face were noticeable, showing his age. And he definitely had tired eyes. I looked at him reluctantly, waiting for him to talk; actually, I did it first. "Hi? Can I... do something for you?"

He breathed in air and glanced at me, not with disgust but rather with curiosity. He asked if my name was what he actually knew, which was later confirmed by me. Then he answered with a half-forced smile and a subtle voice: "I’m sorry if I show up here, out of nowhere, without even introducing myself. Call me Mobius," he clarified, giving me a handshake."I am here for a specific reason. It's forLoki".

My heart sank when I heard Loki’s name spoken. It couldn’t be good. Loki would have come in person if it was important.

Why wasn’t he there?

Why was there this Mobius instead?

Did Loki pull one of his tricks again and caused more chaos than he did in the past?

Once again, my sixth sense did not betray me.

"Tea?"

"Oh, no, thank you".

"Not even a piece of cake? It’s fresh, I bought it just this morning".

"I can not say no to such a good piece of cake. I gladly accept." Mobius' laugh was short, but it was effective in bringing back a smile on that concerned face that I had shown since he told me he was here with precise intentions. Now, he was sitting in my living room, on the leather sofa that Loki himself adored, since his butt never wanted to leave it. "So..." I began the conversation, handing the strawberry cake plate to Mobius, who thanked me with a silent thank you. He took a bite of it and showed with pleasure that the dessert was good. I sat in front of him, rubbing the sweaty palms of my hands on my jeans. One of my legs bounced back and forth, clearly anxious. "You said it was about Loki. What’s going on?"

Mobius cleared his voice, placing next to him the dish of cake now devoured, and assumed a different expression; he seemed tense, as if finding the words for what he was going to tell me was the most complicated thing in the world. I bit my lip. The wait was slowly killing me inside.

"Loki... well, he..." He breathed, looking down. "You know what he was doing at TVA?"

"Yes" My answer was hasty. I needed to know what had happened to my partner.

"What about his past?"

"I know everything. What happened? Why isn’t he here, Mobius?"

He took a very deep breath, and closed his eyes slightly, looking away. He placed a hand on the inside of his jacket, pulling a paper bag from an inner pocket. He handed it to me, and I immediately noticed the details: the recipient and the sender were written with, surely, an handwriting well taken care of; of course the ink was a fountain pen, because no one else would recognize that writing so elegant. It was Loki’s. A letter from Loki. And judging by the content, there was also an object inside it.

"What does that mean?" I didn’t want Loki to leave me. Not again. My voice cracked in pain, and I felt a tingle in my eyes. Mobius took my hand, holding it tightly. As if to say that he was there to console me, but that the worst was yet to come.

"Loki is...he is now 'He who remains'. The one who watches over time. On all the timelines of all time. He is...like a new time keeper".

The pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together and everything seemed clearer when he confessed to me. My gaze wavered from the envelope to Mobius' broken face. He sympathized me, it was clear, but how could you not pity a lover who had definitely lost, this time, his other half.

"He holds all the time lines together. His role is extremely important, because if it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t...you wouldn’t be here." I looked at him with tears in my eyes. His breathing was accelerating. He hadn’t finished. There was something else he had to reveal to me.

"Before he sacrificed himself for the sake of time, for his friends, for you... he told me to give you this." His gaze fell on the letter. "Then he closed the underground doors leading to the tunnel, and looked at me and Sylvie."

"Sylvie..." The name reminded me of someone he previously told me about. "Her other variant, right?"

He nodded. "He told us that now he knew who he would become. What God would he be. And he thanked you for taking care of him when he was still a dangerous man, a threat to others." He paused briefly. Even his voice seemed to waver for a second. " That’s it. And he disappeared in the next few minutes."

How much information in one speech.

How many things I would have to process in my mind before I accepted the harsh and harsh truth.

How many thoughts buzzed in my head as a result of that shocking revelation.

It was like a truck hitting you in the chest, throwing your powerless body into the road.

"He won't come back anymore, will he?"

Mobius never stopped holding my hand for a moment, holding it even tighter in his rough palm. He understood that he too had a strong hope of Loki’s return. Surely he had been a close friend of his, one who had been close to him all along. So why didn’t he tell me about it before?

However, his silence mk was from confirmation: he wanted, as much as me, his return, but how many were high hopes?

Would it have happened that, one day, a morning like this, he would have appeared at the door of my house, he would have knelt down and embraced me grieving?

How many years from now?

"We don’t know for sure." That sentence brought me up. I dried with my fist closed the tears that threatened to flow from my eyes, as a child does when she feels that maybe her mother would never return to her. I couldn’t stand the idea that I wouldn’t have Loki around me anymore.

Without adding any more, Mobius let go of my hand, standing up and glancing at the letter I held in my other palm. It was a silent way of saying he would give me some privacy to read the letter. So, he walked to the kitchen, bringing with him the plate with the leftover cake.

My hands were shaking. I didn’t have the courage to see what was inside. I was hoping it was another one of his planned pranks. Maybe confetti and a snake would come out, and he would hiss and say, "I fooled you again!"

I tore the opening of the envelope very gently and put a flickering hand inside. I had a cold feeling. Something hard and small was inside. It was..

"A ring.."

A beautiful silver ring.

Tears immediately came back to me. The small object landed in the palm of my hand, the hiccups made its way into my throat, and I squeezed it tightly against my chest. I couldn’t do it.

This was too much for my weak heart.

Was that the real pain?

Was that how you felt?

I still had to read his letter. I didn’t mentally have the strength to do it. It required a huge effort. Only some time later I had the courage to open that letter that was delivered to me by Mobius.

☆

A/N: NOW, my fellow readers, would you like to know what Loki has written in that letter ✉️? Because I've assured you, it's gonna be much sad than this one short.👀

#marvel imagine #marvel x reader #loki odinson #loki x you #loki x reader #loki series #loki season 2 #loki laufeyson #loki

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mo0nfairy · 2 years ago

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Any chance of some nsfw with guard puppy leon pls? 👉👈 I love the way u write him sm😩😳

tw :: nsfw themes (mdni!!), re4 spoilers, obsessive!leon, yandere!leon, sub!leon, masochism, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, invasion of privacy, leon being infected for like 2 seconds, (also no specification of reader's gender/genitalia).

⸺ ya'll.................. you can't drop shit like this in my inbox and not expect me to go feral. (i am also legally obligated to use this gif cause how can i resist).

let's say it's right after the events of re4. you and leon had spent an eternity dodging every kind of abomination known to mankind before you finally made it to safety. the government then took you in to study the effects the plaga parasite had on humans. however, leon was infected while you weren't, meaning the two of you would have to be temporarily separated. and fuck, being away from you kills leon with need. he just has to get his hands on you. and when his head gets fogged up with all sorts of disastrous scenarios (all involving you hurting in some shape or form), leon busts open the lock to his room and sets out on finding you. practically tearing the place asunder in his efforts, he finally locates you in a completely separate wing.

how fucking dare they take you so far from him? what if something happened? what if he can't be there to protect you-!?

his train of thought is abruptly cut off when he enters the room and finds you, entirely naked. there are several doctors around you, poking and prodding at you like a lab rat. leon literally just !!!!!!!!! at the sight, but is also >:( because of all these people putting their filthy hands on you. he is enraged at the people for touching you, but he also can't tame his heart after seeing your bare skin. he leaves to his room with his tail between his legs and his face adorned in red blotches. and poor leon hasn't been granted a single second alone to relieve himself, not with all these scientists and security guards surrounding him 24/7. (he got a little aggressive with staff when he had to seperate from you).

and being unable to relieve himself before he can see you and drown you in his obsession is destroying him. especially when he learns you've been moved to a safehouse all the way across the country, all while he has to stay in this hospital without you. he isn’t sleeping, he lost his appetite, and his body temperature has increased to a worrisome degree. the doctors even put down ‘hypersexual’ as one of his symptoms. and just a week later, leon is still distraught, but is all healed up. his mood brightens, however, when he learns he is being sent to the same undisclosed location. finally, he gets to be alone with you. and god, he is desperate.

practically tearing the front door off its hinges, leon searches for you through the house like a goddamn serial killer. and when he finds you, he goes feral. you don't have a second to even acknowledge the second presence in the house before he is all over you. one second you're minding your business and the next you're practically being smothered to death. on the counter, on the bed, hell, on the floor, leon doesn't give a shit where. as long as he’s able to ensure no inch on your body goes untouched.

leon tears your clothes off like a predator tearing apart the flesh of its prey. his calloused hands touch everywhere he can with almost religious fervor. good god, has leon ached for this. he's constantly losing air from latching his mouth all over you. he'll pull back a good centimeter, wait maybe a picosecond to catch his breath, before indulging in you again. and sidenote, he's a virgin (fight me abt it). sweet, innocent leon is so inexperienced but tries so. fucking. hard. all you have to do is sit back and guide him. every syllable out of your mouth is gospel to him, after all.

while his tongue is practically shoved down your throat, you bite down on the squirming muscle and it's just....…. instant subspace. his eyebrows scrunch upwards and he's moaning like a bitch into your mouth. his entire life, leon has endured so much pain, (especially right after the events of re4). but to hurt at your hand, knowing he is still safe with you? it is like heaven and hell in the same breath. so please, hurt him, bite him, rip out his fucking throat with your teeth if you want- just fucking do anything to him!

and leon is so distracted by you, he doesn't even realize how devastating he looks. his cheeks are as red as two ripe cherries; his eyes are wet with infatuation, brimming with tears. and downstairs, the vulgar sight displays a good 8 inches erect, on the skinny side with veins protruding the straight, pink shaft. his tip flushes an angry red and is overwhelmed with precum. you gently take it into your hand and caress the white-pearl with your thumb. and leon's voice literally raises several octaves in such an obscene manner, you wonder how he'll react when he's finally inside of you. but for now, your mere hands on him has turned him into a completely different person.

you guide his bloated head to your entrance and rub it into the surrounding skin, now slick with your spit and his precum. leon's entire body is shaking; his chest is flat from holding his breath in anticipation. 'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-' his chants huff against your face while his gaze is casted downwards, trembling from the sight alone. you could keep him here if you wanted, torture him even more. mock his whining while his swollen head is practically begging you to let him in and end this agony. but, he's just too damn cute. so, you give your poor puppy what he so desperately wants and push him into your soaked hole with ease. and the cry leon lets out is nothing short of pornographic.

"y-y/n/n-! oh, jesus, sh-shit-... uhn-!" his forehead is pressed against yours as he moans out for you.

when leon finally bottoms out inside, you let your spongy, sopping walls adjust to the length of his dick and try to calm him down (to no avail, unfortunately). he's too caught up in tripping over his words, attempting to verbalize the adrenaline coursing through him from just how amazing you feel and how soul-crushingly good it will be when he finishes. leon hasn't even started moving yet and he's already overwhelmingly drunk on pleasure.

you then push down on his lower back, giving him permission to begin moving. and the man leon becomes is that of a creature possessed. there is not a single moment spent being gentle, he is rutting into your thick heat like his life depends on it. he buries his face into your neck and everything just becomes so messy. your hot, hyperventilating breaths paint the air and your bodies are sheen with sweat as they stick together. his hands are locked around you like a lifeline, clinging so tightly to you as if he were hanging from a cliffside and you were his saving grace. (this is him basically). with his eyes rolling into the back of his skull, his hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, his jaw hung low with uncontrollable moans — god, you make him so fucking stupid.

'hmy- my fuckin’ god- y/n/n, i-... 'm-your- your stupid mutt, your dumb puppy... fuck, s’fuckin’ good, s’fuckin' perfect." you're not even exactly sure what leon is saying, with his voice muffled against your neck. but, when his voice is so whiny and slurred like that, you can only imagine how adorably pathetic the words that follow are.

drool seeps down his chin and pools in the nape of your shoulder. his mouth is all over your neck like a vampire, lazily kissing and marking your skin. with how overwhelmingly intense the euphoria is, he knows that one glance at your godly face and body will send him over the edge. so, he keeps his face nestled away. fortunately for him, however, you're not far behind from finishing. every vigorous thrust of his plunges deep into you, causing your body to jolt forward from the sheer force.

you grasp hold of leon's hand, causing his heart to practically explode in his chest, before guiding him on how to stimulate you. his hands rub against your sex with fervent, clumsy haste. and before you can even blink, your orgasm hits you like a wave. it is unexpected and unbelievably intense. every sound from your mouth causes leon’s dick to twitch inside of you, pushing him closer and closer to that earth-shattering finish. he is now full-on crying, his lewd sobs and pleads reverberating from the grip your body has on him. in the cusp of your high, you grab a fistful of leon's blonde hair and pull his head back.

you growl in his ear, "you're my bitch in heat."

and with that, leon gushes inside of you. a deafening wail permeates the room as he sporadically thrusts his hips against yours with bruising force. he practically bleats like a sheep as he cums and anyone lurking outside would probably think you were murdering him. leon fills you to the brim with his seed, the excess escaping past your entrance and staining the surface beneath. his vision goes white, his body shivers with rapture, and his mind is devoid of any thoughts beside you, you, you. the act of intimacy, to revel in your pleasure — oh, it is heaven. leon knew it was gonna be good, but never this fucking good.

every muscle in his body then goes limp against you. quiet whimpers pervade the air as he presses sloppy, soft kisses against your lips. chants of 'i love you, i love you so fucking much' escape his breathless mouth. and the look in his honeyed gaze... he is just so fucking happy to be back with the only person he could ever love, the only person he could ever need. it's clear as day, leon couldn't be more in love with you. but, when you try and push him away for some room to breathe, his hold on you turns tenacious and you can feel how he is still rock-hard inside of you.

you realize that not only are you in for a long night, but you are in for a long, long life beside leon.

okay..... this is my first time writing smut. like ever. if it's shit, pls don't be afraid to send some critique my way!! thank u !

#i have no idea wtf im doing #resident evil 4 #re4 #re4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil imagine #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #yandere leon kennedy #yandere resident evil #yandere #yandere smut #gn reader #gender neutral reader #venus’ brain #moonfairy

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rogerswifesblog · 1 month ago

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Never ending story

My Masterlist

Summary: After an accident something happened to you…and the accident was in 1913.

Warnings: accident, character death, brief alcohol drinking, smut, p in v sex, protected sex (i feel like it’s the first time I’m writing a smut with protection lord help me), brief handjob, light fingering, do I need to add anything more?

A/N: Jesus a one shot after such a long time omg I’m actually nervous. 😅 I recommend the movie „Age of Adaline”…it’s pretty much what happens in this oneshot too and it’s also a good movie:) the accident description is from the movie:) thank you @rogersbarber and @jamneuromain for proofreading

Steve and reader have an age gap here, with her being older but let's be honest considering he is like a 100 later on the 8 years difference don’t change a thing😂 besides I’ve probably messed up the ages and many things since it was hard to keep up😂

The story is not 100% accurate with the CA:FA movie.

Accidents often affect people’s life’s, not just from injuries but also because of the aftermath.

Yet you never expect your accident to change your life so dramatically.

In 1913, on your way to your parents house something highly unusual occurred, something almost magical... snow fell in Sonoma County, California.

Distracted from the road by the snow you lost control of your car, driving from the bridge right into a river.

The immersion in the frigid water caused your body to go into an anoxic reflex, instantly stopping your breathing and slowing your heartbeat. Within 2 minutes,

Your core temperature had dropped to 87 degrees... her heart stopped beating.

Then, a bolt of lightning struck the vehicle discharging half a billion volts of electricity producing 60,000 amperes of current.

Its effect was threefold.

First, the charge defibrillated your heart.

Second,

You were jolted out of yoir anoxic state causing you to draw your first breath in 2 minutes.

Third, based on Von Lehman's principle of electron compression in deoxyribonucleic acid, which will be discovered in the year two thousand thirty-five, y/n y/sn will henceforth be immune to the ravages of time...

At first you had never noticed it, but after over ten years you noticed something different-or rather nothing. Not a single wrinkle, not even a little change in your face nor body. Everyday was the same.

You were 36.

Yet you looked 25. Not a day older.

And people started to notice it, especially when you started to look very similar to your daughter. When she was 17, but both of you looked like sisters.

Even your husband noticed the lack of differences in your appearance. Luckily soon after he was drafted-of course it broke your heart to see him go, but considering your other problem, it was easier to think of a solution.

Moving. Running away.

So when the question started, you had to move, not expecting this would be your future from now on.

During the war it wasn’t hard to lay down, especially since everyone tried to do so, most people helped each other, while others just avoided most people.

A sigh escaped your lips as you walked around the World Exposition of Tomorrow, many people, not knowing you, nor your daughter. It was her birthday and you both decided to spend it somewhere special.

After getting some snacks you wanted to go to the front to watch the presentation of the new ‚flying car’. „I’ll go powder my nose, Y/N”, your daughter informed you. Y/N. She had stopped calling you ‘mom’ when she was 15. Sometimes, at home, but rarely. Especially now that you looked so close to the same age. You were 24 years older but…it didn’t look this way.

„Watch out-“, You called after a man that had hit your shoulder, making your purse drop, a couple of things falling out.

When you wanted to bend down someone was already holding up your purse.

His soft blue eyes looked you over once, before stopping to meet your gaze. „Ma’am, your purse”, said the gentleman, still holding the purse with a shaky hand. „Thank you, Sir”, you smiled at the young man.

He was slightly shorter, especially with the shoes you were wearing, giving you two or so inches more. His hair blond, looking soft but frail, like his frame. The jacket hanging rather loose around his shoulders, the pants held up by a belt tightly buckled around his slim hips, you could see there was an extra hole made for the belt to fit him.

„I’m…I’m Steve Rogers”, said the young man, holding out his hand. You shook it, introducing yourself to him, but just then your daughter walked back up to you.

When Steve’s friend walked up to you two, with two other dames who seemed to be rather interested in the friend himself than Steve, but that was the cue for you to go.

Besides, why were you even interested in spending time with this man? You were a married woman-and older. It might not look like that but you definitely were older than him by a couple of years.

Yet a bit of fantasizing wasn’t a crime, right? His blue eyes were probably the prettiest thing you’ve seen in a while.

During the expo you saw Steve a few more times, small smiles and gazes were exchanged before you had to leave, not expecting to ever see that man again.

Two years later you had to move again after the police accused you of having forged documents and a false ID.

But you were alone this time.

Your daughter had a husband, only married for a few months but she decided to stay with him-which you understood.

Nevertheless it didn’t break your heart any less. Especially since you knew your husband was also dead, after receiving the condolences letter.

That’s how you found yourself sitting at the small bar in Italy, a completely new country where nobody was looking for you. Briefly you’ve heard about the Captain America creation and other things, but you weren’t too interested in it, not with the heartbreak after being completely alone.

Heartbroken and alone.

Funny enough Steve felt the same way, walking into the bar, sulking and making his shoulders as small as possible, not wanting the attention of other people.

He really thought Peggy might like him-but he got it all wrong, she was seeing someone and just moments after this information he also found out Bucky's unit was missing.

Tomorrow he planned to look for them, waiting for Stark to arrange everything needed.

But tonight.

Tonight he was alone and heartbroken.

Steve wasn’t that type to flirt with random women or ‚hook up’, but tonight…he just wanted to be someone else, not the heartbroken little boy from Brooklyn, even though usually he’d be proud to be that.

But he felt like he let his friend down.

The woman he fell in love embarrassed him, which wouldn’t be the first time but it felt worse than ever before.

„Whisky”, he ordered, sitting next to you, making you lift your head at the slightly familiar voice. It’s like you’ve heard him before-but you shook it off for now.

Sipping on your cocktail, your gaze was glued to the many pictures at the wall, people smiling at the camera, while others looked away or at their friends.

The man next to you cleared his throat. „How…how is your evening ma’am?”, when you looked over at the man, your voice seemed to be stuck in your throat. He was handsome, yes, but it wasn’t what made your breath hitch. It’s his eyes. The blue eyes that you were never able to forget.

„Steve”, you said quietly, a sad smile creeping on your face as you looked at him over again. He furrowed his eyebrows a bit, before sighing. “Yeah, it’s me, Steve Rogers, the captain-“‘“wait, no Steve it’s…I mean, yeah, I’ve heard about it but I didn’t know it was you but-yeah, I can see the change”, you chuckled, placing your hand on his bicep and squeezing, before pulling away. That felt quite rude.

“We met years ago…At the…the world exposition of tomorrow-about the future flying car? You were-well, smaller-and with a friend, I was there with my da-“, you cleared your throat. “-dearest friend.”

It didn’t take long for him to remember the time you two met. After some catching up you ordered yourself another drink, Steve got another one too.

Minutes turned to hours…

“…I’m moving a bit around. I lost my husband-the war took him….”

“….Bucky was drafted…his unit…”

“….Buck always said I was stubborn and would either get enlisted or died trying, since I surely wouldn’t stop or…”

“….I wish we could just have a quiet life without wars…”

“..I remember when I was a kid…”

“…There was a time when I….”

The conversation kept going, skipping from one topping to the other, first the usual talk about what was going on, then sharing some memories and comforting words.

When the barkeeper informed you it was already time to close the place, you looked down at the drink you were still sipping. It was still the second one you had ordered, mostly untouched.

Steve helped you put on your jacket, you knew you didn’t want the evening to end.

Without saying a word you just wrapped your hand around his arm, walking with him along the streets, only a few minutes before entering your apartment building.

Steve followed. He wanted to be with you that night. He wanted to feel you close. He wanted to feel…needed….loved…cared after…

He wanted to forget about all the horrors around him.

So did you.

When entering the small apartment you took off your shoes and jacket, Steve hanging up his own and yours, before looking back at you, a nervous smile creeping on his lips.

“I don’t….usually do such things”, he started, making you take his hands. “Me neither Steve”, whispering you let your hands roam to his neck, slowly pulling him down as he placed his hands on your waist to pull you closer as you kissed.

Gentle, yet passionate. So full of…feelings. You couldn’t call it love but…but it was still close to it. It was shared pain.

And you knew the line between love and pain was so small it barely made a difference.

A quiet gasp escaped your lips when Steve wrapped his hands around the back of your thighs and lifted you onto his hips. “Where is the bedroom-“ “the couch is fine”, but Steve only clicked his tongue.

“I don’t…I don’t want it to…be rushed and meaningless”, he mumbled against your lips, making you smile a little. Not that you thought about it…you didn’t want to rush it yourself.

So you told him where to go, before being placed onto the bed, Steve carefully climbing over you, kissing your neck.

Slowly he undressed you, making sure to kiss every inch of your skin he uncovered. Your shoulders, your arms, hands…your stomach…before having you only in your underwear.

“You…you’re beautiful”, he whispered, before slowly taking the rest of your clothes off. A blush crept on your cheeks when you felt his eyes on your body, especially with him being still dressed. “Steve, come on let me help you with those…”, you chuckled, making him also smile a bit, as he sat back and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the white, tight undershirt beneath it.

A grin crept on your lips, sitting up, you let your hands roam over his chest and arm, before quickly grabbing the undershirt and pulling over his head. Your lips find its way to his neck, down to his pecks, making him moan quietly and letting you push him down onto the bed.

Now it was your turn to leave kisses along his body, lowering yourself till you were level with his zipper, opening it. Steve helped you push down his pants and underwear, his cock immediately slapping against his abdomen, hard and leaking.

Before you could get your mouth on him he pulled you up and once again on your back, his hands once again all over your body, spreading your legs apart, as he sat back on his heels and looked at you, especially your crotch. “You look so good…”, he mumbled, gently sliding his fingers through your wet folds.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Steve slowly pushed two of his fingers into your wet hole, wettly squelching as he pulled out again, watching his finger being covered in wetness.

You let your head drop into your neck, moaning quietly with every time he pushed his fingers back in. “Steve…I need you…”, you gasped.

It immediately made Steve’s heartbeat quicken to hear those words, hovering over you and reaching into his pants pocket, pulling out a metal condom tin and opening it, taking the condom out. “Already prepared?” “The captain has to be responsible”, Steve smirked teasingly.

You felt yourself blush at that, rolling your eyes with a grin on your lips.

Then, you watched as Steve slowly put the condom on, stroking his dick a few times, before letting it slide between your folds, brushing over your clit. You weren’t sure if he was purposefully teasing you or just doing it to…well, considering his grin he was doing it on purpose.

“Steve please-“, before you could finish, Steve leaned back down again, kissing you passionately, as he slowly pushed his cock into your pussy. A quiet and slightly surprised gasp escaped your lips, the stretch feeling more than expected.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, one hand buried in his hair, while he was covering you with his wide frame-which didn’t feel intimidating in any way- it was rather comforting. Feeling his warmth and the weight of his body made you feel like you were in the right place.

The rest of the night was spent in a tight embrace, skin to skin, soft pleas and moans reaching your ears and the smell of sex lingered in the air.

When the sun started to rise you fell asleep in Steve’s arms, after having spent the best evening you could imagine together.

You woke up to a kiss on your temple and a soft whisper, “I hope we see each other soon.”

But you didn’t.

After saving Bucky and his unit Steve had many other missions following, which he had written about in a letter. One letter, with a lot of explaining and apologies and…an invitation for a date, after he’d be back.

But this also never came. You waited months. Years.

And then he flew the plane into the ocean, falling to his death.

Only then did one thing occur to you.

Were you able to die? Or specifically, from old age? If you’d ever meet a man, would you be able to spend your life with him? The idea of falling in love and watching your partner die broke your heart-you had already buried your husband, then Steve died and…oh god, you would watch your own child die.

Once again you got yourself a whisky, this time just at home not wanting to meet any new people, especially since that was how you had found Steve again. You swore you’d never get close to another person again, never get your feelings involved in something. There was a voice at the back of your head, it had been there for some time now, that always reminded you of Steve but now…you knew you needed to forget about him,

….definitely not expecting to ever see him ever again.

The years passed by, every ten years you moved, illegally bought a new passport, ID…a whole new life, whole new person. You wrote letters with your daughter, meeting up with her twice a year on your and her birthday.

You watched her age.

You watched her birth children.

You watched them grow up.

And you watched your daughter die.

At the age of 86 in 1998.

While you still haven’t changed since 1913.

Her funeral was beautiful. Many people were there-even though nobody knew you-or at least not as who you were. A family's friend. Her nurse. Kid from a friend…many different ways. But not as her mom. Her mom went missing in 1943, during the war, probably killed…yeah, that was the story people knew.

So you continued living, year after year.

Until 2012 arrived.

Two unexpected things happened.

An alien attacked you.

And you saw those beautiful blue eyes again.

Hi! Thank you for reading!!

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Flood my inbox with HC, Drabble/OS ideas or questions! Just whatever you want to leave there! Anons welcome 😋

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cmdrfupa · 2 months ago

Text

Chihiro

2nd installment of Upheaval.

cw: all chapters and content warnings are listed in this post but this chapter contains smut near the end. Grandma's first nastee writing in a decade heh.

an: firstly, thank you for being so nice to me 😭 I expect nothing but you all seem to find a way to make me feel like I’m good at this and I appreciate it more than you know. I tried not to make this a yep fest and therefore at least 2 more chapters will happen so yay!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! ✨✨

August 6, 2021

No longer being led by liquid courage, but by the sheer need to be your doting husband once again, Kento took initiative and scheduled the next counseling session. On appointment day, he picked you up early, ensuring he had an hour to calm his nerves and spirit during the drive.

The idea of reconciling felt surreal once he learned how close you were to being done with this marriage.

"She has the papers drawn up and waiting to have you served. So figure out how to stop her from giving them to you, Nanamin! Simple." His voice of reason was the sound of Gojo telling him that you had already drawn up divorce papers.

From what he was told, you were asking for very little if you both let it go through. Willing to leave him the home you bought together only wanting to keep the Nanami name and split all investments you'd made while married. Fair even when your heart was being broken into pieces. Perhaps he didn't deserve you.

So step one was easy: Stop you from handing those papers to him. And that started here.

Ootaishi Niko: Would be special grade sorcerer and revered therapist across the southern prefectures.

Currently not one of Kentos' favorite people.

"I'm glad the first two sessions didn't scare you off. Make yourself comfortable." Kento sat in the middle of the couch, his thigh lightly grazing yours as he crossed his legs. He noticed you sat close to him, and he didn't move.

Heavy air filled the room as the sound of the central unit whirred to life, gusting a light chill through the air.

Uneasy anticipation sat in the wings of the brightly lit space.

The chenille-upholstered couch tugged at Kento as he sat back, placing the pillow between you both.

"We apologize for ghosting. After the two sessions, we didn't know—"

"If it was worth returning once they moved out of our shared home," Kento cut in before you could finish.

He noticed your leg bouncing; he fixated on the box of tissues in front of him. "I apologize. That was unnecessary."

"It's fine."

Ootaishi noticed the small interaction but said nothing. Instead, she lowered the window covering that faced the couch and sat across from you in a single chair.

"I am, as you know, dedicated to healing relationships, revealing the truth, and finding solutions. By entering my office, you consented to my domain. You could try to bypass my expansion, but it would do you more harm in the end."

She sat a small talisman on the table. The etchings glowed similarly to the Heian-era sigils you'd seen in your studies.

"With that said, you can leave anytime, as this is a barrierless realm. If you exit without acknowledging it, it will cause 24 hours of what I call Toxic Empathy. Are we clear?"

"Yes," you both uttered in unison, consenting before sitting back on the couch.

"Splendid! Now, please close your eyes so we can begin."

Kento followed your lead, closing his eyes once he saw you settle. You took shallow breaths to center yourself.

In a low tone, Ooitaishi spoke, "Memory Alpha."

There was a noticeable shift in the room. Temperature dropped by at least 15 degrees as a chill swept on the nape of his neck. Mumbles of small talk surrounded him as the familiar scent of overly artificial strawberry and bramble room deodorizer filled his nostrils with an unpleasant sting.

Nearby speaker hummed a song that felt like a distant memory: ‘Daremo Shiranai’ by Arashi.

"Gojo's?" Kento's eyes opened, and there it was: Gojo's apartment. Ambient lighting lined the spacious loft walls that were never really lived in but used occasionally for events like birthdays, meetings after official meetings, and that night's game festivities.

Kento looked around the room, fully accepting that the office had been transformed into some type of memory bank. His memory bank.

"So, Kento. It seems you're first up. Do you mind telling me why we're here?" Ootaishi smiled, sipping the cold lager beer that appeared on the side table next to her.

"Ken." You knew exactly where you were.

Clearing his throat, Kento perched himself on the edge of the couch as he saw his younger variant walk through the front door. "The night Shoko introduced us. When we first met."

November 15, 2014

"Nanamin!" Gojo leaped with a smile, waving him down from the crowded corner of people playing Jenga.

Waving back in hopes of not being bothered no more Kento considered himself saved as Shoko walked over. "Avoid eye contact. He's been drinking milk tea all day and won't shut up about beating you in Yahtzee. We've got more important things to do anyway." She brought her hand to Nanamis's shoulder, chauffeuring him to where you sat near the open balcony doors.

There you were, leg shaking as you looked out the nearby window before noticing the approaching duo. "She's like me. But probably with a little more patience. The perfect match, really." He was working with nothing other than you had the patience of a saint and apparently were able to get Shoko to stop smoking.

And while he wasn't a superficial nor religious man, he thanked every God above and below that you were also beautiful.

Your cashmere sweater fit you perfectly as you stood up to greet him.

"I'm back, and here's the friend I mentioned. This is Nanami." Shoko gave a look of approval as she gave Kento a slight nudge.

"Hey! It's a pleasure." He took your outstretched hand and firmly shook it.

"Nanami Kento. It's great to meet you. Shoko has told me nothing about you."

Your warm laugh sent a surge of serotonin through his chest.

"Seems she's great at keeping her lips shut." You sat back down, offering the chair next to you. "But it does give us plenty to talk about and get acquainted better."

Nanami slid his coat off, smiling as he hung it on the back of the chair and sat beside you.

"Of course. Like how that sweater you're wearing is lovely. Cashmere?"

"Yeah! I bought it while I was out in Scotland over the summer. Thank you. Big fan of fashion?" You questioned while grabbing the beer bottle from the table.

He grabbed the drink Shoko had set down for him while she observed you interacting as if it were a chaperoned date. "Not necessarily. I just prefer to buy for long-term use."

"Same! I'd rather spend the large amount on quality that'll last years than something I'll need to replace by the end of the season." A sip from the apple-flavored IPA soothed your throat before you continued. "Like, it's money, and I hate to be an incessant contributor to capitalism, so I want to at least be wise about where my money goes, yanno? Less consuming, more investing in things that can be seen as sustainable. Even if it's clothing, I suppose."

Sensible, financially aware, hates capitalism, knew to buy a cashmere sweater in Scotland.

'Let's hold off on the pedestal.' Kento internally tried his best to ignore the immediate fluttering of his heart as you spoke. 'Perfect match.'

Four hours. Kento sat in that uncomfortable chair talking with you about everything he could for four hours, from learning about your love of music theory and literature to your time in med school with Shoko. He told you about his passion for research, travel, advocacy, and the arts. Your shared love of cooking somehow brought you to discussing family lineage.

"So a distant relative to the woman who was the unfortunate victim of Noritoshi Kamo. That dates back to the-"

"Meiji period. It's an incredibly long story, but my father tried to keep up with that part of my family history for a long time."

"Do you keep in touch with the Kamo clan?"

Shaking your head confidently, you responded, "They try to reach out to me, but I'd rather not be associated for the time being. Bit of a weird conversation to have."

Kento noticed your slight disconnect from this part of the conversation, watching your eyes migrate to fixating on your bottle once you mentioned their recent attempt. Choosing not to pursue it any further, he instead focused on your features as the low lighting seemed to glow around you.

Kento felt a hint of glee for the first time in a long time. He realized you'd noticed him taking you in, and the corners of your mouth lifted.

"Shoko tells me you'll be joining us at Jujutsu High. She said you left the sorcery world but came back! You excited?"

"You'll also be there?" Kento lifted his brow, not realizing you'd actually be around him more than he expected.

"Oh, yes! It isn't a significant role, though. I'm a consultant and teaching some history courses. And will do field work when needed."

"History?"

"Cursed energy and ancient techniques. Pushed hard for it to be a class for all 2nd years." Were you really telling him that you had a history course on curses?

"I'll have to sit in on one of your classes then. Sounds like I could learn a lot from you."

The sound of Gojo imitating another party guest echoed across the room, making you cringe with a laugh as Kento shook his head with a plastered smile. "I have to admit, I was a little hesitant on this whole blind date idea."

"Dating can be challenging as it is." Taking the last swig of your ale before idly playing with the bottle's rim, you continued, "Adding the shroud of mystery can make it almost unbearable. But Shoko did mention that you were my perfect match."

"Perfect match?"

"Don't tell me she was wrong, Nanami Kento." Dripping with flirtation, the tone in which you said his name turned his ears red-hot.

When he leaned into you, Kento smiled at your poor attempt to hide your sudden, bashful reaction. "I guess we'll only find out if I take you on a proper date on Sunday, perhaps?"

"Only if you promise to wear this tie again. I like how the pattern complements the chestnut flecks in your gorgeous eyes."

Marble. A marble pedestal. Engraved with your name across the front. One of the world's many wonders that now prominently sits in the forefront of Kento's mind for however long you allow.

"I'll let you dress me. How does that sound?"

July 3, 2015

"Surprise!" You cheesed until your cheeks ached as you stood in Kento's dim living room. The sparkler candles sitting atop the chocolate croissant bread pudding you held acted as the secondary light source after the dimmed ceiling light as he walked toward you. "Happy birthday, Ken!"

Chuckling, Kento sat his briefcase on the couch, bewildered by your ambush. "Dove, what is this?"

"Oh!" Handing off the dish to Kento, you put a party blower to your mouth and blew into it with all your might. "A surprise!"

Kento savored a fleeting moment to take in the sight of his living room. Adorned with its usual neutral-toned furniture, it had been transformed by the addition of a striking balloon bouquet nestled in a corner. Glittery confetti scattered across the floor and coffee table, catching the radiant hues of the late sunset, while elegant streamers crisscrossed the ceiling, adding an extra layer of festivity. Coming back to you, his softened gaze met yours.

"As is tradition back at home, you now have to suffer through my rendition of 'Feliz En Tu Día.' Clearing your throat as you placed a party hat on Kento, you began to belt.

What was happening? Why was his pulse quickening as he watched you sing a song with everything in you? Why did he feel his body warm up from how you smiled waiting for him to make a wish for today and everyday after?

His wish was you. You today and everyday after.

Kento felt his heart pounding from how sweet you were to him. Effort that felt so genuine and done out of love, he was beginning to think he might have a stroke. "I—thank you." He blew out the candles with a quaint smile and set the bread pudding down before kissing you deeply. "You really did this for me when you didn't have to. I have a birthday every year."

"Listen, you only turn 25 once; you deserve to be celebrated on every birthday." You laid a warm kiss on his cheek and held him close. "I know Shoko's party on Saturday may not be your scene, so I wanted to do something intimate and special just for us."

Kento went in for another kiss, gentler this time. Your heated flesh invites the palms of his hands as they slide under your shirt, finding the soft flanks of your waist. It was the most courageous he'd felt as the fluttery feeling hit his chest. "I love you."

Seven months and two weeks ago. 230 days. Kento knew he’d fall in love with you the same night he met you when you decided that waiting until Sunday was too long to see him again. When he took you to his favorite izakaya and introduced you to the owners, who kept giving him the all-knowing "That's the one" look all night.

You sat close in his usual booth, telling him everything else that wasn't shared at the party. The same booth where you couldn't help but notice the overwhelming grief in his posture as he confided his reasons for why he had left the sorcery world once before. In those suffocating moments, you became his solace, reminding him to just breathe. You became his reason to stay, his undying love.

"You love me?"

"I love you."

Your pupils dilated while your stomach filled with butterflies. "I love you, Kento."

When you returned his feelings itf felt like he was experiencing everything for the first time. He felt more alive than ever. Every interaction led to the heart-thumping experience of your love. The sheer intensity of each emotion made it a time of joy and anxiety as the fear of losing this feeling became just as strong as the love itself.

Kento's actions from this point forward were to be charged with meaning. His heart, which had been in darkness for years, was now in your hands.

"Memory Alpha 2.33."

The distant memory of the dim living room shut into itself as Kento reawakened in the office. He immediately looked over to you, your eyes still closed, but tears stricken down your cheeks as if you'd been crying.

"Dove, you okay?" Anxiety coated his tone as you appeared to still be under the effects of the domain.

"She will come to in a moment, Nanami. I want to take this time to talk to just you."

Kento wasn't sure how therapy was supposed to go, but this seemed far from the usual protocol. He glanced back over at you.

"I promise you, she's safe," Ootaishi assured Kento, sharing a quick glance at your current state of mind to calm his anxieties. You were sitting beachside at sunset, engrossed in yet another article on creating the perfect greenhouse all year round. A beach chair was set beside yours, and his worn copy of "Antic Hay" awaited him.

A wistful smile graced his face. "Thank you."

"You care very deeply for her."

Kento kept his eyes on you for a moment longer, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your mouth seemed to twitch into a smile. "She's my life."

"And so you choose to push your life away."

Kento's neck joints cracked as he turned back to face the therapist. "Excuse me?"

Ootaishi wrote something in her journal as Kento mentally torched a hole through her chest. "Your wife. You call her your life, yet we are here because your life is tired of being pushed away."

There goes his ring, feeling too small again.

"I'm not pushing her away."

"Then my apologies for assuming. What would you call what you're doing, Nanami?"

"I feel like we've reached a standstill in our marriage," he said, twisting the wedding band around his finger. The pinching sensation distracted from the undeniable truth of his feelings. “We've grown but in different directions. It's impacting our daily lives."

Ootaishi glanced at the talisman, the etchings now glowing a dull red. "It seems someone forgot about our honesty policy, Nanami."

A huff strong enough to blow off a roof exited Kentos' nose before dragging his hands down his face.

"It's clear that you are not ready to get to the real root of your problem, and that's okay. Healing is never linear, nor is it quick." Ootaishi took a few more notes and smiled before closing the journal. "But just for future reference, I prefer the method of you being honest with me, as I hate forcing myself into your psyche for the answer I need to resolve issues.”

Kento's jaw clenched as he sat up fully. There was a small, dare he say minuscule part of him that wished he could've just fessed up to why he was being a pussy. The chance was there; if nothing else, he appreciated how forward Ootaishi was to get him there.

But he wasn't ready to face the demons he knew needed to be slain before it was too late.

"Can you not mention this to her? It's not that I'm trying to keep anything from her—"

"You have my word, Nanami." She sat on the edge of her chair and looked over at you. "If you're ready, I can wake them up."

With a nod, Ootaishi intonated, 'Memory Alpha; end sequence,' and Kento watched closely as you slowly roused yourself.

"Welcome back." Ootaishi opened the curtains halfway and gave a warm, almost motherly smile as she looked at Kento and then at you. "Take some time to get adjusted to the room, and then we will end today's session."

"Thank you again for being so open to going back."

"I'm glad we did. It was better than I thought it would be. It was far more invasive than I realized." He crinkled his nose as he recalled the all-too-intrusive experience.

You both shared a chuckle as Kento walked you to the door.

"Yeah, it's a bit intense. But I've only heard of great results from Ootaishi, so I'll allow the invasion."

There was a lighter air between you as you neared the threshold.

"Did you want to come in for lunch? I've been marinating some eggplant in red curry. There's more than enough."

"Is that a good idea? I should give you some time to sort through today's session."

Eyes fluttered quickly as you were taken aback by the sudden compliance from Kento. "Is Nanami Kento actually taking the therapist's suggestions seriously?" It was apparent how impressed you were.

With a light chuckle, Kento shrugged as he looked at you. "I just want to show you how serious I am about everything. You deserve time to process today just like I do. But we can grab lunch soon."

"Lunch. Just tell me when."

"Absolutely."

The two of you stood together in the luminous hallway, the air heavy with unspoken words. The silence that enveloped you was strangely comforting. The faint sound of footsteps approaching the elevator shattered the peacefulness, jolting you both back to the present moment.

"I should get going, but let me know how the eggplant turns out. Tell both Shoko and Utahime I said hello."

"Will do. Let me know when you've made it home safely."

His hesitancy showed in the two steps he took towards you. Opting out of embracing you and instead kissing the top of your head and inhaling your scent.

"See you later, dove.”

“See you Monday, Ken.”

As the sun slips below the horizon, the golden light of the setting sun fades, leaving only the pale moonlight to illuminate the evening. In the silence of the late evening, Nanami sat in his den, deep in thought, attention focused on the quiet contemplation's of his mind. You.

The sound of his breathing was the only sound in the room, punctuated by the occasional rustling of pages as he fidgeted with the corners of his book.

The soft beams of moonlight cast shadows on the floor, the trees standing guard like looming sentinels against the glossy wood.

“I don’t even know what the fuck I’m reading.” A deep, dispirited sigh left his lips as he read the same sentence for the eighth time. Mentally worn, Kento sat the book on the table and fell back in his chair, slouching as he closed his eyes to gather a bit of energy to get to bed.

“Come to bed, Ken. Your pillow is a real shit replacement for your chest.”

Hearing your voice in his head, he smiled as if you were in the room with him. Your low, sweet-as-saccharin voice filled his mind as he replayed your sweet sentiments to himself like he did every other night since splitting. Toying with the waistband until he was tired of trying to play coy with himself, he rubbed his growing erection through his pajamas.

“God.” His lips parted, sucking in a small breath as he thought of your scent. Your hand on his chest as he inhaled you that afternoon.

He freed his thick member, looking at a drip of precum before smearing it with his thumb.

“Tell me how you want me, Kento.”

His left hand gently massaged his balls while squeezing the head of his cock as your voice led him to stroke himself.

Slow strokes to copy how you pleasure him had his eyes rolling back as he envisioned your lips pressed against his neck. Your warm breath sending electricity down his spine, your slick cunt resting on his aching balls as you stroked him from above. “Faster. Please.”

His steady rhythm quickened, a long tug before he slid his hand up and down his length faster, the wet sounds of his slick shaft competing with the lewd moans that fell from his parted lips. You. The way you whimpered his name when his thumb rubbed over your clit. Your eyes full of hunger when he would only let the tip of his thick cock poke and prod at your eager, fluttering cunt. “Is this what you want, dove?” fucking every inch into his hand with brute force as if were your wetness.

“Not yet… fuck.” Kento slowed down, lightly tugging his taut balls from his form to stop himself from releasing.

Painstakingly slow, he watched his reddened cock head swell as his grasp tightened, sliding up and down his shaft again. He watched the way the veins in his right hand were accentuated with each squeeze of his cock. Recalling how his hands looked cradling your face as your nose met his pubic hair, taking every inch of him to send him into a crying mess.

Hair stuck to his forehead as his chest heaved, pumping quicker to satiate the flame that kept growing in his abs. Losing himself in the fierce desire for you. “Please let me cum, please. Please, dove.” Hips bucking at an unearthly pace with pathetic pants of desperation echoing as he felt his release hit its peak before he pulled his hands away.

He knows he won’t finish. He can’t finish. He watched his cock bounce and flinch freely while the sweat on his brow cooled him. A huff of frustration brought him back fully as he tucked himself back into his pants, trekking to the bedroom in silence.

You’d trained him to need you for that release. A cruel feat that he couldn’t even call a punishment because it was a self-inflicted disservice.

Settled into bed for the night, Kento checked his phone one more time. His lock screen lit up with the only photo Kento allowed to be taken right after his hospital stay post Shibuya. Your lips on his cheek as he gave the camera a shy smile, Gojo’s white hair peaking in from the bottom corner after a failed crop attempt.

Four months and a week: 128 days separated.

One day towards fixing what can be saved.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #kento x reader #jjk x you #jjk au #jjk angst #jjk smut #lu.logs

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kithtaehyung · 2 months ago

Text

minted: part two (snippet) (m) | myg

snippet: minted: part two (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au series: masterlist | part one summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! enjoy this snippet since i missed the initial part two drop! note 2: this series is for @sailoryooons, @joonary, and @minttangerines! love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma, poor reader :(((, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee…, tension, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn est. drop date: september 16th, 2024 snippet word count: 1.5k est. total word count: 9k >:))

—

There’s something to be said about the human gut.

Not because it’s the source of multiple health aspects, or the way it’s connected to the brain.

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you?

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run?

You don’t know if you released your hand or if Yoongi let it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink.

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking.

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too.

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree.

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down.

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you!

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too?

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff.

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved.

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on?

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling.

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with.

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are.

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home.

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors.

Perfect.

“What.”

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.”

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?”

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket.

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends.

This is all too much.

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.”

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm, and the voice you hear courses through your ears, “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside wait he’s gonna let you go that easily?

…Oh.

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization.

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him than you are by yourself right now. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun.

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with Yoongi, either. You don’t even know who he is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again.

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done.

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again.

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal.

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back.

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance?

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic.

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening.

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a hotel employee, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches.

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire.

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not.

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse.

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions and words you can’t name.

Yeah.

You fucked up.

Fuck.

tbc. :))

are we ready for the drop?! | join the taglist!

a/n: this is just the beginning!! who knowwwws what's gonna happen during the rest of the 9k+ lsdkfjdskl thank you all so much for hanging in there for me as i navigate multiple hobbies and endeavors. it means a lot to see your words of encouragement! always appreciated, and i hope you look forward to the real drop hehehe. more links: masterlist

#minted monday is here!!#see you next week for the droppp #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #minted #minted2 #fanfiction #bts smut #bts angst #*latest #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk

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weskin-time · 2 years ago

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I don’t t go here but how about sharing body heat with John price headcanons? Like if it’s cold outside and the both of you are stranded. Alone. 👀 (feel free to ignore just giving ideas haha)

i’m sorry this took. months. i love when i write and hit the save button only for it to not save. >:/ BUT I HOPE I DID YOUR ASK JUSTICE!

Captain John Price x GN!Reader

not beta read

Cold air curled into your lungs and made its home on your skin, burning the back of your throat and searing your flesh as if it was hot out, but it was freezing.

There was no snow, just dry cold air that made your sinus’s cry out in pain, no moisture in the air just a winter haze in a forest. Frozen dew drops clung to blades of grass, to the leaves shed on the forest floor like blankets, the dwindling light of the day promised an even colder night.

The twilight would have been peaceful if it had been a voluntary camping trip, if you weren’t stuck with your captain in the middle of the woods out in bumfuck-nowhere Russia.

It should have been easy, should have been an easy drive to a small town where the contact had been, but it was an ambush, a trap set up by Makarov to get you lot off his ass. Your small team was outnumbered and forced to retreat, but an explosion caused Price and you to be separated from Gaz and the rest of the small amount of men. A mine caught the captain and you off guard, causing the Humvee you were in to wreck, separating you from everyone, somehow Makarov’s men didn’t see you two slip into the woods that bordered the town.

“Damnit. You two are going to have to sit tight for the night.” Laswell spoke over the coms.

Good thing the army backpack your we’re wearing had supplies inside it, standard military issued foldable tent, a shitty sleeping bag, and then some. Price seemed to have lost his bag (or didn’t even bring it) in the explosion, meaning there was only one tent and sleeping bag to share between you two. Fun.

You barley paid any attention to the conversation going on behind you as you began to set up the tent, unzipping it from its little bag and trying to figure out how to set it up. It kind of reminded you like those folding frisbees you sometimes get at fairs or small events.

“Laswell-“ Price began to argue but was cut off.

“John it’s too hot right now to rescue the two of you, Makarovs men are still in the town, Im not going to argue with you. I’m sending a team your way before dawn tomorrow, you’ll be out of there in no time.” Her tone was final.

“Fuckin hell.”

The kept talking as you focused on the tent, tuning them out as you fed some tubes into the fabric of the green camo. Your nose felt numb, your fingers moved with a slowness of paralyzed flesh, the cold in the air seeped into your being freezing your blood. Your heavy fingers fumbled over the rough fabric as you sniffed your now running nose.

By the time Price was done complaining you had gotten the tent up. It was large enough for about 2 people, and thankfully the backpack you carried had a thin scratchy blanket to go along with it. Looks like you wouldn’t be camping warmly tonight.

“The tents up captain.” you called over your shoulder to where the man was just a few moments ago, jaw chattering slightly.

“Alright. Fuckin hell.” the last part was muttered under his breath.

———————————

It had been an hour since you set up the tent.

Twilight had come to cloak the forest in darkness, the birds who were chirping and singing earlier had went to bed, it was too cold in the night air for them.

The temperature had to have dropped a few more degrees by sundown because your toes ached in the combat boots you wore, you could barely feel them let alone move them in the confines of the shoes. Your fingers felt like rocks, slow to move and what could best describe it as ‘clunky’.

It’s weird how the cold burns. Your skin felt like it was on fire minus the heat, your thighs didn’t help warm up your hands as you pressed your legs harder around your fingers to provide any warmth at all, instead it just make your skin ache. What’s worse is you couldn’t make a fire.

Makarov’s men were still in the area Price had confirmed, while y’all were deeper in the woods to where it would take them a while to find you even if they tried to look in the forest, it would still be too risky to attract them from the smoke of a fire, and everything was too cold and frozen to have a smokeless fire, you needed dry wood with no bark for that.

You and your captain had huddled up in the tent for the night. Price was currently on watch, which left you alone in the tent to rest.

But it was too cold to sleep. It was too cold to even think. You sat in the fetal position with your arms around your thighs instead of your knees, pressing your fingers into the crevasse of your thighs to provide some warmth, but none coming to you. A blanket from the sleeping bag was wrapped around you, it was too cold to even lay flat in the sleeping bag, you had to huddle to stay somewhat warm, and even then you felt the buzzing, burning, numb feeling of the cold. You were able to handle torture if needed, but this? this was hell. The blanket did nothing.

“Shift change.” He announced before unzipping the flap and sitting fully in the tent ready to switch positions with you but he stopped when he saw your shivering state.

Your head was on your knees and you honestly couldn’t tell if you were shivering worse than he was. Your skin looked dull from what he could see and that instantly worried him.

He shifted over to you on his knees, shutting the tent flap behind him, “You alright?”

You weakly looked up at him only to be met with his sudden expression of shock and worry all mixed into one. You could barely see in the moonlight but you’d be able to sniff out the expression sense you haven’t seen him ever express it before.

Your lips were turning blue.

“Fuckin hell,” he groaned out a string of curses as he put down his gun and took off his vest and placed it with yours in the corner of the tent. You could barely understand what he was muttering, something about muppets? Fuck if you knew.

“Imma move you, right?” He asked full knowing he was going to do it regardless if you said yes or no, so you have a weak grunt in approval.

You didn’t want to move, moving meant you’d loose all the warmth you’ve built up be it not much. John sat down close to you and took the blanket off you, which you barely even noticed, and wrapped his large warm hands around your midsection and hooked his other under your knees, lifting you up to sit in between his legs. You were facing sideways against him with your shoes under his thigh as both of his legs wrapped around your frame. He pushed your head to rest against his chest and instantly your hands found their place resting against his ribs.

His arms wrapped around you with the blanket, draping it around the two of you as he held you against him.

If you were in your right mind you would protest against your captains actions, but survival was more important in this moment. Plus you honestly didn’t mind being this close to him, feeling his breath on the top of your head as he huddled into you, his strong heartbeat hammering in your ears in a calming manner, and slowly the warmth of the two of you beginning to grow under the trap of the blanket, making your skin feel as if it was thawing. You felt safe in his arms like this.

“That better?” Price asked resting his head on your own.

A whine of ‘mmhmm’ escaped your throat at the question.

“Get some rest ey? Gaz’ll be here by dawn.” Reassuring words from your captain almost put a spell on you as you instantly felt your eyelids grow heavy. You absentmindedly snuggled closer into his chest and shifted your weight to rest fully against him. A hum of contentment released like a balloons air escaping. You really should be embarrassed a little about this situation but you were too cold and tired to care, you were just glad you could feel your fingers again.

Right at the cusp of sleep where your brain was swimming in the ideas of a dream a soft pressure surrounded by what felt like fuzzy grass tickled your forehead.

John had given you a kiss on the head, “Sleep love.”

You’d worry about everything later in the morning when you’re rescued and after you’ve been seen by a doctor.

#tezi post #captain price #captain johnathan price #captain price x reader #cod #call of duty #mw2 #call of duty modern warefare #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #mw2 x reader #mw x reader #captain john price x you #cod x y/n #call of duty x y/n

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blushcoloreddreams · 4 months ago

Text

Blueberry muffins + tips to get bakery style muffins

Muffin batter Ingredients

2 cups + 1 tbsp all purpose flour

2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

8 tbsp unsalted butter melted and cooled (around 112g)

2 eggs

2 tsp vanilla extract

1/2 cup of milk

a pinch of lemon zest

1 1/2 cup of blueberries (fresh or frozen)

Blueberry syrup ingredients

1 cup blueberries

1 tbsp granulated sugar

1 tbsp lemon juice

Streusel crumble topping ingredients

1/4 cup all purpose flour

2tbsp + 1 tsp granulated sugar

1 1/2 tbsp brown sugar

Pinch freshly grated lemon zest

Pinch of salt

2 Tbsp of unsalted butter melted and cooled

(This is a blend from a few recipes that I tried to extract the best of each to combine them into something delicious. One of the original recipes called for double the streusel ingredients but after making it myself I only used half)

Instructions

Mix the dry (- the berries) and wet ingredients for the batter separately and then combine

Add the berries and let it rest

Making the sauce (in my opinion the best part of this recipe) is super easy, just heat these blueberries (I like to lightly press them) in a saucepan, add lemon juice and sugar

To make the streusel / crumble topping just mix the ingredients together

Add a 1/4 cup of dough + 1 spoon of dough to each muffin liner

Add the jam and then the streusel (be generous with it for a prettier look)

Bake them at 425 for 15 min before reducing to 375 for 10 min

Bakery style muffins

Want bakery style muffins every time?

Use these 4 tips to guarantee super-domed muffins!

1. Once your batter is mixed, let it rest for 45 minutes to allow the leaveners to active resulting in sky-high muffin tops

2. Use every other muffin well. This allows heat to penetrate on all sides of batter which will help them muffins rise.

3. Fill each well to the very tippy top so you get those perfect muffin tops that spill over onto the tin. These aren't cupcakes, so no flat tops here!

4. Bake at 425 degrees F (NOT 475! ) for 6-8 minutes to super charge the leaveners creating tons of rise. Then without opening the oven door, drop the temperature to 350 degrees F and continue baking for 8-10 minutes.

#personal #level up #femininity #personal development #feminine #proverbs 31 woman #tradfem #traditional wife #home cooking #cooking #baking #traditional femininity #traditional gender roles #traditionalism #tradblr #recipes

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lackingspace · 5 months ago

Text

Pernicious (Feyd-RauthaXReader)

Rated: M Word Count: 3.2K Summary: A summons from House Harkonnen is unlikely but never improbable.

Warnings: A lot of world-building and info dump like normal. Basically an OC, but reads like a xreader. Nothing until the Harkonnen show up, then bring on the violence.

Author Note: Hi, I've returned from the ether to drop this here. I watched Dune part II and they made Feyd a perfect little sociopath. Not my fault. ✧

AO3 link: Pernicious

Chapter 2: Admonish

The colds seeped in again.

The full body shiver emphasized that thought as the door slid fully open. The drop in temperature had slowly become noticeable as you walked closer to your lab. As you stood with the cold snaking through your dress all but sinking its fangs into your bones, there wasn't a question as to where it was coming from.

Of course…of fucking course this happens today. This was just what you didn’t need.

You had awoken in a foul mood. Cleo, your personal attendant, could attest to it by the scowl plastered to your lips and the curt responses you’d given. Breakfast had only made it worse. Your mother was a strain on your self-control normally, but today the addition of your aunt made the half hour you were stuck with them beyond grating. Their laughter and easy banter pulled giggles from the servants and mounting aggravation from you.

You’d decided during that unappetizing meal– staring at a serving of fruit and bread– that research was the best chance of a reset to your mood. To relax into your current fascination was the perfect escape. That had been the idea anyway. It seemed today was meant to be a trying one. A God somewhere must be laughing as they gazed down upon you.

Although you liked the lab colder than the rest of the compound, this was more than a downshift of a few degrees. Like stepping into an ice box the air was an assault on your senses. Warmth drained from your fingers before ice tried to claw its way up your arm and into your veins. Breathing turned into puffs of vaporous exhales as your lungs screamed in protest on your inhales. The type of cold that stung your eyes even without a breeze. Goosebumps made a home under the sleeves of your shawl.

Taking the first step inside had the lights flickering to life. Everything was the same as you'd left it. All equipment in its place, Petri dishes stacked neatly, specimen containers in the cryoseal locked tight, notes left open next to your microscope where your pen sat slightly askew.

Wrapping your arms around yourself in hopes of conserving a little warmth, you gazed across the room. Nothing visibly screamed that someone had made a trespass into your sanctuary. Besides, there wasn't anyone with enough contempt to see your work ruined.

At least not anyone in current residence that you were aware of. Your family compound wasn't hosting any non-relatives and all other Ezharien knew not to come between you and your research. However, that observation was quickly followed by the thought, ‘Maybe it's stupidity instead of hate. There's certainly a few individuals capable of that.’

Jaw clenching as faces flashed behind your eyes. They'd essentially sign their death certificate if you found anyone had been messing about your lab. Not even cousin Josephine’s rank as Jarl's daughter would save her.

If it did come down to someone tampering with the room’s stabilizer, there was a specific nuisance that came to mind.

Annoyance bubbled at the base of your skull as Yisella’s smiling face fluttered behind your eyes. Your mother's personal maid and your personal annoyance. Her lack of intelligence was only surmounted by her abundant compassion.

She had the tendency to create problems for you where previously none existed– but you could concede her heart was always in the right place.

The thought of her in your lab had an ache forming behind your eyes. Pinching the bridge of your nose to alleviate the building tension before it could evolve into a bigger problem as you thought of what kind of damage she’d do.

You could conceive a scenario where Yisella would leave a window open with the defense that you'd mentioned a cold lab has better working conditions. She would technically be right in that assumption. You did like a cold lab, better for specimen longevity, but this was a biting ache that dug too deep too quickly. It was detrimental to your own longevity.

The other houses had a saying that ice was in Ezharien veins. But even we couldn't withstand the tundra forever. Not without proper equipment or protection.

Yisella may not be a house member, but that wasn't any excuse. She was still Erifian. Not a tourist visiting the equatorial tropics. Every true-born Erifian knew that Erif IV’s tundra shouldn't be tested.

It would always win.

That's why the first house rule was so simple. Secure the compound.

A window left open or a door unsecured could jeopardize the whole house's integrity. Yisella must have had that drilled into her. It was no secret that to serve a great house, at least the Ezhariens meant intense training. However, time and time again she'd proven that conventional wisdom escaped her.

A sweet idiot. With a sigh you dropped your hands to your side, but an idiot all the same. She's lucky mother is of the same ilk.

Also lucky your lab didn’t have windows.

Rubbing your hands up and down the cloth covering your arms for some sort of heat as you mused, ‘If the thermostabilizer isn't tampered with, then it's likely the geothermal compressor…again.’

Walking towards the far left wall where the stabilizer console hung. You half anticipated the readout would show a manual override of your set temperature. The digital console slowly blinked to life like it was made sluggish by the cold as well. After a moment the readout staring at you confirmed it wasn't Yisella who had tampered with your lab.

The numbers were as you'd left it. Set to the standard temp, no overrides, only the ambient room temperature was concerning. Which meant that the compressor wasn't kicking on to compensate for the difference. It might not be Yisella's fault this time, but there was another imbecile to blame.

I told father the compressor should have been outright replaced, but did he listen? Another shiver racked your body as your brow pinched in annoyance. Your father's chiding refusal came back to you now.

He'd been stern in his dismissal as he often tended to be with most things, “Daughter, cousin Hans is the technician, not you. If this were some medical issue I would defer to your opinion, but as it stands, yours holds no weight. If he's certain a replacement is wasted here– it is wasted.”

Your eyes rolled at the memory, ‘Cousin would do well to watch his back from here on out.’

The longer you stayed in the room the deeper the icy tendrils sunk into you and the higher your contempt rose.

It wouldn't do to sit here and freeze to death. You'd not give anyone the satisfaction of such an embarrassing death. In only a thin dress and shawl you'd need to remedy it with layers. Moving back towards the entrance there was a cubby that served as a storage area.

You'd left thicker blankets, shawls, coats, and coverings for emergencies. Grabbing a thicker coat you slipped it on and eyed the few thermalheaters that typically saw no use. You couldn't remember if you'd ever used them in this room before.

Eyes narrowed as you grab one of the two small dusky orange orbs. Your fingers pressed against the tremellose casing as the hard inner machinery pressed back. It was gelid on your already frozen hand, but the thermal liquid still swirled beneath the surface.

Pursing your lips as you clicked the series of hidden buttons to turn the device on. A silent promise arose in the back of your mind as the orb began to glow. ‘If cousin is also wrong about these being enough to heat this space, the next time he's floundering at an inter-house banquet…’

You made a clicking noise with your tongue as the small device began to quickly heat in your palm before it lifted and slowly hovered around the room. Bending down to grip the second device and click it to life.

‘I'll let him choke.’

Straighten up, you watched the two orbs slowly dance around the space. The gentle pulses they radiated were divine but nowhere near a comfortable temperature. There wasn't much more to do than wait and hope. You couldn't call anyone for repairs at the moment and you didn't feel like heading back to your rooms.

Even if you’d wanted to place a repair request you couldn’t. Father was the only one with that power. Unless an emergency, which this situation didn’t qualify as, House Creed stated that repairs were something only the head of each family compound could request.

Supposedly a way to avoid bogging down the system with unnecessary requests. So nothing could be done as father had joined the Jarl for a logistics meeting. Luckily it was only a day trip and he'd be back in time for the family meal. So you'd wait.

Walking towards the desk your notebook sat upon, you pulled out the stool before taking a seat. Thankfully it was covered in black cloth making the cold less biting than naked metal would have been. Pulling your coat tighter, you flipped through the pages before settling a few entries before your last.

It'd been only two days since you were here, but brushing up on your train of thought wouldn't hurt. As long as the room continued to heat it might even be pleasant.

It must have been half an hour or so before the room was up to a reasonable warmth. Comfortable enough that you deemed it safe to remove specimens from the cryoseal chamber and began your observation.

It wasn't much longer after you'd placed the first slide beneath the microscope that the door to the lab opened. Quickly following the sound of steps was the scent of pleniscenta. It assaulted your senses with its exotic floral fragrance. There was only one person in your compound who wore that.

Without pulling away from the scope you asked, “Yes, Desil?”

The gasp he let out was likely less to do with your educated guess and more to do with the temperature of the room. “My lady, you'll catch your death sitting in this chill.” The temperature of the room indeed.

Adjusting the lens magnification while answering, “The thermalheaters are doing their job well enough. I'll be fine.” You could hear the frown in his response, “Your father is going to take issue with this.” You do love starting a conversation with a not-so-hidden scolding.

Rolling your eyes was the safest response as they were hidden from view. You'd have snorted if it wouldn't be deemed unladylike and damnable by present company, “And how would he know? Oh, that's right. Nothing escapes your daily report.” Watching the cells squirm as they reacted to the substance you’d injected. A few began to shrivel and succumb to death, “Tell me, will it be before or after you counsel Father on the best method to reprimand my poor attitude?”

A mix of a chortle and huff quickly followed your question. The sound full of his dismay and exasperation, “My lady, you well know that daily reports are expected in your father's absence.” A noncommittal hum left you, “And you do love not to disappoint him.”

If you'd bothered to look up, you'd have been graced with Desil pinching the bridge of his nose, “I take pride in looking out for the Ezharien name. That means detailing your stubbornness is well within my right.” You heard him step forward, deeper into the room, “As is checking whatever humor you find yourself in, lest it reflect poorly on your house.”

He wasn't wrong either. As much as you'd like to argue Desil was a good aide. From the outside, he may appear to be just another servant, but his position gave him unique privileges. One of which is the ability to speak freely.

If anyone asked your opinion on the matter, he took far too much pleasure in censuring you. But that could be your earlier irritation talking.

To be fair, if he'd cared to ask, you would admit your mood was soured which had your patience abnormally thin and tongue loosened. It was probably best to avoid whatever interaction was to take place if he didn’t want a verbal spar.

If he wasn't family, you'd be more guarded, but he was family and you were annoyed.

His tongue clicked in a tutting rebuke, “I really must ask that you return to your rooms until repairs can be slated, or have you given so little thought to your health?”

That kindled your earlier annoyance back to life full force. Sparking it as quickly as if he'd struck a match to paper. You would take his chiding on your attitude, your choice of words, or even your manner. You likely deserved it. But you wouldn't stand him questioning your judgment about this. He knew you well enough to know your triggers.

“Remind me,” Jaw clenching as you finally lifted your gaze from the magnified slide to catch the eyes of your father's personal aide. Tilting your head as you tried for calm, but the tone was too tight to be convincing, “Are you a Suk?”

His dusky olive complexion paled at your question. Sharp green eyes widened as his thin mouth dropped open, “I-I…I only meant tha-'' cutting him off with a raised hand. Your lack of patience couldn't take a sputtering rant, gaze turning flatter, while uttering a sharp call of his name, “Desil.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times in quick succession. Worry hung heavy on his brow. Visibly swallowing before he quietly muttered, “No, my lady. A Suk, I am not.”

Lowering your hand to the pen that sat on your notebook, “I thought not.”

Willing yourself to relax was more difficult than necessary. Neither your clenched jaw nor the irrational anger wanted to release their grip. Having your medical opinion questioned was always a surefire way to get under your skin. He was very much aware of your pet peeves at this point.

Desil was detail-oriented, he was good at tactfully phrasing things, and he had a gift for negotiation. It's why your father favored him for the 30-odd years he'd been in the position. Longer than you'd been alive. At this point, he was more family than many of your blood cousins.

Holding a breath before slowly releasing it was your attempt to save Desil from your bite. It was another moment before you pointedly said, “The thermalheaters will do fine for now.”

The tentative acceptance looked more like defeat on his features. His own jaw clenched before he countered, “As you say…” the look on his face said he had more to add as he continued, “But Sir Malakar will be unhappy with this either way.”

Eyes narrowing at his response, “Unhappy?” Annoyance coated your tone and a smile that was more of a snarl tugged at your lips. A barbed quip was on the tip of your tongue, a seething retort that was dying to let out your frustration, but Desil’s worried eyes gave you pause.

Taking another deep breath willing yourself to remain civil– that Desil wasn't the source of your irritation and although he was being a nag, he didn't deserve the venom that wanted an easy victim.

There was another moment of silence before you wrangled your anger enough to reply. Snarl settling down into a strained smile with a clipped tone, “Kindly advise my father that the next time I say a compressor needs replacing, he take my advice instead of our spice-addled cousin.”

The sigh Desil released was more relief than anything. His shoulders dropped and the worry that'd pinched his brow lessened, “ I will remind him as you say. But please keep the remarks of your cousin's proclivities to a minimum. It's unbecoming.”

Tilting your head and clicking your tongue at him before you answered, “Did you need something? Or was the chance to grate on my nerves your only reason to seek me out?” He shook his head, but the curled edges of his lips spoke of amusement.

You turned back to the table and picked up your discarded pen. Jotting down a few of your previous observations as you waited for a response. Desil was ruffling around his pockets before he began to walk closer, “you received a message-capsule.”

Your brow raised, but your gaze stayed locked on your notes as you continued to write, “What does it say?” His footsteps paused and your patience couldn't take another round of banter so you beat him to the chase. Eyes rolling as you spoke, “I know you read my messages and report to my father. Yes, yes, I'm sure it's something he requested, so just tell me what it says.”

The silence stretched before he answered in a quiet voice, “It's sealed. I thought it better you be the first to read it.”

Your pen paused on the page. Now that was interesting. “Oh?” Sealed missives were generally only for official house communications. Only the head title bearer of each great house held a seal. For the Ezharien, that was your uncle, the Jarl.

As far as you were aware there wasn't any scheduled event that you should be expecting an invitation to. If the message was addressed to you specifically that meant it wasn't a generalized request for assistance from Ezharien as a whole. This was likely personal, but if there was an occasion of special significance, generally an heir debutante, you might receive a personal invite. There were too many houses for you to remember who and when they were set to debut.

Desil's voice cut through your thoughts, “It bares the Harkonnen seal.”

Your pen pressed deeper into the page as your grip tightened, “Fuck.”

It spoke volumes of Desil's own anxiety that he didn't chastise your language. If the Harkonnen were seeking you out in particular this was personal. And personal with the Harkonnen’s was…difficult at best.

Official Ezharien relations between houses typically remained neutral. Better for the tourist business that'd established Erif IVs economy. We didn’t enter dealings that could ostracize one house or another.

The Harkonnen tended to make things less neutral.

The Baron had mastered staying within proper interhouse etiquette– barely. As an outside observer, it could even be considered impressive how he navigated the political sphere. Being put into his crosshair directly? It was an inconvenience at best and deadly at worst. If the missive wasn't some forgery, which there was little chance of to begin with, there was only one logical reason for it.

The small inked diamond on your forehead.

The cylinder came into view as Desil placed it next to your frozen hand, “I feel it pertinent that you open it.” Your joints protested but finally unlocked as the momentary shock wore off. Grasping it with numb fingers you broke the ram-headed seal and your eyes swept over its sparse contents.

“I have need of your skills. Come to Giedi Prime.”

If the seal wasn't enough to convince you of the missive's authenticity, the signature of Vladimir Harkonnen was. No one impersonated the Baron. In their right mind or heavily spiced— if one wished to continue breathing, that was a forgery you declined. Besides, you weren't important enough for that kind of trouble.

Desil stood watching you. Hands nervously wringing together, “Well?”

With a sigh you held out the cylinder to him, “It seems the Baron calls me to Giedi Prime.”

The Gods really were laughing.

#dune part two #dune #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd smut #fanfiction #expanding dune house politics #and making so much shit up because i can #this is gonna get dark when the Harkonnen drop in

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simpingforthemm · 1 year ago

Note

Could I have a carmen Aziza fic where Yn is new to the prison and she always feels like someone’s staring at her and one day she catches carmen staring at her and gets really flustered then carmen starts flirting with her and becomes posessive over her then one day she drags Yn to the library and kisses her and basically confesses how she wants Yn all for herself

my love, mine all mine

my love mine all mine - mitski

word count: 5.9k

warnings: obsessive, possessive and protective behavior, flirting, kissing, toxic behavior, a bit of violence, threats, cursing, stalking, harry potter part 2 hate (I'm truly sorry)

summary: y/n is new to the prison and always feels like she is being watched. one night in the tv room, she turns around to the person who is watching her, only then realizing how gorgeous her observer is. they form a bond through several sets of events, slowly falling for each other. y/n slowly gets to know ouija's protective and possessive nature and at one birthday party of y/n's bunkmate, that behavior hits its peak. provocated by jealousy, frustration and confusing feelings, ouija makes a messy confession, explaining how she wants y/n all to herself

a/n: heyy, sorry that this took so long! I had a lot going on with school and writer's block so that I literally had no motivation to write. Anyway, I put a lot of work into this and I hope you like it (pls tell me what you think!!). I hope the flirting isn't too awkward, I'm still figuring out how to do that. I hope you enjoy and that I've done your idea justice. also this takes place in season 4

You were walking towards the entrance of Litchfield Penitentiary, the prison where you would be spending the next 3 years of your life. You had been charged with drug trafficking and distribution, all because some scared little snitch who didn't want to go to prison had ratted the whole cartel out. Even your drug lord was now facing a sentence of 9 years. 9 fucking years.

Your lawyer, who had defended you in trial, had been really shitty and literally just gave up on you. He didn't even try to make your sentence shorter, that sorry excuse of a man. Lazy fuck.

Morello, the weird Italian lady who drove you and some other people down to the prison, opened the gate and let you and the other new inmates inside. You couldn't believe you were now an "inmate", it was so weird to think of yourself that way.

"Welcome home everyone!", she exclaimed, giving you an encouraging smile.

You were lucky to get out of the cold van, it was January after all and since it had already snowed, the temperature had dropped down several degrees. So it was a relief to step into the warmer walls of the prison, not having to freeze your ass off in the snow.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped into the halls was how crowded it was. You were tempted to just turn around and run, trying to escape the stuffy air and suffocating feeling that was slowly spreading inside of you. Other inmates were constantly passing your little group, shooting you intimidating glances or smiling dangerously at you. You were uncomfortable, but not scared.

It just reminded you of the halls of your high school back then. Loud, uncomfortable and always overfilled. And god, the popular girls who used to bully you. To say the least, you were used to this.

Morello guided you through the prison, showing you where the commissary, bathrooms and everything else was. You were just passing the TV room, looking inside for a second when you made eye contact with a brown haired woman. The woman frowned at you, looking you up and down. You frowned back and kept walking, turning away from the door.

What the fuck was that?

You sighed and shook your head, telling yourself not to think too much of it. It had only been a small encounter, nothing too significant. At least not enough to get you in trouble. For now.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You were shown to your dorm, where you occupied the bunk above a woman named Brandy Epps. It was obvious she was extremely racist, you even heard her discussing something about "white lives matter" or "white pride", which you took as a sign to stay the fuck away from her. She continued to make dirty comments about other inmates in the prison while you were busy making your bed.

You turned around to listen to her when you were done, staring at her in disgust and listening to the insults that were coming out of her mouth so easily. You shook your head in disbelief.

You must've been staring at her for too long as the woman turned around, obviously pissed off.

"You got some kind of problem?", she questioned threateningly, getting closer to where you were standing.

"No", you huffed, looking away. You really didn't want to start any trouble on your first day. Best to avoid tricky situations.

"Good. I see you staring like that again, we got a problem, you hear me?"

You sighed. You should've known people would have anger issues in here. That people would get aggressive over the smallest things, because they didn't have anything better to do. Because prison was a shithole and it was fucking tiring to simply just exist there. You certainly didn't want to end up like her, but you feared you were going to have no choice in the future.

"Sure."

Before she could say anything else, you made your way to the cafeteria for dinner.

Due to the prison's overcrowding, the blocks were divided up at each meal. You and your block ate with Cell Block C or the so-called "Spanish Harlem", as Morello had already explained to you.

With your plate of food in hand, you sat down at the end of some table and started eating. You were extremely hungry, exhausted from the stress of arriving in the prison.

Suddenly, you felt two pairs of eyes burn holes into your back and you just knew someone was staring at you. You forced yourself to not turn around, not wanting to start a fight on your first day. One never knew what could happen in prison, you might get jumped just because you sat in the wrong seat or stared at someone the wrong way, almost like it did with the racist bitch back in your dorm.

It made you uncomfortable but you focused on the disgusting brown liquid in front of you that was supposed to be "chili con carne", forcing it down your throat and hoping, no praying, that that person was going to leave you alone.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The next few days you felt as if you were being watched the entire time, feeling that burning sensation in your back again. There wasn't a single moment where you didn't turn around every single second while walking to the showers or the cafeteria.

You were extremely paranoid.

But every time you did, there were always too many people in the halls to really make out someone who could be stalking you.

So you just kept on going about your day, minding your business.

Until you couldn't anymore.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It was Friday night, which today should've been movie night, but it got canceled and now everyone was in a bad mood. It wasn't often that something nice like this happened and it was a good escape from the tiring everyday routine the inmates had in the prison. You got to watch cool movies, eat snacks from the commissary and chill with your friends.

Instead, you were now sitting in the tv room, just reading your book in a chair next to Morello, who had unfortunately forced you to come along.

"Come on, Y/N! I promise it'll be fun. You can bring your boring book, even though it is a TV room, meaning you go there to watch TV and not to…read. Usually. But I'm sure they'll make an exception!", she had said to you after finding you alone on your bunk, wrapped in your blanket. You had rolled your eyes at her but gotten up from your bunk nevertheless, admitting defeat.

You had actually been enjoying the silence in your dormitory from everyone being gone, but of course, that just had to be interrupted.

Now you were sitting there, amongst all those other people, just trying to read your book in peace. But, and honestly what else did you expect, there was the piercing set of eyes again, just watching your every move. You were actually so sick of it now. Why was this person looking at you the whole time? Why were you so interesting?

This time, you actually decided to turn around and not ignore them like you had done the other times.

You spotted her immediately. It was the woman who had frowned at you on your first day! The woman with the brown hair!

And now she was smirking at you. How was she not looking away or ashamed that you caught her?

Your eyes widened as you slowly scanned her. She was drop-dead-gorgeous. She had curves that were to die for, these stunning dark brown eyes…

You felt yourself blush and turned away. God, hadn't you promised yourself to not find anyone attractive here? Especially not people that could possibly be dangerous?

Well, you had just failed miserably and pathetically.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Someone pulled a chair up in front of you, sitting on it backwards, using the back of the chair as an armrest.

You were looking down on the ground, burying your face in your book when a finger hooked itself under your chin, tilting it up.

The drop-dead-gorgeous woman was right in front of you, her eyes scanning your face, biting her lip.

She outstretched her hand to you.

"Ouija. Nice to meet you." Her eyes shone with something you couldn't quite decipher.

"Y/N", you introduced yourself, feeling shy in front of this beautiful woman, shaking her hand. She held onto it a little longer than normal, looking you directly in your eyes.

"That's a beautiful name."

She flashed you an amused smile, recognizing your anxiousness.

"Yo, there's no need to be shy, chica" (cutie/girl), Ouija said while moving in a little closer.

"Not for a pretty girl like you at least.", she said with a lowered voice.

She smiled at you once again and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Thank you", you mumbled, not really knowing what else to say.

Ouija smirked.

"You're welcome, muñequita" (dolly)

Fuck.

"Anyhow, what you in for, mama?", she asked, slowly leaning back again as if she didn't just audibly make you gasp.

"Drug trafficking and distribution", you answered, avoiding her gaze.

"Yo, damn! So you a 'little miss drug dealer' then?" She laughed.

"Certainly. Right hand woman of my drug lord, thank you very much", you responded, bowing your head a little. She chuckled, shaking her head.

"Impressive, yo. I like a woman in power. It's hot."

You felt yourself blush again. God, this woman somehow had the ability to make you flustered very easily.

"So, what did you do?", you questioned.

"WIC Fraud. I killed three somebody's - nobodies -", she pointed to a tattoo that she had right next to her eye, three black teardrops, "and then I get popped for fucking fraud. You believe that shit?"

You shook your head, confused as to how they didn't find out about her killing all those people but charged her for the fraud. Maybe if you had committed another crime besides the drug thing and turned yourself in, you would be facing less time. You were suddenly deep in your thoughts, wondering about that, so that you didn't notice Ouija standing up beside you.

"All right, mama, I'mma let you get back to your book here. We'll see each other around", she said optimistically.

Ouija walked back to her seat, but not without winking at you and letting her hand brush against your arm.

You didn't get the chance to ask why she had been staring at you this whole time before really introducing herself to you, but right now, that matter seemed pretty unimportant to you. You felt starstruck from the interaction with the latina, just staring at the words in your book and not being able to focus at all. The conversation had been way too short and you already wanted to talk to her more.

But what you didn't know is that you wouldn't have to wait long until the two of you would speak again. Carmen had taken a liking to you and she was ready to explore what might develop between you two. At least she already knew that she was capable of making your cheeks go red within a matter of seconds.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You were doing research in the library, or more like trying to find one of your favorite books, Harry Potter. You were trying to find some comfort in this cold place and what better way to do it than with your favorite literature? You wandered through the fiction aisle, scanning through the books.

There it was, on the highest shelf. But, of course, as expected, you were not tall enough to reach it. You felt so incredibly pathetic right now, there was no chair in sight to help you, no stool for you to stand on.

„Yo, need some help there?“, you heard someone ask. You turned around to the voice.

It was Ouija. She was leaning against one of the shelves, smirking at your attempts to stand on your tiptoes to grab the book, of course failing miserably.

„Yes, please“, you said, just a tad embarassed.

„Which book?“, she asked.

„Harry Potter“

She nodded, reaching up, taking it out without any strain.

„So, the goblet of fire“, she said, twisting the book in her hands.

„It was one of my favorite books growing up. I’m already done with all of the books I was allowed to bring in here so I thought I’d do a little nostalgia trip“

Your fingertips touched as she passed you the book.

„I liked it too as a little kid. But my favorite book was always the chamber of secrets“

„Girl – no offense – but are you serious?“

Ouija frowned, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

„What do you mean?“, she questioned, crossing her arms in front of her face.

You smiled, shaking your head.

„Nah, I don’t want to destroy your favorite childhood book for you. I have a very strong opinion when it comes to Harry Potter.“

„No worries, yo, I can handle it. Give it to me“, Ouija said lowly, tilting her head. You bit your lip, rubbing your hands together, getting ready to go.

„Well, I think Ginny’s absolutely insufferable in that book, I mean sure, she was influenced by Voldemort but still, I think it’s not right that she played the „weak, needing to be saved“ girl in that book. It’s not exactly feminist. Also I think the book doesn’t really add to the series, it’s just kind of there as a „filler“ or an information dump. Also, the thing with the diary is just unrealistic. Why wouldn’t anyone notice that it’s in Ginny’s posession? It just doesn’t make sense.“

You grit your teeth in worry, hoping you didn’t go to far.

„I’m sorry, was that too far?“, you asked.

„Nah, I think you’re right actually. Yo, I might have to rethink my favorite childhood book“, Ouija laughed, rubbing her neck.

„I’d be happy to help. I know quite a lot about the series actually“, you explained proudly.

„I figured. That pretty face can convince me of anything, man, I’m sure“

You looked down, trying to hide the blush spreading on your cheeks.

„Don’t hide it“, Ouija said, tilting your chin up. You looked up into her beautiful dark brown eyes, getting lost in them.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It was late in the afternoon, the sun was already setting and the inmates had a few hours left to catch some air outside before the prison would close its gates, making it time for lights out. You had put on your winter coat and beanie, ready to take a little stroll in the yard. Your hands were covered in thick gloves, protecting you from the harsh January wind

Today, you were just going to take a little stroll around the yard, not that anything else was really possible here. You wish you would have some kind of space to run, get rid of all the energy that you weren’t able to put to use properly.

You were just about to round the corner at the mailbox when you heard a noise.

You stopped in your tracks when you heard someone sniffle and sob.

Frowning, you started walking towards the sound and soon you were able to make out the person who they were coming from. They had brown curly hair - Oh shit! Ouija! You stopped yourself before you were going to run over to her and make sure she's okay.

You were unsure if you should approach her at such a sensitive time.

You wouldn't know how she was going to react, the two of you had known each other barely a hot second.

But you knew that if you were alone and crying in a prison and the person discovering you had good intentions, you would want to be comforted too. And that was good enough for you. You hoped you were making the right decision.

"Ouija, hey, what's wrong?", you asked worriedly, slowly kneeling down beside her.

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening when she realized it was you. She quickly wiped her tears away, trying to find her composure. You couldn’t help but admire her, she was even pretty when she cried, her lashes were stuck together, her cheeks were flushed… God, wrong moment!! Get it together Y/N...

"Oh shit. Hey, didn't hear you coming. Yo, how's it going?"

"I'm fine, but you don't seem to be. What's the matter?"

"Nah, I'm fine, nothing to worry about", she said quickly. You raised your eyebrows, not believing anything she said.

"What? I said I’m fine, man“, Ouija spat, putting up all her defenses.

"Look, I know we don’t really know each other, but I’m not gonna judge you for showing emotion or opening up. It’s human.“

Ouija huffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Fuck, fine. Shit, you're stubborn, girl. It's my son. He's in the hospital because of some gang activity in his block and…I'm not there for him, man. I'm in fucking prison. And I can't do anything about it."

You sighed. You knew what she was talking about. You felt the same. Being in prison made you feel so stuck, even though you had only been there for a few days. You weren’t there for your loved ones, the world around you kept turning and changing while you were locked away. Your friends had also seemingly already forgotten about you. Maybe they were all just glad you were gone.

"Honestly, I get it. I have a little sister, she just turned 5. She's growing up so fast and in a year, she'll already be in primary school. I'm missing out on her making her first friends there, I can't help her with her homework or comfort her when she has a bad day. It's torture. So yeah, I can relate. Nothing bad happened to her yet, fortunately, but you know the world out there. I can’t protect her from the harm she might experience out there."

The two of you were silent for a second, saying nothing.

"The thing is, you can't change anything about it. As much as it sucks, you gotta figure out how to deal with that shit. You gotta trust that your son knows you love him and that you being in here has nothing to do with him."

That flipped a switch in Ouija. She did love her son, a lot. She had just got to find a way to show it to him, especially right now. A small smile spread on her face as an idea popped up in her head.

She felt your hand touch her back, stroking it slowly.

Ouija turned to you, the woman who she had been obsessed with ever since she had entered the walls of this prison. The woman who she had frowned at when she made eye contact with her at her first day. The woman who frowned back. She knew that you knew that she had watched you the first few days upon your arrival. You were just so mesmerizing to her, she somehow felt drawn to you.

"Inmates! Back inside!", you heard a guard shout loudly. You sighed. The roughness of the CO's was still something you had to get used to.

"Yo, we should probably go before it gets serious or some shit. You never know if these fuckers are gonna pull out a gun or not", Ouija said, outstretching her hand to you, desperate to get you away from possible danger.

You nodded, letting her help you up.

As you were about to walk past the guard, you noticed that your shoe was untied. You stopped, reaching down to tie it, but the CO was not having it.

„INMATE! KEEP IT MOVING! I HAVEN’T GOT ALL FUCKING DAY, YOU UNDERSTAND??!“, he shouted aggressively, about to yank you up from the ground, when Ouija threw herself inbetween you two.

From your place on the ground, you didn’t hear what she said to the CO or what made him back off of the two of you. You only saw her enraged facial expression as she turned to help you up, once again. You were in a complete state of shock, this being the first time you were properly yelled at by a guard. You felt Ouija wrap an arm around your shoulder, guiding you back inside.

„Inmate Aziza, I would fucking throw you down to the SHU, but I’m fucking exhausted from today so I will let you off EASILY because I’m so nice with just a shot. For the both of you that is!“, he spat at the two of you as you walked back inside.

Ouija saw the broken look on your face and from that point, there was no way in hell that she was ever going to leave your side. She felt protective of you suddenly, she wanted to rip that guard’s head off, no, she wanted to choke him until his words got stuck in his fucking throat for ever talking to you in that way.

She wanted to shield you from any and all bad things in this place. She wanted you to herself, wanted no one fucking near you, except for her. Her hand grabbed your shoulder tighter.

She stood in front of you, so you were facing her. Butterflies erupted in her stomach as your gaze met hers. Your eyes were so beautiful. You were slightly looking up to her, as Ouija was a bit taller than you.

„Hey, yo, are you okay, mama? That guard was pretty rough on you“, she asked you, her voice soft as velvet. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but Ouija wasn’t letting that happen. She grabbed your chin, caressing your cheek with her thumb.

„Yo, no crying, pretty woman, we’ve already had enough of that today.“

„I love that movie“, you chuckled slightly, wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your shirt.

„Pretty Woman? White poor woman fucks rich white man and falls in love? Nah, that shit’s too predictable.“

„Exactly. One already knows how the movie ends, but I still like it“

Ouija scoffed, ruffling your hair. She leads you back to your dorm, glaring at Epps as the bald-headed woman was about to harass you again. Epps backed up with raised hands, whispering:

„I wasn’t even about to do anything...“

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You were casually walking to the showers, towel and toiletries in hand. It was 5am in the morning, so the line wasn't long.

You had gotten up early for the hot water, your bunkmate Epps complaining that you were making too much noise, disrupting her very important sleep. There were only 2 hours until she had to get up anyway. Epps luckily hadn’t bothered you too much the past few days, thanks to Ouija, who had given her death glares whenever the two of you had been hanging around each other, which had been quite often. You had spent most of your time with her, she had helped you settle into the prison and made you laugh almost all the time. You had been there for her during all the announcements she got from the hospital about her son and celebrated with her when the doctor told her that he was going to be okay.

You hadn’t really gotten acquainted with any of the other women at the prison, as every time you tried to talk to one of them, you felt Ouija’s glare on the both of you or you got pulled away from the other person because she suddenly „needed to talk to you very urgently“. Of course you knew that she was jealous somehow, even though she had no reason to be. One of the times when she had dragged you away, the two of you had gone to the chapel. Ouija hadn’t said anything as she had taken your hand and pulled you along with her.

She had lifted you onto the stage, where performances or speeches were given, but kept standing on the ground herself. She still stayed silent as she locked eyes with you and slowly ran one of her hands up your thigh. She leaned in a little bit when her hand reached the waistband of your pants, her eyes on your lips. You could basically feel the electricity sizzling between the two of you. It was like the two of you were always meant to end up so close to each other, like this. Your foreheads were already touching, your lips barely inches away from each other, when the door to the chapel slammed shut and the both of you immediately flew off of each other. Pidge was calling for Ouija, telling her that Maria was calling a meeting. Ouija, frustrated, promising you she would be back for you, „continuing where you left of“. And now you were here.

You stepped into one of the shower cabinets, turning on the shower head.

You sighed as the warm water washed over your body, immediately making you sleepy again. You hadn’t slept really well with that racist woman Epps beneath you. You never knew what she might do and you always had to sleep with one eye open. It was exhausting and definitely took a strain on your body.

"Mornin', muñequita."

You turned around to the voice, looking directly into Ouija's eyes. She looked a little sleepy, but her half-closed eyes were still roaming your body, drinking in your frame. With just a look, she was able to to make you sweat, blush, avoid her gaze… it was nerve-wracking. With a towel wrapped around your body, you stepped outside of the shower and towards the fully dressed Ouija.

"Hey there“, you answered, yawning.

"How you doing, mama?"

"I'm good, a little tired still." She nodded understandingly.

"Glad my pretty girl is doing well", she smiled, leaning against the wall.

You blushed a little and looked to your feet, trying to hide your reddened cheeks.

"Yo, come over here, mama", she beckoned.

You looked left and right to check if anyone was there who could possibly see you before you moved out of the shower cabin and over to where Ouija was standing.

As soon as you were standing in front of her Ouija grabbed your shoulders and pulled you close, wrapping her arms around your lower torso. She pressed a kiss to your forehead, allowing you to rest your head on her chest.

„Y/N?“

„Yeah?“

„I wanted to say thanks for the time you found me..you know, crying, and comforted me and shit. I didn’t deserve that and I’m still a shit mom, but I talked to my son on the phone and...he’s coming to visitation next week“

You squealed in excitement, jumping up a little bit, so excited for Ouija.

„Ouija, that’s great! I’m so happy for you!“

You wrapped your arms around her neck , embracing her in a hug.

Ouija grabbed you by your hips and switched positions so that now you were pressed against the wall. Both of her hands were placed next to your head while yours were busy holding up that towel of yours.

„You’re so cute when you’re happy, you know that?“, Ouija asked, biting her bottom lip. She leaned in closer, taking your face inbetween her hands. Your eyes closed in anticipation, ready to finally connect with her, to finally feel the full extent of the electricity between you too. She leaned in, leaned in, you started feeling dizzy of her scent, of her presence...

BANG! The metal door to the showers slammed shut, loud voices coming from the doorway. Ouija immediately let go of you, distancing herself, and as some of the other inmates walked past you and entered the showers, you tried to act as nothing had happened before. You exchanged a frustrated glance with her, were you ever going to be able to kiss?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It was your bunkmate Epps' birthday and she made like this whole deal out of it. Almost everyone in this prison was invited, including you and Ouija and almost every single lesbian which was weird, since Epps was definitely homophobic.

But she and her friends did know how to throw a party, you had to leave her that. There was a snack bar with drinks, a dance floor and colorful garlands reading "happy birthday".

You had just entered the overfilled room, completely overwhelmed, not knowing what to do or where to stand or where to sit. You were looking around for Ouija, finding her in a corner of the room, next to Pidge and Zirconia.

She was staring down everyone in the room, a grumpy expression on her face. You know how frustrated she had been the past few days, you were about to kiss two times, but always had been interrupted by one of the other inmates. Privacy was basically non-existent in prison and by now, the two of you were so desperate to kiss, you almost felt like two pathetic lesbian teenage girls.

You were walking towards her, pushing through the crowd, and as you approached them, Zirconia noticed you, her face lighting up.

"Y/N! Hi!", she exclaimed happily.

Ouija's head immediately snapped in your direction and her entire demeanor changed. Her grumpy face disappeared, her eyes lit up and a smile spread across her lips.

"Well, yo, look who showed up!", she said, genuinely happy to see you.

You smiled at her and Pidge.

You looked around for a chair to pull up next to the group, but of course, every single one was taken. This did not go unnoticed by Ouija and she certainly did not seem too unhappy about this fact as her smirk widened.

"Come, muñeca, you can sit here", she said, pointing to her man spread legs. Damn, you thought, really really wanting to, but not being sure if it might be risky. You looked around to see if anyone was looking except for Zirconia and Pidge, but everyone was too focused on themselves to even slightly care about the two of you. And even so, you didn’t care.

You lowered yourself onto her lap and immediately felt her arms tightly wrap around your torso.

„Good girl, put those pretty thighs on me“, she whispered in your ear, her hand stroking your leg softly. Your eyes widened, the familiar blush spreading on your cheeks. „Mi amor, mio todo mio“, (my love, mine all mine) she mumbled, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

The evening progressed without anyone even looking at you. You sat on Ouija’s lap the entire time, wondering how it wasn’t taking a strain on her legs, conversing with her, Zirconia and Pidge. You did not once go to the buffet because you were so immersed in the conversation you were having with them but nevertheless, you were thirsty.

„I’ll just get something to drink really quick, do you want anything?“, you said to Ouija, hopping off of her lap.

„Nah, I’m good, thanks though“

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You were standing at the bar, deciding what drink you were going to get, not that there were a lot of options, this was prison after all. Possibilities weren’t exactly endless.

„Hi there“, a voice greeted you, coming out of nowhere.

You jumped, letting out a little shriek.

„Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you“, the woman next to you said worriedly, but you only laughed.

„It’s fine, I get scared easily.“

„You’re new here right?“, she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

„Yeah, I arrived here about two weeks ago, so my stay hasn’t exactly been long“

„Ah, so a newbie. That’s why I haven’t seen you around.“

You nodded, conversing in a little small talk with her. You already felt Ouija staring at you, knowing it was because of her protective and posessive nature, but you also wanted friends in here. You needed other people that you could rely on.

The woman, who turned out to be called Carla was telling you funny stories about other prisons she had been at and interactions she had with other inmates there and here at Litchfield.

You laughed loudly, finding her absolutely hilarious. While you and the woman were joking around, Ouija was boiling with anger and jealousy. She tried to keep her cool, „take a fucking chill pill“, like Zirconia had advised her. But it was really hard when she hadn’t even kissed you yet, didn’t even get to call you hers yet. Maybe the possibility of somebody else still being able to snatch you away was giving her the nerves. Maybe she would be more relaxed if she knew you were really hers.

Maybe. But right now, she just wanted to get you the fuck away from that other woman.

As you kept talking with Carla, you felt her put her hand on your waist.

„Um…“, you mumbled, looking over to Ouija. That was Carmen Aziza’s last straw. Nobody would touch her girl, not like that.

She stormed over to where you were standing and pushed the other woman off of you and to the ground where she landed with a loud bang. She stood over the woman, placing her thick boot onto her chest, compromising her airways.

„Touch her again and yo“, she laughed bitterly, „I’ll fuck you up“.

Before you could properly register what was happening, you felt yourself being grabbed by the wrist and pulled away. You didn’t know where you were going, as you were still finding your way around the prison, when you reached the door to the library. It was completely silent, the only sound being you getting pushed against one of the shelves.

Ouija stood in front of you, placing one of her hands beside your head. She used the other one to harshly grab your chin, lifting it up so you were looking at her. Her facial expression was one of anger, jealousy and displeasement.

„I don’t know who that other woman thinks she is, but she better know that you’re mine. Ever since you stepped into the walls of this prison, shit, I knew I had to have you. You're mine, amorcita. You're all mine and yo, guess what? I ain't about fucking sharing. I can’t hide how I feel about you anymore, munequita. Not when 1000 other bitches are this close to you every day. I love you.“

Ouija’s face was full of worry, anticipation of what you thought of her confession, if you felt the same.

„I’m yours“, you said, breathless, and that was all it took for Ouija to smash her lips against you and press you further into the wooden shelves. Her scent intoxicated you, all you saw, smelled, heard, touched was her. She was your whole world and you were hers. Her warm body was pressing into yours, her hands were roaming your body, diving underneath your shirt. Finally, you could do what you waited so long for. Her hands were in your hair, her tongue was dancing with yours. You forgot that you were in prison, you forgot about the world around you.

All there was, was you and her. Your love, yours all yours.

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