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lyjen · 2 months ago

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Last Shift | Part Two | Evan “Buck” Buckley

Summary: It’s (Y/n)’s last shift before maternity leave when she’s sent to pick up supplies at a medical store, only to be caught in a robbery. Buck, growing frantic after not hearing from her, is called to the scene with the 118 team, unaware she’s among the injured.

Trigger warings: Medical trauma, seizures ,pregnancy complications, emotional distress, some emotional outbursts :)

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The cry of the sirens filled the ambulance.

Buck sat beside the stretcher. His legs spread, elbows on his knees, as he tried to keep his hands from trembling by holding (Y/n)’s IV’ed hand. His grip was firm, like letting go would make everything worse.

The unthinkable thing happened. His worst nightmare came true.

She was lying on the gurney, her eyes fluttering open and closed. The way her head lolled slightly to the side and her lips parted beneath the oxygen mask, made his heart drop right on the spot. Her pale face, her light blue scrubs stained with a dark crimson around her shoulder, combined with the medical pads Hen had pressed to stop the bleeding were already soaked through.

He had wished so many times it was him when he looked at her.

Hen worked fast and silent as she kept her cool, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside Buck. He could barely breathe. He wasn’t even sure if he had taken a proper breath ever since he saw (Y/n) getting wheeled out of the store.

(Y/n)’s lips looked dry, and her eyes kept blinking like she was trying to stay awake, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Stay with me, babe.” Buck said, leaning closer, his voice tight. “Just hold on a little longer, okay? I’ve got you.” he said as he pressed a soft kiss onto her hand.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. She looked exhausted, like her body was giving up on her.

Hen worked fast across from them, her (once used to be blue) gloves covered in blood as she changed out the soaked gauze again. She barely looked up, her focus razor-sharp, but Buck caught the words she muttered under her breath “She’s losing too much blood.”

His heart stopped.

“What? Hen?” he asked, his voice sounded broken, it almost came out as a whisper. But Hen didn’t answer, she reached for more gauze, applied fresh pressure, then checked (Y/n)’s pulse again. “We just need to get her there. Keep talking to her, Buck.”

“I’m right here, babe,” Buck whispered, leaning in close. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone, okay?” (Y/n) groaned softly, her fingers twitching weakly in Buck’s grasp. He squeezed her hand again, his thumb brushing over her clammy skin.

Then, suddenly her body went rigid.

Buck felt it before he saw it. Her fingers locked up in his, her whole body stiffening unnaturally. Then the convulsions started. Her limbs jerked violently, her back arching off the gurney as her eyes rolled back.

“No, no, no,” Buck panicked, holding onto her hand even tighter. “Hen, she’s—” he couldn’t even finish that sentence or Hen cut him off. “I see it!” Hen snapped into action, quickly adjusting her position. “Buck, let go of her hand.” she commanded him.

“No- I can’t-” he stumbled, he knew he had to but he didn’t want to. “Let go, now!” The sharpness in Hen’s voice cut through his panic. Buck hesitated for half a second before finally releasing (Y/n)’s hand. Hen immediately moved to keep her from hurting herself, making sure she was positioned safely, keeping her airway clear.

Then her whole body tensed. Her back arched slightly against the gurney, arms trembling, legs twitching. Her head rolled back, eyes wide and unfocused. “Hen?! What’s happening?!” Buck’s voice sounded panicked as he took in what the hell was happening to his girl.

“She’s seizing!” Hen called out more to inform Chimney of what the hell was going on, already moving to keep her airway clear, voice sharp and calm. “Chim, step on it!” she commanded her partner. Chimney’s voice from the front was tight. “We’re pulling in now!”

Buck watched in horror as (Y/n)’s body convulsed on the stretcher. “No, no, no—baby, come on,” he begged, voice cracking. “Don’t do this. Please stay with me.” he added as he fought to hold back the tears.

Hen stabilized her as best she could, working through the tight space. “We’re not losing her,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

The ambulance screeched into the ER bay, brakes squealing. The rear doors swung open with a bang, revealing Chimney and the hospital team that was already there, a flurry of movement and voices rising all around.

“GSW to the left shoulder,” Hen called out. “late pregnancy, active seizure! We need trauma and OB, now!”

“BP 84 over 54 and dropping,” Buck added, instinctively rattling off what he remembered. He helped lower the gurney and rolled alongside them until they reached the ER doors.

That’s when a nurse stepped forward, blocking his path with both arms out.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in there.” the blonde female nurse told him as she stood in front of the doors where (Y/n) had just been pushed through.

Buck blinked at her, dazed. “What? No- no, that’s my girlfriend. She’s pregnant. That’s my- our baby- ” Buck stumbled as panic rose in his chest.

“She’s going into trauma care. We need you to wait—”

He took a step forward,the panic that had just risen, was now tightening his chest. “I’m not waiting out here! I need to be with her! What if something happens—” he snapped.

Hen caught up, stepping in between him and the nurse before things could spiral. “Buck,” she said softly, firmly, placing a steady hand on his chest. “I know. I know you want to go in. But this is where we have to let the doctors do their jobs. She's going into emergency surgery. You being in there won’t help her now.” she tried to pull him back into reality.

“She was seizing, Hen,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking. “She’s not waking up. What if—” he cut himself off. He placed a hand on his mouth as he tried to keep back the sobs that were breaking through, right here and now.

“She’s stronger than this. You know she is,” Hen said gently. “And she’s not alone in there. You got her this far. Now, let them do the rest.” she added.

Buck stood there, frozen, chest heaving. Hen didn’t move her hand from his chest, grounding him. And all he could do was whisper to himself, over and over, like a silent prayer “Please come back to me.”

His legs wouldn’t stop moving, his heart wouldn’t slow down, and his hands were shaking so badly that he had to clench them into fists. He paced the waiting room, back and forth, running a hand through his hair over and over. Every time the doors leading to the ER swung open, his head snapped up, hoping, praying for an update.

But nothing.

He could still hear her soft whimpers. The vision of her lying down on the gurney, her body jerking, were seared in his brain.

Hen and Chimney sat nearby, watching him, but they didn’t try to stop him from pacing. They knew better. They knew he was barely holding himself together that if they said the wrong thing, he might just break.

His phone buzzed in his hand, but it wasn’t her. Of course it wasn’t her. She was in surgery, and he knew that. But deep down there was still a little spark of hope.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch the wall. This wasn’t fair.

What if I lose them? The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. His stomach twisted so painfully that he thought he might throw up. His breaths came quicker, shallower. His throat was tight, like a vice was squeezing around it, and he couldn’t take in enough air no matter how hard he tried. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for something to hold onto, something to ground him. But there was nothing. Only the sterile walls of the waiting room, the harsh fluorescent lighting, and the unbearable weight of the unknown crushing down on him.

He shook his head violently, trying to push the thought away. No. No, I can’t think like that.

But the worry kept clawing at him, digging deeper, making it impossible to think about anything else. He had never felt so helpless before. He had pulled people from burning buildings, performed CPR on dying victims, and risked his life more times than he could count. But none of that compared to this.

This was his entire world on an operating table, and there was nothing he could do to save her. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t do anything but wait. And he was going insane. He was losing his damn’ mind in this freaking waiting room.

His pulse thundered in his ears, a deafening roar taking over his hearing. His vision blurred for a moment, dark spots creeping in at the edges. He ran both hands over his face, dragging them down as he tried to keep himself from unraveling completely.

Bobby and Eddie walked into the ER waiting room, their expressions tense as they spotted him. Bobby started to say something, but before he could, Buck suddenly stopped pacing.

He stared at the wall, his chest tightening. His fists clenched. His anger flared, the worry and fear boiling up inside of him like a hot, violent wave. He couldn’t control it anymore.

With a sharp, frustrated yell, he turned and slammed his fist into the nearest wall. The impact sent a loud echo through the waiting room. The pain shot through his knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside him. "Damn’ it," Buck muttered under his breath, breathing hard, his face flushed as he shook as a reaction to the pain he experienced in his hand.

His heart was still pounding, and his head was starting to feel dizzy. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He was spiraling. He needed to be strong, but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose both of them.

Hen jumped, Chimney cursed under his breath, and a few people nearby turned to stare. Bobby moved quickly, stepping in front of Buck before he could hit anything else.

There was a fire in Buck’s eyes, a look so sharp, so full of rage, fear, and desperation, as if he was ready to kill someone with his bare hands. His breathing was erratic, his chest heaving with every sharp inhale.

“Hey! That’s not gonna help,” Bobby said firmly, grabbing Buck’s wrist before he could pull back for another punch. “I know you’re scared, but you can’t lose it here.” Bobby said as he looked Buck in the eye, trying to get him back to reality.

Buck’s nostrils flared as he tried to pull his arm free, but Bobby’s grip was strong, steady. It was grounding. He didn’t realize how badly he needed that until right now. “I should’ve been there,” Buck choked out, his voice breaking. “I should’ve protected her.”

Eddie, now standing next to Bobby, shook his head. “Buck, this isn’t your fault.” he said. Buck looked at the floor as he let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded so broken, so unlike him. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

No one had an answer for that.

Bobby sighed, keeping his grip on Buck’s wrist, making sure he wouldn’t lash out again. “I know you want to do something, but right now, the best thing you can do is be here when she wakes up.”

Buck swallowed hard, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “If… she wakes up.”

Bobby’s expression softened at his words, his hand squeezing Buck’s shoulder. “She will.”

But Buck didn’t look convinced. So he didn’t fight when Bobby guided him to sit down. He didn’t even protest when Chimney placed a bottle of water in his hand. And when Eddie sat beside him, saying nothing, just being there, Buck finally let his head fall into his hands.

His knuckles throbbed from where he had hit the wall. His body felt like it was made of stone, heavy and weighed down with exhaustion, fear, and endless waiting. But that was all he could do. Wait.

Hours passed.

The clock on the wall ticked away, each second feeling longer than the last. Buck had lost track of time, lost track of how many times he had checked the doors, hoping a doctor would walk through with news. Any news.

His leg bounced restlessly. His body was exhausted, but there was no way in hell he was going to close his eyes, not even for a slight second, not until he knew she was okay.

No one left. The entire team stayed with him. Even when Buck had turned to Hen and told her, “You should go home. Be with Karen and Denny.” She had just given him a look, one that told him there was no way in hell she was leaving.

Someone had gone out and brought back coffee. The only thing in his system for the past hours were a few cups of coffee, to keep him awake. While a bag of food was being brought in by someone else. Chimney had tried to get him to eat something, shoving a wrapped sandwich into his hand, but Buck had just placed it back down onto the seat next to him without a word.

He couldn’t eat. He could barely even breathe.

Eddie sat beside him now, elbows resting on his knees, his own coffee cup untouched in his hands. “She’s strong, Buck,” he said quietly. “She’s gonna fight through this.” Buck nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

Because no matter how much he wanted to believe that, he couldn’t shake the fear. He knew he had to keep faith, and that everyone who tried to speak to him tried to stay positive.

His hands scrubbed over his face, the roughness of his stubble grounding him for a moment before his mind spiraled all over again. What if something went wrong in surgery? What if she lost too much blood? What if— So many unanswered questions roared through his mind with the speed of light.

The door swung open and a doctor stepped into the waiting room. Buck looked up from the point he had been staring at for the last minutes, and stood up wiping his sweaty palms onto the fabric of his pants. “How is she?”

The doctor’s face was calm but serious. “She made it through surgery.” A breath whooshed out of Buck’s lungs as his knees nearly gave out under him. “But,” the doctor continued, “it was touch and go for a while. The bullet caused a lot of internal damage, and she lost a significant amount of blood. We had to work fast.”

Buck swallowed, his throat dry. “And the baby?” The doctor’s expression softened slightly. “He’s here. He was delivered via an emergency C-section. He’s in the NICU, but he’s stable.”

The world tilted. Buck had to hold on to Eddie’s shoulder who was standing beside him, to steady himself.

His son was here. He was here.

“She’s still unconscious,” the doctor added. “We’re monitoring her closely. The next 24 hours are critical.” The words hit like a gut punch, but Buck refused to let himself spiral again. She was out of surgery, alive. Their baby was alive. That was what mattered.

“Can I see them?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded. “Come with me.”

Buck turned to his team, his family. They all gave him silent nods of encouragement. Bobby clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Eddie squeezed his arm, and Hen and Chim gave him two soft, tired smiles. “Go,” Bobby said. “We’ll be here.”

The hospital hallway was quiet, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and something sterile, that Buck barely noticed. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

The doctor had handed Buck over to a nurse, who guided him toward the NICU doors. The nurse stopped him before they entered the unit.

“You’ll need to sanitize first,” she said gently as she pointed to the hand hygiene station just a bit before the sliding doors of the NICU.

Buck nodded quickly, stepping up to the sink. He scrubbed his hands like his life depended on it, washing away every trace of dirt and ash from the day’s events. The warm water ran over his skin, but he still felt cold. Still felt like he was shaking from the inside out.

After rinsing, he grabbed a few paper towels, drying his hands before reaching for the sanitizer. He rubbed the alcohol-based gel over his fingers, making sure every inch was covered.

The nurse handed him a disposable gown, a light pink one. He barely registered the color as he pulled it on, tying it behind his back with slightly unsteady hands. “This way,” the nurse said, when Buck was ready to go inside. She pushed one of the doors open and led him inside.

The NICU was dim, a line up with incubators and small cribs in his line of sight. Soft beeping filled the air, a quiet rhythm of tiny heartbeats and steady breaths. A few nurses moved carefully between them, adjusting monitors and checking on the babies under their care.

Buck stepped inside, and the nurse closed the door when she stepped in after Buck. Buck stood there for a small second, taking in the room, When the nurse he had been following for the past few minutes, led him through the room and stopped beside one of the incubators, and gave Buck a soft smile.

Buck stopped. His breath caught in his throat.

Inside one of the incubators his baby boy was wrapped up snug in a soft hospital blanket, a tiny pink hat covering his head. He was so small. His little hands curled into fists, his chest rising and falling in soft, steady breaths.

Tears were burning into his eyes as he watched this tiny human. His whole body went weak. How was he supposed to breathe right now? “That’s your son,” the nurse said quietly, stepping up beside him. “He’s doing really well. Would you like to touch him?”

Buck’s eyes widened. “I- I can?”

She nodded and lifted a flap on the side of the incubator. “You can reach in through here. Just be gentle.”

Buck stepped closer. He took a breath, then slowly slipped his hand inside. His fingers trembled as they brushed the back of his son’s hand. So warm. So small. So alive.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered, voice catching in his throat. “It’s me. Your dad.”

The world outside didn’t matter. The fear, the panic, the waiting, it all disappeared. Because right now, in this moment, nothing else existed but him and his boy. Buck swallowed hard, blinking back tears as he took in every little detail.

The baby didn’t move much, just a little wiggle, like he knew someone was there. Buck smiled, eyes glistening. “You look just like her,” he murmured. “You have her nose.” he smiled as his thumb gently traced over the tiny fingers. He felt the burn of tears in his eyes, but this time he let them fall.

“You scared us, buddy,” he murmured. “But you’re strong. Just like her.” The nurse stepped back, giving him a moment of quiet.

Buck leaned his forehead gently against the glass, his hand still inside the incubator, still touching his son. His chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from love.

Pure, overwhelming love.

He traced his index finger softly over the boy’s small cheek. “We’ll figure out a name for you soon, I promise.” He smiled softly. “For now, you’re just my little man.” The baby let out the smallest little noise like he was agreeing with him.

Buck let out a watery laugh. For the first time in hours, maybe even days, he felt okay.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there in the NICU, with his hand in the incubator, his eyes locked on his son.

He sat in the NICU, pink gown still on, his hands resting on the edge of the incubator, fingertips gently brushing the soft skin of his son through the port. The steady sounds of beeping monitors filled the quiet. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. This tiny, perfect little boy.

His chest still felt heavy, like it was carrying everything all at once, relief, fear, love, exhaustion. His thumb stroked over the newborn’s curled fingers. “You're a fighter, you know that?” he whispered.

A nurse stepped in quietly, voice soft. “Mr. Buckley?” He looked over, eyes still hazy.

“She’s out of recovery,” she said with a gentle smile. “They’ve moved her to the ICU. She’s stable, but… they want to monitor her closely. Blood loss, and with the seizure just to be safe.” the nurse explained the situation.

His heart jumped in his chest. “Can I- can I see her?” he stumbled as he needed a second to realize the words that came out of the nurse’s mouth. The nurse nodded. “You’ll have to gown up again once you come back here, but yes you can. ” she confirmed.

Buck pushed onto his feet. But before he left the room, he looked back at the incubator one last time, eyes soft. “I’ll be right back, buddy. Gotta go check on your mom.” he said as he reached into the incubator one last time touching his small hand.

The door clicked shut softly behind Buck as he stepped into her hospital room.

Everything in the ICU was calm, but it felt too quiet. Too sterile. The air was cool, humming with machines and quiet footsteps from nurses moving down the hallway. But to Buck, it all blurred into the background.

His eyes were locked on the hospital bed. There she was.

Her body is surrounded by wires, monitors, and IV lines. Her skin was pale, lips slightly parted as she breathed through an oxygen cannula. Her eyes were closed, and she hadn’t moved—not once. But her heart was beating. The monitor proved that.

He stopped for a second. Just took her in. His chest tightened, and the pressure behind his eyes returned. God, he had almost lost her.

He dragged a chair up close and sat down heavily, like his legs could barely hold him anymore. His hand trembled as he reached out, gently brushing her fingers before wrapping his hand around hers. Cold. But still there.

His thumb slowly ran over her knuckles. “Hey, Waddles,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m here.” he said as he pressed his lips into a thin line to prevent himself from breaking down.

He looked at her hand in his, then up at her face. “You’re in the ICU,” he said quietly. “Doctors said you’re stable, just need time. Said you lost a lot of blood, and with the seizure... they didn’t want to take any chances.” he told her softly as he swallowed hard. His heart was still racing, even now.

“You scared the hell out of me, (Y/n).” He smiled sadly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against the back of her hand. “I saw him,” he whispered. “Our boy.” his voice cracked at those two small words. Emotions taking over his voice now. He felt the tears gathering in his eyes, but he didn’t stop them this time.

“He’s perfect,” Buck said softly. “So small... but he’s strong. He’s in the NICU, but the nurses said he’s doing good. They let me sit with him for a while.”

He looked up again, eyes red. “I didn’t hold him yet. He’s still in the incubator, but I got to touch him. He held my finger, babe. You should’ve seen him... he’s got your nose. I swear, he already looks like you.” His thumb kept tracing slow circles against her skin. A grounding motion, something to do, something to feel.

“They put him in a pink hat,” he chuckled quietly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’d probably love that. I kept thinking about what you’d say. How you’d make fun of me for crying over a newborn in a tiny pink hat.”

A long silence followed. Machines beeped steadily. Nurses passed by the glass wall outside the room. Buck stayed where he was, sitting with her, holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping him together.

He leaned in again, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “I love you,” he murmured. “So much. And I’m not going anywhere. You take all the time you need. We’re waiting for you.”

He adjusted the blanket around her, carefully tucking it near her shoulder. Then he sat back, never letting go of her hand.

The lighting in the ICU room was dim, just enough to keep things gentle on the eyes. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of the heart monitor, the low hum of machines, and the soft breath of someone sleeping.

Buck was slouched in the chair, his head resting gently on the edge of the hospital bed. One hand was still wrapped around hers, fingers intertwined loosely, even in sleep. His face was turned toward her, peaceful in a way it hadn’t been in days.

(Y/n)'s fingers twitched.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, the world around her blurred and unfamiliar at first. Her throat was dry, her body heavy but her mind caught up to her heartbeat quickly.

She tried to speak, but only a hoarse whisper escaped. “Buck…”

His eyes opened immediately. His head snapped up like he wasn’t really asleep to begin with, like some part of him had been waiting for her voice the whole time.

A shaky breath escaped his lips, followed by a broken laugh. “Hey… hey, baby.” Tears filled his eyes as he leaned closer, brushing hair gently away from her face. His heart ached with relief. “You’re okay… you’re really okay.” he said, mostly to comfort himself.

(Y/n) blinked slowly, her lips parting as she tried to find her bearings. “Did we… did we make it?” she asked softly and a little slowly. Buck nodded, eyes never leaving hers. His voice was hoarse. “Yeah. We made it.”

But suddenly, something shifted in her expression. Confusion. Realization. She looked down at the blankets covering her, a flicker of panic crossing her face. Her hands gripped the fabric, pulling it up, pulling it aside, desperate eyes searching.

Her stomach was different now. Soft. Empty. No more kicking. No pressure on her ribs or bladder. Just space where something once was. Her breath caught.

“Where- where is..?” Her voice cracked, climbing with panic. “Where is he? Where’s our baby?” Buck quickly sat forward, his hands gently cupping her face.

“Hey- hey, look at me,” he said, voice calm but firm. “He’s okay. I swear to you, he’s okay.” he reassured her as (Y/n)’s lip trembled, her eyes wide and brimming with fear. A tear escaped the corner of her eye but Buck gently brushed it away with his thumb.

“You went into labor early,” Buck continued, rubbing his thumbs along her cheeks now. “Thirty-four weeks. They had to do an emergency C-section while you were still unconscious. It was fast. Scary. But he made it.”

She let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down her temples down her cheeks. “He’s in the NICU right now,” Buck said softly. “He’s strong, just like you. But he’s got to stay there for a little while. He’s hooked up to some machines… you know, just to help him out until he’s ready.” he explained.

There was a pause. Her chest still rose and fell with shaky breaths, but some of the panic in her eyes faded. She looked at him again, really looked. “And you’re okay?” she whispered. “He’s really okay?”

“He’s more than okay,” Buck whispered. He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, his hand brushing her hair back. “You both are. And I’ve been with him. Every second I could.” he said as he placed his forehead against hers for a moment, letting A quiet, emotional silence fell over the room. Just the two of them, breathing, together again.

Buck pulled back, clearing his throat, offering a soft smile. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” he suddenly said.

Her eyes flicked toward him, confused. “You mean..?” she asked him. “I can’t bring him here yet,” Buck explained. “But I didn’t want you to wait either.”

Buck came as close as he could to (Y/n), awkwardly half-sitting on the side of the hospital bed, he pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times. Within seconds, a FaceTime call connected.

* Earlier

Buck stepped out of the NICU, the pink gown crumpled in his hands, his heart still racing from the moment he'd spent with his son. He was supposed to throw the pink gown in the bin, but his legs moved faster than his brain.

Before he knew it he was walking down the halls, towards the waiting room where he had left his team a few hours back.

The team was scattered around the waiting area, low conversations filling the space, coffee cups on the table, exhaustion written all over their faces. Bobby, Hen, and Chimney sat together while Eddie leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, bouncing one knee restlessly.

The sound of the door caught their attention, and all eyes turned toward him. He looked a little dazed, like his mind was still somewhere else. He was carrying the crumpled pink NICU gown in one hand, fingers curled around the fabric tightly.

Hen stood up first. “Buck?” her voice was soft but calm. Buck nodded as he slowly walked towards them, as he was fidgeting the pink fabric between his fingers. The team was slowly gathering around Buck and Hen.

“And?” Eddie’s voice sounded gentle. Buck let out a shaky breath as he finally got the guts to look his team in the eyes, and gave a small smile. “I saw him.” he said.

There was a pause in between the words. Then he added, “He’s small. So small. But he’s doing okay. They’ve got him in an incubator to help regulate his temperature and breathing. NICU nurses said for thirty-four weeks, he’s actually doing really well.”

They all let out a breath of relief. “Is he beautiful?” Chimney asked with a small smile. Buck laughed softly. “He’s perfect. Little fingers, tiny nose. I think he has her eyes. Or… her nose. Maybe both.” he chuckled softly as Bobby placed his hand onto his shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze.

Hen gave him a warm smile. “Did you get to hold him?” she asked. Buck shook his head as he was still holding the gown in his lap like it was something sacred. “Not yet. But I got to touch him. Through the incubator.” His voice softened. “He grabbed my finger.”

Smiles were projected on all of their faces as they listened to those words. “I was on my way to see (Y/n),” Buck added. “They moved her to the ICU. She’s still unconscious, but stable.”

Hen nodded. “That’s a good sign.” she confirmed as she laid her hand on his upper arm, rubbing her thumb against the fabric of his LAFD hoodie.

Buck’s eyes wandered from down to the floor to looking at Hen directly, almost shyly. “Hey… Hen?” his voice cracked a bit as he said her name. She blinked. “Yeah?”

“You wanna meet him?” he asked then, out of the blue. She froze as she looked back at him, confusion written on her face. “Me?” she asked, why would he ask her?

“Yeah.” Buck smiled, this time more fully. “You kept her alive. You should be the first to meet him. At Least if you want to…” Buck continued. Hen looked around at the others for a second, stunned. Then back at Buck. “Are you sure?” she asked him to double check his choice.

He nodded. “Auntie Hen’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” he smiled as he held his arm out and motioned his head towards the doors to invite her.

She smiled, eyes full of emotion. “Yeah. It really does.”

The camera opened to Hen’s face. She was sitting beside the incubator, already smiling as she angled the phone just right. And there he was.

Small. Fragile. Wrapped in a nest of blankets and wires. Their son.

“Oh…” (Y/n) gasped, her breath hitching. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears began pouring down her face. “He’s so tiny.” she cried.

Buck leaned in closer beside her, their heads nearly touching as they both stared at the screen. “Meet your mama, little guy,” he said softly.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whispered, “Hi, baby… hi.” she sobbed.

(Y/n) couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. There he was, so small, so delicate, but real. Their son. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached toward the phone, as if she could touch him through the glass.

“Look at the little pink hat, he is so small” she whispered, voice cracking as the tears welled in her eyes.

Buck let out a soft breath beside her, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Yeah he might be small… but he’s strong. He gets that from you.” Buck whispered as he looked at (Y/n).

Hen chuckled gently on the other end of the call. “He also made that grumpy face when he woke up. Definitely gets that from Buck.”

“Woah, you do realize I’m right here?” Buck said, mock-offended. “Oh yeah, I know.” Hen laughed.

(Y/n) managed a watery laugh through her tears, looking at the screen again. Their son was shifting slightly in his sleep, his tiny mouth twitching, fingers curling. Her heart ached just watching him.

“Does he have a name?” Hen asked softly after a moment of silence. Buck rubbed the back of his neck. “Not yet,” he said “I’ve just been calling him buddy… or champ. Little bean once or twice.” he added.

Hen grinned. “Little bean. That’s adorable. I expect that on a mug, Buckley.” Hen said as she for a second turned the camera to herself and then back at the little boy. He gave a quiet laugh, then turned back to (Y/n) as he watched her think for a moment.

“I think… he looks like a Finn,” she whispered. Buck stilled, eyes studying her face. “Finn?” he repeated as he switched looks between her and the screen.

She nodded, eyes never leaving the screen. “Yeah. I don’t know. It just fits, doesn’t it? Like, look at him. That’s definitely a Finn.” she said, maybe a little too dreamy.

Buck didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked back down at the screen, watching his son. He mouthed the name silently. Finn.

The weight of it landed gently in his chest, soft but solid. Real. He whispered it once, just to see how it felt in the air. “Finn…Finn Buckley.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, brows lifted slightly, waiting. Buck looked between the two people he loved most. He gave the tiniest nod. “Yeah. Finn. That’s… that’s his name.”

Hen sniffled quietly on the other side of the call. “Well, hello, Finn. It’s nice to meet you.” she said as the camera showed Finn grabbing Hen’s index finger with his small hand.

“You mean,” Buck said with a playful grin, “it’s nice to meet your Auntie Hen.” she said. Buck grinned softly, eyes still on the screen. “You mean… it’s nice to meet your Auntie Hen.”

Hen raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming. “Oh, we’re really keeping that in, huh?” she asked. Buck gave a slow, proud nod. “Oh yeah. It’s official.”

Hen let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “Fine. But just so we’re clear, I don’t do diapers.” she just needed to make sure that wasn’t happening.

Hen smiled. “I’m here to spoil Finn rotten. That’s the job description.” she said as she looked at the phone in her other hand. Buck smiled, warmth rising in his chest as he looked at (Y/n) and then at their son again. “He’s lucky to have you.” Hen smiled back, her voice quieter now. “You all are.”

(Y/n) giggled through her tears at the conversation and leaned gently into Buck’s shoulder. He kept his arm wrapped around her, holding the phone steady so she could keep looking at their son.

Buck watched as (Y/n) gazed at the screen, her hand slowly reaching out like she could

“Hi, Finn,” her voice was soft, a little raspy, but filled with warmth as she whispered, "I promise we’ll be with you soon, baby. Mommy just needs to get a little stronger first." she said as she let her finger almost touch the screen. Buck pressed his warm, soft lips to the side of her head, as he comforted her.

Hen gave her a look full of love and reassurance. “He’ll be waiting. We all will.”

A few days had passed since the chaos. Since the ambulance, the surgery, the terrifying unknown. (Y/n) had been slowly healing in the ICU, exhausted, sore, but alive. Breathing. And every day, as her body regained its strength, her heart ached a little more for one thing:

Her son.

She hadn’t been able to hold him yet. Not once. Not even a second.

The nurses and doctors had done everything they could to keep her updated. Buck made it his mission to visit Finn multiple times a day. And every time, without fail, someone would FaceTime her from the NICU.

Hen. Bobby. Chimney. Even Eddie, who pretended he didn’t cry but always conveniently had “allergies.”

They showed her his little expressions, the way his fingers curled, how he would kick his feet just a little when the incubator doors opened. And every time, she would whisper the same thing, barely loud enough for the phone to pick it up: “Just wait for me, baby. I’m coming.”

Healing came slowly, but (Y/n) had gotten stronger. Strong enough to sit up without help, to eat, to talk, and finally… to ask for one thing over and over: “I want to see him.”

And today, the doctor finally said yes.

The doctor had given the green light. Finn was doing well. His vitals were stable, he was breathing on his own, and his feeding tube had been removed just that morning. The incubator was still there for warmth and monitoring, but now that his condition had improved, he could be held for short, closely supervised moments.

The hallway to the NICU felt like it stretched on forever.

Buck pushed her wheelchair gently, dressed again in the required pink gown. He didn’t rush. He could feel her pulse through her hand. It was fast, trembling and her breaths were shallow and tight.

He crouched a little. (Y/n)’s hands shook as she held them out, and Buck quickly helped her slip on the gown, tying the strings behind her back.

“You okay?” he asked, trying to see her face. She blinked quickly, wiping under her eyes. “I don’t know how to describe it. My chest… it hurts. Not in a bad way. Just… like I can’t breathe until I’m with him.” she tried to explain the best she could.

Buck pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re almost there.”

The doors opened, and the warmth of the NICU wrapped around them. Machines hummed quietly, nurses moved with practiced calm, and soft lullabies played low in the background. It smelled like clean linens and that strange sterile softness only hospitals had.

And there he was… wrapped in a tiny cotton blanket, a nurse was already cradling him against her chest in preparation. “He’s been fed, changed, and we’ve got him bundled just right,” she whispered with a warm smile. “You ready, Mama?”

(Y/n) couldn’t speak, the words were caught in her throat. So she just nodded, her eyes wide and shimmering.

The nurse leaned in. “We’ll monitor vitals the whole time. He’s doing great, which means he’s ready for some real snuggles.”

And with those words, they placed him in her arms.

Her entire body stilled.

Finn’s tiny weight pressed against her chest, and she let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. He was so small. So warm. She adjusted her arms and nestled him close, and the second her skin touched his cheek, he let out the softest sound, like he’d been waiting for this too.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, choking on a sob. “Hi, baby. I’m here. Mommy’s here.” she said softly.

Buck knelt beside her, one arm around her shoulders, the other brushing his thumb gently across Finn’s swaddled back. His own eyes were misty. “Told you he was strong.”

(Y/n) smiled through her tears as she let her eyes wander from Finn to Buck. “You were right. He’s perfect.” she cried. Buck smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips.

It was the first time they were together. Not over a screen, but truly together. And for the first time since everything happened… she felt whole, they both did.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

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tojikai · 11 months ago

Text

Sundered⁺ : CATHARSIS

Big thanks to @mikeyslvrr for commissioning this piece! ♡

Pairing: Gojo x reader

• SUNDERED MASTERLIST

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader

word count: 5.6k

a/n: Only the kitchen conversation can be considered a part of the main series.

Have your pieces been carried by the waves, swept away from this city that whispers his name everywhere you go?

Satoru woke up from a hard smack on his shoulder. “What is wrong with you? You kept grunting in your sleep.” You walked away, fixing your belt. “You’re leaving?” He muttered, heart still racing as he ran a hand down his face, thinking of his dream where you got mad at him and left with Yui.

Satoru's pretty sure that if he died today, he would get seven minutes of all the moments he had hurt you, not seven minutes of happy moments. Sometimes all the wrong things he did would catch up to him and haunt him in his sleep; where he can almost physically feel the pain he caused emitting from your skin because he chose to be a better man for someone else.

“Uh, yes. Isn’t that why you volunteered to babysit? He watched you reapply your lipstick. Satoru found himself licking his lips, spacing out. “Oh yeah,” He sighed, realizing that he just fell asleep after snack time with Yui. He overheard you asking your Mom to babysit Yui while you go out and he volunteered.

You’re going out. On a date. At night. With a guy.

He blinked fast like it could wipe away his heart-wrenching thoughts. It’s just a date, he told himself, reminding himself of his place in your life and how he doesn’t have the right to be…territorial and possessive over you.

“I, uh, haha, ‘had a really deep nap’” He scratched his head. There were a lot of things going on inside his head but hugging you was the hardest to control. If he begged you not to go, would you listen? But he promised to support your happiness.

Satoru and you have been having a very healthy co-parenting relationship, and you're more comfortable around each other now. Although you never mentioned anything about taking him back, he just can't let go of his hope. If he gave up, he feared to end up like his father.

Lose the woman he loves, his family, forever. That's his biggest fear. He’d probably just drop dead without warning if it happens.

“I won’t be out so late.” You rushed to check on your sleeping doll in her room. “Her screen time, Satoru.” You reminded him as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Satoru could only hum in response, mesmerized. He wished he could go out on date nights with you too.

Tapping his shoulder, you left him daydreaming in the middle of aftershocks from a nightmare.

———————————————

“Yui, do you think Mama still loves Dada?” He asked absentmindedly, juggling a toy in his hand while his daughter was lost in the movie. He didn't think she was listening to him, but she replied with a simple, “No.” He stared at the side of her face for a minute before sighing, afraid that she might be right.

“Mama wuv Yui.” She pointed at her chest, leaving Satoru in awe. “Of course. Dada loves you as well.” He was trying to let go of the weight on his chest but tragically failed when he remembered the words he said to you that fateful day. It was one of the days he regretted the most.

That, and the day he chose to give up on your relationship.He can see himself spending his whole life proving his love to you as long as you let him.

The wait was agonizing. He feels like his oxygen levels get significantly lower with each passing hour. He paced around the kitchen after lulling his child to sleep. It’s 9:27 PM and just as he was about to check his phone, the door opened. “Oh, it’s been a while since I ate out with a friend alone.” You sighed, a small smile playing on your lips. Satoru just stood there nervously.

“W-welcome home. How did your…date go?” He kind of regrets asking that because it felt like he was intruding, but you smiled, taking your shoes off. “It was fun, a little breather. Where’s Yui?” You walked to Yui’s room and Satoru couldn’t help but breathe in as you passed by him.

You smelled of…your cologne. He let out a sigh of relief. But did he feel relieved? No. It’s just the first date. There could be a second, third, and fourth date. Then, you’ll be together, and God…what will become of him?

“Did you go home by yourself?” He followed you. “Of course not. He dropped me off.” Damn it. He should’ve waited by the window so he could see him. “He got Yui a little something.” You pulled a little bear keychain from your bag, and Satoru couldn’t help the painful contractions in his heart.

That motherfucker prepared. He cursed internally, smiling a little too hard as you showed it to him. “Guess I’ll just give it to her tomorrow.” You both kissed your daughter good night before leaving the room. He felt a splitting headache coming on. He hasn’t stopped thinking since this afternoon.

As Satoru left, he took in the small smile on your face as you closed the door. You’re really happy. Now, he’s curious about this guy. Closing his eyes, he squeezed the steering wheel. It was that feeling with Toji again, and this time it’s worse because he has to witness you slowly fall in love with someone new.

He felt like running back inside and begging you to just let him begin again like that too. But that would be too much of an imposition, especially for someone who almost ruined your perception of love.

What he can only do is go home, suck it up, and sleep.

———————————————

The following weeks have been nothing but torture for Satoru. The second time, you went out with a couple of friends but that didn’t change anything for him. And now, you’re meeting up again, and despite being told that your mom can do it when it’s not his schedule, he still insisted on babysitting.

Now he’s once again sitting on your couch, elbows on his knees. What would he do if you called him and told him you won’t be home tonight? No, no, he doubts that. You’re too hands-on with Yui, no way you’ll just decide like that. But…What if? He shot up from the seat to peek at the window when he saw headlights from outside.

You’re still inside the car. Images started flashing before his eyes and he could tell he was just a pinch away from bursting out the door to get your attention. Satoru’s hand moved up to his chest in relief when you stepped out. He probably kissed her. His brain whispered and Satoru was forced to gulp the pain.

He’s gonna have to see it one day and he will have no choice but to look away.

Sitting down when he saw you walk to the door, he rubbed his eyes quickly before pretending to be on his phone. “Hi,” You smiled at him, “I got home late.” You sighed, glancing at your wristwatch. “It’s alright, Yui was being so good, she slept early.” He ran a hand through his hair and walked behind you.

Kissing your daughter’s cheeks, you looked up at him. “You know, I was wondering if it’s fine to take Yui with us to the theme park next time?” You stood up, heading to the kitchen. “I mean, I’ll be there, I just want to tell you since you’re her parent too.” You continued, unaware of the thoughts in his head.

This kitchen.

He felt nauseous watching you stand there, leaning on the counter like you did when you had your big fight. He thinks this sensitivity stems from all that has happened to him and your family.

“What do you think? You can meet him before we go—” You explained but he just stood there, shaking his head as he licked his lips. “I don’t know. I mean, I know you won’t let anything happen to her but…” He inhaled sharply, should he admit that he was jealous? You wait for him to finish talking but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Is he…Are you guys getting serious?” He tried to smile genuinely. “Ah…” Sighing, he continued, “I guess I was just being…overprotective. Sure, y-you can take her. I mean, I’m sure he’s a good guy if he—” Straightening up, you crossed your arms, perplexed. “Satoru, what’s going on? What are you thinking?” He can’t give a reason. He just bit his lip.

“N-nothing.” His eyes feel heavy, he just wants to sleep. He starting to feel…defeated. “I just got a bit…I guess protective because a…a new person is gonna be around my child but,” He nodded awkwardly, desperate to convince you and hide his feelings, “It’s alright. You’re with her. Yeah, it’s okay.” He was about to bid goodbye, but your curious eyes froze him in place.

“Alright,” A sigh of relief escaped his mouth despite not really feeling relieved. “Why don’t you eat with me? I bought something on our way home. Take it as a thanks for babysitting even when it’s not your schedule.” You joked, getting the plates. As much as Satoru wants to sleep his heartache off, how could he reject the smile on your face?

He can’t even remember the last time you ate together. Just the two of you. Looking at you now, he can’t help but wonder if this will be the last time too. If you fall for that guy, this could be the last time he’ll see this; the glow on your face as you share your thoughts with him. In the midst of it, Satoru can’t help but feel sentimental.

“None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t done all that shit. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to atone, but I’ll sell my soul just to take a quarter of the pain off your mind.” You paused, processing his words. You remember all the times you felt irked while experiencing something fun, knowing it could’ve been the three of you if it wasn’t for what happened.

But you’re teaching yourself to create space for something good by letting go of the bad.

“Why did you do those things? Did you…did you want to get rid of me so bad back then?” You chuckled bitterly, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but he quickly answered. “No, Y/N. I never wanted to get rid of you. I was just…” Inhaling deeply, he looked you in the eyes. “I was desperate to run away from the problems I created in our relationship.”

“I thought distancing myself from you might help me move forward, but…” He licked his lower lip, shaking his head.

But you can’t really create distance when it comes to someone you love, no matter how far apart you physically are.

“Seeing Toji was the last straw. I knew I had to do something then, and I felt even dumber for letting it get to that point before listening to myself.” You looked down at the mention of your dear friend.

“I know how much you hate it, but…Y/N, I’m sorry. So many things went downhill in your life, and I took part in all of it. I can never do enough to fix it.” His voice weakened with every word. “You gave me the best thing, too.” You spoke, and his eyes lit up a bit, but not enough to mask his sorrow.

You nodded toward your child’s room. “Satoru, it’s hard to just forget. I’ve said this countless times. But for that tiny human,” A small smile played on your lips, “For that little girl, we have to put things behind us. I don’t want her to grow up surrounded by the negative things of the past.” You leaned back in your chair, understanding that at times like this, you have to be positive.

Satoru had been through things, too, and you wouldn’t invalidate that.

“Did you learn from your mistakes?” You asked him, standing up to grab a bottle of water. “I did, Y/N. I promise. I know it’s not much, but I try, and I will continue trying for you, for Yui.” You only realize now that you hadn’t really talked about it so thoroughly. Why? Probably because it scared you. But you can't live in fear forever.

However, the conversation brought you back to when you first saw him and Naomi. You tried hard to stop your emotions from taking over. Your face slowly drops at the memory. You remembered how you trusted his words, and how he went back on them.

“Why did you decide you didn’t want to try with me anymore that time?” Your throat started to constrict. Your chest suddenly felt too cramped up for your beating heart. Perhaps if you chose to spill out your unanswered questions earlier, it wouldn’t feel so hard right now.

“I was a coward. I was too afraid to face our problems with you, so I thought it was better to cling to the freedom I felt with Naomi.” Stretching his legs out, he glanced at you. You can’t help but think that if only you had been open and talked it out before, instead of pushing each other away, things would’ve been better.

But of course, there’s always the threat of his beloved mother.

“Then, my mom introduced Naomi to me. She was there, she took care of Yui with me. She didn’t pull away from me, even when all I talked about were my problems. She didn’t make me feel alone.” He paused. The silence was deafening. You hated that all that you could hear was your heartbeat.

“That time…it was what I needed. But that’s definitely not what I wanted.” He looked up at the kitchen light, recollecting the feelings and thoughts he used to have. “I wanted myself to believe that. I made myself believe that I’m better off without you. For a little while, I did. She gave me a sense of tranquility, something we never had in a while then.” The peace.

You didn’t think it would still hurt to hear him talk about her like she’s his savior but you found yourself looking down, sighing. “The quiet was nice, right?” You felt bitter suddenly. “Is that why it took a whole new guy coming into our lives for you to stand up and get your family?” You looked at him, feeling bad that you were having these thoughts for something gone.

You don’t like to dwell on things so much but, maybe after all this time you still hate to think that some other girl was at your place.

“It’s not quiet when I got you on my mind.” He murmured, your breath hitched. “Weeks after we fought in this kitchen, I couldn’t dream of anything else but your face, your voice.” He closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed like he was in pain. “I could’ve sworn that if I heard your voice calling out my name, I would’ve given it all up.” You gulped your water, recalling how crushed you felt that time.

“Y/N…why did you pull away from me? I was scared shitless every time you’d say you’d find someone better because I know damn well there’s a lot.” He laughed unenthusiastically. The breath you took was harsh on your throat. It felt like it was slicing your neck from the inside.

“I didn’t know how else to protect myself, Satoru.” You sniffed, reminding yourself that this one conversation could change so much between you and Satoru. “I didn’t know how else to protect myself from the pain, from your mom.” Something flashed in Satoru’s eyes at the mention of his mother. He’s hurt but you know that he longs to talk to her. It was still his mother, after all.

“I failed to stand up for you because I was too focused on pleasing my mom. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect us from her.” Satoru knew that if he only believed in you a little more, the damage in your relationship wouldn’t have gotten so big. “I didn’t realize that she was already dictating my life to the point where she got me to leave my family without even knowing it.”

Slowly taking your hand in his, he rubbed your skin with his thumb. By how shallow his breathing was, you can tell that this conversation was slowly breaking Satoru into tinier pieces. Holding your hand was probably the only thing that could keep him from falling apart right now, so you let him.

Feeling his touch, you wondered if this was how gentle he was to Naomi. You can’t help but think…what if he’s way gentler with her? Before you knew it, you were already speaking out your most kept thoughts; the softest, most tortured part of your heart was exposed.

“For many nights, I stayed up crying, wondering how you could so easily protect Naomi at the expense of my feelings.” You watched as his finger stopped moving on the back of your hand. “I remember wanting to know what she had that made you the man I always wanted you to be.” Tears started to pool in your eyes again, but you refused to look at him.

Knowing about what happened to them, you were convinced that Naomi was also a victim of Satoru’s mother. She was a victim of her love towards Satoru, and that love was taken advantage of by Satoru’s mother. But other than that, you can’t help but think about how she used to be such a wonder to Satoru that he fell for her so easily.

You watched Satoru wordlessly move out of his chair to kneel before you, kissing your hands. His whispered apologies spoke volumes. “You’re never any less, Y/N. Please, don’t think like that.” But you made her feel like that. He wished he could find the right words to say. But he thinks that no amount of apology could erase the scars he painted on your heart.

“I wanted to be better. But I'll forever regret everything I did just to satisfy her even when I knew it was hurting you.” His breaths were shaky, rough. “I wanted to be the man you wanted me to be. And just because I did it for her doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it for you. Y/N, more than anyone, I wanted to be better for you first.” He knows that there will never be enough words to comfort your ache. But Satoru’s willing to prove it to you.

“I thought improving myself for her would make me feel better about our broken relationship. I was selfish, Y/N. I’m sorry.” You quickly wiped your tears away, sighing at how the heavy feeling in your chest seemed to slowly vanish after being uncaged. “Did it? You were going to marry her.” You weren’t mocking him at all. But it kills you to think that he loved her enough to want to marry her.

“At one point, I did. I used to think taking things further with her would pull me farther away from you. But it didn’t because if it did, I wouldn’t break so easily at the sight of you being with someone else.” Silence follows, and you can only smile and nod. Words alone still feel hard to believe. That’s why you've opted for a co-parenting setup with him—for now, you're letting his actions speak for themselves.

The night stretched on as your questions found answers, regrets were voiced, and what-ifs were shared. The conversation was bittersweet, a plea to undo mistakes and lessen the depth of wounds. The answers served as stitches and bandages to the injuries made.

That night, both of you hoped for a brighter tomorrow and lighter hearts in the days ahead.

_________________________________

Three years ago, you wouldn’t have seen yourself in an unfamiliar town, living in a small apartment with your mother and working as a waitress in a small restaurant. It was a tough adjustment for the kid but you’re getting there. She still asks for her father now and then, but you can’t give anything but a simple “Not now. He’s working”

Will they ever meet again? Will you ever see him again? It doesn’t matter if he won’t come for you. You will live. For yourself. For Yui. You walked home with your head down, clutching your bag as you entered a small convenience store to grab some bread. You stared at a pack of candy on one of the shelves, allowing the buried memories to play in your mind.

—FLASHBACK—

“So, you’re good with her father now?” Your friend asked you as you pushed Yui’s bike. The theme park was packed with people and Yui couldn’t be more distracted and excited. “Yeah, I guess. We talked about a lot of things. We needed that.” You sighed, pursing your lips.

“I'm still hesitant about trying again with him. With what happened between us, it’s still hard for me to just decide that.” Albeit unaware of your entire past with Satoru, your friend tried to be understanding, and you truly appreciated that.

Seeing a row of empty chairs, you decided to sit down, and just as you were about to speak to your friend again, Yui got up and cheered for the coming cart, “Mama! Clouds, pwease!” You stood up as she pointed to it, dropping the toy Satoru got her. The toy quickly rolled down the pathway to the direction of the cart which had to stop by a group of kids and parents.

“Oh, shoot!” Your friend didn’t even have time to get it for you. You beat him to it, running after the toy which luckily bumped into a potted plant near the cart. You picked it up, panting as you looked back at them. Your friend was standing up, ready to go to you but you waved the toy at him, pointing at the cart to imply that you could get it yourself.

It was getting a bit crowded from the buyers so you signaled him to stay there with Yui, not wanting to involve her in any possible accidents. Thankfully, the vendor was skilled, and soon enough, you were returning to your daughter with a pink ball of cotton candy. “You moved so fast. I could’ve gotten it for you.” Your friend laughed, shaking his head in amusement.

“I guess it’s because I got used to it. When Satoru can’t be around to help, it’s all on me so…” You shrugged, only realizing that when it comes to Yui, you’d rather let yourself do all the work instead of relying on others. But that changes little by little now that Satoru’s around more. The day flew by, turning out to be more about Yui's outing than a friendly date.

You quickly checked your phone after your friend dropped you off. ‘Can I come over when you’re home?’ It was Satoru. Your brows furrowed at how serious he seemed. His texts usually carry a hint of sweetness, but this time, it was just a plain old text. ‘We’re home.’ You quickly replied and not even 15 minutes later, he was already at your house.

“Where’s Yui?” You looked at him standing at the door, waiting until you signed for him to come in. He was always like that, and while you appreciated it, you found the awkwardness somewhat amusing. "She fell asleep. Have you had snacks—" You were about to ask him, but he cut in abruptly, his tone serious.

“Y/N, can I ask you about something?” You felt nervous all of a sudden. He looked at you before reluctantly sitting down on the couch. You joined him when he pulled out his phone, scrolling for something. “Please, don’t take this the wrong way. I just want to know what happened here,”

Your eyes widened, staring at the photo of Yui with your friend at the park earlier. It only captured half of the cart, blurred in the background. “Where were you? Look, my daughter’s alone with a… basically, a stranger to her—” You interrupted, heart racing in your chest, “Why do you have that? Did you get someone to follow us?” He sighed, remaining composed.

“No. Now, please just answer me first.” You learned the hard way about fights and now you just want to stay calm because this is certainly a misunderstanding. “I went after her toy that rolled down, and I bought cotton candy for her.” You reached out to zoom in on the pic, cursing out the way it was taken. What matters is that the cotton candy cart can be recognized.

“I know it’s blurry but I’m here, I even have a photo of Yui with a cotton candy if you want to—” Satoru shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. “Y/N, you left our daughter with a man. You barely know this guy, he’s a newbie in your work and now you…” Rubbing a hand over his face, Satoru looked at you with disappointment but still soft nonetheless.

“You could’ve let him get that toy for Yui if he was such a man, made him buy in that crowded place for you.” You stayed silent, understanding where he’s coming from but the fact that he has this photo is setting you off.

“He was about to. But I beat him to it because it’s always been like that for me.” You tried to explain before continuing, “Who sent you that, Satoru?” Satoru stared at you, contemplating.

“My mom came to my house.” Now you know why he was in such a state. You bit your lip, wanting to cry out of frustration. Her restraining order lasted six months. You know there’s no way you could tear Satoru’s mother away from his life but you just want him to stop being tied to her apron strings.

He told you about how his mother came to him a few hours ago. He initially told her he was not yet ready to talk to her again, but was intrigued when she said she ran into Yui and a man at the park.

“Were you following them?” He didn’t try hiding his accusatory gaze. “No, son! Believe me, I was just afraid that Y/N would panic if she saw me. But I saw her leave Yui with this man.” She looked so different from before. Satoru almost wanted to cry to her despite the pain she caused him, ask her why she did that. But he has to be tough.

“You may go, Mom. I will talk to Y/N about it.” He attempted to close the gate but she kept getting closer to him, “When will I see my granddaughter? I miss her so much. And you, my Son…” Her teary eyes were still too much for Satoru, he looked away shaking his head. “I don’t know. Not now.” With that, he closed the door.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m just simply buying her words, that’s why I came here to talk to you,” Satoru reassured you, “I know you didn’t mean to leave Yui like that but please, just…” Before he could even finish, you already answered, kind of relieved that this didn’t end with the slamming of doors again. “I know, I just got used to doing stuff for her myself. I’m sorry.” With that, the misunderstanding was cleared.

You didn’t think this would be followed by a string of events that would once again mess up your slowly glowing life. “Why are you here?” Your phone was in your hand as you blocked the door, your fingers found the emergency dial and immediately called Satoru. “I just want to see my Yui. I know I messed up Y/N, I just want to see my only grandkid.” You just can’t bring yourself to let her in.

“Satoru…can you come over? Right now. Your mother’s here.” You can hear his heavy sigh from the other end, “Don’t let her in. Wait for me.” And just as Satoru arrived his mother cried on his chest. “Son, I know I did wrong things but how can you treat me like I would harm your child?” Satoru’s hold on her arm was gentle but firm.

Holding her to his chest as she breaks down, she looks at you with eyes that bear his agony. You can’t blame him for that’s his mother. But you’re desire to protect your child was greater. “I will only allow it for a few minutes, Satoru.” You wiped Yui’s face, peeking at the door to see his mother sitting on a monoblock chair with her head down.

“I know. I understand and I’m sorry. Sit with us if that would make you feel more at ease about this. I’m here, Y/N.” Hearing this from Satoru calmed you a bit, but it didn’t take away your worries. You just prayed that this would end soon.

The last straw was the humiliation she caused you in front of your friends and strangers at a cafe. You were caught off guard and were almost torn down again but you stood your ground.

“You dare leave your daughter at home just to mingle around? Y/N, what kind of a mother are you?” Your friends attempted to break it off, trying everything they could just to get his mother off your back. You should’ve just called the police that day.

“What do you know about being a mother when you set up your own son for assault?!” You answered back, garnering whispers from strangers. “This is not about me! This is about you leaving your daughter just to fuck around!” It was only a matter of time before the guards dragged the two of you out of the cafe.

“Out of all the days, she really chose the time when Satoru’s overseas for work!” You cried, fixing your hair on the way home. “You gotta protect yourself and Yui from that woman, Y/N.” Your friends looked at you with concern. That woman brings nothing but misfortune to you and your life.

The moment you got home, you called Satoru immediately. “I’m filing a case whether you like it or not, Satoru. I’m tired of this.” You cried, “I know, Y/N. I’m so sorry but please just wait for me to get back. I’ll help you when I’m back, I promise.” You couldn’t go out for a few days after that, it also took everything to stop your mother from committing a crime.

And now, just a week after that, you almost lost your reason for living.

You had to get another set of utensils after Yui dropped hers. When you returned, you saw her walking out of the cafe’s door. Satoru’s mother held the door open, using a pack of candy to lure the child out.

You’ve never run so fast in your life. You fought with all your might but she beat you to it, carrying Yui and attempting to take her away. “If you weren’t in our lives, Satoru would’ve been fine!” She screamed at you, pulling at the crying kid. You were so terrified and angry that you started to shake. You chose to scream for help rather than answer back, afraid that you’d lose your baby.

When people started rushing towards you, she immediately took off. You didn’t bother to see if she was captured, you just ran, desperate to save your child. After calling your mom, you’ve made your decision. You attempted to call Satoru but he was unreachable. You tried to understand that he was working and he didn’t even know this was happening.

And when he finds out, he’d probably only try to hold you back and you don’t think you can do that. You can’t be in a place where your daughter’s unsafe. You knew you had to leave. Your daughter’s cries tell you that you have to leave. The scratches in her arms tell you that you have to leave. And that’s what you did, albeit without a clear place in mind.

You left with your mother and that’s all Satoru knows too.

Going home from his trip, Satoru didn’t even go back to his house. He went straight to yours and as if his fears came to life, you weren’t there. He tried calling you but it doesn’t even ring. He looked everywhere, asked around, and even went to Toji’s to beg him but he didn’t know too. His nightmare came true and the beat of his heart felt like it was slowing down with each day that passed without news about you.

All he knows is that the last time you were here, Yui almost got kidnapped by her own grandmother.

He knows how protective you are of Yui. No wonder you disappeared. Satoru partially blames himself for not coming home when you called him crying. You probably thought he would put you off again. You probably thought he’d choose his mother again and honestly, he can’t blame you after all that he’s done in the past.

Satoru was broken, and the love he used to have for his mother turned into disgust and hate. His father helped him with his mother’s case. She was sent to jail after witnesses including your friends testified. His sleepless nights were endless. His search for his family was ceaseless too.

-END OF FLASHBACK-

Three years have passed since that, and you promised yourself that you would only believe that you and Satoru are meant to be together if he found you. If he didn’t, then maybe it’s better to let it go. After everything, you just can’t help but feel like the heavens are intentionally trying to separate the two of you.

But here you are, proven wrong when you bumped into a white-haired guy with tired blue eyes as you exited the store.

“Y/N?”

Sundered Masterlist

#angst #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk #jjk x reader #commission #kai.commis

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dailynnt · 18 hours ago

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TWENTY MINUTES TO FREEDOM

𖠣 Summary: In a city where the law is only an illusion and the real game is played by those who are not afraid to get their hands dirty, Jungkook is a shadow king. The murder of a deputy in broad daylight is not a mistake, but a demonstration of power. A quick trial. Solitary confinement. Two weeks of silence. But he knows you will come. His fearless, loyal to the point of madness woman. When you releases him, you and Jungkook hide in the security room, waiting for the car. But Jungkook doesn't wait - he can't. He really wants to show his girlfriend how much he missed you.

𖠣 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook x Y/N

𖠣 Age restrictions: 18+

𖠣 Size: one shot (2,7+ k words)

𖠣 Tags: established relationship, criminal au, Jungkook!prisoner, actions, angst, description of violent scenes, murder, weapons, foul language, smut, sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, blowjob, throat strangulation, refusal to orgasm

𖠣 From author: Okay guys this is crazy 🤭 I was just talking to my Love yesterday and she throws me a gif of Jungkook where he is wearing an orange jacket and writes "criminal au, prisoner!jungkook hahaha" and imagine in front of my eyes, literally in a second this short story appears 😆 I wrote it quickly and therefore already public for you. The story is not long, but I think it's intense 🤪 So if you like dangerous and a little crazy Jungkook in the form of a prisoner, please enjoy 😘 I really hope you like it 🥺🙏🏻

𖠣 Dedication: @curse-of-art this story is for you, because without you it would not have happened🤭 adore you Love of my life 🧡

𖠣 Permanent tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooklovee, @kookiesncreamri, @kooko009, @someoneelse0109, @smokinghotstargirl, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @indigomoonchild09, @goldenboysmuse, @hisdecalcomania17, @ggingerismm, @tranquilreign

𖠣 Warning: This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences. It contains explicit content, violence, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Please note: English is not my first language, so some sentences might be oddly constructed or contain grammatical errors. Thank you for your understanding 🙂‍↕️

Cell 09. Isolated sector. 9:57 PM.

The air was thick—heavy with sweat, dust, and stale oxygen. The gray concrete ceiling pressed down like a coffin lid. A single bulb flickered above, as if mocking him.

He was lying on a narrow bed. Ankles crossed, hands tucked beneath his head.

The orange prison uniform — t-shirt and pants — clung to him like irony. A king in chains.

Jeon Jungkook.

He was waiting. For you. For his girl who always did what she said. He knew — tonight was the night.

The message had come suddenly, but precisely. While he was taking a piss. One of the guards, without a word, slipped him a tiny note:

"10 PM. Big boy."

In that moment, he closed his eyes in satisfaction, a soft moan escaping as if from exhaustion. Finally. Finally you were getting him out of this rotten hole.

Jungkook wasn’t a hired gun. He was the one who hired.

Half the city worked for him. The other half prayed he never remembered their existence. The shadow king. Merciless. Cold. Unforgiving. A human life weighed no more to him than a cigarette burning between his fingers.

He remembered how he ended up behind bars.

Another life, taken by his hand, had brought him to this cell.

He could still smell the smoke and scorched velvet. The nightclub ceiling was still hazy after the blast. Screams echoed through the hall. People were coughing, choking in the haze.

Blood — hot and thick — trailed behind him as he walked through the semi-darkness, pistol in hand.

The bodies of guards lay at his feet.

The face of their boss — an influential lawmaker — no longer existed. It had exploded across the VIP table in the most expensive part of the club.

Jungkook stepped outside. The cops were already waiting. Red and blue lights painted his silhouette. His gun was still warm in his hand. He didn’t lower it. Just looked at them — calm, indifferent, almost bored.

One of the officers flinched, but pulled the trigger anyway. A shot into the air. Then the order:

"Arrest him."

Jungkook didn’t resist. He simply let them cuff him. That night, he didn’t just break the law — he broke the system. The trial was quick. No options.

He’d killed the ‘untouchable.’ In front of witnesses. You were waiting for him after the verdict. Amid the crowd of reporters, guards, prosecutors — you came forward. Wrapped your hands around his face. Kissed him. Your lips parted from his, and you whispered:

"I’ll get you out. Faster than you’ll before you can miss me, Big boy."

They put him in solitary. Maximum security.

No visits. No calls.

Pure silence — for two weeks.

Two weeks without you.

The only thing that kept his mind from unraveling — was you. Your fingers. Your voice. Your skin. Your scent.

Damn, he missed you.

Jungkook lay there, occasionally glancing at the clock.

9:57 p.m.

He couldn’t help but smile. Yeah. He missed you like crazy. Tonight would be the night of his return. And for the city — that would soon remember who truly ran it.

A dull sound echoed in the hallway. A red siren blinked—just for a second. Jungkook sat up on the bed, eyes fixed on the corridor through the bars. The lock on his cell clicked… and slowly opened.

"Fuck…" he muttered, rising to his feet.

And then—your silhouette.

That tight, deadly black suit clung to your curves like sin. A gun strapped to your thigh. Hair cascading down your shoulders. A damn goddess of chaos.

"Hi, baby," you smiled. Your eyes sparkled with untamed fire. "Missed me?"

His smile spread slow and wicked.

"I knew you’d come, my crazy girl," he said, stepping closer.

You didn’t blink, didn’t move, just watched him.

"Of course I came. Barely survived two weeks without my Big boy," you teased, brow arched. "So I didn't get an answer to my question," you insisted playfully.

He was close now. Hands on your waist, pulling you in. His palms slid to your firm ass, gripping hard enough to feel you — truly feel you.

Fuck. This moment felt like heaven.

"I missed my baby like hell," he growled near your lips, then crushed them with his. No mercy. No gentleness.

A kiss hot enough to crack the ground.Your body arched into him. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Time to go," you whispered against his lips, "We’ve got a short window. Night guard changes in twenty minutes. SWAT’s on their way. Car will be out back soon."

"Let’s move, tiny," he rasped.

The corridors of the prison. 22:06.

You walked ahead, paving the way. On the way to the guard room, where you were going.

You gave Jungkook your gun because he was a better shot than you. He killed several guards he met on the way, taking their guns. He put one in his pants waistband and gave the other to you.

After a few minutes, you got to the security room, where Jungkook shot several more guards. He pushed their body out of the room and closed the door.

You stood leaning over a table with monitors and a camera control panel. You pressed a button and all the prison cells opened. You laughed.

"Let the boys join our party." You laughed louder, and then your fingers were pounding on the keyboard, entering some cheats to hack the cameras in exactly 10 minutes so that the police couldn't follow your car and which way you were going. "A little bit of rebellion keeps the destination squad at bay, and we quickly slip by."

Jungkook was standing behind you. He was catching his breath after throwing the two dead bodies into the corridor. His eyes fell on your ass, as it seductively beckoned him to come closer.

His cock stiffened. Damn it, he missed you so much, and he doesn't seem to be able to hold back until you get home.

Jungkook came up behind you, listening to your laugh, which was better than any melody for him. And even better than your laughter were your moans when he was inside you, your screams when he was fucking you mercilessly.

"The car will be here in 12 minutes," you said, not realizing he was right behind you, "We'll make it."

His hands touched your hips. Squeezing tightly and pulling you closer to his side. Jungkook slowly pressed your ass against him and you felt his hard, heavy cock already erect.

You straightened your back, leaning against his chest and putting your hands on top of his. Jungkook's lips touched your ear, and when you turned your head toward him, he pressed his lips to your cheek.

"Oh yes, we'll make it," Jungkook whispered.

"Kook..." you called him softly.

"I missed you like hell. And every time I masturbated here in this fucking cell... I imagined your tight, sweet pussy," he confessed. "I fucking want to fuck you right here on this table."

The moisture between your legs became more abundant with those words. Fuck. He wants to fuck you right here, in the middle of the guard room in the prison you released him from. You didn't mind. On the contrary. Plus one interesting place where you had sex.

You sighed, pressing your ass against his hard cock.

"Don't hold back, honey. I missed you too."

He moaned softly as if he wasn't patient and slipped his hand into your pants, quickly finding your folds. He pushed them apart and immediately slipped a finger into your passage wanting to feel your tightness.

His finger moved rhythmically inside you, the other one touched your clit, making you moan. The breathlessness, the red light of the flashing lamps, the siren that was blaring in the distance-everything disappeared. Only the two of you existed in this moment.

"You're so wet, baby," he whispered, kissing your neck. "Tell me... who did you miss?"

"You..." you almost choked on your excitement. "Your body... the way you touch me..."

Jungkook slid his free hand from your waist down your stomach, lingered for a second on your chest, brought his hand to your throat, and put his hand on it.

"No, say it right," he squeezed your neck, gently but firmly. "For who?"

You turned your head as far as you could to face him. He saw sparkle in your eyes.

"For my Big boy..."

"That's a good girl," he accelerated his movements on your clit and at the same time kissed you, filling your mouth with his tongue. A kiss, wild, hungry, bordering on madness. You moaned right into his mouth, which made Jungkook harden more and more.

In a few movements, his fingers and you came on his fingers. Jungkook let go of you, you breathed heavily feeling the pleasure spreading over your upper thighs.

Jungkook turned you around to face him. Your face was relaxed, satisfied that you had come. You smiled, and he didn't even think about doing so. He was overcome with lust and desire, wanting to penetrate every hole in your body.

Jungkook pulled you to him, kissed your lips, and when he pulled back a few centimeters, he purred right in front of them.

"I want a blowjob. So come on baby, please your Big Boy with your skillful tongue," your eyes met and it was like an explosion. Your eyes hungry for his offer filled with lust, his eyes sly full of anticipation from your ability to give the perfect blowjob.

He took a step back and pulled down his pants. His big, aroused cock bounced as he pulled it out of his boxers. You stared at its length and realized that you really missed your big boy terribly.

You knelt down in front of him, feeling your knees touch the cold floor, but you didn't care. Your fingers confidently wrapped around the base of his cock, hot, hard, and throbbing in your hand. This one touch made him shudder, letting out a low growl.

"You're always so submissive when you kneel for me..." his voice was hoarse, full of rage and passion. "Such a good girl. My..."

You licked your lips, keeping your eyes on him. And then you leaned down and gently ran your tongue from the base to the tip, enjoying the way he shuddered and held his breath. His hand was immediately on the back of your head, his finger circling your ear, forcing you to get even deeper into the role.

"Yes... fuck... I've missed your mouth..." he groaned as you took him deeper, allowing yourself to stretch your lips along its length. He was huge, and you knew how much he liked it when you took every last inch of him.

You moved rhythmically, pulling him deeper and deeper, and played with his balls with your palm. Tears slowly appeared in the corners of your eyes from the depths, but you didn't stop. You could hear him moaning, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily, him trembling in your hands.

"Yeah, that's right... You're so good when you suck, baby..." he hissed, leaning down to see you working your lips and tongue greedily.

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling, your mouth full of his cock, and your saliva running down your chin. Jungkook grinded his teeth as he gripped your hair tighter.

"Just a little more, sweetie. A little more..."

And when he almost reached the edge, you suddenly pulled away, licking your lips and smiling. His eyes flashed with fury.

"You... you little fucking temptress..." his voice is low and shaky. He grabs you by the waist and literally lifts you into the air, tilting you onto the monitor table, which almost cracks beneath you. In one motion, he pulls off your pants and panties, carelessly lowering them to your knees, not even letting you recover, and then he enters you sharply, deeply, as if you simply cannot stand it.

"Fuck... yes..." you gasp, your head falls to your hands on the keyboard. He takes you wildly, hard, furiously. His movements are ruthless, his hands hold your hips so that you don't run away, so that you don't move without his permission, so that you are his - here and now.

"Tell me whose you are..." his voice is right in your ear, each thrust making you gasp for breath. "Whose fucking are you?"

"Yours... yours, Big Boy..." you scream, bursting with pleasure. "I'm all yours..."

His hand comes down on your throat again, that dominant, arousing ferocity that makes you go crazy. He lifts you up, holding you to his chest, not stopping to fuck you.

He lifts your turtleneck, exposing your breasts. They fall out and he immediately grabs them with both hands. They are the perfect size for his big palms. When he squeezes them, they only slightly bulge out of his palms. They are so soft, so full. Jungkook pinches your nipples, and you scream out. He laughs stupidly in your ear.

"Come on, girl. Come again... I want to feel you squeezing me from the inside..."

He bends you over again. You put your hands on the table. He sped up his movements. You were shuddering so much as Jungkook fucked you furiously.

And you couldn't take it anymore. Your whole being explodes, a wave of pleasure rolls over you so hard, you whimper loudly.

A second later, he comes inside you, trembling, squeezing your thighs as if the world had disappeared and it was just him and you, in this bloody, dark prison where your love merges with danger.

Jungkook doesn't let go of you right away. He holds you close, his breathing heavy, his heart beating in unison with yours. You rise up tiredly, and he turns your face around and kisses you gratefully.

Jungkook gets out of you and doesn't immediately put on his boxers. He takes a step back and breathes heavily, trying to calm his frantic breathing.

Unlike him, you immediately pull on a thong and pants, feeling his sperm leaking out of you. You look at the monitors with eyes blurred by orgasm and speak with interrupted breathing.

"The guys arrived five minutes early. We finished on time," you turned to him and your eyes immediately fell on his naked cock, which was soft. You looked away and saw his more than satisfied smile.

"Fuck, that was incredible. I'm going to fuck you again when we get home."

You smiled, glancing briefly at his cock.

"You sound promising."

Jungkook reached down and pulled up his boxer shorts. In a moment, he was standing there clothed and only your heavy breaths and the smell of sex gave away what had really happened in this room.

"Hold on baby, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your name. I have to catch up every day I missed without you that I spent in this fucking cell," he pulled you close and kissed you, intertwining your tongues in a dance of love, passion, and madness.

You laughed when he parted your lips.

"I hope so. Because I'm going to collect all debts every take of debt you owe me, too, Jeon Jungkook..."

The corridors were dark and the alarm siren was blaring. But that was exactly what you had anticipated - and that was your advantage.

"This way!" you pointed to a black door with a combination lock. You'd broken it yesterday, when you first entered the building as a lawyer.

Jungkook pressed his back against the wall as you stepped out into the technical corridor. Through a ventilation shaft, a narrow passage, an old iron staircase, and finally a hatch to the maintenance tunnel. You dove down and found yourself in the sewer branch that you had included in your escape plan.

A few minutes later, a dark black jeep with tinted windows was driving out of the industrial zone. Jimin was driving, impeccable as always. Behind him were two more. People you trusted.

Jungkook held you close as he put you in the car, keeping his eyes on you.

"Welcome home, buddy," Jimin said. Jungkook clapped his friend on the shoulder, so happy to see him.

"Oh yeah, we're going to have a big party now, aren't we?" he hinted that the police would be looking for him even harder now. After all, he is now a fugitive.

This is the same gif that led to this story 😝

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astraljedi · 1 month ago

Text

I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore (Frank Castle Imagine)

Request: Did you watch DDBA season finale? I need a scene where reader arrives in the car with Karen after Matt and Frank jump from the apartment. Maybe since Matt calls shotgun, reader sits in the back with Frank and the last time they saw each other they hooked up

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Warnings: Mention of blood, open wounds, cursing, smutty flashback scenes, this does not have a happy ending (sorry)

Word Count: 4.3K

Song: You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift

a/n: I started writing this and suddenly my direction for it change completely, oops. This is loosely based on DDBA Episode 9, but I ended up changing the ending (because this is fanfiction and I can).

- I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier Fighting in only your army Frontlines, don't you ignore me

Courtesy of the city-wide blackout, darkness swallows up my quiet apartment. I fumble through my storage closet, the weak flashlight from my phone barely illuminating anything as I try to find the battery-powered candles I know I stashed somewhere.

“Fuck this,” I groan, dropping to the cold floor with a thud, my back hitting the hallway wall. Just as I start contemplating whether I could survive the night in complete darkness, my phone vibrates. “Karen” flashes across the screen.

I bring the phone up to my ear. “Hi, gorgeous,” I answer.

“Are you home? I’m on my way to pick you up,” Karen says quickly. I hear her curse, followed by a sharp blast of her car horn. I wince and pull the phone away from my ear.

“Yea—”

“It’s urgent. I’m four minutes away,” she cuts in. “It’s Matt. He needs us.”

The second she says his name, I’m on my feet. I grab my things and dash out of the apartment, I place the call on speaker and use my flashlight to guide myself down the flight of stairs

“Two minutes,” Karen says through the call, keeping me posted.

“I’m outside,” Out of breath I step onto the chaotic street. Helicopters roar over the city, car horns blare from every direction. I hear people screaming, smashing car windows and I beg for Karen to pull up soon before the chaos reaches me.

Karen pulls up fast and hard, tires screeching seconds later and I sprint to the passenger side, barely managing to close the door before she slams her foot on the gas.

“Where is he?” I ask, panic clear in my voice.

“His apartment.”

“What? I thought he was in the hospital.” I glance at her, my gut twisting. The blackout’s only made the streets worse, but we’re not far.

“I’ll explain later.” Karen’s eyes are fixed on the road, but I can tell she’s hiding something. She’s fighting her hardest to keep her lips sealed, her brows furrowing together.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she adds.

“Just spit it out, Karen.” I demand.

“It’s also Frank,” she sighs, not able to keep it in for long.

My stomach drops. I stare at her, not saying a word.

Frank.

I haven’t seen him since the night we were tangled in my bed sheets. Our never ending cycle fueling the tiny spark that was left.

I thought I’d finally tamed the spark, but Frank Castle doesn’t let you put out the flames. He is the fire. The oxygen. The thing that keeps it alive, even when he doesn't even try.

He will alway try to push me away but the flame always remains.

Frank is the man who picks up the broken pieces of my heart. He builds it up, structures the pieces perfectly for him to smash it back to pieces like a sandcastle he worked so hard on building. He always leaves, and I’m always the one left behind, stupidly clutching to his empty words and promises.

“What?” I whisper, leaning my head against the headrest, my chest already pounding. Just hearing his name sets everything inside me on fire.

Karen parts her lips like she wants to say more, but an explosion goes off—loud and nearby. I grab her free hand, our minds in sync.

Please let them be okay, I beg—whether to God or the universe, I don’t know.

We turn the corner and spot Matt and Frank in the street. Karen and I both sigh, out of relief at the sight of them. I exhale shakily as Karen and I step out of the car. I crunch down on shattered glass, our eyes rising to Matt’s apartment in flames.

“Get in,” Karen orders, her voice calm but I know the adrenaline is rushing through her body. Just like mine.

“Shotgun,” Matt mutters, wincing as he holds his side.

I walk up to Matt, letting him lean on me. I don’t acknowledge Frank at first, my eyes stay fixed on the floor while walking to the car. I guide Matt into the passenger seat, the blood from his injuries smudging my fingers. When I turn around, Frank’s already holding the back door open, waiting for me.

He doesn’t say anything, his lips tightly shut. I glance up at him and I regret instantly. His dark unreadable eyes tracking every move.

I slide in without a word, pressing myself against the opposite side of the car. He gets in after me, knees spread, taking up space like he always does. His knee brushes mine, and I pretend not to notice—even when Karen hits a pothole and the jolt makes our skin connect again. That same electricity sparks and settles beneath my skin.

The silence is loud. The chaos of the city seeps in through the windows—sirens, shouting, the distant rumble of helicopters.

I keep my gaze on the window, but I can feel his eyes still on me. I sit stiffly, forcing slow breaths through my nose, trying to calm the tremble in my hands. I place them gently on my thighs, hoping that they stop before I make a fool out of myself.

But my heart resists to calm down, each beat slamming relentlessly against my chest like it's about to jump out.

Frank’s safehouse is a mess—guns on the table, loose bullets in trays, knives stacked beside open boxes, and God knows how many other weapons scattered everywhere. The scent of him hits me the moment I step in—smoke and leather. A scent I’ve spent time scrubbing off me and my apartment.

Matt and Karen sit on the other side of the room, sitting on some foldable chairs while she focuses on cleaning the wound on Matt’s chest gently.

Across from them, Frank rips a suture kit open with his teeth and pulls the neck of his shirt to study the open wound.

“Let me help,” I say quietly, my voice softer than before—calmer, somehow. Maybe because I’m too exhausted to keep up with our game.

Or maybe because looking at him bloody and bruised—pulls all the fight out of me.

He doesn’t hesitate, he leans back on the chair and hands me the already-threaded needle. At this point in our relationship—if we can even call it that—he trusts me enough to stitch him up.

This is something I’ve done for years now, always looking after him. Countless late nights of him limping into my apartment bleeding. Only for me to panic and lecture him while guiding him to the couch.

“That’s it,” he says, watching me patch the torn-up skin on his hip. My eyes are wide, focused, like I’m trying to memorize how to breathe through it. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

His praise settles something wild in my chest. I try to breathe steady, but my hands are trembling.

When I finish the last stitch, I finally let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. His hand moves to my face, fingers warm against my skin as he cups my cheek. His thumb brushes over my jaw, softly.

“Next time, you’re gonna be a pro,” he murmurs, then leans in and presses a kiss—gentle, lingering—on the corner of my mouth.

I chuckle, shaking my head like I’m not spiraling on the inside. “Don’t make it a habit.”

A sharp groan from Frank snaps me back. I press the cloth against his injury—harder than I need to but I don’t apologize.

Frank Castle can feel pain after all.

My eyes stay glued to the wound, watching the thread slip through the torn skin.

But I don’t look at him, I remind myself that this is still the man who left before dawn. No explanation with no goodbye. Too cowardly to call it off for once and for all for both our sakes.

From across the room, I hear Karen’s voice, low and comforting as she murmurs to Matt. The sound of the needle moving through Frank’s skin mixes with the buzz of a police radio filling the silence.

Then Matt’s voice cuts in. “You called Frank, huh?”

Karen hesitates. “I heard Poindexter escaped. Called Frank and hopped on a plane.”

“What about her?” Matt adds.

My hand stills for a second, eyes flicking toward them. They don’t notice, but Frank shifts beside me. He’s listening, too.

Karen mumbles something I can’t make out—but Frank hears it, his body stiffening from her answer.

I tie the final knot with more force than necessary and pull the last stitch tight. Frank winces, his hand shooting out to grab my arm on reflex. I hold the cloth to his skin one last time and then set the needle and thread down on the table. It’s his mess to clean up.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Frank says, voice low and rough.

Karen looks over. “Everything okay over there?”

Frank sighs. “Never been better.” He gets up, brushing past me—his knuckles graze my thigh longing for something he won’t let himself indulge in.

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, chewing my words down.

He moves to the small kitchen, grabs a pill bottle and crunches a few of them in his mouth. “Who wants a cup of coffee?”

“Got any oat milk?” Matt stands up, already half-dressed in his suit.

Frank chuckles and hands us a cup of black coffee—no milk, no sugar. Bitter and hot.

I take a sip and move to stand next to Karen.

“So… he went after Matt Murdock. Not Daredevil,” she says finally. “That’s bold. Even for Fisk.”

Matt hesitates. “Listen to me. Turns out it was a hit…” He swallows hard. “On Foggy.”

“Holy shit,” Karen and I say at the same time.

“Vanessa Fisk hired Poindexter to take him out.”

Karen’s already fighting tears. “Why?”

“I think there’s something in the motion he was about to file,” Matt explains, jaw clenched. “He was moving to dismiss the case,and Vanessa made sure he never got to it. I think maybe I missed something back then.”

I drain the rest of my coffee and set the empty cup on a cluttered spot on the counter. “Aren’t the files in storage?”

“That’s right,” Matt says. “Can you guys be my eyes?”

“Always,” Karen answers without hesitation.

They start gathering their things, barely saying another word. I do the same—sling my bag over my shoulder, but my feet won’t move.

I look at Frank at his little workstation, gathering his gear and loading bullets quietly.

“You coming, Frank?” Karen asks.

“Got shit to do,” he mutters, not looking up.

Matt tries to warn him—Fisk is coming, and it’s only a matter of time. But Frank doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t respond. Just keeps loading his gun.

Eventually, they give up. Karen grabs what’s left and heads for the door and Matt follows her.

But I stay, feet glued to the ground.

“Don’t do it, Frank,” I say. My voice is raspier than I expect.

He doesn’t look at me. “It’s not up for debate.”

The lump in my throat that I’ve been choking down all night finally rises.

“Just like how you left me that night?” I snap. “You fuck me, then disappear without a word—like I was just a little plaything for you to use and throw away.”

His dark and emotionless eyes finally lift to mine, studying me while the words weighed heavy on his tongue.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not the guy you created in your pretty little head.”

My lips part, in disbelief. His words tear through me—and suddenly I’m the one who needs stitching.

His words echo in my head and I laugh bitterly in disbelief while I walk towards the door. I throw it open and slam it behind me, the metal frame rattling loud and harsh.

I don’t even hear it.

“…Stay safe,” Frank mutters behind the door, shaking his head.

He had to do it, he had to break me.

My fist clench on my side and I see Matt and Karen standing at the end of the hallway. But neither of them dare say a word. Karen won’t meet my eyes, and Matt’s trying his hardest not to say something I’m not ready to hear.

And I try not to think about how Matt could probably hear my heart shatter the moment Frank said those words. I walk past them without looking back. Because if I look at them—if I let Karen’s pitying eyes find mine—I’ll break.

The storage unit is dark, only the light from the moon through the window and our flashlights hellp us look over the unit. I should be focused on combing through the files, looking for Foggy’s motion that has to be somewhere in these dusty boxes. But my mind keeps wandering—lingering somewhere else. To someone else.

His fingers slip downwards, getting coated by my juices instantly. “My poor thing, no one knows how to please you like I do.” “Frank,” I whimper, as his fingers circle my clit.

“You okay?”

Matt’s voice is low, careful—just barely louder than the rustling of paper and thuds of boxes being shifted around. Karen keeps her eyes fixed on a file, but I can tell she’s listening now too, her ears perk up. “Your heart is drumming hard again.”

I blink, and glance up at Matt. His head’s tilted slightly, something he does when he’s focusing on the sounds around him.

“Again?” I give up on the file in my hand and shove it back into the box. Some old tax thing. Not what we need.

“It spiked when you were fighting,” he says softly. “And also now.”

Karen looks over from her corner and raises an eyebrow. “God, that is really not fair,” she mutters under her breath.

I try to act normal, like he didn’t just read me to filth—but my hands betray me. A box slips through my grasp and slams on the floor.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“You heard his too?” Karen asks, pointing her flashlight to another box.

“Oh yeah,” Matt says calmly. I swallow hard and crouch down to gather the scattered files off the floor.

“I’m sure it was the adrenaline,” I offer, trying to sound collected. But my voice comes out higher and a little too defensive.

Matt backs down and doesn’t argue back. He just goes back to his box.

“Hey, this is it.” Karen strains a bit as she pulls out a heavy box from one of the shelves. “A year and a half ago.” The box thuds when she sets it down.

“Here, let me help,” I offer, grabbing the flashlight from her and holding it steady so she can see.

“Yes! Okay, here’s the motion Foggy filed,” she says, pulling out a thick manila file.

“Good work, Karen Page,” Matt praises, stepping closer.

Karen flips it open. “Foggy was going to argue that…” She trails off, eyes skimming the page. “Whoa.”

She keeps reading. “Due to the unique nature of the Red Hook Port Location, no crime was committed in New York state or even the United States of America. Therefore, the court has no jurisdiction to prosecute.”

“What?” Matt’s brows pinch.

“There’s a photocopy,” I say, reaching over to pull out the paper that’s halfway slipping from underneath. “Red Hook Charter, 1855. Holy crap. It’s a free port.”

“Exempt from the jurisdiction of the city,” Matt mutters. “and the country for that matter.”

“What would that have to do with the Fisks?” Karen asks, looking at Matt.

Matt exhales, slow and heavy. “Vanessa has used the port to store art for years now. I mean, if it’s a free port, she’s doing it without customs, without taxation, without fear of seizure.”

“She could launder money legally,” Karen says, stunned.

“Wow. That sneaky motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath.

Matt nods, voice low. “This is about the Fisks building their own city-state.”

Karen starts closing the files carefully. I reach for my bag, tossing it over my shoulder as I grab my flashlight.

“Let’s go see what they’re hiding,” Matt says, already halfway to the door.

When Karen drops me off, the street is calmer than last night from the havoc that broke out from the blackout. My neighbors and the local store owners are out sweeping debris, the air thick with tension from the mayor’s call for martial law.

I unlock my apartment, and the pale pink glow of sunrise pours through the windows like none of last night even happened. Like we didn’t just unravel the reason Foggy was targeted twelve hours ago.

I peel off my jacket, kick off my shoes, and head straight for the kitchen. I’m too tired to think, too wired to crash. I just need something in my stomach before my head crashes on my pillow for the rest of the day. Sleep feels like the only escape I’ve got, the only way to try and push Frank’s voice out of my head.

I reach up to grab a cereal box and a bowl, the perfect lazy breakfast. I open the fridge and grab the milk carton, but the second I shut the door, a voice startles me.

“Got some coffee, sweetheart?”

I spin around so fast the room tilts and the carton slips from my hand, crashing to the floor. The cold liquid flooding the tiles around my feet.

Frank is on the floor, bloody and horribly beaten.

He’s slumped against the wall, one hand pressed over his ribs, clearly in pain—but still somehow smirking through the mess of his split lip and bruised face like nothing.

“Frank,” I breathe, the mess forgotten as I drop to my knees beside him. My hands hover, desperate to help but terrified of hurting him more. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your couch,” he mutters.

A strangled laugh escapes me. “Now I have to get rid of this rug.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay. I got it for cheap at a thrift shop.” I shrug, I need a new rug anyways.

“No.” He shakes his head, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter. I start to stand, to look for the first aid kit, but he catches my wrist before I can move away.

“You’re not a plaything,” he says. “You’re more to me than what I can express.”

I freeze, but I don’t pull away from his grasp. “Can we not do this right now?” I swallow back a sob, looking away from him.

“I didn’t mean it. You know me.”

“Do I?” I say, raising my voice. “Because sometimes, for a second, I think maybe this is it. Maybe he’s finally giving me his all. And then you’re gone before I even realize what’s happening.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Come on,” I say, wrapping his arm over my shoulder, bracing myself under his weight. “Let’s get you up.”

He stumbles, groaning with every movement, but I manage to carry him to the bathroom. I push the door open with my shoulder and ease him down onto the wooden stool by the tub. My hands are trembling as I twist the faucet, waiting for the water to heat up—warm enough to soothe his muscles.

The silence in the room hangs heavy between us, but his eyes stay on me, tracking every step I take.

I kneel in front of him and grab the scissors. There’s no way I’m asking him to lift his arms, not with the state he’s in. I cut through his shirt carefully, revealing a mess of bruises and cuts that make my stomach twist.

“Jesus, Frank,” I murmur.

I reach for the first aid kit, my hands moving on quickly. I start with the dried blood on his chest, cleaning each wound slowly. He winces under my touch, but I try my best to be gentle and not cause him any more pain.

When I finish, I rise and step between his legs. I lift his chin, tilting his face toward the light. My fingers graze his swollen lip, his scraped cheekbones. His hands settle on my hips, holding on as I clean him up.

Once I’m done, I help him to his feet, bracing him again as I unbuckle his belt. My eyes flick up to his. “This okay?” I ask, and he nods.

I undress him carefully, and help him into the tub. He sinks into the water with a grunt, letting it pull the weight from his bones. His eyes fall closed as his back hits the cold wall, and I sit at the edge of the tub, dipping the sponge into the warm water before running it slowly over his shoulders.

The water clouds pink with leftover blood, and my hand moves to his chest—his heartbeat steady beneath my touch. The same place I used to lay my head. The same place that used to make me feel safe, but I don't know if that place is meant for me anymore.

I let my fingers linger, the sponge discarded to the side and forgotten. My hands move slower, softer, over the places I used to kiss him and never get tired of.

And just for a moment, I let myself feel it all. The weight of everything I’ve been carrying. The ache that never really goes away. The sharp sting of anger and heartbreak. And the love I try so hard for him to accept, to let me in all the way.

Tears slip down my cheeks. I try to hide it, keep my sniffles quiet, but he notices.

His eyes open, and his hand comes up to wipe my tears away. I lean into his touch, even though part of me wants to push it away.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“I didn’t think we would find ourselves like this again,” I admit.

“I thought you wouldn’t let me in,” he replies, his voice rough.

“That’s never been the problem. That’s why we keep ending up here, stuck in this cycle.” I pull away from his touch, but he grabs my hand before I can go far, squeezing it tightly. “I’m just tired of this, Frank.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.

“I don’t care about flowers or fancy dinners or anniversary gifts. That’s not what I want. I want mornings and nights with you. I want the little things—the moments when I’m trying to pick a fight with you because I’m being a brat and stubborn, and you diffuse the bomb with a kiss or a joke or by just… being the version you only let me see.”

His mouth tugs up in the corner, a soft and familiar smile.

“You love flowers,” he says, and it makes me laugh through the tears. “Don’t try to act like you don’t,” he adds with a low chuckle, wincing as it pulls on his ribs.

“I do,” I admit, then pause. “But I love—” The words catch in my throat, and I look away again. “I need to know you won’t leave. That you won’t shut me out. I need you to fight for me the way I keep fighting for you.”

I don’t wait for his reply. I stand up from the tub, my fingers slipping from his hand. I grab a towel and help him stand slowly, carefully, easing him out of the tub. I hand him the towel and step out of the bathroom, needing a little space—just a few seconds to breathe before the weight of everything drags me under again.

In my room, I pull the bedsheets down and place a change of clothes at the end of the bed. One of his old t-shirts, the soft one that somehow still smells like him, and the sweatpants I stole from him and refuse to give back.

When he walks in, towel slung low on his hips, my storm-filled eyes meet his. His gaze locked on me as he grabs the sweatpants and carefully slides them on. I step closer, press my hands gently to his chest, and push him to sit on the edge of the bed. I grab the t-shirt and help him pull it over his head, mindful of the fresh stitches on his shoulder.

Do something, babe. Say something. Lose something, babe, risk something. Choose something, babe, I got nothing

“Get some rest,” I murmur, helping him ease down into the mattress.

“Baby—” His hand catches my wrist before I can walk away. His grip is loose, but it stops me in my tracks. “I can try. But you have to be patient with me.”

I swallow hard, blinking up at the ceiling before I meet his eyes again. “I’ve been patient all this time, Frank,” I say quietly. “For years I’ve been the one picking up after us. Looking after you when you’re hurt—even when you hurt me first. I need you to do more than try”

“There’s things I have to work out and fix first,” he mutters.

“This is what I’m saying,” I breathe. “You always have something first. There’s always something before me.” I force the lump in my throat down, even though it burns.

He hesitates, but he lets my hand go.

“I’m never going to be your first choice, Frank. This was meant to fail and break from the beginning.”

My voice betrays me while I try to fight back the tears. I hate it—how it makes me sound like I’m begging. When I’m already done with trying and fighting for something that keeps bruising me.

Still, I pull the blanket over his chest, and I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, maybe for the last time.

Then I turn and walk toward the door. “Good night, Frank.”

I can't find a pulseMy heart won't start anymore

#frank castle x reader #frank castle imagines #frank castle fanfic #frank castle x female #frank castle imagine #frank castle smut #frank castle fic #the punisher x reader #frank castle fanfiction #daredevil born again #ddba

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dreamersparacosm · 1 month ago

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jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part eight)

warnings ; there’s a lil heavy makeout in the beginning but that’s it!

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; writing this part was like holding a lit match too close to my own chest. yeah. this isn’t just them screaming at each other, this is legit every character trait we’ve been slow-burning from chapter one crashing together like live wires. she shuts down before people can get too close. he pokes at her sore spots because he doesn’t know how to say “i care” without making it sound like a challenge. they are both so bad at being vulnerable and somehow even worse at pretending they don’t feel anything. and yet they keep coming back to each other like it’s instinct. like it’s home AHAJSSJD

this part was so fun and so devastating to write. we’re deep in this shit now, but we’re getting close to the end and i’m not okay about it!! i love these disaster babies with my whole entire heart. they’re messy and sharp and human and so damn soft in the moments they don’t mean to be. i just want to wrap them in a blanket and force them to have one honest conversation (but also i’m here for the angst. always).

also, required listening for this part: “the archer” by tswift. y’all hate to see me coming.

and if you’re wondering how it ends… let’s just say whatever version of an ending they get is earned. something they’ll have to choose, again and again, even when it’s hard. see you in part 9 lovers!!!!

playlist here

series masterlist here

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here.

One minute you're wrapping up some corporate bullshit call in the Seoul office — all "projections" and "placements" and other words that make your degree worth something — and the next, you're pressed against the conference room door with Jungkook's mouth on yours like oxygen's going out of style.

The blinds are drawn. Lights off. Real classy setup you've got going. All you can hear is your own breathing, embarrassingly fast, and the whisper of his fingers playing with your blouse buttons like they're piano keys.

"You know," he mumbles against your jaw, voice low enough to make your stomach do that stupid fluttery thing, "you really shouldn't look at me like that during meetings."

You scoff, but it turns into something more pathetic when his lips find that spot on your neck. "I didn't look at you."

He makes this little amused sound that you can feel against your skin. "You did. Around the thirty-minute mark. Right after you tore the executive director a new one."

"I correct a lot of people," you say, trying to sound dismissive.

"Yeah, but you only bite your lip like that when you're trying not to smile at something I said."

You attempt an eye roll, but it's half-hearted at best because your hands are already grabbing fistfuls of his expensive shirt. You yank him closer and he doesn’t resist.

His thigh slides between yours as he pushes you harder against the door, his mouth still doing this maddening exploration of your throat like he's charting territory.

And fuck, this feels different.

It's not just the location. Not the risk of someone walking in, not the whole forbidden office hookup thing.

It's him. The way he's touching you isn't like the usual frantic, clothes-ripping urgency. It's deliberate, patient. Like he's already cataloged every spot that makes you gasp and he's just double-checking his research.

Yeah, his research is solid.

You press your palm against his chest. It's warm. Familiar. Infuriatingly pleasurable.

"This is a terrible idea," you whisper, even though your body is making absolutely zero effort to back up your words.

"You've been saying that every time," he murmurs back, his breath hot against your collarbone. "Still doesn't stop you."

You hate how right he is. But even more than that, you hate how you don't actually want to stop.

Your fingers drift up to his jaw, and for a second, one stupid second, you don't kiss him. You just look at him. Really look.

The soft flush spreading across his cheeks. That small, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth. The way his lashes flutter when he realizes you're staring.

You could say something cutting right now. Something to grab back whatever shred of control you're pretending to have. But you don't.

Because this isn't about control anymore, is it? This isn't about who's winning whatever fucked-up game you've been playing.

You kiss him again instead. Less like the mistake you keep telling yourself it is, more like the choice you're actually making.

And Jungkook makes this sound against your mouth, quiet, raw, like you just punched all the air from his lungs and then his hands are back on your hips, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he thinks you might bolt if he loosens his grip.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, "You're different lately."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to look more composed than you feel. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs. Smiles that infuriating soft smile that makes something in your chest tighten. "I don't know. I think you like me."

You kiss him again instead of answering, if only to shut him up. To avoid that look in his eyes, the one that says he's starting to read you like a fucking book. You're terrified of just how many pages he might turn if you let him.

You don't know who moves first, whether it's your hand grabbing his collar like it's a lifeline or his arm snaking tighter around your waist, but suddenly you're moving, stumbling together across the room like drunks.

The kiss changes. It's not gentle anymore. His mouth takes, then gives, then takes again, hungry and demanding like he's been thinking about this all day, like he's been sitting through meetings just waiting for the chance to press you against something solid and make you forget your own name.

Your back collides with the edge of the desk. Papers go flying, a pen clatters to the floor.

Jungkook lifts you like you weigh nothing, hands sliding under your thighs to hoist you up until you're perched on the cool surface, legs automatically spreading to make room for him. He leans in, chasing your mouth again, lips hot and insistent. His hands are everywhere at once, gripping your waist, sliding up, fingers slipping beneath the edge of your blouse until he finds exactly what he's looking for.

You gasp when his hand finds your chest through the flimsy barrier of your bra, your breath catching somewhere between your lungs and your mouth. The sound drags a groan from him, unfiltered against your lips.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you, heavy-lidded and breathless, chest rising and falling like he's run you ragged. "This desk's about to be my favorite piece of furniture."

You glare at him, but it lands about as effectively as a water balloon on concrete. "Don't be dramatic."

He smirks, hands still wandering beneath your blouse like they own the place. "I'm serious. Right here.. this desk. In this boring-ass office where everyone thinks you're made of ice."

"You're disgusting."

"And you're wet for me."

You open your mouth to bite back, but he's faster. His hands move with new purpose, dragging you closer to the edge of the desk until your knees bracket his hips, until you can feel every goddamn inch of him pressed against you.

His mouth traces a burning path along your jaw, then down your neck, words hot and damp against your skin.

"I want to fuck you right here," he breathes. "Don't care who hears. Let them hear."

Your nails dig little crescents into his shoulders as he sucks what's definitely going to be a mark into the hollow beneath your collarbone. You're trying (and failing spectacularly) not to show how badly you want exactly what he's offering. It’s bad enough that he even got you in the room, that you let him close the door. That you let your back hit it without protest, knowing full well how dangerous proximity to Jeon Jungkook is, how risky it is to give him even an inch, especially when he never stops at that.

Lately, everything he does has you folding faster than you can recover. A late-night knock and you’re letting him in. A quiet “you forgot to eat again” and suddenly you’re sitting across from him at some hidden booth, sharing food you swore you didn’t want. One hand at your lower back during a team dinner, and your breath’s hitching like he’s got a knife to your spine.

"You're unbelievable," you whisper, but your voice is already cracking at the edges, already betraying you.

"I know," he mutters, kissing you again, slower this time, like he's savoring something rare. "You love it."

You hate that he's right. You hate it even more when he presses you flat against the desk and looms over you like he's acquired the rights to your body, like he's not even asking permission anymore because he knows exactly how far you'll let him go.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be doing this.

The thought keeps circling your brain like some half-dead moth around a light — distant, insistent, ultimately pointless.

Because even as you lie back across the desk, skirt rucked up around your thighs, blouse hanging open, Jungkook standing between your legs with that knowing look darkening his eyes, you're still clinging to the illusion that you're calling the shots.

"I have a meeting," you murmur, the words barely making it past your lips as your hands press against his chest. Not to stop him, just to pretend you might. "In twenty minutes."

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. Instead, his fingers trail down the inside of your thigh, deliberate and unhurried, knuckles skimming across skin like he's mapping territory he already knows is his. Like the ending's already written.

"Oh?" he says, voice carrying that dangerous calm. "Then I guess we better not waste time."

"Jungkook—"

His fingers slip beneath your skirt in one fluid motion. You jolt, hips jerking on instinct, the air punched straight out of your lungs.

And just like that, your brain shorts out. Your spine curves off the desk, hands gripping the edge like it might save you, but it doesn't. Nothing does.

Your mind is still scrambling to keep up. You were just telling him to stop. You were just reminding him and yourself that you have a meeting. That this is reckless. That your life doesn't have room for moments like this.

But now his mouth is back on your neck, lips brushing that spot below your ear that makes everything else fade.

You're losing your grip.

The most dangerous part isn't his touch. It's the way it makes you forget — your job title, your packed schedule, your ironclad self-control. It's the way he doesn't even have to undress you to completely take you apart.

"God," you whisper, clinging to whatever scraps of language your brain can still produce, "you're a menace."

He hums against your throat, still touching you like he's got all day. "You keep calling me that. And yet..."

His fingers tease again. Your breath catches, hips lift barely and he smirks. “Seems like you're not exactly rushing to that meeting."

His fingers slide beneath your skirt with that infuriating confidence, brushing over the edge of your lace panties like he's savoring the moment before he unwraps something he knows is already his.

The teasing is unbearable. Calculated. Your thighs twitch under his touch, exhales coming in fragments as your head drops back against the desk. The ceiling blurs into nothing. His mouth is everywhere; your jaw, your throat, dragging slow kisses down your neck. His breath burns against your skin, his lips softer than they have any right to be, and every time he speaks, it cuts straight through you.

"Hmm, you smell like coconut today. New lotion?" he murmurs, thumb tracing circles on your hipbone.

You gasp when he touches you again, and he drinks in the sound like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair now. Your skirt is bunched around your waist. You're half-dressed, half-ruined, and not even pretending to give a shit about resistance anymore.

And then, just as your head tips back, lips parting on some broken, helpless sound, something shifts behind you.

You don't notice it at first. Neither does he. Too lost in the heat, in the tension, in the way his mouth is traveling lower.

But the faint creak of the door filters in too late, and by the time the sound registers, it's already wide open.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry—"

Daniel's voice. Loud. Hint of horrified.

Then there’s just the slam of the door as it shuts again with enough force to rattle the walls.

You freeze. Every muscle locks up like you've been hit with a stun gun. And Jungkook, still between your thighs, freezes with you.

The silence that follows is deafening. This is exactly what you knew was coming. The second you heard the door click open, the second Daniel’s voice cut through the stillness of the room like a blade, you knew. You knew you’d have to watch your career start to unravel in real time, thread by thread, under the weight of his stare. His few words said more than shouting would have. Said what the fuck are you doing, said I trusted you, said do you even realize how much is at stake? And all you could do was stand there with your blouse half-buttoned and your mouth still swollen, your pulse roaring in your ears as Jungkook looked just as guilty.

This wasn’t just a misstep. This was everything you built burning to dust at your feet. The part that makes your throat burn and your hands shake, is that you saw it coming. You did this anyway. You let him in. You let yourself want, and now here you are, standing in the wreckage of the version of you who never made mistakes like this.

You're still panting, your blouse hanging open, your hair a disaster, your skirt bunched around your waist like cheap curtains. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth, skin on fire.

Your shame burns hotter than all of it.

You shove him off you hard, like he's something toxic you just realized you've been letting touch you.

"What the hell," you breathe, pushing him back, yanking your skirt down with hands that won't stop shaking. "What the actual hell?"

"Hey—" Jungkook tries, reaching for you. "It's okay. It was just—"

"Don't." Your voice could cut glass, your eyes already stinging with that special cocktail of fury and humiliation. "Don't even breathe in my direction."

You button your blouse with clumsy fingers, hands fumbling like you've forgotten how clothes work as you scramble to reconstruct yourself. Your pulse is a freight train. Your heart's trying to punch through your ribcage. You can't even look at him.

What… the fuck were you doing?

Worse: what the fuck did Daniel just witness?

You barely finish working on your blouse before you're bolting through the door, your heels clicking an angry rhythm down the hallway. The air feels cold against your overheated skin as you move, your skirt still crooked, hair looking like you just survived a hurricane.

You spot Daniel ahead, practically sprinting for the elevators like he’s trying to erase what he saw by sheer distance.

"Daniel," you call, but he doesn't turn. “Daniel!"

He's already jamming the button, the silver doors lighting up in response.

You reach him just before they open, grabbing his arm with enough force to make your point. He freezes, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed forward like he's developed a sudden fascination with the elevator's inspection certificate.

"It's not what it looks like," you say, voice low and desperate.

It's a lie so transparent it might as well be cellophane.

Daniel glances at you, his expression carved from corporate boardroom marble, that careful blankness they teach in management seminars but never put in the employee handbook. He tilts his head, offers you a smile so professional it could be used in the company's next PR disaster.

"Of course not," he says, tone flatter than week-old soda. "You don't owe me an explanation."

You stare at him, something closing around your throat. "Daniel—"

"I really do have somewhere to be," he cuts in with practiced politeness, eyes darting to the elevator like it's his personal rescue boat. "But... if you need to talk, I'm always happy to make time. CMO to subordinate."

The words hit you like a slap. Daniel’s always been the one person you could count on, even before the title made it official. Years of late nights and early calls and campaign launches that nearly killed you both. Drinks after client meetings. Inside jokes in the back of boardrooms. You’ve known him longer than anyone at the company, trusted him more than anyone in the industry. He’s seen you screw up before, seen you burnt out, but he never made you feel small for it.

That’s what makes this whole debacle even more pathetic. Because when he walked in on you, you didn’t need to see the shock in his face. Right now, you’re seeing recognition. You’re seeing the moment he remembered you’re the Chief Marketing Officer and he’s not, that you hold more power, more risk, more to lose. That shift, that quiet acknowledgment of difference, is what shatters you. If even Daniel looks at you differently now, if even he thinks you’ve compromised who you are for Jungkook, then maybe you really have.

You blink. He steps into the elevator.

Just before the doors slide shut, he gives you one last perfunctory nod. "Hope everything gets sorted. Have a good rest of your afternoon."

Then he's gone. You’re left standing in the hallway, heart hammering, shame screaming in your ears.

You can handle marketing disasters, media shitstorms, celebrity meltdowns. But this? This might be the one PR nightmare you never saw coming.

You don't even remember walking back through the office. You don't register the sideways glances, the way heads dip like prairie dogs sensing a hawk, or the sound of your heels cracking against the floor as if you're trying to break through it.

You're moving on autopilot. Fury and humiliation surging through your veins, threatening to boil over with every step.

Your body is trembling, skirt still twisted on your hips. Blouse looks like it spent the night on the floor, your lipstick smeared. You look like a cautionary tale from an HR seminar.

Your heart is pounding so hard it's starting to echo, a hollow thump thump thump like the countdown to something you can't stop.

When you reach the office, you don't hesitate. You don't pause or so much as think. You push the door open and slam it shut behind you hard enough to make your ears pop.

Jungkook's head snaps up. He's still standing by the desk, half-dressed, shirt buttoned wrong. He looks shell-shocked, caught, mouth open like he was practicing explanations that dried up on his tongue.

With a heaving chest, you stare at him, vision blurred at the edges with rage. “What the fuck is wrong with you?" you snap, the words cracking across the room like summer lightning.

His eyebrows inch up, a slow-motion surrender. "What do you mean—"

"I told you I had a meeting." Your voice isn't loud, but it's sharp enough to draw blood. Panic edging every syllable. "I told you.. twenty minutes, Jungkook. You couldn't even give me that?"

He takes a step toward you, hands raised like you're some wild animal he's trying not to spook. "You wanted it too."

"Oh, don't you fucking dare," you hiss, slicing through his bullshit. "Don't spin this like you're not part of the problem."

He blinks, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you he's getting defensive. "Part of the problem? Do you hear yourself right now?"

But you're not listening. Not really.

Your brain is in freefall, spinning too fast to grab onto anything solid, cycling through every possible headline, every office whisper, every version of this getting out. Daniel's face keeps flashing through your mind like some corporate horror show on repeat.

You press your fingers to your temples, trying to breathe, trying to anchor yourself to something but it's like trying to grab smoke.

You've worked your entire fucking life for this. Clawed your way up from nothing. Built yourself into someone untouchable.

Now you're standing in an office, looking like you've been mauled, with your career-making brand campaign hanging by a thread, and Jeon Jungkook watching you like he can't decide whether to comfort you or make a break for the door.

You lower your hands. Look at him. Suddenly, your voice drops to something quieter. “I can't think when I'm around you."

The sentence hangs there, unfiltered, more honest than anything you've said in months.

When his expression softens, even slightly, you want to put your fist through a wall. The last thing you need right now is his understanding. Not from him. Not when you're barely holding yourself together.

His silence only twists the knife deeper. The longer he stands there, the more your panic multiplies, pressing into your chest like some invasive growth. You feel it everywhere — your throat, your lungs, your fingertips. The air in the room suddenly feels too thin, like the walls are inching closer with every breath.

Jungkook, still standing by that desk, watching you like you're some natural disaster he didn't prepare for, finally breaks the silence. “What are you even saying right now?" His voice hovers somewhere between confusion and disbelief. "You're acting like I'm the one who—"

"This needs to be over."

You say it too fast. Like yanking out stitches before they're ready. Like maybe if you're the one to say it first, you won't feel it.

He stares at you. Fully deadpans. "What?"

You can't look at him. You focus on the desk, the floor, the fucking ceiling tiles — anything else.

"This was a mistake," you say, voice steadier now, more controlled, though your hands are still betraying you at your sides. "All of it. Every time. I never should've—"

"Stop." His voice slices through the air, sharper than before. He moves now, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours like he's daring you to keep going.

"Don't do that," he says again, quieter but harder. "Don't pretend like none of it meant anything."

"It didn't." The lie flies out before you can catch it.

Damage is instant.

Jungkook's jaw tightens. His brows pull together, not in anger but pure disbelief. “You're really gonna stand there and say that?"

You cross your arms over your chest, nails digging half-moons into your skin. "I'm your brand executive. You are a global ambassador for Calvin Klein. And I just let my junior team member walk in on us in a fucking office hookup. Do you understand how monumentally fucked this is?"

He shakes his head. "So you're embarrassed."

You laugh, a sound like breaking glass. "I'm not just embarrassed, Jungkook. I'm responsible for an entire campaign that launches in less than a week. If anything tanks, if a single rumor gets out, it's not your name on the line, it's mine. My job. My reputation. My entire fucking career."

"And that's my fault?"

"I should never have touched you."

There's a pause. One second. Two. Three. You stop counting.

He blinks slowly, like he's trying to translate what you just said into something that makes sense. His mouth opens, then closes. Jungkook’s eyes drift away for the first time.

You keep going, voice rising with each word. Not out of cruelty, more so out of some desperate need to save yourself. “I've worked too fucking hard for this. I came from nothing. Do you understand that? Do you get what it means to watch everything you've spent your life building turn to ash?"

"I do," he says sharply. "More than you think."

You ignore him. You're in free fall now.

"This can't keep happening. I can't think when I'm around you, I can't focus, I'm bombing meetings, making shit decisions… this thing, whatever the hell it is, it's destroying me."

He steps closer, eyes drilling into yours, every muscle in his body coiled tight. "So your solution is to pretend it never happened?"

"It has to be," you say, something collapsing in your throat. "It has to be."

He stares at you like you've morphed into someone he doesn't recognize. Maybe you don't recognize yourself either.

Truth is, this isn't about your job or corporate image. It's fear of what he represents. Of how easily he's dismantling the fortress you've spent years building around yourself.

You watch it hit him too.

For a moment, he doesn't speak. There's no teasing in his eyes, no smug curve to his mouth, no flirtation threading through his words. It's just him. Standing in the middle of a room that suddenly feels like a coffin.

"I don't believe you," Jungkook says finally, tone holding on by the thinnest thread. "You can say whatever you want. You can lie to me, fine. But don't fucking lie to yourself."

"I'm not lying—"

"Yes, you are."

His gaze sharpens, just enough to make you flinch. "You want to end this because you're terrified. Because you finally feel something real, and you have no idea what to do with it."

You shake your head, biting down on that burning pressure behind your eyes. "Don't turn this into something it's not."

"It's already something."

"I don't want this to be a thing," you say, voice climbing toward hysteria. "This isn't anything. You were just—" Your breath catches in your throat. "You were just convenient. That's all."

He flinches. Actually fucking flinches, like you backhanded him across the face.

You push through it. If you don't say it now, you'll never say it. And if you don't kill this now, it'll burn you to the ground.

"We are done, Jungkook."

The finality in your voice echoes off the walls.

And for a second, the room is so quiet you can hear everything — the soft mechanical hum of the air vent, the ticking of some distant clock, the sound of your heart trying to punch its way out of your chest.

He doesn't chase after you. He doesn't call your name or grab your arm. He just stands there, frozen in place, watching in silence as the you bolt for the nearest exit, and the door clicks shut between you.

You don't slam it this time. You don't even risk a glance back.

You walk as fast as you can, teetering on a run. Like the ground beneath you might swallow you whole if you slow down. Down the hallway, through the maze of desks and glass partitions and stares, your heels crack against the floor like gunshots. Every face you pass blends into a smear of features, their eyes following you like security cameras. You don't look at anyone.

Your skin feels sunburned, breath ragged. You're coming apart thread by thread, your mask slipping like something you can't hold onto anymore. By the time you reach the elevator, your reflection in the metal doors is a stranger, clothes disheveled, hair a mess, jaw clenched so tight you can feel the pressure in your teeth.

When the doors open, you step inside without hesitation. The descent feels endless.

You blow through the lobby without acknowledging the receptionist's greeting, eyes locked straight ahead, vision tunneled to the only thing that matters: getting the fuck out.

The second the glass doors part and the cold Seoul air slaps your face, your lungs finally expand.

You keep walking until you're down the steps, far enough away that no one from the building can see the way your shoulders finally collapse. You're shaking, and then before you can stop it, you let out a visceral cry.

Not those delicate, camera-ready tears. A full, raw disintegration. Everything you've been choking down for months has clawed its way to the surface, and there's nothing left to do but let it tear you apart.

Your face is buried in your hands and you honestly couldn’t care less who sees.You don’t care if someone from your team walks past. Or if Daniel looks out the window. Or if Jungkook is standing at the top of the building, watching you come undone like a loose thread in the very campaign you built.

Powerhouse of the marketing world? Long gone. You’re not the woman who never flinches, never falters. You’re just some girl from Busan, crying alone on the sidewalk.

No strategy, no plan — just the crushing weight of everything you can’t undo.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next few days blur into a smear of silence and avoidance tactics. You bury yourself in work, becoming a ghost that haunts your office during daylight and hides in your hotel room after dark. Your calendar fills with back-to-back bullshit — strategy meetings, brand syncs, damage control sessions for other campaigns you’re working — but nothing feels as urgent as your desperate need to feel absolutely nothing.

You don't speak to Jungkook. You don't touch the texts he sends. You ignore Daniel's carefully worded check-in email, though you write and delete four different responses, each one more pathetic than the last.

Instead, you go through the motions. You approve designs, slash through edits with your red pen, bark orders at Seoul and New York and Paris, and pretend like you didn't just torch something that wasn't even supposed to exist.

But no matter how many tasks you pile onto your plate, the weight of it sits on your chest like a concrete block.

You spend your nights alone now. One of them (maybe the third since the fallout, or the fourth, who the hell knows anymore), you drag yourself down to the overpriced bar in your hotel lobby. It's all mood lighting and pretentious minimalism, nearly empty except for a couple of business types avoiding their hotel rooms.

You order a whiskey neat. Then another. And when you catch your reflection in the mirrored shelf behind the bottles, you almost laugh.

Hair yanked back in a clip, blazer still wrinkled from twelve hours of wear, lipstick faded, eyes hollow. You look like a fucking cliché. The kind of woman you used to silently judge. Alone at the bar, drinking at midnight. Looking like heartbreak in a two-thousand-dollar suit.

Christ. You're pathetic.

You drink anyway. At least for those few burning seconds, it drowns out everything else. The ghost of his mouth. The phantom weight of his hands. The way he looked at you like he could see all the way through your entire facade of a composed woman.

You told him it was over and you meant every word. So why does it still feel like he's everywhere?

His voice still echoes in your head. His scent clings to the edges of your memory.

You finish your drink. Order another. You don't want to think about him. You don't want to think about whatever it was you sacrificed or why being right feels so much like drowning.

At some point, you know you can't hide from him anymore, or even from Daniel.

Daniel has been kind, careful, measured. His texts have devolved from breezy to brief, from sarcasm to silence. His emails read like they've been drafted by a corporate robot, stripped of his usual parentheses and smartass commentary. No exclamation points. No inside jokes. Just bullet points and attachments and those CC threads that feel like public executions.

You know that tone. It's the tone he reserves for clients who've crossed boundaries. For interns who can't hit deadlines. For moments exactly like this one.

Technically, you can’t blame him.

You've spent days either ducking behind your laptop screen or drowning in edits and reshoots, acting like if you just type fast enough, if you just look busy enough, you won't have to deal with the fact that he saw something he was never supposed to witness.

But Daniel's patient. He lets you spiral in your own personal hell until the spiral starts to look permanent.

And that's when he knocks.

It's mid-afternoon when he raps on your office door, then pushes it open without waiting for permission. He's holding a coffee in one hand and a folder in the other, his expression blank.

You look up from your laptop, startled, blinking at him like he's caught you with your hand in the company safe.

"Hey," he says in a neutral register. “Got a minute?"

You nod before your brain can catch up with the movement.

He walks in and closes the door behind him, setting the coffee down in front of you like some kind of peace offering.

The apology floods out of you in a torrent of words you never rehearsed. Your voice is already cracking before you even finish the first pathetic sentence. “I'm so sorry, Daniel. I don't even know where to start. That wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to see that. I—I should've known better, I do know better, I wasn't thinking, and now it's awkward and you're avoiding me and I completely understand if you hate me or if you think I'm some walking HR disaster, and—"

"Whoa, whoa," he says, holding up a hand. "Take a breath before you pass out."

You suck in air, shaky and thin. Your hands are death-gripping the edge of your desk, nails making some kind of indents in your palms.

“I don’t hate you,” Daniel says, but it lands harder than it should. Not gentle. Not forgiving… just tired.

He drops into the chair across from you like he’s run out of places to pace, like if he keeps standing, he might say something worse. His elbows dig into his knees, hands clasped together, and when he finally looks at you, it’s not anger exactly. It’s disappointment with teeth.

You take a breath. Ask the thing you’ve been trying not to ask since the door clicked shut behind him. “Are you going to report me?”

His eyes flick up. There’s no hesitation. “I was going to.”

It hits sharper than you expect. You try not to let it show.

“I had the whole thing written,” he says. “Typed. Saved. Detailed as hell. Everything from the moment I went into the room to the second I noticed his hands on your chest.”

You look down, too embarrassed to face his eyes, “So what stopped you?”

Daniel pauses before letting out a chortle that feels more bitter than anything, “You’ve kept some secrets for me too.”

Your head lifts slowly.

And you do know exactly what he’s talking about.

Years ago, early days of the company, before either of you had titles worth whispering, he’d hooked up with some intern in the copy room during work. The guy was closeted. Daniel has always been out. You had walked in. The story nearly made it out to HR, but you’d buried it. You’d “accidentally” deleted the hallway security footage. You’d vouched for him with your old boss, the man who looked down on you two every time you so much as farted. You never asked for anything in return.

He never forgot it.

“I didn’t forget what you did for me,” he says now, “But I also didn’t think I’d have to cash it in like this. Watching you risk everything for him like you don’t know better. You spent your whole life climbing just to throw yourself off the edge for some idiot.”

He shakes his head, something venomous creeping into the corner of his mouth. “You made me your accomplice the second you didn’t lock that door.”

“I’m so sorry,” The tears that threaten to spill from your eyes linger. You mean every ounce of that apology. Truly, cross your heart and hope to die.

“I’m not used to seeing you like this,” he continues, softer now, but no less direct. “You… the woman who eats deadlines for breakfast. Kinda thought you didn’t have time for that stuff. It rattled me. Because if you’re out here losing your shit over some pretty boy in overpriced underwear ads, what hope is there for the rest of us mortals?"

You laugh, or try to. It comes out sounding like something breaking.

He smiles. "That was me trying to lighten the mood. Was it terrible?"

"No," you say quietly, something hot and sharp behind your eyes. "It was perfect."

There's another really long pause. One that feels like an exhale instead of drowning. He taps a finger against the coffee cup he brought you. "Listen. I don't know the details, and I don't need to. But I've known you long enough. You don't make reckless choices. So if something happened, it wasn't nothing."

Your throat closes up. You don't trust yourself to say a word. He leans back in his chair, watching you with eyes that see too much. "Whatever this is, just... don't forget who you are, okay? You've survived worse than Jeon Jungkook."

Nodding slowly, you press your fingertips to your temple like you might hold back the headache building there. "I know. I just feel... insane."

"Well," Daniel says, rising from the chair with a soft grunt, "then I'll sit with you until you find your way back."

He squeezes your shoulder as he passes, then walks to the door.

When Daniel finally leaves you alone with your thoughts, you realize just how fucking good you've gotten at avoiding Jungkook.

You know his schedule. You memorized it without even trying. You know which meetings he'll show up for and which ones he'll conveniently "miss." You know the sound of his voice through walls, the weight of his presence in a hallway, the subtle shift in atmospheric pressure when he's nearby, and you've become a goddamn expert at walking the other direction.

It's not just about keeping your sanity intact. It's about survival. About keeping your head down, wearing your title like body armor, and not letting him see the hairline fractures still spreading through everything.

You made peace with Daniel. You're slowly regaining your balance. You're getting through your inbox without your stomach dropping. You're back to being the boss, reviewing assets, dissecting launch strategy without your pulse going haywire.

You're almost whole.

But that peace lasts just about two whole milliseconds.

Because of fucking course, Jungkook finds you.

You're walking out of a meeting on the 17th floor, tablet still in hand, already mentally juggling the next three hours of corporate bullshit. You turn the corner to take the back stairs… and there he is.

Leaning against the glass like he owns the place, arms crossed, legs stretched out like he didn't help demolish your world.

His eyes lift when he sees you. And he doesn't smile. That somehow makes it a thousand times worse.

"Nope," you mutter instantly, spinning on your heel like you're fleeing a crime scene, but he pushes off the wall and follows, moving with that purpose that makes your stomach drop.

"Wait," he says.

"No," you snap, refusing to even glance his way, your steps quickening to escape velocity. "Absolutely not. I just patched things up with Daniel, and I'm not about to torch that progress by getting caught in another clusterfuck with you—"

"Would you just stop?"

His voice slices down the corridor, not loud, but sharp enough to cut.

You do stop. You freeze mid-stride, shoulders going rigid, teeth clenched so tight you can feel your head pounding. You turn around with painful slowness, blinking back whatever emotion is threatening to surface.

He's right there, barely arm's length away. Close enough that you could touch him if you were stupid enough.

It’s infuriating how quickly your body remembers exactly what he feels like.

"I don't want to fight," he swallows, voice dropping to something softer. "I just—"

You hold up a hand like a traffic cop. "Don't."

"Can we just talk?"

"Jungkook," you hiss through your teeth, glancing over your shoulder to make sure there's no audience for this train wreck. "You're a walking disaster, and I don't have the time or sanity to keep spinning your name into fucking gold right now. So please… get out of my way."

He stares at you, something passing over his face that you can't decipher. He won’t budge, just looks at you like he's trying to read between lines you didn't even know you were writing.

You begin to walk away, yet this time, you allow yourself to look back at his wistful expression. That’s the whole problem, isn't it? No matter how many boundaries you draw in permanent marker, he always finds the one you forgot existed.

You barely register the tug on your wrist before you're being dragged sideways, away from the glass hallway and through a side door, the cold stairwell swallowing you both like some concrete mouth. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound bouncing off the walls.

"What the hell are you doing?" you snap, yanking your arm back like it's burning. Your heels scrape against the stairs, those shitty fluorescent lights humming overhead. "Are you out of your mind?"

"You've been ignoring me," Jungkook says, his voice cutting through the stale air. "For days."

"Good," you shoot back, something you qualify as dust catching in your throat. "Maybe take the hint next time."

His jaw tightens, muscle jumping beneath his skin. "Why? Because Daniel walked in on something he didn't understand? He’s all good now you said it yourself that you guys patched things up."

"You don't get to talk about Daniel," you hiss, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "You don't know what I've had to fix."

He steps down the stairwell, arms spreading wide in frustration. "What is there to fix? We didn't murder someone, we were kissing!"

"That's not all it was and you know it!" Your voice splinters. It ricochets off the walls.

He freezes and so do you. Your heart hammers against your ribs, vision crystallizing with fury. His face is a locked door; tense, brow creased, eyes dark as bruises. But you keep going, because the rage is a living thing inside you now.

"You don't understand what's at stake for me," you say, quieter but brittle as glass. "You never have. You walk into a room and everyone parts for you. You smile and the world forgives you. But me? If I mess up, even once, they will never let me come back from it."

He's standing there like a statue, watching you like he can't decide if he should be angry or wounded.

"I clawed my way into this position," you whisper, the words scraping your throat. "And every single day, I have to prove I deserve it. That I'm not some girl from Busan who got lucky. That I'm not fragile. That I'm not just a pretty face with an expensive resume. I don't get the luxury of being messy, Jungkook. Not like you."

His expression shifts, a crack in the marble. "You think that's who I am?" he retorts, "You think I haven't had to fight for anything?"

"You're an idol," you snap, the word leaving your mouth like a bullet. "A loved one. Protected. Handled. You don't even manage your own schedule. There are three people for that."

The words land harder than you intended. You see it in the way his shoulders pull back, in the silence that falls like a guillotine. There's a pause so thick you could choke on it.

"Right," he says finally, bitterly. "Because everything I've worked for doesn't count. Got it."

You really didn't mean to go for the jugular like that.

He laughs once, "You think being an idol is easy? That it doesn't come with a thousand rules and eyes and expectations? You think I don't know what it feels like to lose sleep wondering if today's the day the internet turns on you?"

You press your spine against the cold wall, head tilted away, “This was never supposed to matter," you whisper.

"Yeah," he says. "But it did."

You look at him. You hate how true it rings. You hate the guilt gnawing at your insides. You hate that your first instinct is to soften, to reach for him, to take it all back.

At the end of the day, this is your career. This is everything. If it’s a race between CMO or Jungkook, that position is taking first place.

So instead, you just say, "I can't afford to let it matter."

The words float between you two. He laughs again, this sharp, jagged sound that slices through the stairwell like an axe. He steps closer, something burning behind his eyes now, voice rising not in volume but in something far more devastating — disappointment. “Right," he says, muscle working in his jaw. "Of course you can't. God forbid anything in your life matter more than power. Than control. Than your perfect fucking empire."

You turn to him, eyes narrowing to slits, pulse hammering in your throat. "Don't you dare—"

He keeps going, relentless. He's not shouting, but it feels like he is. "You know what your problem is? You only care about money. About image. You care more about looking powerful than being happy."

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms. "Excuse me?"

He takes another step closer, not touching you but near enough that your breath halts, near enough that the heat between your bodies feels like something alive.

"You didn't even want to see your parents," he challenges ,"You were back in Busan for three days, and you nearly drank yourself sick instead of facing them. You think I didn't notice that? You think I didn't see the way you flinched every time you talked about home?"

Your whole body goes still. The silence swallows everything — your breath, your thoughts, the distant hum of the building around you. It roars in your ears like an ocean you're drowning in.

Those words, when put together into a coherent sentence, describe exactly why you don’t let anyone in. Never have. You let people orbit. You let them see enough to feel close, but never the core. Never the part that still aches when you think about your mother’s voice on the phone, or the silence you perpetrated between you and your sister who used to be your best friend. You let people near the burn, but never close enough to touch the match. And yet somehow, impossibly, he’s already there. Past the fences, past the warning signs, past the places you thought were locked so tightly even you forgot where the keys were.

It doesn’t even sound cruel. It sounds like he knows. Like he’s seen that quiet, aching center of you and reached straight into it without permission. All you can do is stand there, aching pain caught in your throat, because the truth is you shut people out to keep yourself from bleeding. But it’s too late. He’s already inside. Now you have no idea how to stitch yourself back up around him.

Your voice, when it finally claws its way out, is carved from something furious. “How fucking dare you," you murmur, "How fucking dare you use that against me."

"I'm not using it against you," he fires back, "I'm telling you that this, whatever it is between us, matters. And you're the one running from it. You're the one pretending none of it touched you. So yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry because you make me feel like I'm nothing more than a risk. Like I'm something to hide. Something to be ashamed of."

"You don't get to talk to me about shame," you snap, whole body trembling with a rage that feels like it might tear you open. "You think just because you've been famous for a decade, you understand what it's like to be a woman in this industry? To fight for every room you're allowed to exist in, to be doubted and diminished and dismissed every time you breathe too loudly? Do you know how many men in this building would celebrate my downfall like it's a fucking holiday?"

His lips press into a bloodless line. "So?. At least then you'd be honest. At least then you wouldn't be hiding behind this mask like nothing ever reaches you."

"You want honesty?" you spit, stepping toward him now, close enough to count his eyelashes. "Here's honesty. I don't trust anyone. Not you. Not this. I have fought for every microscopic particle of my existence, and you walked in, half-naked and dripping arrogance, and decided you were entitled to all of it, like I owe you something because you want me. But I don't owe you a goddamn thing, Jungkook."

His eyes flare with something dangerous. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?" you demand, the question hanging between you like smoke. "Because it sure as hell isn't casual anymore. And I don't know what it is, and I don't have the time to figure it out, and I swear to God if you ever bring up my family again—"

He cuts you off, not with words, but with their absence. His jaw is clenched tight, hands balled into fists at his sides. There's color burning across his cheekbones, and something wild and wounded blazing behind his eyes.

You're both breathing like you've been running, standing so close you can feel the electricity crackling in the narrow gap between your bodies. It's not desire anymore, or lust. Not even that soft, aching hunger that comes with wanting.

This is something else entirely. This is two people who've gone too far, felt too much, unraveled completely. This is war with no boundaries.

You can hear your pulse in your ears. Not the steady rhythm of life, but a violent percussion thundering against the fragile walls of your composure. Each beat echoes the fault lines spreading through whatever remains of your defenses.

Your voice emerges from some deep place you seldom acknowledge, not trembling from fear, but vibrating with the particular rage that comes from having something sacred violated. From watching him reach into the darkest corners of your history and pull out the one thing you've spent years burying beneath ambition and achievement.

"If you ever," you begin, hands quivering with the effort of restraint, "ever bring up my family again, Jeon Jungkook—"

You eliminate what little distance remains between you, until your accusation brushes against the vulnerable hollow of his throat, until you're drowning in the maelstrom of his eyes, that peculiar blend of fury layered atop something deeper, something he's desperately trying to conceal beneath his anger.

"You're dead to me."

The silence crystallizes between you, sharp-edged and dangerous as broken mirrors.

"Even more than you are right now," you finish, voice barely audible yet somehow filling the stairwell with its venom.

Jungkook remains perfectly still, a statue carved from tension. Only his breath betrays him,, ragged and uneven, the exhale of someone who's been struck somewhere vital.

"Wow," he mutters finally, shaking his head with a terrible comprehension dawning. "That's what you think of me?"

You laugh sarcastically, "Don't act surprised. You've been pushing since day one. Testing limits. Undermining me in front of my team, flirting with Jennie in front of the entire industry, fucking me in conference rooms and pretending it didn't matter. So no, Jungkook, I don't owe you any soft version of myself. Not now. Not ever."

He's regarding you now with the disoriented gaze of someone who's woken up in unfamiliar territory, as though the map he's been following has suddenly revealed itself to be for another country entirely. Like perhaps he mistook your moments of vulnerability for surrender.

But you can't afford softness. Not when everything within you feels precariously balanced on the edge of collapse. Not when admitting the truth might dissolve whatever remains of your world.

"You're so scared of being known," he says, and the words emerge not as an accusation but as a revelation, quiet and devastating in their naked honesty. "So scared of letting anyone see you. Even me."

You scoff, armoring yourself against the terrifying accuracy of his observation. "Don't make this about feelings."

"It was always about feelings," he snaps,"You're just the only one too stubborn to admit it."

Your heart performs a strange, painful contortion, folding in on itself like origami made from something that was never meant to bend.

You want to say more. You want to scream until your voice shatters against the concrete walls. You want to curse him for every emotion he's excavated from the depths you've spent years paving over, for every second he stood there refusing to retreat, for every moment he made you believe that perhaps someone had finally seen past the constructed architecture of your public self to the trembling foundation beneath.

But if you part your lips now, the flood that follows might sweep away everything you've built.

So instead, you draw in a breath that feels more final. And you say, "I don't want to see you again unless it's for the fucking campaign."

Jungkook flinches. A microexpression of pain that ripples across his features like a stone disturbing still water, enough for you to register, to catalog, to store away in that dangerous archive of moments when his armor has slipped.

Then you pivot away, your heels striking a funeral march up the stairwell and out the door as you abandon him in the hollow space of your shared destruction.

You don't permit yourself the luxury of a backward glance.

You can't.

Because if you do, you might forgive him. And right now, you need the anger to win.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @uarmygguk @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97 @jksusawife @rkivesarchive @hyunjinswifetingzz @bjoriis @nan4rf @parkinglot-nights @travelgurrl @softhaes @bexxs @magicalnachocreator @wisebouquetbarbarian @futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #bts #bts x reader #bts fanfic #jeon jeongguk #jjk #jjk x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x you

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almadelsur · 3 months ago

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❤️‍🔥 Crucifix

Linecook!Ash (No Exit) x Waitress!reader +18

Summary: How could you resist giving yourself to sin, when the devil himself is just so beautiful.

a/n: For the sweetest bestest @rae-gar-targaryen who’s Ash fic inspired me to write this. (Go check it out rn bc it’s truly a masterpiece)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫ .

You know Ash doesn’t have many friends. It doesn’t strike you as anything of concern when you see him huffing silently around the sweaty restaurant kitchen, a perfect picture of a shadow on a mission. Lots of people are introverted you tell yourself. Maybe it should have rung some alarm bells. Maybe it would have if his eyes didn’t hold dark alluring promises of sin, of that deadly pleasure you came to crave from him.

The first time you spoke to him it had been as if he had physically reached down into your lungs and robbed all the oxygen you had been holding, keeping it for himself. Greedy.

“Uh- table 9 are getting a little antsy” you stumble out the best you can, masking your nerves as frustration at the busy restaurant. And yet Ash just looks at you, studying as if he had all the time in the world.

“What’s your name?” The question is a simple command yet it leaves you fumbling your answer.

Ash just hums knowingly and hands you the plate, ready and prepped like he was waiting for you. His twisted game kicking off without you noticing the dark path you were about to barrel down. Looking like he could wreck your entire life without as much as lifting a finger. A roaring flame scorching over you until you’re reduced to nothing but-

“Ash.” He introduces himself and you swear you have never met anyone with a more fitting name.

A few months later and you’re hooked on him. He was good at that. It’s heady and unsettling just like he is, and yet you always succumb to the craving of him.

It goes as usual– you laying on your back beneath him, caged in and helpless to the relentless pleasure he draws out from you, the rhythmic push and drag stretching and burning and feeding.

You struggle to form a coherent thought in the heat of it all. All you can see is dark curls and smooth tan skin, and yet he’s sharper than ever. His gaze laser focused on each and every one of your features. The way your eyes water and- is that pleasure or fear that has you crying on his dick like that? He doesn’t think he’d want to know, he knows he wouldn’t care.

He has you tied up against your bedframe, arms stretched across like a crucifix, an image of penance. His very own sweet docile offering to a higher being for his sins. His eyes flicker to your tender chafing wrists and an image of a previous life flashes through his head– a fallen brother and a brunette with nails through her wrists. It only makes him more determined, increasing his pace and shuddering at the mantra of his name that falls past your lips.

He can’t get enough of you, he knows this when the familiar feeling of your legs begin to shake beneath him.

“Open your eyes.” he gruffs in your ear as one lethal hand comes up to grip at your hair. “Look at me.” he forces again when your fucked out brain fails to adhere to the command the first time.

When you manage to flutter your eyes open, his jaw grits.

You look at him like he’s a god. He knows the glossy gaze is prompted by the way his cockhead bullies your g-spot, but still he can’t bring himself to look away. The pure worship in your blurry eyes makes him want to lean down and lick at your tears.

He doesn’t.

The motion seems too soft, too comforting. And he doesn’t want that, he wants to hurt you. He knows you would let him too. The thought spurs him on to grab at your jaw and push into you hard and deep until your cried moans become silent and you snap, like holy water leaking all the way down to his thighs and onto the bed sheets.

When he himself is satisfied and spent, he collapses on top of you, your tied hands and heavy eyelids make it hard to console this moment as a loving one, but your mind silently wills it anyway. A warmth settling over you and pulling at your heartstrings for the man above you.

You fall asleep like that, with false feelings of security and the devil on top of you feeding into your fantasy. Keeping you hooked and placid.

And his.

#idk what this is #but danny just looks so HOT in this movie so I had to #danny ramirez #ash no exit #danny ramirez x reader #ashstuff #ash no exit x reader #ash garver #ash garver x reader

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bonefall · 1 month ago

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[ID: Ask from @storiesandsquirrels, transcribed in alt text]

also: link to Cow Lore

There's one major misconception here I've gotta correct before answering earnestly; Holsteins do need Super Duper Food. This is one of their major problems as a breed, you need to give them high quality feed for high quantity, low quality milk.

But! That said! These are valid questions that deserve real responses. In spite of the quick correction, I actually want to answer them as you phrased them because I think it would be more illuminating. I'm going to try and summarize them as I go along;

Question 1: "Why wouldn't we want to use The Most Efficient Cow?"

The simplest answer is disease. My ""prediction"" came true, and bird flu has mutated to spread extremely easily through the infected udders of Holsteins. No one has died of bovine-contracted HPAI yet, but with Brainworm Bobby and his love of raw milk in charge of the CDC...

well. my last prediction was prophetic. let's hope this one's not.

Minmaxing a breed for one specific purpose always means intensive inbreeding. Like I mentioned, 9 million Holsteins are genetically equivalent to 60 individuals. A more genetically diverse population is one that will be better at preventing disease outbreaks, and reducing their severity when they do.

And what even is the Most Efficient Milk Cow? If you're only selecting for pure milk production to drive down its cost, you get a breed of cattle that lacks every other important trait that would make it good livestock;

They get sick more often, due to inbreeding depression and lack of physical fitness, requiring more antibiotics and veterinary care.

They are bad parents who will need more human intervention to birth and raise calves

They won't be good grazers, meaning they need a specific food grown for them, increasing how much "functional" land is actually dedicated to cattle husbandry.

Their carcass won't yield as much meat, so more cattle have to be raised and slaughtered to meet demand.

Their bodies will burn out much quicker than a healthier animal, meaning you need to replace your livestock more often.

When it comes to living beings, "efficiency" is "fragility." It's not a stable system to begin with.

Even with the pure logic aside, just, step back here and look at the situation with a heart. We'd be making unhealthy, short-lived animals lacking critical instincts to lead good social lives. AND we probably haven't even fixed the "less land" problem, just shifted the land off-site.

For what? For more milk? We have SO MUCH milk we don't even know what to do with it!

Question 2: "Isn't an overabundance of cheap milk a good thing?"

no.

Under the infinite genius of Capitalism, thousands of gallons of milk just gets poured into the sewer daily because there's too much of it. Transporting it to a processor would cost more than it's worth, sometimes the processors turn milk away because they don't want to overproduce products, and even the US government can't subsidize every last drop; it still has 1.4 billion pounds of cheese in various caves and warehouses across the country.

The price of milk cannot get any lower because it's already being sold below the cost it takes to produce it, and yet, we're still here literally pouring it down the drain.

[photo from bill ulrich who photographed a farmer dumping milk back during the pandemic. this isn't even a recent photo. this happens every time there's a milk surplus. im using this photo because i like the farmer's cunty little pose. look at him. "just ain't right"core.]

And milk being dumped into the sewer is more than just wasteful. It's a biohazard.

Milk doesn't stop rotting when it's dumped. If you live downstream of a milkhouse, improper milk disposal reeks.

It's full of nutrients, too, which causes diatoms, cyanobacteria, and other types of algae to go into overdrive-- causing a Harmful Algal Bloom event in the water, or HAB.

HABs are horrific. There's HUNDREDS of different types. They can suck up oxygen and create "dead zones" which kills all aquatic life, they can poison the water supply for an entire town, and some can even cause toxic fumes that make it hard to breathe on land.

Now, listen, I don't want to scare you into never dumping out rotten milk or anything! It's that on an industrial scale, it's REALLY REALLY bad if a farm overproduces milk-- especially crummy milk that can't be made into decent cheese or other dairy products.

In fact, if we did produce milk on a smaller scale, it would be better for everyone! Unless you're a Milk Guzzling Fiend like I am, you probably wouldn't need to buy a whole gallon at a time. In countries like Italy, it's sold fresh and in smaller containers, and you're just expected to pick it up as you need it.

This is why milkmen used to exist, and still do in places that are cool; they'd deliver your supply fresh from the creamery. Less waste, less stress! The "subscription model" is actually sooooooooooo much better for milk production, since it helps to stagger out those "surges and drops" of demand that leads to milk dumps.

Question 3: "If the cow eats less, doesn't that mean less land for pasture, which is a good thing?"

There's a lot to unpack within this sentiment. It's actually based on a couple of common assumptions on a few levels, which are incorrect in fascinating ways. Challenging this means opening up your worldview on how complex keeping livestock actually is!

I'll start with the simpler part;

You could cut fresh pasture out of the equation entirely and shove a cow into a concrete pen with a food box-- but are you counting the land growing the fodder?

When you grow corn the way that we do on industrial farms in the US, it's unbelievably destructive. Unending oceans of monoculture. Fogged with pesticide, pumped full of fertilizer which causes HABs like dumped milk does, sprayed with thousands of gallons of wasted water.

When you look at this image, I need you to understand you are looking at a dead zone. Like a suburban lawn, just because it's green doesn't mean it's good. Nothing grows here but corn and pests of corn, which gets poisoned and dies without returning any of that energy to the ecosystem.

This is usually what is being given to "grain-fed cattle," either when they're sent to a feedlot to hit their slaughter weight, or when they're lactating so they need the extra nutrition. It's also so nasty it's inedible to human beings.

Now, a lot of cattle farmers will just supplement their cow's diet, doing a mix of pasture feeding (much cheaper) and grain feeding (quicker gains). But the facts on this are clear; pasture-kept cattle result in LESS emissions and need LESS total space than cows in confinement.

In fact, there were a LOT of benefits!

Overall gas emissions from the cows dropped by 8%

Ammonia pollution was down by 30%

Not needing to run farm equipment for fodder planting and harvest reduced carbon dioxide emissions by 10%

Rotated crop fields didn't sequester carbon; but the newly converted perennial grasslands store as much as 3,400 pounds per acre.

The outside cows did produce less milk volume, but the milk they did produce was higher quality. So, looking at all the benefits here, it's clear that pasture is actually something that should be embraced for ecological reasons, not rejected.

In FACT, it should be EMPHASIZED. Because, this is the mind-blowing part,

Pasture can ALSO be an ecosystem.

In fact, I'm a Warrior Cats guy who once did a deep dive on moorlands just so I could write WindClan better. There are entire biomes that only exist because of grazing, and British lowland heath is one of them!

Keeping cattle in a sustainable, ecologically sound way is going to look different depending on where in the world you're doing it. So many earnest, good-willed people have bought into the lie that humans are a problem, and that everything "associated" with us becomes a barren wasteland as if we are tainted. YOU are not the problem! The problem is, and always has been, exploitation. Unsustainable relationships with the land we're part of.

Indigenous people in Europe, Asia, and Africa have been keeping cattle for thousands of years. In North America, cattle can be used to maintain ecosystems that have been badly affected by the colonial eradication of the American Bison. In South America, Brazil specifically has been making incredible advances with highly efficient integrated crop-livestock-forestry farming.

Generally, pastures here in the US are not as intensely managed as an equivalent crop field. Some people fertilize them, or water them mid-summer, but absolutely not to the same extent as industrial corn farms. Cattle are typically rotated between pastures, allowing each to re-grow before they come back to graze again.

Obviously, yes, overgrazing can be an issue. Not every open space should be converted into a pasture, and the destruction of other environments to turn into cow land is a problem. But that is an issue of bad land stewardship, not the mere practice of keeping livestock.

Bottom line, though? Cattle who can graze and survive outside are better for the environment than cattle that can't.

...but hey, you know what Holsteins happen to be really bad at?

EVERYTHING. GRAZING.

They are notoriously terrible grazers. They can't do megan THEEEEE thing that cows are known for. Fragile frames, a lack of fat to keep them warm outside, increased demand for food, distaste for any rough forage, horrible mothering instincts, the list goes on. Holsteins are a NIGHTMARE to try and keep outside all year round compared to other breeds.

(especially heritage breeds, like the Milking Devon, Florida Cracker, or Texas Longhorn. Between these three, you'd be totally covered in 80% of American climates.)

I've already explained why it's not actually very good or important that we minmax milk volume, but even if that was actually something we should value, there are so many downsides that they would absolutely not be the dominant cow breed in a truly "efficient" system.

"Less cows means less cow food and cow land" is sound logic, but Holsteins are not the right cow for that job.

Question 4: "How could this be done in a way that doesn't increase cost of living?"

I'm not sure how to answer this question, simply because I'm not Bonestar, Leader of AmericaClan. Wish I was. I would rule tyrannically.

It's worth noting that Brazil is the second largest producer of beef in the entire world, AND the number one largest exporter of it, AND only puts 30% of its land to total agricultural use. The USA dedicates over 50%. And also Brazil is net reducing its amount of agricultural land while increasing output.

It seems clear to me that the USA actually has a massive food waste and resource distribution problem, to the point where the price we pay for stuff is actually wildly disconnected from the actual value of the goods and labor.

I think the way that us Americans tend to frame our conversations on these topics as "growth" vs "cuts" instead of asking how to minimize waste by making existing systems more efficient prevents us from solving problems. We're also just... really culturally resistant to the idea of anything being more "expensive," even if it ends up costing us a lot more money in waste or mismanagement later.

Penny wise and dollar foolish ass country.

Question 5: "What can we personally do about this?"

I mean, I wasn't making a call to action in Cow Lore, I was just explaining to one of my regulars why I don't like Holsteins LMAO. Since you're asking though...

I don't think we can change the wider trend in the dairy industry without actual government intervention and regulation, though, and that's very unlikely in the current political environment. they just sent random dudes to Ausalvador-Birkenau and when the Supreme Court said "bring this specific person back" they said "nuh uh." fellas I don't think we're getting better dairy regulations in the foreseeable future.

So I think the most productive thing to do is focusing on supporting small farms and heritage breeds. Get involved in your community garden or heritage society if you have one.

Not only is that generally a very rewarding thing, but it will be helpful to you in case The Situation Gets Worse. Knowing your neighbors and having real human connection is your best defense against economic recession.

Supporting the locals is always a great thing to do, which can be as simple as going to farmer's markets. You don't need to buy fancy food every day to make an impact on your community-- it can be a treat sometimes!

You could also subscribe to the Livestock Conservancy's free newsletter, where they talk about the work they're doing and upcoming events. If you're a knitter, crocheter, or any other kind of fiber artist, you could even join in on a challenge they're running where you make items out of rare wool for prizes!

Should you end up liking the work they do, you can become a member for 4$ a month, or go to one of their educational events.

Even just talking about the problem can do a lot! Did you know the Highland Cow was actually critically endangered in the USA within the past 10 years? It was the work of the Livestock Conservancy, plus a surge in their popularity, that helped to bring their numbers up. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.

All that said, remember, you can't solve every problem. It's a big world and there's a lot of them. Being made aware of an issue doesn't mean you have to drop what you were previously doing-- just care a lot about something that you want to improve, and let that guide you.

#Funfact: My great-something-grammy boinked the milkman #and that's how my great-something-grandparent happened lmaoo #Straightup parody level family drama #queen behavior tho ngl #Perhaps I simply respect my Milkmancestor's game too much #got milk in my blood #bone babble #cows #i like. tried not to say it TOO much besides the powerpuff girls meme. but.#capitalism is the core problem under everything here #it doesn't actually encourage efficiency on a large scale; it *encourages* overproduction and *incentivizes* artificial scarcity #under a capitalist system it is a good thing to crush your small farm competition by literally flooding the market with cheap milk #because it's more profitable to dump sour milk onto the nearest poor community than lose sales to Meemaw Moomoo And Her Heritage Herd #and yeah the cows are sick and dying from genetic issues and infections. but it's cheaper to feed them antibiotics #because it's not like the dairy industry is the one who pays for the medical care of antibiotic-resistant superbugs that jump to humans!#the questions were genuine tho so I was trying to answer them without a Degrowth Rant lmaooooooooooo #will say as an aside though that when Cost of Living comes up as a concern there's a red part of me that is like #''comrade. ANY cost to live is too high.''

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sublightdrive · 20 days ago

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Big post about Syril Karn, Tragedy, and Redemption. Star Wars Andor Season 2 episode 7/8/9 spoilers below:

Tragedies, I think, have a higher bar to clear than other stories in order to be good. All stories (one way or another) demand of the reader an emotional investment, and to accept the story being told as what happened, be it good or bad. But, a story with a happy ending makes it easier to suspend your disbelief. Sure some things didn't make complete sense, but it all worked out in the end, didn't it?

A tragedy without emotional connection falls flat on its face, but that's true of all stories. A tragedy that's poorly written is subject to a much worse fate: Breaking its own suspension of disbelief.

"And they die at the end? That's dumb. Why didn't she just put on the oxygen mask? Did the writers forget he's a doctor? Oh, how convenient there just happened to be a loose rock there."

The best tragedies, the truly good ones, will leave you thinking "oh if only they'd gotten there sooner. If only she'd known, if only he saw the message. If only they'd happened to cross paths." They leave you wishing things could have gone differently, but knowing the ending we got was the only way it could have happened.

All this to say, Star Wars does not have a super hot reputation in regards to Tragedy. The prequel films, ostensibly, tell the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker, and I don't need to say much about how well that worked out. Suffice it to say, most of us responded to Anakin ranting about killing not just the men, but the women, and the children with "this guy's jacked up for reals" not "oh, if only things had gone a different way".

That, and as I read in a post earlier today, Star Wars has redemption in its very bones. This is the series that said Darth Vader, a guy who is easily in the top running for greatest movie villain of all time, is worthy of redemption. Star Wars is just littered with redemption arcs: Darth Revan, Kyp Durron, Agent Kallus, Ulic Qel-Droma. Ahmed Best. Half of the Rebel Alliance were former imperials. Your favorite Glup Shitto had a redemption arc at some point.

And from the start, Syril Karn has been a prime candidate to earn a redemption.

Syril is a character who is powerfully driven by his own conscience and sense of justice. His hunt for Cassian isn't purely motivated by this (pride is also a huge part it), but when we first meet him in Season 1, his goals are understandable. Admirable, even: Two men were murdered. His boss, a consummate slacker, is covering it up for no reason besides a tidier quarterly report. The murderer is a dangerous man who needs to be stopped.

The two dead men were barely more than government sanctioned thugs, of course. And his boss's apathy was calculated: uneventful reports keep Imperial scrutiny off of Corporate Sector worlds. But that made little difference to Syril in the limited scope of his own moral code. Unlike so many other Imperial characters we meet, he isn't morally bankrupt, or ambivalent towards right and wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact. Rather, his flaw is that his sense of morals is deeply misguided.

He treats being a mid-level corpo-cop with an intensity usually reserved for the Imperial Guard. He desperately seeks approval from those above him. He truly believes the Empire to be a force for good. He prioritizes the deaths of two drunkards shaking someone down for money as an all-hands-on-deck emergency.

Even his success in identifying Cassian is only of value to the Empire by sheer luck. At the time of the killing, Cass wasn't a rebel, wasn't on a mission, and barely knew of Luthen's existence.

Syril's explosive failure to capture Cassian at the end of the first arc of season 1 is of course, the culmination of this. That failure affects him materially, costing him his position and his dignity, but only reinforces his moral judgement: Cassian is dangerous, a threat that needs to be eliminated. His behavior for the remainder of Season 1 is directly driven by this belief.

The Syril we see in Season 2 is in a different situation entirely. His relationship with Dedra fulfills his need for affirmation, his job allows him to serve the Empire. But without the hunt for Cassian, his sense of moral justice isn't being addressed.

In sending him to Ghorman, Dedra and Partigaz wield Syril's conscience like a tool.

There's real exasperation in his voice when he tells his mother to stop watching Fox Imperial News. He attends the town hall meeting with rapt attention, even though he barely speaks the language. His sense of justice, even presented in bad faith, is enough to convince the Ghorman Front he could be a true ally.

And as petty an excuse as it is, he truly believes that his goal in infiltrating the Ghorman Front is to "identify outside agitators," not drive them to violence, or dismantle them.

His final confrontation with Cassian is a farce. Syril has no idea that he's just saved Dedra's life. He barely has a reason to be attacking Cassian at all; He's walked away from Dedra, from his position, and from the Empire itself.

When Cassian, dumbfounded, asks Syril who are you, he doesn't answer. The Syril we met at the beginning of the story might say something like "You ruined my life!" or "This is all your fault!" We can practically see the words forming on his lips. But this Syril is at his absolute lowest, and although it took a literal mass-killing happening around (and partially because of) him, he hesitates. Because he's finally questioning whether hunting Cassian down was the right thing to do.

But it took him FAR too long to realize it. He had two years working directly with resistance fighters to question if maybe- MAYBE what he was doing was wrong. Two years of hearing the rumors, two years of watching Imperial soldiers occupy the city. Two years of collecting tchotchkes and doing paperwork and living his daily life among Ghorman citizens.

And that right there is the tragedy of it all. If only Syril had questioned what he was really doing sooner. If only he'd followed his conscience, instead of his need for praise. If only seeing Cassian hadn't thrown him into a rage. If only his sense of justice had led him to his realization before people were being gunned down in the streets, he'd have a chance to be redeemed. And this is Star Wars! Anyone can make the choice to be redeemed, right?

But he didn't. And he wasn't. And so he died an ignoble death, at the hands of a man he personally betrayed, in the churn of a massacre perpetrated by his lover.

And it couldn't have gone any other way.

#star wars #star wars andor #andor season 2 #syril karn #cassian andor #andor

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sweaters-and-silly · 5 months ago

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My 9-1-1 prediction for 2025 based on nothing and absolutely pulled out of thin air:

Buck begins to act more erratically. Tommy can’t really remember breaking up with Buck, he knows it happened but the night was a blur. But as time goes on, it gets more clear that Tommy was confused and is feeling clearer away from Evan.

But it’s not Evan. It’s his apartment.

Because Buck feels better when he’s baking, when he’s got the kitchen fan on circulating the air.

Things escalate, Buck is finding notes in his place that he didn’t write. He’s feeling paranoid and off-kilter. He kidnaps Maddie to keep her safe from the person that’s been haunting his home. Chimney has been texting Tommy on and off and breaks down when Maddie is missing and Buck is nowhere to be found.

That’s when Tommy remembers the night they had too much wine and “moved the couch” a little too much into the wall, hearing something break. He uses the spare key and lets himself into Buck’s place, only a few minutes there he’s feeling off-kilter again.

So he checks beside the couch. The thing they heard shatter behind the couch was the carbon monoxide detector. He’s able to fix it, and plugs it back in. It immediately starts beeping an urgent alarm.

Tommy opens all the windows and calls Evan.

Evan answers, paranoid and sick. Tommy gets him to tell him where he is. Gets him to give the phone to Maddie, she’s safe and of course she’s not hurt, Buck would never hurt her, she’s not scared for herself just for Buck. Conferences in Chimney while he drives to get the Buckleys.

At the hospital, while Evan is in oxygen they get to talk. The carbon monoxide leak is why they were having trouble remembering their serious conversations of the last six months. Tommy wants to be with Evan but he’s not sleeping in that loft again. It’s time Evan comes home with him.

#911 abc #evan buckley #911 season 8 #bucktommy #tommy kinard #911 spoilers #buck x tommy #911 #tevan #911 fic #911 fanfic

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bogleech · 2 years ago

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TOP TEN DINOSAURUSES

maybe you're wondering my most tenned favorite dinosauruses??? The science study of dinasacacers is called "dinosaurusology" by leading experts like myself, and it is constantly changing as we make new uncoveries almost every tuesday when we find new bones in my cousin rob's garage (he hasn't thrown anything out since the 90's!) As such bear in mind that up to two facts I am about to share could become dated over the course of the next century, however as both the king and queen of science this will only be true if I'm still available to approve the new facts. If I'm dead or kind of tired then nobody will ever know what's true anymore so you should be nice to me. #10: OVIRAPTOR

OVIRAPTOR was a good model for what all dinosacans were like: it was a wrinkly lizard that slithered in filthy dirt and had difficulty standing upright because its bones were made of rocks. This is why we have the term "the stone age," so be grateful you're living in "the bone age!" Oviraptor's name means "eggs velociraptor" because it was a kind of velociraptor that stole eggs. It didn't know what to do with them because nobody invented cooking yet and raw dinosaur eggs were disgusting, so every oviraptor starved to death.

#9: IGUANADON

This was the last known photograph of IGUANA DON (not to be confused with his cousin iguana dan) when george washington invented photographs 2 million years ago. Don was an ugly disgusting hilarious lizard monster with one horn on its nose and he died because he evolved a dining room in his torso exactly the right size for 21 cavemen to walk in and eat his kidneys. This was not helped by don's instinct to sleep on a big porch under a chandelier.

#9 DIMETRODON

DIMETRODON was the most common dinosaur of jurassic, which was the fifth and final era of dinosaurs after the ice age but before the ediacaran. In fact dimetrodon was the very last dinosaur to ever exist on earth before they were all eaten to death by the ediacaran's dominant predator: a species of swirly looking weird rock. Nobody knows why these swirly looking weird rocks died out, but it's most likely because dimetrodon was so poisonous from its diet of entirely pufferfish. You can tell it was a sea dinosaur because of its fish fin! #8: PTERADACTYL

PTERODACTYL was a regular dinosaur until it got married to a species of bat and its bat wife laid a bunch of pterodactyl eggs! This woodcut is however inaccurate: flying would not be invented until president obama discovered the first airplane in 1998, so pterodactyl couldn't possibly have stayed in the air and just immediately fell. The long 900 million year reign of the pterodactyl abruptly ended when the last one finally hit the ground (it took longer in those days because the oxygen disaster made so much more air) #7 SNORKASAURUS

SNORKASAURUS was completely unique among all dinocaurs by having a really long neck. It was one of the largest creatures to ever roam the earth at over 7 feet tall, or exactly 12 meters to those of you living in Liberia or Myanmar! This is the last known photograph of snorkasaurus, giving birth to the first cavemen. Snorkasaurus went extinct because all of them did this instead of making baby snorkasauruses. This is because like all dinosaurii they had only a tiny peanut for a brain, and nobody was around to give them 'the talk' because that wasn't invented yet.

#6 SMILODON

SMILODON was a very special dinosaurn because it was the first one to stand up on its hind legs after years of rigorous exercise and weight training. By inventing this new way of walking, Smilodon made it possible for the first monkeys to evolve! This is called "convergent" evolution.

#5 BULBASAUR

BULBASAUR was a majestic and beautiful species of neopet unfortunately disliked by the scientific community because it is the reason there are no flying dinosuars. Bulbasaur was the first ever flying dyanasar ever invented, 19 billion years ago on September 10, 2001, but the project was discontinued when its first test flight ended in a tragic accident. That's right: on September 11, 2001, Bulbasaur crashed into the stock market, causing the great depression that lead to the civil war :'( now to this very day, flying dinosarers are against the law.

#4 YOSHI

YOSHI is a type of dinersaulophus called a "bird," which was actually the second attempt by early neanderthal alchemists to manufacture a street legal flying dinnersauran, but the New Zealand government realized if dinophlofbuses can fly, then bats would no longer be special, and since bats are New Zealand's only major export it would have been an economic disaster. The queen of Australia (New Zealand's largest city) ordered the CIA to sand all of the wings off of these early prototype birds. Every bird tragically went extinct when it looked down, noticed how high up it was and remembered it could not fly, activating the effects of Earth's gravitational field.

#3 ANOMALOCARIS

ANOMALOCARIS was the dinosorcerous that discovered the first primitive cave painting of a modern day crab and invented carcinisation. All the other dinanders laughed at Anomalocaris for wanting to turn into a crab, but guess what??? Every single kind of dinosaur is dead but there's a crab still alive at 29, making it the oldest person in the world. Who's FUCKING laughing now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#2 EARL SINCLAIR

This is the last known photograph of Earl Sinclair, seen here as an uncredited extra in "Avatar 3: Lost in New York." Earl Sinclair was a sindonaur species that could disguise itself as a human by putting on sunglasses, a necessary adaptation in order to hide from the largest predator dancasore to ever live: Mellisuga helenae. However, near the end of the coal age, M. Helenae finally remembered that sunglasses hadn't even been invented yet. Look carefully, and you'll notice nobody is wearing sunglasses at all in this scene, making Earl Sinclair stick out like a sore thumb! If you're still having difficulty, here's a zoomed in image of this majestic thunder lizard:

Unfortunately......this wardrobe malfunction made Mr. Sinclair just as obvious to his ancient enemy, and the last Earl Sinclair's brains were sucked out on September 11, 2001, the darkest day in British history because he was the only one who knew the recipe to chicken mcnuggets (the only british food.) To this day all british people are extinct but you can still see their fossilized skeletons waiting in line at the department of motor vehicles.

#1 CONCAVENATOR

Concavenator was an Early Cretaceous carcharodontosaurid up to six meters in length with an unusual pointed crest on its back.

#science #dinosaurs #paleobiology #paleoart #nature #animals #lizards #reptiles #birds #ADAD don't get mad at me I actually hope if you ever see this you just find it cute and enjoy the convoluted references I put in

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l1tw1ck · 1 year ago

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William Afton on the list?! AND requests open??? Oh lawd… could we get something with ftm!William and his problematic young male employee who he uses as stress relief by letting him fuck him over his desk, or having him down under his desk eating him out 🤕🤒 I’m ill for that old man

William's Puppy

dom!bottom!ftm William x sub!top!amab Reader

🔪 Word Count: 1,427 🔪

AFAB Language Used | I uh... got a lil carried away .....

CW: Boss/Employee Relationship, Cunnilingus, Pet Play (Reader gets called puppy and wears collar + leash), Handjob, Begging, Cum Swallowing, Teasing, Desk Sex, Creampie

You're not the greatest employee ever, you’ve been fired multiple times because of your attitude. The only reason William hired you is because of your looks. When he gave you the job, he told you he wouldn't fire you but discipline you instead. You need a job so you agreed.

Your first lesson was when you talked back to a rude patron and got sent to his office. You looked at him with the assumption that you’ll get some sort of work related punishment like cleaning the floor or getting your pay docked.

“An attitude is one thing but cursing someone out? You’ll make the company look bad if I let you go back to work.”

You lower your head in shame. It's hard to keep up appearances when people are such assholes. It's not your fault customers are entitled.

“So, I’ll give you a different job.”

You perk up.

“You’ll be my assistant from now on. I expect you to be at my beck and call, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m a little tired from having to deal with your case, how about you help relieve some of my stress?” He unbuckles his belt and you immediately understand what's going on. He motions for you to come over and pulls off his pants then his underwear. You walk over to his side of the desk and crawl under when he instructs you to. You're not going to deny the opportunity to not only eat out your boss but also potentially fuck him too. You’d be an idiot if you did. You drag your tongue up his cunt before fully diving in. You've already fallen in love with his taste. “Just like that..” He grins. He throws his head back and murmurs praises to you, his voice getting more and more unsteady the longer you eat him out.

You're unbelievably hard but you don't even make an attempt to touch yourself. You have a feeling he wouldn't like that so you focus completely on his pleasure.

William lets out a particularly loud moan before grabbing the back of your head and desperately grinding against your face, stopping you from getting air. You don't have to worry about your oxygen for long though, thanks to William coming on your face.

William lets go of you and the both of you take a few moments to catch your breaths. He wipes your face with his hand, brushing away his hair and slick. You watch him pull his pants back up and return to a presentable state, realizing he's not going to let you fuck him today. He notices your boner and decides to take pity on you. He didn't plan on it initially but how could he leave such a cute puppy to deal with their boner alone? “Get up.” He orders. You get out from under his desk and stand up. “Sit.” He points to the chair you were previously sitting in.

You immediately take a seat. William walks over to you and sits on your lap. He leans into your ear. “You did so well, puppy.” He says, unzipping your fly and pulling out your cock. “You deserve a reward.” He spits on his hand and slowly begins to jerk you off.

You lean back, letting out low moans of pleasure. It feels amazing despite the slow pace.

William shifts in his place so that he's sitting on your thigh, rather than your lap. He starts grinding down on you and brings you into a sloppy kiss. He picks up the pace by a lot, roughly but pleasurably jerking you off. You feel like you're on cloud 9. Your combined body heat is making you lose your mind. You start to lose track of time, only acknowledging the pleasure you feel and the man on top of you.

He slowly pulls away from the kiss and looks at you with a smile. He can tell you’re close. “You wanna come, don't you?” He grips your cock, just tight enough to make you whimper. You nod your head rapidly.

“Then beg like a good boy.”

“Please let- let me come, sir~” You beg. He resumes his movements until you come, his hand manages to catch your cum before it can get anywhere else. He brings his cum covered hand to his face and licks up all of your cum. “Th- thank- thank you, sir-”

William gently grips your neck, rubbing his thumb on your skin. “Your neck seems empty…” He frowns without any real sadness behind it. You look at him like an excited pup, knowing exactly what he's trying to say. He smiles at your reaction. “I’ll make sure to fix this.” He kisses your cheek. “See you on Monday.”

William hands you a gift box. You open it with excitement and grin when you see a collar inside. Instead of a bell, there's a heart charm with “Property of William Afton” engraved on the back of it.

William takes out the collar and orders you to kneel, which you do without a second thought. He puts the collar on for you, making the situation feel more intimate than before. He turns around and grabs a leash, connecting it to your collar. “Watch me.” He orders. You stare at him intensely as he slowly removes his clothes, practically teasing you. His shoes and socks go first, then his tie, and then he slowly unbuttons his shirt. He takes it off completely and then throws it aside. His pretty looking nipples catch your eye and then you notice his happy trail, which leads to the breathtaking pussy you’ve been fantasizing about the entire weekend. It feels agonizingly slow as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his slacks. You start drooling in anticipation, making him chuckle. He pulls his pants off and then sits up on his desk, which he cleared earlier.

He spreads his legs and teasingly rubs himself through his light colored boxers, his slick steadily bleeding through the fabric. Your cock is practically weeping. Turned on by your expression, William decides to stop teasing you. At least with this method. He pulls his underwear off and beckons for you to come over. You stand up and stand in between his legs. He hooks his legs around your waist and forces you to get closer, so close that your clothed boner is against his bare cunt. He grabs your leash and brings you into a kiss. He rubs his pussy against your hard-on, drenching your pants in his slick. He's making this so hard for you. It takes a lot of strength to be able to hold back. You have to go against your instincts and let him take the lead.

He pulls away from the kiss and finally decides to grant you your wish. “Strip.” He commands. You excitedly remove all your clothes. William looks at your throbbing cock with pity.

“Can I put it in, sir?” You ask, completely unable to mask your excitement.

“Of course.”

Despite your eagerness, you gently hold his waist and slowly ease your way inside William’s soft walls. You bite down on your lip as you enter his wet heat, trying not to come before you can even bottom out. He notices this and chuckles. You're so cute to him. You don't realize until it's too late but you were gripping him too hard.

“Sorry-” You loosen your grip.

“Be as rough as you want. Who am I to stop you from following your instincts?” William smiles. He knew exactly how his words would impact you. You go back to roughly gripping his waist and shove your cock all the way inside, earning a sexy moan from the man beneath you. You immediately start rutting into him, fucking his tight heat with desperation and vigor. You let out a string of curses and praises, raving about how good he feels.

You lean into his neck, breathing heavily as you fuck him. He can hear you even more clearly now. He especially enjoys it when you whine. You take one of your hands away from his waist and bring it to his dick. He gasps and starts to moan even louder as you please his most sensitive area.

“Yes– keep going~” William moans.

Surprisingly, William is the first to reach his orgasm. Unsurprisingly, the feeling of him clenching around your cock causes you to come next. You slow down before stopping completely to catch your breath. You move away from his neck and look at him.

He pets you. “Good job, puppy.”

#wicks🕯requests #wicks🕯works #top male reader #male reader #william afton x male reader #william afton smut #william afton x reader #sub william afton #fnaf x male reader #fnaf smut #fnaf movie x male reader #fnaf movie smit #🕯️fnaf

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lyjen · 11 months ago

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Voices In My Head

Summary: When Evan brings out two female victims, when they start hitting on him, he reveals his girlfriend. They start to talk about her, and to insult her. When (Y/n) overhears those girls and lets the words get to her, she starts to distance herself from her boyfriend and keeps a secret. But what happens to their relationship when Evan discovers her secret and confronts her?

‼️ Trigger Warning ‼️: This story contains themes of body image issues, self-esteem struggles, verbal harassment, and disordered eating behaviors, including self-induced vomiting. If these topics are sensitive or triggering for you, please read with caution or consider skipping this content.

Request

9-1-1 masterlist

Taglist: ( @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

______

Electric noise was sounding through Evan’s radio as he heard a familiar voice. “Buck, what’s your ETA? I need someone to escort two female victims out.” Bobby’s voice called over the radio.

Evan was doing a sweep over the same floor as Bobby and other firefighters from another station who were called in. Evan’s hand reached down his radio as he pressed the button to speak. “Just behind you. On my way cap!” he said as he let go of the button and made his way down the hall where Bobby was, crouched down next to two victims.

Bobby waved him down, he could hear his captain ask if the two could stand up and pointed to Evan with probably the message to the females to go with him.

“This way!” Evan said as loud as he could so the two women could hear him through his mask. The two young ladies were coughing on his right side as he tried to escort the two of them outside. It was a short walk to the exit of the building, but he had to stick with them until they reached triage.

As Evan’s face reaches the sunny Los Angeles sky again through the plastic oxygen mask, he quickly rips off his mask to not waste any more oxygen out of his tank.

He reaches out his arm behind the backs of the two women to guide them into the right direction to one of the triage tents. He tries to control his rapid breaths as he tells the women to sit down on the ground underneath the tent. “Okay you can both sit down here..” he says as his brain was still trying to figure out where the paramedics were.

There was chaos in the parking lot where the triage was. The five level high apartment building where Evan just walked out was going up in flames. There were a lot of people with smoke inhalation and burns who were being evacuated from the building.

Evan looked for the paramedics from his team, his eyes were searching the parking lot as his eyes fell onto his girlfriend who was treating a patient in the red tent.

“I need to intubate!” she called out as someone from the other team who was called in passed her an intubation tray and a tube. A groan fell off her lips as she tried to get the tube in the victim's throat.

“The airway is too burned, I can’t get it in! I need a smaller tube!” she commanded as she held out the other tube, which got switched with a smaller one within a second of time.

The laryngoscope was in the patient’s mouth as she slid the smaller tube into the airway of the victim. She quickly got rid of the laryngoscope as someone took it off her hands and connected the bag of air with the tube and passed it onto the paramedic who was helping her.

She plugged the stethoscope into her ears so she could hear if she did her job correctly. (Y/n) placed the metal piece against the chest of the man, and as soon as she could hear his lungs work correctly she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

He could look at her for hours, and hours and not get tired of her.. Just her, doing the thing she loved the most. Helping people, saving their lives and being a paramedic.

A loud and long cough brought him back to reality as his mind wandered off for just a second, even though it felt like minutes, of only him gawking at his girl.

His eyes fall onto a few oxygen tanks with small masks that fall over the nose and mouth, next to one of the parked ambulances. He quickly grabs two of the oxygen tanks for the two victims he brought outside, and places one bottle next to each one of them.

He crouched down in front of the first woman as he placed the mask onto her mouth and nose and gently let go of the elastic rubber band that went around her head. Evan wasn’t a paramedic but he knew the basic needs. He did the same with the second woman, but when he wanted to stand up to get some gauze out of the medic bag a few feet further, a hand grabbed his wrist.

Evan looked over his shoulder as his eyes fell onto the second woman he helped. With one hand placed onto her oxygen mask, and her other wrapped around his wrist she coughed. “Thank you so much for doing this.” She breathed heavily, recovering from the hard and loud cough.

A small smile spread across his face ”Just doing my job” he simply answered her as he retrieved his arm again when the hand of the woman loosened from his wrist. And he reached out to the medic bag to fish out some gloves and gauze.

“Oh I’m thanking god for hot firefighters” the other woman on the left said as she looked up to the sky. “Speaking of thanking people. How can we ever repay you?” she second woman asked Buck as he kneeled in front of her to take care of the small burn wound that was starting to appear onto her hand.

Evan didn’t think much of it, he was doing his job. He didn’t need some kind of gift or anything. This is what he did for a living.

“Ooh!! What about, you give me your number and we could get a drink” the first woman said again as she reached for her phone in her pocket to give it to him. “Or maybe dinner?” her friend said as her eyes wandered back to Evan.

“Woah, ladies.. ladies!” He stops them from brainstorming any more ideas and helps them get out of their dreams. “I’m flattered, I really am.. But I happen to have a girlfriend” he said as he wrapped the gauze bandage around the woman’s arm.

“Really? Who is it?” the girl on the left asked a little too directly. Evan shook his head at her reaction, seriously? They really want to know everything about him. “She’s also a firefighter actually.” he just says, hoping it would hush them. “Is it that one?” her voice asked again as she pointed out to someone of the 133 who were also on the scene.

Evan looked over his shoulder as he followed her finger, and he shook his head. “Oh come on, give us a hint!” the one he was treating whined. He grinned at her reaction, they were too curious. “Actually, she’s right over there” Evan says as he beckons his head in the direction of (Y/n) who’s treating a patient across the parking lot.

Evan grabbed a small piece of tape as he secured the bandages ending so it wouldn’t fall off. He could hear a scoff fall from the other girl's mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding me” she said, “Geez, what is a man like you, doing with a girl like that?” her voice continued as Evan took off his gloves and pressed it into a small ball.

(Y/n) could feel eyes burning into her skull as she was preparing an IV to bring it in her patient hand. “She looks like a pig” she could hear a loud woman’s voice say as she placed the elastic band around the patient's arm to reveal an artery.

Her eyes wandered down the parking lot, spotting the two women saying those terrible things to her own boyfriend. Those girls were talking about her. She knew. It was not the first time this happened. She acts like it doesn’t get to her. But deep down, it stung. Words like that sting deeper than physical wounds. “I think she might explode any second” another voice spoke as (Y/n) shook her head, trying to get rid of the voices. She had to finish putting the IV in, when she found an artery and let the needle slide in and placed a sticker on it so it wouldn’t move anymore.

Just after the two insults, Evan quickly glanced over his shoulder. These two women were talking loudly. Probably loud enough to reach the end of the parking lot, which clearly did. He could see (Y/n) getting uncomfortable, her body language is telling him more than enough.

He could see her waving over another paramedic, and she shook her head while she peeled off her gloves which she threw to the ground. This clearly wasn’t a “I couldn’t save him” case, nobody had died and she would act differently if she couldn’t save a patient.

A sigh fell off his lips as he could see her placing the palm of her hand against her forehead and walked out of Evan’s sight.

The voices of the woman who were making fun of his girlfriend were still making inappropriate jokes and comments, but as soon as they couldn’t find her anymore they started laughing. “Aw, she left..” one of the girls said. Evan was done with these two women, so he left their sides. Normally he wouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t handle these two any longer, not after the comments they made.

Just as he took a few steps to follow (Y/n), his name came through the radio again. “Buck, I need your help here!” Eddie’s voice spoke. He stopped in his tracks and a sigh fell off his lips. “Yeah. Copy that.” He wanted to run after her so bad.

_____

(Y/n) clicks on the button to unbuckle her seatbelt as the ambulance pulls to a stop and Hen puts on the handbrake. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been quiet on this ride.” Hen said as she turned towards the passenger seat where (Y/n) was in.

Was it really that obvious? The words that stung, kept floating around in the back of her mind and they wouldn’t go away. No matter how hard she tried to think about something else, the words would come back.

“Yeah I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” (Y/n) answers Hen, as she sends her a small smile. She slowly guides her seatbelt to the side of the rig. Hen gave her a look that said “I don’t know” and shrugged her shoulders.

(Y/n) places her hand onto the handle of the door to open it. She wanted to flee away before Hen would ask her any more questions. She didn’t want to break down in front of her. She couldn’t let those words get to her. She was much stronger than that.

But before she could open the door, Hen’s hand connected with her upper arm. “You know I’m here for you, right?” Hen’s concerned voice asked. (Y/n) glanced over her shoulder as she just simply nodded. “I know, Thanks.” she said softly and short and continued opening the passenger door.

She swung her legs out the door and stepped outside. She softly pushed the passenger door closed as she could hear the ladder truck and the engine pressing the brake and come to a stop because of the loud beep.

(Y/n) kept her face down as she made a beeline towards the locker room. But just as she thought she had successfully avoided her boyfriend by not looking at him, she felt a firm hand curled around her forearm.

Her body flinched at the sudden touch, and out of reflex she yanked her arm up, ready to defend herself. Until she turned 180 degrees and she recognised that familiar shape.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me!” Evan’s voice said as he quickly let go of her arm, he held up his hands as a sign to prove he was innocent and didn’t want to hurt her.

She let out a sigh as her mind came back to reality and she realized her boyfriend was grabbing her arm.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you? I’ve called out your name like three times ten seconds ago?” Evan’s voice sounded concerned. He let his hands grab the bretels of his turn out pants as he waited for his girlfriend to come with some kind of response.

“I zoned out for a second, I guess” she said as she looked down to the floor. She didn’t want to make too much eye contact. He would see right through her lies, if she looked at him too long.

A silence fell, just for a few seconds, and (Y/n) pressed her lips into a thin line as she gave him a silent nod. She wanted to turn away from Evan and to resume her way towards the locker room. But just as she took one step towards her destination, Evan’s voice rang through her ears again.

“Hey, is everything alright?” His soft voice asked. When the first two words fell off his lips she stopped once again in her tracks as a painful expression was appearing on her face.

As soon as she got rid of the painful expression she turned her body around again so she was facing him. “Yeah what do you mean? That call went well right?” she said as she placed her hands into her pockets. She leaned her weight to her heels and back to her toes. That’s what she did if she was anxious.

He shook his head. “You know I'm not talking about the call..” Evan said as he took another step forward, closing the distance between them. He looked her straight in the eye, at least that is what he tried. Because before they could even reach the one second of their eyes being connected, (Y/n) quickly looked into another direction.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said as she felt her feet leaning onto her heels and back to her toes, practically rocking back and forth. Her eyes wandered down to Evan’s chest. Anywhere but his eyes or in the range of his face was good to look at now.

She slipped her hands back out of her pockets as she finally managed her feet to stop showing her anxiety. But instead she starts to pick the skin around her nails. “(Y/n)...” Evan said with a sigh as he noticed her little anxious habits.

“What? I told you, I’m fine.” She said with an annoyed tone. She was annoyed with him, not because he and his questions were getting exhausting, but the fact that he was right. There was something going on: the words and voices running in the back of her mind, taking over the control of her own thoughts. But this wasn’t something he could help with, she had to fix this one on her own.

“When you answer like that, you make it seem like there is something bothering you.” He said. He knew that she wasn’t just going to expose herself like that. And if she needed help, she wasn’t going to ask for it. She wanted to fix this on her own. She always did. “Well. There is not. I’m fine, okay? How many times do you want me to tell you?” She snapped, and with those words, she walked away from her boyfriend.

He wanted to follow her so badly, but he had pushed her enough for now. Maybe she would come back to him and reveal what was going on.

(Y/n) storms into the bathroom as she angrily pressed the palms of her hands down onto the counter with the sink right in front of her. Faced down she looked into the white reflection of the sink. She tries to calm herself down as she looks down. But as soon as she sees her own shape down in the reflection, she can hear those voices again and again.

A tear dropped directly from her eye down into the empty sink as she was drowning in her own thoughts. Why was this so hard for her to get rid of? She couldn’t, just like a few weeks ago. Somehow, she started to believe those words. She squeezed her eyes closed as she pushed herself to look in the mirror.

She looked at herself, but her eyes wandered quickly enough to the toilet stalls behind her.

A few weeks ago, she started with making herself throw up, as an attempt to lose weight. She didn’t want to do it, she really didn’t. But ever since the first time she made herself throw up, she couldn’t stop.

It was like an addiction.

It was extremely exhausting. It made her head spin on shift sometimes. But all the times her head would spin, she would pull through. She just squeezed her eyes a few times and her vision would be back.

She turned her back towards the sink, and pushed herself off the sink and to one of the stalls. She wiped the remaining tears off her cheeks and opened one of the stall doors. (Y/n) steps inside the stall and she locks the stall and after she does that, she turns around and lets herself fall down to her knees.

Maybe this really wasn’t the right choice.

But hanging above the toilet gave her the urge to do the thing she despised the most. But this was the only thing she could think about.

“She looks like a pig”

“She needs to eat some more salads”

“I'm refusing care if she’s going to assist me.”

With her eyes focussed onto the toilet water, she takes a deep breath. And she slides her right index finger into her mouth and reaches as far as she could get.

______

Evan opens the door to his apartment and quickly flicks the light on with his finger. He closes the door behind him as he throws his car keys on the table and slides his duffle bag off his shoulder and down to the ground.

He was sensing if (Y/n) was home, but when he heard a loud cough coming out of the bathroom, he knew enough. “Hey! You’re not going to believe what happened on shift” Evan called out, just to let his girlfriend know he was home.

His eyebrows furrowed as he didn’t get a response from her.

“(Y/n)?” he asks as he waits for a few counts to give her the opportunity to respond. But his gut feeling was becoming anxious as he didn’t receive a response from her.

Tears were in her eyes as she pushed her finger in her throat once more.

No matter how often she would make herself throw up, those voices wouldn’t disappear. The tears were stinging her eyes, but no more fluids would leave her body.

She retrieved her right index finger from her throat, as she let her arms hang over the toilet seat she was holding with her left hand a few seconds ago. She let her head bungle in between her arms above the toilet as she coughed and spit out the last substances.

“What the hell are you doing?” A male voice spoke as soon as she felt the muscles in her stomach tense to empty her stomach.

“shit” she mumbled to herself without making any sound, as she slowly let her head get back up and she let her eyes wander down to the door opening where her boyfriend was standing.

(Y/n) didn’t expect Evan to get home already. She must have mistaken the time. How was she going to explain this? She had to think quickly of something.

“I think I may have.. eaten something rotten.” she stumbled as she let out another small cough.

Buck didn't say a thing as he lightly shook his head and looked his girl once more in her eyes. He was going to find out right now what was going on. He didn’t care if this was going to resolve into an argument or into a fight. He had to know what was going on with his girl, and why she has been acting so weird lately.

He slowly took some steps forward, until he was in range of her. He looked down and crouched down next to her. Evan took some time to look his girl up and down, and as his eyes wandered back to her eyes.

His eyes softened, as he held out his hand. “Come on” his voice said softly as he waited for (Y/n) to accept his hand.

(Y/n) sat there, staring at him like she saw water burning. Why did he completely ignore her answer of what she was doing? This wasn’t like him.

She hesitated, he could see it in her eyes and the way she waited a few counts to lay her hand into his. He raised his eyebrows, as a silent “are you coming?” But when he feels her trembling hand placed down onto his skin, he was sure he could feel his heart beat out of his chest.

He could sense all this time that something was wrong. And now it was time to confront her.

He helped her get up, and onto her feet, he led her through the exit of the bathroom and towards the dinner table. With his free hand he pulled out a chair and made a gesture towards her to sit down. Without saying anything, he walked into the kitchen and opened one of the upper cabinets.

Evan grabbed a glass and turned to the refrigerator and grabbed a full can of water. He poured the glass full with water and returned the can, and swiftly grasped the glass of water which he set down with a loud tick.

With a quick move he stole another chair from the dinner table, and he placed it right in front of her so there wasn’t a table between them. He let his back rest against the wooden chair and placed the elbow of his right arm down onto the table. The fingers of his right hand were anxiously tracing over his chin and lips. “Drink.” Is the only thing he could bare to say right now.

With a trembling hand she reached out for the glass and moved the glass towards her lips and took some sips.

He has waited long enough. When she places the glass onto the wooden table again, he just casually throws the question on the table. “How long have you been doing this?” he said as he leaned with his chin down onto the thumb of his right arm and his index finger just above his upper lip.

“What? Where are you talking about?” she asks, trying to pretend like she doesn’t know what he means.

“Oh come on. You’ve been acting weird for weeks. And every time when I ask you if something is bothering you, you say you’re fine. But I know you better than that.” He states.

The nail of her index finger starts to scratch around the nail of her thumb, searching for broken or dead skin to pick. She doesn’t want to look at him. She can feel the tears stinging in her eyes again, as if he knew what button to press. She swallowed.

“We’re not leaving this chair, this room or the house until you tell me what is going on. Because, I’m sick and tired of seeing you like this and pretending like nothing is going on. So.. spill.” Evan’s voice starts to tremble.

She just looked down to the floor, and continued to pick her skin on her fingers. She let her tongue wetting her dried out lips, a neutral taste took over her mouth as she bit her lip to suppress the feeling of crying.

Her breathing became shaky “I’m hearing those voices in my head..” she mumbled and stumbled with a trembling breath. Her eyes still locked onto the floor, avoiding any kind of contact with her boyfriend.

He wanted to jump in on her reaction, but gave her some space to tell her story. “And.. I can’t stop them from talking, because.. I actually started to think they were right.” she sniffled as she wiped away the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

Oh.. the way he wants to pull her in, and tell her everything is going to be okay.

“You deserve someone who makes you happy, someone who makes you laugh when you’re crying and someone you can hold completely. Not someone who is ten sizes bigger than your average supermodel.” she says through her waterfall of tears.

Evan slides off his chair and crouches down at her knees, trying to break her focus on the floor. He placed his hands down onto her knees. “Hey, hey, hey! Why would you say that? That’s not what I want.” his voice sounded concerned.

She stayed silent as she tried to wipe her tears away. Evan kept his gaze onto his girl. “Look at me. How could someone like you love someone like me.” she sobbed through her tears.

“Hey..” he says as he places his left hand onto her cheek to try and calm her down. “I don’t need or want some barbie doll, a supermodel or someone with a figure like a skewer. I want you.” he continues.

Her eyes wandered back towards his. “I fell for you.. the way you make me laugh, the way your nose crunches when you smile.. everything about you is just.. perfect.” he spoke. She wildly shook her head. “You can’t love someone like me Buck!” She refuses to accept the fact that her boyfriend is deeply in love with her.

“Maybe you don’t think I can.. but the truth is.. I do.” with every word his voice became closer to a whisper.

He let his hand wander down from her cheek down to her chin, he could feel her breathing become more heavily, even though she just turned her head away from him. His thumb traced along her skin, from her chin to her jawline and down to her neck.

“Buck..” she panted as she felt goosebumps spreading over her entire body.

When he reaches her shoulders, he smoothly traces his fingers over her skin. Putting a lost strand of hair behind her ear and over her shoulder. “We.. shouldn’t be doing this.” she continued.

“I believe I should.” he whispered back. Making the goosebumps spread even further to places she didn’t know they could.

He pressed his warm lips onto her exposed neck, and made his way down to her collarbone. “Evan. Stop.” she groaned as she grabbed his arm and panted. But he didn’t care, he didn't want to stop. He had to show her how much he loved her.

He let his fingers wander down her belly, her most insecure spot of her entire body. But when he found the stretch marks which were spread over her abdomen and the lower part of her body, he let his fingers lightly trace down and placed multiple kisses down her belly.

“Bu-“ she stumbled as Evan went lower and lower. And the belly was already such a sensitive spot. Another groan fell off her lips as he grabbed with her left hand his shoulder to keep herself steady. Her right hand was on the back of his head, pulling the strands of his hair.

He loved her.

All of her.

The things she would say the worst things about were the things he loved the most about her.

#911 #911 fox #911 abc #911 imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley #imagine

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