#answer let luce

[lavenoon]

To the anon worried about ao3 being banned in their country: you will do what all the rest of us in countries with banned ao3 did and get a good free vpn and Tor and read ao3 like before. The world slides into dictatorship, but we stay silly.

^ I suppose that's the easiest solution, rather than trying to find alternatives on an individual author basis!

[kithtaehyung]

minted: two (explicit) | myg

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

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

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

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

Who is this person next to you? 

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

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

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

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

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

No answer.

Alright.

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

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

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too. 

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

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

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

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

Mm. Does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that taxi drive…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Floor…

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

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

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

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

Don���t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

“What.” 

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

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

…Is that really his only response?

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

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?” 

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

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

This is all too much. 

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

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

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

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

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

…Oh.

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

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

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

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck. 

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

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

What was that about?

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

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

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

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

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.” 

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

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

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

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

“Shower.”

“What?”

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

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut. 

Fuck. Yoongi’s right. 

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

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

“Not interested.” 

Oh. He’s… 

Oh. 

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

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

A lie. 

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

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

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

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

“Closet.”

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

“Yes, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The whole setup is lavish. 

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

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

Too bad you aren’t alone.

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

Uhh. 

What. 

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

“You good?”

Fuck!

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

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

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

“Move.”

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

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

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

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

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

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

Almost. 

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

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

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

Again with that little slant. 

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

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

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

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

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

The blood will never wash out.

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

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

Because at least you succeeded. 

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

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

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

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right… 

Doesn’t matter. 

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

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

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

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

Thank the universe.  

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

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

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

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

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet. 

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

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

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

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

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.” 

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

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

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do not engage do not engage do not engage. 

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

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You were going to.”

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

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

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for? 

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

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.” 

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

And just like that, the conversation dies. 

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

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

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

Your noodles.

Your noodles. 

You’re not hungry anymore. 

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

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

A hand. 

A robed arm. 

Your new utensils come back into view. 

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

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

“Eat.” 

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

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

“You are.” 

“Not anymore.” 

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

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.” 

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.” 

“I literally can’t—” 

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

“Don’t.” 

Both of you still at your words.

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

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

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

Yoongi looks pissed as hell. 

But he hasn’t moved. 

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

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

Fuck, you wanna hurl. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like I said.”

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

“It’s better in the long run.” 

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

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

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes. 

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

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

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

“What were you looking for.” 

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

“Did you find it.” 

You swipe at both your eyes.

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

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

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

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

This man is more dangerous than you thought. 

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

“But I have what you want.” 

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

“If you stay, I’ll show you.” 

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

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

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

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

Good riddance.

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

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

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

Yearning pierces right through your chest. 

The elevator is right over there. 

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

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

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

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

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

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

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

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

And your defense mechanism blares. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. 

So much for leaving. 

You may spend more time here than you thought. 

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

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

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

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now. 

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

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

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

That was so long ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you even drink?” 

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

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

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

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

“This sector?” 

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

“It’s usually silent, too.” 

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

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

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

He takes the offered can. “Mm.” 

That answers that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?” 

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

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

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

“I know.” 

Your look carries a slight pang. 

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

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

But when it’s open, you freeze. 

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

Wait. 

These patterns. 

These are il-don? 

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

You’ve never seen them like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What.

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

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

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

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

“Could’ve taken another train.” 

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now? 

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

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

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

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

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

“I should’ve left you for dead.” 

Wait. 

Stop. 

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

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

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

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

And it is frightening. 

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

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

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

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

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

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

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

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

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

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

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

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my girl.” 

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

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

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

So you quell that monster pacing in your core. 

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

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

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

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

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

“This world has already tried enough.” 

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

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

You slightly turn. 

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

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

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more. 

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

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

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

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

“I know.” 

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

And you freeze. 

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

But fuck, you kinda want to. 

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

“What made you stay.”

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

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

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

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

“What a shame.”

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

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

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

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

Oh. You’re going home. 

Good.

This is good, right?

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

What was that? What was any of that? 

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

…But do you want it to be? 

Yes. 

Of course you do. 

Clouds let moonlight shine again. 

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

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

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For nothing. 

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

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

What a shame, indeed.

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

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

Fuck everything. 

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

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

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

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

—

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

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

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend III

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: You make a game

When Lucy cracks open your door, you're as you always are.

You're hunched over your computer, clicking around some game level aimlessly with your tongue sticking out in concentration.

Your mice, like they always are when you're in the room, are running riot in their pen.

Outside of their cage and on the floor, you've set up a little pen for them to roam around and play in.

Lara and Zelda are wrestling like always as Clementine tries to work through the enrichment puzzle full of food. Ezio is asleep, flopped over on your shoulder as you study whatever new game you've found.

"You ready for dinner?"

Now that it's gotten colder, you've managed to get even moodier than before and even more of a shut in.

"One sec," You say. You click around the game level a bit more before pulling up a separate tab to type a long string of something Lucy can't even hope to understand. "Alright, I'm done. What's up?"

Lucy rolls her eyes fondly. "Dinner. Now. Ona cooked."

You push your chair out from your desk and stretch, your back cracking from the long hours you've spent hunched over.

You put the mice back into the cage, each of them getting a quick snuggle and kiss before you bolt it shut.

"Is it good food?" You ask as you go down the stairs.

"It's better than your mum makes!" Ona calls out and you grin.

"Yeah, but anything's better than Mum's cooking!"

Lucy grumbles, shaking her head. "One nice meal is all I ask. One meal where I don't get horrifically bullied!"

"We don't bully you," You say," It's character building!"

You and Ona laugh and Lucy just rolls her eyes. Sometimes, you think she would prefer if it went back to what it was like when you were first adapting to Ona.

"Oh," She says," I sent you those audio files you wanted."

"Thanks."

Lucy frowns. "She's been making you do those too?"

"Yeah, it's for a school project, right?"

You nod. "Uh-huh. It's for programming."

"I know I shouldn't have let you sign up for that," She says," It's all you ever do. I think you're losing sleep over it."

"You'll like it," You declare," What I'm working on. I promise."

"I'm sure that I will but it doesn't mean I think you're sleeping well. Put it down for once, that's all I'm saying."

You roll your eyes.

Lucy's always like that about your programming. Sometimes she lays asleep at gone three in the morning and can still hear you typing away on your computer for hours on end.

You return to your room after dinner ends and briefly come out to show Ona what you're working on while also denying Lucy the same opportunity.

"You've love it," Ona assures her at training the next day.

"Love what?" Keira asks," Oh, y/n's game? Yeah, you'll love it, Luce."

"Am I the only one that hasn't seen it?!" She demands, glancing around the room at people who are trying to not make eye contact with her. "Seriously? Raise your hand if you've seen it?"

Slowly, everyone raises their hand.

"This is so unfair!"

When you first got given the project, Lucy had been the first person to be clued into your plans. You showed her all your design sketches and all your ideas as you jumped between them.

At one point, one of your bedroom walls had been covered in concept designs and you would stand in front of it and point out certain aspects you liked and things you didn't think were quite perfect yet.

Lucu had been integral to your thought process and then all of a sudden she was shut out. You'd ask her to record voice lines or demonstrate doing something but you'd never explain why or what it was for.

You all but unplugged your computer when she came in unexpectedly and tried to get a sneak peak.

"Alright," Lucy says when she gets home to see you and Ona giggling on the sofa together," I've had enough. Show me your project."

You sit upright immediately, eyes wide.

"No-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer. I've had enough of the secrets."

She's serious. You can tell by the clench in her jaw and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

Lucy's stubborn but you inherited from her so you're stubborn too.

Your cross your arms in the same way as you stand. "No! It's not finished! You can see it when you're finished!"

"Hey," Ona intervenes before the argument can truly get heated. Her hand rests on your shoulder. "It's okay. Just show her."

"I can't! It's not ready!"

"Come on," Ona says," Show her."

You glance at your Mum, who is staring at you with that same stern look and crossed arms as the one that she came in with.

"Fine. Give me a sec."

Lucy sits on the sofa as Ona hooks up a laptop to the tv.

You come back in with a disc and nervously put it into the dvd slot.

Lucy doesn't know what to say when the opening credits appear.

'Lucy Bronze: The Game' with a little pixel version of her holding the Champion's League trophy up on her head.

"We were meant to make a game about a hero," You say," And you're my hero."

[fluentmoviequoter]

Mom and Dad are Fighting Again

Requested Here!

The Bradfords Series Masterlist

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader

Summary: You and Tim become Lucy's station parents, and you show your care for her in different ways.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, grumpy!Tim to softie!Tim, "mom and dad are fighting again" is a Castle reference

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

“Bradford!” Wade calls.

“Which one?” you and Tim ask together.

Wade sighs, and Angela adds, “He’s tired just thinking about the conversation. That means he needs Tim.”

“Tim,” Wade clarifies. “Let the other Bradford help Chen prep the shop. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Ooh,” Angela and Lucy taunt.

You roll your eyes, but it is a bit like being called into the principal’s office. Luckily, Tim and Wade get along well. You tap Lucy’s shoulder and wave for her to follow you. After you sign for your gear, Lucy gets hers and Tim’s. Once you’re in the garage and your bag is in your shop, Lucy turns to you with a pout.

“If a Bradford had to be my TO, why couldn’t it have been you?” she asks.

“Tim is the best there is, Luce. I know he can be grumpy and push a little too hard, but I promise learning from him is worth it,” you reply.

“At least I have you to stand up for me.”

“Ah, so that’s why you wanted to be my friend.”

“We’re cops, not friends,” Tim interjects as he walks out of the doorway behind you. “Let’s go, boot.”

“We’re not friends,” Lucy murmurs under her breath. “Says the guy who’s married to another cop.”

“What was that?” Tim asks.

“Tim,” you warn gently.

You shake your head, and he takes a deep breath before getting in the driver’s seat. As you climb into your shop beside him, Lucy rolls her window down and gestures for you to do the same.

“Dad says he loves you,” she says with a wide smile.

“Chen!” Tim yells.

“I love him too. Be safe, both of you,” you call before pulling out.

“We need to talk about boundaries, Chen,” Tim grumbles.

“Better than not talking,” she argues.

Tim leans against the side of the shop and stares straight ahead. It’s an interesting situation, but no matter how long he looks, he can’t decide what the best approach is. Lucy has spouted numerous ideas, and he’s vetoed each one.

“We could call for a lift truck,” she suggests as she paces on the sidewalk.

“Can’t get close enough,” Tim replies.

“Then you know what we have to do.”

Tim looks at Lucy, who now has her hands on her hips and a determined look.

“We have to call smarter reinforcements. Call Bradford,” she demands.

“I’m not calling my wife because we can’t- how could she even help?”

“She’s brilliant. You of all people have to know that.”

“Sounds like you should be running her fan club,” Tim complains.

“Having a hero isn’t wrong. If you don’t call her, I will.”

“And I’ll write you up.”

Lucy sighs and turns to look at the scene again. Tim runs through a few more ideas in his mind, but they all end in a worse situation than the current one. He sighs as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey,” he greets when you answer.

Lucy turns around quickly and claps quietly. Tim glares at her, but her excitement doesn’t diminish as he continues talking to you.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

“Just tell her we need help!” Lucy implores.

“Yeah, that’s Chen. And we do need help.”

Lucy pumps a fist over her head in victory. When Tim ends the call, though, she steps back and quiets.

A few minutes later, you park beside Tim’s shop and exit your car with a smile.

“Someone called for the cavalry?” you joke. “So, what’s so strange Tim Bradford had to call for backup?”

Tim doesn’t answer but grabs your waist and leads you to stand between him and Lucy. He points up through a gap in the trees and you follow his finger. Your responding “huh” does little to make Tim think you’ll have an easier time solving the problem.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” you ask.

Tim turns to glare at Lucy again, and she ducks behind you. You look at Tim from the corner of your eye and he accepts your silent reprimand and gives Lucy some space.

“Did you try to get up there?” you ask.

“No. There’s no good approach,” Tim answers.

“I thought we could climb onto the roof beside it for recon and find a way to reach it,” Lucy says. “Or maybe get a ladder truck in the yard.”

“Roof recon isn’t a terrible idea,” you agree. “Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because I don’t agree that it would get us any more information than we can get from the ground,” Tim explains.

“We can’t get to it from here, though,” Lucy argues. “This park is protected, and we can’t bring CSU out here to traipse all over it. That house is our best bet.”

“Chen, you are not in charge,” Tim snaps.

“Tim,” you warn softly. “Just hear her out.”

“She’s my rookie. I don’t have to do anything she says.”

“I’m not saying to do exactly what she says, but you’re training her, not dictating her. Give her a chance to work this.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breathes out of his nose. The situation is stressful, you know, because every element of being a cop is. But Tim arguing with Lucy will only delay the inevitable.

“Please?” you add. “If her plan to scout from the roof doesn’t work, then I will call the park service and tell them to deal with it.”

“We don’t even know who owns that house.”

“One way to find out,” Lucy says.

You let Lucy take the lead and stand beside Tim on the porch as she talks to the owner of the home. He doesn’t seem inclined to let three police officers climb onto his roof to deal with something that he can’t see.

“I’m done talkin’ to ya,” he says before slamming the door in Lucy’s face. It opens a moment later and he adds, “One more thing.”

You can tell he’s prepared to do something stupid and pull Lucy back quickly. His fist misses her face by an inch, and you move her toward Tim before turning toward the homeowner. His second hit is luckier and lands against the side of your nose, but he’s not trained like you are. When you hit him in the same spot, he goes down hard and fast. You raise your hand to your face and immediately feel blood coming from your nose. There’s likely no real damage, just a busted blood vessel or two.

Lucy begins apologizing as Tim calls for backup and another unit to deal with the issue in the park. He returns his radio to his belt and lays his hands on your shoulders to look at you.

“We’re going back to the shop. Stay with him until backup gets here, Chen,” he commands.

“Yes, sir,” she answers quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Lucy,” you offer.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Tim interjects. “Let’s go.”

Tim keeps a hand on you during every step of the short walk back to the shop. He presses a wad of gauze under your nose and uses his other hand to tip your head slightly forward. When the top of your head hits his chest, you feel him sigh.

“What would you have done? If Chen wasn’t here?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Tim. A huge, gaudy murder confession nailed to a tree in a park is a new one. Park department wouldn’t have been much help, so it may have been one to pass off. Or trespass.”

Tim looks away from you when Lucy returns. You cover his hand to pull the gauze from your face, and when you see there’s no fresh blood, you pull an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and clean the dried blood from your chin and Tim’s hand. Lucy waits silently, and now she looks like the one waiting to be called to see the principal.

“What were you thinking?” Tim demands when you release his hand. “You never just stand in front of someone’s door. If we hadn’t been there, or if he had opened the door with a knife, what would have happened, Chen?”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“You’re right it won’t! I don’t know why you refuse to listen to me or remember basic, common procedures, but it will get you killed, and I’m not going to let that happen. I will take your badge if this is the kind of police work you’ll do once you’re out on your own!”

“Tim!” you interrupt. “She messed up. We all have. Maybe let her prove that she learned something before you threaten her career.”

“No! I don’t want her on the streets alone. I don’t want to imagine what I’d hear if she was partnered with you someday.”

“Drop it,” you demand as you stand.

Your chest presses against Tim’s, and his eyes bore into yours. Lucy watches on with her hands pulled tightly behind her back and guilt in her eyes.

“Or what?” Tim asks.

“You’re making it about me. But you’re done yelling at Chen. Lucy, get in my shop, we’re all going back to the station.”

“For what?” Tim scoffs.

“To learn some human decency, apparently. And if you’re still acting like this when we get back, I’m taking Chen for the rest of the week.”

Tim watches you toss the keys to Lucy before she walks away. His brow furrows and you realize he thought you were leaving him to drive back with Lucy.

“You trust her to drive your shop?” he asks.

“What is this about?” you counter. “Because she was just in a bad place, which is the best that could have happened.”

“She doesn’t apply what she knows. Lucy is smart and she’s got instincts, but she gets excited and jumps too soon.”

“Then walk her through everything. Standing back and being a drill sergeant is only going to make her rush more.”

“When did you become an expert on being a TO?”

Tim smiles softly at you, and you pat his chest.

“Guess you’re teaching me, too.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “The guy you booked for assault on an officer is claiming that Chen harassed him. I need your body cams as soon as you return.”

Tim pulls the seatbelt too hard and locks it. You answer Wade that you’ll all be back with your cams shortly. After replacing the radio on the dash, you lay a hand on Tim’s arm and encourage him to take a deep breath.

“That’s not Lucy’s fault,” you remind Tim.

“It was her plan,” Tim responds.

“I agreed with it. Does that make me a terrible cop?”

“Of course it doesn’t, but this isn’t about you!”

“Then what’s it about?” you ask, your voice raising to meet his.

“I feel like I’m failing her and that’s why we keep ending up here!”

Tim huffs as he finishes, and you watch him carefully. His shoulders drop, and you want to hug him but know better than to try while he’s driving.

“You’re not failing her. But there is always room for improvement. Being a teacher doesn’t mean you can’t learn, too.”

“How do you trust her like this?”

“You said it yourself. She’s smart and has good instincts, but she needs a bit of room to learn and hone those skills without feeling pressured to be perfect.”

Tim nods, and you whisper an apology for yelling at him. He shakes his head, and you agree that he doesn’t need to apologize either.

When you exit Wade’s office after surrendering your body cam and making your statement, you hear Angela ask Lucy where you and Tim are. Or, as you’re referred to at the station, The Bradfords.

“Oh, Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Lucy jokes.

“About you?” Angela asks, playing along but aware that Lucy isn’t completely wrong in her phrasing.

“What else?” Lucy counters.

“Chen, a word?” Tim asks as he moves around you.

You watch as he apologizes, and smile to yourself. Angela winks at you as she passes, and you join Tim and Lucy.

“Wade said I could stay with you two for the rest of shift. What are we up to?”

“We still have to deal with the murder confession in the trees,” Tim groans. “Hey, Nolan, have you dealt with a murder confession yet?”

Nolan shakes his head, and Tim looks around for Bishop. When he sees that she’s not close, Tim steps into Wade’s office and asks him to transfer the call to Nolan.

“Thanks, Officer Bradford!” Nolan replies happily.

“No problem,” Tim says.

Lucy hides her smile as she walks beside you. Every moment spent with her requires a level of parenting, and though you’re relatively close in age, you and Tim feel responsible for Lucy. As more than a cop. You show it in your own ways, but she knows how much she means to you and Tim and feels the same.

During one of your very few days off, you want to surprise Tim with dinner. The recipe that you want has seemingly disappeared, though, and you’ll have to call Lucy to get it again. 

When her phone rings, and she answers, “Hey, Mom,” Tim shakes his head.

“No personal calls in my shop,” Tim says.

“You answer for her.”

Tim’s brows furrow until he realizes Lucy isn’t talking to her biological mom, but her station mom. He nods to let her know she can continue talking to you.

“Dad says hi,” she says, just to bother Tim.

“Dad says he needs a day off, too,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Tim says against your lips. “Date night, not LAPD night.”

“It’s Luce,” you argue as you reach for your phone.

Tim catches your wrist and brings it to his lips to distract you. Your phone rings again, though, and Tim’s chimes with an incoming text. He releases your arm hesitantly and pulls you so he can lay his head against your shoulder.

“Hi, Luce,” you answer.

“Put me on speaker!” she requests happily.

“Alright. Tim and I are both here.”

“I passed my rookie exam! I know you’re both off today, but Sergeant Grey knew we couldn’t wait to hear the results. Thank you, both of you, so much!”

“Congratulations!” you and Tim say together.

“We’ll celebrate when we get back,” you add.

“I knew you could do it,” Tim says. “Good job, Lucy.”

“Okay, okay, I need to call my mom and tell her that she was wrong. Enjoy the rest of your time off.”

The line beeps as she ends the call, and you and Tim lock eyes.

“She called us first, didn’t she?” you ask.

“We really are turning into her parents,” Tim says with an exaggerated shudder.

“You look pretty good for a dad,” you tease. “And you care about Lucy no matter how much you pretend not to.”

Tim looks at you for a moment before asking, “You know Lucy’s real parents set the bar low, right?”

“Let me have this. She’s my daughter and she’s no longer a boot.”

Tim groans, but before you can tease him again, he pulls you down to continue kissing you. Until your phone begins buzzing nonstop with excited texts from Lucy, at least.

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Wing Grooming

lucifer x gn reader

warnings: i’ve written before but i don’t do it often so be aware, written on mobile, no mention of skin colour/bodytype/gender/hair type, no use of Y/N, slightly sexual but no real smut, cursing.

i love lucifer and i love the wings shtick <3 also i’ve worked with birds so im applying my knowledge of them here teehee

lemme know whatcha think this is only the second time homegirls written an xreader. also writing on tumblr sucks it deleted my shii so many times and i had to keep rewriting paragraphs

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔗𝔴𝔬 :)

—

Lucifer anxiously paced around his room in the hotel, unable to relax due to his wings, they were itchy. Normally he used various different objects to break the casting of new feathers, and remove those pesty pin feathers. He’s been so busy at the hotel recently, he completely neglected his feathers causing some unfortunate issues with his malt. After all he didn’t have only two he had a whole six, and it wasn’t easy to take care of all at once. In all honesty, Lucifer would rather cut them off before asking for assistance with preening them. Tossing his hat to the side his wings popped out unwillingly loose feathers flying around him. Curling the first set in front of him, he picked through to find the cause of the itch and discomfort. Chills ran up his back as his fingers gently searched through, they were sensitive from lack of care not to mention preening never failed to give him goose bumps. A knock sounded from his door making him jump, his wings puffing out around him. “Uh, ah, one moment.” He shouted in a sing songy voice, jumping to his feet from where he sat he hurried over eager to get back to preening.

Swining the door open you stood on the other side smiling with papers in your grasp. Keeping his wings hidden slightly behind him and the door he greeted you with a charming smile. "Hi luce, Charlie said these belonged to you something to do with the different rings?" Quirking your head to the side you observed the king with curiosity. He was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting and shifting from side to side. "Are you alright?" He blew air out in a pft sound at you and stood a little straighter. "Just a little feather issues, you know how it can be..." Lucifer trailed looking off to the side trying hard to ignore the stinging itch that shot through one wing.

“Oh can I help in any way, if that’s not strange?” You ask innocently but Lucifer’s mind went immediately to the gutter with the thought of you tracing your hands down his back and his combing through feathers, it made him shiver with delight. Although his blush was evident and his demeanour dropped to a slightly more shy one, you remained waiting patiently for his answer. “It’s- uh, normally, i don’t let anybody touch them. Um, but you can! Of course..” He trailed switching between stretching himself up with confidence and shrinking down again with doubt, regardless of his apprehension he still stood aside opening the door wider for you to enter. “It’s just the preening process is all. Difficult to reach.” Lucifer muttered as you welcome yourself into his room. With a bright smile you reassured him that you would do as he asked and you’d rather help than have him be stuck with that icky discomfort.

Setting the paperwork down on a table, Lucifer closed the door and lingered next to a bench sofa whistling as his wings flapped him at random behind him. Turning to him he looked a little shy still not fully meeting your gaze. Unsure of what exactly to do but you gave him an assuring smile. “I don’t have to do this, I can get Charlie to?”

Lucifer laughed quickly shaking his head. “Ha ha, no that would make things worse actually, you’re much preferred! Just y’know it’s a lot to work on.” Plopping down on the bench he outstretched his wings behind him on full display for you, his heart pounding against his ribs. You felt a zap of emotion shoot through you at the admission that you were wanted by him for this job.

It wasn't a secret Charlie's dad woo'd you the moment he waltzed in the door, but your loyalty was with Charlie and you didn't want to disrespect her by eye fucking her divorced father while he's here to help. Although Charlie seemed pretty enthralled that her father was making an effort to spend time with her friends, even elbowing you and whispering that he seemed to particularly enjoy conversation with you.

After that it was harder to ignore the way you felt for the King, Charlie would constantly drop not so subtle hints that her dad took a liking to you and that caused your mind to wander and fantasize. From there on you got more confidence putting yourself in situations to catch him alone in conversation or help him with different tasks he had to complete. Beginning your work on his wings, you hummed quietly to yourself easily spotting several pin feathers coming in that needed to have the keratin shell taken off. Carefully you split the feathers away and massaged off the shells one by one listening to Lucifers pleasant hms, groans and sighs. He visibly slumped, and his body rested just barely against your thigh as you worked on the very top wing. “These look pretty cluttered hun, have you been struggling to care for them?” You didn’t even notice the pet name slip as you called everyone off handed pet names, but Lucifer did notice and it brought him a warmth he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Sweetly talking to him about his wings without judgement, combing them comfortingly, humming like an angel just to him. It felt as good as when his ex wife was still around caring for his wings. It’d been so long since someone was by his side caring for him like this.

Lucifer never responded properly to your question about upkeep only humming in a trance like state as you worked your way through the top set of wings "You're so good at this, sheesh, I wish you'd do this all the time." You blushed faltering slightly which Lucifer panicked about, tensing and opening his eyes. "Of course i'm only spit balling, heh, it's just so relaxing like a sauna!" Shaking your head you moved down to the last set of feathers not missing the way he shuddered with your touch. "It's alright i don't mind that you say that. It feels nice actually, to help you." Lucifer didn't say anything feeling suddenly heated as ever as if hell wasn't hot enough. The feathers closest to his hips were unsurprisingly the most sensitive and the touches although innocent felt suggestive to him. The King felt dirty for feeling a euphoric sense of pleasure ripple through his bodv and straight to his junk while you unknowly worked through his feathers. “You okay? Did I hurt you?" You asked noticing his breath picking up and his body stiffening. Lucifer grinned and turned to look at you you meeting his gaze and seeing just how dazed he truly was. "I'm just... well,"

It was like his throat closed as he looked back at you crouched down to get at the last row of feathers that were draped along the floor. The king swallowed snapping his head forward again. “Ahem, I’m sensitive, good, sensitive.” He had hoped you understood his insinuations. Which you had. Breathing in deeply you flattened your hand out spreading your fingers and combing through the feathers more methodically from the base of his wings and outward. That cause him to jump up standing straight, you followed in persuit, panicking that you crossed a big line. His wings twitched but he stayed staring forward rigid, you quickly walked around the bench calling to him softly. “Lucifer i am so sorry if i crossed the line, that, that was unacceptable i’m so sorry.” To which Lucifer spun to you, face red, grabbing your shoulders he smiled a somewhat embarrassed smile. “No no, that was completely fine, i just,” Lucifer pulled away tucking his hands away from you, again which was kind of upset you.

“I think if we continue that, type of grooming, I won’t be able to control myself.” Although still shy about his admission his eyes were half lidded and his smile sly. You felt fire explode in your stomach all innocence out the window as your mind settled on one thought. You were gonna bang your friends divorced dad.

[pitchsidestories]

early twenties II Barcelona Femení x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1886

a/n: thanks for your lovely request anon, we hope you all enjoy this one. <3

You laid in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. You could pretend you’re sick. You could just say that you didn’t feel like going out tonight. Maybe fake a university assignment that you didn't have.

You heard the door to your bedroom open a crack. Without looking, you knew it was Alexia standing there.

“Do I really have to go? I’d rather stay in my room tonight.“, you only half-joked towards the ceiling.

“No, you’re coming with us. It’s a team thing.“, Alexia replied firmly.

You sat up: “But…“

“Not wanting to see your crush is no excuse. Come on, we don’t want to be late.“, she interrupted your protests quickly.

For a second you just stared at her. Then you gave in. “Okay, fine. Just let me get ready first.“

“Good.“ Your teammate nodded once, seemingly satisfied with your decision. As if you had a choice.

“See you.“ You looked at her expectantly, hoping that she would take the hint.

Luckily she understood and wordlessly closed the door behind her.

You sighed before crawling out of your bed. Since it was only a team event, you decided to keep it simple. You changed into a pair of dark pants and a thin sweater. You studied yourself in the mirror. You decided that you looked nice but not as if you were trying too hard.

You slipped on your shoes, grabbed your bag and left your room.

Alexia who stood outside and pushed a pair of sunglasses back into her hair in front of the hallway mirror, turned to you and gave you an approving smile: “You look great. Now we’re ready to go.“

She shrugged into her trench coat and took her keys.

“Okay…" you mumbled as you followed her outside.

Since the bar was down the street, you decided to walk. Lost in your own thoughts, you walked alongside Alexia for a while until she suddenly asked: “So, who is it?”

You looked up, surprised by the unexpected question and blinked at her a few times. “Who?”

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

“Your crush.“, Alexia said matter-of-factly, either not noticing or deliberately ignoring your embarrassment.

“I…“, you began. The two of you were already right in front of the bar. You just had to open the door and maybe you could get away without answering.

“Ona, Luce, Mario, hey!”, you beamed at the players already sitting at a table. You could feel Alexias eyes on you, signalling you that sooner or later she would get her answer.

But for now, you took the seat next to Lucy.

“Hi, you look good today.“, she grinned at you.

You laughed: “You’re the second person who said that today. What a weird coincidence.“

“Because it’s true.“, Mariona chimed in.

“Yes, your hair looks so nice.”, Ona added. The loving attention of your teammates made your cheeks only blush harder.  You were grateful for the dimmed lightning, so no one was able to tell that your face turned red from the slight embarrassment you felt when they complimented you.

“Thanks, Oni. We’ll go home when our social battery runs out right?”, you asked the fellow introverted footballer with a half-crooked smile on your lips.

“Right.”, she returned your grin. Her reassurance let you breathe a little easier.

“But first we’ll have some fun.”, Lucy padded encouragingly your back. After a short pause the English defender posed a question smirking. “What do you guys’ think is it too early for a first round of aperitifs?”

“I thought we were here to do shots!”, Mapi protested playfully.

“Yes, but this is classier, Maria.”, the older woman countered.

Accidentally your eyes linked with Claudias who was in a deep conversation with Patri, your cheeks started to burn as you felt her looking intensely back at you.

To the two teammates who were still in a discussion on what drinks were the best to start the night you declared nervously.

“I don’t care what it’s I just need a bit of alcohol.”

“I’ll order us some wine.”, Alexia decided who was sitting opposite to you.

“Sounds good.”, you agreed, you were glad that she helped you with this decision because knowing yourself you would’ve taken forever until you decided on something to drink.

“I’ll make you drink shots with me later.”, Mapi threw in amused at the thought of it.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”, you asked her chuckling.

“No, that would be irresponsible only slightly tipsy so..”, she begun to explain.

“So I tell you more about my crush?”, you finished the sentence for her.

“That was the plan.”, the heavily tattooed Spaniard admitted sighing.

“I thought the plan was to say goodbye to a few of our favourite teammates.”, you pointed towards Mariona and Lucy who would both leave Barcelona for London. Your heart sank while you thought about their nearing departure both teammates meant a lot to you, they and Alexia were like the big sisters you never had but always wanted.

“That too.”, Alexia revealed as the waiter brought two glasses filled with wine, you clinked them solemnly together before taking a first long sip of the dark-red liquid.

“Aw, we’re your faves?”, the English defender questioned teasingly.

“No, you’re the most annoying and I’m glad you’re leaving Lucia.”, you joked rolling your eyes at her. The wine provided you the ease and confidence you needed to be more chilled around Claudia. But God, why did she had to look so good tonight, you asked yourself.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t cry too hard when we leave.”, she replied cockily seeing right through your jokes.

Mapi moved closer to you, studying your face: “I think the alcohol is working, girls. It’s Claudia, right? Your crush?”

You almost spilled your drink, a few drops landing on your sweater. You swallowed hard: “Uhm… what?”

“That’s a yes.“, Alexia confirmed with a smirk.

Ona smiled: “Without a doubt.“

You flinched subconsciously and hoped that it was dark enough in the room that the others couldn’t see you blush. Your gaze shifted towards Claudia at the other end of the table, deep in talk with Patri. “Guys, be quiet!”

Alexia deliberately ignored you and called over to her: “Clau?“

“Ale, no!”, you whispered slightly panicked.

“Let’s switch seats.“, Alexia said and got up. Of course, Claudia followed her captains instructions.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.“, you said to no one in particular and then greeted Claudia. “Clau, hello.“

“Hi.“, she beamed. Nothing about her gave you the impression that she would have preferred to stay at her seat, she seamed genuinely happy to talk to you.

You tried to cover up any awkwardness by asking: “Do you have any plans for your free days yet?”

Claudia shook her head: “No, not yet. Do you?”

“No, me neither. Apart from relaxing.“, you bit your lip, wishing you had something more interesting to tell her.

“Me too. Happy for a break after this season.“, she laughed and sighed deeply for emphasis.

“Yes, maybe I’ll go home to Menorca…“, you thought out loud.

Claudia looked at you. “Oh.“

“Maybe.“, you added, unsure about how to interpret her reaction but Claudia shook her head determinedly: “You should go. It’ll be good for you. But if you’re here at one point…“

You waited for her to finish her thought: “Yes?”

The attacking midfielder shrugged, gaze directed towards the table: “Maybe we could go out together at some point.“

“Wait, really? You frowned. “But what about Patri and you… aren’t you two a thing?”

She stared at you for a moment and said nothing but then she burst into laughter: “What? No!”

You suddenly felt hot. Could your cheeks get any redder at this point?

“Sorry, maybe I misread something…“

“You really thought we were dating the whole time? Maybe Patri and I have to reevaluate the boundaries of our friendship.“, Claudia still grinned, wiping a tear of laughter from her cheek.

“No, I didn’t. I just thought… maybe you fancied her.“, you admitted and guiltily bit down on your lower lip.

The young player suddenly turned serious again, searching for your eyes: “I do fancy someone… but it’s not her.“

“So do I…“

“Tell me who it is.“, Claudia begged. She cautiously watched you as she waited for your answer.

There it was, the perfect opportunity. It was now or never. So you took a deep breath and gathered all your courage.

“It’s y-you.“

“Me? I think we should go on a date then.”, much to your surprise the forward beamed at you.  

“Wait, I’m your crush?”, you tried to process what the girl you had feelings for a while just said.

“Yes.”, Claudia affirmed still smiling. Even in the bad lit room you could see her adorable dimple.

“This deserves another shot!”, Mapi yelled excitedly in the background.

“Mapi.”, you wanted her to stay calm and don’t make a big thing out of it, yet over the years you had been this team you got to know her very well the Spanish defender would do as she pleases.

“Too soon?”, Mapi responded sounding innocent.

“Bring the shots anyway.”, Lucy waved it off.

“You had enough, amor.”, Ona stated firmly, resting a hand on her girlfriend’s arm.

“You just didn’t have enough. It’s the last one anyway.”, the older defender reminded the younger one pressing a soft kiss to her lover’s forehead. It genuinely warmed your heart seeing them this openly affectionate around the team. Maybe the young forward and you could have something similar very soon.

Still, something else made you shudder pleasantly. It was Claudias voice near to your ear.

“Let’s go to my place after the shots.”

“Deal., you whispered, before continuing louder for everyone to hear, cheers.”

Pleased how the evening had unfolded Lucy turned around to face Mariona, wearing a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Mario, I guess that means we can safely leave. Everyone here is taken care of.”

The midfielder quickly agreed with her while Ona remembered your talk from earlier reaching out to you with her free hand. “Is your social battery low now, y/n?”

“Yes. I’ll go with Claus to her home though.”, you told her.

“Okay, have fun.”, she winked mischievously at you.

Meanwhile Lucy didn’t let you leave that easy without a big sister remark.

“Claudia if you don’t treat her right I swear..”, she warned the young forward laughing.

“Clau is a good one.”, Alexia interjected.

“She’s and if you don’t treat Clau right, y/n.”, Patri picked up on what the older Englishwoman had said with twinkling eyes.

“Patri we’re talking about sweet y/n here.”, Mariona protested.

“And Claudia isn’t an absolute angel?!”, the other Mallorquin replied promptly.

“Clau, I think it’s time to leave.”, you cleared your throat, pulling her sleeve slightly.

“Please. This is getting embarrassing.”, Claudia muttered.

“Agreed. Good night, guys.”, you waved at your teammates.

“Night girls.”, Alexia answered.

“Do everything I’d do!”, Lucy called after you two grinning. You could hear her girlfriend clicking her tongue reprovingly.

“Let’s just go.”, you pleaded.

“Please before it gets weird.”, Claudia nodded taking your hand in hers as you went into the night together. You both were in your early twenties, everything was still ahead of you and you were excited for what was to come.

[minisugakoobies]

two am | yjh

Pairing: Jeonghan x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, angst, porn with the barest of plot, exes to lovers, non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: late night texting, excessive use of the pet name 'baby,' fighting as foreplay, dirty talk, multiple references to reader's pussy, implied/referenced cheating, references to oral sex (reader receiving), slight exhibitionism, riding/grinding, nipple play (licking/biting/sucking), p in v protected sex, Jeonghan is bad for reader but they can't stay away

Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: It's two am and your ex is texting you again.

Text Prompts: Both are in italicized pink font in the story.

A/N: I'm back with another installment in my SVT texts series. This one is dedicated to @minttangerines. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUCE!! 🎉🎉 I brought you some toxic Jeonghan, hope you like him. 💜 Thank you for being such an amazing friend, tour guide, driver, and partner in crime. 😘

Soundtrack: 2AM by SZA; Sleazy Bed Track by the Bluetones

Unbeta’d as usual. If you like this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s nearly two in the morning when the warning pops up on your phone:

Cover your phone, explicit material coming your way

You barely have the time to excuse yourself from the table, heading in a panic towards the bathroom, before the next text from your ex arrives.

Jeonghan never includes his full face in his photos. It’s always just that maddening smirk of his, catching your eye first before it’s drawn down to the main focus - thin fingers wrapped around an obscene bulge, a darkened tip poking above the waistband of his boxers. 

You lock yourself in a stall and fire back.

You: You have to stop sending me these photos

Satan: That’s a rude way to say thank you

You: I’m serious, Jeonghan. We’re done

He doesn’t reply. You know better than to think he’s accepted your response. He’s refused to accept it for the last three months. 

Your phone chimes. Another photo. The boxers have been pulled down. You bite your lip, then catch yourself, snarling at your reflection on your screen.

You: I said stop!

Satan: That’s what you say now, but we both know that’s not what you’ll be saying later

You: There won’t be a later

You: Not this time

Satan: Really? You gonna tell me you don’t miss this cock?

Satan: That your pussy’s not already dripping imagining it inside you?

It’s the anger his words stir in you that’s making your pulse pound right now, you tell yourself.

You almost believe it. 

Satan: Come over, baby. Wanna make a mess of you like I did last time

You: Not. Happening.

Satan: You out with your friends again tonight? 

Of course he knows where you are. You’ve been going out with your friends every week since the breakup. Tonight’s the first night in a while that you’re sober, not in the mood to drink. This conversation is making you regret that. 

You: What does it matter if I am?

Satan: It’s almost closing time. Think you can find someone to take home?

Satan: Someone to make you forget about me? About how I fuck you?

Satan: You know no one can make you cum like me

To think his confidence is what once drew you to him. Now it repulses you, almost as much as your thighs suddenly clenching together does. 

You: You’re unreal

Satan: That’s right

You: That’s not a compliment

Satan: I know what you want

You: What I want is for you to fuck off forever

Satan: Baby please. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this

Satan: You can block me anytime you want. But you don’t

Satan: Why do you think that is?

You could answer him. Argue for a while, like you always do. Like you always did. It was the thing that the two of you did best - second only to fucking. You scroll upthread, looking at the last time you fought, reminding yourself how it ended:

Satan: Don’t tell me what to do

You: Eat me out

Satan: Okay tell me what to do

It’s not in your phone what happened next, but it’s seared into your memory, replaying behind your eyelids - lying on Jeonghan’s bed, legs splayed while he puts his wicked mouth to its best use. 

But you also remember the come down. The anger at your weakness. The shame. Knowing nothing has changed. That he hasn’t changed.  

You keep scrolling back, seeing the same thing over and over, watching the pattern repeat. You could stop it right now - end the conversation, delete him from your phone, and go rejoin your friends. That would be the smart thing to do. 

Satan: It’s okay, baby, you don’t have to admit it

Satan: Just come over and show me

If only you were smart.

“Mmmphm!”

The hem of your shirt makes a terrible gag, doing nothing to keep your volume down. Jeonghan’s head snaps up, gaze torn away from where he was watching himself disappear into you.

“Quiet, baby. Do you want them to hear you?” 

The “them” in question are his roommates, Joshua and Seungcheol, who are both sleeping on the other sides of the walls. Jeonghan would be sleeping in one of those bedrooms, too, if he wasn’t out here fucking you on the couch. Or, rather, sitting back and looking smug while you ride him on the couch. 

He knows you don’t want anyone to hear you, so you don’t bother to answer him, just glare while stuffing more of the already spit-soaked material into your mouth. His roommates would judge you for being here. Just like your friends did earlier, when you told them you were leaving. You said you were tired, but they’ve noticed your pattern too. And they’ve stopped trying to get you to break it, unwilling to expend their energy on such an impossible task. 

That’s fine. You don’t need to drag anyone else down to the bottom with you.

Jeonghan runs his fingertips over the exposed skin of your stomach, chuckling when you shiver. 

“Always so sensitive,” he tuts, shaking his head. 

He cups your breasts with his warm hands, pushing your shirt up further until the chilly night air hits your nipples, then bends his head down enough to lightly graze one with his teeth. You gasp, nearly dropping your impromptu gag, and Jeonghan pauses with his lips near your other tit, looking up at you, saying nothing, but his eyes communicate so clearly what he’s thinking - Be good, baby. 

If your relationship was a song, that was his refrain:

Be good, baby, I have to work late this weekend.

Be good, baby, I’m going out for drinks with some coworkers.

Baby, she’s just a friend. Don’t worry. Be good for me.

Despite everything, a part of you still yearns to be good for him. So you bite down harder. 

Jeonghan hums in approval. His mouth latches onto your other nipple, sucking lewdly, not much quieter than your whining has been. Hypocrite. You close your eyes, trying to shut out your loud as fuck thoughts and focus on the wet warmth of his tongue as it laves over and around your nipple a few times, in broad, messy strokes.

You arch into him, lacing your fingers through his hair to try to hold him in place. But like always, he can’t be tamed, lifting his head to smirk at you. You whimper, and he smiles harder, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you to his hungry mouth. You eagerly lean forward as your shirt falls from your jaw. 

Jeonghan’s kisses overwhelm your senses until you’re drowning in him. His tongue glides like honey, thick and slow, melting over yours, and you groan, grinding on him slowly.

This is what you needed. Even after all that went down, all the lies, all the tears, you still crave him, body and soul. If this is the only way that you can have him, this two a.m. interlude, then you’ll take every second you can, ignoring the little voice whispering that you’ll regret them all.

“That’s it, just like that.” Jeonghan looks down again, mesmerized by the smooth roll of your hips. His fingers sink into the flesh of your ass, hard enough that you know you’ll still feel his touch tomorrow. “Fuck yes, baby, ride it.” 

He guides you up and down his shaft, the wet sounds of your cunt sliding over him embarrassingly loud in the still room, and you let him control the pace, all your concentration on his lips - kissing them, nibbling them, sucking on them one by one. Trying desperately to get your fill of them, of him, because this is it. This is the last time. You swear it. 

Maybe this time, it will stick.

Jeonghan’s thumb rolls over your clit, making you gasp into his mouth. He does it again, and again, and just like that you’re falling apart, body singing electric as he lights up your nervous system with his touch. He keeps thrusting up into you, taking control again as you tremble above him, and you know he’s reaching his crest, the familiar signs too obvious to miss. He drops his head, muttering an endless stream of ‘fuck’s and ‘baby’s in that choked voice of his, and then his hands lock your hips in place, as deep as he can get as he fills the condom he wears.

It’s always intense, this moment, when it comes. The two of you, breathing heavy and spent, clinging to each other as you ride out the waves, like you’re hanging on for dear life. Or maybe that’s just you. Because you know that once the high is gone…

“Knew this pussy missed me.”

…the lows return.

Jeonghan laughs when you push yourself off his chest. He pinches your ass cheek for good measure, and you scowl, scrambling to climb out of his lap as quickly as you can, which is pretty difficult given your loose limbs. 

“Don’t say that.” 

Jeonghan watches with simmering amusement as you dress hastily, fumbling with your bra to the point that you nearly decide to leave it. “But it’s true.” 

“No, it’s not, and besides, it’s fucking gross when you talk like that. Like I’m not a person or something.” 

“Whatever.” He’s already losing interest, reaching for his phone. No need to argue anymore. He got his. 

You can’t get your clothes on fast enough. “Stop sending me photos. Don’t text me again.” 

You might as well be talking to the couch. He hums mechanically, scrolling away. “Lock the door on your way out.”

In the elevator, your finger hovers in its usual spot over the delete button. 

A chime. Jeonghan’s mouth, tongue extending between the peace sign he’s flashing, followed by four words: Sweet dreams, baby. 

You slip your phone back into your pocket as you descend.

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[russo-woso]

blurb suggestion - lucy bronze x reader

reader plays for arsenal & just got into the uwcl final (her first one) whereas lucy didn’t.

can it be really fluffy with the reader comforting lucy but lucy ignoring it, saying she’s fine and will get over the loss and is really proud of reader :)

thank youuuu!! 🫶🏻

Let’s focus on you || Lucy Bronze x reader

Summary You try to comfort your girlfriend after not making it to the champions league final, but all she cares about is how proud she is of you

Your team had done it, you had done it. You were going to the champions league final.

You had been playing for Arsenal for seven years now and your dreams of making it to the final were finally happening.

It had been 18 years since Arsenal had made it to the final, and you were lucky enough to be in the squad for the next historic match.

A few hours prior to the match, your girlfriend was in England playing against her former team.

Despite lucy telling you that Chelsea were going to turn the score around, Barcelona had defeated them by a mile, knocking Chelsea out of the tournament.

You were gutted for Lucy when you found out after your own match.

You were about to call Lucy, but Leah soon turned the music on in the changing room and you figured it wasn’t the right time to call her.

So you waited until you were at the airport.

You found a quiet corner away from your team, and pressed on Lucy’s number.

“Hiya, darling.” Lucy said, answering your call.

“Hi Luce, I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I was there with you. Honestly, Chelsea got unlucky and—” You began, sincerity in your voice but you soon heard Lucy chuckle.

“Babe, are you kidding me? Let’s focus on you. You just got through to your first champions league final. I’m so proud, darling.” Lucy told you

“It’s pretty good, isn’t it? I mean, you know the feeling of getting into the final.” You joked, a smile lingering on your face.

“Is it the missus?” Leah shouted over to you before walking over.

“Leah?” Lucy questioned and you hummed.

“Let me speak to the battered Lucy bronze.” Leah said, taking your phone and holding it to her ear. “So, Bronzey. How does it feel to know you won’t be touching that trophy?”

“Leah!” You exclaimed, hitting her arm.

“I’m joking! Seriously, Luce, im sorry… you play for such a shit team.”

“Please pass me back.” Lucy asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“It’s me again.”

“Alright, babe. I’ll leave you be. I’m guessing you’ve got a lot of celebrating to do on the flight home. Me and narla will be in bed waiting for you.”

“Okay, baby. See you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too, my finalist.”

[strawberryforks]

Tim Bradford x reader where he comforts his gf while she has a panic attack on patrol??

panicking in secret // tim bradford x reader

warnings: panic attack, swearing, domestic violence, violence, mentions of alcohol

a/n: i might have gotten a little carried away

You were having a shit day and couldn’t put your finger on why. As someone used to figuring things out (you were a puzzle fanatic and your next door neighbour Mr Keller was sweet enough to give you his newspaper after a read-through so you could crack down, lock-in, and solve the latest crossword) this frustrated you. You woke up and did your normal pre-work routine. You got ready, did some minimal makeup, made breakfast for you and your boyfriend (Mondays were your domain), and you headed into the station where all of your friends were and before heading out on patrol with your partner (in life and law enforcement), you joined in a few good natured conversations.

“Drinks on friday? Of course Luce,”

“Great!” she squealed, reaching out and clapping Aaron on the back, “Thorsen’s paying!”

Aaron laughed and shrugged. “Guess so!”

“Count me and Bailey in!” said Nolan.

“I’ll make sure Tim’s there too!” you promised.

So, there. You had plans for your off day. Fun, free, plans, thanks to your nepo-baby/influencer colleague. You were smiling like usual, bantering with your buddies in the briefing room, like normal, and hiding the tightness in your chest behind a trademarked smile.

“Night shift did their jobs for once—likely because Harper was with them but regardless of the reason, that means I don’t have anything else to tell you all! Get out in the streets and patrol! Dismissed,” said Sergeant Grey.

You meet Tim on the way out of the briefing room again. You two are at the end of the line of officers trickling out of the doors, he lets you walk ahead of him (forever the gentleman) but what he won’t let you do is: drive the shop—even though you had been working together for years, you were his rookie once upon a time (so long ago it was probably recorded somewhere on a stone tablet) and that translated to… Tim still occasionally treating you like his boot. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was Tim and his inconvenient overprotective tendencies but he still insisted on driving everywhere.

You liked to blame his grumpy behaviour and paid no mind to the legitimate reasons he had for not wanting you to drive. Once upon a time, you had wrote off a shop or two and Tim would rather that not happen while you were riding together.

Anyways, you don’t even like to drive.

And being passenger princess was far from the worst thing in the world.

“You alright?”

“Hm?” you return, startling and fastening your seatbelt, the very same one Tim was staring at like it could bite. You shake your head, “yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“I know you too well to buy that, babe. Do you want to talk? Grey mentioned today might be a slow one—jinxed us, if you ask me—but we’ve got time. What’s bugging you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?”

He squeezes your thigh, “If you figure it out, let me know. I’m here,”

He always was.

Dispatch radios and you and Tim head to a domestic dispute. These calls are always tough and though you’ve never told your boyfriend why he knows you act a little strange sometimes afterwards—good thing, you always thought, that Bradford wasn’t angling for detective because by not connecting the dots after all this time, you didn’t think he’d make a very good one. Angela Lopez had caught on and guessed your past the first time you and her rode together, confirming it for herself when you two went out to party and you shied away from all the men with drinks in their hands or the smell of alcohol on their breath. These calls hit home for you. They reminded you of times you didn’t want to be reminded of.

Of times when you had been just like the lady who hid behind the man that answered the door Tim knocked on. Tim flashes his badge, you hold out yours as well. These types of calls are ones that need to be handled just-so. Escalation is never the intention. “Would you mind stepping into the hallway so we can talk? While my partner speaks with your wife?” asks Tim.

The man is reluctant but after shooting his wife a withering look he nodded and follows Tim out of the doorway and down the hallway in the apartment complex a bit. You know your boyfriend—partner, first, can handle himself but the man is big. Really big. You can’t help the knot that plants itself in your throat. It’s hard to swallow around, and you look after him until he’s gone from your sight. He can handle it, you assure yourself. He can. Then, you slip into the sitting room and approach the woman—it was her who called. A purple swatch sticks out from underneath an ivory line painted onto her jaw. It’s a poor coverup, but one you recognize. The swelling on her right eye is pretty obvious too, if you know what you’re looking for. You do. You can see the powder that covers it. “You say the word and I’ll have him cuffed,” you say—unable to stop yourself but definitely coming on too strong. “I’m sorry he hit you. You don’t need to—“

“He didn’t,” she defends, and oh no, because you’ve seen this before. Lived it, before, too. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t do that. He loves me.”

“Miss, you called us. On the phone you sounded terrified.”

“It wasn’t me,” she rushes out. “I didn’t call. You have the wrong place and the wrong house and you should leave,” a little boy comes out and crowds behind her legs, holding onto the fabric of her shirt. Your heart breaks. Cleaves in two and absentmindedly, just slightly, you rub your chest. “My husband would never do anything like that and this is not something to talk about in front of my son. Who he’s a great dad to,”

“You have a bruise on your jaw,” you tell her, bluntly. The time for subtleness is gone and the little boy has a faraway look in his eyes—he looks older than he is and you know that what you’re saying is no news to him either. You know he knows. You know he’s seen his dad get angry, real angry, and smack his mom around.

“You need to colour correct before putting foundation on if you want to cover that deep of a bruise,” you tell her, and for the first time during that call she looks at you like you’re something more than a cop—in your eyes, she sees herself and she nods. She knows. You know. You know as well as anyone, better probably, that this won’t go anywhere. Not today at least. You grab one of your cards and press it into her hand. “My cell number is at the bottom. If you call I’ll be here. Promise,”

She tells you she won’t call. Even still, she slips the card into the back of her phone case and that, it gives you a small bit of hope. Tim finishes talking to the man and with no evidence other than the bruises on the woman’s face (the stairs, she said, she fell down them) you both leave. You walk behind Tim, all the way to the shop. Your movements are robotic, your spine and muscles all incredibly stiff until you reach the door, swinging it open and slumping down into the seat. You don’t plug your seatbelt in. You can’t. Your lungs, they’re already constricting painfully and you can’t bear to put something over your chest—something that will squeeze you tighter and let less air in—air, that you don’t know if you’re taking in at the moment. You’re having a panic attack you realize. Tim is still outside of the shop. Getittogether, getittogether, you plead with yourself. You open your mouth, trying to vaccum oxygen into your lungs but they’re so tight, so unwelcoming. So closed off. You can push air out—how, when it feels like there’s none left? But that’s all. You turn towards the window, press your forehead against it and try to focus on the cold when a door slams. “Officer L/n,” Tim looks over at you, you know he is because of the seconds of silence that follow—because of the shift. Softer then, he breathes your name on an exhale reaching across the console, leaning over towards you, moving you to him. “Baby,” he tries, the hardass that is Tim Bradford, phenomenal cop and badass veteran, is nowhere to be seen. First his hands fly to your shoulders and he massages gently, trying to calm your muscles before he tries to calm your mind. “You’re—“ he stops, knowing better than to announce what’s happening. You know. Youknowyouknowyouknow. “It won’t last,” he tells you instead, rotating you, turning you towards him. Your cheeks are wet and then so are the pads of his thumbs as they swipe across your face, wiping the salty tracks away. You hiccup, choking on another breath and Tim grimaces. He hates seeing you like this. He’d rather be put on desk duty, he’d rather be shot in the line of duty—he has been before and it certainly hurt him less. “Breathe with me, okay? In and out, come on.” Your face scrunches up and you shake your head. “Cant,” you rasp. Concern floods his eyes but you watch your boyfriend disappear. He steels his expression, “Officer L/n, I need you to match my breaths. That’s an order,”

Anorderanorder—that’sanorder.

You try, you try so hard. Tim pulls you against his chest and you attempt to copy his exaggerated breaths. In and out. In and out. Your inhales are greedy, your exhales are shaky. Against his chest, you feel the steady rhythmic beating of his heart—if there’s one thing Tim is, it’s steady. He’s an anchor, you’re lucky enough that he’s yours. Your anchor, always giving you strength to stay in place when the waves are crashing over you. Your breathing evens out and the two fingers he has pressed against your pulse point travel to your jaw. He tilts your head so he can see your eyes. “Better?”

You nod and he plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Want me to drop you off at home? I can call Grey,”

You feel stupid going home, digging into precious vacation time that you and Tim plan to use to go in an anniversary trip so you shake your head. “That’s not—not necessary, but thank you.”

“You’re not doing good, Y/n/n,” he tells you.

“It was a panic attack. I have anxiety—it happens sometimes. I held it together until we were off the scene, I didn’t let it get in the way of my work. We’re halfway through shift, Tim. I’ve got this.”

“It wasn’t just the panic attack. It’s like you forget sometimes, how well I know you. There’s four things in my life that matter. You, my job, my sister, Kojo. I have four things that I care about and I pay very close attention to those things. My list is work and family—you’re my family, my future wife, the future mother of my children. I know you, what makes you tick, when you’re having a bad day. I don’t think you should be working right now.”

“I’m fine, Tim.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“Then maybe you should go home,”

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I mean. I can’t focus on doing the job the right way if I’m this worried about you.”

“I can work with… Thorsen.”

“Not Harper or Lopez? Not anyone that knows about our relationship and—“

“I don’t see why it’s important that I ride with someone who knows everything,” you laugh a little, “I don’t.”

“I’m wounded.”

“Your ego, maybe.”

“But seriously babe, I’m calling Grey, and I’m driving you home.”

“This is my job,” you argue, getting frustrated. Tim and Wade are friends just as you and Luna are—going out for the occasional double date together, and hanging out individually. God knows what Tim and Wade do (watch the game and shout ar the TV, probably) but you and Luna text all the time, you’ve gone to yoga classes, book clubs, and protests. It’s not fair that Tim’s using your relations with the sergeant for time off. Time off that you really don’t need.

“And you’re good at it. Nothing will happen and no one will blame you if you need a break.”

A day to a break. What the hell? You scowl at your boyfriend and climb back into your own seat. “A day,” you say, settling. You click your seatbelt in place and Tim drives you home.

“Do you want me to take the rest of the day off too? We can talk, figure out what’s going on in that head of yours and watch some movies.”

“And take two of LAPD’s best cops off the street?” you gasp, “I couldn’t.”

Tim smiles, planting a chaste kiss on your lips before you climb out of the shop. “We can have a movie night,” you tell him. He smiles, nodding in agreeance, and you say your goodbyes and your ‘I love yous’.

Kojo bounds over to you and you drop to your knees, giving him all of your attention, petting his head and neck and scratching behind your ears. He licks your face and just as excitedly, bounds away. You walk to the back door and let him outside, following the monotonous routine of putting your gear away and hanging up your uniform. In the kitchen, you stand looking at the kettle, debating coffee which you eventually decide is not a good idea–seeing as your next action should probably be sleeping. Sometimes you can fake it until you make it. Other times, sleep can replace the fake feelings and just give you a break–you think that maybe you do need one despite not knowing from what. You love Tim, your job, your friends, Kojo. You love life just… sometimes not the brain you were saddled with. It twists things and no matter how hard you try to be happy sometimes it’s not possible. You settle on herbal tea, grabbing a festive Santa mug you insisted was a necessity.

“If you want this house to be a home we need some silly ceramics,” you said. An Eeyore mug, the Santa one in your hand, a dozen others Tim has brought home for you since then, are piled in the cupboard. You pour in the hot water, then the tea bag, and wrapping your palms around the mug, you enjoy the warmth as you peer into the fridge.

Nothing looks appetizing so it’s bedtime–must be. You draw the blinds, set your tea on the nightstand and climb under the heavy cream coloured comforter. With the blankets tucked under your chin you pull out your phone and begin to peruse your various social medias. You start with some instagram doomscrolling and then move to tiktok where a few 60 second skits manage to make you smile a bit. It’s dark in the room and you yawn—that’s your cue. Phone plugged in, sleep mask over your eyes, and… ringing? You rip the mask off, tug your phone from the charger and hit the green button, answering. A scared, small voic, greets you. “It’s Mary. I… You… you were here earlier and said to call if… if it got bad—“

The covers are on the ground, you’re out of bed and throwing a long trench coat overtop the pajamas you changed into. On the other end of the phone you hear charged screaming and things smashing. “You did the right thing calling. I’m on my way. Where are you and where is he, Mary?”

She lets out a terrified sob, “I should’ve listened earlier, I should’ve told.”

“Anyone whose been in your shoes knows why you didn’t.” One of your off duty weapons is in your hand as you rush out of the front door. “What’s going on Mary, talk to me.”

“I’m in the bathroom with Johnny. The door… I locked it. He’s just so angry. He…”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes—no,” she amends, wailing, sounding hopeless.

You’re in the car, switching it into drive, and speeding (you’re a cop it’s fine) down the street. The speedometer on ticks a few above the speed you should be at and despite going fast, you’re not moving fast enough that you’ll be pulled over. You aren’t even thinking about radioing in, duh, you can’t, you don’t have a fucking radio and there’s no way you’re hanging up on Mary, leaving her alone. No, no you wouldn’t do it. “Keep talking,” you urge, “I’m on my way, I’ll be there soon. As many details as you have I need, okay? Where’s the bathroom, which room is he in?” you pause, waiting for her answer because you don’t need to add to the overwhelm she’s feeling right now.

“He’s in the living room or kitchen. He’s… drinking and really mad. Really mad at me—I didn’t, I didn’t have supper done and I was on my phone. He thought I was cheating. I’m not, I would never.”

“None of this is your fault,” you tell her, cutting the steering wheel and changing lanes. “It wouldn’t have mattered if supper was ready, if you hadn’t touched an electronic in days. He would’ve found something. The door, will it be unlocked.”

“N-no, he locked it when this all started,”

“Want to invite me in Mary?”

“Wha—“

“Permission to break your door down is what I’m hoping for. I’m not on the clock and doing this out of uniform is sometimes frowned upon.”

“Yeah. Yeah, yes, break it.”

You pull into the parking lot, and go to unbuckle your seatbelt—it wasn’t on. In your haste you had forgotten and you’d beat yourself up about it later. That, or you’d pretend it never happened. The latter was infinitely more likely. You shut the car off and hopped out of it, entering into the apartment foyer and rushing up the carpeted staircase. On the second level you follow the hallway, listening to the shouting and crashing. Two girls who must be in their teens peer out of their respective apartments, heads stacked over each other. “What’s going on?” they whisper-hiss as you run over to the door and slam your shoulder against it until it flies open. “LAPD,” you shout, despite having no credentials with you. Then the man grabs a butchers knife and… holds it the right way. Goddamn it.

A knife fight. You were not expecting a knife fight. To go from being in bed, barely awake, to this? It was jarring to say the least. “Get out of my house!” hollers the husband. “Mary!” You shout into the phone, “call 911! Tell them officer L/n is—“ the husband lunges and in your haste to dodge, your phone flies to the ground, gun clattering along with it. Shit—shitshitshit. You hope Mary’s heard you as the man in front of you zeroed in on your weapon. You duck under another slice of his and dive for your gun. He kicks it out of the way and then, kicks you. You blame your reflexes—you blame the off day you’ve been having. Stupid mistake after stupid mistake and god, you’ve made a lot. For the first time in ever, you wish you were Nolan, with his never ending stream of all the right words. Instead you’re just you. Just Y/n L/n, anxious as hell and so, so screwed.

You scramble back, your—shit, no. Mary’s abuser nicks you with his knife. It slices your palm, the hand that reaches for your gun now blood covered. The man is large. He’s massive and you finally get your gun. You tell him you’ll shoot but the safety isn’t off. The safety isn’t off because you don’t want to kill anyone and he slams you into a wall. Your head rings. You aren’t quite sure what you’re hesring as the man tosses away his knife and decides to use his hands. To get up close and personal. They wrap around your throat, they pin you, and then your hand is slamming into a pressure point and your knee is simultaneously slamming into his crotch. He grunts and you roll him off of you. You roll him onto his stomach and your hand threads through his greasy hair—you slam his head into the floor. Once, twice for good measure, and he finally stops moving. You check for a pulse and sag in relief when you find out he has one. Thats when the bsthroom door eases open. You stand quick and fill the doorway. “Don’t let your son come out here,” you pant. “You might not even want to.”

Mary tucks her little one into his bedroom and joins you in the kitchen. Your gun is in your waistband—if anyone asks, it never left, and the man lying face down on the floor has his hands tied behind his back with tea towls.

Mary hands you a bag of frozen peas and you press it to your aching head, feeling bad for the blood you’re smearing all over her grocery. That can’t be sanitary, “I’ll replace it,” you tell her.

She shakes her head. “That’s not necessary. You… thank you. I don’t know what would’ve—“

“Don’t think about that,” you tell her, and 20 minutes later when the cavalry arrives, you’re grateful to see Lopez and not your boyfriend. Less grateful when she pulls out her phone and— “please don’t call him. I’m fine, I’m—“

You’re not fine but,

“I’m not calling Tim, I’m calling Bailey. You won’t go to the hospital but you need to be seen and—“

“Thank you, Angela.”

“Of course. But, just because I’m not telling Tim doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

After Bailey is done, patching you up, you head home. You’re about to pull into the driveway when your phone starts ringing and a specific ringtone let you know that it’s Tim. You sigh and because you can see his car in the driveway, because you’re pulling into said driveway, you let it go to voicemail.

Inside, Tim meets you as you open the door. He draws you into his chest and holds you firmly but gently. “Jesus, Y/n/n, what happened?” He knows, of course, he already knows. “What the hell were you thinking. You were supposed to be at home! You were supposed to be resting, taking a break.”

“ I know. I’m sorry. The lady from earlier called and—“

“And you should’ve called me!”

Yeah. Yeah, probably.

“I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking. I just panicked.”

Tim looks like he’s about to scold you more, but then his eyes meet yours. “I just… God, I’m so glad you’re okay. You scared the shit out of me. Please, never do that again.”

“Okay,” you squeak. And that’s how you stay, in his arms, for the rest of the night.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Allergies(AggieBeever-JonesXWilliamsonReader)

A/N: did some research but it still might not be 100 % accurate. Hope you still like it.

Warning: allergic reaction, bee sting, mentions of Type 1 Diabetes and hospitals.

summary: you are at practice and a bee stings you. You are allergic so your girlfriend comes to your rescue.

You were sitting on the bench in the changing rooms, getting ready for practice, putting on your boots. Chatting with Lucy. Your England teammate.

"are you excited for national Camp?" Lucy wanted to know. You nodded your head softly. You felt glad to be Part of the England Team again after being out with am injury for 5 months.

"yes can't wait to be back at Camp in 10 days. It's very exciting for me!" You admitted.

"you deserve it for sure!" Lucy told you.

"thanks luce!" You replied and smiled at her.

Ten minutes later you were on the pitch, kicking the ball back and forth with Aggie, your girlfriend of two years. You felt something on your Leg and let out a whimper when it pierced your skin. Aggie frowning when she saw your face. You looked down on your Leg. Oh this was bad.

"Babe you okay?" She asked.

"i got stung by a bee!" You announced. Aggie was trying not to panic. Keira who heard you say it , quickly ran over. Helping you sit down on the ground.

"i have your epipen." Aggie said, after grabbing it from her own bag. She always had one with her. Not a Minute to late cause you started to feel the effects of the bee sting. Your throat was scratching. Swallowing hurt and was difficult. Aggie quickly used the epipen on you. All the Girls of the Team were standing close by now. Keira laid you down now, while Lucy called an ambulance and Aggie was talking to you to keep you calm.

"it's all okay Babe. Don't worry. We got you!" She told you.

"okay." You managed to get out. Not looking forward to the hospital. You had spend way too much time in there as a kid cause you have type 1 Diabetes, then two years ago you had to have ACL surgery.

"good thing we all knew about you being allergic and what to do!" Hannah stated.

5 minutes later you were already loaded into an ambulance, aggie riding with you. Holding your hand gently.

"i am so glad we caught you getting stung in time!" Aggie stated. Cause she sure as hell was worried enough about you all the time with your Diabetes. Even though you mostly got it under Control.

"Same." You told her. Thankful that the epipen worked. Getting checked over at the hospital was still something that had to be done unfortunately. Aggie gently kissed your forehead and you closed your eyes, relaxing a bit cause of the gesture.

At the hospital they checked you over, wanting to keep you for Observation for a few hours before Aggie could take you Home. She was with you the entire time. Holding your hand. You really appreciated her trying to keep your mind off of the fact that you were in the Hospital. Cause she knew how much you hated them.

"oh your sister is calling!" Aggie said, looking at the Screen of her Phone. She answered the call.

"Leah, hey..." Your girlfriend answered.

"aggie, how is my sister? I heard from Millie that she is at the hospital!" Your sister asked. She sounded really concerned.

"she is okay. We can leave the hospital soon. Just had to stay for a bit after i had to use the epipen on her. She got stung by a bee!" Aggie explained.

"thank god that she is okay! Can i talk to her?" Leah asked.

"Sure!" Aggie Said and handed her Phone over to you.

"hey Leah, don't worry i am alive!" You let her know.

"certainly glad to hear that. Would hate a life without my annoying little sister!" She replied teasingly.

"you won't her rid of me so easily." You told her jokingly. After a little bit of banter you ended the call and could leave the hospital soon after.

You sat on the Couch, cuddled up into Aggies Arms. Munching on a slice of extra cheese Pizza, which the two of you had picked up on your way home from the hospital.

"how is your blood sugar by the way?" Your girlfriend asked.

"scared of another hospital Trip today?" You asked jokingly.

"funny." She Said and playfully rolled her eyes, she couldn't help but smile though.

"it's cute when you worry! But my blood sugar is at it's best behavior!" You answered. Kissing her gently and she kissed you back.

Let's just say the Pizza was quickly forgotten.

[lqveharrington]

If Only | L.M.

summary: You and Lucifer were bond through the soulmate system, but how could you be soulmates when he had Lilith?

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x fallen seraphim!reader

includes: kinda soulmate au? fluff, angst, mentions of death, lucifer feeling like a bad parent (that’s pretty much it, let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i wrote this at night the other day. toward the very end i was very proud of what i wrote 😭🙏 time for my requests i’ve gotten !!!

Ever since Lilith left Lucifer seven years ago, he never expected to meet another who made his heart soar. He fell into a deep state of depression and only started to get out more when Charlie invited him to stay at the hotel after the latest extermination. He got his own royal suite and joined in on Charlie’s lessons, but it still wasn’t enough to keep up with his daughter’s upbeat attitude every day.

It wasn’t enough to help pull him out of his depression until you came along to the hotel.

The moment you stepped into the hotel and greeted Charlie with the same enthusiasm made him smile. It was just another plus that you were a fallen angel, more so a fallen seraphim. And he swore that when you first met his gaze for that split second your eyes glowed pink as he felt his eyes do the same. He thought that would never happen again, but here he stood with an adoring face while you spoke to his daughter like you’ve known her since she was a child.

Soon enough, you and Lucifer were introduced to one another properly, the pink glow in both your eyes returning.

“It’s nice to meet the head man himself.” You grin as he kisses the back of your hand. “And such a gentleman as well.”

“What can I say? I’m quite the ladies' man.” He winked as he saw you burn bright.

As months passed since your first official interaction, you and Lucifer grew closer, bonding on your similar and different experiences. Whether you bonded over one of Charlie’s redemption activities or relaxed in his suite, you both found contentment in each other, letting each other enjoy the company.

“You know, I’m not going to relax when you keep tugging my book away.” You grab his wrist as he reaches for the book for the nth time in thirty minutes. “I’m going to leave your room.”

“Please don’t.” He tugged you closer to his side, head resting on your shoulder. “I don’t want to move from this spot again.”

You tilt your head toward him, eyes glowing a faint pink. “Then let me read.” You let a small smile slip through when he grumbled an incoherent sentence.

Lucifer’s eyes softened when you returned to read your book, watching your eyes scan the words in front of you. His mind and heart racing a million miles per hour whenever you were around. He couldn’t decide what was right. Was his heart telling him to move on? Or was it just aching to be affectionate with another?

The signs were pointing in different ways, but surely the answer was right in front of him. He just had to understand what it was before the magic between you two would fully disappear.

“Staring is highly distracting, Luce.” Your eyes flit up to meet him again. “I can’t focus.”

“You must really like me then.” He gave you a cocky grin

You roll your eyes, shutting the book. “You’ve ruined the book for me. I’m never going to finish that book now.”

“That book wasn’t good anyways.” He brought the comforter up and over the both of you. He locked his arms around your waist, pulling your back to his front. You felt yourself loosen up by his touch, letting out a small breath of exhaustion. “I’m spent after all the bonding activities today, beautiful. I think we can skip our kitchen run tonight and just go to bed.”

“Were you really waiting for me to finish reading so we could sleep?” You murmur as you feel him nod. You let out a small laugh, “Wow, I would have never stooped so low.”

Lucifer shushed you, “I’m sleeping, good night.”

A soft smile takes over your burning face, turning in his arms to face him. “Good night, Luce.”

He didn’t say anything else but quietly played with your hair, listening to your steady breathing as sleep consumed you. Lucifer always made sure you fell asleep first, wanting you to get a good night's sleep before he did. Yet, he didn’t exactly know when you both went from friends to whatever this was, but he wasn’t complaining if he got to see you sleep in his arms every once in a while.

And it wasn’t like Lucifer was the only one to notice your unusual relationship with one another. You noticed it as well. From the soft touches to the sleepovers at his suite, you knew it was more than just a simple friendship. But what could you do when he still wore his wedding ring?

“What’s happening?” You lay your legs across Lucifer’s lap, taking a glance at the news channel cast upon his suite’s television.

Lucifer rubbed your calf, golden ring a cold contrast to his warm fingers. “They’re interviewing Charlie for her hotel. They know how the extermination happened this year, so I’m hoping the questions are more targeted toward how her hotel will work than how it was fighting angels.”

You frown at the feel of his ring, even more so when he mentions the death of angels. “What happened the last time they interviewed her?”

He scoffed, “They were so rude to her. I mean, I understand we’re in Hell, but she’s their fucking princess. They only brought down her ideas, not asking enough about how she intends to accomplish redemption. I wish I could have done something back then, you know? Show them why I’m the King of Hell.”

You reach across to link a hand with his, giving him a small smile when he meets your glowing pink eyes that match his pair. “Luce, you’re a wonderful parent. I know you want to protect your daughter, but it’s in the past. She knows you love her and look at you two now! You’re supporting her dreams and whatever lies in store for them.”

“Thank you…” He felt the golden ring become heavy on his finger, an uncomfortable weight that was never there appearing. “You’re not half bad of a parent yourself.”

“What?” You let out a confused laugh, thumbing his hand. “I’m not anyone’s parent.”

“Yeah, but—“ He gestured toward the television where they switched the camera toward Charlie before switching to a quick commercial break. “—You've been more of a mother to Charlie than her biological mother in one year. The second you stepped into this hotel, she lit up around you.” His downturned smile grew bigger when you tilted your head. “Charlie may be a very trusting person, but she knows when someone is going to support her with anything she accomplishes. You were one of those people.”

You feel yourself warm at the small confrontation, “I’m sure she thinks of me as any other resident at the hotel, Luce. Don’t boost my ego, you have enough for the both of us.”

“Hey now.” He squeezed your leg. “I’m being nice, and you’re just hurling insults at my face.”

“Me? Never.”

He continued to rub a small pattern, thoughts running back and forth before turning back to you. “I’m serious though. She really loves you… Almost as much as I do.”

Your eyes widened, meeting his eyes that were now glowing a much brighter pink than usual. “You… I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I admire you a lot, beautiful.” He confessed, confidence boosting his voice. “Ever since I laid my eyes on you, and not just because of your looks. You handled Charlie better than I did in the last seven years, and I couldn’t ask for a better person to let her be herself when I’m not around.”

Your eyes glowed brighter at his words, squeezing his hand. “Lucifer, I admire you as much as you love Charlie, but it’s a matter of soulmates versus those of the past.” You gesture toward his ring, pursing your lips at the sight. “Are you sure you’re truly ready to move on? From the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve never taken that ring off.”

“I’m sure.” He let his hand holding yours drift up to cradle your cheek, snapping his finger to get rid of the ring and away in his back drawer. “She’s left me for almost a whole decade, I think I have the permission to move on.”

You melt into his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “If it’s what you really want, Luce.”

“It is.” He left a small kiss at your temple. “Because I know you’ll still be with me when all of Hell falls apart and all my magic is gone.”

“You’re so cheesy.” You lean back on the couch, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Will you officially be mine, Lucifer Morningstar?”

“Always, beautiful.” He kept your hands linked as he pressed a promise kiss to your ring finger. “Always.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[lavenoon]

Hey

Hey

Hey

*crawls into your nest and hugs you*

Good morning~❤️

*nest severely simplified

Oh boy, friend to hug! Don't mind if I do <3 Welcome to the snooze zone I hope you'll enjoy your stay :3c <3

[leah-lover]

Love in Ibiza. Barca x reader. Smut 18+

orgy. Part 1 Part 2

After that Lucy sits closer to you, and moves her head milemeteres away from yours. “ are you sure?” she whispers. You lock your lips with hers as a response. 

As you lean in the kiss you feel Lucy pull away from you. “ no” you whisper for her only to hear. She pulls away still and sits a little far from you. 

“ I am not  sure you know what you are getting yourself into.” she says. 

“ I am sure of my will to have sex with you Lucy and with all of you in fact.” you respond to her. 

“ I told you she liked you luce.” said mapi to lucy. 

“ That's not why I brought her here.” 

“ I know but you owe me now.” 

“ you guys bet on me?” you say in surprise. 

“ Well not bet but you were a topic of a few conversations we had.” said ingrid. 

“ do tell.” you add. “ I find you attractive. Especially when you wear a dress like the one you are wearing right now.” said Lucy looking you up and down. You take off your jacket as a response showcasing your shoulder less black dress. You kept eye contact with Lucy while doing so. 

“ Why don't you come and show me how much you like it then.” you say bravely. You stare into Lucy's eyes for a second before she sits near you. You turn your head to kiss her. Your lips fit perfectly together. Hers were soft and dominating. She quickly took control of you, guided you to straddle her lap; her hands roaming freely on your back. She solicited a few moans from you when she moved on to your neck giving it bruising, mouth full kisses, leaving her mark in each section. Your hands move from her neck to her hair, massaging her scalp as she devours your neck. It was like you two were the only people in the world. She then puts her head on your chest and says “ is  my baby girl enjoying this?” Both you and ona say yes at the same time which makes you  feel a little bit awkward and embarrassed. 

“ It's okay we will make a fun little compaction of who will be my best girl.” She says giving the exposed part of your chest a kiss. 

“ She isn't yours Lucia.” Said Alexia from behind you, her shirt on the ground and her hair was a little bit messy. “ We will see about that “ answered Lucy before kissing you again. She unzips your dress smoothly and helps you take it off. You stay only in a black laced underwear. “ You are so beautiful.” She whispers before going  down on you again. she sucked, kissed, and marked her way down your body leaving red circles all over it.  When she reached  your core she noticed a wet patch on your panties which made her smile. She didn't say a word though. She just tossed them aside, opened your legs and slid between them. Your brain was hazy when she first made contact with your clit. You could even release a full moan with only whimpers and muffled sounds. She put your clit between her teeth sucking at it forcefully, Her hands roamed your stomach. She kept moving until she found the right rhythm that made you arch. Your whimpers were getting louder as she moved up her pace. Her hands continued to touch you all over which made you want to come even more. “ I want to come.” You whisper gently between your heavy breaths. “ Please let me come.” “ Okay be a good girl and come for me.” 

Your eyes were closed when you reached your climax. It was the best orgasm you have ever had. You keep your eyes closed as you ride you high while breathing very loudly.  Lucy gave you in your space to calm down. 

When you opened your eyes you found ona cleaning up your juices from Lucy's mouth. The scene in front of you made your clit pulse again. “ Thank you “ you whisper when she turns to face you. “ Don't know that just yet.” She winks at you and disappears in the hallway opposite you. 

You turn your eyes only to find Ingrid looking at you. You were naked, your legs open, and your juices running down your thighs. However, she didn't make you feel vulnerable. Her eyes made you feel safe. You continue your eye contact for a moment before you extend your arm in her direction inviting her to come next to you. She agrees to your silent request and joins you on your side of the couch. You quickly glance at her girlfriend who was knuckles deep inside Alexia before giving your attention back to Ingrid. 

“Right now Lucy will pride herself in making you look so fucking sexy. You looked amazing. We all stopped and just looked at you “ she said. You get up and sit next to her. “ how long have you been doing this.” You say stroking her arm. “ Well at the beginning it was just me, Maria, Alexia and Jenni . Then Lucy and ona joined. Then aitana. We started about a year ago and we only got together when we wanted to. It was often actually.” She said. “ Are you enjoying yourself so far? '’ ' very much so.” You respond and kiss her. 

This kiss was much softer, and more intimate. Ingrid didn't rush into you she took her time. “ Is your pussy still needy even after what Lucy just did?” She asks. “ I want more.” You respond. You two look at each other before you lay back and invite her over you. Without hesitation she hovers on top of you and quickly slid 2 fingers inside of you. You arch and release a loud moan as a response. Ingrid's thrusts were harder than you thought. She wanted to ruin you and it was obvious. She kept switching up her pace and trying to loosen you up more. “ So fucking tight around my fingers aren't you baby?” She asked l, her voice filled with list. This wasn't a side of Ingrid you have ever seen. She wanted your attention to be on her so when you would turn your head to the side she would turn it back towards her. You were able to notice the scene next to you briefly. Ona was sat on Lucy's lap, her thumb stroking ona’s clit while they were both looking at Ingrid fucking you. The scene turned you on even more but Ingrid's inconsistency didn't allow you to come. She Introduced a third finger which made you scream and arch more but it only made her laugh a little. “Please please please can I come please.” You started begging her, feeling your hole stretched out to what you thought was the max. You continue begging for a while and she speeds up even more. “Please Ingrid.” You beg again. “Okay, you can come now baby “ as soon as you reserved the okay you grabbed a chunk of the couch under you, released the loudest moan of the night and came. Seconds after you you heard ona’s cries as she came too. You in absolute bliss when Ingrid pecked your lips.

“ You may have been the first but I made her come harder.” Said Ingrid to Lucy.

“ Now it's our time to try.” Alexia pointed at herself and at mapi. 

Let me know what you think.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds II

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: You remain dazed and confused

You went crashing to the ground, skidding across the wet pitch.

"You feeling okay, champ?"

You groan, clutching at your ribs as you roll onto your back. "Can you tell Bright to please leave me alone? You're friends, right?"

Lucy laughs. "Funny, kid. Real funny. You feeling good, though? Okay to continue?"

You huff and let Lucy pull you up, wiping the rain from your face.

Chelsea had upped their game since that red card, truly, and as one of the younger ones on the pitch, you were baring the brunt of it. It seemed that they had forgotten you were once their academy player just like you did.

Though, to be fair, yours was more of you had genuinely forgotten while this seemed more like revenge on their part.

"Atta-girl," Lucy says, clapping you on the back.

"Hey," Ingrid approaches as well," That looked nasty. How are your ribs?"

"Sore," You answer," But I think I can keep going."

"There's that winning mentality!" Lucy says," Sticking it out until the end."

Ingrid gives Lucy a pointed look. "You know, I think I preferred it when you were more protective over her. She's hurt her ribs, Lucy!"

"I'll be fine."

"See! She'll be fine!"

Ingrid rolls her eyes but moves to take the free kick you've just won.

You go streaking up the pitch after it.

Carter and Charles both run up either side of you just as you release the ball from your foot, sending it towards Hampton.

One of them jostles you off balance and you trip, going careening forward.

It must have been a pretty forceful shove because you gain a lot of air, very quickly.

Quick enough to meet up with the ball you've already released.

You smash the top of your head against it just as you land on the ground.

"Ow..." You say to no one as your ribs flair in pain again as your body meets the pitch.

Over the ringing of your ears, you can't hear the roar of the crowd as your head propels the ball just an inch too far for Hampton to get her glove around.

It slots itself in the net but you're still faceplanted in the dirt to have even noticed.

Someone grabs you, Patri, you find, and shakes you almost too violently.

She's saying something but all you can do is mindlessly stare in confusion at her.

"I taught her that!" Lucy's proud voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. "Did you know? I taught her that."

"Sure, Luce," Comes Keira's dry reply.

"What? I did! Even the landing!"

"I..." You say, rubbing a sore spot on your head. "What happened?"

Patri laughs, jostling you again. "You just scored, idiot!"

"Did I?"

"Yes!" Comes the chorus of voice arounds you and you glance around to see the rest of the team.

"Oh...When did you guys get here?"

"How are your ribs?" It's Paredes now and you frown, pressing on them.

You wince. "I'll live."

Keira sighs. "God, Luce, couldn't you teach her anything else? We don't need another Lucy Bronze running around."

Lucy grins. "I think we do. She's my protégé."

"I don't think Alexia would be happy hearing you say that."

Lucy suddenly turns pale, eyes wide. "Oh, shit. Don't tell her I said that."

They go back and forth while you still stare up at confusion in the screen displaying the 3-0 score to Barcelona.

"Seriously," Paredes says," Your ribs. Are they okay?"

"I can still play on them."

"So they're not okay." She gestures to Jona to sub you off.

"But..."

"We need you for the final," She says to you," Besides, the match is nearly over. They're not catching up to us now."

Bruna comes on in your place and you sit, dazed and confused on the bench.

Jana giggles at your face, poking your cheeks as you try to mull over your goal.

"Are you sure it counts?" You ask.

"Are you saying they should disallow it?"

"No!" You say quickly," But...I don't know."

"Tell you what," Jana giggles," If this football thing doesn't work out for you then professional clown might."

You frown. "Huh?"

She mimics the face you pulled when you found out the ball went in.

Your eyes go wide.

"Oh no."

She grins. "Oh yes. It's been, what, five minutes? I've already seen ten separate Twitter accounts with it as the profile picture."

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Daughter Who's a Boot

The Bradfords Series Masterlist (3/?)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!cop!reader

Summary: Tim interrupts your dinner date with Lucy with a cryptic call that leaves you concerned. Lucy stays beside you and you remind Tim that she's important to both of you (and that he cares about her, even if he won't admit it).

Warnings: mention/depiction of domestic terrorism, banter, fluff!

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Your phone buzzes with a text from Tim while you watch for Lucy. Tonight’s dinner date with Lucy has been planned for weeks, but Tim seemed reluctant to let you go. Whether his sudden borderline clinginess was because you’re spending time with Lucy instead of him or something more, you’re unsure. Regardless of the reason he’s texting, you promise to let him know when you’re on your way home and encourage him to enjoy his time alone. Since you married Tim, he’s grown used to you being around, but you thought he would enjoy a night to himself. It seems you were wrong.

The restaurant door opens again while you place your phone back in your bag. You look up quickly and wave to Lucy, whose smile grows as she rushes to your table.

“I ordered your favorite drink,” you say as she sits across the table.

“Thanks, Mom!” she replies, still smiling.

“Someone is going to think you’re serious and have some intense judgements about me,” you scold playfully.

“How was your day?” Lucy asks, ignoring your faux protest.

“It was pretty good. I’m more interested in how yours was.”

“Busy, but fine. I’ve been counting down the seconds to this dinner, though.”

“We should do it more often.”

“Like your husband would allow that,” Lucy scoffs. “He’s so jealous of me and how much time we spend together.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Tim cares about Lucy just as much as you do, but he has a very different way of showing it. Lucy knows that, but she enjoys teasing him and trying to get under his skin. After the waiter approaches and takes your order, he turns to Lucy. Your phone lights up in your bag, and you politely excuse yourself before you look down to check it. There’s a missed call from Tim that went to voicemail less than a minute ago.

“Tim?” Lucy guesses as the waiter leaves.

“Yeah,” you say, furrowing your brows. “He knows we’re busy.”

Your phone rings again, and this time you answer it immediately.

“Tim?” you ask as the call connects.

“I need you to come home. Now,” Tim says before your phone beeps.

You pull the phone away from your ear, and when a text comes through from Angela, you know Tim is serious.

“I have to go, Lucy. I’m so sorry,” you explain as you gather your things.

“I’m coming with you,” Lucy offers.

“No, Luce-“

“You’re rattled, and now I’m worried too. So, I’m coming with you.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

You leave some cash on the table for your waiter and tell the hostess there’s an emergency as you rush past the greeting stand. Your mind races with what could be this urgent, but you resolve to remain calm and composed as you race to get home.

Lucy walks into your home behind you and nearly runs into you when you stop suddenly. She peeks over your shoulder and sees a map covering your dining table. Tim and Angela are leaning over it, marking seemingly random locations with bright red dots.

Tim looks up, and when he sees Lucy, he tells you, “I told you to come home, not Lucy.”

Lucy opens her mouth to apologize, but you speak before she can.

“Tim, you said to get home and then hung up on me. You should know that she wouldn’t let me leave alone after that. She’s worried, too, so either we both stay, or we both go,” you respond.

Angela gives Tim a that’s your wife look before he sighs and steps toward you. When Tim lifts his arms, you willingly move toward him and let him wrap you in a hug. He apologizes against your shoulder as he rubs a warm hand along your spine.

“So,” you begin as you step out of the hug. “What was the cryptic call about?”

“Interesting question,” Angela muses. “We have enough reason to believe someone is planning a huge attack on downtown LA. Like, they want to level it huge. But we don’t actually have enough evidence to get the FBI involved or do anything about it.”

“Not yet,” Tim adds, glancing at you.

“Of course,” you agree without being asked. “Tell me what to do.”

“Us,” Lucy corrects, stepping to your side. “Tell us what to do.”

“The locations marked in red have the most foot traffic, we think those would be easy targets because no one would be able to see anything,” Tim explains.

“But that doesn’t take into account rooftops, abandoned buildings, flight paths, anything that wouldn’t rely on a diversion,” you deduce.

“Right,” Angela agrees. “But we have a notebook in evidence with some details. Techs are trying to piece it together but they’re not making any progress.”

“Do you have pictures of the notes?” Lucy asks.

“Of course we do, boot. We’re not incompetent, just behind,” Tim answers as he passes a tablet to Lucy.

“Thanks, Dad,” she replies as she scrolls through the pictures.

“Hey, Angela,” you call, ignoring Lucy and Tim bickering behind you. “Can you pass me that stool?”

She nods and brings a stool from your kitchen island to your side. You position it beside the table before you climb to stand atop it.

“Don’t-“ Tim begins, but you’re already up. He sighs as he walks past Lucy and places a hand on the back of your thigh to keep you steady.

You rise to your tiptoes, aware of Tim’s hand pressing against your leg to reassure himself just as much as you, and snap a picture of the map from above. Tim takes your hand as you jump down and examine the angle you photographed.

“Am I seeing things or do the red marks spell something?” you ask, passing your phone to Angela.

You squeeze Tim’s hand, which is still wrapped around yours.

“I can see two letters,” Angela cheers. “D, something, T.”

“A dot,” Lucy fills in, zooming in on a scanned page from the notebook. “It’s marked on a map, looks like 100 Main Street… is that a real address?”

“It’s not a dot, it’s DOT!” you exclaim. “Department of Transportation, D-O-T. Caltrans has a headquarters on South Main, downtown.”

“It wasn’t going to start multi-target,” Tim realizes.

“If they can hit Caltrans, they can take out more than downtown, they can take out all of Los Angeles,” Angela adds.

“I thought traffic was bad now,” you murmur as you join Lucy’s side to view the mastermind’s notes.

“I’m going to alert Caltrans, LADOT, DHS, and anyone else I can get in touch with,” Angela says as she picks up her phone. “Thank you so much for your help. Sorry, I ruined dinner.”

“Tim ruined dinner,” Lucy corrects.

“I’m okay with shifting the blame to him. I’ll see all of you at work.”

“Bye, Ange,” you call after her. You tilt your head to look at Tim while Lucy continues scrolling through evidence pictures.

“What?” Tim asks.

“Seriously?!” you ask incredulously. “You scared me. Calling twice in a row, telling me to get home, and then hanging up on me is not okay.”

Tim nods, seeing just how upset you still are. All because he worried you. The last time you were stressed because of someone close to you was when Lucy accidentally lured a former convict to her apartment. Now, it’s completely Tim’s fault that you feel this way, and he knows he could have gone about it differently. Tim pulls you into his arms and apologizes again before promising never to worry you like that again. It’s not necessarily a promise he can keep, but you know he’ll try. You nod against his chest and wrap your arms tighter around his waist.

“Hey, maybe I’m worried about you too, Dad,” Lucy interrupts. “Can I get in on the hug?”

“No,” Tim answers shortly. “But thank you for coming.”

“No problem.” Lucy smiles at you and says, “Goodnight, Mom. Call if you need a break from him.”

“Goodnight, Lucy. Thanks for everything,” you reply. You release Tim to hug Lucy before she leaves.

When she returns the hug, Lucy whispers, “Is Tim a good hugger?”

“No,” you lie quietly. “He’s the worst.”

“I knew it.”

Lucy leaves, and when your front door closes behind her, you turn to Tim, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“If I’m such a bad hugger, you can live without another one,” he says.

“We may fight all the time, but you need me, Bradford,” you reply.

Tim stares into your eyes before he pulls you roughly into his arms and kisses your forehead.

“Hey, since you interrupted my dinner with Lucy, I’m crashing your breakfast with her next week,” you threaten lightly.

“I’m ditching her,” Tim replies. “Breakfast with you sounds a whole lot better.”

“She’s our daughter, Tim, you’re gonna have to learn to get along with her eventually.”

Tim pulls back and cups your face before he explains, “She’s a boot, not a daughter. Keep that straight.”

“Sure,” you agree. “Just remember that next time she’s in danger and you call me panicking.”

Tim releases you and steps back dramatically as he accuses, “Traitor. Kojo, let’s go somewhere we’re appreciated.”

Hearing his name, Kojo trots into the room with you and sits beside your feet. He looks up at you and wiggles happily as you reach down to pet him.

“You’re outnumbered, Bradford,” you remind Tim. “And you love us.”

Tim returns to your side and distracts you from Kojo as he kisses you. “I do love you,” he says against your lips. “Remember that.”

[pitchsidestories]

training season II Lucy Bronze x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1140

summary: Lucy and you're married, but she still wants to impress you especially during gym sessions with the team.

a/n: hi, it's based off this request here, we hope you enjoy it as much as we did while writing the oneshot.

Staying focused.

That was always your priority when you were in the gym with your Barcelona teammates.

Your hands were getting sweaty as you did your last set of leg presses on the machine.

Alexia did the same exercises next to you. You liked being in her presence, she always made sure you pushed yourself.

But today, she seemed distracted, pausing in the middle of her set.

“Y/n, your wife…“, she said into the silence.

“What about her?“, you huffed as you pushed the weight with your legs once again.

Alexia rolled her eyes: “She’s annoying.“

“Annoying, huh?“, you laughed. You set your feet down and turned towards your wife.

“Look.“ Alexia nodded in her direction and resumed her exercises.

Lucy was in the middle of the floor, doing push-ups in rapid succession.

You smirked: “Luce is trying to impress.“

“I wonder who she’s trying to impress here. It’s definitely not us.“, Mapi teased. She was sitting on a gymnastic ball and grinned at you.

You shrugged innocently: “Who knows.“

Still, your gaze subconsciously drifted back to your wifes biceps.

“Pretty obvious.“, Alexia concluded with a raised eyebrow.

On the order side of the gym, Lucy looked over to Mariona who was next to her on the floor, massaging her muscles with a foam roller.

“Mario, is she looking?“

“Yes, and everyone else too.“, the midfielder replied, sounding bored.

Patri joined the conversation, letting herself drop on the mat next to Mariona: “Also you know that this rooms isn’t that huge and everyone can hear you, right, Lucia?“

“Shut up.“, Lucy replied jokingly.

The younger player just shrugged: “Your wife doesn’t look too impressed so far.“

Lucy frowned as she looked over towards you: “It’s because Alexia and Mapi keep distracting her.“

“Or you need to do something more impressive.“, Mariona suggested.

The defender stopped doing push-ups and considered her teammate for a moment: “I think I have an idea for that.“

She got up, moved over towards a pull-up bar and started doing pull-ups. No break between the exercises, just steady and quick movements over and over again. The veins in her forearms started to protrude and her breathing pattern was off,

You could tell when your wife was overdoing it.

“Lucia Roberta Tough Bronze!“, you called her.

She let go of the bar and dropped to her feet: “Yes?“

The smile on her face let you know that she got what she wanted. Your attention.

“Sarina Wiegman would kill you if she saw you doing that!“, you warned her. It was a running gag between the two of you. Her national team coach was always worried about Lucy doing too much at her age.

Your wife shrugged: “She’s not here though!“

“Still, that’s why we won the world cup against your team, you never listen to the advice your coach gives you.”, you remarked with the hands demonstrative on your hips.

“Excuse me what?!”, she replied, in an attempted scandalized tone.

“You heard me.”, you countered smirking.

“You know that’s a lie. You were just lucky.”, Lucy protested, despite her playful annoyance, her green eyes lit up during your banter, there were only a few things she enjoyed more than this.

“Yes, it was. But maybe you should focus more on your running than your arms.”, you continued, the smirk on your lips deepened as you padded her shoulder, feeling the muscles working underneath the skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”, the defender pouted. Although she clearly enjoyed that you finally touched her.

“Oh, nothing.”, you answered innocently.

“You couldn’t go a day without touching my biceps.”, your wife responded confidently, flexing said body part to underline what she just said.

“In fact, y/n already touched it.”, Mapi observed with a cheeky smile on her face. Obviously, the heavily tattooed Spaniard was on her side.

“Mapi!”, you scolded only half-heartedly.

“See? Maybe you should work on your arms instead.”, Lucy gave you one of her winning grins.

“Rude. Gym session is over though, so it’s time for training and there I want to see you run.”, you reminded her winking.

“Don’t worry. I’ll try to tackle you not too hard.”, the older woman promised snorting.

Watching you two from the distance Alexia turned curiously to the other English player in the room:” Keira? Were they always like that?”

“Yeah, we’re lucky that we’re in training otherwise they’d start making out.”, Keira made gagging noises.

“That sounds like them.”, the captain admitted.

“It’s weird.”, the red-haired midfielder told her teammate.

“It’s not!”, Lucy  promptly shot back.

“Oh, thought you were too busy flirting with your wife.”, Keira mocked her.

“She’s very sensitive about it.”, you explained quickly.

“Lucia?”, Mapi called your wife.

“Huh?”, she looked up to her.

“Let’s see who’s the first one on the training pitch!”, the Spanish woman proposed to the older player who never said no to a challenge.

“Obviously me!”, Lucy yelled excitedly, before the two of them start running, leaving everyone else behind them, almost crashing into a staff member while doing so.

“I won’t let you win, you impressed your wife enough.”, you could hear Mapi shout at her.

With a loud sigh Ingrid wrapped her arm around your shoulders, while you both walked in a normal pace to the training pitch:” They don’t belong to us, y/n.”

“Of course not.”, you agreed smiling.

“No, we always know they’re your two idiots.”, Alexia shook her head.

Watching your wife and teammate race each other, you sighed: “Yeah okay, they are.“

“See.“ Alexia gave you a told-you-so-look that you chose to ignore.

On the other side of the pitch, Lucy announced proudly: “I was first!“

“No, you weren’t.“, Mapi disagreed, pouting.

Lucy lowered her voice: “Shhh, don’t tell anyone.“

The Spanish defender let out a laugh, her gaze shifting in your direction: “I’m sure your wife still loves you anyway.“

“I do.“, you confirmed, wrapping her arms around your wifes waist as you arrived on the pitch.

She turned towards you, looking directly at you: “Just for the record, we were here at the same time.“

You nodded slowly: “Sure, love.“

Lucy considered you for a moment. With a smile on her face, she pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered: “I can’t wait to go home with you later…“

Keira grimaced in disgust: “Too much information.“

“Sorry.“, you grinned innocently. You took a step back from your wife. There was still a light training session to be done and you needed to focus on that.

But the truth was, you could not wait to go home either.

You would never admit it but yes, it worked. You were, in fact, impressed by her silly antics.

Even after years of marriage, your gaze always found her in every room.

There was no need to impress you, she always had your attention.