#// this song was on the radio on the way back from work today

[cnnamongirl]

⚠️ Content Warnings:

Mental health struggles (anxiety, panic attack) Emotional vulnerability, Soft hurt/comfort, No explicit romance (slow burn, emotional intimacy)

STAY

(One month earlier)

It was the second day of the tour.

Barcelona. Sun blazing over the stage. Equipment delayed. Roadies panicking.

And you — in the middle of it all — a radio clipped to your belt, a planner in one hand, a forgotten cup of coffee in the other.

"You’ve got five minutes to finish setting up or I’m throwing the soundboard into the sea," you said.

Not yelling. Not even raising your voice.

Calm. But firm.

Terrifyingly efficient.

Liam watched from a distance, sitting on the backstage stairs with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Sunglasses covering half his face.

He didn’t care about the delay.

But he did care about you.

"Who’s that chick?" he asked the security guy nearby.

"Production coordinator. The badass."

"Yeah?"

"Bit intense. But she gets shit done."

Liam kept watching.

You pointed, organized, pushed people around with words. Not a single hair out of place. Not a flicker of hesitation in your eyes.

"Doesn’t look like she ever breaks," he muttered to himself.

By late afternoon, the show happened.

Stage built. Lights set. Crowd screaming.

You watched from backstage with your arms crossed, clipboard resting on your hip. Listening. Checking. Always looking at the clock.

Liam spotted you there.

Between two songs, he threw a look your way.

Sharp. Curious.

You gave him a small nod — professional.

But he saw it.

The way your shoulder eased, just slightly.

Barely visible. But he caught it.

---

He was mid-soundcheck, halfway through "Cigarettes & Alcohol," when he noticed you weren’t there.

Usually, you were pacing with a tablet in hand, sharp-eyed, running the show, solving problems no one even knew had happened.

But today...

Gone.

Liam frowned.

"Where’s she?" he asked a tech.

"Dunno. Think she went to the dressing room. She looked kinda off..."

Without hesitation, Liam dropped the mic and left the stage.

The dressing room was messy, full of gear, boxes, and bright mirrors.

But tucked in the back, behind a black curtain — there you were.

Sitting on the floor. Back against the wall. Hands in your hair, chin tucked to your chest. Breathing like you were trying to hold something in that had long since spilled.

Papers scattered next to you. Schedules. Tour plans. Untouched coffee.

Liam pulled back the curtain gently.

"Hey..."

You looked up slowly. Eyes red.

"Sorry. I just… needed a minute."

"You crying?"

"No." you said too quickly. But your voice cracked.

He stepped inside. Closed the curtain behind him.

Silence. Only muffled soundcheck noise in the background.

"You okay?"

"No," you admitted. "Everything’s wrong. I can’t get the damn schedule right. I’ve got three messages open, Noel’s van is late, the lighting tech’s freaking out, and… I can’t do it. My head’s a mess. Feels like smoke in there."

You tried to laugh. It came out crooked. Almost like panic.

"I’m not like this, Liam. I fix things. I hold everything up while everyone else breaks down. But now I can’t even finish a timetable. It’s stupid. But I’m stuck. Like… frozen. You know?"

He watched. The way your hand trembled. Your messy hair. That lost look.

And he understood.

"It’s not stupid," he said, crouching down to meet your eyes.

"It’s just your head telling you it’s too much. And maybe it is."

"I don’t want anyone to see me like this."

"I’m not anyone. And you don’t have to carry all of it just because you’re good at it."

More silence.

Then he gently took the paper from your hand, crumpled it, and tossed it aside.

"Fuck the schedule. The show only works because you make the world spin. But today, let it spin without you for a bit."

You looked at him, eyes still wet.

"Can I just… stay here a while?"

"Lay down here," he offered awkwardly, opening an arm.

You hesitated. Then leaned into him. Face pressed to his shoulder.

And there, in the middle of the chaos — backstage mess, smoke, old gear — you cried. For real. No hiding.

Liam didn’t say anything. He just stayed.

Quiet. Steady.

Your chaos meeting his own.

---

You lost track of time.

The show happened. The crowd screamed. The band played.

You stayed in the corner, curled on that old couch, breathing. Barely.

"Show’s over," he said softly.

He came in slowly, shirt clinging to his body, face still damp with sweat. A towel over one shoulder, water bottle in hand.

You sat up slowly.

"Was it good?"

He shrugged.

"Couldn’t focus. Kept thinking about you in here."

He tossed the towel aside, sat beside you. Your legs touched.

"You feel better?"

"A bit. Mostly just… empty now."

He handed you the bottle.

You drank, slowly — like you were learning how to exist again.

Outside: chaos.

Inside: calm.

"You should go rest," he said.

"I don’t wanna go alone," you admitted.

"Then I’ll come with you."

You looked at him, surprised.

"Don’t you wanna go out, party, play the rockstar?"

He gave you a crooked smile.

"I thought you’d figured out by now that act doesn’t work around you."

You bit your lip.

He noticed. Moved closer.

"Can I take care of you tonight?" he asked, barely audible.

You nodded.

And he took your hand.

---

You’d already changed. His shirt hung loose on your body, still warm from his skin. The lights were low, the room quiet.

He walked back in with his arms full.

"Stole some snacks from the front desk," he said, setting them on the bedside table. "Crackers, cereal bars, weird sandwiches... and—" he lifted a little paper bag proudly, "found chamomile tea in the crew's stash."

You gave him a tired smile.

"You made tea for me?"

"Yeah. Burned my hand a little. Worth it."

He placed the steaming mug in front of you.

"Careful, it’s hot. And eat something. You haven’t touched food all day, I can tell."

You sat up, cradled the mug.

He sat on the floor across from you, back to the wall.

He clicked on his portable record player.

The Velvet Underground. Vinyl hissed before the first track.

“Pale Blue Eyes.”

"Why this one?"

"Because it’s pretty. And sad. And soft."

"Three words that sum me up today."

He smiled.

"And because… I want you to tell me about you. The real you."

You frowned.

"You see me every day."

"Yeah. I see what you let people see. I want the rest."

You looked away. Stirred your tea.

"I have anxiety," you blurted out, like a stone dropping.

"Yeah. I figured today."

"I hide it well."

"You hide it too well."

You bit your lip. Tense.

"No one knows. If they see it, they stop trusting me. And if they stop trusting me, I lose everything."

"And what if you lose yourself first?"

You looked at him.

For the first time that night, he was serious.

"I’ve got shit too, y’know," he said.

"Like what?"

"Anger. A lot of it. Since I was a kid. I used to scream just to be heard."

"And now?"

"Now I try to speak softer. Like… with you."

You smiled — not for him. For yourself. It just escaped.

"What’s your biggest fear?" he asked.

"That people will find out I’m fragile."

"Too late."

You laughed.

"And yours?"

"That no one stays. That everyone gets tired of me."

Silence.

"I’m not leaving, Liam."

"And I’m not leaving you."

The record ended.

He lay down beside you. Didn’t touch you. Just waited.

You moved first.

Head on his chest.

His heartbeat was steady. Not from lust. Just presence.

---

The tea had gone cold.

You were still there, listening to the silence. His hand in your hair.

No music now. No pressure. Just... stillness.

And then, it hit.

Out of nowhere — that sharp pang in your chest. That invisible hand gripping your lungs. The tightness. The heat.

The fear that something was wrong, even though nothing was.

You tried to hide it.

Breathe deep.

Count.

But it spiraled.

"He’s my boss. I’m being ridiculous. He’s gonna regret this. I’m too much. He’ll leave."

Too late.

Tears spilled.

Then more.

Then all of them.

You cried. Hard. Silent at first. Then with sobs.

Trembling.

Ashamed.

Old pain, resurfacing.

He felt it. Held you tighter.

"Shhh... I got you," he whispered into your hair.

"It’s okay. Cry, love."

No sarcasm. No fear. Just presence.

You tried to pull away.

"I’m sorry… this is… stupid…"

"Stop," he said gently.

"None of this is stupid. This is you. And I want all of you. Even the parts that hurt."

You cried into his chest like a tired child.

And he rocked you. Literally.

"Breathe with me, okay? Just listen. I’m here.

Nothing’s wrong with you.

You don’t have to pretend now.

Let me care. Just for tonight.

Just… let me."

Little by little, your body softened.

The sobs turned to sighs.

Your breath slowed.

He laid you on your side, settled behind you. One arm around your waist. Fingers gently in your hair.

"You okay now?" he asked quietly.

You made a small sound.

"I’m… ashamed."

He kissed the back of your neck.

"Then let me remind you of something: I’m not your boss right now. Not a singer. Not anyone. Just Liam. And you’re just... you."

Silence.

He kept his hand in your hair.

"I swear I’ve never met anyone stronger.

And I’ve never met anyone who needed rest more."

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time in days — maybe weeks — your whole body let go.

He felt it.

"Yeah… that’s it. Sleep.

I’m staying.

I’m here, okay?"

And he stayed.

His hand in your hair, still moving gently,

as you — finally — slept.

No weight.

No shame.

Just you.

And him.

There.

[a-vibing-potato]

Don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult played at work today. I also went home early because I was sure I had a fever and felt like (and still do feel like) absolute dogshit. Coincidence? I think not.

[viatrixtravels-a]

// Still waiting for someone to make a parody video for Xiao x traveler with the 'ain't no mountain high enough' song. xDD I mean, it's right there in the lyrics.

Listen baby, ain't no mountain high Ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough, baby If you need me call me, no matter where you are No matter how far, don't worry, baby [Just call my name], I'll be there in a hurry You don't have to worry

[dilf-docs]

Give Me Coffee, Utah Love

sleazy!joel 'mullet' miller x younger fem!reader

summary: on the run and looking for a fresh start, a cheap gasoline coffee and to-do list slipping from your bag later, you (have lost your mind and) consider this stranger's proposition.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (52/25), pwp, p. in v., fingering, (one) pussy spank, degradation kink, lwk breeding and exhibition kink, nasty filthy sex, public sex, one joke about kys, strangers to ???, pulled an all nighter for this yey me (its 3am and my alarm sounds at 4:10 lol) so forgive me if i made any spelling mistake, i wanna see ur comments/reblogs bc i crashed out so bad i feel like i deserve it

word count: 4,060 words

side note: that one girl who doesn't play abt snl. okay but who works harder? the devil, a7estrellas or me, that only needed two pedro snl sketches and is acting like a yuppie in the 80s doing cocaine on a bathroom after work bc WOW so many new content. yes, men with mullets should die but this is pedro! song of choice for this piece is queen of the gas station by sleazy dilf patroness lana del rey. also up next, renaldo inspired one shot to celebrate the snl 50 series! (update: read it here)

You liked driving at night.

There was simply something about the eerie silence, the shadows casting upon the streets, barely touched by the headlights and the moon, the quiet hum of the radio and the slow shift of your hands on the wheel.

You liked driving at night, but today, it feels off.

Just this morning, you had looked at your house one last time. It still had that white paint on the porch, that had faded due to the sunlight, and those scrapped stickers on what had been your childhood room's door.

He had tried talking some sense in to you, claiming all your life was there, in Arizona. With him. But Phoenix had started to feel like a prison and he was your warden. So you snuck at dawn when no one would notice, like a criminal. Very fitting.

The sun hadn't touched yet the kitchen where you ate when your feet balanced off the chair and now graced the floor in a lazy manner, eating cereal with marshmallows first and now, just about three days ago, just oatmeal, because it seemed like what a grown up would do.

But in many ways you were still the same kid who was too shy to raise her hand in class because she couldn't find her voice, bound to be forgotten among much louder and brigther kids. Yet he had seen you.

So you stayed: put up with dances where he would spin you until the world was reduced to a blur, and the quiet home life in town-- kids running around and barbecues on the summer seemed like a good ending. You dreamed of a truck and a garden, and the few friends you made all seemed to share the same vision. Except for one.

When Dorothea came back from New York, eyes too wide and smile too bright, she seemed like a different person. In many ways she still was the same girl with an accent who had shared her sandwhich with you during recess, but her words now carried ambition and her gaze seemed awoken by a purpose you couldn't find but on the road that drove out of town.

But folks kept her at arms length. The amusement in her smile was infectious as a disease, and with whispered stabs they would talk behind her back. Your friend bore a scarlett letter for wanting more.

You had never wanted more; compliant might of be your second name. But when you'd see her walk by your house, shorts above her knees and that city girl strut with her sneakers against the hot asphalt, you were envious, and Williams seemed so small and dull.

Who does she think she is? he would say, and you'd nod your head, despite the secret admiration hidden in your eyes.

Suddenly, the red truck sounded stupid and the married life with kids could wait.

We could wait, you had said outloud.

He had laughed, like you just told a joke. It was on surprise, but it felt cruel.

Why? like he couldn't understand you-- as if you spoke on a different language. What is there to wait for?

You took your decision that day.

It started slow, by wearing skirts that rode up with the wind, blaming the lack of clothes on the heat. Then with the nicotine between your lips, the forbidden act making clouds that escaped your red lips. Or wearing the other make up Dorothea taught you, now holding hands with her as people whispered she had tainted your naive soul too. He caught your new smell, and spoke harshly about not wearing clothes that made other men turn to eat out the sun-kissed skin of your legs, because you'd turn too, gaze defiant and full of mischief, but that he didn't know. Might as well wear nothin'. But he cried with his face buried in the same uncovered legs, saying he hated to see you like this; he didn't recognize you.

It was easy then.

One day you packed your bags and took the car you'd been given as a graduation gift, leaving town with what seemed a lifetime stashed in the backseat.

You left a note for your parents, neatly placed on a bed you wondered when you'd sleep again in, if you were ever to be back. To him, who you now just start to wonder if you ever really loved or just accepted because it's what there was and nothing more, you hadn't left a note nor explanations.

He wouldn't understand anyways.

Just the promise of what could've been, shining in the middle of your bed.

You had been driving non-stop, afraid like a fugitive who was being chasen. Sometimes, you'd take stops on the road and pulled out a pen and a book, despite your fingers itching from driving and your urgency to check the phone you'd been to coward to turn on to see the wake of messages your disappearance might have sparked.

There was a sting somewhere outside the ache of your bones or the flutter of your tired eyes, and it cried for home and longed for the life you always envisioned for yourself. But it also felt like a second skin you couldn't quite wash off with the cheap soap and cold water of the motel you had crashed in a couple of hours ago.

You didn't want to live in suburban desert dreams back at Williams. You wanted to feel alive.

It's nightime when the little peep sound jolts you awake. You had been driving in auto-pilot; your car needs gas and you needed rest.

Its probably ten at night, and according to your map, Utah isn't that far. It's a fresh start: a place where no one knows your name or your whole life, for the matter.

Your car comes to a stop under faded neon lights in the middle of the road. There's a truck parked next to your car, the guy inside the convenience store, and that's about it. You're filling your tank while suppressing a yawn, when a movement across your station catches your eyes.

The only other customer, a man old enough to be your dad. He's staring at you, leaning against his truck, arms crossed while the biceps flex with the position, tense. Even from your place, you can see how the veins pop here and there, making you gulp on instinct.

The smoke of his cigarrette gets lost in the neon hues and starry sky. Doesn't he know you're not supposed to do that at a gas station? Yet, his lack of care and recklessness picks your interest.

(Hey! The last time you had human contact was about a day ago and after seeing only roads, asphalt, desert and mountains, you deserved a little treat to entertain yourself)

"Like what you see, doll?" sporting the most sleazy smile you'd ever seen.

Something about him was as alluring as uneasy, the nervous tremble of your hands but the warmth between your legs speaking of said conflicting emotions. You pretend to be invested on the task of filling your truck (the reason you're here, after all) but the way your body burns, begs, to look again is humilliating. So you do, but he isn't there anymore, althought his truck is.

"You know, wearin' a dress like that at night isn't a good idea for'a girl like you"

He appears from seemingly nowhere, making you jump. Your heart flutters and you clench at nothing with the sound of his deep voice, low, akin to a rumble or a thunder. It's laced with diversion, and the not so subtle way he eats you out with his eyes like a starved man, wolfish grin on display as he leans now against your car, makes his intentions all the more clear.

"Why?" you feel oddly bold, instead of scared. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, because why the hell would you be flirting in a gas station, at night, entertaining an old and slighlty creepy albeit attractive man when you had been engaged less than a day ago?

"The weather" he appears nonchalant, balancing the cigarrette like a toothpick between his chapped lips. "Or men"

"Bold of you to say that while wearing that" you poke fun at his outfit, which consists of some shorts, worn t-shirt and a vest. He's sporting the tall socks and slippers combo, dressing like a grandpa but he pulls it off alright. "Also, men? Like who, you?"

He laughs, the sound sprouting rich and grave from his chest. It makes you dizzy. Yup, let's blame the lack of sleep again.

"Well, look at that. Sure got'a mouth on ya', doll" he gets closer, and his scent floods your nostrils. Wood, gasoline, musk, sweat and burnt ciggars. "Just takin' care of you. Say, how about ya' warm that shaky frame of yers? This place has sum coffee goin' on. Shit, but it works"

He could poison your drink for all you care, but all his teeth are on display and he's got a dimple. Also, you're fighting your fluttering eyelids in here.

"Y/n" it's your way of agreeing while extending your hand.

Instead of shaking it, he pulls you even closer and kisses it, his warm lips brushing your cold hand. You shiver at the contact, and it may be the way his firey auburn holds your gaze while doing so or how big his hands feel, both your mind and heart racing.

"Joel" he says, and then that same calloused palm finds its way to the soft part above your ass in your back, guiding you to the store.

Inside, it smells like cheap coffee and grease. You clutch your bag tighter, and choose a table as the stranger pays for your coffee, or well, Joel.

"There ya' go" and he places the hot brown liquid in front of you.

Now that he's closer and under the yellow-ish lights, you take a better look at his face. His eyes, which mock the drink in front of you. His hands, that seem to almost swallow the small cup with their size, and then his hair. God, alright. He sported a fucking mullet of all haircuts. And boy, wasn't it embarrassingly attractive? Your eyes fall towards his beard and mustache, grays sprinkled across them. But your mind and eyes alike went back to the thought of feeling the slightly greasy looking hazel strands, calling for your touch.

"Gonna take a sip or what?" and he smiles. You don't know if it's in diversion by your doze-off or because he knows why.

You had never felt this hot and bothered. Hell, not even normal hot. He had never made you feel like this, and now some fucking random skanky man was getting your panties on a twist in the middle of the road.

"I-I'm going to the bathroom" you manage to squeak out, running for your life.

Inside the stall, you splash some water into your face, as if trying to make you react. Get yourself together, you tell your reflection in the mirror, but then you're fixing your hair, and as you reach for your red lipstick you realize you left your bag back at the table. Fuck.

You get out, only to find your bag weirdly sprawled on the seat, the handles centimeters away from falling to the floor. Then, he, who you only see his sturdy back and broad shoulders, crouched down, like he's reading something, althought Joel doesn't seem the type of guy who chooses to read in his free time.

"Joel?"

And then you see it: the tiny notebook you had been scribbling on the road, looking even smaller on his grip.

Your To-do list.

It may sound stupid, but a week before leaving, you bought it: the last memory of your town and the start of your new life. At twenty-five, the concept may sound a little stupid with what you've written, but you felt your new life deserved to have space for some of those dreams or fleeting thoughts you had during class written down.

And now fucking Joel was reading it.

"Wow, doll. Ya' sure are full of surprises" he chuckles, flipping through the pages. What sounds better: killing him or yourself? Hmm, maybe throwing the burning coffee at him would suffice.

"Give me that back" you extend your rigid hand, voice clipped.

The stupid trail of decisions catches up to you. Why had you trusted a stranger that had oggled you right in front of your face? You're too starved and horny to think straight, clearly, because now he's mocking you while your face burns with red shame.

"Saved your bag from fallin' when ya' rushed outta da seat. Then this lil' thing came out" he stops on a page. "Skinny dipping. And'ere I thought you're a good girl"

"Shut up and give me that" you seethe.

"Wow, doll" Joel chuckles yet again. "don't get yer panties in a twist. If ya' wanted so, jus' ask"

You scoff at his boldness. "Excuse me?"

"Ya' heard me" he gets up from his seat, body towering over yours.

Was it hot in here? Why was your body warm all of the sudden? Was it the coffee? No, you hadn't even take a sip. Joel searches before looking at you again with a content gaze and an ugly smug grin, like he's used to having his way.

"Sex with a stranger" then searches for other, the sound of the pages the only other sound in the room, still not overpowering the one of your heart, echoing in your ears. "Sex in a bathroom"

He closes the little book and hands it back to you. You take it with force, ears burning at their tip. "So?"

"Funny" he muses. "I can help you with both"

Your head drops back against the cold wall as Joel's lips find your collarbone.

This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Of all the decisions you've made in your life, this one is either the worst or the best. Fuck, you hadn't even arrived at Utah and could cross two things from the book.

His kiss is rushed, rough and sloppy, sucking on your lips so hard you feel them swollen and bruised. Joel's tongue then pokes inside your mouth, to taste your insides and all of you more deeply, content with the savor of your sweet mouth and gloss smeared across his own. It isn't often that he gets a chance like this: sure, casual sex is like breathing for him at this point in life, where he's made it too far without building a home for a wife. But now, here? You, this pretty young thing, the small whimpers coming out of your lips, how you squirm under his frame and groping hands that travel through a body he can't get enough of. Shit, he ain't young anymore but he's painfully hard and can't stop his task despite his aching joints and age. Joel just wants to taste all of you forever, despite the shit place and rather funny circumstances:

You both, strangers, in an dirty dark alley behind a gas station, about to fuck.

He's pressing his knee tightly between your thighs, the same one you had spotted before thanks to his shorts. His strong grip pins your hand above your head, rendering you immobile under his weight, that presses over you. Shit, you should be thinking this through and running away, but the complete submission and reckless choice makes it all the more hot.

Your throat works up soft, needy noises and Joel marvels at the sounds.

"Keep 'em comin', doll. Wanna know I'm makin' you feel good"

His lips leave lazy wet trails across your skin. The skirt of your dress is raised by his leg and pressed knee.

"Hmh, Joel-" you needily whimper.

"Shh" he swallows a moan with his mouth, "but jus' for me, doll. Keep it low, will ya'? Or want the whole place knowin' what a dirty slut ya' are? Fuckin' with da first stranger that looks yer way?"

You had never been degraded, less thought it would turn you this much on.

"Joel" you whimper his name.

He groans into your mouth, lewd tongues tangling and tasting the messy kiss with fiery passion and hate. Your fingers fist into the thick material of his vest, nails about to ruin it, but by the way his eyes darken and he smiles, Joel might be into it.

The man pulls away for breath, a string of saliva connecting you two.

His hand gropes your ass and then moves to your exposed inner thigh.

"What'a dirty girl" your fingers hook into his worn-out jeans, tugging the peaking waistband forward to you. His weight and chest push into you, "so wet and eager for this dick, you cockhungry whore"

To prove his point, his thick fingers rub your clit through the material of your panties. You tilt your head back in pleasure at the newfound sensation, and he takes the chance to mark your exposed neck and collarbone, making you moan his name when he sinks his teeth on the skin.

"All 'tis for me?" and his fingers fingers slink down to trace your folds again. Your back arches, breasts pressing against his chest. You dig your nails on his broad back, making him hiss with pleasure as you grab for support.

His rough digits slide and push your sticky panties aside, then plunge inside your pussy. You whimper quietly, the squelches of your pussy swallowing his fingers the only sound in the dark, aside from the busy road ahead. The calloused pad of his thumb circles your sensitive nub, pressing and massaging as his lips travel down to the valley of your tits.

"Wanna free this bad girls and taste 'em" he pulls down your dress, mouth practically watering at the rosy soft skin. "Fuck, doll. No bra? Ya' were lookin' for this, ain't you? Makin' the job easy. I'm just'a lucky man"

He wants to see how they bounce with each thrust, eyes darkening with the shade of lust.

"I- Fuck"

Joel's fingers thrust in and out at with a rapid pace and delicious movements you had never been pleasured before with. Now, when he curls them? That nearly sends you over the edge, reaching a spot you had never known existed.

"S'tight" he groans at your clenching warm sticky walls, fingers slowing but still moving as you ride out your high, drenching him in your liquids.

"Found sum sugar for that shit tastin' bitter coffee, eh?" he takes his own fingers on his mouth and sucks on them with a rather obscene gesture, taking them out with a loud pop. His tongue licks what's left off, and you whimper at the lewd image. "Yer too sweet, doll. Can't get 'nough"

Your arms wrap around him, as Joel rolls his hips, seeking friction to relieve him of the uncomfortable strain against the denim.

"Ready to take me in, doll? I'll just warn ya' somethin'" his free hand unbuckles his belt and tugs down the jeans and boxers down, dick in display: hard, and leaking with precum. He drags his teeth against your ear, and his hot breath ghosts over you with coffee and ciggars. "See that? Think ya' can take it?"

The tuft of sweaty hair leading down to his length has you salivating, and your fingers wrap around him before you realize it. Joel winces at the touch.

"Like a champ" and you swear his erection throbs in your palm, head angry and needy.

What a gentleman.

He doesn't wait for more words, teasing your moist folds with his tip before he's inside, buried to the hilt, rough fingers steady bruising your hips as he thrusts you up against the wall. You look up at the flickering lampost, wondering how did you ever made it here and what the hell are you doing, his groans deep inside your ear as his head is buried in the crook of your neck, labored breaths against your ablazed skin. For a moment, he looses the spot and favors looking at you, to take in the sight infront of him: mouth slightly gaped open, eyes lidded, and fingers desperately digging into his back. You're fucked out of your mind, but so is he.

"Like what you see?" you mimick his words from earlier. He lets out a dry and labored chuckle.

"I do"

He snaps his hips, and you're not sure what is it that creaks, too many things happening outside (the cars, the whiff of gasoline, the nocturnal wind). Joel soon takes up an erratic pace. He's so deep in you, his balls slams into your pussy with each thrust he forces into you.

You should start writing more things on that notebook if they would become true and as good as this. Earn a ridiculous sum of money for free, for example.

Joel grunts, hands busy holding you against the wall, but he so badly wants to play with your bouncy tits, so you let out a yelp when his wet tongue rolls over the skin, mouth then sucking the skin until it's bruised, kissing lazily around your hardened nipples until teeth bite on them.

He's going insane; should go more often late night driving if he'd end up fucking pretty naive sweet-tasting girls behind alleys.

His cock fills you so perfectly it doesn't take long before your walls are spasming around his cock, and you're about to cum for a second time, before on his fingers now over his girth inside of you. Joel can sense it, so his filthy mouth goes for it:

"Go on, doll. Show me what yer made of"

You fall apart with a sharp cry, face buried into his shoulder with a bite to muffle it.

He groans as the pleasure rolls through you. "Milk me dry, c'mon. Take all of ma' seed like the slut ya're" Joel speaks while moving inside you, deeper and quicker, aching for release. Then he's pulsing, cumming with a harsh grunt. "Don't waste a drop, doll. I know you're considerate jus' like that"

His hands slide down to your waist, his long hair drenched, sticking to his forehead. There's the silence of the night and your breaths as you try to compose yourselves.

"That's a good girl" while softnening cock still inside you.

"See? Told you: took you like a champ" you pant, trying not to think of what lead you to now, just focused on the high. "I like to keep my promises"

Joel laughs, but its a soft sound; light. It caresses your chest like a wind chime.

He then pulls out, your folds a mess and his dick coated with your juices. "Shit, look at ya' hungry pussy, doll. Wore me the fuck out"

You help him pull up his pants, looking at the socks while you contain a laugh. Then you think again and the alley pulls you out of your post sex haze. Yeah, filling those two checkboxes in your To-do list will feel good as fuck, but:

Now what?

"Joel?"

"Hmh?"

He pulls up your dress to cover your tits when the wind brushes through the alley, with a weird softness to him, then fixes your panties, giving your clothed pussy a weak slap that sends a shiver through your body.

"Thanks for the treat. I'ont remember orderin' desert"

You laugh as you push him off your body, refusing to meet his eyes. This is the second man who has seen you naked, and while definitely not good at words, his wolf-like hunger in his brown eyes and needy mouth besides the hard dick have said more than enough. Besides, it's a little late to be embarrased but you're still trying to process this wild huge leap you took to celebrate the start of your new life.

"Drive safe" you mutter, starting to walk away, thinking how the hell you'll survive the two hours left in the orad with such a sticky pair of panties and sweaty body.

"Where you goin'?" his deep voice stops you before you've reached the end of the alley.

"Utah" you answer in a beat, heart beating dangerously fast.

The same sleazy smile from the first time you saw him adorns his handsome face, all teeth in display.

"Really, doll? Well, lucky you" he lights up a cigarrette, trail of smoke condensing in anticipation. "'Cause that's jus'bout where I'm headed"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

change of plans

Summary: Your plan of waking up Harry with breakfast in bed gets interrupted when Harry finds you in the kitchen wearing only his shirt.

Pairing: Harry Castillo x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2k

Rating: E

Warnings: established relationship, some domestic fluff, smut (unprotected sex), kitchen sex, a hint of breeding kink, fluff, making plans about the future (reversal of a vasectomy)

A/N: I haven't watched the movie since it doesn't come out here until august, but I don't care I love him lol

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Main Masterlist // Harry Castillo Masterlist 

It wasn’t often that you were awake before Harry. 

Usually he’d be up and out of bed before his alarm went off at 5:30. He’d check the stock market and his emails before he’d kiss your forehead and quietly got up to get ready for the day. 

You’d usually wake up when he was about to get out, giving him a tired smile when he came back to bed to kiss you goodbye. 

You’d been dating for almost a year, living together for the last two months after your the lease of your apartment ran out and your landlord wanted 1k more. Per week. For a shitty one room apartment that always smelt like Chinese foods from the restaurant in the same building. 

And like it was nothing, Harry just offered his place. You had been spending most of the time here anyway but still. Your relationships never were like it was with Harry. You didn’t have to constantly proof your worth or walk around on tiptoes. 

For the first time in your life you felt like you were in love with someone who loved you just as much, if not more back. And it felt wonderful. 

Dating a billionaire was not on your agenda when you finally gave in and agreed on a blind date your sister wanted to arrange for you. 

Only that the man she had set you up with never showed up. Fed up and warming up to the idea that maybe ending up as a single cat lady, you were about to leave when Harry sat down across from you with a warm smile and the question if he could invite you for a drink. 

You had spend almost every single day together since then. 

Now you were looking at him as he slept. He was laying on his stomach, his face squished into one of his pillows, the bedsheet almost up to his nose. He had come home pretty late, you’d already been asleep when he slipped into bed, cuddling against you and pretty much falling asleep immediately. 

One of his biggest projects in Abu Dhabi finally had been signed and with that he could finally relax. 

You fought the urge to reach out and run your fingers through his hair and instead slowly slipped out of bed, grabbing his shirt on your way towards the ensuite. 

You grabbed the suit he had been wearing yesterday when you had freshened up, making sure to add them to the pile of the dry cleaning that would be picked up later today, before you walked slowly through the penthouse, towards the kitchen. 

The view from so high up was still breathtaking every single time. The sun just so peaking over the clouds, as if you were floating above New York City which was hidden beneath the clouds. 

Humming to yourself you walked towards the coffee machine, pressing the button for your favourite before you turned towards the screen that managed almost every device in the penthouse, turning on the radio on a low volume before you walked towards the enormous fridge, opening it. 

You picked everything you’d need to make some pancakes, setting it down on the kitchen island before you grabbed your drink, taking a long sip, humming along to a song on the radio. 

You wondered if you could surprise Harry with breakfast in bed. 

You had taken some days off work, Harry telling you that he wanted to take you out of town to celebrate your upcoming anniversary. 

Smiling to yourself you reached for a bowl before you began to add all the ingredients for the pancakes. Whisking them together as the news announced the successful deal Harry had made yesterday, making you smile like a proud mother. 

Jumping when you felt arms wrap around you from behind you let yourself relax against his broad chest, Harrys face nuzzling against your neck, his lips pressing against your skin. 

„Good morning,“ he hummed and you pouted with a smile. 

„I wanted to make you breakfast in bed,“ you said, feeling him smile against your skin. His arms around you tightened and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth when you felt him rub his hard on against your ass. 

„How about a different kind of breakfast?“ He kissed up the side of your neck, his facial hair softly scratching over your skin. You were still slowly whisking the pancake mix when one of his hands slipped under your shirt, slowly up your stomach. 

„Mhhhh and what do you have in mind?“ You smiled, tilting your head to the side to give him more access. 

His hand found one of your breasts, giving it a gently squeeze as he moved his hips against yours, a low moan escaping your lips. 

„How about I show you?“ He mumbled as his other hand slipped between your legs, groaning when he found you wearing nothing underneath. 

You gave up on the pancakes when his fingers slipped through your folds, the whisk falling down on the marble island with a clang. Turning your head, his lips were on yours immediately, two of his fingers pushing inside of you.

He hummed against your lips, his tongue slipping between them, deepening the kiss all while his fingers moved inside of you, lazily working you up.You brought one arm up and behind you so your hands could reach him, your fingers slipping into his hair. 

„More,“ you mumbled against his lips and and he grinned, his thumb rubbing over your clit and you gasped. 

„Wanted to wake you up with my mouth on you,“ he said, voice hoarse. You let your head fall back next against him, his mouth on your jaw as your lips parted. 

„Take my time with you,“ he said, his hand on your breast playing with your nipple. 

„Been so busy with work lately, I missed you,“ your other hand came to hold on to his arm across your stomach. 

„Missed your wet little pussy,“ he sucked on your earlobe and you moaned, already close to your orgasm. 

„You fucked me in the shower yesterday,“ you reminded him, voice breathy and he chuckled. 

„Not the same. When we get off the plane I intend to not leave the bed for at least three days,“ he whispered against your ear, his fingers finding the spot inside of you that made you shake, focusing his fingers on it. You came with a soft cry of his name, and Harry hummed a „good girl“ against your ear as he continued to pump his fingers into you. 

When his fingers finally slipped out of you you release a long breath before you turned your head to kiss him again. 

„Plane?“ You mumbled against his lips. He smiled, kissing your nose. 

„Surprise,“ he winked, bringing his hand up, licking his fingers clean, his other hand still on your breast. Narrowing your eyes playfully you turned around, crossing your arms behind his neck. 

„Where are we going?“ You asked and he hummed, shaking his head. 

„All you need to know is that you don’t need any clothes, we’re gonna be alone for four full days,“ he grinned and you rolled your eyes, fighting unsuccessful against the smile that spread on your lips. 

„Hmmm… Four days naked? Whatever are we going to do?“ You asked, letting your hand run down his chest, eyebrows raising in mock surprise when your hand slipped straight into his boxers and wrapped around his hard cock. 

„I have a list,“ he grinned before he kissed you again. You chuckled against his lips, slowly pumping his cock.

„Oh yeah?“ You mumbled against his lips. 

He moaned against your lips and you were about to get on your knees for him when his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you onto the kitchen island, making you giggle. You spread your legs as he got closer towards you. 

„Oh yeah. I’ve been working on it during my super long and boring meetings,“ his hands pulled your shirt up until he could pull it over your head, throwing it to the floor, leaving you sitting naked with your legs spread in front of him. 

„You mean the super long and boring meetings that made you 300 million dollars richer?“ You teased and he slipped his boxers down before both of his hands ran up your thighs. One hand wrapped around his cock and you parted your legs even wider as he slipped the tip though your folds. 

„Those exactly,“ he nodded, notching against your entrance.

„Multitasking. I like it,“ you teased and he laughed, kissing you again while he slowly pushed into you, both of you moaning. You let yourself fall back, both of your hands on the counter behind you, arching your back. 

„You’re so fucking beautiful,“ he shook his head slightly and you moaned deeply when he began to slowly fuck into you, filling you deeper and deeper until finally his cock was fully inside of you. He set a slow pace, both of his hands coming down to lean against the kitchen island, his head dropping down to kiss the soft skin on top of one of your tits before he softly sucked your nipple into his mouth. 

„Oh fuck,“ you moaned, your head falling backwards, arching your back even more to get closer to him. You slowly moved your hips to meet his thrusts. 

„So my plan is a lot of hits,“ he mumbled against your tit and you actually laughed. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he looked up at you, before he let go and came to stand to his full height, hands pulling you closer to the edge, towards him. 

He moved faster, pumping his cock into you, his skin slapping against yours. You moaned.

"A little bit of that,“ he groaned and you smiled out of breath. 

One of his hands slipped between your bodies, his fingers playing with your clit as his thrusts intensified. 

„And fuck. Yeah definitely this,“ he said with a moan and you crossed your legs behind his ass, pulling him even closer as he pumped into you in quick, hard thrusts. 

„Oh shit baby,“ you pushed yourself up, hands coming to rest on each side of his neck, both of you looking down to where he was fucking into you, while continuing to rub your clit. 

„Look how wet you are for me,“ he mumbled against your ear, kissing your shoulder. 

„Just for you baby,“ you slipped one hand into his hair and he leaned in to kiss you. It only took a few more seconds until you came, wave after wave washing over you as you moaned against his mouth. 

He let his forehead fall against yours, now chasing his own orgasm. 

„Cum for me baby,“ you whimpered, lightly pulling his hair and he groaned.

„Gonna cum. Gonna fuck, pump all my cum inside of you until….“ He stopped himself and you tilted his head up so you could look at him. 

„Until what? Until you get me pregnant?“ You asked and he nodded with a moan, twitching inside of you. 

„Do it. Fuck me full of you. Fuck a baby into me Harry,“ you whined and his lips parted, moaning as you felt him cum, fucking his cum into you until he stilled, his cock deep inside of you. 

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. He kissed your temple until you looked at him.

„I’ve been thinking…“ he began and you raised your eyebrows. 

„More on your list?“ You asked and he chuckled, shaking his head. 

„Not on the sex list. On… our future list,“ he said softly and you smiled, interested. A few weeks ago you had dreamed about your future together. How you wanted to grow old together. And maybe start a family. 

But Harry had a vasectomy almost fifteen years ago. 

„I made a appointment to reverse the vasectomy,“ he said and your eyes widened. 

„Really?“ You asked and he nodded. 

„How do you feel about that?“ He asked and you smiled up at him. 

„Ecstatic,“ you grinned before you kissed him. 

[blooddlusts]

WHAT A COINCIDENCE ⋆｡°✩ lee heeseung

( YOUR PHONE JUST DIED ) ── cheater! lee heeseung x fem! reader

synopsis: in which you catch heeseung with the person he told you not to worry about... (read part two here)

fic notes: cheater! lee heeseung x fem! reader, mentions of alcohol, cursing, heated argument, caught in the act of cheating, reader is a workaholic

kiara's notes: had this idea in the back of my brain for a while now. i guess sabrina's new song really gave me the motivation to actually write this lols

word count: 1.2k

the last time you checked, you weren't planning on going on to that club. as matter of fact, your whole day was completely revolved around the date that you and heeseung were going to have that night. it had been ages since you two had a date. granted, you had been working long hours at your job but still. the date had been circled in red marker on the calendar you two shared at your apartment and you couldn't help but feel giddy as you continued to look down at your watch counting down the minutes to be with him.

that was, of course, until your face dropped. the day you two had spent giggling with excitement about, the day that you had been looking forward to the whole week had plummeted with one text:

can't make it to our date today. something came up with work, maybe we can reschedule another day? i'm sorry for the last minute cancellation. love u

it felt like someone had punched you in the stomach —quite literally. you'd think after hearing heeseung complain about how you're hardly home, how he doesn't see you, how he wants to spend more time with you would mean he would put this date as a priority. yet, you knew better than anyone what it meant to be committed to work. you couldn't blame him. if anything the person to blame was yourself.

and so there you sat in your seat, staring at the text message, trying to find every way to let the fake smile sink into your lips. date cancelled, no plans for the night —you looked over to your co-worker and nodded. it turns out you were free tonight after all.

and so that's how you found yourself at the club. that's how you found yourself laughing with your co-workers as the music blared in your ears and you found yourself taking shots to ease the sinking pit in your stomach. but not even the alcohol could calm the knots that continued to twist your gut.

it had been hours since heeseung cancelled your date. and while you texted him back asking when would be best to reschedule, he didn't answer. no text. nothing. it was as if he had disappeared off of the face of the earth. and while you were used to him not being able to give direct answers, at least he would react to your message. but not tonight. it was complete radio silence.

you had to be drunk because now you could hear his laugh echoing in your ear. yeah, that has to be the answer. at least, that's what you say to reassure yourself as you grab the lonely shot that's waiting for you at the bar. you quickly take the shot while turning around to eye the crowded club in front of you. if only you hadn't.

if the punch to the stomach had been bad this morning, consider the following like someone had ripped your heart out and stepped on it in front of you. because there he was, fucking lee heeseung. his phone was out and he was there taking selfies with a girl who had her lips glued to his cheek. what the actual fuck.

you squeezed your eyes shut. you shook your head. this was a dream, it had to be. but as you opened your eyes to see him wrap his arms around the girl and press a kiss to her neck you realized that you were not trapped in a dream, rather, you were in a nightmare.

and yet, as you squinted your eyes. you could make out the face of the girl that was away from you. and this time, even after someone had stepped on your heart, it felt like they had just stabbed it. because the last time you checked, the girl that was gnawing at your boyfriend's neck just so happened to be the supposed "ex-girlfriend" heeseung told you not to worry about. you know? the one that he said he was "just friends with?" fucking bullshit.

you immediately called him, seeing what he would do. consider it a stupid action because you watched in realtime as he looked down at his phone, saw your name on screen and declined your call. so this was more important than the date?

it had to be the drinks that made you walk over to him. it was definitely the alcohol that made you shove his ex-girlfriend off of his neck. but no alcohol was responsible for you slapping him across the face. and in that moment, you could see heeseung go from complete anger to absolute wide eyes as he saw whose hand had slapped him.

he didn't say anything when you grabbed him by his wrist and proceeded to drag him out of the club. he didn't say anything when you yelled at his "ex-girlfriend" to "get the hell out of your face and go fuck some other asshole." in fact, he remained silent until you had his back pressed against the building as you two were outside of the club in the cold air with only the streetlamp to illuminate your faces.

"look, i can explain,"

"oh please, go ahead. explain to me why i saw you out there with your ex-girlfriend. explain to me why she was out there sucking on your neck. is that the so called 'work thing' that you had to cancel our date for?"

"oh come on, i was saving you the trouble,"

"what the hell are you talking about?"

"you know exactly what i'm talking about. every damn time i try to schedule any time with you it always gets shut down with work—"

"—so that's what this is about? my job? you think that's a good excuse for cheating on me with your ex out of all people?"

"it's not like that,"

"oh really. because you had your hands all over her two seconds ago. i asked when would be best to reschedule for our date and don't say your 'phone died' or any of that bullshit i saw you take pictures with her," you said as you started jabbing your fingers into his chest.

"look, she was lonely and she needed some company, okay? we're still friends—"

"—oh, so do you kiss all of your friends?"

"okay fine. you know what, you caught me. yeah, i was cheating on you, okay? and you know what, i honestly don't give a damn that you found out. because you know what, at least she cares about me!" heeseung snapped as he threw his hands up in the air.

"what are you talking about? i care about you?"

"please, stop lying to yourself. all you care about is your damn job. you don't have any time for anyone, you don't have time for your friends, and you definitely don't have time for us,"

it felt like a dozen of paper cuts had burned into your heart when those words escaped his lips. but clearly, heeseung didn't care seeing the tears prick your eyes. he made it clear who he had picked. and it wasn't you.

"fine. go back to her,"

"i was always planning to,"

reblogs, likes, feedback & comments are appreciated!

[koshkamartell]

Kept Woman

summary: AU one shot. Your older boyfriend Joel knows what's best for you, even if you don't agree.

warnings: unspecified age gap, possessive!Joel, low key abusive!Joel, toxic behaviour, gaslighting, reader has poor self esteem, degradation, dubcon PIV, unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, daddy kink, slut shaming, breeding kink, mild dissociation.

word count: 6,200

"You woke up with a fuckin' attitude today," Joel grumbles as he heaves himself into the driver's seat of his truck. He doesn't look your way as he slams the door shut and starts the ignition.

"You'd have an attitude too, if someone else kept you up half the night with their snoring," you snipe from the front passenger seat.

Joel's loud snoring has been a point of contention in your relationship for quite some time. He always snores, although it has never been as bad as it was last night. Most of the time you can subdue the snoring with a couple jabs of your elbow into his side, or a few light smacks on his shoulder, but last night nothing seemed to rouse him. The maddening snoring was unrelenting as it sawed through your eardrums, each inhale and exhale of Joel's breath bringing you closer to a fit of rage.

You ended up seeking refuge on the couch around midnight, angry at having to abandon your luxurious king bed for the far inferior comfortability of the living room sofa. As a result you are understandably irritable this morning.

You have noticed a pattern to Joel's noisy nocturnal breathing; it seems the nights of heavy, obnoxious snoring come after a long day at work, when he returns home extra tired and ready to collapse in bed. You know he's been putting in overtime at the latest project for his contracting company. You appreciate that he works hard. But if you have to deal with another round of cacophonous snorting then you will surely go crazy.

You see Joel scoff and rolls his eyes in your peripheral vision but choose to ignore it. He always thinks you're being dramatic or complaining about nothing. You flip the sun visor down to use the mirror before rifling through your handbag for your lipstick.

"For fuck sake," Joel growls suddenly, slamming the visor shut. He glares at you and jerks the gear stick into reverse. "How many goddamn times have I told you? I can't fuckin' see that side when I'm reversin' and you got that thing down."

"Maybe you need to get some glasses if you can't see," you quip nonchalantly while twisting off the lid of your lipstick from its tube. "Old man," you add half under your breath before applying your make up.

"Oh yeah, you're so funny," Joel snaps sarcastically. The engine revs and the tires squeal as he quickly reverses out of the driveway. He grips the top of the steering wheel with one of his large hands, the other resting tense on the gear stick. He usually lays that one on your thigh while he drives, for he's always eager to touch you, to reassure himself that what he owns is close by.

But today neither of you touch. There is no air of affection between you. The atmosphere in the truck is thick with tension and punctuated by sour, fractious silence. It lasts for five gruelling minutes before you decide that you can't take it any longer.

You reach over and push the button on the stereo and the radio comes crackling to life with a crooning, old fashioned country song. You make a small noise of disgust in the back of your throat and press another button to scan through the different stations. You are trying to search for something more palatable, something more upbeat to lift you out of this shitty mood.

"The fuck are you doin'?" Joel mutters, his eyes glued to the road ahead of him. "Quit messin' around with my radio. I like the station it was on."

"Come on, Joel. I don't want to listen to that crap." You huff. When you jump over to the next channel the speakers trumpet out a fast paced, beat driven track. Yes!

"Too bad. Ain't your truck, now is it, sweetheart?" Joel's thick fingers reach out and click the radio off without so much as a glance your way. You stare at him, half in surprise and half in rage. There is a self satisfied manner to his posture now, his shoulders a little more relaxed, his brow no longer pulled into a frown. There is even a hint of smug smirk on his mouth. He's cocky, the way he asserts his dominance over you, even through such small gestures. Sometimes you wonder if he does these things to antagonise you.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'll get my own car so I can play my own music," you snap, crossing your arms and glaring out the passenger window.

"Oh yeah?" Joel chuckles and shakes his head. "And just how are you gonna do that, baby? With the measly pay you get from waitressin' at that hokey little diner?"

He grins to himself, like the conversation is an amusing joke. You hate it when he is so condescending. His atittude acts as a reminder that he's so much older than you, exceedingly more financially stable, and undeniably more wise and savvy than you could ever be.

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment. It isn't the first time Joel has ridiculed your job. He's often pestering you to quit the diner to get a cushy receptionist position at his company instead. He says it's more respectable for your resume, although you suspect it is more so Joel can keep a closer eye on you than anything else.

"I like my job," you retort quietly, staring at the passing scenery outside your window. You hear Joel hum an acknowledgement before he clears his throat.

"I know, honey. I just don't get why," he says, tone considerably softer now. He glances over to you and you can feel the weight of his gaze, you but you don't meet it. "You could be earnin' atleast double what you make if you came to work with me."

The truth is that you genuinely do enjoy your job. You like keeping busy and being a part of the close knit team that operate the place. You cherish the rapport you've built with the regular costumers and you thrive on the praise they give you. Leaving your position would be giving up your safe space, somewhere where you belong and feel valued. It would be forfeiting your only remaining slice of independence.

You don't share any of this with Joel.

"They need me," you say in a small voice. "That's what Lenny always says."

Lenny is your boss, a funny and kind older gentleman who acts like a surrogate uncle to you. He often jokes that he has been managing the diner longer than you've been alive. He has always been a source of support for you, as have the other waitresses and line cooks.

Joel snorts derisively. "They don't need you, honey. They just use ya. Lenny wouldn't think twice about replacin' you if he had to."

"That's not true," you mumble weakly. You know what Joel says is not true but there is still a tiny niggling doubt in your mind that perhaps Joel is right. He usually is, after all.

He puts his large palm over your knee where your skirt has ridden up and strokes the bare skin there. The touch of his thick, calloused hand feels possessive. "Trust me darlin', some other girl would be fillin' your shoes before you even step foot outta that shithole."

His tone isn't cruel; he sounds matter of fact and concerned, paternal in his conviction. You sigh softly and don't bother to argue back. You don't speak for the rest of the few minutes drive to your work. The tension in the truck lingers, a sense of unease that makes you feel on edge, but Joel seems totally unaffected by it. He hums, carefree and seemingly oblivious, one hand on the top of the wheel and the other still on your knee. Always so in control, always so confident.

You stare out the window with a vacant expression, a myriad of thoughts passing through your mind.

How much money have I saved now? Will Joel be angry if I work the double shift on Saturday? I need the money. Should I tell him about the invite to Paul's party now or later? My sister texted again but I just ignored it - Joel would say I keep inviting drama into my life if I text back, but I feel bad.

You don't realise how quickly the drive passes until the rundown Lenny's sign comes into view and bursts your train of thought like a bubble. As Joel pulls into the parking lot you realise just how eager you are to don your little apron and turn off all the thoughts and emotions you don't want to deal with. Joel parks the truck and you have to fight the urge to jump out and scurry straight through the diner door.

"I'll see ya tonight, baby," he murmers, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, the scruff of his moustache tickling your lips. You flash him a little smile and slip out of the truck.

The diner was busier than usual today. The steady trickles of people meandering through to get a bite to eat or something to quench their thirst make it impossible for you to even get a decent lunch break. You and Teresa bustled around the tables serving endless cups of coffee and milkshakes alongside stacks of plates laden with burgers, fries, sandwiches and all day breakfast specials. The lunch time rush was so chaotic that you thought the line cook would have a heart attack.

You didn't mind being run off your feet - it made the noise in your head turn into low level static, a kind of vibration that silenced the anxiety and allowed you to simply exist. Working as a team, being surrounded by friends, helped you to breathe more clearly, and by the end of the day you felt a pleasant ache in your cheeks from smiling so much.

The flow of patrons only began to dwindle once the end of your shift rolled around. The sun was beginning to set, pretty pink and orange hues splashed over the western horizon, signalling the end of the day. You stand outside the diner around the side of the building and share a smoke with Tony, one of the linecooks. He's an older man around Joel's age, with a charming smile and eyes that seem to twinkle. He's always affable and chatty, a perfect gentleman.

"You goin' to Paul's party?" He asks as he takes an inhale of his cigarette. He leans against the brick wall and passes the rolled cigarette to you. You accept it and take a drag.

"I dunno," you reply with a shrug of your shoulder, exhaling a winding curl of smoke from your nose. "Not sure what I'm doing that night."

Tony's mouth quirks into a half smile and he nods, something playful and knowing in his expression. You raise an eyebrow at him and cock your head to the side curiously.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tony holds his hand out and you pass the cigarette back to him. "Nothing," he replies casually. "Just wondering if it's that or if it's because that boyfriend of yours won't let you."

You wrap an arm around your middle and scoff, but the noise comes out sounding more defensive than you would have liked. "He's got nothing to do with it," you mutter, kicking at the pavement with the toe of your shoe.

Tony nods sagely and pops the smoke inbetween his lips. "Uh-huh," he dismisses smoothly, "well anyway, me and Teresa are goin', if you wanna hitch a lift with us."

"Thanks. I'll let you know."

Less than a minute later you spy Joel's truck cruise down the road and turn into the parking lot, the engine rumbling loudly amidst the muffled sound of country music vibrating through the windows. The arrival of his vehicle acts as an unspoken cue to end your conversation with Tony. Tony seems to understand; he flicks the butt of the cigarette onto the ground and crushes it with the toe of his boot before shooting you a smile.

"G'night," he murmers. He wipes his palms on his apron and steps around you to walk back into the diner. Joel pulls up a few parking spaces from where you stand, further toward the back of the building and away from the diner entrance. You stroll over to the truck and smile when he opens the driver side door. The twangy music reverberates from the speakers inside the truck and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

"Hey baby," Joel greets you with his smooth Texan drawl. He switches off the engine before unclicking his seat belt, then hauls himself out of the truck.

"Why are you getting out?" You ask with a frown. "I've clocked off, let's go home."

He smirks and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close against his front. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Couldn't wait to have you in my arms, that's all," he murmurs. "Missed ya today."

You wrap your arms around his middle and lean your head against his chest. "Missed you too."

Joel tucks a stand of stray hair behind your ear and then strokes his thumb along your jawline. "Yeah?" He purrs. "You missed your daddy?"

You nod your head and nuzzle your nose into the soft, comforting material of his flannel. He chuckles softy and cups the side of your jaw in his palm. "How about we get goin' home and you can show me just how much you missed me, hmm?"

"Mmhmm," you whisper, letting your body relax into his embrace. You feel your eyes drifting closed. You are so tired and your feet ache. The thought of going home with Joel sounds perfect; he'll choose a movie and pick up some takeout and you two will snuggle up on the couch and retreat away from the world.

Joel slowly spins around so that your back presses against the side of his truck. You giggle softly and tilt your head to look up at him. He gazes down at you intently, a glint of hunger swirling in his brown eyes as he scans your face.

His large hand slides from your jaw back to the nape of your neck. "You're so pretty, baby," he cooes. His fingers thread through the strands of hair at the base of your skull, gently at first, before he closes his fist and pulls your hair taut in his grip. You wince at the sting of your scalp. "So pretty. And just for me, right?"

Joel suddenly captures your mouth in an impassioned kiss, pushing his tongue past your lips with a dominanting force that almost feels desperate, as if he wants to consume you. You feel overwhelmed by the intensity but you let it happen, allowing your mouth to be claimed by him. You can taste the coffee and mint on his breath, while the faint mix of his cologne, sweat and cigarette smoke fills your nostrils - it intoxicates your senses, making you slightly dizzy, and you sag back against the car.

Joel's other hand squeezes your hip possessively. You're pinned between him and the truck and it makes you feel small and vulnerable, more or less trapped by his solid frame. He slots his thigh inbetween your legs and you feel the buckle of his belt dig into your stomach.

You wait until you are struggling to breath before you finally press your palms against his broad chest and push, although you're far too weak to actually get him to stop. He eventually relents and breaks the kiss, though he keeps his face close to yours.

"Make it so fuckin' hard to keep my hands off you," he mutters, nuzzling his aquiline nose against yours. You let out a breathless giggle and fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

"Let's go home, it's been a long day," you offer. Joel presses a light kiss on the tip of your nose and grins, his warm breath beating over your cheeks.

"Not yet," he whispers, "can't stop myself, baby. You already got me so fuckin' hard." He grinds his erection against your crotch, his hardened cock straining the material of his jeans. "Feel that, honey? Feel how fuckin' crazy you make me?"

You feel a tug of panic within your tummy. He has that telltale tone in his voice; gravelly with lust, but with something dangerous simmering below the insistent ardor of his affection. It is how he sounds when he wants something.

And Joel always gets what he wants.

"Joel...," you murmer hesitantly, trying to keep the nervousness from cracking through your voice. "Not here, please not now. Let's go home first."

You're grateful that Joel has collected you from the back corner of the parking lot, just far enough to be partly secluded from traffic and other people walking around. But you are still less than sixty feet from the inside of the diner where your coworkers and boss are currently still working.  

"Just for a minute, baby, just need to feel you real quick." Joel reaches down and hitches up the hem of your skirt to dip his hand underneath. The caress of his calloused hand gliding up to the apex of your thighs causes a shiver to crawl up your spine. His touch always feels so good, so enticing, and when his fingers find the crotch of your panties a gasp escapes your lips.

"Joel," you whisper anxiously, clutching to the lapel of his jacket. He presses his fingers to your clit, groaning with pained lust when he feels the damp material of your panties.

"Fuck," he breathes. He fingertips begin to draw light circles over the bud, immediately eliciting a spark of pleasure to flood through your lower belly. "Just needed to feel you, sweetheart. Been thinkin' of you all day."

Joel leans down and kisses you once again, tongue slipping into your mouth and lapping at yours with fervid hunger. You feel your hips buck involuntarily, your body suddenly craving his touch, greedy for him to continue his minstrations.

He rubs your clothed clit with expert dexterity, the pressure steady but just light enough that your climax builds quite quickly. You hate how quickly he can unravel you, how effortlessly he seems to command your pleasure; but the blossoming ecstasy seems to rob you of your shame, making you forget just where you are.

All you can focus on is Joel.

Your heartbeat thrums in your chest and your breath comes in short, heavy exhalations through your nose. You feel your pussy flutter with electric pulses - you're close.

So fucking close.

Then it stops.

Joel withdraws his hand from your heat and loosens his other from your hair at the same time. He breaks away from the kiss and shuffles his boots backward a step, pulling out of your grasp.

What the fuck?

You lean forward in an embarrassing attempt to chase his lips, and whine in frustrated confusion.

"Joel what are you doing?" You pout, scowling at him.

He ignores you, glancing down as he hurriedly unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans. You watch as he takes hold of his hard cock and pulls it out from his underwear, foreskin retracting to reveal the fat head already wet with precum.

Your eyes widen in shock and your head swivels from side to side, nervously scanning for any sign of someone walking by. "Joel!" You hiss. "Are you insane?!

"Sssh," Joel croons, not bothering to look up at you. "Can't help it, baby, you're driving me crazy." He gives a lazy pump of his cock and steps between your legs again, his heavy boots nudging your feet apart to widen your stance. "Come on honey, be good for me."

"No, Joel, not here, please," you protest hurriedly, but he isn't listening to you. His massive hand tugs your skirt upwards, exposing your legs to the cool evening air and the warm metal of the truck behind you. Joel forcefully slots his body inbetween your thighs and impatiently yanks your underwear to the side, your slick arousal smearing over your lips. Your panic increases when you feel the heat of his cock press against the opening of your pussy.

He won't actually fuck you here, will he?

"Joel!" You plead, smacking your hands against his chest helplessly. You've got to get him to stop, to wake him out of this horny stupor. Someone could pass by any second and see what's happening. You'll be humiliated if anyone finds you in such a compromising position, but you will surely die from mortification if someone from work spies you. "Please."

A low growl of annoyance rumbles from Joel's chest and his hand comes to squeeze your hip, not tight enough to hurt you but firm enough to make you stop moving. He glares at you now, his pupils blown wide with predatory desire, his jaw ticking. You whimper and let your hands fall to your sides.

"I ain't askin'," Joel warns in a husky whisper. "Open up, little girl."

There's no use fighting it.

You basically agreed to it anyway, letting him touch you like that just a moment ago.

You stay silent as you acquiesce, spreading your legs further and hitching one up to sit over his hip. "That's it," he purrs lowly, "let me in."

The stretch of the crown of his cock breaching your hole makes you grimace in discomfort. He is big - the biggest you've ever had - and it always hurts when he first ruts into you. You're wet but no where near enough to facilitate a smooth entry, especially because he hasn't worked you open on his fingers beforehand either.

He groans with satisfaction when he slides into your pussy in short stuttering bursts, hand on your hip gripping you tight in place. You scrunch your eyes shut and bite down on your bottom lip to try repress the pained moans threatening to spill out from you.

"You're tight, honey," Joel murmers. "You gotta relax." His other hand comes up to cup your cheek in his large palm tenderly. "Breathe through it, come on."

He tilts his head down to press a light kiss to your hairline and the scratch of his scruffy beard prickles your skin. He is only halfway inside of you and the sting of intrusion seems to only intensify; maybe your body is rejecting Joel, so conscious of your shame and unwillingness that your insides are refusing to adjust.

You remember the first time you and Joel had fooled around, how intimidated you were when you had discovered just how well endowed he was. *"Don't worry, baby, I'll make it fit," he had said with a chuckle.

And that's what he was going to do now - make it fit, whether or not you were ready for it.

You don't even get the chance to regulate your breathing before Joel drives his hips forward and feeds his length all the way inside you. Your mouth falls open and a choked whine claws its way up your throat, and on reflex your hands ball the flannel of his shirt into your fists.

You're so unbelievably full.

"Good girl," Joel praises you in a velvety mumble that makes your clit unexpectedly throb. "Knew you could take it."

You can't help but preen on the inside at the tiny scrap of approval. You feel your pussy clench and unclench around him. You whimper and flutter your eyelids open, your dizzying vision settling on the tanned skin of Joel's strong neck, the veins by his jugular. You fight the urge to latch onto the spot and sink your teeth into him, to do something to bite back at him.

His hips start to saw back and forth with steady momentum, slowly punching his fat girth in and out of you. The burning sensation eventually dulls but the feeling of your insides parting continues to bombard you, bordering on unbearable, and it makes you mewl pathetically.

"Never get sick of splittin' this pussy open. Love seein' you cry on my cock." Joel plants a sloppy kiss on the side of your temple, seeming to relish the taste of the salty sweat of your skin.

Joel's appetite for sex has always been pretty voracious; it isn't uncommon for him to sneak up on you in the kitchen and bend you over the counter to fuck you while you're trying to cook, or for you to wake up in the mornings with his tongue lapping at your cunt. It still surprises you that a man his age has such insatiable desire, but you really can't complain, not when he's able to coax orgasm after orgasm from your body so effortlessly.

But right now you're desperately wishing he would atleast try to control himself, that he wouldn't let his animalistic compulsion cloud his sense of rationality and make him so reckless. Joel is usually a conservative kind of man, no nonsense and a tad grumpy in temperament, who would probably sneer in disgust at the idea of a man fucking his woman outside the privacy of their home. Those who know him would never in their wildest dreams guess that Joel would do such a thing - such debauchery is far more characteristic of his younger brother, Tommy.

But with you it seems Joel loses all sense of conventionalism.

You wouldn't have ever imagined him doing this, either, considering how possessive and protective he is. But you've learnt that Joel seems to foresake his self righteous attitude whenever it suits him, and more often than not when it benefits him.

Maybe you should've tried harder to persuade him to stop, to take you home instead.

"You daddy's little cock slut?" Joel rumbles in your ear. His hand leaves its bruising hold on your hip to slide over your mound. You feel the rough pad of his thumb press on your clit and your legs twitch at the contact.

He starts to swipe deft circles over the bud and soon a buzzing wave of bliss reignites once more throughout your belly. You can't help but moan, the uncomfortable sensation of being forced open finally dissipating enough to allow you to feel a degree of pleasure.

He maintains the momentum of his hips rolling against yours as he rubs your clit; soon your body is overtaken with the barrage of Joel's movements and the ecstasy he imposes upon you, and you find yourself going slack against the truck panel. The shame and anxiety you felt begins to fade as you surrender to Joel.

Your legs tremble and he senses your strength draining, always so attuned to your body and the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm. He gives your cheek a light slap.

"Stay with me, baby," Joel commands."Hold on to me, I got you."

You obey, your hands feebly grabbing at the meat on his flanks to help keep you steady. He nods down at you, his fat cock still plunging in and out of your pussy, all while he massages your clit. He plays your body so expertly, like an instrument, like he knows you inside and out, knows that he's the only man who can take you apart so deliciously. Your mind starts to feel like it's floating the closer your orgasm creeps up.

"That's it, honey. You love this cock so fuckin' much, don't you? Joel grits, nuzzling his nose against your forehead. His accent is like honey to your ears, thick and dripping with lust as he whispers filth. "Greedy little pussy can't ever say no to gettin' fucked, can she?"

You whine brokenly in response, breaths coming out in short pants. You're so close, the residual pressure of your previously unfulfilled orgasm heightening every punch of Joel's cock, every circle of his digit on your clit. He continues to speak, praising you with a silky string of adoration, good girl and the best pussy I ever had dripping from his mouth.

Your orgasm reaches its peak and a swell of intense bliss blossoms from the depths of your loins to surge all throughout your body. Your pussy contracts and spasms, a trickle of juice squirting down Joel's shaft and over his balls. You have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from crying out, causing a drop of blood to bloom out over your tongue. Your fingernails are close to tearing Joel's shirt, surely leaving indents on his skin even through the material.

"Yeah, that's it baby, cum on this cock," Joel rumbles with satisfaction.

He fucks you through your orgasm to prolong your high, but you quickly reach the point of overstimulation; you plead for him to stop, your voice hoarse and tired, devoid of strength. He continues for a few seconds longer, just to tease you and make you squirm on his dick, but then he stops.

"Good girl, so good for me," he whispers, planting another wet open kiss against your temple, his mouth hot and slobbering.

You're exhausted now and just want to sleep, the post orgasm delirium settling over your mind and body like a thick cloud.

But Joel isn't finished with you yet.

He sets both his massive hands on your hips and begins to fuck into you with renewed vigor. It rips you from the alluring pull of drowsiness and you squeal at the unexpected brutish pace he sets, the force and tempo verging on bestial, like he's purposely punishing you. The edge of your underwear grinds uncomfortably against your labia and chafes the sensitive skin there.

Joel uses his grip to pull you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, a toy whose sole purpose is to be used for his pleasure. The euphoria from your orgasm has completely disappeared now, replaced with sharp stabs of pain from where the head of his cock kisses your cervix. You grit your teeth and claw at his sides, desperately wishing it was over.

He's so deep inside you that you swear he's stabbing into your stomach. Each stroke squeezes an involuntary guttural moan from the bottom of your lungs.

"Yeah, that's right," Joel growls. "Let everybody hear you whinin' like a bitch on my cock."

You are suddenly flooded with the mortifying remembrance of your surroundings. You aren't in your cosy bed in the house you share with Joel - you're still in the public parking lot by your work place, being screwed by your much older boyfriend. Burning shame and humiliation pour over you like liquid flames, saturating and scorching every inch of your skin.

You feel dirty. Cheap.

Like he's reading your mind, Joel leans down to whisper in your ear with chilling comtemptuousness. "Lettin' me rail you in a fuckin' parking lot, like some kinda whore."

You're caught off guard by the venom of his words; a tiny gasp escapes your mouth and your fingers instinctively loosen their grasp on his back. He doesn't seem fazed by the change in your body language, too engrossed in chasing his own high to perceive how deflated you've abruptly become.

Or maybe he just doesn't care.

"Yeah. Gotta be a real shameless slut to get fucked like this. Surprised you ain't got a load stuffed in you already."

You stare at the tanned expanse of his neck once more, your eyes unblinking like you're in a trance. The prickling of tears sting at the back of your eyeballs. You'd never cheat on Joel, would never have sex with someone else. Why is he saying these things?

Your stomach feels sick. You hadn't wanted to do this in the first place - it was Joel who seduced you to. But still, he's right, isn't he? You are letting him fuck you against his truck and you aren't even telling him to stop.

Like it's just part of your job.

"'S what you are," Joel croons harshly, "aint nothin' but a dirty whore cummin' on her daddy's cock. A real brainless bitch only good for spreadin' her legs."

Joel has always been the more dominant partner during sex with you. It comes so naturally to him, slipping into an authoritative role in the bedroom as easily as he does in day to day life as a manager of his own construction company. He does not relinquish control in any area of his life.

But this feels different. There is something prowling right below the surface of this whole situation that makes you feel uneasy; it is in the barbed edge to his speech, the uncaring movements of his hips, the animalistic heaving of his breaths. A feeling that he wants to hurt you.

"Bet you'd let me fuck your ass right now too." Joel pants in your ear, words slurring slightly from the fervid of his own gratification, like he's drunk. "Bet you'd fuckin' love that, lettin' me bust a nut in your little asshole."

You feel your heart crack a little at the cruelty of his tongue, how easily they seem to slither from his mouth like a serpent. You don't speak back.

"I'm gonna keep all your holes filled," he mutters. "Make sure you're drippin' all the time. That what you want, baby?"

Through the haze of your pain you can detect the telltale throb of his cock, the way his hips move in a more frenzied, sloppy rhythm. You know his body just as well as he knows yours; he's about to cum, and when you feel the momentary swelling of his girth you brace yourself for his climax. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips painfully.

"Take it, bitch, take it all."

Joel slams his cock deep inside your pussy one last time before his cum erupts over your walls and cervix, filling you to the brink with his milky spend. He moans and grunts in your ear, his chest heaving against your frame, crushing you further into the panel of the truck, crumpling your far more delicate and smaller body.

He pulls out of you swiftly and you are immediately hit by the aching emptiness left inside you. You scramble to adjust your panties and to pull your skirt down, and your balance teeters dangerously. Joel is quick to catch you from falling to the ground, wrapping his hands around your upper arms to keep you upright.

"Whoa, honey, easy." He soothes, soulful coffee brown eyes darting all over your face with concern. His expression is so soft, a complete juxtaposition to the predatory scowl he wore just minutes ago, like he's transformed into a totally different man. "You okay?"

You nod your head, eyes fluttering open and shut as your brain fights against the foggy film of dissociation permeating your thought process. Are you okay? You aren't really sure.

"Mhm," you murmer anyway, almost inaudibly.

"Oh, my perfect girl," he whispers softly, so reverent and loving. "I love you so much." He tilts your chin up with his thumb and plants a tender kiss on your lips; you can't help but melt into it, like a kitten desperate for warmth and affection. The mist surrounding your senses abates quickly, leaving you staring up at Joel with mirrored adoration in your eyes. He strokes your hair and gives you a small smile, the dimple in his side visible for a second.

"I love you too." You preen and reach up to stroke at the patchy beard along his jaw, marvelling at just how handsome he looks. You want to savour this moment, wishing to memorise just how beautiful the intimacy between you and Joel feels right now.

He loves you. You love him. That's all you need. It's all you want.

"Come on honey, let's go home and get somethin' to eat," he tells you, stepping away and making quick work of buckling his belt back up.

You nod in agreement, getting ready to haul yourself up into the truck when your mind suddenly snaps alert to the lack of weight on your shoulder. You whine in annoyance as you realise the mistake you made. "Shit! I forgot my purse inside. Ugh."

"Well go on and get it," Joel drawls, laidback and unbothered. "I'll wait for ya." He gives your ass an encouraging pat. "Hurry along."

You sigh dramatically and turn around to go back inside. He folds his arms and leans back against the truck, eyeing the sway of your ass while he tries to conceal the conceited triumph radiating through his chest. Yeah, he knows what he pulled was an asshole move, but it had to be done. You've been getting a little too mouthy for his liking, a little too friendly with your coworkers. And once he knocks you up you won't have any more excuses to keep working at this shitty diner. You will be at home, barefoot and pregnant, with no where else to go and no one else to rely on. You'll be marked for life. A kept woman.

He smiles a little to himself, content with the knowledge that as you make the walk back to the diner the slow gush of his semen will be creeping into the gusset of your panties.

credit to @saradika-graphics for the divider

[absinthe-over-tea]

either way it's gonna || the pitt

pt 2 <<prev • next>>

pairing: jack abbott x f!resident!reader warnings: age gap (older man/younger woman), probably lots of medical inaccuracies, brief mentions of rehab and miscarriage a/n: Did I stay up until 2 a.m. to post this bc Jack Abbot and The Pitt have fully taken over my brain? Yes, yes, I did. This story is just getting started and I hope to keep posting updates throughout the week as I have time to write, so let me know if y'all want me to start a tag list?

As predicted, Robby was on the roof nursing a beer. Though at least tonight he was on this side of the railing. 

“Should I be worried about how often I find you up here these days?” Before PittFest a little over a month ago, it was rare for Robby to come up to the roof unless he was looking for Jack. Now, he was up here more nights than not. 

“You sound like Heather.” 

“Dr. Collins is a smart woman.” 

They both stood there leaning against the railing in silence, staring out over the skyline of downtown Pittsburgh in the distance. Jack knew better than to push Robby for a real answer. If he wanted to talk about what happened today, he would. If not, Jack was content to spend a few minutes in silence before what was sure to be another hectic shift. 

The sun was starting to set, and the soundtrack of the city was starting to morph from day to night — honking from rush hour commuters replaced by live music and happy hour laughter. The bar down the block that the day shift residents were always heading to after shift was playing some new pop song that Jack had heard too many times on the radio. He wondered briefly if you would head there after today’s shift with the others, or if you were the type to keep work and your personal life in two completely separate boxes. 

“So, I met your new resident downstairs,” Jack broke the silence. 

Robby’s eyes cut over to him, one eyebrow raised in that annoying Robby way that meant he was reading into something Jack would really rather him not. 

“Yeah, I needed a backfill for Langdon, and Gloria only made me promise half my soul in exchange. She’s a transfer from Mercy.” 

“She any good?” 

He tried to sound casual, unaffected — just an attending asking another attending about a new resident. But the way Robby fully turned to look at Jack suggested that he was unsuccessful. He pointedly ignored the growing smirk on his friend’s face. 

“Very. Calm under pressure, quick to diagnose, generous with the interns and med students. She’ll be an asset. Gloria actually smiled when she looked at her resumé, amd I didn’t know she was even capable of anything other than a disappointed frown.”

Jack just nodded slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the skyline as Robby continued to study him with his arms crossed over his chest and hip propped up against the railing. 

“I can’t tell if you’re asking because you want to sleep with her or because you want to steal her for the night shift.” 

“Oh fuck off, I’m not trying to steal her,” Jack rolled his eyes. He’d technically stolen Ellis away from day shift after her intern year, and Robby still hadn’t let it go. And even if Jack was plotting to steal you to add to the night shift roster, it’d be fair game. Night shift was even more understaffed than the day shift. 

“So you’re trying to sleep with her then?” 

Jack nearly gave himself whiplash turning to glare at Robby. “No, I’m not trying to—that’s not why I—Christ, Robby, she’s like half my age!” 

Robby barked out an amused laugh, shoulders shaking with what could only be described as unabashed glee while Jack sputtered out his response. “That must have been one hell of a first impression, Brother. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this flustered.” 

“I’m not flustered. Forget I said anything. Maybe I do want to steal her for the night shift,” he grumbled. “Get someone to keep Shen on his toes.” 

“Whatever you say, man. God, I need that after today. Thanks.” He pushed off from the railing and headed back to the door inside, still chuckling to himself. Jack followed behind him with a deep sigh, regretting almost every life choice that led him to becoming friends with this asshole. 

*** 

You liked working at The Pitt. It was a faster pace than Mercy. More cases, higher stakes, less oversight. Given how often you saw Gloria following around a visibly annoyed Robby, her heels clacking rapidly against the vinyl tiling, you suspected that last bit was thanks to him shielding the ED from higher influences. 

Robby was a great boss, and Dana ran a tight ship. Plus, there was a real sense of camaraderie between the staff that you didn’t realize you were missing before. It’s always a red flag when an HR department tells you that a workplace is “like a family,” and you thankfully hadn’t heard anyone say that during your interview process at PTMC. But you also sort of felt like it might be true in this case. 

The Pitt was sort of a family. A wildly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. And you’d been in desperate need of one. 

Collins was a tough chief resident, but she was constantly looking out for everyone else. Princess and Perlah may endlessly bully poor Whittaker, who was hands-down the most unlucky person you’d ever met in your life, but you’d seen them both slide a piece of candy across the counter toward him on numerous occasions when he was having the kind of shift that left him cycling through multiple sets of scrubs. Santos could be a pain in the ass, but she also didn’t hesitate to throw herself in between Mel and a patient who was getting a little too aggressive.

And by the end of your first month on the job, they’d brought you into the fold, too. 

You and Collins got close quickly. During your first week, you’d accidentally stumbled across her crying in the stairwell. You’d sat down with her quietly, just so she wouldn’t be alone, and after shift, she told you about her miscarriage and the case that had triggered her tears earlier in the day. You told her about breaking down in the ambulance bay after the kid whose father accidentally pushed them down the stairs during a bender. She wasn’t a lesser doctor because a case got to her; you all had your shit, and in the end, it made you better doctors. 

The guys invited you to join in on the betting board — something Mercy most certainly did not have. Everyone bet on everything, but there was also a mason jar at the nurses station labeled “coffee stash,” and every single person who won money from the pool shoved a few bills into the jar from their winnings. Dana used it for cafe coffee runs on hard shifts and beer runs after good ones. 

Santos and Mel always invited you out for drinks after shift, even though you said no more often than not so you could visit your mom before visiting hours ended. Robby fist bumped you after successful cases you worked together. Princess told you about the unofficial bet the nurses had going on about Javadi and Mateo. 

Things were…good. Great, even. 

And then there was Dr. Abbot. 

You’d been so fucking embarrassed after that first meeting — snapping at him like he was an intern and then rambling like a moron before essentially running away. The absolute height of professionalism. 

But he didn’t seem to hold it against you. If anything, it seemed that unfortunate introduction had somehow endeared you to the stoic night shift attending. You weren’t sure if it was borne from how you handled that code, the bumbling apology after, or the ironic duality of the two interactions happening back-to-back (you really hoped it was the former). But the next time you were both working on the same patient, he’d handed you a pair of iris scissors and walked you through your first-ever emergency lateral canthotomy. 

After, he’d given you a proud smile. “Hell of a job, doctor. You just saved this man’s eye.” 

You didn’t get to work with him every day, only on the days he came in early for his shift or you stayed late to wrap up a case or catch up on paperwork. But the occasions when your time in the ED did overlap, you found yourself gravitating toward him. He was gruff, no-nonsense. He scared the shit out of the interns, and the nurses all had stories about him Macgyvering procedures. But he was also a phenomenal doctor and a patient teacher. Had a clear soft spot for vets and kids. 

And yeah, okay, he was unfairly handsome. You weren’t above admitting that to yourself. The corded muscles along his forearms, broad shoulders, the constant five o’clock shadow, the salt and pepper hair grown out just long enough to start to curl, the slight rasp in his voice. It was a very specific combination that caused a weird swooping sensation in your belly every time you locked eyes with him. 

You asked Collins about him at the bar one night, three whiskey diet cokes deep and unable to hold the question back. 

“What about him? He's the most senior night shift attending. Great doctor. Surprisingly good teacher, given the whole ‘ED cowboy’ reputation. He’s worked at The Pitt for… 7 years now, I think? Obvious workaholic, given how often he comes in early and stays late.” 

“I don’t mean what’s in his personnel file, Heather," you say, exasperated. You wanted to know what he was like, his hobbies outside of work, if he was single...

“Then what did you mean?” 

“I don’t know, something that’s not in his personnel file? I know him and Robby are friends.” 

She slumped down deeper in the booth, her legs stretching across until her feet rested on your side of the booth. “And why would that mean I know anything about him? Do I look like Princess and Perlah on the gossip squad to you?” 

You leveled an unamused look at her, one that said, Do you really want me to lay out exactly why I think you would know all about Jack because he and Robby are friends? 

She sighed dramatically, putting her hands up in surrender. “He’s a combat vet. Afghanistan. Three tours as a medic before an IED ended his military career. He wears a prosthetic, though he does a pretty good job of keeping it hidden at the hospital. Lately, him and Robby do this weird post-shift hand-off thing on the roof, which is morbid and more than a little concerning. He’s a widower; further details unclear.”

“Shit.” The liquor buzzing through your system prevented you from saying anything more eloquent. Heather just nodded in agreement. 

That briefly brought the mood down, silence stretching between you in the booth. Your mind wandered to Dr. Abbot. He’d be at the hospital right now, rounding on patients. It was late enough that there might be a lull. You wondered what he was like during those periods of downtime. Was he restless, constantly finding something to keep him busy, or did he relish a chance for a break to get some peace and quiet? Was he more relaxed with his night shift crew? Did he have secret jokes with the nurses? Did he give that small, proud smile when Ellis or Walsh pulled off a successful procedure under his tutelage? 

God, the whiskey was really making you pathetic tonight. 

“So, traumatized, tired, self-loathing older men. That’s your type?” Heather’s voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts. 

You thought about denying it. It’s not like anything would ever happen between you anyway — he was an attending and older and a fucking widower, apparently. It was just an innocent work crush; something to keep your mind occupied during shift lulls and stilted visits with your mom. 

But then she waggled her eyebrows with a smug, shit-eating grin on her face, and you knew lying would be pointless. Instead, you threw a straw wrapper at her and shot her a mock glare. “Shut up, you’re one to talk.” 

She dodged the wrapper easily, sitting up with a burst of energy and demanding you to tell her everything. You were going to need another whiskey diet.

[jeondesu]

ೀ⋆ 🍂 LOVE ME HARDER !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ idol!han jisung x f!reader ˒˓ established relationship 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. fluff, a bit angsty in the beginning but fizzles out quickly, kissing, semi-suggestive but nothing explicit, reader is implied to be shorter than jisung, 𝔀ords. 2.0k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — i had originally wrote this on my old blog for taehyung but i rewrote some parts and made it a little better. let me know what you think <3 pls feel free to reblog/leave a nice comment, it always helps me out ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

𝓼ong 𝓲nspo: love me harder by ariana grande

Lazy Sundays were your favorite day of the week for a good reason. One of them being that you got most stuff done on Sundays as you felt more in a productive spirit. It became your ritual, dedicating the day to deep cleaning your room, tackling piles of laundry, and tending to the much needed self-care you so often neglected during the week.

You lightly hum as soft lofi music played in the background while dusting off your pretty antiques and fold your clothes. Time slipped through your fingers like silk, the afternoon fading before you could fully grasp it. By the time everything was in it’s place, you felt that familiar ache of burnout settling into your bones.

Jisung was supposed to come over today but he hasn’t texted you back in hours— you were almost positive by the time you were done he would’ve texted you but nope. No text. No call. Pure radio silence.

You kept checking your phone periodically, as if each glance might summon him— like a message would magically appear on your screen by sheer will.

It never does though unfortunately.

Sighing and huffing, you throw your phone across the bed in frustration. What’s the point in even having a phone if he isn’t going to properly communicate with it?

You head downstairs to make a smoothie to keep yourself occupied, hoping the motion would quiet your thoughts, but your mind subconsciously betrayed you. All you could think about was Jisung. His voice, low and velvet-smooth, replaying in your head like a song that you couldn’t turn off, a distant memory that was out of reach. The more time you spent away from him left you needing to fill the void, constantly keeping yourself busy not out of habit, but out of necessity; because the stillness always brought out your melancholy, and you weren’t sure how much more of that you could bear.

It wasn’t easy at all dating someone like him— not knowing when he’ll text you, not being able to just call him whenever you feel like it. Those intense feelings of yearning cloud your mind and turn you into a lovesick pup. You also don’t want to come off as clingy and text him too much since you know he’s probably working.

You hear a set of keys jingle from outside, unlocking the door. You felt frozen in time, not making any sudden movement— it was like the universe had bent in your favor and a guardian angel just answered all your prayers.

Slowly walking up to the door, heart fluttering in anticipation, you see the man who’s been occupying every corner of your mind. A smiling Jisung in front of you with a large bouquet of pink roses in his hands.

“Surprise!” Jisung beamed through the open doorway, voice bright and familiar.

What a pleasant surprise indeed. You’ve been quietly longing for this moment practically the whole day, waiting for him to come through that door and chase the ache out of your chest. His blond hair fell messily into his eyes but you could still see that he looked a bit tired. It was nice of him to give you the flowers and all, but you still felt sort of neglected by him not calling or texting. You’d spent majority of the day wondering if he’d forgotten how much space he took up in your heart.

“Wow, these are beautiful! You really didn’t have to Ji, thank you.” You flash a soft, appreciative smile as you set the flowers on the table.

“That’s my apology gift for not being able to call you all day,” he spoke earnestly, inching his way closer to you. “Things just got hectic and I didn’t have time to. I saw this really beautiful flower spot on the way here and wanted to get you a little something. Again, I’m really sorry…”

Sometimes you wonder if he’s a mind reader, he always seemed to know when something was off— doing his best to resolve a problem before it gets too out of hand. He doesn’t handle conflict very well and shuts down if the argument gets too heated.

“It’s okay Ji, I get it. You’re a busy man… you’ve got more important things to worry about than me.” The words left your lips before you could stop them— and the second they did, regret followed like a shadow. You hadn’t meant to guilt him. You just… missed him. More than words could ever convey.

“What’re you talking about y/n? You’re the most important person in my life.” Jisung expresses, voice heavy with disbelief. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing like that.. maybe I need to do better in showing how much I love you. How much I appreciate you.”

As if he were worried you would disappear right in this moment, he steps forward, tightly pulling you into his arms. You felt as though you could cry, but you held your tears back— you couldn’t fall apart, not when he was finally here, you had to remain strong in front of him.

“N-no Ji, you’re perfect just the way you are please don’t change! It’s just… the communication could be a little better on your side.” You tried to phrase it carefully, choosing your words in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

He simply nods in agreement, “you’re absolutely right. From this day forward I’ll try my best to communicate with you better. I truly never realized how much of an effect that can have on you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Jisung please, it’s fine. Stop apologizing so much, I’m just… I’m glad you’re here with me right now.” You nuzzle into his chest and play into the palm of his hand, allowing the beat of his heart to calm any of the persisting doubts that loomed over you.

“Me too y/n, me too.”

‧ ꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧

You cuddled in bed with Jisung for the rest of the day, the glow of random Netflix movies flickering across the dimly lit room. Not that either of you were really watching to begin with— your mouths found each other too easily, too often, kisses bleeding into each new scene as if you were writing your own story between each breath.

His leg was sprawled over yours with his arm wrapped around your waist, peppering gentle kisses to the side of your face, pressing up against you— both your body heat combined was hot enough to light a match. It didn’t matter how long you’ve been with him for, the tension between you two was beyond frustrating.

Jisung never pressured you into things though, he liked it better when you initiate something more because he knows you’re having a good time. He cared more about you than he did himself and what you said earlier still weighed heavy on his mind.

“Am I a bad boyfriend to you y/n? Be honest, I can take it..” Jisung asks on a whim.

You blinked slowly, caught by surprise. “No, what the hell? You’re not at all, I love you so much my JiJi.”

“Then why do I feel so bad for what you said earlier? There’s gotta be some truth behind you thinking that you’re not important to me.”

You sighed as your head hung low, tracing idle patterns across his chest. “I don’t know why I’d say that… it just came out I’m sorry. I know you value me, I know you love me, I was just upset in that moment and should’ve have said it. We both have things to work on so I’m glad we’re talking more about this actually.” You feel better now that you were able to healthily communicate with him about all this.

“Yeah, I agree.” Jisung admits, running a hand through his hair. “I need to work on actually looking at my phone sometimes. I’ve just been so tired from all this back and forth traveling, I get jet-lagged easily.”

“I get it, it’s hard and although I may not understand I can definitely sympathize. I’m here for you whenever you need me Ji, I’m your ride or die until the end, right?” You look up at him again, getting closer in proximity to his face.

“Right.”

He leans in to capture your lips into another kiss, which leads back to you making out yet again. Things grew a little too heated when his hands sneak down a bit lower than they’re supposed to. You tsk at him and he turns red as a tomato, looking away at you with a sheepish grin.

“Later Ji, I was sweating a bit earlier and would like to freshen up before we get into… all that.” You know he definitely doesn’t care and a little bit of swear wasn’t going to turn him off but he wants to do what’s best for you anyway— he always respected what made you feel most comfortable.

You rose from the bed to get ready for your shower and he gets up to examine all the things on your dresser. Eyes curiously scanning over the newly reorganized collection of beauty products— neat rows of perfumes, palettes, and perfectly arranged lipsticks.

“I never realized you had this much makeup y/n, how do you even keep track of it all?” Jisung probes, fascinated by all the different kinds of makeup there were.

“You literally wear makeup too… you should know that it’s always important to have lots of options!” You exclaim, shaking your head at him going through your different shades of lipstick.

He spots a pretty light pink color and applies it on his lips, dramatically turning towards you to show off the final look.

“You think this shade suits me?” He points at his lips that formed a tiny pout and jokingly winks at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly? That color looks way better on you than me, you should keep it!”

Curse this man’s insanely out of this world good looks.

He chuckles at your comment and continues looking through your stuff, swatching the eyeshadows on his wrist, he looked like he was having a field day.

“You seem to be really enjoying my things, huh?” You inquire, eyeing the vibrant colors on his skin.

“I just think it’s cool,” Jisung mused, still aimlessly swatching colors across his wrist like tiny brushstrokes on a canvas. “I find things like this to be artistic in a way. Makeup can be used as a form of self expression, you know? I always liked that.”

You love how your boyfriend can be so secure in his own masculinity, that it doesn’t matter for him to find interest in these things. It’s what made you even more attracted to him, his inner femininity shined through so beautifully.

He wasn’t scared to break norms with you either, he enjoyed doing the cooking (if he didn’t burn the house down), house cleaning, and running small errands for you without even asking. His love for you stretched so far that he’d do anything to prove he deserved you. It was a very healthy and balanced relationship but still, he did get in his head a lot about if he was good enough for you.

Before you get in the shower, Jisung holds your arm in place to say one last thing.

“I know I’ve probably said this for the millionth time today but, I love you y/n. Truly, I do. There’s not a single person in this world I’d imagine being with other than you. Thank you for being so patient with me and sticking by my side. You really are my person.”

He pulls you in for another warm hug, holding you like this was his last day on earth— he slightly towered over you, he could just kiss the top of your head. You couldn’t stop smiling at him, it was precious moments like these that you cherished near and dear for the rest of your life.

“I love you so much Ji, you’re everything I need and value in a partner. I know that as long as we have each other, we can get through anything.”

perm taglist: @justwonder113 @emilyywhyy @leeknowslefteyebrow @min-doesnt-know @velechi @kayleefriedchicken @jeonginsbaee @thelittletobsterthatcould @queenofdumbfuckery @met30rc1ty @mouthfullobats @geni-627 @amarecerasus @emma-your-goofy-girlfie @n4tr3ad5 @cowboylikemalika @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @skzfangirl143 @mmarusa @velvetskize @seungmyynie @trixiekaulitz | if you wanna be tagged in any of my future posts fill out this form here. ♡

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: The Storm Inside Your Mind

Request: Anonymous said: "tyler x reader with panic attacks"

Word count: 2k

Warnings: panic attack tw

A/N: obviously stole some of Kate's trauma for this one... I feel like I've written a few fics where reader has panic attacks now, so sorry if this sounds repetitive at all. But as always, thank you all for the kind words, replies, and comments on my work. It's super encouraging and very appreciated!!

The team isn’t chasing today. Instead, you set up the RV and some tents at a campsite, hoping to enjoy what little time you had left of tornado season. 

Tyler gets a fire going while Boone and Dexter drag the camp chairs around it. There’s only half an hour or so left of daylight, and the crew decides s’mores will do just fine for dinner. 

Boone makes a joke about s’mores meeting all his nutritional food group needs, everyone laughs. Tyler settles into the chair beside you, his knee gently grazing against yours to catch your attention. 

When you look at him, he winks. A silent toss of affection. A sweet reminder that it’s you and him, even amongst the chaos of all your friends. 

The sun sets, casting a thousand shades of pinks and purples through the sky. It’s mesmerizing– the evening is perfect. 

It’s amazing how quickly things can fall apart.

All it takes is one note– 

Dani grabs their guitar and begins strumming softly to no tune in particular. Then Boone shouts out a song request that makes your breath catch. You try to be subtle, but you notice Tyler’s eyes lingering on you, because he can read you just as well as he can read any storm. 

You offer him the best, most reassuring smile that you can– and it must be good enough, because he looks back towards the fire. 

You pick at the skin around your nails, because it’s always been a good distraction. But even that isn’t enough when Dani plays the first note– 

“Took my love and I took it down,” they sing softly. 

And then suddenly, you can’t breathe. All you can hear is your best friend asking you to turn up the volume to her favorite song when it had come on the radio only minutes before everything had gone so, so wrong. 

Normally, you can talk yourself down from these moments, you can practice all the grounding exercises your therapist taught you and move on. But you feel the sense of panic creeping up your throat and it’s strong and fast. You don’t think you can deep breathe your way out of this one without anyone noticing.

In a rush, you stand up from your camp chair and mumble something incoherent about needing to go. It’s not very subtle, but it’s all you can manage before stumbling into the RV– aiming for the bathroom. 

Tyler calls your name, but all you hear is the sound of your friend screaming it over the increasing winds as they reached for you. 

From there it only gets worse– 

It comes in waves– memories of Fleetwood Mac still playing from the radio while you sat in the car and frantically tried to decide which way to run– the realization that no matter where you went, the tornado was going to consume you– knowing that the overpass was the worst place to go, but your alternative was remaining out in the open. Your name tumbling from your friend's lips as she begged you to help pull her up the ramp because her shoes kept slipping. The sound of her scream when the chunk of debris sent her flying into the storm. You losing sight of her body after only a second– 

The bathroom door rattles. “Y/N?” Tyler calls with a knock. “What happened?”

“What happened?” your friend’s dad had asked with tears spilling down his cheeks after the officer told them that their daughter was dead. “What the hell happened?” 

“There’s no storm,” you whisper to yourself. “The skies are clear– there’s no storm.”

Tyler calls your name a second time and knocks harder– the door rattles. You grip the edge of the sink and bite down harshly on your lip to keep yourself from screaming. Because despite the calm conditions outside, the storm inside your mind is here– it’s rattling the door and shaking the RV– it’s creating dark clouds, and causing them swirling around in every corner of your body– winds are flying through your stomach and your chest, the air is heavy, it’s harder to breathe– 

You put your hands over your ears and sink to the floor helplessly. 

“Y/N, answer me,” Tyler’s panicked– you can hear it in his voice. “I swear to God, I’m gonna kick this door down–”

You try to inhale– to tell him not to do that– that repairing a door will be expensive. But instead of finding your words, all you can do is choke out a desperate sob. The storm has stolen all your air– it’s sucked it right from your lungs… 

Before you can try again, the entire bathroom shakes when the hinges on the door break loose with a bang. Tyler’s eyes land on you– huddled on the floor, gasping for the breath you can’t find. 

Except– it’s not Tyler. It’s your friend’s dad. He’s come to get you– to kill you like you killed his daughter. 

You attempt to push yourself backwards on the floor, but the bathroom is small and soon, you've only managed to wedge yourself between the toilet and the wall. You try to speak again– to tell him how sorry you are for getting his daughter killed– but you can’t. Clutching desperately at your chest, you heave and heave, squeezing your eyes shut. 

The storm inside your mind causes the clouds to start swirling around chaotically– 

The storm inside your mind rips trees right from the roots– 

The storm inside your mind destroys everything in its path– 

“Baby–” a familiar warm voice cuts through the fog. And then, suddenly, someone grips your knee, causing your entire body to seize. 

“It’s me,” a gentle voice murmurs. "Hey, it’s me.“

Through your foggy haze, you recognize Tyler’s touch– and when you open your eyes, you see him squatting down to get on your level. 

But your knees– you open your mouth to say, except all that comes out is a gasp– a plea for help. 

“Okay, it’s okay. Look at me, baby,” he says. “It’s okay– you’re okay.” 

“I– can’t–” you gasp, your own hands flying up to grip his forearms for some sort of lifeline to reality. “I can’t– breathe–” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says. He’s trying to stay calm, but you can hear the uneasiness in his voice. “With me.” 

He gives a deep, methodical inhale before letting out a slow, intentional exhale. “Just do it with me. Slow, like this.” 

He continues, and you try to match his pace– to breathe with him, but it feels like the storm has stolen your lungs– ripped them right out of your chest– 

“Tyler–” you beg, your voice hoarse. “I can’t–” 

“C’mon, with me,” he repeats earnestly. He’s looking at you with terror in his eyes, but you find comfort in their familiarity just the same. “We’ve done this before, you know how to do this.”

“I– I–” you stammer, but the words won’t form. 

“Shh, with me. Everything’s okay. I’m here. We’re both okay,” he assures you. His gaze is just so tender and soft and careful while his thumb grazes your cheek. 

“I- I can’t-” you choke again, “Please–”

“Shh-” he soothes. “Look at me, nothing else, just me.”

Your wide, desperate eyes meet his. You don’t say anything, just shudder and gasp frantically.  

“With me,” he repeats.

Tyler slow and calming, in and out breathes. After a few seconds, you latch onto the sound, mimicking it, and then finally follow along. 

“There you go,” he whispers.

Your facial features slowly start to relax as you’re able to breathe properly.  Without your loud, choking sobs, you’re able to hear your heartbeat pounding in your chest frantically.  

“Good job,” Tyler sighs. “Look, it’s just you and me, we’re okay, we're both safe–” 

But he can’t even finish his sentence before you lean forward and reach for him. Tyler takes advantage of your gesture and quickly grips under your arms, yanking you from the corner and pulling you forward. He sits back on the floor, back resting against the door frame while he rests you on his lap. As soon as he’s settled, you wind your arms around his neck– desperate and longing for some sort of comfort. 

Strong, sturdy arms wrap around you as you hide your face into his chest. You breathe him in, letting his familiar scent wash over you. The sound of his heartbeat races in your ear (bum, bum, bum, bum). It reminds you that you’re both here– right now. Not stuck in an underpass, not chasing a tornado. But here– on the floor in the RV bathroom. 

“It’s okay,” Tyler soothes. Upon feeling your shaky body pressed against his, he squeezes tighter. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I got you.”

You melt against him in response, bunching the fabric of his shirt into your fist, trying to communicate just how badly you need him to hold you right now. 

And that’s exactly what he does— until you can finally breathe on your own again. 

And then the wave of guilt comes.

Suddenly the realization of everything hit you– what a basketcase you’ve been, running off like that, having a meltdown in front of everyone– you probably scared the shit out of them. And then there’s the door– broken right from the hinges. 

Slowly, you pull back. 

“Are you okay?” Tyler says before you can even open your mouth. He brushes the strands of loose hair from your face.  

You exhale a deep, shuddering breath that you can feel down your entire body. “I’m okay,” you say, your voice raw. 

“Baby, you don’t have to run from me when you’re having a panic attack. I’m here for you, you know that.”

“I know,” you whimper. “I know– I’m so sorry– I didn’t mean to freak out–”

“Shh. Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” Tyler says. “You don’t have to apologize. I just– I want you to come to me when you’re struggling. I want to be able to help you.”

“I just—” you start, but you stop when you notice how choked up your voice sounds. You take a slow breath. “I can't think clearly when they come. All I could think about was getting away. I didn't want to scare you– I wanted to prove to you that I was doing better– that I wasn’t going to freak out all the time. But it–” 

As soon as you feel the tears burning behind your eyes, you dig the heels of your palms into them frustratedly, like you were physically trying to push them away. 

“It was the music. That was her favorite song.” You didn’t even have to say your friend’s name for Tyler to know what you were talking about. “I just… I heard that first note and I panicked– I just felt like I had to get away.” 

Tyler nodded in understanding. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he whispered. “Next time, you drag me to the bathroom with you and we’ll get through it together, okay? I think that’ll save us many doors in the future.”

You exhale a puff of air, your best attempt at laughter. 

“I’m just sorry you have to deal with me all the time. You have enough on your plate,” you groan, rubbing your tired eyes. 

Tyler sighs. “Baby, I drive around and chase tornadoes– shoot some fireworks into the air when I’m really feelin’ it. I think I can handle being there for you on top of that,” he says. “I love you. And I want you to be okay, always. That’s all I’ll ever want.”

Nodding slowly, you lean forward and rest your forehead on Tyler’s chest. 

Strong, warm arms anchor you to safety. You hold on to Tyler– letting the sound of his heartbeat (bum, bum, bum, bum) block out any noise from the raging storms inside your mind. 

[multihaven]

we are the people — drew starkey

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ inspired by ‘we are the people’ by empire of the sun

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ bf!drew starkey x gf!reader, fluff, the kind of romance author is craving

it’s truly like a movie. it always is like this.

whenever drew as a couple days off from filming, he loves to take you down the pacific coast highway during the sunset. it’s your guys’s thing.

it was the first date he took you on. just driving for hours, taking turns choosing which songs played on the radio, stopping at a restaurant for a late dinner, and then driving once more only to stop on the side of the road and walk down to the beach to look at the stars. all while getting to know each other inside and out. you knew you were done for that night because you could literally feel your heart falling in love with him that same night.

and today’s no different. it’s one of your favorite things to do with him.

the sun is blaring pink and orange, middle of june, the windows are rolled down, sunglasses adorning both of your faces, and it’s serenity.

Love in the summer

Followed the sun till night

you turn your head away from the view of the sea, now looking at drew. and he’s already looking at you. you feel your face flush and look away from him quickly. he still gives you butterflies every time he looks at you, your stomach fluttering in adoration.

“what? is my hair that fucked from the wind?” you giggle, brushing your hands over your untamed hair.

he smiles and shakes his head gently. he turns his focus back to the road and the hand that’s on your thigh squeezes a bit before his thumb starts rubbing gentle circles into your skin.

he shrugs. “jus’ love you.” he looks so good like this. one hand on the wheel, completely relaxed. no work on his mind for the next few days. just himself and enjoying his time with you. not to mention your favorite pair of sunglasses of his resting on his nose. yeah, you’re fucked.

you giggle once again, pulling both of your feet up onto your seat, knees resting against your chest. he grabs your hand in his and brings it to his mouth, slobbering kisses all over your knuckles and the back of your hand. you’ve never felt so free or so loved in your life. you feel high. high on the feeling of happiness and love and adoration for the man sitting next to you.

“oh! our song!” you exclaim, turning the volume dial all the way up.

and immediately, the both of you break out into song, the chorus screaming in every inch of the car.

“i can’t do well when i think you’re gonna leave me, but i know i try!” you sing, dancing as best as you can in the passenger seat.

“are you gonna leave me now? can’t you be believing now?” drew echoes your words with his own, all smiles and funny hand gestures.

“i know everything about you,” you pause and look at drew, pointing your pointer finger at you and him — following the ‘i’ and ‘you’ parts — and pausing your singing.

“you know everything about me,” he mirrors you, one hand still on the wheel, but using his other hand to point at himself and you.

and both of you scream-sing the next line at the same time, breaking out into laughs and dancing, living in the moment of each other.

“we know everything about us.”

you love this man more than anything in the world, and he tells you the same. all the time. how much he loves and adores you, how much he values you and how much he appreciates and respects how you understand that his job is always fucking crazy and that sometimes he’s gone for three or four weeks at a time. he always puts you first no matter what and reassures you whenever you need or whenever he feels like it.

just a bittersweet remembering and enjoyment of what you two have that has not been lost yet. and you know damn well you both hope it stays found.

[demonic0angel]

After ur dickjazz married/getting divorced au

After Dick and Jazz’s absolutely unhinged divorce—complete with screaming matches, a broken coffee table, and at least three emergency family meetings—they somehow manage to cobble together a custody arrangement for Damian.

Which sounds normal until you realize Damian is now shuttling between his dad (Dick -who is actually his brother-), and Dick’s new boyfriend (who is technically Damian’s step-uncle??), and then back to his mom -step mother- (Jazz), who’s dating Jason, who is—wait for it—Damian’s brother.

So now every other week, Damian has to go from one deeply chaotic household to another, pretending like any of this makes sense, while everyone else acts like this is fine. He’s not even sure who’s allowed to ground him anymore. All he knows is he’s probably going to need therapy. A lot of it.

He's weirdly happy about it

(Bruce and Talia: *toxic asf who lowkey both don't care and do care ab Damian but they show it in the worst ways possible, traumatizing Damian*

Damian: I sleep.

Jazz and Dick: *the most weirdly friendly divorced parents who literally didn't care for any assets but Damian*

Damian: Real shit?)

Damian contentedly laid in Dick’s arms as he was driven over back to Gotham. Dan was the one driving, his finger tapping on the steering wheel as he and Dick sang together with a song on the radio.

It was closer to night and per Damian's agreed upon schedule, it was approaching his bed time. Damian yawned again, blinking slowly as Dick and Dan's harmonious singing filled the car with a soulful tune.

Eventually, the car stopped in front of an apartment building, which also had another familiar car in front of the street.

The door opened and Jazz stepped out with a beaming smile before she looked down and gasped.

"Oh! Is he sleeping?" She asked, reaching over to draw Damian into her arms.

Damian rolled his eyes slightly but allowed it as he spoke up. "I'm awake."

"You can go back to sleep, baby," she said, patting his back.

Jazz kissed his head and he blushed, feeling warm. The cool summer breeze made him sleepy again. He cuddled against her neck as she and Dick made conversation. Behind her, Damian could see Jason sitting at the living room with Bruce and Alfred, all three of them staring at the door curiously where Jazz was still chattering away.

"— and he ate a big lunch today after Dan brought us to a new vegan restaurant on South Street. He also completed all of his homework and we're currently working on summation rules."

"Summation rules is crazy," Jazz laughed, stroking Damian's hair. "He's so smart."

Damian blushed, silent as he kept his head tucked into Jazz's hair.

"He is, isn't he?" Dick gushed. "He and Dan were also painting over the weekend! I'll show it to you when it's finished, but it looks so good already!"

Dan also spoke up, "We're making both of you a picture. It'll be done by next month, I believe."

"Oh, I can't wait to see it!" Jazz cooed.

Interrupting everyone, Bruce walked up to the door and asked, "Can I hold my son too—?"

"Your grandson," Dick, Jason, Jazz, Dan, and even Alfred all said in unison, completely and utterly deadpan.

Damian hid back a snort.

Bruce blinked and then sighed long and hard before he corrected himself, "Can I hold my grandson?"

Damian reached for him and Jazz silently complied. Back in his father's arms, Damian was slightly more awake and turned his head to look at Jazz and Dick, who were still enthusiastically discussing him like it was the best topic in the world. He couldn't help the smile that wouldn't lower on his face.

He had the best parents in the world.

[sportyphile]

Victory Sunday

paring: Joe Burrow x reader

words: 1,223

warnings: mention of sex twice but not written out, & fluff

a/n: Wanted to get this out yesterday on actual victory Sunday, but things happened that delayed it. Here is a lazy day with Joe on victory Sunday after the nail biting win against the Broncos!

Your eyes opened slowly, a small groan falling from your lips as you stirred slightly, shifting your position to lie on your back and stretch. The room was dark, the early morning sky just barely turning blue through the curtains in front of the bedroom windows. Your phone said 5:00am which was your normal wake up time. But after all of the emotions that had been experienced at last nights over time win against the Broncos, you had stayed up late and your body craved more sleep. But it wasn't happening.

The victory sex with Joe had been phenomenal, your body ached in all the right ways and your mind was clear with contentment. Joe was facing away from you, having moved from his position with his arm around you at some point in the night. Carefully, you got out of bed. The last thing you wanted to do was wake Joe so early after he had long day.

After getting dressed into some leggings and one of Joe's shirts and sweatshirts, you made your way downstairs, clipping your hair up out of the way. It was time to make some breakfast. You cooked for Joe whenever you got the chance, it made you happy and brought you two closer together. It was also one of your love languages.

You hooked up your phone to the bluetooth speaker and picked out a playlist from the 1940s and 1950s that had old radio commercials mixed in with the songs. It was the perfect playlist for a relaxing morning while you got busy cooking.

You were in the middle of stirring the home fries you had cut and seasoned, gasping softly in surprise when you felt arms wrap around you and lips on your neck. "Mornin'" Joe's voice was heavy with sleep in your ear.

"Good morning." You set your wooden spoon down to be able to turn around, get on your tippy toes and wrap your arms around Joe to give him a big hug. "I was hoping you'd sleep longer." You frowned with concern as you looked up at Joe.

"I know, but you know I'm up early with you. " He caressed your side gently. Thank you for breakfast."

"You're welcome, and I know." You repeated with a small smile, touching his cheek before you turned back around to stir the potato bits more so they wouldn't burn. You also turned off your speaker. "Breakfast is almost ready."

You didn't fail to notice the stiff walk that Joe made on his way over the fridge. He had been sacked 7 times last night, and had been hurting last night. But this morning it seemed on another level. "Are you going to take a bath today?" You asked as you grabbed a couple plates from the cabinet.

"Mmm maybe." Joe poured some water for you two. "I already took one last night. Could use a massage." A grin tugged at the edge of his lips as he put the water pitcher back in the fridge.

You pretended to be upset and roll your eyes but the smile didn't fade from your face as you plated all of the breakfast food you had cooked. "I'll keep that in mind, maybe later." You wanted to tease him and keep him guessing. He knew exactly what you were doing. If he let you be there to help with his recovery, you would always eagerly help. And he knew that too.

---------------------------------------------------------

The day had been slow and relaxing with light work outs and catching up on movies. Joe had also gotten his massage to ease his stiffness, and Joe had treated you with sex afterwards as a thank you. Then it was time for football watching in the afternoon with snacks. You and Joe were curled up on the couch with a blanket over both your laps as you watched the days games, his fingers running through your hair as you stayed close to him. Once in a while one, or both of you would sit up suddenly or exclaim after a play or a flag. Football was something that had brought you together when you were friends in the beginning.

The Colts lost their game against the Giants which gave you more hope that the Bengals would make it to the playoffs. But there was still the Steelers game and the Dolphins and Broncos needing to lose. The Steelers game was going to particularly stress you out, but you wanted to enjoy this slow day with Joe before the madness started.

"What do you want for dinner?" You asked after you checked the time.

"What about take out from Jeff's?" His favorite steakhouse, usually reserved for special occasions but you weren't going to turn down the opportunity.

"Sounds good to me." You grabbed your phone off the side table to bring up the online ordering. Once you picked what you wanted, you handed it to Joe and got up to grab your wallet so you pay at the restaurant when you picked the food up. What you didn't know was that he was already paying for dinner with his card and was having it delivered instead.

"Can you grab my ipad please on the way back?" Joe called out to you to stall you. He was able to order in time and get rid of the tab on your phone before he sat back, happy with himself.

"Did you get what you want?" You asked as you handed him is iPad, not even thinking to check your phone. You had nothing to hide and trusted Joe to complete the check out since it wasn't the first time you had done this.

"Yep, I'll set." He watched you as you went to grab your shoes, it would take some time to get to the restaurant downtown. "I'll come with you, let me just change." He called out before he ran upstairs. He wasn't actually going to change but he needed to pretend to, and he took his sweet time too, which annoyed you even more.

"Joe come on, the food is going to be cold by the time we get there!" You yelled up the stairs after he hadn't come back down in a while. Then you spotted lights outside the driveway which made you nervous. "Was Ja'Marr or Tee supposed to come and you didn't tell me?" it wasn't abnormal for them to come over and talk about work.

"Yeah should be them!" He called back before he grinned and made his way out of the bedroom while you answered the door, surprised to see a delivery driver from Jeff Ruby's.

"Oh! I l must have chosen delivary by mistake instead of pick up. Let me pay you." You opened your wallet that you had been holding since you had gotten it while Joe had been ordering.

"All taken care of." The driver smiled as he handed the bag over. "Have a great night, enjoy!" You were baffled as the driver turned to walk back to their van.

"T-thank you!" You called you hurriedly, not wanting to forget your manners before you shut the door, wondering if you had paid but thought you hadn't. Then you saw Joe with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face as he made his way over to you to take the bag.

"I paid." He kissed your cheek as he pried the bag gently out of your grip, the shock still on your face. "Felt like treating my girl."

His girl.

The words made your legs feel like jello. No one had treated you like this before. "Now let's get our food and get back to football watching." You were sucked back into reality by Joe's words as you slowly followed him into the kitchen, your brain still spinning. What had you done to deserve all this?

[starlightdelrey]

the view between villages

platonic ! f1 grid x reader

summary: f1 is a dangerous sport - it's common knowledge. but accidents - bad accidents - aren't as common. seeing the youngest (and only female) driver crash and not immediately respond is something the boys never thought they'd have to experience, and the rest of the world is just as devestated.

cw: major accident, graphic descriptions of injury and vehicular damage, graphic descriptions of car accident, mentions of death, blood and gore, negative emotions such as sadness and regret, angst, mentions of religion,

song pairing is "the view betwen villages" by noah kahan

(not based on any particular race)

today's race felt off to begin with. When y/n had attempted to leave her aging yorkie, comet, in her hotel room - like she had done for the past couple months - he began to whine.

"poor baby," she mocked, but turned the small TV on and switched it to the channel that would be broadcasting the race live. "look, com. watch me on the tv."

the dog had complied and jumped onto the un-made bed, but when she left and closed the door, he had whined once or twice before calming down.

she made a mental note to get him checked out at the vet, but got distracted when she showed up to the paddock and got a look at the track.

"the weather wasn't as shit yesterday during quali," she said off-handedly to max verstappen, who was chatting to the engineers.

"are you worried?" y/n was a good racer, it was clear - but whenever max saw how small she looked in comparison to everyone else on the team he had a small sense of dread. it wasn't new, just annoying.

"nah." she grinned at him, her hair already pulled back into a french braid for ease during the race.

---

"lights out.... and away we go!"

the lights blink out and y/n is already gunning it, attempting to bypass the boys from mclaren.

she discovered early on that locking up would be her main issue today, and she made it clear on her radio.

"i keep locking up."

her voice was calm but shook a little as she struggled to steer, and she spoke only in short sentences to prevent stuttering.

"copy."

finally, she worked out a system to braking that prevented the struggle, but in speeding up, found that she'd made her way into a mass of cars.

"watch out, y/n. keep out of trouble - wait until everybody else has moved out of each others way."

"ok. pulling back-" the radio crackled and then went silent as a car careened into the side of her.

---

the audiences at home got to watch a replay of the impact.

somewhere in australia, a family consisting of two parents, a teenaged boy and a little girl are watching the race.

the boy reacts first, jolting. "was that logan sargeant and y/n y/ln?"

"yeah... turn up the volume?"

the mother grabs the remote and obliges, terse.

"was that the girl driver?" the barely 5 year old asks, brows furrowed.

"baby, go play in the other room." her father dismisses her, and when she slowly shuffles out, eyes trained on the screen as the commentators relay the details, her dad huffs.

"now. and don't look at the screen anymore."

she squeals and runs out, and the boy starts to jiggle his knee up and down as they wait for more information.

across the world, houses go silent.

---

"and it looks like logan sargeant attempts to pull away from the crowd but misjudges the distance between himself and y/ln. we can see him here slam right into the right side of the body of her car, and she goes spinning out, right into barricades. oh! and if we slow it down, you can see that the force of her chassis hitting the barricades not only forces the car to lift fully off of the ground, but it also tips - the top of the vehicle flips up into the barricade until it falls back into place. that is a nasty hit for rookie red bull driver y/n y/ln."

the commentators keep talking, thinking nothing of the accident, until the cameras switch to the red bull team, who are trying to get into contact with the girl.

"y/n, are you okay?"

silence.

"can you respond? y/n we need a vocal response. anything, okay kid? even if you can just hold down on the radio button so we know you're there."

no response.

the commentators continue.

"and it looks like we're getting no response from red bull driver y/n, who has just crashed."

---

his whole body jerks on the impact, and he spins out off the track, coming to a shaky stop.

"shit, shit, shit!" his voice cracks.

"are you okay, mate?" the radio crackles at him as he's fighting back tears.

"yeah - was that y/n i hit?"

"yes, we can confirm the crash involved both you and y/ln. we are receiving word that it is a red flag crash."

"is she okay?" he doesn't get a response at first, so he tries again. "is y/n okay?"

"no word yet. sorry, logan."

"fuck! i'm so sorry - i really thought it was clear, i just... fuck."

"calm down, sargeant. wait for pick-up and keep yourself collected. we'll tell you as soon as we find anything out, okay mate?"

"sure."

he lifts himself from the smoking chassis and the world watches as he kicks it out of frustration before letting his head lower.

there's a sickening feeling in his stomach as he sees the girls unmoving vehicle.

he pictures her inside, and the fact that she's so much smaller than the older men cause his mind to unravel with pictures of her limp and unconscious.

---

inside the car, y/n blinks her eyes open, groaning.

her ears are ringing and her head hurts, and the body of her car is so warped that it's vacuum sealed her into the vehicle.

in the back of her mind, y/n feels the pain in her right thigh and left ankle, and her right shoulder feels dislocated.

"kid, we need an answer." the radio's muted and crackling, and when y/n tries to respond, she realizes that something on her end is fucked because they're still begging for an answer.

she goes to climb out of the car, but a sob tears out of her chest at the immense pain that suddenly blooms throughout her whole body.

she falls heavily back onto the seat and pants, closing her eyes.

she feels slight relief from the pain when she fully relaxes and closes her eyes, and nestles into her seat a little to get comfortable.

the need to sleep takes over her and she obeys, nodding off.

---

inside her hotel room, comet's ears pull back in concern as he hears his owners name being called out repeatedly from the television.

---

"red flag, max. we need to restart the race."

verstappen stills, his ears suddenly ringing. he has a bad feeling about the red flag but just can't place it.

"what's happened?"

"there was a crash between a williams and y/n. to the pit lanes, please." the voice on the other end seems calm, but there's a waver to it.

"fuck, are you joking? are they both okay?"

"the williams driver... logan sargeant, we're hearing, is up and out of his chassis. we've heard nothing from y/n yet."

he'd fight them, ask for more information, but knows that red bull would be the first to hear anything.

"tell me if you find anything out."

"copy."

as he drives to the pit lane, max replays her grin at him as she reassures the dutchman.

"nah." her nose is scrunched and hair pulled out of her face.

he thinks about how bulky the helmet looked on her, the barely 20 year old driver somehow never managing to put on any muscle, no matter how hard she tried.

he prays to jesus, zeus, allah, and even the virgin mary - surely she'd have sympathy to max's prayers, as she's lost someone dear to her before. any deity he can think of is immediately begged to ensure the safety of his partner.

---

a whining noise pulls y/n back into consciousness, and she furrows her brows.

"i'm trying to sleep, com. shut up." when she opens her eyes and sees the battered cockpit in front of her, she realizes that she's not hearing her dog cry, it's just the ringing in her ears that are back.

and then suddenly all she can see is comet waiting for her. comet, waiting in a hotel room that she'll never re-enter. what's gonna happen to the mutt if she dies? her parents are over-seas, she has no boyfriend to look after him. comet would be all alone.

and then all the guys on the grid are flashing through her head. she knows, vacantly, that logan crashed into her. he'd never forgive himself if she died. verstappens win streak would be fucked if he was grieving over his teammate. even lewis hamilton, who was the first driver to openly back her as the only woman on the grid.

she screws her eyes shut and lets out a heavy sob, steeling herself.

---

the commentators are no longer focused on the race.

"and i think i can speak for all of us when i ask, where is the goddamn safety car and ambulance? young driver y/n y/ln has been stuck in the wreck for about a minute and a half now, and there has still been no aid for her. which is a cause for concern about the overall safety of f1, as- oh my god!"

---

charles is already on his way back to the pit lanes, muttering manifestations under his breath for y/n to be okay.

he's shaking, filled with lead and a lump in his throat. he and y/n aren't super close, due to their team differences, but every time he spoke to her she had a certain gleam in her eye that one only had when they weren't afraid of death.

this worried him. racing was her life - would she succumb easily? it was a known fact that many drivers drove as if they had nothing to lose.

the idea of her choking on mortality in her chassis scared him more. maybe her body was broken, and the pain was all she could feel as the life drained from her? he worried for those that would have to witness the blood and bruises when she was pulled from her car.

"we've got an update on y/n."

he was pulled out of his mind. "tell me. please."

"she's getting herself out. the paramedics were taking too long, so she took it upon herself, apparently." a startled laugh falls out of charles' lips as he cheers back.

---

muscles screaming, y/n forces herself to lift out of the cockpit, allowing her body the only relief of rest once her upper half is slung over the halo. for about five seconds she stops, before she forces herself to continue.

the safety car and paramedics are here now, and camera crew for the live footage plus the netflix crew are close behind.

people are shouting at her to stop, but she continues to claw her way out of the wreckage.

she's crying and praying to a god she never knew she believed in as she forces her broken legs out of the car, sliding over the side to the ground.

she stands and looks around at the medical crew who are advancing towards her and tries to take her helmet off. she can't, and they're reassuring her that they'll do it for her.

y/n looks out at the audience and raises one arm to greet them. she's met with immediate raucous applause and, swaying for a few seconds, she falls.

---

"you would never believe it. this lady is pulling herself out of her car. as the camera zooms, you can really see the absolute strength this is taking her - hold on, we're getting audio now."

the world watches with bated breath as the coverage of her climbing out of the car begins to play. you can hear the agonised screams she lets out as she forces herself to exit, and just how broken some of her limbs look. her left ankle hangs limply, and she has to use both arms to force her right leg out of the cockpit.

"what a magnificent scene. y/n y/ln has kissed death, and still lives to tell the tale. we see her now, standing on the track as the medical staff come to her aid, and she falls. a very fair response to what she has just gone through. a round of applause to y/n y/ln, the girl who kissed death!"

---

"so lando, congratulations on p4. obviously, the whole crash between logan and y/n caused a damper on the overall race. how do you feel about it?" the interviewer pushed a mic at his face.

"the crash? yeah, it was terrifying not knowing if she was okay or not. i'm not surprised she ended up climbing out of the chassis herself," he laughs softly. "i've never known her for being patient."

"how do you feel about her new nickname?"

"nickname?"

"people are calling her 'the girl who kissed death'."

lando can't stop a high-pitched laugh from escaping. "girl who kissed death? that's stupid. oh god, i can't wait for her to find out about that. she'll be proper pissed off."

"right, well, thanks lando. have fun celebrating!" the interviewer bids him farewell.

---

a few months later:

over the healing process, y/n was forced to give multiple statements, post social media posts, and even a quick video from the hospital bed, but when she sees comet, her resolve finally fails.

she begins to tear up as the scruffy dog barks at her, jumping up and down.

"someone's excited to see you," lewis hamilton, the temporary guardian of the dog, grins.

roscoe stomps his feet and licks y/n, panting at her.

"awe, little babies. i was so scared of dying and leaving comet all alone, but i think he would've been fine."

lewis glances down at the kneeling girl in front of him and tsks, nudging her with his foot. "don't say that, y/n. nobody would've been fine."

"yeah?"

"yeah. have you seen all the tiktok edits of your crash? people were terrified. i was terrified."

y/n doesn't say anything, but stands to hug the british man.

he holds her back, before clearing his throat. "save that love for death. heard you've kissed it before."

"fuck off."

--- la fin ---

[sunlightmurdock]

Can I request from the cozy list ⋆ cuddling under a blanket and ⋆ lazy days in with Jake? With a cozy vibe please and thank you.

Five More Minutes | Jake Seresin

spooktober masterlist

synopsis: Jake takes a moment to remind himself of how glad he is to be home

warnings: mentions of loneliness on deployment, i guess. Other than that, none.

Rain beats along the glass, droplets racing each other towards the wipers. There’s a lump in his throat and the finishing chords of a Red Hot Chilli Peppers song on the radio. It’s a dark and dreary late October, and there’s a lot on his mind. 

Jake Seresin has spent sixty-five percent of the last four years away from home. He’s still getting used to the routine that comes with this new assignment. Early starts, sure — but there’s security. There are days like today, where he gets to park his truck in his own damn driveway and listen to the end of his favourite song.

He scrubs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw and looks towards the front window of his home, thinking of what he gets next. He gets to walk through his front door and follow the sound of a movie, searching room to room until he finds what he’s looking for. You.

“Well, don’t you look cozy.” 

Breaking away from the opening credits of your movie, you turn your attention to the doorway and blink. Your brows knit together as you start to feel around for your phone. He’s not due to be home for hours.  

Standing in his uniform, looking every bit as edible as he usually does, your fiancé offers you an amused smile. He raps his knuckles against the wooden doorframe as he wanders into the living room.

Droplets of rain leave spots of darkness on his khaki shirt, his hair a little damp, his boots left neatly by the front door. The rain picks up, whistling against the windows, a heavy storm rolling in from over the ocean.

You hadn’t even heard his truck pull onto the driveway over the sound of the rain hitting the windows and the TV playing.

He sees the confusion on your face.

“Got sent home. Shit weather, bunch of guys couldn’t make it in and everybody’s grounded.” His first point of call is to lean over and press his lips to your forehead, just like he had when he had left for work in the early hours of this morning, while you had still been curled up in your shared bed. 

Jake’s new assignment means that he has to be on base pretty much by the time the sun is rising. He hadn’t ever struggled to get up early, until it had meant leaving you in bed by yourself.

Smiling now, he takes advantage of the way you’re curled onto your side and smooths a hand over your ass, giving it a soft squeeze as he peeks over his shoulder towards the television.

“What are you watching?”

“Hocus Pocus. I was going to have a movie day.”

The house smells like vanilla and sugar, candles burning and casting a soft orange hue across the living room. It’s a nice day for it, and Jake can’t remember the last time he had gotten to lay around and do nothing. 

“You can still have your movie day, sweetheart.” He murmurs, patting your thigh softly as he stands back up. “You mind if I join?”

You peer up at him, brows raised. “You want to?”

“Of course I do, don’t pause the movie — I’ll be right back.”

It’s borderline unfair that he comes back in your favourite of his pairs of gray sweatpants, and the best fitting of his white t-shirts.

“Scootch.” Patting your thighs, he maneuvers over you and twists himself around until he can lay comfortably behind you. Draping one arm over your middle and the other under your head, he presses himself against your back.

You turn your face towards his outstretched wrist, breathing in the smoky scent of his lingering cologne. 

He wriggles, settling his head against the mass of throw pillows that you like to fill this couch with. It almost makes your lips quirk. He complained in the store but he seems pretty happy with them now.

He has spent plenty of time on old ships that rattle and groan, smelling like nothing but rust and harsh chemicals. Plenty of time sleeping in rooms by himself, reading every book he can get his hands on, pressing his pillow over his head to block out the sound of a dozen men snoring.

It’s easy to forget.

Since he got home, he has really thrown himself into his work. Leaving early, getting home late. Sitting in planes with the weight of the world dragging against him, or stiff office chairs, or benches in locker rooms. 

His body thanks him as he eases into all those damn throw pillows, pulling your body against him to feel your weight against his. Anchoring you to him by tightening his hold, closing his eyes — just for a moment.

“‘M glad you’re home.” Your lips brush against his wrist as his other arm gives your middle an affectionate squeeze. He watches as you adjust your blanket to cover him too, squeezing closer to fit the both of you under it. 

“Me too.” He mumbles, his throat dry. He presses a soft, slow kiss to your clothed shoulder and then rests his chin against it. 

Those scented candles flicker around him, the movie hums on, and your heart beats steadily against his chest. Man, he’s glad to be home. 

[elryuse]

DIRTY WORKER Pt. 2

Words : 4,155 word

Masterlist : Here

You were frozen. Silent.

Not a sound came out—not even a breath.

Karina… or whatever her real name was… calmly wiped the blood from her blade using the employee uniform left behind on the storage shelf. Her movements were delicate, methodical—like she’d done it a thousand times before. Like this was just her morning routine.

She hummed a light melody under her breath.

A song you used to hear on the radio.

The man lay motionless outside. His blood had already crept past the back door threshold, curling into the store like a black snake. You couldn’t stop staring at it. At how casually she treated death. Like it meant nothing.

And now, every time you'd hear it again…

You’d remember this.

Like it was hers to give.

She sighed.

Karina turned to you then, tilting her head slightly.

Her eyes scanned you—your posture, your trembling, the way your knees were locked so tightly together you looked like a kid hiding in plain sight.

“Oops…” she muttered. “I really thought you weren’t working today.”

You were still processing everything when your voice finally cracked through the air—weak and shaking:

Her tone wasn’t apologetic.

It was disappointed. Like she'd accidentally spilled water on your notebook or something. Not slaughtered a man in front of you.

“Y-Y-Yeah… The guy w-who worked the d-day shift… he’s unreachable. So they f-forced me to stay.”

Your voice barely made it past your lips.

But she heard every word.

She took a few steps closer.

You stiffened, nearly gagging on your own breath as she leaned forward and gently cupped your face.

Her palm was warm.

So warm.

Almost… comforting—if not for the faint smear of blood trailing down her wrist.

“So that’s why you’re here~” she cooed.

Your forehead slicked with sweat. You could feel a drop sliding down your temple. She was too close. You could smell her now—sugar, leather, iron.

You nodded slowly.

Terrified.

Enchanted.

Beautiful and deadly.

You swallowed.

“C-Can I leave now…?” you asked, voice trembling like a faulty light switch.

Her eyes flicked toward the bloodstained door, then back to you.

“Fine,” she said flatly. “I guess you can.”

She stepped away, knife now sheathed in some inner pocket of her coat.

Her face became unreadable. Cold. A porcelain mask.

She turned her back to you, walking toward the counter and lazily propping herself up on it.

“It’s not like you’re gonna snitch on me,” she added, her voice low. But there was a threat laced behind her tone.

Not a direct one. Not even a warning.

Just a reminder.

You moved slowly, grabbing your bag, fumbling with your hoodie.

Your legs barely worked.

You could still hear the blood dripping outside.

As you turned to leave, hand hovering over the front door, her voice called out again.

“When are we gonna meet again?”

You froze.

You didn’t look back.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered.

Her fingers tapped on the countertop rhythmically as she spoke:

She laughed. Loud and pure.

Like this was all just a game.

“You’ve already helped me, Y/n.”

She drew your name out like silk.

Letting it sit on her tongue like candy.

“Let me help you now.”

You turned slowly, your heart banging against your ribs.

She was smiling at you.

Eyes wide. Bright. Hungry.

“I know you need it,” she said.

And she was right.

She knew.

That rent you barely made.

The job you hated.

The student loans waiting to devour your future.

The gnawing silence of a home with no parents.

Somehow, she knew.

You didn’t answer.

And behind the store's glass door… she was still watching you.

You just opened the door, stepping into the pale blue light of dawn.

The city looked dull, lifeless—despite the early traffic and honking buses.

Still smiling.

Like she’d already decided:

This wasn’t the end.

This was just the beginning.

You walk home in a daze.

Your feet drag down the empty street, past flickering signs and neon reflections puddled in the cracks of the sidewalk. Your uniform sticks to your back with dried sweat and fear, and you feel like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore—like it’s borrowed, like it’s been peeled and stitched back wrong.

Behind you… soft footsteps.

You don’t turn around.

You know.

You feel her.

She’s not trying to hide it. She’s letting you know she’s there. Watching. Following. Stalking you like you're the next page in her diary.

And the worst part?

You don’t run.

You don’t scream.

You just keep walking.

Your apartment looms ahead—gray, peeling, third floor, no elevator. Your personal hell. You unlock the rusted door with shaky hands, glance once over your shoulder.

She’s not there.

Not in sight, at least.

But the silence feels watched.

You slam the door shut. Lock it. Chain it. Twist the knob three times just to make sure. You drop your bag like it weighs fifty kilos and stumble into the bathroom, your breath ragged.

The water runs hot—too hot—but you don’t care.

You scrub your skin raw, trying to rinse off her voice.

That giggle.

That fucking giggle.

Eventually, you sit on the cold floor of your bathroom, naked and shaking.

The smell of blood lingers in your nostrils. It’s not even there anymore, but you smell it. The copper. The iron. The sweet rot that coated the back room of the store.

You scrub harder.

You rinse.

But it doesn’t go away.

“Why me?” you whisper.

You want to cry.

You want to scream.

But you do neither.

Because your body’s too tired to respond to panic anymore. It’s just… surviving.

But the food smells like blood.

You finally dry off and shuffle into your kitchen.

The fridge hums low, and you pull out some leftover jjajangmyeon from three nights ago. You reheat it. Mechanical. Thoughtless. Spoon in hand, you sit at the table.

You poke at it once. Twice.

Your spoon clatters against the bowl.

You remember the sound the knife made as it sank into the guy’s ribs.

That disgusting, wet crunch.

The gargled wheeze of his last breath.

You push it away.

You can’t eat.

You probably won’t eat for a while.

You stumble into bed. Still damp. Still trembling.

The clock says 5:42 AM.

You close your eyes.

You roll over.

That man’s face is behind your eyelids.

Karina’s grin is painted across the darkness like graffiti.

The ceiling fan squeaks.

Your blanket feels too thin.

Your soul feels even thinner.

Eventually, 7:00 AM rolls around.

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

Just lay there—haunted and heavy.

You sit up slowly. Groaning. Bones cracking. You feel like you’ve aged ten years overnight. You check your phone: a new message from Professor Taeyeon.

“Don’t forget to stop by today. Let’s talk more about your future :)”

You sigh.

The irony is so cruel, you almost laugh.

Future?

You don’t know if you even have one anymore.

Still, you stand.

You get dressed—oversized hoodie, dark jeans, cap pulled low. Anything to feel hidden. Safe. Invisible.

But no matter how many layers you put on…

You still feel her eyes on your skin.

Still feel her laughter echoing somewhere in the back of your head.

You’re not sure what today holds.

You’re not sure of anything anymore.

Except this:

Karina knows where you live.

And somehow… she’s not done with you yet.

The campus looked different today.

Maybe it was the sky—overcast, low, pressing down like a warning. Maybe it was the way your body moved—slower, heavier, like you were still dragging last night behind you like a weight chained to your ankle.

But everything felt… off.

Still, you didn’t feel alone.

You kept looking over your shoulder.

Nothing.

By the time you reached the psych building, your hands were cold and your hoodie was damp with sweat. You didn’t even remember walking half the way there.

But when you stepped into Professor Taeyeon’s office, she greeted you with a warm smile, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Right on time,” she said, gesturing to the small table near the window.

You managed a small nod.

“Sorry. Just… tired.”

“I can imagine,” she said kindly. “College life does that to people. Especially the ones working too hard just to survive.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t reach your eyes.

Before you could sit, she added, “Actually—before we begin, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

You blinked.

And that’s when you saw her.

Sitting in the corner, legs crossed, flipping lazily through a thick textbook.

She looked up.

Sharp eyes. Jet-black hair tied into a bun, a few strands loose around her cheekbones. Piercings. Glossed lips. Her aura wasn’t loud—but it wasn’t quiet either. It was like she knew something you didn’t.

“This is Ningning,” Professor Taeyeon said, motioning between you. “She’s one of my best students. She’s been staying in Korea for a few years now—exchange program from China. Very interested in forensic psychology. Especially serial behavior.”

Ningning stood, her leather jacket creaking as she held out her hand.

You shook it.

Firm grip. Cold fingers.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice smooth and calm. “Professor Taeyeon’s told me a little about your theories.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking. “She did?”

She nodded. “The way you described serial killers yesterday? That they’re honest about what they want… I thought that was fascinating.”

You felt your face heat a little.

“N-Not sure I meant it like that. I just… blurted.”

“Still,” she said with a little smile, “you were brave to say it out loud. Most people think they’re monsters. You saw them as broken humans. That’s something.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Thankfully, Taeyeon waved her pen from her desk. “You two can take the table by the shelves. I’ve got grading to do. Look through those folders—there’s case files and articles I think you’ll both find interesting.”

You nodded, moving stiffly as Ningning slid into the seat beside you, her perfume faint—jasmine, maybe? Something light. Soothing.

Unlike her.

Unlike Karina.

“Have you heard about the Busan Butcher?” Ningning asked, almost too casually.

You sat, flipping through folders of names and faces—victims, timelines, patterns.

Some were decades old.

Others… much more recent.

Your eyes flicked toward her.

You hesitated.

“Yeah. I’ve… seen the news.”

She watched you carefully. “What do you think about her?”

You swallowed.

“I think she’s terrifying.”

Ningning’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“But also… precise. Clean. Consistent. Not just a thrill killer.”

“She wants to be known,” Ningning murmured, tracing a victim’s photo with her finger. “That’s what separates her from the others. She’s not hiding. She wants us to feel her.”

You couldn’t help but nod.

You had felt her.

Too close. Too real.

You flipped the folder shut, trying to refocus. But your thoughts kept spiraling.

Was she just playing with you?

Why let you go?

And why did that voice inside you whisper Don’t stop her?

Ningning leaned in a little.

“You alright?” she asked. “You look pale.”

You tried to smile. “Just didn’t sleep much.”

“Bad dreams?”

You paused.

Worse.

No.

Not dreams.

“Something like that.”

She didn’t push further. Just nodded.

You kept reading in silence after that—her occasionally jotting down notes, you occasionally losing focus. Professor Taeyeon glanced over a few times but didn’t interrupt.

For a moment, it felt… peaceful.

Normal.

But the words on the paper blurred.

Photos of victims twisted together.

And when your eyes landed on one particular case—A murder two years ago. Two victims. Brutally stabbed. In their home.—your stomach churned.

You knew the names.

Your parents.

You stared at the page.

Every wound.

Every cruel detail.

The same description.

Fifty stab wounds each.

You never knew that before.

You thought they died from a robbery.

But now…

You weren’t so sure.

Your hands trembled slightly, the folder nearly slipping from your grip.

“What is it?” Ningning asked, leaning over.

You snapped the folder shut.

“Nothing. Just… too much blood.”

She didn’t believe you. You could tell.

But she didn’t press.

Not yet.

And as you sat there, trying to steady your breath, one thing became horribly clear:

You weren’t studying the Busan Butcher to understand her anymore.

You were studying her… to find out if she killed your parents.

Your apartment door creaked as you opened it—slowly, cautiously, as always now.

But something was wrong.

Off.

The air was heavier.

Thicker.

And then—

Your eyes scanned the small space.

The cracked tiles. The flickering light. The table with your leftover jjajangmyeon still crusted on the edge of the bowl.

“You’re homeee.”

You flinched.

She was already there.

Karina.

Leaning against the far wall like she belonged there.

Her face was lit with that too-sweet smile, one that never quite reached her eyes. Her jacket clung to her, soaked in something thicker than water. Blood painted her throat in dried streaks, and her fingers… her fingers were red to the knuckles.

You stumbled back a step, your throat closing.

She tilted her head.

“Oh this?” she asked, looking down at herself like she’d just remembered. “Ahaha… just the usual.” Her giggle echoed inside your ribs.

You tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Her eyes flicked around. “You live like this? Cute.” Then her voice softened. “But hey—can I use your shower? I really, really need a warm one right now. My hands are getting sticky.”

She didn’t wait for your answer. She dropped her bag—a heavy thump—and began peeling off her coat. The sound of wet fabric squelching made your stomach turn.

You watched, paralyzed, as she slid it off and stuffed it into a black trash bag like it was a casual laundry day.

Then came her shirt. Her pants. Her blood-soaked bra.

She didn’t even blink.

You turned away, face burning with horror and something you didn’t want to name.

“Do you have clothes I can borrow?” she asked sweetly, her voice echoing from the bathroom as the water turned on.

You forced yourself to move. Opened your drawer with trembling hands. A hoodie. Sweatpants. You left them on the floor just outside the bathroom door.

She stepped out minutes later, hair wet and clinging to her cheeks, steam trailing behind her like smoke from a fire that never got put out. She wore your clothes.

Somehow, they looked better on her.

Too good.

Her skin was clean now, but you still saw the red beneath her nails.

You stepped back instinctively.

She stepped forward.

Without warning, she pushed you—hard—until your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fell onto the mattress with a surprised gasp.

Her face hovered over yours. Her hands pinned you in place.

And her eyes…

Her eyes were wild.

“Who’s the girl you were talking to today?” she asked softly.

You froze.

Your blood turned cold.

“W-what?”

“The one with the cute earrings. Black jacket. Small waist. Pretty little smile. The one from your psych class.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Ningning, right?” she whispered, her voice sugary and sharp all at once.

“How do you—” you began.

Her hand cupped your face. Gently.

Affectionate.

Threatening.

“I saw you,” she said, giggling. “Of course I did. You really think I wouldn’t be watching you?”

You tried to sit up, but she pressed you back down.

“You were laughing,” she pouted. “With her. Like you forgot about me.”

You swallowed hard.

“I didn’t forget.”

She grinned.

“Good.”

And then—her lips brushed your cheek. Not a kiss. Just close enough to smell the leftover iron on her breath.

“Because if you ever try to replace me, Y/n…”

Her fingers tapped your chest.

“One.”

Your ribs.

“By.”

“One.”

She leaned in close—nose touching yours, her smile gleaming.

“I’ll make sure everyone else you love… gets carved like art.”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She stood, fixing your hoodie on her petite frame, humming to herself like it was a normal night. Like she hadn’t just made the air too heavy to breathe.

“I’ll crash here, yeah?” she asked, already grabbing your blanket.

You stared at her.

Speechless.

Terrified.

But deep down, that cursed part of you—the one warped by trauma, grief, and loneliness—didn’t stop her.

Because in her eyes…

You saw something awful.

Something honest.

She was never going to leave you.

And worse?

You weren’t sure you wanted her to.

You didn’t sleep.

How could you?

Too quiet.

Karina was curled up beside you like a lover—but everything about her felt wrong. Off.

Her presence wrapped around your chest like wire. The sharp scent of iron still clung to her hair, even after the shower. Her breath against your neck was steady, quiet.

You could feel her watching you—eyes half-lidded, face barely illuminated by the flickering light from outside your window.

Your arms were trapped. One pinned beneath her, the other curled awkwardly near your chest. She had buried herself into you like a child to a comfort doll, her legs tangled with yours, her hand resting loosely on your stomach.

She was warm now.

But when she’d first crawled into bed…

She was freezing.

Like something that had been dead just a moment ago.

"You're warm…" she whispered against your collarbone, voice feather-light. “I like that.”

Every word out of her mouth made your body tense, waiting for the knife behind the breath. But none came. Just her, breathing softly. Pressed close.

You didn’t reply.

Couldn’t.

And then, after a long silence—

“I don’t know if you’re dumb…” she began, her voice low, lazy, and tinged with something… bitter.

“…or if you really don’t know.”

You stiffened.

She shifted, her cheek now resting against your chest. You could feel her smile without seeing it.

“But there are others like me, Y/n.”

Your pulse spiked.

Others?

“They’re out there,” she continued, her fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on your ribs. “Different masks. Different names. Some of them don’t even pretend to be human anymore. They just take what they want.”

You swallowed hard.

She kept going.

“And lately…” her tone soured slightly. “Some of them have been sniffing around. Curious. Watching you.”

Your heart skipped.

“What… do you mean?”

She looked up now—eyes sharp, glinting under the city’s weak light.

“I mean you’ve been seen. Not just by me.”

You stared at her.

“W-what are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to share my food, Y/n.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

And then she smiled.

That crooked, terrifying, porcelain-smile.

“I’m sorry if I’m being defensive,” she added, giggling softly. “But I’m not very good at sharing.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat had tightened to the size of a pin.

She tilted her head, watching you like a cat might study a bird with a broken wing.

“You’re the first person I’ve met in a long, long time who didn’t scream or beg or lie to me,” she said. “You looked at me and… you didn’t run.”

You blinked.

“I wanted to,” you whispered hoarsely.

Karina’s eyes softened. Almost hurt.

“But you didn’t,” she replied. “And that means something.”

She moved closer—if that was even possible—and pressed a cold kiss just beneath your jaw.

“I’ll protect you, Y/n.”

You froze.

“From the others. From everything.”

Her voice dropped lower.

“But if you ever think about leaving me…”

A pause.

A breath.

Her lips hovered over your ear.

“I’ll carve your name into every wall of this city.”

Your body tensed again.

You felt her breath—soft, steady, content—as she nuzzled into you like she just said I love you, not a threat soaked in blood.

You shut your eyes.

You didn’t sleep.

Not that night.

Not with her clinging to you.

Not with her promise echoing like a curse.

“I don’t want to share my food.”

And now you knew—

You weren’t her guest.

You were her favorite possession.

Morning slipped in like a knife through fabric—quiet, pale, and too sharp.

You woke up stiff, sore, and alone in your room.

But only physically.

Your mind was somewhere else.

She had slept beside you.

The Busan Butcher.

You didn’t even need to check. Her scent still clung to the sheets. Cold. Metallic. Faintly sweet. Like a ghost that had cuddled up and whispered murder into your dreams.

You glanced over.

The other side of the bed was empty.

No blood.

No mess.

No knife.

Only the faint imprint of her body still denting the mattress.

You didn’t hear her leave.

Hell, you weren’t even sure she was gone.

Still, you stood up quietly, eyes darting to every shadow in the room. The air felt too still, like it was waiting for something to move.

But nothing did.

You walked to the kitchenette, your steps soft, deliberate. You warmed up the leftover rice and a single piece of fried egg from the fridge, the microwave’s hum sounding louder than it should.

One bowl.

One pair of chopsticks.

You ate alone.

You didn’t touch the second bowl you set down out of instinct.

It just sat there—full. Untouched. Like it was meant for a ghost.

You didn’t even know why you’d made a second serving.

Some kind of stupid courtesy? Some kind of habit? Guilt?

You finished eating, grabbed your bag, and left in a hurry—checking the door twice. Maybe three times. You didn’t look back.

Not even once.

The silence inside pulsed—alive now.

Your Apartment – Moments Later

The doorknob clicked.

Karina emerged from the bathroom, hair wet from a quiet, unannounced shower.

Her eyes were blank at first, but then narrowed.

She noticed the empty bowl on the table.

And the untouched one beside it.

A slow smile curled on her lips.

Still wrapped in your oversized hoodie, she walked barefoot to the bowl, picking up the chopsticks delicately between her fingers.

She took a bite.

Chewed once.

Twice.

Then let out a soft giggle.

“…He’s sweet.”

Her voice was like silk against a blade.

But her eyes?

They were dead cold.

And they were no longer focused on the food.

They were watching the door.

Campus – 09:22 AM

You arrived at the faculty building later than you’d like—hair still damp, your mind spinning from everything you didn’t say, didn’t do, should’ve done.

The thoughts clung to you like wet clothes.

But when you reached Ms. Taeyeon’s office door, you heard voices inside.

You knocked softly.

“Come in.”

You stepped into the room—and stopped.

There was someone else already there.

A girl, seated on the edge of the couch.

She wore a dark oversized hoodie, headphones slung around her neck, and black jeans with tears at the knees. Her long black hair framed a face that was effortlessly pretty, but her gaze was what caught you.

Sharp. Curious. Calculating.

She was reading something off her tablet when you entered.

She looked up.

And smiled.

“Y/n, meet Ningning,” Ms. Taeyeon gestured warmly. “She’s one of my top students—and you’ll be assisting her on some of our joint work.”

Ningning extended her hand lazily, her tablet still in the other. “Nice to meet you. Heard you gave a pretty interesting answer yesterday.”

You shook her hand, awkwardly.

“Thanks…”

You sat down beside her, trying not to notice the headline on her screen.

But you did.

You couldn’t help it.

“THE WHITE DEATH STRIKES AGAIN — 9 DEAD IN SEOUL SLAUGHTERHOUSE MASSACRE” Authorities confirm female suspect. Age: unknown. Status: Untraceable. Motivations: unclear.

The image was horrific.

Bodies stacked. Blood smeared across walls like paint.

And written in jagged streaks:

“DO YOU SEE ME YET?”

You swallowed.

Hard.

“White Death?” you asked quietly.

Ningning raised a brow. “You don’t know? She’s Korea’s most wanted woman. Been active for the last 3 years. Rumors say she’s a student. Others think she’s a ghost.”

She flipped through the photos casually, almost too casually.

“Some say she’s connected to the Busan Butcher,” she added, eyes flicking to yours.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Ms. Taeyeon sighed.

“It’s mostly speculation. No solid leads. But the murders… they’re escalating. And frankly, it’s why I need smart students working on the psychological profiling.”

You tried to steady your hands, clasping them together under the desk.

Karina.

The Butcher.

The White Death.

The timeline…

Is it just coincidence?

Or is this deeper?

Before you could ask anything else, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

A message.

No name.

Just a number.

“Thanks for the food, But I suggest you comeback soon. Don't be late Y/N".

Your stomach twisted.

You turned pale.

Ningning noticed.

“You good?” she asked, brow raised.

You forced a smile.

“Y-yeah… just didn’t sleep much.”

Ms. Taeyeon handed you a thick file.

“Then this will wake you up. I want a 3-page case study on it by Monday.”

You nodded.

You didn’t even know what was in it.

But you’d take anything right now.

Anything to distract you from the fact that the killer you should’ve turned in—

Was eating breakfast in your hoodie.