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appleblueberry-pie · 6 months

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Yandere Lesbian Nurse Geto x Female Nurse Reader

Geto has been a nurse in the biggest hospital in Tokyo for 5 years. And for all 5 years, I have been working beside her. Taking a ridiculous amount of patients, working my ass off, but ultimately being able to put food on my table. Geto has been a great co-worker and friend to me. She'd start her shift at the same time as mine just so we can have a lunch break together. She sometimes steps off of her main task to help me with my patients if she can and even gives me an extra bag of her homemade lunch if she finds out I don't have any.

She's so sweet and caring to me. But I don't hear the same from everyone else I work with.

They'd say outrageous things about her. To me specifically, as if I could do anything about it. "Because she fucking kisses at your feet." They'd spit. "Maybe if you soften her up, she'll consider my offer when my shift is over," they'd chuckle. It's mostly the male doctors who come up to me with this information. Which makes it hard for me to take them seriously. And I don't believe them. How could such a nice woman be as they describe her? Foxy, arrogant, sly, and greedy. I don't see that in her. Therefore, their words mean nothing. Her dark-lipstick stained lips slightly curl up in amusement as I turn my back to the doctor, walking back over to her.

She loves the way you think. It makes her job way easier. Get closer to you, and she'll get her much deserved prize.

I see Geto leaning against the wall as I approach. "I hope you didn't hear what he said." She shrugs and meets me halfway. "It doesn't matter. Words don't matter like that. You learn that early in this field of work." I nod and smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right. So, what do you have planned for the rest of today?"

This is how my usual work day goes. Unnecessary rumors, casual conversation with Geto and then go home. But I guess something was in the air today. Because when I finished eating my lunch alone(surprisingly), I walked into the staff room and found Geto screaming at one of the doctors. He and her were separated by one wooden circular desk and they were both standing. She was leaning over the table as if she wanted to lunge over it to kill him.

"You fucking asshole. If you just listened to me, I would've given you all of the sex you wanted! But you fucking talked to her. AGAIN. You've been pissing me off too many times." She scoffs and turns away from him, holding her head as if she had a headache. He walks around the table and approaches her, placing his hands on her shoulder. "Suguru, forget about her. Why do you care about her? She's a nobody. You're everything she's not, can't you see? You make way more than her, you're prettier than her, and you work more harder. We're the same."

He smiles as Geto relaxes against him. My eyebrows furrow at their words. What the hell was going on? Were they shit talking me? Why did she make that absurd deal with him? And I've never heard anyone call Geto by her first name. They didn't see me yet, and I stood there silently, waiting to see where this conversation would go.

Geto nodded before looking back up at him, a smile on her face. He smiles back before his eyes trail to her lips. When he inches closer, Geto pulls a full syringe from a hidden strap on her thigh and stabs it into his neck, injecting whatever it was into his blood. The doctor chokes on his words, face turning red as he falls to the ground. Geto doesn't even glance down at him before turning towards the door, only to see me there. "Y/n...." I stare at her in horror. She runs towards me and I flinch out of my frozen position. I am only one step back before she yanks me in, slamming the door shut. I can still hear the doctor gasping for breath and I shove Geto away from me. "I can't trust you...get the fuck away from me." My heels click against the floor as I speak.

She slowly approaches me again. "You don't mean that..." I nod, stressed. "Yes. I do." A weird look of happiness overcomes her face before she pushes me through an open door. I fall on my ass, yelping in pain. She storms into the room as well, shutting the closet door and turning the light on. She towers over me and I look up at her, regret filling my chest. They were right. And I didn't listen to anyone. How come I couldn't ever see it?

"Oh, you fucking liar," I whisper.

My skirt rides up and I can feel my upper thighs brushing against the cool marble floor. I hate this closet for this exact reason. I look up, only to see Geto staring back down at me with a look of adoration on her face. Which makes no sense considering she just illegally penetrated a licensed doctor with a needle filled with drugs to knock him out.

Confusion crumbles and turns into fear, my breaths slowly increasing as she fondly looks down at me as if I was a little useless deer, far, far away from mom. Her red heels clack against the floor as she walks closer. I scoot back, my skirt riding up higher in the process and she coos. I gasp at the feeling of the point on her stiletto suddenly rubbing between my pussy lips through the fabric of my panties. "Ohhh, there we go. See? It feels so good, doesn't it, baby? C'mere.."

She steps over my legs before kneeling, her knees trapping me in place. She takes my face in her hands and immediately places her soft lips onto mine. My eyes widen and I can feel her desperately initiating the control. My eyebrows furrow when a warm muscle slips from between her lips into my mouth and I whimper. She swallows it and kisses me harder. I can feel her resting her weight onto my lap, her panties underneath her uniform brushing my core above my work skirt.

I separate the kiss, gasping for air and turning my head to the side. She presses messy kisses down my jawline and neck. I begin to feel dizzy as her hands travel down my chest, groping it before groping at everything else they can get at. "Geto..." I breathe out her name. She whines and grinds herself against me. I feel a throb between my legs and push her away from me. She looks confused and a little sad at me pushing her away and I shake my head.

"No...no, this isn't right. Y-you just drugged a doctor a-and we can't do thi-"

"I love you!!!"

My world stops as she stares at me, tears filling her eyes. "I fucking love you....i've loved you ever since I began working here. I cook you my food, I take some of your own work, I turn down everyone for you, for you! I do everything for you. I still work here for you, I...I turned down my promotion just to be near you. T-that fucking sleazebag I drugged?? He secretly wanted you. But I want you more..."

Her eyes are gone as she gathers her words. I am frozen. No sound is heard besides our breaths. Her face turns to stone as she looks back up at me. "I want you more. I deserve you. You ungrateful piece of shit."

She grabs me by the hair, fingers digging into my scalp as she stands back up. I yelp and she tells me to shut up. "I'm gonna make you love me back." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself.

"Pull my panties down." I stare up at her, frozen and confused. "Pull my fucking panties down. Now." My hands wander towards her underwear under her uniform and I feel around her warm skin until I find the thin thong bands and i pull them down, trying so hard to ignore the string of slick connected to them. "Good girl....come eat me out." Her voice is softened as she spreads her legs for me. I look back up into her eyes and she smiles softly, a look too put-together in her eyes. She's fucking nuts. Her fingers tighten once more on my scalp and I cringe, pushing her skirt up until I see her pink pussy in the shitty closet lighting. I lean closer to it, staring her in the eye as I lick a stripe of her juices from between her warm and sensitive lips.

Her eyes roll back into her lids and her head tips back, a shameless moan leaving her lips. A part of me enjoys this moment between me and her despite everything leading up to this moment. I'm on autopilot as I grab her legs, spreading them further apart as I force my tongue to continue eating her out, ravaging my first meal of the day despite it being 10:30 at night. "I know you didn't eat lunch today." She slurs out, a small squeal leaving her lips when I suck on her clit. She then giggles. "So, this is your meal. Do you like it? Does it taste good, baby?"

I hum, staring her right in the eyes. My face is deep between her soft and warm thighs. I remain eye contact as my tongue finds her entrance. The cold tip of my nose presses firmly against her wet and erect clit. That's when she pulls my face away from her cunt. The bottom half of my face is soaked in her juices. She takes a deep breath before softly loosening the grip on my hair. My face relaxes as she lets me go. She gets back down onto my lap, straddling me. "Please. No more." I plead, exhausted. She caresses my face before bringing her hands to my uniform shirt. "It's okay. I'm gonna take care of you."

She tears my shirt open, biting her lip at my beautiful choice of bra. She makes me take my shirt and bra off, immediately pawing at the tender breasts when they're freed. "So pretty." I sit back, resting on one arm, spreading my legs out. She doesn't even finish her initial thought before sucking on one of my nipples. I sigh in regrettable pleasure. She gets off of my lap, sitting next to me as one of her unseen hands trail down beneath my skirt, between my legs to touch at my damp underwear. I flinch lightly and she pulls off of the nipple.

"Be a good girl and moan for me, okay?" I didn't know what she was talking about until she swiftly pulls my panties to the side and firmly slides two fingers into my cunt like it was nothing. I gasp and she hums in acknowledgement. I whine lightly as her fingers thrust in and out of me. They feel a little rough as she also kisses around my chest, creating hickeys in-between kisses. She then starts curling her fingers on that spongey spot inside of me and my back arches at the pleasure blooming in my lower stomach. "Like that?" She asks. "L-" As soon as I speak, it's cut off from her fingers rubbing quicker on that one spot, the pleasure increasing twice as much. A pathetic moan escapes my lips instead. "Hm?? Just like that?" She asks again as I throw my head back, almost hovering over my body from where I lay. I nod, my eyes squeezed shut. A satisfied smile spreads across her lips as I suddenly moan loudly, squirt gushing out of my pussy onto her hand. Obscene squelching sounds echo throughout the room as she continues her assault on my hole.

"Fuck, no more! No more, please..." I beg and she immediately listens, pulling her fingers out of me. I relax, my back hitting the ice cold marble floor. I try to catch my breath, rubbing my face as if trying to find the sense I once had. Geto sucks my juices off of her fingers, ecstasy flowing through her veins at the taste. She tastes every last drop on her hand and even considers licking what I left on the ground. But I'm more important. She turns back to me and leans over my naked torso, kissing my forehead. "I love you, y/n."

"..." I look back into her expecting eyes. What happens if I say it back? Will it even matter? At this point, I completely forgotten the things she had done before we ended up in the closet. "I love you, too." Her eyes sparkle and she laughs as if I just proposed to her. Her hands find my cheeks once more, cradling my face as she kisses me. The kiss is soft, warm, and domestic. She pulls away and her heart squeezes. "I have to take care of some business. Can you wait here for me?"

What else can I do? I nod. She stares at me for a little while longer before standing up. She leaves. It's silent. I'm half-naked, my mind is fuzzy, and bodily fluids are spilled on the floor. It's cold. What have I done to meet such a woman? She's probably gonna kill the doctor, and God knows what she'll do once she comes back to get me. But even after everything, I'm the one that has her wrapped around my finger. I just have to find a way to get out of what I put myself into.

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lettersfromaphrodite · 11 months

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[5.26]

―pairing :Seonghwa x fem!Reader ―genre : smut ―word count : 1.212 ― content warnings : vampire Seonghwa, master kink estabilished relationship, fingering, Seonghwa feeds from reader, medieval settings, fantasy au, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all)

Sometimes, you wondered what your friends would think about you. After all, you left your house, your hometown, your job, anything and everything that had ever been yours in order to move into a vampire’s luxurious mansion.

You met Seonghwa two years ago thanks to a mutual friend - Wooyoung, who worked at the hospital. Chemistry immediately clicked between you two, and three dates later, you were a panting and squirming mess under a sweaty Seonghwa, whimpering in bliss as he came inside you, hovering above you as you were sprawled on his expensive linen blankets. You knew he was a vampire - Wooyoung being the good friend he was had told you immediately, but you still decided to play dumb, even if you had to wait for a whole month for Seonghwa to confront you about the strange pain you felt in your neck, somewhere between all those hickeys he left. That day, Seonghwa regretfully admitted he had been feeding from you, in the same sentence where he also told you he was developing serious and deep feelings for you; you admitted you knew that already, and Seonghwa shyly invited you to move in with him.

That night had been a rollercoaster of emotions, but of course, you said yes.

Delicate, pale long fingers firmly wrapped themselves around your neck, the slight pressure making you snap your eyes open.

«Forgive me, angel.» Seonghwa’s velvet tone intruded your thoughts, his white shirt half-unbuttoned showing a glimpse of his pale and toned chest while he was comfortably sitting between your parted thighs, one hand around your throat and the other rubbing your clit with slow and teasing feather touches. «Did I allow you to get distracted?»

«N-no.» you answered back immediately, feeling light-headed by the sudden intrusion of his middle finger effortlessly sliding inside you.

«No?» Seonghwa raised his eyebrow at you, halting his movements and slightly tightening the hold around your neck with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

«No, Master.» you breathed, Seonghwa’s smug smirk and his crimson red eyes only providing to add fuel to the flame of your arousal. The grip around your throat loosened as Seonghwa’s index finger joined the other digit and you jolted, suffocating a whimper as Seonghwa effortlessly and intentionally brushed the magic spot inside you as he was scissoring his fingers.

«Always so good for me, angel.» Seonghwa’s approving hums caressed your bare skin as the vampire traced open-mouthed kisses from your neck to your hipbones, without stopping the movements of his fingers for a second. You could feel Seonghwa’s fangs occasionally scratching your skin, goosebumps erupting on your skin as you pictured the new red lines joining the fading ones that Seonghwa loved to draw on your body. Seonghwa’s thumb started rubbing your clit with abstract circular motions and you quickly covered your mouth, trying to suppress the loud moan escaping your lips due to the intense feeling.

«You’d better keep those beautiful hands of yours by your sides,» Seonghwa’s raspy voice warned you, «Unless, you want to be punished.» his thumb pressed harshly against your clit and you whined, quickly shaking your head as your hands returned on their previous ministrations of tightly gripping the soft blankets. You licked your lips, shutting your eyes close with a sigh.

Seonghwa’s punishments were rough; he was never physically too rough during sex, but he would simply draw you closer to your orgasm and then stop. Once, twice, he could go on all night if he was in the mood, until you were reduced to a panting, crying and whimpering mess, begging him to let you come.

However, Seonghwa’s behaviour on your daily life was the polar opposite of how he behaved during sex. The cold, dominant and ruthless Seonghwa was nowhere to be seen and instead, you would find yourself in the tight and secure hold of the sweetest and caring boyfriend you have ever had. Needless to say, you loved all of this.

Seonghwa’s fingers never stopped as his mouth kept leaving wet kisses all over your waist, teasingly kissing you above your clit just to move on your inner thigh, enjoying your dejected moans and whimpering begs. The more you squirmed, the more Seonghwa’s thirst increased, and eventually granted your wish, the tip of his tongue replacing his thumb’s movement. You realized that at this point, you were mumbling incoherent phrases due to the feeling of Seonghwa’s tongue and fingers working magic on you and leading you closer to your orgasm each passing second you felt kitten lips alternating to his flat tongue moving teasingly against your wetness, slowing down anytime your moans increased.

«Master,» you breathed, in the weak attempt not to come on the spot as his tongue added itself to his fingers moving inside you, «please.» you honestly didn’t know either why you were pleading him. You wanted to come? You needed more? You wanted him to bite you? Anything and everything of the options above would have been fine with you, since you only needed him to do more. Whatever he choose to do would have been fine; you just needed more of Seonghwa, if that even made any sense.

Seonghwa scoffed, detaching his tongue from your wetness and briefly meeting your gaze, crimson eyes blown with lust and lips wet and glistening with your arousal. He raised an eyebrow at you, as his lips kissed your inner thigh once again, grazing the soft skin with his fangs.

«Yes,» you breathed, «Please, please, ple-» your sentence was interrupted by the loud and sinful moan escaping your lips as soon as you felt Seonghwa’s fangs piercing your skin. You had to admit the sting was annoying at first, but the feeling of euphoria that immediately subdued as soon as you felt Seonghwa’s started sucking on your blood with his tongue and lips moving against your skin, was something incomparable and irreplaceable. Seonghwa’s fingers brushed more insistently the sweet spot inside you and the mixture of everything plus your boyfriend’s moans of approval as he fed from you triggered your orgasm, and you came around his fingers with the hint of a jolt, grateful that Seonghwa was keeping your thigh in place with his other hand.

As you relaxed while coming back from your high, you delicately and affectionately brushed Seonghwa’s hair with your fingers, feeling him licking your small wound clean. He looked back at you once again, his eyes still a deep crimson and blood faintly smeared around his lips – mixing with the remaining of your wetness, and you tapped your lips with a smile, which Seonghwa immediately returned, leaning down to capture your lips in a lingering kiss where you could taste yourself along with your own blood.

Seonghwa smirked against your lips, one arm next to your head to balance himself and the other caressing your waist as he pressed his body flush against yours so that you could feel his neglected hardness.

«Ready for the real fun, angel?» Seonghwa breathed against your neck, licking a long, wet stripe from your collarbone to your jaw.

«Yes, Master.» you mumbled back, your hands flying on the belt of his black jeans.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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wildflowerluver · 1 year

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on my heart

emily prentiss x fem!reader

emily never wears jewelry until she finds someone worth keeping close to her

cw: case mentions, injury details, emily gets hurt, lots of fluff

wc: 1.1k

༺♡༻

emily prentiss is not a jewelry wearer.

she finds rings uncomfortable, bracelets unfitting, and necklaces downright restricting.

when she was younger, jewelry was a popular gift. her parents would pick out something in that area when they traveled for work. it almost always ended up in a box somewhere.

oftentimes, members of emily’s team or friends would come to you to ask for gift suggestions for the holidays or her birthday. as her girlfriend, they figured you knew her best. you rattled off a few general things emily liked: wine, books, candles, etc.. you always ended the conversation the same way. ‘just no jewelry.’

it’s naturally shocking when you notice a gold pendant around emily’s neck.

she had come home from a case exhausted and just wanting to see you.

you greeted her with open arms. emily collapsed onto you where you laid on the couch. she nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck as she wrapped her arms around your waist. you loved nothing more than the clingy soft side of your badass girlfriend. her physical touch levels also increased immensely when she was away from you for a long period of time.

you rubbed your arm up and down her back. “how was the case?”

“long,” she answers truthfully. “but good outcome.”

you squeeze her a little tighter.

it’s at that moment you become aware of the coolness on your chest. you reach down to the source. your fingers get tangled in a metal chain and pendant, small and circular.

“what’s this?” you muse. the locket is engraved though you don’t have enough time to look at the inscriptions before emily is pulling back.

“nothing, baby. just trying out something new.”

as much as you want to push her, you figure it’s for the best to leave it at that.

___

you don’t see the locket on emily again for awhile.

you see her in almost every capacity, from pajamas to work clothes to even nothing at all. but the pendant never makes an appearance. if you’re being completely honest, you forgot about it too.

but then emily gets hurt.

you raced to the hospital when you got the call. her team all sat in various chairs in the waiting room. your stomach churns when you see the blood stains on spencer’s hands and shirt sleeves.

j.j. is the one to greet you. she collects you in her arms.

“doctors haven’t said anything yet but it was a clean shot. she should be okay.”

hours go by with little word from anyone. you try not to think of the worst especially with j.j.’s reassurance but it’s difficult when emily’s job is as dangerous as it is.

when a doctor finally appears, it’s hard to read his expression. you’re not a profiler and his stoic look tells you nothing about the news you're about to receive.

“agent prentiss is okay and stable.” there’s a collective sigh throughout the waiting room. “she suffered a gunshot wound to her shoulder. thankfully, it went through clean and only tore some muscle. her surgery ended an hour or so ago and we expect her to wake up shortly. you can see her then.”

the news eases your anxiety immensely. gunshot wounds typically went one way or the other. while emily’s was nowhere near fatal, you were dating emily at the time penelope got shot and knew the severity of that injury.

the doctor stops before he heads back into the primary care areas. “we had to remove this before agent prentiss’ surgery.”

the bag containing the item is quickly passed to you and you look down to inspect what’s inside.

it’s the locket.

the same necklace you hadn’t seen in weeks. the same type of thing she has always been against wearing. she was wearing it when she got shot.

the chain and pendant are both speckled with blood, though the gold seems to shine even brighter.

you’re about to open the bag to hold the locket close to you when a different nurse is walking in. “agent prentiss is up and awake. one person can come back at a time to see her.”

it’s a unanimous vote that you’re the first one to see emily. penelope squeezes your hand as you pass. a silent reassurance.

the second emily comes into view, you’re rushing past the nurse to see her.

“emily,” you cry.

emily lolls her head to the side to smile at you. you wish you could surge forward and hug her, kiss her, anything but you know the limitations of her injury.

she touches you first instead, raising her uninjured arm to cup your face. you lean into her touch and your smile grows when she kisses your wrist.

“i was so worried.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

“i’m just glad you’re okay.”

you stay in her hold for a few moments before you shift. the crinkle of the plastic bag snaps you out of your focus. you show her the item.

“the doctors had to remove this for your surgery. i thought you didn’t wear necklaces?”

you assumed your question was innocent enough, curiosity not accusatory. emily, however, sits up suddenly to reach out to grab the necklace.

“em, em!” you place your hand on her abdomen to get her to stop. “you just got shot, stop pushing yourself.”

emily huffs. “i’m fine, really. can you hand it to me then?”

you help her open the bag and hand her the chain.

“i’m not a jewelry person, you of all people know that. but i started wearing this locket.” she unclasps the pendant and turns it around. a wave of tears well up in your eyes when you see the picture.

it’s a photo she took of you from one of your vacations. you and her had gone to paris. emily showed you where she lived when she was younger and you spent the week exploring the city. when you went out to dinner one of the nights, emily took a picture of you claiming she wanted to keep that memory of you forever. and now it sat in a locket around her neck.

“i wear it on cases. i like to keep you close to my heart.”

the explanation is simple enough but the tears finally spill over. you sit up, holding both of her cheeks as you duck down to kiss her gently.

“i love you,” you mumble against her lips.

she smiles, one arm immobilized by her injury and the other clutching the locket.

“and i love you.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n

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fanaticsnail · 6 months

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Honey Glazed

Chef Zeff. I love him, and I won't apologize for my adoration.

Warnings: hypothetical discussions regarding cannibalism, drinking.

Word Count: 2,500

(Coming from real life conversations and experiences in both my and chef-husband's hospitality careers; you'd be surprised at how much the thought comes up regularly in conversation. Yes, can confirm: chef's flirt like this)

It had been a particularly difficult shift; balancing your managerial roles like an expert plate spinner in a circus.

On one plate, you had a wait staff member needing consolation in the ‘cool room’ to manage their mental breakdown over a particularly rude patron dining in the circular wooden floor. On another, you had to talk down Patty from storming out onto the floor not only in defence of the aforementioned wait staff member, but due to the fact they sent their food back to the kitchen with the proclamation that their meat was undercooked and “bloody”.

Round and round you balanced the dynamic of pure professionalism with engaging with the variety of patrons, serving the dishes presented by the team of chefs, and managing the rapport with the staff with a cheery disposition under the ever watchful eyes of the braid-bearded, head chef Zeff. He would often gaze longingly at you, admiring how truly blessed he was to have you as his queen of the front of house, his warrior of waitressing and his confidant in comradery. And to think, he nearly didn’t hire you.

-------

From the amount of profiles and resume’s he had received from his request for a front of house manager, your resume stuck out like a gem incrusted tiara amongst a pile of dulled rocks. Ex-convicts, reformed pirates, seasoned managers and members of his own staff putting their names forward for the position; all eclipsed by your resume.

You were young, younger than he would ever consider thrusting into the role but older than his blonde apprentice. Kind, gracious and innocent were the three words that flew into the mind of the braided ex-pirate captain.

“Found someone yet?” the young Sanji asked him with his own frown rising to his face.

“Not yet, little eggplant,” he grouchily informed him, placing your resume back to the side of the table and away from any of the other candidate profiles.

“Well, hello,” Sanji said as he took the sheet within his hands, “this is the one, chef.”

Zeff again shook his head, flittering through the tattooed and scarred front of house manager resumes within his hands, muttering a simple: “no.”

“Why not?” the teen Sanji asked him, his eyes wide as he thrust the paper back into Zeff’s pile, “she’s beautiful.”

“That’s exactly why not, kid,” Zeff said again, pushing the resume away from him and back onto the table; “she’s not meant for here. Too pretty, too young,” Sanji shook his head as Zeff continued; “she’d be chewed up and spat out before she’d be able to manage the guests, let alone the staff.”

Sanji let out a small angry growl and fished your resume back and thrust it once more into Zeff’s arms; “humour me. Wait staff are meant to be pretty, it’s the chefs that are hardened criminals. If she’s applying to work on Baratie, it shows she has the balls to run the front of house looking the way she does.”

Zeff locked his eyes with his young apprentice, finally clasping the paper once more in his fingertips and looking it over in consideration. Sanji did have a keen eye for quality, travelling over from his appreciation of food to his appreciation of other areas of his interests.

You were perfect. From your vast experience to the way your uniform clung to you. He just needed to ensure your personality would match up to your role; and with one den-den-mushi call, he was completely smitten with you and offered you a full-time job immediately.

Flirty, fiery, charismatic and professional; exactly everything he didn’t know he wanted flittered in with the qualities he needed in his front of house counterpart. You were the one he wanted.

-------

You sighed, throwing your head backwards to relieve the tension gathered after waving off your closing floor staff for the evening. You leant your hips against the lit benchtop of the pass; the kitchen island closest to the door where chefs and wait staff would meet their hands in service.

“You gonna hang around for knock offs, sweets?” Zeff asked you from his place leaning against the frame of his office door with his arms crossed over his chest. You lulled your head to rest itself on your shoulder and smiled with your eyes barely parted.

“Yes, Chef,” you offered him an exhausted, two-fingered salute as you drew enough energy and willpower to push yourself forward from the pass. Zeff began his stride over to meet with you, his hand brushing with the small of your back to escort you through the entrance of the kitchen and up towards the fish-mouth lounge. You shot him another half-smile in thanks for his attention, a twinkle forming back within his own gaze in appreciation for your gratuity.

He remained close as he approached the bar with Patty falling his grasp of several bottles and sloppily attempting to pour beer from the taps into the wrong kind of vessels. A groan fell from your lips and your back dropped, defeated at the sight that lay before you.

“Get out of there, Patty,” you ordered him with a smile, making your way behind the bar and away from Zeff’s hold on your body, “stick to the food. I’ll get you lot your knock offs.”

“Don’t forget about yourself, honey,” Zeff ordered you, his uneven step making his way over to the till to begin his inventory duties to complete the close of the night. You nodded at him before beginning to assemble a variety of drinks while overhearing the chefs discussing something amongst one another in hushed tones; brows furrowed, lips passionately fleeing words in whispers.

The three major instigators in conversation were Sanji, his eyes widening and hands gesturing to different points of his torso before trailing them down towards his stomach; Patty who was shaking his head with a frown and gesturing to his shoulder blades while hissing out between his lips; and Carne who was just watching the conversation falling between them standing concerned and confused.

You approached the chefs with their knock offs: a red wine for Sanji, a flagon of ale for Carne and a dry whiskey for Patty while keeping another red wine to the side for your head chef to retrieve once he had done inventory.

“There you are, lads,” you uttered with a sigh as you held the drinks forward, your left hand reaching behind your neck as you relieved it of the tension with circular motions beneath the ministrations of your fingertips, “knock offs: done.”

“What are we drinking tonight, love?” Sanji arched his brow upward and pursed his lips suggestively. You leant forward against the bar in response, your elbows and palms lying flat as you brought your face closer to his.

“You’re drinking a cabernet sauvignon-,” you whispered an inch away from his lips, tilting your chin upwards; a pink blush immediately rising to rest on Sanji’s cheeks, “-and I’m,” you pulled away from his face with a small giggle, “having a black Russian.”

You fished your fingertips within the short glass, pulling out the stem of the bright red maraschino cherry and plopping the syrupy fruit on your tongue; wrapping your lips around it and breaking the stem away with a ‘pop’. The three chefs in front of you held their gaze, completely transfixed by your suggestive movements.

This was your favourite part about working at Baratie. The rapport and flirtatious engagements between the front of house and the back of house was the driving force to keep you motivated as you navigated through the shift. After chewing and swallowing the amoretto-forward fruit, your warm laugh fell contagious amongst the four men; Zeff shaking his head off while continuing jotting down his varied notes.

“And all of you-,” you placed the stem of the cherry into the compost bin located below the wooden surface, “-were talking about cooking with human again, weren’t you?”

An apprehensive blush rose to the three chefs in front of you, ashamed of their unbridled conversation.

“Look,” you began, shaking your head, “there’s too much variety in your body shapes and muscle density. You’ve got to focus on just the one of you or you’re never going to make cohesive progress in this completely hypothetical situation.”

“Oh?” Sanji began, raising his glass away from his lips while taking his bottom lip between his teeth; giddy about your willingness to join in the conversation, “so who should we choose to hyper-fixate our cooking practices on? I’m all ears, love.”

You laughed at him, a shrug adorning your shoulders and mouth down-turning in thought, “what about me?”

The chefs all down-turned their mouths in thought, eyes falling to your body as you adorned a slightly more dressed-down version of your uniform. You laughed, held out your arms and gave a small turn in response to their ponderance.

“Will I suffice?” you arched your brow up as you made your rotation back towards the three chefs once more.

“You’ll do nicely,” Carne nodded, turning his body atop the stool to bring his body to face Sanji next to him and Patty behind him, “thoughts, gentleman?”

“Smoked on an open fire,” Patty nodded, gesturing to your body. You chuckled, raising the cool liquid to your lips and taking a small drink as you rested your back against the wall of the bar.

“Smoked?” Sanji questioned him with an elevated tone, “what, and ruin the natural sweetness of her body and unable to crisp up her beautiful skin? Look at her! Whole-smoked?”

“Oh, and what would you suggest; Sanji?” Carne spoke up, prompting the blonde to first turn to him and frown before bringing his attention back towards your body.

He raked his eyes from your ankles, dragging his gaze slowly up your thighs and settling on your stomach. His tongue flicked out to dampen his lower lip in thought as he drew his sights to your breasts before falling to your arms. You giggled at his attention, almost regretting your decision to open your body up to extreme examination.

“I’d take my time,” Sanji began, gesturing to a variety of points on your body, “cut the different portions and begin reductions at the same time as preparing your body to not only be smoked,” he grimaced at Patty before turning his eyes back towards you, “but also honey glazed.”

The four of you all chuckled at the conversation falling between you. Zeff, finally having completed his inventory, made his way back towards his key staff members and collected the red wine glass from the counter besides you.

“Care to weigh in, chef?” you asked him, eyes half-lidded and your signature smile falling to your lips, “if you had my body to enjoy,” you gestured down to your torso and legs, “how would you prepare me for consumption?”

Having no prior context to the conversation falling between the four of you, Zeff found himself get slightly flustered under your brazen disregard for discussing cannibalising your body. You widened your eyes and shook your hand outwards defensively with a laugh.

“Hypothetically speaking, chef,” you breathily laughed in defence of your prior suggestion, “we were talking about how you chefs would go about preparing human. Thought I’d volunteer my flank, ribs, legs, shank and rump,” you playfully slapped your left ass cheek with a giggle, “for continuity’s purposes.”

Zeff hummed thoughtfully, raising his glass to his lips with another glimmer of adoration behind his eyes at how truly accustomed you were to engaging flirtatiously with himself and his staff. He sampled the vintage over his palate, rolling the bitter liquid over his tongue and whistling it through his lips to oxidise the wine to savour the flavour. In response, you rose your black Russian back up to your lips and take the final gulp of the liquid and lay the glass upturned against the bar sink.

“Go on, chef,” you encouraged him, doing another small twirl in front of him, “lay it on me. I truly don’t mind.”

Sanji smirked as he witnessed the flirtations engaging between you and Zeff. He was well aware of his favouritism of you, potentially harbouring more than simple affection for you as his manager. You were a part of the crew, a major part of running smooth operations; Sanji would think Zeff daft to not harbour a semblance of infatuation with you.

“There’s a lot I could do with your body,” Zeff smirked with his left brow arched upwards, causing a small tingle to rise up in anticipation of your next words. The head chef stepped forward, placing his glass down to the side and reaching with his right hand forward to claim your left.

He moved his bearded jaw towards your arms, slowly raking it upwards while inspecting your flesh; uttering: “braised in red wine, spice and liquid smoke,” his lips travelled up to your shoulder, halting at your arched neck, “roasted with a mirepoix and pesto butter.”

Your jaw hung slack with a small smile falling to your lips as your eyes watched your chef remove himself from your body and twirl you away from him; tracing his fingers down your spine, “I’d either crack these separately,” he trailed his hands over your ribcage and leant in towards your ear, “or I’d keep them as a solid rack and tenderise them with a firm massage with coarse sea-salt to bring out your natural sweetness.”

A blush crept up towards your cheeks as you felt his arm come around your body to bring itself against your thigh and clutch it firmly in his wide hands; “but this,” he steadily shivered your flesh under his strong grasp, “this would be my absolute favourite. I’d stud it with cloves, cross-hatch and cure it,” his breath tingled against your neck as his lips traced the shell of your ear, “and I’d glaze it with a sauce as sweet as you are, honey.”

An unintentional gasp fled from your lips at his words. You admit to yourself, you enjoy the odd flirt from time to time with the staff; but this particular interaction with your boss felt unlike any flirtation you had engaged with him prior. Your whole body tingled in surprise and shock at how Zeff so intimately spoke to you, even though it was words so completely unhinged as how to cook you appropriately.

Zeff chuckled and withdrew his hand from your thigh and made his way back towards the wooden bar; reopening the cabernet sauvignon bottle and filling his crystal glass once more before offering the neck to Sanji’s empty one.

“Anything to add, boys?” Zeff asked his team from his spot behind the bar, you remaining stunned before shaking off your stupefied state and bringing yourself beside Zeff and beginning to make your second black Russian to continue to rid your body from the rise of heat.

“Yeah,” Sanji added, raising his glass to his lips, “you’d probably fuck it all up with oregano.”

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #zeff #chef zeff #zeff x reader #zeff x you #chef zeff x reader #opla zeff #red leg zeff

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ms--lobotomy · 3 days

Text

Mermorty on the mind. Do forgive me for pumping out 2 of these in one day, I'm just excited. [Previous] [Next]

Summary: Mertarion gets dropped off in your pool.

Word Count: 1066

Content Warnings: Unwanted touching but it's not Morty, ok yeah Typhus is kinda strange but he gets worse so yay!

Image Credit: @squishyowl

The anesthetic had been long gone, but Mortarion had still shut his eyes and tried to ignore the conversation around him. Whilst he was dozing off, the small group eventually arrived at your house. The man with long-ish black hair stopped mid-conversation and looked out of the window at it. His eyes widened.

"Shit," he said. "You never told us your other job paid that well."

"I have nobody but my publisher to thank for that one," you said. "They've cut me a pretty good deal, and I'm grateful every day for it."

"You still have to tell us what your pen name is," remarked the girl slightly taller than you. She flipped her black ponytail over her shoulder.

"I'll get there when I get there, Iris," you said, blood rushing to your face.

"Until then, I'm just going to assume you write the nastiest porn you can find on the planet," said Typhus with a playful grin. Iris's eyes widened, and she regarded Typhus with a strong side-eye, crossing her muscular arms again. Your face went even warmer, and the silence in the room was palpable.

"Jesus Christ," said the girl driving, the girl with the brown ponytail.

Typhus let out a slight chuckle, sliding a hand onto your back. You tensed up, but the young man at the back slid the door open and you all turned around at the sudden noise.

"What are we waiting for?" said the man who opened the door. "It's 5 am. Let's get him out of here before the early birds get up."

The rest of the group hoisted Mortarion onto the stretcher again as you made sure his head didn't lean off too hard. He sighed, opening his eyes. You noticed that his pupils weren't circular, but slits like a cat's. "Is my prison cell ready?" he asked, looking up at you.

"Ready to go?" asked the man who'd opened the door.

"It's saltwater," you said as the group began to walk out. "There won't be much to do down there for a bit, but I promise you, I'll try to make your stay as pleasant as possible."

He grumbled as the group turned around. "Quick question to you," said the girl with the brown ponytail. "How are we getting in?"

"Oh," you said. You snapped your head to face her before you felt Mortarion look up at you, his gaze at the bottom of your neck. You turned towards the gate, which was far too skinny for a group of seven with a stretcher to make their way through. "Oh..."

"I can carry him," said Typhus.

"You will NOT," Mortarion rumbled.

"Typhus, he's longer than my couch," you said, propping his head up again. "If he's going to be carried, we're going to need to do it as a group."

"Easy for you to say," said Iris. "We've been carrying this fucker while you hold his head or something. You're going to help us carry him this time."

"Okay," you say. "Well... let's put down the stretcher." He was maybe 6, 7 times the size of a normal human? What even was a normal human anymore? The group put down the stretcher and one by one, they hoisted their arms under him. You grabbed his head with one hand, the back of his neck with the other.

"Feeling okay?" you asked.

Mortarion sighed. "Let's make this short."

"Alright, everyone ready?" you asked, to a chorus of nods and other affirmations. "One, two, three..."

Between the seven of you, lifting him was much easier than it would have been if it were just one or two. You led, moving at the quickest pace you could, before you stopped at the side of the pool. It was a square thing, with a little circular tub near one of the corners.

"Alright," you said, your voice straining even though you had arguably the easiest job. "Let's lower him in in three, two, one..."

He sank into the pool with a wet plop, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this was like a hospital bed to him. A little less restrictive, yes, but nowhere near big enough for a merman his size. As the group began to turn towards the exit, you knelt by the pool.

"Well, you're home now," said Typhus, taking in the place again. The house was a pale peach color that looked gray in the moonlight. It was one story, with palm trees and little butterfly host plants abound in the yard. It was also very well kept, the dirt that would have crept up on most homes not often present.

Typhus slid a hand over your shoulder, and gave it a firm pat before he walked off. "See you Monday," he said, the rest of the group murmuring their farewells as they funneled through the gate and packed themselves into the vehicle. You shivered, and cast off your shoes before kneeling down towards your new charge.

"Mortarion..." you started, not sure what to say. You ran a hand along the water, and he leaned on the edge.

"You're uncomfortable."

"Well, aren't you?" you asked, dipping your toes into the water.

"I've made that apparent, but you haven't said anything about yourself."

You sighed. "Yeah... I don't like him touching me," you said. You looked down at him. His hair was already sticking to his face again. "Don't tell him if he comes back, though. I'll live."

"Your secret is safe with me," he said. "Though, I must admit, it isn't much of a secret if I could figure it out that easily."

You let out a slight chuckle. "I guess," you said. "Um... was fixing your hair and grabbing your hand too much? I really should have asked."

"I needed it," he huffed. "Now there's something not to tell anyone."

You leaned down, brushing his hair behind his ear. He closed his eyes. His lips were scarred, old scars ran along his entire face. "If there's anything you need, just let me know," you said.

"This little lake is... rather empty," he said. "Though I suppose you couldn't tell me about the plants in your... dwelling?"

"Oh!" you said, immediately lighting up. You pointed to your favorite, a tall thing with purple flowers. "Well, that one's a giant milkweed, and I don't know if you've ever seen a winged creature called a butterfly, but..."

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #mortarion x reader #reader insert #mermay #mermay 2024 #mortarion #warhammer lobotomy

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senlinyu · 2 years

Text

Growth

Malfoy’s hair was cropped against his skull when they brought him from Azkaban to St Mungo’s.

Hermione almost didn’t recognize him, just skin and bones, and none of that pale white-blond hair. She remembered the flashing lights, the healers and aurors scurrying through the halls.

Day of his release — Not conscious — How long? — Vitals unstable — How long did the Dementor have him?

The words bled together, the clamor went on.

After two months, he was still unconscious. It didn’t take all of his soul, she was told. There was a possibility he might wake, but they put him in permanent spell damage.

An extra room added to Janus Thickey for the unusual case.

He just lay there, bone thin, grey eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. Never moving.

Unaware, unresponsive, said his file, palliative care necessary.

He filled out again. Round the clock hospital care could do that. Eventually the hollows in his cheeks faded and color returned and he looked like Draco Malfoy. He stayed that way, as if encased in amber, frozen in a moment.

Only his hair changed, growing.

She thought about cutting it. When it reached his shoulders, she told herself she would. If it tangled or matted it would create discomfort, but she felt unsettled by the idea of looming over him with scissors. Most care used spells, but hair was finicky.

She didn’t want to give him another Azkaban hack job.

She’d do it when he started looking like his father; it would be more than enough reason.

Instead his long hair accentuated the ways he didn’t look like his father. His features were not so sharp, his mouth flatter, sadder.

It made her realise that Draco Malfoy was not just a replica of his father.

He was someone else, and his life was slipping by like sand in an hourglass. She didn’t even know if he knew.

She started talking to him, not on purpose, it happened eventually, just narration at first, but after so many circular discussions with Lockhart, it was novel to have someone who didn’t interrupt or walk away when she talked about the books she read, her friends, and her research on mind-healing, while she set him up in a chair, combed his hair and enchanted a view.

She knew he didn’t really listen.

When his hair reached his elbows she knew she needed to do something. She combed it, but couldn’t bring herself to cut it. It was the only thing about him that reflected the passage of time.

She hesitated and then set the scissors down, lacing her fingers through carefully, she braided it down his back, pulling it away from his eyes and tying it off with her hairband.

She stepped around and studied him, and then pulled out a mirror, holding it so that he could see his reflection, their faces side-by-side.

“See?” she said. “You aren’t your father.”

His hand twitched, long fingers curling, and she watched his eyes move as if trying to focus.

Her voice caught in her throat. “Malfoy?”

That was all she could say before all the monitors went off, the room filling with sounds and colors. Healers came flooding into the room, and Hermione barely got a word out before he was whisked away.

Because if he was responsive that meant his soul was intact, and if his soul was intact it meant he would recover, and if he could recover then that meant he no longer belonged in the Janus Thickey Ward for Permanent Spell Damage.

He was gone.

Just like that.

By the end of the day, the room was cleared, cleaned, and waiting for the next long term resident to occupy it.

Hermione resolved not to visit him, even though the miraculous recovery was all the hospital talked about for several days. It was not as if she’d had anything to do with it. Assuming he’d recovered as much as everyone was saying, he wouldn’t be pleased if she showed up acting like they were friends because she’d been his palliative care healer. He probably had no idea at all. He’d be horrified.

She had tea with Lockhart and accepted bubblegum wrappers from the Longbottoms, and looked through her mind healing books again, because surely if a sliver of a soul was enough to bring a person back, then a whole lifetime of memories could be restored somehow. Somehow.

“He wants to see you,” a very irritated wizard announced, making her jump.

“What? Who?”

“The Malfoy boy. Says he wants to see ‘his healer’ which should me, but it’s apparently not me. And if it’s not me, it should be Jorkins, who is a legend here at St Mungo’s, but it’s not him either. ‘Granger’, he says, he wants to see ‘Granger’.” The healer puffed out a breath.

Hermione’s heart was in her throat. “Me? Why?”

The healer just waved a hand. “He’s a toff. We do as he says, we get a new wing in the hospital as thanks.” He glanced at the walls and then emphatically at her. “We really could use a new wing.”

Hermione gulped and followed him.

The healer glanced at her. “So, how’d you do it?”

She stared. “Do what?”

“To bring him back.”

She choked at that. “I didn’t — I just cared for him.”

The healer stopped short, an odd look on his face. “Don’t you know how it works with souls?”

“My specialty is mind-healing.”

“They don’t come back. The souls. Not after dementors. They could in theory, but they don’t. They unravel completely after a few years.”

“Then why did Malfoy come back?”

The healer shrugged. “They always say it’s the bastards who never die. Ask him.”

Malfoy was waiting for her.

She was so used to his eyes being blank and unresponsive, it was startling to find him staring at her the moment she entered.

“Granger,” his voice was faint. Relieved.

It’s then she knew that he recognized her, knew her, was aware of the things she’d talked about to him.

Oh god.

“Hi,” she said nervously. “They said you wanted me.”

“I do.”

A shiver ran down her spine. His hair was still braided with her hair tie.

“I thought you’d visit eventually,” he said, studying her. “You didn’t.”

“I was told you’d be unaware of my care.”

“I was aware.”

“Always?” she asked faintly.

He nodded.

“How did you come back?” she asked.

He looked down. “I didn’t mean to. I meant to fade. I thought I was just another Malfoy, an iteration played over and over, and what would it matter if there was one less? I didn’t know how to do anything but make the same mistakes as my ancestors. To follow their path. But then you of all people were there. I could watch you, listen to you talk. You talk quite a lot. You were fixing your mistakes rather than assuming you’d make them again. I lingered, wanting to know if you could. But I thought, I’m nothing but a reflection of my father, that’s all anyone will ever see in me. But not you.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding.

He exhaled and stared at her, eyes burning. “I had came back to show you, you were right.”

#dramione #ficlet #draco x hermione #anthology collection

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levmada · 1 year

Note

“scar tissue” by rhcp for levi :)

ive been MEANING to write post war body worship actually<3 for like months so this is perfect.

//afab!tall!reader, subby Levi, body worship, impact play (we slap levi's cock), oral (m!receiving), creampie (f!receiving), verry brief anal play, praise | 3.0k

You wring the fluffy towel through Levi’s soppy hair, taking great pleasure in the way his eyes and nose scrunch. He grunts in protest.

"You're rough." He swats at your wrists. “Ugh, it’s gonna puff up if you keep on, idiot.”

“Exactly.”

You stop only after a good job done, then dip your head and kiss the puckered worry line off his brow. While he pretends to be annoyed some more, he swaddles you in another towel. Drying off is just as routine as showering together. It's always his knee that's the problem, and today, he can stand it, literally, even with as long as you took your time. Your pruned fingers are evidence.

You kiss his small nose next, then his cheek. One more. Three.

“You know you’re kissing the ugly side, right?” he retorts.

It’s worth almost nothing informing Levi he’s beautiful, but even he’s learned to appreciate his older age, you think—the crows’ feet hugging the side of his eyes, the grey sprouting up at his scalp, the lines around his mouth. It is to be appreciated you both made it to now in the first place. It’s his scars that bother him, a side effect of giving his mind, body, and soul to the war for all those years. The permanent reminders.

You press your lips above the permanent slit in his eyebrow. Then his eyes flutter closed as you kiss his eyelid. Beneath, his iris has been reduced to an unnaturally pale, milky silver.

You follow down, tracking with your lips to the cleft in his plump lips.

"Stop that," he mumbles. For a moment he goes on his toes and seizes complete control of the kiss. Like a fight for dominance. His hands squeeze your waist, and trace your curves. Everything in stark contrast to what he just said.

“Love your ‘ugliness’,” you taunt when you can get a word in, speckling kisses to his other cheek and the three jagged indents there.

"Tch... No."

"Yes." As you nip at his neck, he soon gives in a little, and turns his head to give you more room to lay down wet, warm kisses. You trace the thin, pale scar below his adam’s apple with the tip of your tongue, and feel him shiver.

"I don't get why."

"Too bad."

With a hard sigh, he rubs your hair affectionately and raises his bad leg a little, intertwining it with the back of your knee. A signal he can’t remain standing for much longer.

His toned muscles from back then have been replaced with softer, thicker rolls. You take great pleasure in sinking your palms into his thighs as you lift him up and onto the marble counter. A small scoff leaves him when you do this—despite the little gasp that comes right before it.

“What’re you up to?” he remarks, suspicious.

“Kissing you.” You take one of his pink nipples between your thumb and forefinger and tug gently as you speckle kisses to his biceps to the scars there.

“Huh… This is a lot, even for you.”

His teeth hook into his bottom lip as you rub and flick his nipple, at the same time kissing somewhere stupid. You lathe the circular, rough scar at the bend of his elbow with your tongue. From all the times he was hooked up to a saline drip, when he was in the hospital.

“You’re just so gorgeous, I can’t help it.” You bat your lashes at him, dotting his forearms in kisses now. Pale and discolored circles like bright full moons make up most of them here. Random dark hairs tickle your nose. The most Levi has ever told you about the strange patterns to them was that they were burns, “lessons”, and that he hates them. He didn't ever say that of his scars—they're just a part of him. That changed since.

His breath hitches as you flick his nipple to pointy hardness. His grip randomly closes on your wrist. Firm, but unmoving. Like it's too much, but he wants more.

“Fuck,” he says in a small voice, squirming now. His towel remains loosely draped over his shoulders like a shawl, but you have the best view of his soft muscles, his figure, the hairs trailing down his navel that end between his wide thighs, his pretty cock getting harder.

"Hm." You drag your lips down to his wrist, and the roughness all over the pads of his long fingers. The roughness has worn away some, leaving the thick callouses patchy in places. Most reverent kisses are saved for the stumps, what used to be his second knuckles on his middle and index finger.

He's gone quiet—no more complaining—which you take to mean to keep going. It's not often he can stand much attention like this.

As you kiss his palm, he affectionately brushes your cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

You squeeze the slight softness beside his hips, his love handles, and then lift his arms up, licking at a particular spot. The sharp blot under his bicep. You speckles kisses to the lines of fading indents from several years of the ODM strapped to his body.

“So so pretty…”

"Shut up..." He spreads his thighs to give you more room, a heated whine slipping out as you quit teasing for once—with your lips latched to his nipple, you hollow your cheeks.

“More,” he whispers sharply.

“Touch your pretty cock,” you say, voice honeyed. It’s small but round and swollen, standing stiffly against his pelvis now. A sticky gleam dribbling down his tip says everything.

His hooded grey eyes implore you. "Need..."

“Slowly.”

His head tips back and his hips lift as his fist closes on it. "Mm..." He flicks his wrist and tugs, as you ordered him, slowly.

“Does that feel good?” You touch his chin, tilting his head back even more. You hear him swallow. “Do you feel as good as I do watching you?”

He whimpers. "Y... Maybe."

You nudge the towel off his shoulders and spy the reflection of his back in the mirror, the way the muscles ripple when he shifts his shoulderblades. The scars you see there, you stroke.

An idea sprouts in your mind—about the mirror.

But for now, you fall down to your knees, and pick up his bony ankles to worship his feet. Pink, discolored scarring clings to the backs of his ankles—from poor-fitting shoes when he was much younger. You can tell from sight alone the way they used to bleed. He always deserved better than what he got.

These days, you want to compensate for all his misery, even if you never can make up for it, for him.

His fist slows. “Are you serious—c’mon.”

His leg instinctively tenses as you touch the gnarled, disfigured tissue and bone at his right knee. "I told you, I'm kissing you."

And you do just that.

You receive a needy mewl in response as his good hand leaves his cock, and in your peripheral, fondles his firm, heavy balls. "Fuck you."

“Does it hurt, baby?” You caress the sides of his round thighs.

“It’s sensitive,” he murmurs back. “And a pretty big turn-off, if you weren't aware.”

“Ohh, you’re talking like that again? No more of this”—you pry his hand off his balls—“Focus on me now. Giving you what you deserve.”

A sharp, heated sigh leaves him as you squeeze his good knee. “You're so cheesy.”

“Mhm.” Your fist closes on his tip, massaging his slit rapidly and forcing a moan from his chest. His eyes squeeze shut.

"Fuck, fuck..." His hips buck up and his jaw slackens to compensate for his sudden panting.

“Watch.”

“Ugh…” he groans, and pries his eyes open.

"That's better."

"Fuck you..."

Your hand comes down hard on his cock, causing his whole body to lurch. Pain immediately turns to pleasure as you stroke again the next second.

"Shit—!"

"Say sorry." Eyes narrowed on his flustered face, you stroke and tug down to watch it slap his navel again, over and over. The trimmed trail of dark hairs is quickly spotted in sticky white cum. "You hurt my feelings."

"Fine... I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You're—You're pushing it."

You hum. “Am I? You’re so hard. I think you actually love this.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, can’t…” he groans. “Touch—fucking use your mouth, fucking something.”

“First of all, who’s gorgeous right now?”

"You," he replies, no hesitation.

With a scoff, you lazily tap his slit, watching his hips jerk with every touch. A rich blush stretches down his neck now, and the tips of his ears.

“Who’s my pretty boy? My good boy?”

“‘m not a dog,” he bitches, protesting one last time before you take him by the balls, squeezing to the point of pain and a hard gasp. “Shit, agh—”

“Again. Who’s my beautiful, gorgeous baby?”

His eyes squeeze tightly shut, and mumbles something you can’t make out.

“Say it so I can hear you. Beautiful, and so kind, so strong. With the cutest cock," you giggle. "You sound so pretty. Look at you…”

“I…” He breathes. “I—I am?”

“Mhm…” Victory. You touch your lips to his cock, sucking his tip to reward him.

A thick, satisfied moan falls off his lips, now that you're giving him what he needs. In more ways than one, you think.

“Such a… good boy,” you purr, licking thick, sticky cum off his dick between your words. “But I think you need another lesson.”

Levi sighs weakly. As if on cue, his cock throbs and strains. “Don’t… Don’t make me talk any more.”

"I won't."

His hazy eyes are glittering and pinched almost shut when you look up. You've embarrassed him. You know that, in all seriousness outside this moment, how hard saying I am alone (even as a question) was for him. You want to make him feel good, is really all.

“But I’m not finished yet.”

It seems like after his body grew softer, he got lighter. You volunteer to carry him so he doesn’t have to use his knee the short distance to the spacious bedroom closet—that’s the reason you used, anyway. He clings on, one knee bent behind your back, both feeling his stomach light with embarrassment and affection break over his chest inside as you approach your destination.

You let him down and guide him to kneel in front of the closet’s mirror. It’s full-length, and wide enough for you both to fit in frame. He’s been tense from the moment his reflection appeared.

He ignores himself, instead staring up at you with naked uncertainty. “What’re we doing?”

“One second, baby.”

His shoulders hunch, pushing up his soft pecs. He doesn’t even realize how pretty he is.

You disappear just briefly to retrieve a blanket made of the softest cotton on the carpeted floor, which you lay out.

He grunts in approval. The texture is much more forgiving on his knees.

You kneel and lean in, but he kisses you first (he lands slightly off but then quickly rights himself), grabbing for any part of you he can reach as his heavy tongue licks past your parted lips.

You hum, which dissolves into a moan as his palms land on your tits, first just to appreciate their warm, supple weight. Now that he can get his hands on you, he gives you no room to pivot the attention back to him.

By his shoulders, you put him in a proper sitting position on his bottom with his legs spread out, forcing you both apart.

“What’re you—”

You turn around with one last cheeky smile, and slot your knees outside his hips, your pussy hovering in front of his cock.

Then he understands. He braces your hips while you squirm to get comfortable in a tight kneel, back bent. You’re but a side-piece for his reflection as far as you’re concerned.

“Look at you,” he huffs briskly. “You really expect me to stare at myself when I have a view like this?”

You paid so much attention to him for so long, a thick moan bursts from your chest as his palm loosely strokes your pussy, soaking, gooey and soft. His chest lifts. Even your inner thighs are wet.

With his good hand, he spreads your ass, his thumb flirting with your much tighter hole just briefly.

“Y-Yes,” you breathe. “You watch.” Somehow you give no room for argument.

He scissors your swollen clit as he spies himself in the mirror, but more importantly the way your knuckles curl in the blanket and your jaw dropping. A sharp gasp causes your chest to heave up and down. Fuck, you need him.

“Please,” you murmur.

He understands. If this is that important to you, then he really can’t help but do it.

“Okay,” he says softly.

Your thighs squeeze his flanks, bracing yourself as he lathers his cock from your soft, glistening pussy, getting it soaked.

“I could do so much more for you,” he murmurs.

“This time, appreciating your own view is everything to me.” You wet your lips. “You don’t have to believe me… maybe you just can’t, but I want you to try and see what I see.”

His previous reservations melt away before your eyes, replaced with a new resolve. He takes a breath to brace himself for how good your pussy will feel but it still isn’t enough to stop a guttural moan from falling off his lips as his cock effortlessly slides and disappears into a sea of silky soft heat. The way you’re kneeling for him, all he has to do is snap his hips for his balls to slap against your pussy. His bottom half explodes with lust at the noise you make, it bounces off the walls.

“Fuck, you feel so”—his breath hitches—“always so good. How're you... this wet?"

"You."

You moan in sync as your walls grip him, and the suctioning motions hug his cock. He grips your hips tight and rocks his hips, letting you adjust. His eyes instinctively fall shut.

“Watch,” you remind him breathlessly. “Open your fucking eyes and look at yourself. Perfect, Lev’.”

He does so, and watches his flustered features tighten, and his abdominals visibly flex as he pumps in firm, shallow smacks. His eyes naturally stray to you—he has to put in real effort not to cringe at the sight of himself.

But then, it’s uncanny, his usual disgusting disfigurement glowing pink, glazed by pleasure. He can’t maintain eye contact but in short bursts, his eyes flickering to your slackened expression, and your reflection instead, and the cum glistening his cock every time it firmly appears and disappears inside.

You gasp as his cock grinds deep inside, little shivers jolting your frame. “God—god, ‘Vi!”

A small, sweet, ah falls off his open mouth. So warm and buttery inside. You sound so pretty, and your voice so imploring he makes effort to do as you ask—he watches himself fucking you.

“Faster. Jus’—don’t look at me. Look how gorgeous, when you fuck me so good.”

“Just faster?” His hips piston at a pace that that gets so deep inside you shout. His fingertips dig into your hips to compensate for the feeling that he isn’t giving you enough attention right now.

But he admits, to himself at least, it’s fucking hot. He didn’t know, though he’d always feel it, how red he got in the face when your thirsty cunt swallows in his cock like this. You’re so fucking perfect—the hitched, erotic moans falling off your lips sound almost as good as the blunt squelching, and his heavy balls slapping your pussy.

He just—can’t process that he’s gorgeous or beautiful or those other words you always use, but he appreciates it more from this brand new perspective.

He catches his teeth hooked into his now swollen bottom lip, red from biting. His tightening jaw when he throbs deep inside.

“Lev’, Levi Levi… Levi…!”

He watches his mouth move. “Hah… Yeah? Getting close?” His eyes shut. “Say my name again.”

“Levi, fuck.”

“Ah, yeah, lemme hear it—just like that. Mm…” Reluctantly, his eyes pinch open. “You’re always so fucking noisy when I fuck you. Don’t stop.”

“Oh, Levi—”

The way his abdomen visibly tenses, and his toes fucking curl. As your needy voice bleeds into your rising gasps, two fingers rake your clit. His attention pulled in so many places has him incidentally watch when a moan escapes his parted lips. It’s way too fucking much combined with the shout you let out when your cunt grips tight, and your back bends into the tightest arch. “Fuck, fuck, Levi!”

Your sweet moans are enough to make his cock throb deep inside, pleasure like fire enveloping him down to his bones.

You’re panting, “Watch, mmm—oh god you look, fuck, pretty…”

“Shit,” he hisses. “‘m gonna come—”

“Good fucking boy.”

He gasps. “Please, shit—”

It hits him hard—hurls him completely out of his body. His hips lurch, his eyes still pried open. A flare of embarrassment joins his climax as his jaw drops, and he sees the way his face slackens when it crashes over him.

He snaps his hips in brutal slams as he fills up your pussy with liquid heat, each smack punctuated by a guttural moan. It’s just so fucking erotic—it’s been a while since he came even this hard, with what you always do to him.

Your nails rake the carpet at the feeling of his cum filling you up. “Come so hard, baby…”

He whimpers as he slows, then stills to an exhausted stop. His head hangs and his knees slump as the afterglow settles deep in his bones. His knee aches somewhat, but nowhere near bad. He leans back on one hand to remain upright.

His softened, wet cock slips out of you. He strokes your hip. “Fuck… c’mere.”

With a sigh, you raise yourself back up and crawl on top. A soft, satisfied sigh leaves his chest as your hands card through his hair, gently scratching, and he gets to kiss your lips again. He’s not eager to lay even on a blanket on the floor, but finds himself subdued by you anyway. You end up laying out with your head laid on his soft chest, him swaddling you to him, quiet.

He won’t say you changed his mind. You didn’t—what his body is now will ever be a part of him he can be properly proud of. But he sees how you see him now. And that’s enough to make him more comfortable living in his own skin from now on.

#2k event #def annoying the dash with all these but i wanna get em out!!#levi ackerman x y/n smut #aot smut #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi smut #levi x fem!reader

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written-in-flowers · 1 year

Text

Kimura Delivery Service: Prologue

Pairing: OC x S.W.O.R.D leaders (yes, you read that right)

Genre: smut, fluff, angst,

Word Count: 7k

Fandom: High & Low: The Story of S.W.O.R.D

Summary: After a life of swinging her fists, Sakyia is hopeful about her easy going job of delivering packages...However, her aunt neglected to mention the "regulars": The gang leaders of S.W.O.R.D. and the undeniable affection they all grow to have for her.

Overall Warnings: blood and violence, fighting, gang activity, crime, mentions of death, multiple relationships, girlboss being a girlboss, not really 'poly' but girl has a string of lovers,

Part 1 >

***

Sixteen, she surmised. Lean, limber, and tall, he did not look his age at all, which is why they let him enter the ring. Not that the managers cared about the age. They’d turned a blind eye to thirteen-year-old Sakyia back then too. She saw the determined look on his face when he stepped into the pit, a circular spot bordered by short wooden planks. She heard his manager’s shouts from his side as she wrapped her knuckles with bandages, telling him that she’s only a girl and he’d look weak losing to a girl. These words seemed to fuel Yoshi’s eagerness to win. It was either that or his manager’s severe debts. They’d fueled her too until she actually saw Yoshi in the light. He did not have the aged looks other fighters had; he was fresh and young. A child.

“Jiro!” the young woman turned to the large man standing off to the side. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and she could see the heat of the warehouse beading sweat on his forehead. “Jiro,” she moved close to him, “I’m not fighting.”

“The hell you mean you’re not fighting?” he asked with angry eyes. “A lot of things depend on this fight. What are you talking about?”

“He’s a kid, Jiro!” she retorted, calling over the loud crowd around the ring. “Look at him! Just look at him!”

“I am looking,” he said, “And that looks like someone who wants to be here. If he gets fucked up, it’s his own fault!”

Sakiya knew that was not true. She looked back at Yoshi, who was talking to an older gentleman on the other side. The man poured reassurances that made the boy nod his head. He did not appear as confident as before. She could tell the man was psyching Yoshi up, trying to get him in the mood to fight someone. He did not pick this fight; he did not want to be here. Nobody ever wants to be in the fighting pits. The underground fighting rings in the warehouse district were not the typical boxing matches. They did not end after a few rounds. They ended when someone passed out, yielded, or died. She gazed around the large empty warehouse. They’d blocked off the ring with wooden barriers, and spread sawdust and dirt on the floor for an easier clean up. She saw dozens of faces standing around, already cheering and holding their betting tickets. She knew a lot of people counted on her to win, but winning did not always end pretty.

“I don’t know about this,” she told her stepfather. “You know how these-”

“-Get in the damn ring, girl!” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her close. The stench of sweat and cigars made her nose wrinkle, and his hot breath suffocated her. “You want those men to come back? Because, if I don’t pay them tonight, they’ll come back and they won’t be so lenient like they were today. Do you want to see your mom in the hospital? Hm?”

Sakyia glared at him, and twisted out of his grip. Her forceful push shocked him for a second, but then he smirked. It was a dirty trick. She thought back to the men who’d accosted her mother earlier that day. They’d come seeking out Jiro, but found her instead. Sakyia saw her by their front door, holding her groceries as three men circled her. Thankfully, Sakyia appeared before they could truly hurt the small woman. They told her that if Jiro did not have their money by tonight, they’d come back with more men. She did not know who Jiro owed money to now, but they were not above hurting families. Winning this match would keep her mother safe. So, she turned back to the center where Yoshi met her.

“What are you doing here, kid?” she asked him as the referee approached the ring. “Really? This place isn’t for children.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen,” he defended.

“Sure, you are,” she scoffed. “You should forfeit while you can,” she fixed the bandages on her hands and knuckles, “So you don’t get hurt.”

“I doubt you can take me on. You should be the one forfeiting the fight before you break a nail.”

“Break a nail? Is that the best you can do?” she snorted out a laugh. “If I break a nail it’s because I smashed it into your pretty face, little boy.”

The referee stepped over the wooden fence and came between them. He mentioned something about a ‘clean fight’ which amused Sakyia. Nothing about the pits was clean. It took a ring of a bell to set everything off. Her body immediately tensed and she raised both her fists up. She took a deep breath as she moved her body to a fighting position. She could do this; she’d done it dozens of times before now. The fact that her opponent was a boy changed nothing; there’s too much at risk to forgive that.

Sakyia made the first swing. Her punch was as fast as a snake. Yoshi surprised her by blocking and punching back, barely missing her head. Another punch. She grunted as he grabbed her arm, twisting it and forcing her to kick him until she came free.

Damn, he was better than she’d expected.

“Not bad, kid!” she exclaimed as she kicked his stomach, throwing him back against the fence. The spectators roughly pushed him back into the ring, and she sighed. “But not good enough.”

He played defense, most likely hoping she’d tire herself out if he hung back. Her father taught her all the signs. Her real father, not Jiro. They don’t really hit back; they'll mostly block or dodge the hits. He told her to do the same when this happened. Either they end up dancing in circles, or her opponent is forced to start fighting. When Sakyia stepped back, it forced Yoshi to move into the center, and that was when she attacked. In a series of fast, hard blows she knocked Yoshi to the ground. But, he tripped her by the ankle and she slammed down onto the floor beside him. She groaned at the impact, and this put her guard down a moment. She imagined her father being there where Jiro stood. He’d be cheering her on. He’d be throwing encouragement and pointers. Then again, her father would’ve never brought her here. They would be at home with their punching bag or eating dinner with her mother.

“Stop playing around and finish him already, Sakyia!”

She should’ve stayed down. She should’ve faked an injury. Sakyia was more than aware how these fights ended. But, she recalled the men at their door and her fearful mother. If she yielded, she lost her earnings. So, she stood on her feet again. Her eyes glanced over to where Jiro stood talking with a man in a black suit. She hated him. She hated him from the moment she met him. She wished they’d just kill Jiro and leave her mother alone. It was because of him that she’d entered the warehouse at all.

She’d been a skinny twelve-year-old when Jiro came into their lives. He’d claimed to own a famous car dealership, a nice house and even a boat. He’d managed to pull it off while her mother and him dated, but once they married, she found out the truth. Jiro gambled most of his money away. He went bankrupt and sold his car dealership. He sold his boat to pay off some loan sharks, and he lost his house to the bank. He promised her mother he’d stop his gambling ways, but never did.

It did not help that his self-loathing projected onto her mother, a thin woman who never hurt a fly. Sakyia tried protecting her, but she’d been too small to fight him. Jiro eventually realized her skills when he caught her fighting a pair of boys who’d followed her home. Rather than sell her like most scoundrels do for money, he pushed her into a fighting pit. Thirteen-years-old by this time, he told the men who ran the fights that she was “old enough”. She doubted the men believed him, but still accepted her. Sakyia, despite hating the fights, was rather good. Her mother never approved of the fighting. Even if he gave her black eyes or swollen cheeks, she still protested against it. Not that Jiro listened. Sakyia soon gained a reputation for her hard, quick fists, earning the nickname ‘Viper’.

A stupid name that she hated.

She blocked Yoshi’s blows, despite the impact making her muscles and bones burn. Their arms locked together, and each of them began punching the other’s side. She made sure each hit counted. All she needed to do was get him to yield the fight. If he yielded, he’d leave intact. They broke apart, and Yoshi kicked her back. The blow took air from her chest, but she recovered quickly enough to grab his ankle in the second kick. She managed to turn it so he fell.

She saw the fight starting to wear Yoshi down. Her father always told her fighting was hard on novices, who used all their energy too quickly. She saw him using the fence to get onto his feet again, and struggling to breathe properly. He was only a child. This was not the place for him.

“Yield,” she said over the crowd, “Yield and go outside.”

“No,” he shook his head. She spotted a glimmer of fear in his eyes when they met, desperation mingling with it. “I can’t.”

He moved once more. He charged forward and punched her face again. Up against the fence, he started pounding on her torso and sides through her shield. She waited him out before pushing him away with an elbow to the face, then a backhand afterwards. It was a clear kick to the chest that landed Yoshi into the dirt. She heard his choked gasp and cough when he hit the floor. Sakyia saw him clawing the dirt and sawdust under his fingernails, rolling to his side and coughing. She’d turned to Jiro.

“Finish him!” he called out to her, gesturing to the boy on the floor.

“He’s down! It’s over!” she called back, shocked by what was happening.

“I said ‘finish him’! Do you want them to come back?!”

Sakyia turned back to Yoshi, who still struggled for air. She watched his chest heave up and down as it tightened. In her heart, she knew how wrong it was. Looking up, she spotted the three men from earlier in the day. They wore fancy suits with small golden pins on their lapels. They watched her with expectant gazes. She knew then why she was being pushed to murder this boy.

Jiro promised them she would do it.

“Finish him, Viper! Finish him!” Jiro shouted angrily, hitting the fence with his fists.

She ignored him. She saw the men watching her still. The tallest one, dark with his hair slicked back from his face, opened his jacket to reveal a gun. He kept his eyes on her and she did not look away. She knew what he said without hearing the words: ‘Finish the damn fight’.

Sakiya stared right at the stranger, then back to Yoshi. She saw the boy clutch at his chest, gasping deeply and coughing up the dust around him. She looked up to the stranger again. She cannot let this boy die. Whatever slight him or his family caused was not her responsibility to handle. She ignored Jiro’s protests and the jeering crowd around her. “I yield,” she said to the referee, “Go get the doctor.”

“What?! Are you insane?!” she heard Jiro call from behind her.

“Are you sure?” the referee asked.

“I’m sure.”

She saw the disapproving looks the suits gave her, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t a killer. They could get their money another way. Sakiya walked over to Yoshi, who struggled to breathe. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said gently, bending down to him and helping him sit up, “Just relax.”

“Yoshi!” the old man hurriedly approached them, holding up an inhaler. “Here,” he bent down and pressed the inhaler to Yoshi’s mouth with a wrinkled hand, “Breathe.”

Sakiya held Yoshi’s head as his grandfather pumped air through the small container. A rough hand then yanked her to her feet and spun her around. Jiro’s beady eyes glared into hers, and she didn’t move away. “Do you realize what you’ve done?! What’s the matter with you?”

“I wasn’t going to let him die,” she spat back. “If you want to settle your debts this way, then you do it,” she shoved him with a hand, putting her bloody bandages on his chest. “I’m done.”

“Done? What do you mean you’re ‘done’? You got two more rounds to go! We have to pay back those guys or they’ll get your-”

“-It’s your problem now,” she shot back over her shoulder before storming off.

‘The next round’. He truly expected her to continue fighting after Yoshi. Sakyia clenched her fists holding back her anger. Hot tears brimmed her eyes, but she did not dare cry in front of Jiro.

She walked away from the ring to an employee locker room. There was nobody there but her. She saw the medical kit on the bench, but did not take anything from it. Despite the burning pain on her nose, the caked blood on her upper lip, she couldn’t be bothered at the moment. In the fluorescent lighting of the room, she finally saw her hands. Her wrappings left indents on her skin in places, and she saw Yoshi’s blood staining her fingers. She unwrapped them as she walked over to a sink to quickly wash it off. She could still hear Yoshi’s shallow gasps as he inhaled more dust and sand. She spotted the bruises on her knuckles, and knew they’d hurt in the morning. She pitied him, and hoped the inhaler saved him. Sakiya was a lot of things, but she was not a killer. She wasn’t going to become somebody’s weapon. She splashed cool water on her hot face, putting some on the back of her neck and letting it fall into her scalp. The soothing water cooled down her hot cheeks. She needed a moment to think. She needed a plan to get out.

“You said you’d have the money by tonight, Jiro,” she heard a man’s voice echo somewhere nearby. Standing upright, she turned off the sink to listen.

“I-I-I will,” Jiro said in a shaky voice. “The girl is just freaked out. You know women; they’re so sensitive when it comes to these things. Give her a few minutes and she’ll be back out there. You’ll have your money, Nikadio. I promise.”

“You better, if you know what is good for you.”

The voices outside brought her back and she knew what to do. She grabbed her backpack and dark green jacket from a nearby locker, made sure she had everything, and stood up to leave. She needed to go home. Her mother was there waiting for her. If she hurried, they could run away. She did know where they’d go, but they had to get away. If they stayed with Jiro any longer, they’d both end up dead. When Sakyia left the locker room, she made to move towards the exit doors before a hand grabbed her wrist.

“Where are you going?” Jiro gripped her arm hard, “You still have two more fights. We’re not done tonight. Those men are dangerous people. If they don’t get their money, they’ll come back to the house and hurt your mother.”

“Stop acting like you care about her so much! We both know you don’t,” she shot back, twisting herself out of his grasp and staring him down. “I’m done being your race horse. I’m not going to kill a kid because you promised a bunch of gangsters that you’d do it for them. Settle your debts on your own or get out of town before they toss you into the river.”

“You little, ungrateful bitch! After all I’ve done for you! This is how you repay me?!” She heard him storm after her, and reach for her again.

Sakyia balled up her fist tightly and punched his lower jaw. With a small jolt, Jiro dropped to the ground on his side. She was about to turn away before she spotted the rolled up bills hanging from his pocket. She did not waste any more time. She rifled through his pocket, took the money and his car keys and rushed down the hallway through the exit. She needed to get home.

****

“Ma, Ma! Ma, Pick up!”

Sakyia tapped her mother’s number on her phone once more. Her heart raced thinking of what she might find when she came home. Jiro might be an idiot, but he was right. If the gangsters see that they’re not getting their money tonight, they’ll send a message. What if the man in the suit called his friends to go over to her house? What if they’d taken her mother somewhere? Racing down the street, she nearly screamed from the adrenaline in her body. She had trouble keeping her eyes on the road while dialing and redialing her mother’s number. Every time she heard the ringtone over the speaker, a message came out:

“Hello! This is Tanaka Midori. I am not available right now, but if you leave your name and number, I will call you back-”

“-Why did you get a phone if you won’t answer it when I call you?!” she grunted and tossed her phone into the passenger’s seat.

She kept her eyes peeled on the road for any suspicious cars. Not that she’d be able to tell in the first place. Ending up on her street, she spotted a black car parked outside her house. A thousand horrible scenarios played through her mind as she stepped on the breaks outside. They’d already come. She was too late. She slammed her hands on the wheel angrily, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Quickly, she rushed out of the car, up the steps to their door, and fumbled the keys. She heard people talking on the other side, and she gulped thickly. Her entire body tensed in preparation for a fight. She tried steadying her breathing, but there didn’t seem to be a point anymore.

“Ma! Ma, I’m here!” she called out frantically into the hallway.

But, it was not screams she heard. Nobody had ransacked the house or left any sort of damage behind. She heard people in the living room chatting jovially and laughing. Confusion set in when she walked into the living room to see three people there. Her mother, Midori, sat wearing her silk dressing gown over pink pajamas; her black hair in curlers underneath a matching hair bonnet. On their loveseat sat two men: one older and one younger. The older gentleman wore a tweed gray suit and a gold watch; the younger had black hair cropped over his eyes and wore a dark navy jacket and pants. The elder was talking to her mother, who laughed at something he said. She’d set out her nicest tea set, and a small plate of treats.

Something she only brought out for “important” guests.

“Ma?”

The three people looked over to her. “Ah, there she is! You’re home early. I thought you’d be out much later,” her mother beamed, standing up to greet her. “Oh gosh, look at your face! And your nose!” she gasped and began examining her daughter’s face, “It was already kinda crooked. I hope this doesn’t make it worse. Where’s Jiro?”

“Ma, what’s happening?”

“Good things now,” her mother assured her. “These two gentlemen,” she gestured to the men on the sofa, “Came to see Jiro about the money he owes them.”

“But...What about…” the scene all together made her head hurt. She stared around at them in confusion, trying to make sense of everything. “Those men from today…”

“Don’t worry about them,” said the older gentleman, “Those were some punks we sent to intimidate Jiro. I told your mother we had no idea they would treat her like they did. We’re sorry if they gave you any cause to worry about your mother’s safety or wellbeing.”

She thought she might faint. When she swayed, her mother helped her into a chair. “I’ll go get the kit from upstairs,” her mother said, “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Who...Who are you two?” Sakiya’s questions came out in rapid fire. “Why are you in my house? Why are you here and not at the warehouse where Jiro is?”

“I am Kawata,” the elder man said, shaking hands with her and then sipping from his teacup. “I am a representative of the Ieruma-Kai group. This is Noboru, who is also part of our organization.” He put his cup down and said, “Your stepfather owes our clan a great sum of money. Your fighting tonight was supposed to cover a small part of it-”

“-Did that part involve murdering Yoshi?”

“You killed him?” Noboru looked at her with wide eyes, “You actually killed him?”

It hurt hearing someone say it that way. “I...I didn’t…” the tears suddenly returned, but she fought them away, “I yielded to the fight before anything serious could happen to him. He...He was coughing a lot. He had trouble breathing. I-I-I told him to go outside and get some air. He shouldn’t have been in that place like that. He’s only a kid.”

“Yes, his father mentioned he had asthma,” nodded Kawata. “All the sawdust and dirt must’ve not been easy on his lungs.”

“Why was he there?” Sakyia glared at them.

“Probably to pay off his father’s debts like you,” the man replied. “You know just as well as us how dangerous the fighting pits can be if you’re not careful.”

“He’s a kid. He couldn’t be older than fifteen or sixteen,” she replied.

“The father was too old to fight, and the boy seemed eager to prove himself,” Kawata reasoned. “From what Jiro tells us, you’d been younger than him when you were thrown into the ring.”

“Really?” Noboru asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Oh yes,” Kawata answered, “Sakyia here was-what?-thirteen? Fourteen-years-old?"

"Thirteen, sir."

Sakyia preferred not to think of those days. Like Yoshi, she'd gone into the ring scared and confused. Luckily, some of the older fighters took pity on her. They did not hit as hard, and some gave her tips or tricks she could use. Her father began her training, but when a car accident took his life, those people became her teachers. Jiro saw the potential in her, he claims, and exploited it for his own benefit. Sakyia could not count the number of times she'd fought to earn him money. Not for the family, but for him.

“Since you were thirteen?” Noboru asked. She recognized the pity in his voice, and did not need it. “But…you must’ve been so much smaller than your opponents.”

“Do not be fooled by her size,” Kawata said. “I’ve seen you fight, young lady. My boss calls you ‘the Little Viper’ with those fast jabs of yours.”

She snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard the name thrown around. Jiro said all the great fighters have nicknames,” she rolled her eyes and wiped the side of her mouth with her sleeve. It’d stopped bleeding thankfully. “I always thought it was a silly name.”

“A silly name that gained you a lot of recognition in those warehouses.”

“Oh, I hate that place,” Midori reappeared with the medical kit. She set it on the coffee table, and grabbed disinfectant, “You always come home with these nasty bruises and you’re limping all over the place. It’s not right. I told Jiro over and over that if he wanted to pay off his debts, he should settle it on his own.” Sakyia winced when the small wet cloth touched her cut nose, but her mother kept her still. “I didn’t care if he hit me or not. I didn’t want him throwing you into the fire.”

“And we completely understand,” Kawata said to her. “Sakyia is a very pretty, charming, young woman. She should be out with her friends and going to college.”

“Exactly my point!” Midori agreed. She wiped the dried blood from Sakyia’s face, then continued, “I worried it’d end like this. I worried one day he’d drive you to do something reckless or dangerous that would get someone killed.”

“There was a man there,” Sakyia said to Kawata. “He was wearing a black suit. He had short black hair slicked back from his face. I overheard him talking to Jiro about the fight.”

Kawata thought, then said, “Ah yes, that must’ve been Nikaido. He works with us too. He was there to collect your earnings tonight.” He paused, “Did you run into him?”

“No, I saw him, but we never spoke. So, you’re telling me you didn’t mean for Yoshi to die? That it wasn’t some elaborate way of sending a message or something?”

They both chuckled softly, then Kawata said, “Of course not. If we want to kill someone, we do it ourselves. Whatever happens to Yoshi after tonight is a result of the fighting ring, not us.”

She looked up at her mother. Her headache from all the confusion pulsed in her temples, and she didn’t know what to say. “I...Mama...I’m…”

“I think it’s about time you gentlemen were off,” Midori said to the two men. “My daughter needs rest and I believe our formal business is done.”

Kawata bowed his head, “Yes, ma’am.”

They stood up together and they each thanked her for her hospitality. Kawata told her someone from Ieruma would stop by the salon to check it out, and she led them out. Once they were gone, she returned to Sakyia on the chair. Looking up at her mother, who smiled warmly at her, she sobbed. The tears she’d tried withholding came forth in hard trembles. She leaned forward, her head in her hands as she cried. Her mother gave her a tender pat on the back and stroked her head.

“It’s alright, Blossom,” she said softly, sitting her up and stroking her hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing has happened; I’m sure the boy will be alright.”

“I couldn’t do it, Mama. I couldn’t finish the fight,” she took a deep breath, “I thought something awful was going to happen to you.” She blinked the tears from her eyes, until she wiped them with her sleeves. “The Ieruma men weren’t going to get their money, so I thought they’d come and hurt you. Jiro’s problems have always become our problems, and I’m sick of it. I didn’t care when it was him and me, but the fact that you were going to be dragged into it…”

She sighed sadly, and continued cleaning up Sakyia’s wounds. Smoothing over the cut on her nose, she said, “I hate that it’s become like this. The child protects the parent when it should be the other way around.” She must’ve decided stitches weren’t needed, and began disinfecting the wounds to bandage them, “Jiro is too cowardly to face his own troubles,” she said, “So he threw you in front of them. I should have left him. I should have not let him do what he did, but I...I was weak, Sakyia. I’d just lost your father and we didn’t have the salon yet. We would’ve been homeless if Jiro had not come along. I’d hoped he’d be a proper father figure to you, but I was wrong.” She placed the last plaster on the bridge of her nose and said, “It’s my fault you were there in the first place. I should have fought him harder; I shouldn’t have been so weak. I’m so sorry, Blossom. I’m sorry that I am not your-”

“-Mama,” she took her mother’s shaking hands and squeezed them gently, “Jiro would have done it whether you fought back or not. I don’t...I don’t blame you,” she sniffed back her tears. “I’m so confused,” she admitted, “Everything is happening so fast and I can’t-c-can’t keep up with it.”

“Then don’t say anything else,” she comforted, “You can just listen.” When Sakyia rested her head on her mother’s lap on the couch, Midori began: “When those three punks came up to me today, I knew Jiro was in a bad situation with bad people. I wasn’t surprised, to be honest, since Jiro only ever dealt with shady types. Yet, I noticed one of them was wearing this little golden pin on his jacket. It had a triangle with dragons around it, and I recognized the symbol. The young man who brings Yori- you remember Mrs. Ieurma, right? She’s the lady who used to give you candy when you were little?”

“I remember her.”

“Well, her chauffeur also has that little pin. When I saw her at the salon today, I told her what happened and she was shocked! She said she couldn’t believe her husband would send men to harass a lady, especially a dear friend of hers. If my husband owed money, she said, they should be harassing him. She told me she’d be speaking with him personally about it.”

“That was nice of her to do,” Sakyia said.

“Oh, Yori’s one of my oldest clients. I adore her!” she caught herself before a tangent, and said, “Anyways, she got me in touch with her husband and we talked about it at the salon.”

“You spoke to Tatsumi in person? Isn’t he, like, the boss?”

“Over the phone, yes,” she said, “He explained the entire situation to me. He said it was all business and he didn’t mean to involve us, but that Jiro did owe them a considerable amount.”

“He must know how fond Yori is of you,” Sakyia added, “To change his character so easily.”

“To be honest, it was probably because he knows Jiro wouldn’t care if either of us died,” she shrugged. “I hate to say it so harshly, but family is only a good leverage if the person you're threatening actually cares about them.”

She supposed that made sense. Her mother continued her story, “As I was saying, I spoke with Tatsumi and asked how much Jiro owed him. When I realized how much it was, I knew your earnings alone wouldn’t cover the amount. That’s why Kawata and Noboru came to visit. They came to discuss payment. I give them ownership of the salon; they cut Jiro’s debts in half and only deal with him from now on.”

“Ownership of the salon?!” Sakyia bolted upwards in her seat and looked at her mother in disbelief, “You sold the salon? Ma, that salon is your entire life! You spent years working towards it! It means everything to you, it’s your work! Your life! You can’t just-”

“-I can and I did,” she hushed her daughter gently. “The salon might have been my work, but it was not my life and does not mean everything to me.” She cupped Sakyia’s swollen cheek and looked her in the eyes, “You are, Blossom. If selling the salon meant you did not have to fight anymore, then it was worth it to me. I can rebuild a salon, but I can’t rebuild a daughter.” She gently kissed Sakyia’s forehead and hugged her close. “Tatsumi agreed to the deal and Kawata came to finalize the papers.”

“What are you going to do for work, Ma?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “We can’t afford to stay here, so we’ll have to move somewhere else. But, we’ll talk about that tomorrow.” She gazed over her daughter’s face, taking in each feature and comparing them to her father. Sakyia looked like him in certain lights. “This can be a new start for the both of us; you and me,” her eyes glazed over with tears, “The way it should have been the whole time.”

“Ah, Ma…”

Midori kissed her head again, then made her eat. Sakyia didn't realize how much everything hurt until she relaxed. She swore she felt her entire body throbbing all at once everywhere. She winced when she finally stood up, feeling the fight in her muscles. She made her way upstairs, where her mother prepared a hot bath, and she sunk into it slowly. As the soothing water worked on her sore muscles, she knew one thing for certain: her mother would be safe now. Midori wouldn’t have to worry about Sakyia being injured or Jiro’s furious hits. She could focus on more important things. Sakyia considered what she might do now that she had no warehouse fights. Thinking of the future felt better than remembering the boy she’d fought tonight. Her mother would tell her to go to university, but she felt too old for that now.

Maybe she’ll know when she finally gets to wherever they’re going.

****

Their landlord gave them a month to leave the house. Midori told her that Sakyia’s aunt, Hana, had an extra room above her shop where they could stay until they got back on their feet. Sakyia remembered her aunt, a round-faced woman with coarse black hair, and felt thankful to be moving in with someone familiar. Hana joked that now they’d have someone to protect them if a robber came into the apartment.

However, remembering the shabby apartment, she doubted there’d be any burglars to worry about. Her aunt lived in a town called Sannoh which was outside their district. Her mother had grown up here, she knew. It was a small place with local businesses and friendly neighbors. As they drove through, she saw the kids playing in the street, the vendors haggling with customers at their shops, and people walking or bike riding. It seemed like such a simple place. It looked quiet and peaceful.

“Is there no post office?” Sakyia asked as they drove down the street. “I’m sure people can mail things to each other.”

“It’s an inner-district delivery service,” her mother answered. “Sometimes people need things delivered quickly and the post office doesn’t always work that way.”

“Like what?”

She hesitated, as they turned a corner, “Just things, Blossom. Nothing you need to worry about. You’ll be helping me in the salon, remember?”

“What salon?”

“Hana says our friend Sungmi is going back to Korea,” she said, “And is selling her salon.”

“Ma, you don’t have money to buy a salon. We don’t even have our own place to live yet.”

“Hey, who is the parent here, huh?” Midori laughed. “You worry about things too much, Sakyia. I’ve known Sungmi since we were in beauty school, and she said she’ll keep ownership until I’m able to pay to buy her out.” She squeezed Sakyia’s leg, “Don’t you worry, little blossom. Mama’s got this all taken care of. You and I are gonna get through this together, okay?”

Sakyia smiled. She’d spent most of her time relaxing her worn out body. It felt weird not doing anything besides training in their garage. Looking at the sketch book in her lap, she’d gone back to art like she’d done as a kid. On the page, she’d drawn a stocky man punching a large punching bag. He had a straight jawline like hers; his broad build was all muscle. She added a few strays in his black hair, and added shade to his wrapped hands. Her mind often drifted to her father in times like these, when the world felt so uncertain. She traced out the shadows of his crooked nose, which had been narrow before being broken in several fights. He’d been the strong one out of the three of them.

Then the accident happened. The weight then fell on her shoulders, because Jiro weakened her mother so significantly.

“We’re here now.”

She looked out the window to see a small storefront on the side of the road. On a faded sign above the windows, someone painted the words: “Kimura Delivery Service: Stamped, Sealed, Delivered.”

“Stamped?”

Midori chuckled, “That was from when it first opened. Your grandfather used to have this little stamp to verify packages. Now, your aunt prints a label. But, the sign meant a lot to your grandfather, so she promised she’d never change it.” Then she added, “Also, new signs cost a fortune.”

Sakyia was sure the business did not have money for anything new. Through the wide windows, she saw her aunt already standing at a counter beside a register. A young man in a red jacket stood scribbling down on a piece of paper in front of her, both chatting. She also noticed the ‘Help Wanted” sign in the corner of the window. How much business could this place be getting that she needed more help? Sakyia and her mother then stepped out of the car. Their appearance made Hana look out the window, and she smiled widely and waved. The young man noticed her waving and turned around. He was short, maybe two or three inches taller than her, with blond hair he kept parted to the side. He looked at Sakyia curiously, most likely trying to remember if he recognized her. Sakyia knew she’d never seen him before.

“Midori!” Hana cheered as they walked into the store. She moved around the counter and the sisters hugged tightly. “I thought you’d be coming in the afternoon! I would’ve closed up the office early!”

“Sakyia stayed up to pack the rest of our things,” she told her as they released each other. “And the movers put our furniture into storage yesterday.”

“We didn’t have much to begin with,” said Sakyia, shouldering her backpack. “Hello, Auntie.”

“Ah! There she is!” Hana embraced her, “My favorite niece! Oh, look how big you’ve gotten!” She moved away to take a look at Sakyia, “Good lord, girl, you’re so skinny. What has your mother been feeding you? Grass?”

Sakyia did not have the heart to tell her about the strict diet Jiro kept her on before his ‘disappearance’. She’d thought she might gain some from stuffing her face the past few weeks, but nothing goes past her Auntie Hana. She noticed the man behind them leaning against the counter, looking at them with interest. Sakyia could not get a read on him, and that bothered her.

“I tell her all that training burns off anything she eats,” her mother lied immediately, “But now that you’re here, I’m sure she’s going to be eating tons.”

“Of course!” Hana exclaimed, “A few days here, and you’ll be all rounded out.”

The young man coughed into his fist for her attention, and Hana whipped around. “Oh gosh, Junpei,” she said, coming back to the counter, “Forgive me. You finished the label?”

“It’s alright, Ms. Kimura,” he replied, “I already sealed it there for you.”

“Excellent,” she said, smoothing out the printed label he’d signed. “Ah, Junpei, this is my sister, Midori, and her daughter, Sakyia. They’re moving into the apartment upstairs. Midori, Sakyia, this is Junpei. He’s one of my more frequent customers.” She took his payment from the counter, entered it, and gave him change.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, bowing his head to them both. “Welcome to Sannoh.“

Despite his baby face, Sakyia recognized his kind right away. The gangster types who frequented the warehouses and clubs around the bayside of the city carried the same similar shadiness about them. Sakyia saw them all the time growing up: they’d be the ones placing bets, taking bets, and on the sidelines with their fighters or participating in the fights. She wondered if he’d ever gone there. The bay district might be too far for him. She stepped closer to her mother.

“You must need a lot of packages delivered quickly to be considered a regular here,” Sakyia said curiously.

“A lot of people in Sannoh use your aunt’s business,” he replied innocently. “Not everyone is able to go outside town to get packages delivered and going through post offices takes longer.”

“I can’t promise it’ll get to your friend by tomorrow,” Hana cut in. “I haven’t found a courier since Koichi quit.”

“That’s fine,” Junpei told her. “I just need it there as soon as possible."

"I understand," Hana nodded. She struggled to put the parcel on the tall stack of boxes until Junpei came and helped her. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I’m going to be buried in these boxes at this rate.”

“I can always have one of the gang come help you,” he said. “Chiharu and Dan would be glad to help.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she smiled. “Tell them I’ll pay them well for it. If they don’t get lost, that is.”

“Dan only got lost once,” Junpei defended gently.

“Twice.”

“Alright, yes, twice. I’ll let them know and send them here.”

“Such a sweet boy,” she patted his cheek tenderly. “You take care of yourself now, and wear a helmet when you ride that thing,” she nodded to the motorcycle outside. “You could get in an accident and crack your head open.”

Junpei nodded, “I will, Ms. Kimura.” He turned over to Midori and Sakyia, and nodded again, “It was nice meeting you both.” He looked right at Sakyia as he said, “I’ll see you around.”

He reminded her of those dreamy characters in manga. The tsundere characters with kind hearts who sport leather jackets and ride motorcycles. They pretend not to care, but they care very deeply. She admitted he was handsome. Even a blind person would think he was handsome. But, something about him kept her distance, but then again, she kept everyone at a distance.

Except her mother.

Sakyia looked back to her aunt and her mother, who’d begun catching up while her aunt shut down the store for the day. She decided she’d make her way up to the apartment and begin unpacking her things. Junpei came to mind. If he was what she thought he was, then Sannoh might be more dangerous than it seemed. Sakyia remembered the gangs who’d come strutting into the warehouse; Jiro usually owed them money, so she’d become good at spotting them. They either wore flashy clothes, business suits or leather jackets. Junpei was clearly the ‘leather jacket’ kind.

She’d need to keep an eye out for him.

#high and low #high & low #high&low #high&low the story of sword #hino junpei #rocky mutsugi #murayama yoshiki #hyuga norihisa #cobra x reader #rocky x reader #murayama x reader #hyuga x reader #smokey x reader #smokey

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haggishlyhagging · 8 months

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The Circular Flow diagram depicted labour appearing—hey presto!—fresh and ready for work each day at the office or factory door. So who cooked, cleaned up, and cleared away to make that possible? When Adam Smith, extolling the power of the market, noted that it is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, he forgot to mention the benevolence of his mother, Margaret Douglas, who had raised her boy alone from birth. Smith never married, so had no wife to rely upon (nor children of his own to raise). At the age of 43, as he began to write his opus, The Wealth of Nations, he moved back in with his cherished old mum, from whom he could expect his dinner every day. But her role in it all never got a mention in his economic theory, and it subsequently remained invisible for centuries.

As a result, mainstream economic theory is obsessed with the productivity of waged labour while skipping right over the unpaid work that makes it all possible, as feminist economists have made clear for decades. That work is known by many names: unpaid caring work, the reproductive economy, the love economy, the second economy. However, as economist Neva Goodwin has pointed out, far from being secondary, it is actually the ‘core economy,’ and it comes first every day, sustaining the essentials of family and social life with the universal human resources of time, knowledge, skill, care, empathy, teaching and reciprocity. And if you have never really thought of it before, then it's time you met your inner housewife (because we all have one). She lives in the daily dealings of making breakfast, washing the dishes, tidying the house, shopping for groceries, teaching the children to walk and to share, washing clothes, caring for elderly parents, emptying the rubbish bins, collecting kids from school, helping the neighbours, making the dinner, sweeping the floor and lending an ear. She carries out all those tasks—some with open arms, others through gritted teeth—that underpin personal and family well-being and sustain social life.

We all have a hand in this core economy, but some people (like Adam Smiths mum) spend far more time in it than others. Time may be a universal human resource, but it varies hugely in terms of how we each get to experience and use it, how far we control it, and how it is valued. In sub-Saharan Africa and South Asia, time spent in the core economy is particularly visible because, when the state fails to deliver and the market is out of reach, householders have to make provision for many more of their needs directly. Millions of women and girls spend hours walking miles each day, carrying their body weight in water, food or firewood on their heads, often with a baby strapped to their back—and all for no pay. But this gendered division of paid and unpaid work is prevalent in every society, albeit sometimes less visibly so. And since work in the core economy is unpaid, it is routinely undervalued and exploited, generating lifelong inequalities in social standing, job opportunities, income and power between women and men.

By largely ignoring the core economy, mainstream economics has also overlooked just how much the paid economy depends upon it. Without all that cooking, washing, nursing and sweeping, there would be no workers—today or in the future—who were healthy, well-fed and ready for work each morning. As the futurist Alvin Toffler liked to ask at smart gatherings of business executives, ‘How productive would your workforce be if it hadn't been toilet trained?’ The scale of the core economy's contribution is not to be dismissed lightly, either. In a 2002 study of Basle, a wealthy Swiss city, the estimated value of unpaid care being provided in the city's households exceeded the total cost of salaries paid in all of Basle's hospitals, day care centers and schools, from the directors to the janitors. Likewise, a 2014 survey of 15,000 mothers in the United States calculated that, if women were paid the going hourly rate for each of their roles—switching between housekeeper and daycare teacher to van driver and cleaner—then stay-at-home mums would earn around $120,000 each year. Even mothers who do head out to work each day would earn an extra $70,000 on top of the actual wages, given all the unpaid care they also provide at home.

Why does it matter that this core economy should be visible in economics? Because the household provision of care is essential for human well-being, and producivity in the paid economy depends directly upon it. It matters because when—in the name of austerty and public sector savings—governments cut budgets for children's daycare centres, community services, parental leave and youth clubs, the need for care-giving doesn't disappear: it just gets pushed back into the home. The pressure, particularly on women's time, can force them out of work and increase social stress and vulnerability. That undermines both well-being and women's empowerment, with multiple knock-on effects for society and the economy alike. In short, including the household economy in the new diagram of the macroeconomy is the first step in recognising its centrality, and in reducing and redistributing women's unpaid work.

-Kate Raworth, Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st Century Economist

#kate raworth #economic theory #unpaid labor

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job-circular-app · 9 months

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Mainamoti Medical College and Hospital Job Circular

Mainamoti Medical College and Hospital Job Circular Barpara, Comilla E-mail: [email protected] Recruitment Notification Post Name: principal Professor, Associate Professor Assistant Professor Within 15 (fifteen) days of publication of the notification along with 02 (two) copies of passport size photograph along with complete CV and required documents viz: SSC, HSC, MBBS…

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#Hospital Job Circular #Mainamoti Medical College and Hospital Job Circular #Medical Job Circular

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bts-hyperfixation · 11 months

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Outside of the fox

Chapter 16

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she'd been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

If you'd thought the table had been a tight squeeze yesterday, this was almost unbearable. The addition of Jin's broad shoulders around the circular table made it feel like the equivalent of the underground at rush hour. Jin had initially offered to sit at the breakfast bar but Namjoon would hear none of it, insisting on everyone crowding around.

A lot of mumbled apologies flew around the table as everyone reached around to pile their plates high with food. It's a little easier when everyone settles down. Everyone has more than enough food on their plates with the serving dishes still being half full. It seemed like you all might be eating leftovers for a few days.

You accidentally elbow Tae as you lift your fork to your lips. He sighs dramatically as some sauce escapes his spoon dropping onto his slacks.

"Remind me to buy you guys a new table as a courting gift." He grumbles, dabbing at his new stain

"I think it's cosy." Jimin shrugs, cuddling against Taehyung from the other side to you.

The panda snuggled back abandoning his attempt to salvage his trousers.

"You're courting the pack? That's lovely. I don't think I ever asked. How long have you all been together." Jin asks.

"We aren't all together." You answer a little too fast.

Jin looks down at his food awkwardly, clearly thinking he said the wrong thing.

"What she means is we have found ourselves in a very interesting situation." Namjoon supplies. "While our official pack is myself, Yoongi, Jimin, and Jungkook - we have been courting Y/N over the course of the last couple of months. And Hoseok has been dating Yoongi for a few weeks now. And Taehyung..."

"And Taehyung is a completely mad stranger that we are apparently indulging." Yoongi fills in.

"I see you are warming up to me." Taehyung flashes his best smile at the predator.

"What he means to say is Tae is a colleague of Y/N's that we invited to join us for the holidays." Jimin corrects.

"Well, that's great. It must be nice to be so connected to so many people." If Jin finds the situation odd he does a good job of hiding it.

The dinner continues with idle small talk. You all learn a little more about Jin and his background. He is a quokka hybrid, common in the medical field because of their jovial attitude. It explains why his smile so easily puts Jungkook at ease. He moved to the area a few years ago, but work keeps him that busy he hasn't had time to create a social circle outside a couple of other doctors at the hospital.

Far too full for dessert, everyone abandons the table as soon as the main course is finished. Seokjin and Taehyung insist on washing up while Hobi wraps up leftovers leaving you and the others to adjourn to the garden.

The boys had cleaned off the garden furniture especially for tonight, laying blankets out across them for when it got bitingly cold later on.

"I never want to eat again." Jimin groans dramatically, flopping into your lap.

You push his fringe away from his forehead, the exertion of eating too much making his hair stick down in a funny way. He leans up into your touch and you let your hand stay there, playing absently with the copper strands.

"When they've finished tidying up perhaps we should go for a walk?" Namjoon suggests. " We still have a long time before the sun sets low enough to start the bonfire."

There are mumbles of agreement before a comfortable silence overcomes the group, too full to continue making conversation.

You don't really notice as the others join you, slotting silently into spots that had clearly been waiting for them.

Yoongi's arm falls naturally around Hobi's waist as he leans into him. You feed Taehyung some of the blanket that was wrapped around your shoulders as he settles in next to you. Jungkook sits up a little straighter and offers Jin a pillow from the collection he had built himself.

All too uncomfortable to move, you wait until some space reopens in your stomachs' before moving on to your next planned activity.

_____________

It's early evening before Yoongi finally groans back to life bringing you all with him. The sun is still peaking out over the horizon but it won't be long until you can get to the main event. For now though, it seems everyone is still rather looking forward to their walk.

You partner up somewhat accidentally but it makes sense. Namjoon insists on picking Jin's brain, the two have a lot in common it would seem. Taehyung attaches himself to Yoongi, determined to win over the stubborn jackal. Hoseok falls into step with Jungkook, the younger having relented to an uneasy alliance with the man after figuring out he gave the best ear scratches.

That left you with Jimin. You trailed behind the rest of the group, watching as they all talked excitedly about a variety of topics you couldn't quite make out. Occasionally your fingers would graze against Jimin's as you walked together but neither of you acknowledged it.

"Are you having a good time?" He asked, staring at the ground.

"I really am." You answer. "It's nice to see all of the little traditions you guys have built together."

"I hope we can make more traditions with you." He says.

This time as his pinky grazes against yours he takes your hand, and you let him.

He holds on tightly, like a kid with a balloon threatening to fly away.

In the meantime it seems you have fallen behind, the others a spot in the distance. Still close enough to catch up to if you tried but you aren't sure you want to.

"What are you going to wish for tonight?" You ask.

"I'm not sure, I've got almost everything I could ever want. How about you?"

"If I tell you it won't come true will it?" You tease.

"That's not fair! You can't ask me and then not give me an answer when I turn it back on you." He pouts.

"But you didn't answer me properly anyway!" You point out.

"Fine, there is one thing I might wish for..."

"I'm listening."

"A kiss." He states.

"A kiss? You've got three men who will happily kiss you whenever you ask, plus Taehyung if you wanted I'm sure."

"I want a kiss from you.

"Jimin..."

"I know... and I'm happy to keep waiting a little longer. So tell me what's your wish?" He says changing the topic.

"What if my wish is that everyone else's wishes come true?"

"Then you might be kissing more than just me tonight." he laughs as if it's a joke but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm not sure what I'm ready for Jimin, but I think I can manage a kiss."

His eyebrows crease together as if his brain is trying to catch up with his ears. You imagine if he thought any harder smoke might have started escaping from his nose. You watch as he processes his way through it's evident when the lightbulb appears above his head, eyes going wide with excitement.

"You mean it?" He asks trying to tamper his excitement.

"I do." You confirm.

He stops dead in his tracks, your entwined hands bringing you back to him. He glances over your shoulder to make sure the others haven't noticed.

"Can I kiss you now? I want to kiss you for the first time when we are alone and I'm not sure we are going to get another chance in the next few days"

"But you haven't made the wish yet."

"Then I'll wish for a second kiss, or a third, or a fourth... Or maybe for Taehyung..."

You slap his arm playfully but he just slips his free arm around you and pulls you into him. Your entwined hands fall apart and he encircles you fully.

"Is that a no?" He asks eyes lidded, lips a mere inch from your own.

"It's not a no."

He presses his lips against yours gently to begin with, testing the waters until you respond, applying more pressure to the kiss. He tilts his head to the side and his lips part slightly, you mirror his actions. It doesn't go much further than that. A shout from ahead brings you too away from one another.

"Are you guys coming?" Hobi yells.

"Yeah, one second!" Jimin screams back, stepping away from you.

His hand finds yours again and he pulls you to catch up with the others. You try to focus on the rest of the walk, but you find your eyes keep wandering back to Jimin's lips and the pillowy feel of them against your own.

____________________

Masterlist

____________________

Notes:

The other bottle inscriptions on the perfume if anyone wanted to know are:

MC: to my favourite fox

Yoongi: to the fierce protector I wish to put at ease.

Jungkook: to the bunny I want to show the world

Jimin: To the panda I already might love

Hoseok: To the human I want to ruin in the best ways

Namjoon: to the leader I wish to spoil

Sorry I was MIA again, I went to Disneyland 🤷🏼♀️.

Also this chapter was not at all planned, but here you have it 🙃 I promise next time will be the bonfire that was supposed to happen three chapters ago and then we will move on from solstice. Next time should be next week but ive been working myself up about this chapter so much now that it's going to be very convoluted so it might be the week after.

#bts fic #bts smut #bts hybrids #hybrid bts #kpop fic #kpop smut #BTS poly #bts polyamory #jungkook smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #hoseok smut #namjoon smut #jin smut #yoongi smut

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thewritingkoalla · 2 years

Text

Nurse

Summary: A huge piece of glass falls on Morpheus as his glass cage is being constructed, Burgess can't risk loosing his prisioner as his wishes weren't fullfiled yet, so a nurse is hired.

Warnings: Blood, mild nudity, nothing too explicity

Relationship: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character, Gen

Words: 1714

Notes: Hello! I recently finished the series and I loved it! Had this idea a few days ago and decided to write... forgive me for grammar mistakes as english is not my first language. Enjoy your reading :)

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She didn't want to be there, but she had no choice, her mother and brother were sick, her father dead, she needed the money for treatments, the amount she gets by working only as a nurse wasn't enough, not as her loved ones were caught by the sleep sickness.

"Here, lady." the driver announced, another man who stood by the front door of the mansion approached, approached and opened the car's door, offered a hand which she took in a heartbeat, her large purse firmly held by her opposite hand as the man helped her to get out of the car. The driver quickly got out of the car, going directly to the entrance, holding the door open for them.

"Do you have the tools that will be needed?"

"Yes, Jacob." a slight lift on her purse, he accompanied her.

"The boss needs you in the basement, don't ask any questions, just do what you were hired for."

A nod, "Isabela told me it already." Isabela, her best friend who knew about her situation, who worked as a nurse at the same hospital, her friend who refused the job and indicated her.

"May I ask, her she ate today? She was naused at the morning." he asked as they walked in the manor.

"Yes, she did." she answered, her best friend's husband worked for Burgess, Jacob was obviously relieved at Isabela's absence,

The inside was well decorated, a few men walking from one side to another carrying tools as maids cleaned the floor. As they were in front of the basement's entrance, two men unlocked and opened the door for them. They had to go down a small set of stairs, getting on the metal doors right after.

"Open it." an old man's voice, and the metal doors started to open by the inside.

"Do not make questions." Jacob whispered. They shared a quick glance seconds before the old man was revealed, behind him a strange well illuminated half circular glass structure.

"It seems to be a deep cut, stitch it quick, clean the blood, then leave. Do not touch the paint on the floor."

"Yes, sir." she said, kept her chin high as the old man walked away, and then she was able to see it, her job, a naked pale man on the glass structure, bleeding from a cut at the side of his abdomen right under the ribs.

She swallowed, took a step in, she could feel Jacob's eyes on her, but her gaze couldn't leave the bleeding man, his dark hair in contrast to the porcelain white skin on his body, she approached to the glass, a circle painted around it which she couldn't touch, the man had his face hidden on his bent arm. The nurse followed Jacob, who showed her the side of the circle which hadn't been close yet.

"Be careful with the paint." Jacob warned as he helped her to get in the structure.

She knelt in a blood pool, so much blood that even using a heavy dress she felt the could liquid touching her skin, her purse was placed on her opposite side, she took a clean towel from it, placed the fabric on the wound, then took the small case where her tools were, opened it and took the thread, removed the already bloody towel.

"I am not suited to this," she whispered to Jacob, "It is too deep, he is bleeding to much, the wound might have caught an arteria, he needs a surgeon."

"There is no surgeon available, it is you and only you." his eyes on the man guarding the door, "You are the only one who can save him, now do your job."

"For how long has he been like this?" she asked while taking gauze from her purse and medical cleaning liquid, the dark haired man's skin was almost dead cold

"I don't know, and stop making questions." his eyes back to her.

She had been in surgeries before, assisting the doctor responsible, still not the proper way to be suited, but still better than nothing. The nurse took a deep breath, carefully, she started the procedure, the pale man stayed still all the time, no sounds, barely seemed to be breathing, was he actually unconscious or too weak?

"I need more towels, dry, and warmed wet towels." she told Jacob, her voice loud enough for the guard to be able to hear.

"How many?" he asked, glancing at the guard.

Her eyes went to the pool of blood, "For now bring me 5 dry towels and 10 warmed."

Jacob nodded, took a step then jerked his head to the guard, who followed him out and left the door open. The nurse looked ahead, not a specific place, she just stared ahead, trying to distract herself from the situation, from the dying man which his body touched her knees, she thought about her mother and brother, sleeping unable to wake up, she wondered if they dreamed, if they even shared a dream, what kind of dream they had, if a proper dream was even possible given the fact the sleep was caused by a sickness and not a regular sleep.

A faint groan.

"Have you woke up?" she asked without thinking, her hand placed on his forearm, and the wound was back to bleed, right in time Jacob walked in.

"The maid is preparing the warm towels." he said while stepping towards her, then handed her the towels.

"I will need more dry towels." She took one and placed it on the wound.

"Why?"

"He is getting worse." she observed Jacob walking out of the room fast.

She checked the stiches, she remembered clearly that the internal ones were well made, and internal bleeding, the external ones were also intact, yet blood still came out, as if it was an open wound, she pressed gauzes and towels, no effect.

A deep breath as she cleaned her hands, her hand touched his neck, his soft skin cold, but the blood flowed, normally, her hands gently touched his face, his eyes close, pale lips, no beard, no body hair besides regular hair and eyebrows, actually.

Her fingers touched his forehead, cold as the rest of his body, slow breathing, was he sleeping? Sick as his mother and brother? Was he trapped in his own head as them? Her thumb caressed his cheek, something strange and familiar, a strange feeling, she felt as if she knew him somehow, from somewhere, but couldn't be sure.

Her attention back to his wound, one of her hands pressing it, the fear, the sadness, the familiarity, something on him made her feel as if he was a known person, a person she had known her whole life, a long-time acquaintance she has never seen.

Her heart beating fast, she caressed the man's face and scalp, what if he died? She couldn't stop the bleeding, couldn't save him, "You need to resist." her voice low, she knows him, she knows him from somewhere. somehow, "You need to live." his silky dark hair around her fingers as she caressed him, her face approaching to his. she whispered, "You need to get out of here." the bleeding stopped, her attention back to the wound, no more blood spitting out of it... But why did she say such words?

Steps were heard, Jacob was back with more towels, "The maid is almost done," he handed her the fabric, "What is wrong?" he asked, noticing her teary eyes.

"I was thinking about my mother, and my brother. They have the sleep sickness," another deep breath, she wouldn't cry right here, right now.

"I am sorry." his gaze going vacant for a second, "I didn't know it."

She shook her head, cleaned the blood that spilled in her arm, "I asked Isabela to not tell anyone." She cleaned the blood from the glass, the blood on the man's pale body, he was skin, a thin layer of muscle, and bones, at least the warmth seemed to slowly come back to him as she cleaned him.

The warm towels were brought, handed to her, and soon she used them to remove any residual blood from his skin, and make the glass clean. The used towels were placed in a bucket which soon was taken by Jacob, then her things were cleaned and placed back on her purse.

A last check on the man before leaving, both of her eyebrows raised at the sight of the closed completely healed wound, she touched it, the stitches she just made were transferred to her finger in a thin dust.

"Are you done?" Jacob asked, getting her attention.

A nod, "Yes."

He helped her to leave the structure, her purse being held in a tight grip as she carefully stepped away from the paint, a last look was given to the unconscious man in the cage glass before the guard closed the door. At upstairs, the old man waited for her.

"Your payment." he handed her an envelope, "There is an extra to keep your mouth shut." he walked away.

The nurse walked out of the manor, Jacob at her side, "My father also has the disease." he said as they approached the car, "It has been two weeks already." He opened the door for her, "I know how it feels like." he said as she took a seat.

"See you tomorrow, Jacob."

He gave her a head gesture, the driver turned on the car, driving the way home. There her cousin sat in the living room, tears in her eyes, her arms wrapped around the nurse as soon as she was close enough.

"What happened?" She dropped her purse on the couch.

"Your brother, he didn't make it." her voice trembling.

The nurse's eyes were vacant, slowly she stepped to her room, changed clothes, then went to the bathroom and cleaned herself, stepped to her mother's room, sat on the chair at the side of the bed which her mother slept, tomorrow she would be hospitalized.

"Mother," a sob, her finger wrapping around her mother's hand, "Edward is in heaven right now." she said between tears, "Please wake up," her breathing irregular, her cousin watched from the door, crying as well, "Please, stay with me."

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #dream x fem!reader #dream x reader

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beautifullydisconnected · 10 months

Text

Love Letters

Joshua Hong x Reader

Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 1562

TW: None

Honestly I haven’t written in a hot minute. Let me know what you think.

He was the first boy you ever loved. You don’t know when it happened or when it happened but you were in love with him. Joshua had been your friend since birth. Your moms had met in the hospital during a regular check up and ended up giving birth a few days apart. After that the two of you did everything together. From extra circulars in school to volunteering at the same old folks home in high school. You had followed each other everywhere, that is until now. Here you are at his going away party.

You knew Joshua was always meant for greater things, then what the world around him had to offer, he was going to Korea to pursue his dream, and you were so excited for him. You had known for a while that he was planning on leaving, but that didn’t make being here any easier. You removed yourself from the crowds, and sat by the pool, dangling your feet in the water, trying to process all of your emotions. You were so lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t even hear when someone came and sat down beside you.

“Penny for your thoughts,” his voice startling you out of your trance.

“You scared the crap out of me,” you gasped clutching your chest.

“Sorry. What’s got you so lost in thought?” His eyes focused on the water in front of you.

“Just thinking about how much is changing, and I’m not sure I like it.” You look at Joshua, his head turning to you. His eyes have always been your favourite feature of his. They have always felt like home to you. You break the stare and move your focus back to the party beyond the edge of the pool. “We should probably get back to your party,” you get up, holding your hand out to him, and he takes it. Pulling him up, he keeps his hand locked in yours swinging it back and forth as you walk to the party. You stay by his side the rest of the night trying to take in as much of him as you can before he leaves.

*Five Years Later*

*You’ve reached Cynthia leave a message after the beep*

“Hi Cynthia, I am on my way to the office. Sorry for running late, there was a huge accident on the highway. I’m five minutes out.” You hang up your phone and take a few more turns before pulling into the parking lot. You grab your bags, and the coffee order your boss had you pick up.

Just as you round the corner you bump into someone, spilling coffee all over yourself, the floor and the person you just ran into.

“Shit. So sorry,” You’re trying to fix yourself, and quickly put down the coffee and try to grab whatever napkins you can find in your bag. Just as you go to hand a napkin to the person a sense of familiarity washes over you. You look up and meet the eyes of the man who used to feel like home standing in front of you. “Joshua,” you whisper.

The last time you had seen Joshua was five years ago in the airport before he left. You had kept in touch for a while but between the time differences and both of your hectic schedules talking became less unless until it turned to happy birthdays, and then eventually radio silence. You never thought you would lose touch with Joshua, but you knew he had a new life and you were no longer apart of it. There had been times where you had wanted to reach out and tell him the exciting news about getting into your dream program, or the internship you had talked about throughout high school. No matter how many months or years passed he was still the one you wanted to share your good news with, but instead you settled for writing letters you’d never send. Like when you got your job at the magazine you had always dreamed of working at.

LETTER #5

Dear Joshua,

I know we haven’t talked in a while, but you’re still the person I want to tell all my good news to. You were such an important part of my life for so long that it only feels right to tell you. I know your life is crazy, I watched some of your stuff online. I knew you were always meant for great things. I am so incredibly proud of you and this new life you’re living. I guess we’re both living our dreams, as I just got my first ever position at Vogue. I mean its nothing major, mostly I’m a glorified intern, but I’m here. Anyways, I hope life is well for you. I’ll always be cheering you on from the sidelines.

Much love,

Y/N

“Hey Y/N long time no see,” his smile was still the same. Warm, and welcoming.

“What are you doing here?” You asked confused, but also so happy to see him.

“I have a schedule here in the states for my group,” He took the napkin you were now handing him and dabbing the few specks of coffee from his chest and arms. “I didn’t realized you worked here. My mom said you were working for a magazine, but I didn’t realize you landed at your dream place, congratulations.” He pulls you into a hug, and for the first time in a long time you feel like you were welcomed home.

“Thanks, your mom told me you were coming back but I didn’t realize she meant here. It’s so amazing to see you again. But I have to run, I’m already late. We should definitely catch up if you have time in your busy life. Text me.” You fix yourself up and speed walk to the elevator.

As you step off the elevator your phone buzzes, you think its your manager but its from a number you don’t recognize. You open it and a smile spreads across your face.

*It was great seeing you Y/N. I have free time tonight if you’re available.*

You respond back with the time you get off and a cozy bar just down the road from your office. The day flew by after the chaotic morning you had. Meetings went smoothly, the layout, and column s came together for the next months print. As you pack up you can’t help but feel nervous about seeing Joshua again. You know there isn’t anything to be nervous about, but you can’t help the rush of butterflies you get when you see him sitting in a booth when you arrive.

He’s on his phone unaware that you’re there, you take that time to admire him. He’s grown so much, his face has filled out and looks more “manly” than it did when he left all those years ago. His eyes are still the same, warm, welcoming, home. He’s definitely been working out his shoulders are wider, and his arms more defined than they were. He smiles as he looks up to see you approaching. He pushes himself out of the booth to wrap you in a hug again, and shuffles in across from.

As you sit across from each other catching up it feels as though no time has passed. You laugh at the stupid things you did as kids. Discuss what you both have been up to the past five years. Joshua talks about his group, and the difference between the American and Korean music industry. Listening to him talk about his life brings you so much job. You always knew he was going to be something, and you’re so glad to see that he is getting the love and recognition he deserves. You sit in that both for hours, it isn’t until the server comes up and asks if there is anything you want, as it is last call. Once you’ve settled your bills, and make your way outside you part ways promising to keep in touch.

When you get home you can’t help but smile at your night. Joshua is still the same boy he always has been. He hasn’t lost himself to the entertainment industry, and you could see his genuine love for his fans and his members. You send him a quick text to let him know that you got home, and that you promise that you’ll be better about staying in touch.

LETTER #17

Joshua,

There are so many things I wish I could say to you right now, but I think I fall more in love with you every time I see you, which is weird as I hadn’t seen you in five years. You have grown up so much, and the way you speak about life is so enthralling. I cannot wait to see what the future holds for you.

Love you always,

Y/N

As you go to sleep you have a smile on your face, and a feeling like all is right in the world. The next morning you wake up to hundreds of notifications from every social media platform you’re on. You go to open it and the first thing you see is a news headline and a photo of you and Joshua in a hug, with the title KPOP RISING STAR SEEN WITH NEW LOVE INTEREST?

“Shit.”

#joshua hong #seventeen #svt #joshua hong fic #joshua svt #seventeen carat #svt carat #joshua seventeen #joshua svt fic #seventeen joshua #svt joshua #Joshua fic #joshua fanfic

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