5:13
Kim Mingyu x Male Reader
Genre: nsfw, suggestive, Angst
Warning/s: Mentions of mental illness, sexual innuendos, groping, unprotected sex
You enter your office humming while flowers on your hand and salad and water on the other
As you reach your table you put everything down and took your phone out of your lab coat
As you were scrolling through it you felt two hands at the side of your waist which made you flinched
“And who are those from?” a familiar voice whispered through your ears
You froze ‘how is he here? what is he doing outside his containment’ you thought
You just stood there as you put down your phone not wanting to upset the gigantic man behind you who is leaning his chin on your head
“Little Prince I asked you a question” he said softly. “F-from a friend” you said scared of whatever the man is planning
“Don’t lie to me prince” he said pulling you closer
“I-I’m not lying, the hospital gave it to me as a welcoming gift” you said trying not to anger the taller male
You’ve been working on this asylum for almost a month now, the tall man behind you is Kim Mingyu, a psychopath, 6'2, 27, No known family member as he was moved here from prison when he was already in his 20s, he's a former gang member who lead an entire heist
They say psychopaths don’t feel anything, but to Mingyu, you were everything, he wanted you, he didn't understand why, all he knows is he wants to kill anyone who tries to get near you
He kissed the back of your head "You've been out the whole day, I missed you"
You gulped trying to find the strength to ask him a question "Gyu?"
He hummed at your sweet call, "Why are you in my office and not in your room?"
He smiles and giggles a bit, "Little Prince, I've been in this asylum for so long, I know every corner and ways of this place"
His hands that were once on your waist started roaming your chest. "Ahh— Gyu stop" You tried to grab his hands
"Sweetheart we've done this thing before why are you resisting now?" He said
It's true as twisted as it is, you have slept with a madman, at least before you knew he was a psycho, before he got in here, you met him at a bar hooked up and tried to keep in touch, frequently texting, calling, phone sex wasn't good enough but it was the only thing you guys could do while being apart
But one day he never called back, for almost two months you thought you'd never see the greatest sex of your life, yes, he was the best, he knew how to eat your ass, his roughness and mix of his gentle caresses, his big cock, you wanted it but sadly you only got to experience it once, your first and last sex
That is until you were assigned to this asylum, the moment he saw you, not even a week he had you, in his room, one leg up and his big cock thrusting inside you, his warm and huge body wrapped around your figure, as if he doesn't want to let go
"I'm gonna cum inside you" He said, "No, please don't" you tried to resist, "Little Prince, that wasn't a question" he grunts and smirked before sloppily filling you up, continuously thrusting to reach his high, "fuck" he whispers in your ears which was your last straw before reaching your high
Your memory was vivid as if it was yesterday, after that hot and rough sex you were covered in bruises and love marks and right now you were sure it would all lead to the same scenario again
He hugged you tighter, "They're coming"
You're brows furrowed at his statement as he stopped playing with your nipples
Suddenly the window of your office was shattered as a man comes in with ropes and guns
Mingyu grabs your phone, salad and water, making sure you still have all you need before carrying you, well dragging, with his other hand
He handed the man in a mask your stuff before Mingyu grabbed the other rope the man handed him
"Let's get out of here my Little Prince" he whispered and just like that you guys were being lifted by the rope inside a helicopter and as you guys seated comfortably the helicopter makes it's escape leaving you stunned and too shocked to react
Mingyu has his arms wrapped around your waist and kissed the side of your temple, "Let's leave the country" he whispered and you couldn't say anything
A/N: This was a draft from 3 years ago, lol
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Emily x Reader after Reader has a sh relapse, Emily patches and her up and assures her she's still beautiful by slow, gentle, loving sex and lots of cuddling please?
You got it, anon! Thanks for the request! :) Hope you like it!
Burning
Emily Prentiss x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW, self-harm, depression, mental illness, sex, fingering, etc., injuries due to self-harm, brief mentions of an eating disorder, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!)
Word Count: 2.3k
Summary: With Emily away on a case and a depressive episode hitting you hard, you fall back into a pattern you thought you'd kicked a long time ago. When she comes home and discovers what you've done, you're afraid it'll be too much for her. Emily does her best to show you that it's not.
You’d been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for what felt like hours, but was probably mere minutes. Time warped itself when the urges took hold, every second a lifetime of effort, until it became all the potential lives you might live stacked one on top of the other, and they were too heavy for you to carry.
The hand that held the unlit match was shaking, and you seesawed between the unbearable desire to scratch a painful itch and the knowledge that self-hatred that would flood you afterward. But at least the self-hatred and the pain would be something to feel, other than the abject hopelessness that had seemed to swallow you up over the last week.
You’d known a depressive episode was coming before Emily left. You could always feel them coming. But what were you supposed to say? Don’t go save people from a terrorist cell? Stay here with me because I’m scared I’m getting depressed and I need you? It’d be pathetic. You were pathetic. And it wasn’t Emily’s job to keep your mental illness at bay.
But she’d been gone longer than you expected–over a week now. And your depressive episode had hit you harder than you thought it would. You’d called out of work, you’d binged on food delivery, then hated yourself afterward, staring into the mirror feeling lower and lower and lower. Until the only way you could think to stop sinking was to shock yourself out of it.
You knew it wasn’t wise or healthy. You knew you’d feel even worse once the pain subsided. You knew that a relapse would make it that much harder to stop next time. You knew that if Emily was here, she would stop you, she would hide the matches and the lighters, she would be so, so sad that you’d even thought about hurting yourself.
But despite knowing all these things, the hunger for fire, for pain, was too much to resist. You scratched the head of the match against the matchbox and the flame leapt into existence. Your go-to spot in young adulthood had been your arms, but the burns wouldn't fade before Emily got back, and she’d notice them on your arms. This time, you held the match to the upper side of your abdomen, where your arms would hopefully hide the marks.
You scrunched your eyebrows and winced as the flame licked at your skin, the pain white and bright and hot. You wished you could explain to people that odd, addictive mixture of self-loathing and dopamine that hit you and made you feel simultaneously worse and better. You wished people understood the desire for it, that sometimes you wanted to feel worse because feeling worse made you feel better. But it was hard to explain. Even harder to understand. So you didn’t bother most of the time. You lit match after match until the box was empty, until your side was scattered with raised, red-white blotches, like a constellation of all the shitty things you’d ever been through or felt.
You looked at yourself in the mirror and hated what you saw. And it felt good to hate yourself, like a guilty pleasure.
You jumped at the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, and cold panic flooded your system.
“Hey, baby, I’m home!” Emily called from the entryway.
You quickly pulled a loose t-shirt over your head, wincing as the fabric brushed over the burns. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet. She hadn’t texted or called. She’ll hate me, you thought. She’ll hate me if she finds out.
Of course, Emily knew you struggled with self-harm. But you’d been in a really good spot when you’d started dating and had, for the most part, stayed in that really good spot for your entire relationship. You were in therapy. You had healthy coping mechanisms. You hadn’t relapsed in years. You didn’t know what had made today different from every other bad day in the last few years, but you knew you didn’t want Emily to know.
You silently cursed yourself for using all the matches; there were none left to light a candle in the bathroom to mask the scent of burning. You ran to meet her in the living room, hoping that by heading her off, the smell would have time to dissipate.
“Hi, honey,” you greeted her, forcing a smile. You took both her hands in yours to try and prevent her touching your side, which still felt as if it was on fire. You stood on tiptoes to kiss her, and she smiled, leaning in.
“I missed you,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around you. You flinched and inhaled sharply as her fingers grazed the burns.
She furrowed her eyebrows. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, avoiding her eyes. “I just, um… fell earlier.”
Her hands fluttered over you, a worried expression on her face. “You fell!? Where!? Like, how hard?”
“Not that hard,” you said, trying to squirm away. “It doesn’t hurt too bad. Ow!” Emily had placed a gentle hand at your side and you couldn’t help your outburst.
“Well, honey, if it hurts that bad, you need to let me see it. We might need to go to the ER or something.”
You knew you were done for when she grabbed your wrist, hard. Emily was much stronger than you, so instead of fighting, you went numb.
You felt your whole world stop as she lifted up your shirt to see the scattered burns. You felt tears prick at your eyes. There were too many marks, and they were too symmetrical to have been an accident. You knew it, and Emily knew it, too.
You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, but if you did, you would have seen that her eyes were wet with tears she wasn’t going to let herself cry because you needed someone strong right now. If you’d looked at her, you would have seen a mixture of sadness and pity and heartbreak and undying love. You’d have seen the face of someone who wanted nothing more than for you to be okay.
“Y/N,” Emily managed after a moment. “Did you do this to yourself?”
You nodded, a tear rolling down your cheek.
“Today?”
You nodded again.
“How long ago?”
You looked at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. “Right before you walked in.”
You hated yourself. You hated yourself even more because you knew that Emily would feel awful. She’d think that if she’d just been a few minutes earlier, she could have prevented this. And you never wanted Emily to feel like your mental illness was her fault or her responsibility.
“Come here,” she said, gently taking your hand and guiding you to the bathroom. She turned on the shower, making sure the water was cool but not cold, then slowly pulled your clothes off. She nodded toward the shower and you got in, shivering under the chilly stream.
Emily sighed and sat down on the toilet lid, watching you. She looked tired, so tired. You hated to be another thing that exhausted her, another thing she had to take care of and fix.
“You should sit down,” she added quietly. “You’re gonna have to be in there for a while. Until they stop burning.”
You sat on the tiled floor, the water leaching the pain away from the burn marks, leaving only disgust and self-loathing in their place. You pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your face, trying and failing not to cry.
Your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. You heard Emily stand and were sure she was going to leave. Why wouldn’t she? She deserved to. She deserved not to have to deal with you.
You jumped a little as Emily lowered herself into the shower next to you, clothes abandoned on the bathroom floor, and wrapped her arm around your shoulder. She pressed her face into yours as the shower drenched you both.
“Shh,” she soothed, careful to avoid your burns. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
“I’m sorry, Em,” you wept, rocking. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she repeated. “You don’t need to be sorry. I love you. You’re gonna be okay.”
“I hate myself,” you whispered.
Emily gently grabbed your face and tilted it toward her. There were tears in her eyes, too. “Baby, please don’t say that.”
“I can’t help it.” Your voice was so quiet, so small, the sound of the shower almost drowned it out.
“That’s okay,” Emily said, brushing strands of wet hair out of your face. “We’re gonna get you some help, okay?”
You looked in her eyes then for the first time since she’d discovered the burn marks. You didn’t know what you’d expected to see: annoyance, disgust, hatred, or worst of all, ambivalence. But there was none of that in Emily’s eyes. Only love and concern.
Even so, you were scared to ask what you needed to ask. “Do you still love me?”
“Oh, honey, of course I do. I could never stop loving you.”
And then you kissed her. You kissed her with the cool water pouring down around your bodies. With your skin hot from the burns and from your aching love for Emily. You kissed her desperately, hungrily, like someone clinging to a lifeboat, and Emily was. She was your lifeboat. And for Emily’s part, she was gentle, almost too gentle, as if you might break at any moment.
You wrapped your legs and arms around her and she held you so carefully, so mindful of your burns. You shuddered in the cool water as your hips pushed against her.
Emily moaned into your mouth, her hands faltering for a moment.
“Y/N,” she said breathlessly, pulling away to hold your face in her hands. “We don’t have to do this." She looked at you a moment longer, then added, "I love you.”
You kissed her again. Her mouth. Her forehead. Her collarbone. Emily’s chest heaved into you and your heart beat rapidly.
“Please,” you begged. “Show me.”
Emily pulled you into her, letting her tongue and her lips roam over your neck, letting her hips meet yours as the water surrounded you, soothing your burns the way Emily soothed the roiling, burning despair inside of you.
“I love you,” she whispered as she kissed your eyelids. “I love you,” she whispered as she pressed her hands into the soft flesh of your ass. “I love you,” she whispered as she slipped her fingers inside of you. You bit back a moan and trembled against her, your body pulsing around her.
She fucked you slowly, tenderly, as if it was both your first time and your last, though this was neither. And she kept saying it–“I love you”–again and again, never stopping, so that all the darkness in your mind, all the self-doubt, didn’t have any room to make itself heard.
You let out a strangled groan as your body tensed around her, and when your pleasure flooded you, it was like you were on fire. And this fire was so much better, louder, brighter, than any flame you’d ever held to your body. It was a burning that consumed you, one that would leave you new and glistening afterward instead of scarred and in ashes.
You fell limp against her as she removed her fingers, kissing your forehead, your collarbone, your mouth, swirling her tongue with yours until you felt drunk on her. “I love you,” she said, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of hearing it. “I love you.”
You were quiet as she turned off the shower head. Quiet as you both dried off, as Emily gently pressed a towel to your side, making sure your burns were clean and dry. She sat you on the toilet lid as she pulled gauze squares and antibacterial ointment out of the bathroom cabinet, spreading the ointment on the gauze, then pressing it gently to your skin.
“Lift your arms up,” she said quietly, as she circled your body with bandages, wrapping it just tight enough that it wouldn’t shift in the night.
She knelt down in front of you and caressed your face. “Bed?” she asked. You nodded.
“You go ahead,” she said, patting your leg. “I’ll be right there.”
You felt self-doubt start creeping back in as you laid in bed on top of the covers, your burns still too hot to sleep underneath. When Emily came into the room, she carried a glass of water and a bottle of pills.
“Take these,” she told you, handing you a few. You drank and swallowed obediently.
She lay down in the bed and motioned you over. “Come here and let me hold you.”
You rested your face in the crook of her neck, and she played with your hair, careful to avoid your burns.
“I love you,” she whispered after a few minutes, kissing the top of your head.
“You said.” You meant it to be funny, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not yet.
“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”
You were quiet for a minute, then spoke. “I love you, too, Em.” You nuzzled your way closer to her, hoping against hope that her arms around you were enough to keep the darkness and the numbness away for the night.,
And as you drifted off, she kept saying it–“I love you.” And then a kiss on your head.
As your eyelids fluttered closed–“I love you.” And she pressed her face to your forehead.
As your breath slowed and evened, and your body went limp–“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
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For the Oyabun!Ichigo AU:
After Kisuke manages to unseal Ichigo, the first thing he does is tuck his body away in Kisuke’s lab for safe keeping, and return to Seireitei because two of his men have passed since he took over his little but ever growing band of yakuza - one from a car accident, one from a wasting illness that didn’t react to any treatment - and Ichigo will be damned if he doesn’t take care of his people in death as he does in life.
It takes a few days to track them both down in the outer districts of Rukongai, but enough of his senses had remained after the sealing that he knows what each and every one of his people feels like. And while they haven’t always done good things, they are good men, and every one of them has done their best to protect Karakura to their dying.
And he knows what he needs to do.
Ichigo, showing up to Seireitei: hey
Seireitei, unaware that Ichigo had been unsealed or unalived: AAHAHAhaahahhahaHHHAHAH
Ichigo: stop screaming it’s just me
Seireitei, immediately shutting up because they’re still programmed to listen to his orders: ….
Ichigo, holding up both of his ben by their collars like misbehaving kittens: these two are mine but you can borrow them
Ichigo, to his men: listen, they kind of suck but they said they’re trying. if you see anything hinky, come get me immediately
Ichigo’s Men: we’re….dead?
Ichigo: does that look like it’s stopped me?”
And over the years the Gotei Thirteen get used to Ichigo popping up with newly deceased souls and directing them to what he feels is the appropriate Divisions. Most of them go to Kenpachi in the 11th - “He’s strong as shit, but they’re all kind of idiots and they’re bored. See if you can do something about that. Stand your ground and you’ll be fine.” - a surprising amount are directed to Unohana and the 4th - “She’s a great teacher, but the key is respect. She’ll pull out your spine to prove a point and then put it back in to make a point. You’re just a soul now; you’ll survive it and it will suck.”
Several key people are given to the 7th. Komamura is in charge of diplomacy between Seireitei and Rukongai. Ichigo has seen what the outer districts are like and he has plans. It won’t hurt to have some of the men he trusts ready and waiting for the changes he’s going to make.
Every Captain, Lieutenant, and all of their underlings hold their collective breath the one and only time Ichigo drags - literally - one of his men to the 6th Division.
Ichigo: what’s up byakuya, rukia says we’re still on for dinner next week also i brought you this
Ichigo: *holds up his man like he’s a white boy showing off a fish he caught*
Ichigo: this is akio he is the best fucking accountant i have ever met in my life my accounts have never been cleaner he’s fucking bomb at taxes you should let him do your paperwork
Byakuya, knowing full well that Ichigo is just Like That: Rukia has mentioned the plum sake Urahara keeps on hand. Bring a bottle or two. You can leave that there. I’ll take care of it.
Ichigo, dropping his man: cool thanks see you next week
Yes god. Once you're one of Ichigo's people you're HIS and not even death changes that. Plus, being so close to Ichigo for so long, even before Kisuke fixes him up, is absolutely going to activate and build up spiritual power in his minions.
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