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octoberautumnbox · 4 hours ago

Text

Bruise

Soloist/IZ*ONE Jo Yuri & (named) Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, fluff?

Word count: 5.5k

a/n: prompt by @msafterhours! ty for hosting once again :DDDD

YALL BETTER TUNE IN TO SQUID GAME 3 TOMORROW

~~~

Dull thuds of feet against trampled carpet. A door that tries to creak open. The stench of lavender amongst iron and spent brimstone. Clear.

She kicks off her heels as you crash onto the couch, only for her to follow. The plastic crinkles and ruffles underneath the both of you, growing stickier with each passing moment you're putting off cleaning up. Instead, you both opt for catching your breaths, taking in the cool breeze of air conditioning, and most importantly, listening intently for how your muscles scream and cry from overuse.

With a grunt, she pushes herself up and reaches for the tiny white envelope on the table. She undoes the wax seal with two swipes of her fingernail and pulls out the letter, scanning carelessly through its contents before tossing it back onto the table and reslouching on the sofa. She's clocked out of work: she clutches her face with her hands, forcing her eyelids shut and her breathing slows to a steady, or steadier, pace.

“Congrats, come home,” or whatever the fuck. The letter is unnecessarily more verbose, unbelievably so, but the important parts couldn't be simpler. It was a job well done, after all, and an invitation like that is always a sight for sore eyes were it not already expected. You stare at the seal in the top-left corner, pushing down your animosity for your employer as best you can.

A hand on her shoulder is all the consolation you allow yourself to give. “Go,” cold, tired, stern. She peeks at you through her slender fingers, and you steal a glance of her eyes crinkling at the corners before she pulls them away. With what sounds like a herculean effort, she gets up from the couch and heads off slowly to the bathroom as you sit and stare at the now-empty spot on the couch. Your eyes land back onto the annoyingly white sheet of paper on the table, silently cursing its bare existence, while the shower comes to life somewhere in the back of the room and of your mind.

Push off the sofa yourself, follow the sound of pitter-pattering water. Your tie comes undone, as do your buttons. She watches through the open door how you slide the sullied clothes off your heaving form, momentarily pausing from scrubbing the vile leftover matter out of her hair. She covers herself modestly with her arms and the shower curtain—she can be as coy as she wants if it makes her feel better—as you lean against the sink and catch your breath.

Dark circles under your eyes, splatterings of rust dotted across your face and arms. Some fresher, redder, more vibrant than others. All marks of victory, and nothing more. The water is cool in your palms, in stark contrast to the heat that blazes off the skin of your back and nape. Wash away your blemishes, wash away your sins. All marks of victory, and nothing more.

You notice a towel on the rack, which you mindlessly reach for. Just then, the water ceases falling, and you knock on the cubicle door. She eyes you, and then the towel, and then you again. It changes hands far too quickly, and a few brief moments later she pulls back the curtain and emerges like brand new. She's wrapped herself in a pristine eggshell-white robe with the bow tied neatly over her tummy, as the towel sips gently from the moisture of her hair.

She places a hand on your shoulder, shoots you a knowing smirk. You switch places: the floor grows only marginally wetter as she steps out to make space for you in the shower, and as you will the water to life again, you hear the faint sound of teeth being brushed from the other side.

~~~

You step out of the bathroom, leaving the dirt and grime of the day behind you. You find her on the couch again, but this time it's stripped away of the sullied plastic covering. She reads the letter deep in thought this time, before finally looking up at you with an expression you can't quite decode.

A knock on the door, your senses switch back to high alert. Though her eyes stay expressionless, they're anything but dull, and all it takes is one shake of her head. You tiptoe over to the door and cover your side of the peephole with your hand. One. Two. Three. And again.

One.

Two.

Three.

You open the door by a crack, and on the other side is an unassuming boy dressed as a staff member of the hotel. He clutches in his hands a tray with a single plate of French fries, which he serves to you and leaves just as wordlessly.

It's fries. Steaming, fragrant, drizzled with cheese sauce and bacon bits over top. And the place is safe, from the staff to the food to the rooms. Still, looking over to her, you can tell she doesn't trust them as much as she did when she ordered them. And the feeling of pity roots snugly against, not in, your heart: you want more than anything for these fries to be as safe as when she ordered them.

~~~

Not even a single speck of dust, only a hauntingly spotless brown ceiling to stare at. She rests her head on your chest and her plate on your stomach, staring out the window to the moon and stars that seem so close yet so far out of reach. She chews carefully, not savoring taste or texture, but only feeling around for the way her body moves to sustain itself. She breathes slow, checking in with how obediently her chest expands as she takes air in and pushes it back out.

The silence makes known a ringing sound in your ears; it's a stark contrast to not even an hour ago when explosions large and small filled them instead. You can only imagine her feeling the same, looking out at the gentle borrowed light of the moon instead of the bright flashes of whites and yellows and reds that demanded to be beheld.

“How much?” you whisper, breaking the silence. Place a hand around her shoulders, pull her close and secure as if you had the right to do so. She looks up, no doubt wondering why it matters enough for you to ask.

“Enough,” she sighs, returning her gaze to the moon, “for a hundred new iPhones every month until I'm eighty. A million of every ring, necklace, and broach my dad could never give my mom.” She pauses, wishfully, “A good, quiet, safe life.”

You sink deep in thought. It's true, there's nothing more valuable than that. The opportunity to leave this all behind and start over is the single most important thing everyone in this line of work works for.

“And a bookstore?” you jest.

And she giggles. “And a café upstairs. And a flower shop next door.”

She brings the next fry to your lips, hoping you'd accept. “And maybe… a husband? Whose name I… know.”

Both of you flinch at it, as if she hadn't meant to say it out loud nor you meant to hear it, but just as quickly you recover and smiles tug at the corners of your mouths.

It's been on your mind for a while, too. Not the high fantasy of a lavish mansion or a vault chock full of gold coins to swim in, not even a two-story, three-bed, four-bath with a white picket fence keeping in two kids and maybe a dog. Just the privilege to hit snooze every once in a while, to have the option of the Wednesday farmer's market, to not seek clearance for exactly five watered down shots at the least horrendous of the closest agency-affiliated bars.

“Sounds like a dream,” you confess, airier and more vulnerable than intended. You've been working this job longer than you care to remember, more missions completed than worth counting, more bones broken and lives claimed than anything that would get you a good afterlife. And yet, all of it has brought you to where you are now: lying at midnight in a bed you can't even appreciate the luxury of, in a hotel you couldn't bring yourself to trust, with the only person you've ever met that you ever truly did.

You sigh, “If you're trying to tell me something, just tell me.”

Your eyes meet under the moonlight, finding tiredness and regret behind each other's gaze. It's been too long, too much, and it's a mystery not even the two of you could solve together why you haven't already quit. But just like that, the answer reveals itself like it was right there beside you all along.

“You've saved enough too. Come with me.” She brings her face closer to yours, planting sweet kisses along your jawline. Her plate is empty, laid to rest somewhere behind her and forgotten like what they do when agents misbehave.

Lock her lips with yours, savor the feeling of being vulnerable with the one person who's ever been worthy of it. She takes your neck in her arms as you position yourself above her, chasing a future she and you want more than anything this organization will ever be able to offer. “And I assume you'll be leaving whether or not?”

She deepens the kiss, licking your tongue and letting you into her mouth. She moans breathily once you start to have your way with her: her grip tightens around you as your hand slides down the middle of her chest. Her eyes flutter shut as you move on to her neck, careful not to suck too hard lest you leave evidence. She spreads her legs just enough to grant you access; rub her folds through the thin fabric that may as well not be there at all. Feel her heat rising as her breath shortens, admire the way she lets you hold her like she's the most precious thing in the world.

“You won't leave me, right?” She begs without begging you to make a promise she knows you can't make. You slide her panties down her smooth legs, and it's nothing but comfort and warmth beneath the cotton blanket you find yourselves under. She gasps at the very first contact of your fingertips rubbing against her clit, and she looks you in the eyes as if not believing that you're considering it for her. Her hips grind slightly against your hand, seeking more of the pleasure you're providing, all the while she grows even wetter at how much attention and care you give her.

She pulls your shorts and underwear down too, thinking two can play at this game. She spits ceremoniously on her palm, the moonlight reflecting off the tiny droplet of saliva collecting in her hand, before she wraps it over your hardening cock as a thank-you. Her strokes are deep and long, leaving no inch dry and untouched, as her body jerks lightly at every swipe of your finger over her sensitive bundle of nerves.

You stay on top of her, spurred on by how affectionately she watches you. Her hands stay on your shoulders, gripping tight as if she might lose you if she lets go. It's happened before, you think, and seeing her reaction under the dim glow of the moon, you feel it's a thought the two of you share.

“Answer me. You won't leave me alone, will you?” She spreads her legs, though absentmindedly. She stares desperately into your eyes, looking for an answer she knows she won't like. As you lean down to her lips, taking claim of her tongue once again, she rubs your tip to her folds, coaxing you in your moment of weakness to give in to hers.

“You know we can't make promises.” Push into her slowly, past her entrance, savoring how her walls part for you. It's heaven hearing her moan like this: airy, light, carefree. She squeezes your cock hungrily, tracing every inch of you with her pussy like it's what everything leads up to. You continue to move, thrusting gently in and out of her, and she can't help but moan and groan at the forbidden pleasure.

She wraps her arms around your neck, keeping you close as if you're the damning secret that unravels her life. She shivers each time you hit her good spots inside her throbbing cunt; she grows wetter and wetter as you keep using her body the way she needs you to. She was always the selfish type, not caring about how it felt for you, but something feels different this time:

“Come find me…?” she whispers into your ear between gasps. She nibbles at your jawline as she shakes, getting pushed closer and closer to her climax. Her back lifts off the mattress and her chest meets yours, begging silently for more contact she knows she can't have.

Fuck her slow, but deep. Part her walls tantalizingly gently, making her groan at how you violate her luscious body. Her smooth skin and beautiful voice all whittle away at your resolve: you're led closer and closer to the idea that maybe, just maybe, a life with her isn't that bad. She squeezes your cock deliciously inside her, wraps her legs around your waist trying to keep you, hugs you tight like she needs you to live.

“Faster…” she begs. Her toes curl and uncurl as you follow, her voice breaking as you speed up. She grinds her hips against you to meet your thrusts, and plants more kisses on your neck during the moments she runs out of breath. Her wetness soaks the bedsheets beneath her, all the while you bring her closer to her climax and yours.

And faster still. You reach too deep into her; with every “mm” and “aah” and “please” she mutters straight into your ear, you feel your resolve crumbling more. The bed creaks slightly as you keep fucking her, all the while thoughts of waking up next to her everyday fill your head.

Her hitting snooze for you. Her hand in yours as you pick out fresh vegetables every Wednesday. Her eyes closed gently as you take your first sips of a fine aged wine.

She kisses you deeply, exploring more of your mouth without you holding her back. Her sultry moans get the better of you, as do the faint ghosts of aloe in her hair. Her skin feels smooth against yours, as if they'd never been touched by blood or gunpowder. You can still taste the cheese lingering on her lips, fading farther away as she lets you nip and nibble on them as you please.

You're in much too deep, you realize. She has her pussy clenching around your cock, her fingers tangled in your hair, her forehead on yours as she greedily kisses you in what would be the last time. And you're not pulling away. “You're really leaving, aren't you…?”

Slow down, catch your breath, give her, and yourself, just a little bit of space. Your nose two inches away from hers, your lips still tingling with the feeling of her love, her beautiful eyes focused solely on you like she'd forget your face if she looked away for even a second.

“Yeah… I am. I'm done,” she confesses. She looks so much older than the last time you saw her in light like this—and it was only last week. She'd just finished scrubbing away the dust and soot of the day from her face, and the bruises on her arms were only almost all better. And yet, she still had just the slightest bit of fight in her eyes, the kind that carried a person through terror and tragedy knowing that the end of the tunnel was near. Now, here it is.

She giggles, “You know they'd get rid of me if I said anything?” She caresses your cheek, admiring you for everything you meant to her: confidant, partner, constant. Anything else is a reach, and the both of you did everything you could to stay behind the line. Despite everything, here she is, admitting so casually to a crime that would get her wiped from the world, saying it so crudely like it was just another day in the life of a commoner who didn't know the lengths agents like you and she went through to protect.

“Is that your plan? Out yourself and take a chance that they'd only throw you on the curb?” you chuckle, the question incredulous as it is weighted. Go slow in her again, try to knock some sense into her. She's not special in the slightest to get away with just a slap on the wrist like that. And yet, you hope with all the heart you have left that she is. “When has it ever worked?”

“We wouldn't—ah fuck—we wouldn't know… Once I leave…”

Shut her up. Seal her lips, swirl her tongue around yours. She can't say what she's about to say, not yet. Anything but that. You speed up, and she reciprocates. She grinds against you, and you wager she doesn't know what you're trying to do.

But do you know what you're trying to do?

She interrupts just a moment, “Switch,” and you have to physically tear yourself away from her to oblige. Only then do you allow yourself to feel the wear and tear of the day and the job again—pulling out of her may very well be one of the most difficult things you’ve ever done.

And yet, she’s nothing but careful with you: she guides you down gently back onto the mattress, making sure your bruises fall onto nothing but cushiony softness. She clambers onto you, her own body betraying the same fatigue both of you tried so hard to ignore. Her hand on your still hard cock, twitching against your palm, and the faint moonlight filtering through the glass window illuminates only half of the most gorgeous face you’ve ever seen.

She takes it in her again, slow and steady. She slides down, feeling herself stretch to accommodate your girth, all the while tiny whimpers escape her lips once more. She takes her sweet time, savoring probably the last she’ll ever have of you—you have to remind yourself of that—as the aches slowly meld with the pleasure of just plainly having her all to yourself like this.

“You always look after me…” she whispers, placing her hands on your chest. It’s a nice change, or separation if you will, that she’s never this handsy in the field. She holds you down, “Can I look after you this time?” and she slides herself up before letting herself drop back. “Mmh—” she whimpers, and it takes everything to not start fucking her again yourself. Instead, settle for the next best thing: swipe at the straps of her nightgown, slip them off her shoulders. It brings the sweetest smile on her face, and as the gown slips down off her shoulders and back, you’re met with the sight of her delicious boobs, all yours to grope and handle like she wants.

“All yours, all of me.” She traces her finger along your arm, and as she reaches your hand, she brings it to her chest. Her breast is soft and pliant, with a perfectly stiff nipple you can’t help but pinch and tug at, and all it does is spur her on further. “More… please,” she pleads, the pleasure getting the better of her, throwing caution to the wind. She never lets go of your hand on her tits, wanting you to touch her forever. She bounces on your cock faster, trying to coax out the release she knows she deserves.

“Fuck… Please, I’m close.” Reach up and take her other breast. Her boobs bounce against your hands, and you feel her body heating up more and more as she rides faster. Her nipples poke against your palms, wanting nothing more than to be pinched hard, pulled, sucked, abused, but you’re too much of a gentleman, aren’t you? You pull her down, and to her surprise, she finds herself laying on your chest. Grip her ass like it’s all yours, thrust into her despite all the aches your body nags at you to submit to. Instead, you follow her, giving her what she wants. It slips in and out of your mind why you’re doing this with her, the memory getting hazier and hazier, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You hug her tight on top of your chest as if this is the way you get to keep her. Her cunt only gets wetter with how hard you try to hold on, and she does the exact same: she wraps her arms around your neck again, wanting to never let go, as she desperately tries looking you in the eyes instead of having them roll to the back of her head.

“I don’t know what your name is,” you confess straight into her ear, “I don’t know how long you’ve been working with me,” you thrust up into her faster, “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again,” she moans as you get rougher, chasing her own release while helping you chase hers, “but…”

And her lips crash against yours again. She grinds against you, trying to overtake your need with hers. She wants to give, wants to serve you, wants to return all the favors you’ve earned from times you saved her ass from whatever stray projectile was hurtling her way. She tries wrestling back control despite almost losing it herself, but she stays on top of you, licking your tongue, controlling the pace. She has to.

“Mmm… you don’t get to say it,” her breath is heavy against your ear, her voice raspy from all the deep moans and rough confessions of pleasure she afforded to you, “you don’t get to tell me you love me without saying my name too.”

She sits back up, plants her feet on the mattress, places her hands on your shoulders again, and bounces on your cock like there’s nothing else in the world to do. “You d-don't know how bad—ahh—I wanna say yours too…”

And you get the feeling she's running out of ways to beg, getting more and more desperate to give you the pleasure she thinks you deserve. Pleasure is splashed across her face: a furrowed brow showing how hard she's trying to outlast you, a forehead beaded with sweat at how bad she wants you to feel good, a lip bitten and next to bleeding keeping herself from saying things she knows she'll regret for all the wrong reasons.

Your breath hitches, and she almost doesn't catch it—she gives herself to you, insistent on making sure you won't want to pull out. She bends back down, pressing her tits on your chest, as she takes your lips one last time. Her tongue wraps around yours again and again, making the most of your remaining time together. She grinds hard on your cock, her slick, warm pussy squeezing around you like it's the only one she'll ever have, and it's this moment she draws her eyes open to find yours.

Her pulling up the covers for both of you. A bowl of fresh vegetable stew in the center of the table between two yet-empty plates. An arm around your shoulder as you stumble up the stairs together, thinking you're supporting her while she thinks she's supporting you.

A flash of blinding white, and your orgasm reaches its peak inside of her. You jerk inside her, and before you know it, you're shooting ropes of hot cum into her throbbing cunt. You thrust as deep as you can go, meeting every single squeeze of her velvet walls with another spurt of your seed, until her eyes glaze over and roll to the back of her head. She lets out a guttural moan as you paint her insides, filling her up beyond what she can keep inside her. Even as you throb and thrust inside her, you feel your cum mixed with her juices running down the underside of your shaft. And her arms wrap impossibly tight around your neck she jerks and shivers uselessly against you, each one the result of another stream of squirt splashing against your crotch.

She collapses on top of you, landing on your heaving chest. You breathe deep to replace the air missing from your lungs, but you can't deny it was the best feeling you've ever had with her, or at all. She lays there peacefully, lightheaded and satisfied, her head placed perfectly dead center of your chest, letting out tiny giggles as she catches her breath.

Place her gently beside you, make sure she's comfy in your embrace. She looks up at you with a love you've never thought possible, but this girl has always been an impossibility come to life. She holds your cheek, finally coming to terms with the fact that she might never have you for herself, and trying to forgive herself for a regret she might never, ever overcome.

“I wanna say it…” she laughs. Her teeth peek out from between her lips, her fingers gently trace your jawline as if trying to memorize it.

“Me too. Stupid rule,” you sigh, and it eases her a bit more. It's common courtesy, after all, to say a person's name when you confess your love—or so you think, who knows how this is supposed to go—so you hold back with everything you can.

She clicks her tongue and lets out a tired laugh, “Fucking ‘Master of Espionage’ can't figure out my fucking name,” and you silently wish you could hear her laugh forever. The smile gracing her features is one you never want to let go, one you want to keep alive for as long as you are.

“That's your job. My job is to make sure the ‘Master of Espionage’ doesn't get shot in the fucking face.”

And she settles. Her eyes give off a light that's betraying her weakness, “Why won't you come with me? Is there something you still need to do?”

It kills you, you don't even know. You don't have an answer for her, let alone a good one, why you can't be with her as she takes the next step into the rest of her life. Or, you couldn't admit that you think she'd never stay with a boring old dope like you who only knows how to pull triggers and crack necks. A young woman as beautiful and sensible as her would be wasted on someone like you—

Like reading your mind, “Stop that. Stop that right now,” she interrupts, and her lips meet yours one last time. She's insistent yet gentle, the way only she could ever be. “I want you… I'll always want you, I think. No matter what you try to convince yourself of.”

“That's cheating.”

“No it isn't,” she giggles again, “I make the rules. Not cheating.”

“Then…” take a deep breath, steel your nerves, “I want you too.”

~~~

“We'll have you on holdover until we can find you a partner.”

“Excuse me?” You can't even begin to believe your ears. It's only been a weekend, you think. And already your partner is…

“Agents can't go out in the field alone. We'll match you with someone and then assign you two a mission.”

It's all but confirmed, then. You try and then fail miserably at forming a cold sweat; it's not like you didn't expect this—in fact, you knew she would. You just didn't think, or hope would be a better word, that she'd go so soon.

You can only stare back at the poor clerk who's only doing his job. Fight down the red that fills your eyes, scold yourself for blaming this guy, or anyone, or everyone, besides you. You're the one who failed to keep her, and there's no one else to point fingers at.

“You can visit the office floor in the meantime, agent. We'd assign you a cubicle, but in reality we'd have you a partner in about ten—”

“Whatever. I'm not doing field work today.”

The clerk clicks his tongue with a bored feeling, whether disapproval or tediousness, you don't care to place. “Fine,” he sighs, “Records department, cubicle 1A4. Welcome back, agent.”

You head off to your desk and slump in the chair.

~~~

Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Your glasses sit elegantly on your face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. You draw your attention away from the image of you in the window and back to the pretty waiter girl walking towards you.

“Ready to order, sir?” Seeing you nod, she swipes her pencil from her ear and spins it before touching its graphite to the paper. She smiles a familiar smile, one you can't seem to forgive yourself for placing.

“A mocha, please.”

“Size?”

“Medium.”

“We say ‘venti’ for that.”

“Whatever.”

“Hot or iced?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Hah, alright. It'll be five minutes, sir.”

She walks away, heading for the counter. For some reason, your nerves are quiet—no alarms blaring, no warning lights flashing. If anything, you're hopeful that it's over and that you could finally leave the past behind you.

And then you see her. She emerges from some back room, exchanging a few words with the pretty waiter girl. They share a giggle before she turns and spots you. Her jaw drops like she's seen a ghost before shooing away the waiter to the kitchen.

She takes careful steps, looking around like there's something to find. She's inconspicuous—she hides it well—and slips into the booth opposite you.

Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Her glasses sit elegantly on her face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. She stares at you, wanting to say a million things yet having none come out.

Do the heavy lifting for her, again: “Hi.”

“I—welcome. You…?”

“Congrats on the whole thing.” You look around: potted plants hang from the ceiling, bright windows let light into the cozy space just like next door. Jazz plays softly in the background like a cliché that fits so damn well.

“Thank you. You look good.” She smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looks you up and down, and you feel yourself doing the same.

“Yuri,” you whisper, feeling the syllables roll off your tongue and past your lips. It feels forbidden to say, forbidden to hear, yet those laws were lifted so long ago.

She laughs a beautiful laugh, like old times. “How did you find me?”

“I'm sorry I took so long… But I'm here now.”

“You say that like I didn't wait.”

She holds your cheek again, feeling the wrinkles where there used to be residue of war. It's a different feeling, a strange one, but nothing unwelcome.

You grasp the hand on your cheek, “Is she…?” before watching her give a solemn nod.

The pretty waiter girl appears beside your booth promptly, setting down your mocha and an americano for your old friend. Yuri shoots a tender yet knowing look at her, but she's only puzzled so far.

“Mom, do you know him?” She glares at you, wondering why her mother has her hand on your cheek. The cogs on her head turn slowly, but they turn nonetheless. “Oh my God…”

“And you must be Mihyun,” you tease, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet, bitter, and comforting, much like the end of a long journey where you're all but one more dirt path from home. “Mm, good for a ‘venti.’ But I wanted it iced, though.”

She chuckles in disbelief, but the moment you scoot to make space, she tears up. She sobs lightly as you put your arm around her, and Yuri joins on her other side to wrap her in a tight hug.

“It's very nice to meet you, sweetheart,” you whisper, kissing her hair. “And you too, my love.” Find her once again, eyeing you with that signature mischievous smile as if saying how dare you make my daughter cry.

“What did you tell her that she isn't kicking me out of here right away?” you laugh, and Yuri laughs back.

“I told her her dad is a wonderful man, and that he always put me first. For a little while, she couldn't understand why I never took a boyfriend. She liked one of the regulars from a long time ago, the handsome one that looked soft and homey, but I said I knew better and she was nice enough to leave it at that.”

“Sounds like I have quite the shoes to fill.”

“Better start now…?”

“Sangja.” You turn red in the face saying it, and just as expected, Yuri snorts.

“Fuck you. All this time, Agent Box?”

“As if you were any better, Agent Glass.”

~~~

a/n: this might be the most fanfiction-y fanfiction i've written so far bc of that namedrop and also for giving her a gun lmao anywayz tune in for squid game s3 next week y'all!!

a/n: update y'all they gave her a gun 😭😭😭😭

#kpop smut #girl group smut #izone smut #jo yuri smut #jo yuri #izone yuri #fic box

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penn-dragon · 3 days ago

Note

Hey Penn I wanted to ask you some questions about Zosan:

1: Who feel In love First?

2: Why did Zoro or Sanji feel in love with the other?

I also wanted to say that I Love your artstyle its unique and beautyful. Hope your doing well and keep on the great Work!!

Hell yeah I’ll talk about zosan, also thank you so much!!

1. Zoro definitely fell in love first, or at the very least he acknowledges that he’s in love first. Zoro’s very straightforward and doesn’t question himself the way Sanji does so once he realizes what he’s feeling he’s just kind of like “I guess this is what we’re doing now.” It’s his first time falling in love so there’s a lot of complex emotions that come with that, but he’s not going to waste time lying to himself about it.

Sanji on the other hand is the runner track star of “can’t catch me, gay thoughts!!” He’s spent a long time suppressing the parts of himself he thinks are wrong so he doesn’t even notice it at first. Falling in love with Zoro really sneaks up on him. Sanji is very used to love burning hot and fast. He was unprepared to comprehend what it feels like when love creeps up on you and you suddenly find yourself looking at someone you’ve known for a while and where you think you should find annoyance all you feel is fondness. That TERRIFIES HIM. And he runs from that feeling for a good while before he finally accepts it.

2. Zoro LOVES having someone that pushes him to be better. There’s a reason his most significant relationship before the Straw Hats was the girl he desperately wanted to surpass. Zoro’s at his best when he has someone who challenges him every day. Sanji keeps him on his toes and their fights and their rivalry encourage him to always be better than he was yesterday. He loves that they fight, he loves that he has to go all out. The only other person who matches his strength is Luffy, but Luffy likes to roughhouse more than he likes to spar, it doesn’t have the same intensity. He loves that sometimes he kicks Sanji’s ass, sometimes he gets his ass kicked, and sometimes they’re deadlocked until they’re both sprawled out bruised and exhausted on the deck. He wants to fight with Sanji for the rest of their damn lives.

He also loves how kind Sanji is. Zoro himself isn’t unkind, but he’s not overly interested in going out of his way to help someone if it conflicts with his own self interest. But Sanji would give a stranger the shirt off his back and the food out of his mouth without being asked, and while Zoro doesn’t really understand it he recognizes it as a fundamental part of what makes Sanji Sanji.

Sanji loves how Zoro seems so stoic and hard on the outside but he’s really such a big teddy bear once you take the time to get to know him. Sanji’s known too many powerful men who leveraged that power to oppress the people around them, but Zoro isn’t like that. He’s strong enough to take down insanely powerful enemies but he lets his crew mates pick on him with only half-hearted threats everyone knows he wouldn’t follow through on. Zoro relishes a good fight, but he’s not needlessly cruel. He’s not the kind of man who would pick on those weaker than him to make himself feel strong.

He also loves how direct Zoro is. Sanji has a tendency to overthink and run himself in circles and oftentimes Zoro will interrupt his spiraling by saying something blunt and honest that Sanji wasn’t expecting because he just… hasn’t known a lot of people like that. He appreciates that (once they sort all their shit out) he doesn’t have to guess if Zoro is being straightforward with him. Zoro doesn’t say one thing when he means another, he doesn’t see the point in dancing around things, and that directness is something Sanji values. Zoro is solid, he’s an anchor for the entire crew. Sanji is the sky Zoro admires and Zoro is the earth that keeps Sanji grounded. (And Luffy is the sun that gives them both light and life.)

He also thinks Zoro is hot.. like really really hot. Stupidly hot it’s actually unfair how hot he is. He’s always allowed himself to admit that Zoro is objectively a good looking man, but once he admits he has feelings for him it’s like the floodgates open and he has to squint when he looks at him or he’ll get mad about how hot he is and then make it Zoro’s problem lmao

#penn answers things #zosan #sanzo #zosanzo #one piece #anonymous

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hyacinth-in-a-haze · 1 day ago

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Yandere Southern preacher! x fem reader!

You think you're alone when you step into the church, dress and coat soaked to the skin from the thunderstorms outside. You're just looking for a place to wait out the rain before going again, maybe you can rest a moment while it's still night.

Those thoughts depart when you see him. Broad and tall holding a cigarette against his lips with the collar still round his throat, he looks you up and down with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Are you lost missy?” he raises a brow before going back to his cigarette.

“No sir, sorry sir I only wanted to wait the storm out.” you babble and stammer your wat through your words, it's obvious he's not convinced by anything you have to say and why would he. There's no sane reason for a girl your age to be traveling alone through unfamiliar land with only what she can carry on her, at best he probably assumes your a runaway, which is only part of the truth.

“calm yerself I ain't gonna throw you out of the Lord's house. What kinda man would that make me?” You can't tell if he's joking or not but the warmth offered is one you take as you walk in a bit further. Once you sit down he continues.

“Now tell me little lamb. What has happened to put you here in my church tonight?” His eyes crinkle with something close to concern as he leans down to your level. Fatherly and warm with the scent of tobacco and pine emanating from him. Maybe it's the semblance of care he presents to you that causes you to step into the lion's den so easily.

“I'm in big trouble,” you sob unable to hold it back any longer, he coos in response and helps you out your wet jacket only causing you to cry harder.

“and why are you in such big trouble for a small girl, you can tell me I promise I only want to help you out.” Maybe it was the first open hand anyone has offered you in a long time that made you accept it with eyes shut to the danger around you.

You shake your head not wanting to say the thing outloud to make it real. You expect him to force the words out of you but instead he smiles kindly, so kindly. Taking your hands in his

“You don't need to tell me anything you're not ready for little lamb, but at least allow me to put you in front of a fire and get someone in you? My home is only a bit more down, you can allow me to do this for you right?” His hand strokes your head with such tenderness you don't even hear what he says, you just nod along to anything he can tell you.

You don't know how you find yourself in his home, sat on his sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket and a mug of something sweet in your hands. He's sat opposite you, so close that your knees practically graze each other every time you breathe. The conversation stays light despite the weight you carry until it shifts again.

“Do you mind tellin’ me where you're headed next then? If you've made any plans?”

You look up to him, the hesitation a greater answer than anything you could say.

“I thought West, apparently there's more work to be had there.” You murmur and with the frown on his face its clear he ain't convinced.

“Lamb, you don't have any plans do you?” He stands up with a sigh, “well that settles that.” he makes his way to the door and you can hear the telltale click of the lock.

“Settles what Sir?” As the words fall from your lips you notice a growing numbness rise from your fingers and toes.

“That the Lord brought you to me for a reason, so who am I to refuse his gift?” He circles back to where you sit, taking your chin in his hands

“Especially when you have no other option, not if you don't want me to hand you over to the authorities.”

Your throat tightens as your tears rise

“I didn't mean to kill him please, he just lunged at me and I only meant to push him off me not down the stairs please.” You beg as though if you could convince him of your innocence then he would let you walk out the door. The mug falls from your hands, staining your lap,the hot drink should have had you screaming but you can't feel anything, can't move anything.

He shushes you with a hand across the mouth, more concerned with the mess you made of yourself then anything.

“Darlin’ news travels very fast around the circles I work within. It didn't take me long to realise the pretty little fool wandering into my church was the missing girl who killed her boss and ran away with his money a few towns back. Now that may not be your story but it's the story being told. Do you understand?”

His eyes narrow and you use the last of your strength to nod.

“Good I'm glad you understand, now I can't let a little thing like you be tried as a murderess, I can't let them hang you by that pretty neck of yours. So I'm gonna give you a way out,” his hand moves from your chin to the top of your damp hair as he strokes you.

“You'll be mine, you'll have a home to tend to and a husband to watch over you. And if anyone asks where you came from ill cover the story, so your pretty little head can't give itself away ever again.” His smile has moved far from fatherly, he looks ready to devour you as you slump forward into his arms. Unable to hold yourself up.

He chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead as he takes you into his arms. While you drift into unconsciousness you can hear him mumble.

“I'll take care of you, pretty girl. That's all you need.”

#fem reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #older man younger girl #Yandere southern preacher

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random-mha-one-shots · 20 hours ago

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bakugou x gn reader

Celebrating bakugou's birthday HIS way

It was April 19th, the day before Katsuki's birthday. For the past week, you had been planning the celebration. Kirishima even offered to help you throw a party, but you decided against it. Katsuki didn't seem like a birthday person, and he definitely wasn't a party person. So, instead, you set up something a little more private for just the two of you to do.

That day, after school, you and Katsuki hung out in your room. Both of you were sitting on the bed, watching TV while he had an arm wrapped around you. "You know what tomorrow is?" You said in a teasing tone.

Katsuki rolled his eyes and responded, "Yeah, I know what tomorrow is. You better not make a big deal out of it."

"Too late, we've already got plans."

"Cancel 'em. Whatever they are."

"What? No, I'm not canceling."

His grip around you tightened a little. "Then you're going alone, because I'm staying in my room."

"Come on, don't be boring… Trust me, it'll be fun." Katsuki didn't respond; he turned his attention back to the TV. You sat up a bit to face him better. "I'm serious, I'll drag you out of here if I have to." Still no response from him, but it was better than being shut down completely. "You gotta be ready by 9 tomorrow."

"In the morning?" He huffed.

"Yes. In the morning."

Katsuki grunted, "And you're not even gonna tell me where you're trying to take me?"

"No, that would ruin the surprise, stupid."

"Figures…" He was mostly quiet for the rest of the night, occasionally prodding you for hints on what the hell you planned to do with him tomorrow. Of course, you gave him nothing. Eventually, it got late, and Katsuki headed back to his room.

You said a quick, "Goodnight, love you," as he left. To which he bluntly responded, "Yeah, love you…"

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

The next morning, you woke up much earlier than usual to get ready. By 9 AM, you found yourself dressed and standing outside Katsuki's door. You knocked on the door, "You awake yet?"

"Gimme a minute." He walked over and unlocked the door for you. You smiled and said, "Happy Birthday, baby."

"Yeah, thanks…" He seemed very unenthusiastic. When you got inside, you sat down on the edge of his bed and watched as he finished getting ready. "Wear something comfortable… and flexible."

Katsuki was about to ask why the hell he needed to wear something flexible, but he honestly didn't care as long as he was comfortable. Once he got dressed, he picked up his phone and his keys. "I'm ready. Now, where the hell are you taking me?"

"You'll see when we get there…" You led him out of the dorms and outside to the lot. You got in your car with Katsuki, started the engine, and drove off together. He still seemed kind of tired, his head was resting against the window. He looked oddly calm, it was kind of nice…

After about 20 minutes of driving through the city, you parked in front of a tall building. "What is this place supposed to be?" Katsuki asked. This definitely wasn't what he was expecting. "If you ask me one more time, I'm gonna smack you. Just wait."

He grinned, "I'd like to see you try." He held onto your hand and followed you into the building. Once you were inside, you went up to the front desk and spoke to the dude behind the counter. Katsuki listened as you gave him your name, trying to get any information about what you had planned here. He heard you say something about a reservation, but that was it.

You thanked the receptionist and headed for the elevator, still holding onto Katsuki's hand. This whole thing had been a pain in the ass to plan, but it would all be absolutely worth it once you got upstairs. The elevator went up and reached its floor. You got off and walked down the hall, keeping an eye out for room numbers. Eventually you stopped in front of a large door.

Katsuki stood there, confused, as you looked at the door, "You gonna open it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll open it…"

You opened the door and held it so Katsuki could step inside ahead of you. When both of you were inside, you watched as he took in his surroundings. The room was huge. One wall was made up entirely of windows that showed an incredible view of the city. Another wall had a huge display case full of all kinds of weapons. The floors were covered in mats and various obstacles. Katsuki opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"This place is a training facility. A lot of pro heroes come here. But for the next 2 hours, you and I have this room to ourselves."

"You're kidding…"

"Dead serious. We can do some quirk training, strength training, mess around with whatever kinds of stuff they have in the case, we could spar… We can do pretty much anything in here."

He walked over to the display case to examine some of the weapons and smiled. "You better believe we're sparring."

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that…" You smiled back and stood next to him in front of the case. Katsuki picked up a spear-looking weapon and turned to face you. He took a fighting stance and waited for you to do the same. You more than happily met his stance and, before you knew it, the two of you were fighting.

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

You and Katsuki seemed to forget about time; sparring, switching out weapons, and sparring some more. Neither of you were the romantic type, but sparring like this felt like its own kind of dance, something that only the two of you could share. By the end of your reserved time, the two of you were laying on the ground next to each other, out of breath.

Katsuki sat up to face you and said, "That was fucking insane…"

Between heavy breaths, you responded, "Yeah… I think I'm gonna pass out." You sat up to face him and smiled. "Happy Birthday."

Katsuki reached over and put his arm around your waist, his touch was much softer than it was just a few minutes ago. "Yeah, best birthday ever." You moved a little closer and leaned your head on his shoulder. "How'd you even get this place?"

You smiled. "I had to pull some strings…"

He smiled back. "What kind of strings, idiot?"

"Don't worry about it. Just cmere." You cupped his cheek and pulled him a little closer. Katsuki leaned in too and closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours.

#bakugou x reader #mha #bnha #mha x reader #my hero academia #bakugou x gender neutral reader #bakugou x gn!reader #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #gn reader

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vivwritesfics · 1 day ago

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No Need To Ask

Chapter Four

Neither of them want to get married. Its a marriage of convenience, not of love. They can find it in themselves to love each other, but life has other things in mind.

Mafia!Au

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

There was a week of disputes over who would host the wedding. The Sainz wanted it to be them, for the wedding to be in Spain, but Lando wanted his little sister to get married on his grounds.

A wedding hosted by the Sainz family would be incredible. Set in the sun with a candle lit dinner to follow. Lights would be strung up over the reception and the best food would be served. Traditional Spanish dishes, and anything Y/N requested.

Carlos’ mother had been planning the wedding since Y/N’s mother first proposed the idea to the Sainz family. She had a scrap book full of ideas for the flower arrangements, the venue, the dress. She’d seen it all play out in her head, her Carlos standing there in a suit, looking handsome as he recited off his vowels.

But Lando was insisting the wedding happen in England. But Lando didn’t know the first thing about planning a wedding.

So, he had to concede. Reluctantly he let the Sainz family take control of planning the wedding. It was going to happen in Spain, with very few members of the Norris family present. That was putting Lando on Edge more than anything. He couldn’t have much protection there for him or his sister, leaving him to trust in the Sainz family.

And, in this line of work, you don’t trust easy.

While Y/N was in England, she did the one thing she could do for the wedding and picked out her dress. It was elegant, figure hugging, with floral patterns stitched into the skirt. There were two straps that went around her arms, sitting off the shoulders.

Her veil hadn’t yet been made. Mrs Sainz had insisted that the veil be left up to her, that she would have it made for her.

So, Y/N and Lando sat on their family’s private plane, her leg bouncing. Lando had a drink in his hands, cool and relaxed. But, inside, he was losing it.

His little sister was getting married. In just a few weeks, she was going to be married. Lando and Oscar, a rookie in his organisation, and Y/N were the only people flying to Spain for the time being. Oscar was to be left in Spain with Y/N, there to protect her while Lando flew back to England until the wedding.

He wasn’t keen on leaving his sister in Spain. But he didn’t have much of a choice. The Sainz were giving him much of a choice.

The plane touched down in the Sainz’s private hangar. Carlos was waiting for them, his sisters and a group of their men behind him. he wore black trousers and a white shirt, missing the suit jacket and tie that Y/N expected to see. She watched them out of the window of the plane; she looked at Spain, at the sun and the palm trees.

Y/N had always wanted to go to Sain. She had when she was very little, before the feud with the Sainz family started, but she couldn’t remember that.

“Ready?” Lando asked, putting his drink down. He’d had maybe six on the short plane journey, which was worrying to Y/N. Thank God this line of work had raised his tolerance to such a level; the whisky barely affected him anymore.

He didn’t stumble as he stepped off of his jet, his sister stood between him and Oscar. Y/N’s legs were wobbling as she stepped down onto the warm pavement. She stayed close to Lando as he led her over to Carlos.

Carlos said nothing to Lando. He looked past him, at the girl who seemed to be cowering behind him. He gave her a smile, one that was either kind or sinister, Y/N couldn’t tell. “Welcome to my home,” he said with a thick accent.

Y/N said nothing in response. She looked up at Carlos with wide eyes, waiting for somebody to say something more.

“Carlos,” said Lando, his stance protective in front of Y/N. “You wanted her here early, so here she is.” He glared daggers at the older man in front of him.

Behind Carlos, one of his sisters mumbled something in Spanish, something Lando and Y/N couldn’t understand.

“Who is the man behind the both of you?” Carlos asked for her, looking past them at Oscar.

Oscar had never been around the Sainz family before. He didn’t go to the last meeting with Lando, and he wasn’t there when Carlos and his father came to dinner. Oscar didn’t know what to expect. He wasn’t Lando’s first choice of protection for his sister, but he was the man Y/N was most comfortable with.

“Protection,” Lando answered shortly.

Carlos let out a laugh. “Your sister will not need protection in my house,” he answered.

“I’ll decide that, thanks.”

Things were incredibly tense. Y/N couldn’t help but glance back at Oscar, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Carlos. He cleared his throat. “Come,” he said and walked away, his sisters behind him.

Lando kept his hands in his pockets as he followed Carlos. Y/N and Oscar walked behind him, Carlos’ men surrounding them. Sparing a glance behind him, Oscar stayed close to Y/N, almost close enough to touch. It was almost his way of saying ‘you’ll be okay, I’ve got you.’

There were several cars waiting for them. Y/N, Lando, Carlos, Oscar and one of Carlos’ men got into one and everybody else spread themselves out between the others. Things were quiet as they drove away from the plane hangar. Y/N kept her gaze staring out of the windows.

They drove through the Spanish countryside, passing by fields full of horses and orange groves. There were quaint houses dotted about and mountains in the background.

And then there was nothing. Y/N looked forwards, at what they were approaching.

Huge black gates blocked the view of the house. The first car pulled up in front of the gates and said something into the little black box attached to it. And then the gates swung open. “Wow,” Y/N found herself whispering as they pulled up in front of the house.

It was gorgeous, with a huge fountain in front. The cars parked around the fountain and several men rushed forward to pull open the doors. Y/N stepped out, with Oscar behind her, and looked at the house.

It was massive, unlike anything Y/N had ever seen before. She thought her house was massive, but this was twice the size. There were stone steps leading up to a set of rounded, double doors. The house at had least four floors and the two rooms on either end of the house had huge balconies overlooking the front of the house.

One man rushed forward to push open the front door, but, with nothing more than a raise of his hand, Carlos stopped him. He wore a smug grin of his own as he walked up the steps and pushed open the door.

“Welcome to my home,” he said and held out his hand for Y/N to take.

She was nervous, not meeting his gaze. Y/N didn’t want to put her hand in his. She looked at her brother, but, from the look he was giving her, Y/N knew she had to. So, she placed her hand into Carlos’ and allowed him to lead her into the foyer.

The floor was white marble, with a compass in the middle. Above the compass was a brilliant chandelier. Against the left wall and winding up was a grand staircase, white with black railings. Y/N looked forward, where the compass pointed north. There were a set of doors and past those doors was a brilliant garden.

Y/N let go of Carlos’ hands and strode forward. Some of his men went to move forward, to direct her back towards him, but Carlos held up his hand once more, stopping them in their tracks. He watched as Y/N walked over to the set of doors, made entirely of glass. She twisted the handles down and pushed open the doors.

She stepped out into the garden, onto the patio. The patio floor was smooth stone. To the left there was a large table surrounded by incredibly comfy looking chairs. The table was surrounded by foliage, flowers and shrubbery, it was beautiful. An umbrella was up, shading the little area.

To Y/N’s right was a fire pit. A low stone wall that doubled as a seating area formed a small circle around the fire pit, with cushions covering the seats.

Directly in front of her was a pool. The patio went directly into stairs that led down into the square shaped pool. Plants and trees, some baring fruit, some not, surrounded the patio area. Behind the patio was a grass area. No, not a grass area, but a golfing green.

Y/N turned back to the house, looking at the people stood in the foyer. She didn’t know what to say, if she could bring herself to say something to Carlos.

At their dinner he had been polite, sweet, even. But he’d shown just how powerful he was.

Y/N walked back inside. She left the doors open as she joined her brother back in the foyer. “This place is crazy, Lan,” she whispered.

With the room silent, everybody heard it. But they didn’t acknowledge it.

Carlos sent some of his men to take Y/N’s, Lando’s and Oscar’s things to their rooms while he slowed them the entirety of the house. “Can’t believe this is your place,” Lando muttered, his hands shoved into his pockets as Carlos took them into the kitchen. He still remembered the little Spanish boy who he used to play with while their parents did business. And now Carlos lived in a literally castle while Lando still lived in his father’s house.

“So, it’s yours? Not your family’s?” Asked Oscar.

All three of them stared at him. Oscar’s job was to be seen, not heard. “Osc,” Y/N squeaked as she stared at him, her eyes wide. Yes, she wanted to know the answer to the question, but she didn’t want to see her only friend die for asking it.

Carlos cleared his throat. “Yes, this is my home,” he said, not giving away anymore information. He turned his attention to Y/N. “My men will show you to your room while I talk to your brother,” he said and two men strode forward, away from the walls.

They said nothing as they escorted Y/N and Oscar away.

Pulling open his fridge, Carlos pulled out two beers. He opened them and walked outside, sitting himself at the table by the pool. Lando followed. Spain was hot, as it usually was, and he found himself pulling off his suit jacket. Lando placed it on the back of his chair and sat opposite Carlos, who passed him the beer.

“You know I am not keen on one of your men staying in my house, Lando,” he said and sipped his beer.

Lando swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know how it looks,” he began. “Oscar is young. He’s good at what he does, but he doesn’t know the etiquette yet. I would have brought somebody more experienced in this line of work, but Y/N is comfortable with him.”

“She will learn to be comfortable with me.”

“Carlos,” Lando practically growled. His beer remained untouched. “She’s not like us. You can’t ask her to just be comfortable with you.” His expression softened. “Please, Carlos. If I could stay here with her, I would. Please, let Oscar stay, for her sake.”

Carlos sipped his beer.

Taglist: @fangirlmusicbiashoe

@prttylight

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz angst #mafia!au #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #cs55 #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader

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houseofhyde · 21 hours ago

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omg i LOVE ur manchild fic🙏🙏

i so feel like the first time they’d say i love you would be over the phone when bucky was away on mission

hed def be the one to say it first

like youd jump to pick up the no caller id call knowing its him

and yk how like hed always keep it short like one sentence and would wait for her to say hello

shed be like ‘hello’ expecting him to js say ‘im fine’ or ‘go back to sleep’ and hed just say ‘i love u’ out of the blue and then hang up the phone before u could even get a word in

i swear buckys acc the loml😔

no bc you actually dug into the crevice of my mind and pulled this out, anon!

they're such an unconventional pair — despite being made for each other — because, between reader's attachment avoidance issues and bucky's... well, everything, labels and traditional relationship milestones would often happen unexpectedly.

i'm 100% on board with both the fact that: 1) bucky says it first & 2) he says while away on a mission. it's barely even enunciated properly, more just a pile of letters smushed together in bucky's mouth and spit down a staticky line of poor-connection.

"iloveyou," and he's hung up, gone, abandoning you to the silence.

except, with bucky's infamously bad timing, this is the one time you're not in silence, you're not in bed, you're not even at home. you're stood completely still in the middle of a club's dance floor, drunk out your face (or not, wtv floats you boat), with your friends dancing all around you, and you're just staring. out into space, wide eyed, while pitbull or neyo or wtv early 2000s pop song is playing over the speakers.

that (sweet) motherfucker has just stained the first i love you in the taste of vodka, the stench of sweat, and he has the nerve to not even physically be here for you to berate him over it, and then kiss him ofc bc he's so handsome, and sweet, and he loves you.

you don't bring it up when he calls the next day. or the day after. or even the day after after. so bucky is, of course, doing what bucky does best: panicking!

good. serves him right.

safe to say his hands are a little shaky when he's eventually unlocking the front door to your apartment, until he sees you, cursing under your breath and holding your hand under the running water of the kitchen sink.

attentive and worried, his bags are abandoned on the floor in favour of racing over to you, heart beating harder than it was when he was actively being shot at two days ago (he will definitely not be telling you about that, ofc). all that panic just to see you've accidentally burnt the tip of your fingers taking something out the oven and, even though you try to shrug off his worried chastising, you fold instantly to his silent request to kiss your fingertips better.

"i think i'll just stick to letting you bake," you eventually cough up in shame, and that's when he finally notices something on the kitchen island.

a very poorly decorated cake, featuring your awful handwriting that he's learnt to understand: i love you too.

he eats the cake, and then you.

god i'm actually insane about these two, someone take me out back and shoot me!!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #( 💌 ) you’ve got mail ?#aaaaah this was only meant to be me agreeing with you anon wtf sorry for typing so much #anon asks

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hcvney · 2 days ago

Text

“ Payment Accepted ”

you meet a mysterious man alone in a subway corridor and agree to play Ddakji with him. After losing, you willingly offer yourself to him, drawn in by his charm.

Rating: 18+ (explicit, nsfw)

Pairing: The recruiter (gong yoo) x F!Reader

Warnings: Power dynamics, oral (f receiving), public setting (no witnesses), reader willingly submitting

It wasn’t even supposed to be your stop.

You’d missed your train by seconds — the echo of its departure still rattled the platform tiles beneath your boots. The crowd had thinned. The lights buzzed above in flickering pulses. You were alone.

Or… almost.

The suitcase caught your eye first.

Then the man beside it.

He stood like he was waiting for someone — crisp dark suit, red tie knotted tight, one hand tucked neatly into his coat pocket. Calm. Still. Almost too still. Like a photograph.

When you didn’t move, he smiled.

“Lost?”

His voice was deep. Clean. Almost velvety. Like it belonged somewhere indoors, behind polished glass and soft whiskey.

You hesitated. “No. Just… missed my train.”

“Then maybe you’ll play a game with me while you wait.”

Your breath caught.

He bent down and unlocked the suitcase with a satisfying click.

Inside—two neatly folded pieces of red and blue Ddakji paper.

“You win,” he said, “you get the money.”

“I win… you repay me however I ask.”

He paused. “But only if you want to.”

That part wasn’t a threat.

It was a dare.

Your eyes flicked to the paper squares. Then to his hands — long fingers, buttoned cuff. Clean nails. The kind of man who didn’t just take control. He commanded it.

You stepped closer.

“I’ll play,” you said. “But don’t go easy on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You lost.

Three times in a row.

The sharp crack of the Ddakji slapping the platform echoed louder than you expected. The final fold flopped onto its back, defeated.

You looked up.

He was already stepping toward you — not hurried. Just… deliberate. One slow foot in front of the other.

You swallowed. “So… what happens now?”

“You pay,” he said, smooth as ever. “But I’m not interested in slapping you.”

He reached out, his fingertips brushing under your chin. Lifting it.

“You’re far too pretty for that.”

The words weren’t crude. They were precise. Like everything he did was planned two steps ahead.

“There’s no one here but us,” he said. “And I think you knew you’d lose the second you agreed to play.”

Your pulse throbbed in your throat.

“Why else would you still be standing here?”

“Why else are you looking at my mouth like that?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Because when he kissed you, you kissed him back.

Hard.

His hands slid around your waist and backed you into the subway wall, one palm splayed against the tile behind your head. The suitcase lay forgotten. His tongue slipped between your lips with expert ease — no fumbling, no hesitation. Just full intent.

He tasted like mint and something darker.

You let out a breathless sound as he pressed his body to yours — sharp suit lines firm against your chest, thigh between your legs.

“You want to repay me?” he murmured, lips ghosting your ear. “Let me taste you.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

You didn’t answer with words.

You just nodded — and reached for the zipper of your jeans.

He dropped to his knees with the grace of someone who was used to being obeyed.

You steadied yourself against the wall as he gently tugged your pants down, his breath warm against your inner thighs. His eyes never left yours.

Even when he licked his lips.

“Already wet for me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

Then his mouth was on you.

The first lick was broad — tongue flat, slow, deliberate, dragging up your slit like he wanted to memorize the texture. He stopped at your clit, mouth pausing to gently suck — not hard, not rushed. Just enough pressure to make your breath hitch and your knees tighten.

Hot and slow and deliberate — like he wasn’t just trying to make you come, but trying to learn you. Every flick of his tongue was measured, every suck of your clit perfectly timed.

His tongue moved with devastating skill — circling your clit once, twice, then flicking it rhythmically while his lips sealed around it. He kept you open with one strong arm under your thigh, holding your hips steady when you bucked forward.

Your hands fisted into his hair, breath catching when his tongue flattened and dragged upward — then circled again, tighter, then again—

You weren’t guiding him — he didn’t need guidance — but you needed to hold something as he devoured you like it was his purpose.

He changed pace — slow swirls, then sharp flicks. He dipped down, licked through your folds, and back again, tongue teasing your entrance, then sucking your clit again until your moans echoed off the tiled walls.

You cried out softly, but he only pressed deeper — one arm hooked around your thigh to keep you open, the other hand braced against the floor.

“Let go,” he said between licks. “You can. No one’s watching.”

He closed his mouth around your clit again — this time sucking harder, with his tongue flicking in steady rhythm.

You came with a gasp, thighs trembling, hips rolling forward into his mouth as he groaned against you — like your taste was everything he expected and more.

Your orgasm tore through you like a wave — hips bucking into his face, thighs clenching around his shoulders, your fingers gripping his hair so tight you heard him moan.

He didn’t stop.

He licked you through the aftershocks — slow, reverent strokes now, easing the tremors out of your legs until your grip loosened and your back slumped into the wall.

Only then did he stand.

He licked his lips. Not in show. Just to taste what lingered.

And then he smiled.

“Payment accepted.”

He smoothed your clothes back into place, tucked your hair behind your ear, and handed you a small piece of paper from his jacket.

“Call the number,” he said.

He leaned in again — lips grazing your cheek, hot breath against your ear.

“Or don’t.”

“But if you don’t…”

“I’ll come collect you again.”

And with that — he turned. Lifted his suitcase. Vanished into the tunnel like a shadow.

#gong yoo #gong yoo x reader #gong yoo x you #the recruiter #the recruiter x reader #the recruiter x you #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #the salesman x y/n #the salesman squid game #the recruiter squid game #gong yoo smut #gong yoo squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you

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callsign-swan · 1 day ago

Text

bob reynolds wasn't a good werewolf.

but, odie, how can he be a bad werewolf?

bob reynolds hasn't changed. he's, what, late twenties? early thirties? and he hasn't changed. even with the full moon, he hasn't changed. it must've been frustrating for his body, to be unable to obey its instincts, to let him become the beast.

there was a lot of things he could blame for his stunted... werewolf-i-ness. but that's a story for another day.

yelena takes it upon herself to train him up. not the kind of training valentina wants him doing, but something she knows would help bob. it must've been so frustrating for him, to be stuck in a human body at all time. it was like she could see it, his wolf clawing to get out.

it took a while, longer than yelena thought. she had to teach herself after the red room, try to teach herself something the red room had tried to suppress. but it was almost like bob himself was trying to suppress it. like, no matter his frustration, he couldn't bring himself to change.

yelena taught him to let go, to let himself change. at first, it was him getting stuck with too big teeth, glowing yellow eyes and claws for nails. pointed ears that seemed furry at the top. but yelena helped him fixed it and got him to try it again.

and again.

until he came the wolf.

she didn't know what she expected when he changed. maybe a simple grey, maybe brown like his hair. but not black, fur so dark he was midnight.

as soon as they changed, yelena took him running. running through the streets of new york under the cover of night. bob kept his nose to the ground, discovering every new smell around him.

his paws were too big for his body, but it looked so right on him.

yelena led him through the backstreets and alleyways. even at 2am, they were staying hidden, staying safe.

but bob caught a sent. he tried to keep following yelena, he really did, but his nose led him away from her.

his nose led him to a back alley. bins on one side, buildings on the other he kept sniffing, trying to find the source of the scent. he couldn't describe it, couldn't work out why it was so enticing. but here he was, sniffing around the bins to try and work it out.

the back door to one of the buildings opened. he shied behind the bin as light flooded the back alley.

even though he was hidden, bob still watched. he watched as you stepped out of the building, black bag in hands. you held it just off the floor, as if it was heavy but you didn't want to drag it. made sense, by the smell of it.

you opened the lid of the big bin, threw it back so that it hit the fence behind it. with a grunt, you lifted the bag and threw it into the bin.

the gross, overwhelming scent was drowned out. by you, bob realised as you shut the lid of the bin.

bob didn't mean to step out as you turned to walk back towards your place of business. (a cafe. the bin stank of food and coffee grounds). but you caught sight of him, out of the corner of your eye.

a gasp left your lips as you stepped away from him. the scent bob was getting from you turned sour with your fear. you backed away from him, shaking hands raised.

in your mind, it was already too late to run. the moment you turned and tried, he would be upon you, teeth ripping into your ankles.

but you caught yourself on your untied laces. your gasp sounded more like a hiccup as you fell back. you barely registered your ass hitting the gravel, shuffling back until you hit the back door of your cafe.

even in such a vulnerable position, the wolf stared at you. fur so damn dark, you only saw his glowing eyes at first. he continued to watch you, sat there like a damn dog.

no growling, no snarling. he just stared, just watched you.

internally, bob was panicking. you had seen him, you were panicking, and he didn't know how to fix it.

so, he ran.

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mona-risms · 3 days ago

Note

whats goodie gang its the mira headcanons anon. i gotta say THANK YOU FOR THE FOODDD. also im back for more bc i fear your writing absolutely blew me away.

anyways may i request nsfw headcanons for mira w/ an afab reader? and kinda random but perchance could you throw a strap in there somewhere? okay bye (lifts up arms floats away into the sky)

◆ MAIN COURSE: sub!Mira x dom!afab!Reader

◆ TYPE: NSFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None I think??

◆ NOTES: First off I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT and second off I love her too bro I gotchu 🫡

OH MY GOD. I LOVE YOU. I love anyone who reqs afab reader actually BUT STILL.

Okay. OKAY. First off other people may say that this woman would prefer the dominant role BUT. This is a sub character blog. And I swear I have justification for Mira okay I swear I do

It's the fact that before she got into HUNTR/X, she's never really fit anywhere. Not with people in society, not with friends, certainly as hell not with her family. Before them, she thought that she'd never have a place where she could just.. belong, and honestly something like that can get ANYONE to feel like they're on some sort of constant survival mode as she refuses to let anyone see any sort of vulnerability that they may use against her

But then there was HUNTR/X, the people she considers the family she doesn't even wanna lose, no matter what. And then there was you. You, who gave her the time, the space, the understanding, instead of dismissing her for her unsavoury bluntness or thinking that she was nothing but a very prickly problem

I think your first time together wouldn't be until like. A bit later in the relationship, I think give or take around 6 months. Being in a relationship w her in the first place already means she trusts you more than most, but getting intimate with each other? First of all, an idol's schedule is BUSYYYYY idk if there'd be any time for that kinda thing, especially not when you're considered the Top 1 K-Pop unit. Second of all?

"We don't have to do anything, if you don't want to."

The words barely register in Mira's brain, the sound and sensation of her own heartbeat overrideing any other senses she had. When it does, however, her head snaps to look at you dead in the eyes, having to look up slightly due to your position—she was sat on the bed, with you having slipped into her lap in the midst of a particularly heated make-out session.

"Huh?"

"Your face," you lifted your hand up to tuck a few strands of pink hair behind her studded ear, "you look scared. We can stop."

She felt her heart squeeze, and a tingling heat in her core. It wasn't because of the way you dragged your hand from her ear.. to ghost her jaw.. before settling on her chin as your thumb lightly traced her bottom lip, though it did help a lot. Rather, it was moreso due to the way you had looked at her—years of living like you were nothing but a problematic inconvenience because your presence was too loud, and yet there was just this person who was willing to wait and listen anyway instead of walking away.

You looked at her like she hung the moon, what the hell was she supposed to do about that?

"No, it's--" The idol cleared her throat before trying again, her voice smaller than both of you had ever expected, "I'm not scared, just.. you're not.. going to think I'm too much to handle after this, right? I've never really done anything with anyone."

"Never let anyone get close enough?"

"Fuck you," there was no anger in her words. "..Yeah."

You just let out a hum, as if the two of you were discussing the weather rather than sex. And then you shook your head as your hand then went from her chin.. down to her the middle of her chest, "I'm not going to think you're 'too much', but we both know you'd rather see it than hear it. So." And you push lightly, "Lie down. Let me demonstrate."

A traitorous blush coated Mira's cheeks, the colour visible within the moon's glow. The light push couldn't ever be enough to knock her down, but she let herself fall back anyway, her hair sprawling behind her like a halo.

She finds herself enclosed within your arms a mere few seconds later when you crawl over to hover above the cool beauty, your lover. And in that very moment, when you duck down to trace kisses down her body while clothes are slowly discarded from both of your bodies, it feels as if the two of you are the only people in the world.

"Instead of 'too much'," you continued when you finally reached the apex of her thighs, wet and glistening, "I'll make sure you feel like you're mine instead.

Mira feels as if she really belonged.

Anyway proceeding to the actual NSFW hcs :3

Start off with Mira's part on this post bc I feel the need to address it again thank you

I think she'd absolutely ADORE soft sex actually. Listen throw away kinks for a second, right. She's gone without care for so long just bc her being a 'problem chold' and being outspoken would def equal to not needing any proper emotional care bc why would she need that? Clearly she can handle it all on her own, right? WRONG she actually needs to be taken care of. Finger her while holding her close so that she can cling to you, even after she cums all over your hand

Apart from that though honestly I feel like she'd be into bondage and acting like a brat. There's something about pretending to struggle and resist—emphasis on the 'pretending' bc be so fr all three girls could snap anyone like a Kit Kat bar thanks to their training—that has her thighs squeezing together. It's like a form of reclaiming I guess? Since everyone else thought she was too much trouble, and yet now she's sprawled on the bed and even the punishment for being a bad girl's sweeter than sin for her

Turnoffs........I don't think she'd enjoy titles much, like 'mommy' and such. Genuinely not for any reason apart from she personally isn't into it, which honestly fair enough girl. Idk if she'd enjoy petplay either, or degredation in general—it has her getting her hackles raised so fucking fast. Light degredation woukd be fine, esp when it's later on in the relationship and she 's more than comfortable with you now. But not too much yk

Creamer and someone who's definitely REALLY into overstim. Anyway

Also? A size queen actually 😄

Whenever Mira jokes by going full deadpan, sometimes you can't tell whether she's being serious or not. And that's perfectly fine, because either way it was usually going to end up entertaining one way or another.

You didn't think it'd apply to a talk about dildos, though.

In the midst of aftercare after a particularly taxing session, the lazy topics between you had somehow migrated to the talk of toys; the type the two of you would like, making fun of toher specific toys, and then...

And then there was the sizes.

You brought up getting your girlfriend the biggest, the most monstrous, the most diabolical strap you'd ever find. And her answer?

"Do it."

You really, really weren't sure if she was joking or not.

..Until today, when in the middle of eating her out, she reached underneath her bed just to reveal a blank box that held.. well, the exact thing that Mira's cunt now tried to hold onto despite you pistoning your hips over and over.

It wasn't the biggest, or the most monstrous, but it was definitely diabolical. You had to open her up slowly with a lot of lube, stretching her out with one finger.. then two.. then three, making sure that she could at LEAST take the start. The rest? The two of you decided to work it out as you went. ..Though it didn't feel like there was much 'figuring out' being done, not as if you were complaining—Mira's nails clawed at the sheets as she let out a series of sultry moans and curses under her breath, all while she moved her hips as if she were on some very enthusiastic autopiloting.

Her speech was jagged at best and utterly incomprehensible at worst, but she clenched on your strap as if it were something real—it couldn't even do so properly, not when it was already stretched out as is.

And you could never forget the stunned face she made when you put it on.. and the way her body shook as she came for god knows how many times now as she buried her head in her pillows in an attempt to shut herself up.

JUST SAYING AFTERCARW IS SO SOSOSOSOSOSO IMPORTANT TO HER!!! She gets so endearingly quiet as the two of you just lay there for who knows how long. And she'll also ask if you wanna get anything to eat/get delivered. AND she'll ask you if you wanted anything before she passed out for a nice nap

It just turns into a cuddle sesh and honestly? What more could anyone ask for?

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arbitrarykiwi · 17 hours ago

Note

Heyyyyyy it's shawtyyyy (again)

So I have a question 👉🏾👈🏾

I just read your namgyu x big boobs!reader and it made me wonder...

If you'd do a reader with a big butt

Like a whole bakery behind her back

I feel like namgyu (or Thanos you can do either) would go crazyyyyyy just smacking readers ass all the time LMAO

Would you do that? Pretty please? *bats eyelashes* 🥹👉🏾👈🏾

SHAWTYYY!!!! MY LOVE!!!! ABSOLUTELY I WILL DO THAT!! 😩😋 this was already in the works after the big boobs!Reader because I couldn’t get the thought of riding him reverse cowgirl and making him see stars because he can’t handle all that ass

I hope you like this one!!!!! I’m prayin I did it justice

Warnings: nsfw themes , smut (18+)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

LMAO!! I said this in the last one I’ll say it again, idc- uses your ass as a pillow

Mf will make you get up from where ever you’re laying, flip on your stomach, and he will lay down. Head on your ass, cheek nuzzling into the jiggling flesh, arms wrapped around your waist and connected under you

Resting on your ass is also one of his favorite way to smoke

Sprawled out on the bed, you’re on your stomach. Red eyes watching some video and he’s laying on his back horizontal to you, head leaned up against your ass as he hits the blunt

He’s also such a fucking dweeb and gives you fake back shots everytime you bend over

Having just taken the laundry out of the dryer, you’re realizing you haven seen your phone in a long minute.

“Hey baby, have you seen my- oh fuck.” You groan, dropping one of the shirts you were carrying from the laundry room to the bedroom. You drop the rest of the pile you were holding to better scoop up the warm clothes.

You’re not even sure how he did it- how he got up that fast and knew you were bending over- he was in the living room and you were in a hallway! He couldn’t have seen you! But, Nam-Gyu is practically bounding down the hallway and coming up behind you.

One hand crossing over your lower back to hold your hip and the other presses down on your back, putting you into the pretty little arch he loves so much.

“Fuck, there you go.” He hisses out, pressing his pelvis flush against your ass. He’s pulling you back against him, drawing his hips back then thrusting forward.

Nam-Gyu is quite simply addicted to the image of your ass rippling against him, the way anytime he drives his hips forward his cock is completely surrounded by your ass- yeah, he’s in heaven.

“Fucking hell!” You giggle out surprised, placing your palms on the floor to steady yourself, “How’d you even move so fast?!” You say, simply taking each faux thrust he gives.

“I know when my baby’s bending over, it’s like a radar.” He says, laughing along with you.

When you play is game along with him, putting more weight on your hands and shaking your ass back against him??? Immediately to the bedroom with you!!!

Hand on your ass 100% of the time

Walking with you and you’re wearing jeans? Hand in your back pocket cupping your ass

No pockets? Fuck it, hand down the waist band of your pants. He really doesn’t care

Slapping your ass anytime he gets, much like you said

Walking by him while he’s playing some video game, he’s risking his character dying to reach out and slap your ass as you walk by

Pouts if the slap wasn’t good enough and makes you walk by again so he can try to slap your ass again

The sound of the slap echos out through the room, its dull, and really hits the side of your thigh more than anything. You don’t think anything about it, it’s happened more times than you can count- you were expecting it!

“That wasn’t a good one”

“Get the fuck back here, I need to try again.”

You two speak at the same time, laughter ringing out through the room as he realizes you really got him down to the littlest thing he does. Hell, you seemed to have some grasp on his ass slapping rating scale to realize that wasn’t going to cut it.

“Fuuuuck, you’re not real.” Nam-Gyu says with a groan, “You know me so well.” motioning you to walk backwards and pass by him again, he’s grinning and shamelessly looking at your ass when you step backwards.

You repeat what you just did, walking by him to your original destination. This time his palm is connecting with your ass in a perfectly time slap. It’s sharp, your ass recoiling with the impact- you can even feel the throbbing sting of where his palm landed seconds after it happened.

His eyes are locked onto your ass like a predator about to bite into a chunk of raw meat, “Ughhh, so much better, that one had some good fuckin’ recoil.”

And then he’s sending you on your way!

Also has definitely hit you with a “You need help holding that? Looks heavy.” And then grabs you ass

Yeah he loves lil’ short skirts or short shorts that ride up so high they’re not even shorts anymore- he adores them

But what really gets him going?!? You wearing his boxers or tight jeans

There’s something about the way you fill out his boxers- damn near busting at the seams becuase men’s boxers in his size aren’t sewn for that much curve.

And jeans?! Fuck, he could cum in his pants watching you walk away from him in jeans. Theoretically, the fabric should be constricting, should limit the amount of movement…but nope! It’s still moving

Especially loves the little jump you do when you put them on to get them over your ass

100% has went out and bought you a pair of jeans with his own money just to recreate a porn video he saw where the crotch of the pants was ripped and the girl was getting fucked from the back through the opening

ALSO THOSE NIGHTGOWNS!! Yk the ones that have that thin soft fabric that is baggy as hell but the second you’re walking the outline and jiggle of your ass and waist is so visible?

Yeah he’s like on his knees barking like a dog. You put that on he’s taking it as a sign he’s bout to have a fantastic fucking night even if all it amounts to is him getting to just look at you in it.

He’s the type of guy to literally not give a fuck what you wear outside. He’s confident you’re his and if you want to show off what you got?! By all means!!

He gets a sick ego boost when you’re out at the club he slides up to your side, arm pulling you into his side and watching every man who was staring at have a look of defeat when they realize you’re taken

More than a little tipsy and definitely stoned beyond belief- you’re having the time of your life at Club Pentagon. Having a boyfriend as a club promotor has its perks!!

The music is thrumming and you’re on the dance floor with a group of girls you randomly met. Dancing and hyping each other up like you’ve been friends for years. They’re so welcoming that you feel like you can dance more without having to worry about someone coming up to you.

So of course you have the time of your life!! You’re swaying your hips to the song, the fabric of the lil red dress you have on flowing with every little movement you make. And as the music picks up and the lovely group of girls around you dance with you- of course you’re throwing some ass!!

Nam-Gyu likes when you do this- a personal show just for him to watch while he works the floor of the club. It’s entrancing really, you know you look good, you know you have a lot of ass, and you know how to move- you’re a fucking masterpiece to him.

Standing against the bar, having just finished talking to some random VIP who was far too drunk to even realize the promotions Nam-Gyu was trying to sell, he’s now watching you dance.

You can feel his eyes on you, drinking you in like you’re the finest wine this bar as to offer (and a bottle is like 3k at the club). He’s licking his lips and doing his best to discretely adjust his pants as he watches- studies- you, ass and thighs jiggling with every shake you intentionally do.

He doesn’t move when he watches you throw your hips back on some girl who giggles and playfully smacks you ass- nah, you’re simply having fun- if anything he’s glad you found a little group to hang out with.

He does move when he sees a man somehow pushing his way through the group of girls surrounding you and try’s to talk to you. He can see how you freeze what you were doing, looking at the man with an irritated look. He can see how the man tries to reach out and touch your waist, attempting to talk to you.

You jump a little when you’re pulled into his side, you didn’t even see Nam-Gyu walk up! Nam-Gyu steps so he swats the man’s hand away from you, his own arm wrapping around your waist.

“Pretty isn’t she?” Nam-Gyu says, his voice low and stoic, hand squeezing you to him even more, “She’s not for you to touch though.”

“You just gonna let your girl whore out on the dance floor like that?” The guy scoffs, immediately switching his mood now that he knows he doesn’t have a chance to take you home

“Yeah.” Nam-Gyu says shrugging, “Why not, I’m the one taking her home and imprinting my hand on the ass she was just shaking.”

Your face is flushed and your body heated from your boyfriend’s words but Nam-Gyu just smirks lazily and waves the man off.

When he hugs you he’s putting both hands on your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer to him and squish you against his chest

Sit on him

On his lap on his face…literally anywhere he wants it

Says that no chair is good enough to handle all of your ass so he’s the only option….again he’s a fucking dweeb

Facesitting 1000%

Facesitting, but!!! He’s making you twerk on his face. He’s so fucking nasty.

Also more often than not- he’s eating it from the back

Hands spreading your ass, fingers pressing into the flesh and shaking your ass on his face, going to town- like dudes obsessed

Of course he’s a doggy style fiend but I raise you…..

Prone bone!!!

His favorite position hands down.

“Just put it in~” you’re whining, trying your best to wiggle your hips back onto him. It’s hard the way you’re literally pinned to the mattress. He’s straddling your thighs- pelvis pressed against your ass as he just inspects you.

He can’t get over the way his dick looks pressed into the valley off your ass. He’s rocking himself back and forth just dragging the weight of his cock through your thick ass.

“You have no fucking patience.” You can hear how he’s speaking through gritted teeth- he’s trying not to blow his load all over your ass then and there.

You whine, “youve been doing this for hours…”, hips arching off the bed, when two large hands switch their grip and grab a handful of each ass cheek. He’s spreading you apart, watching how your own wetness strings between the fat of your ass in shiny webs.

The smartass he is, is pausing all movement to turn his head to look at the digital clock under the TV, “it’s been 15 minutes..” he scoffs, shifting back to prod his fat tip against your dripping pussy.

It doesn’t take much, the second you feel the tip of his cock draaag nice n’ slow through your folds, you’re moaning out his name.

“This fat fuckin’ ass…” he’s growling more to himself than you, one of his hands that grips your ass, shaking it and watching the flesh recoil against his pelvis and dick, “so good…just letting me play with you…you can wait a lil’ longer, yeah?”

Sobbing into the pillow you’re trying your best to press back against him and slip his cock into your cunt yourself! But Nam-Gyu was never one to rush things.

With a sharp slap! His hand is connecting with your ass. You’re moaning out in response, hands gripping at the pillows to try and ground yourself in anyway possible. When he witnesses the recoil and the blossoming red imprint of his hand, he’s moaning with you.

“Yeaahhh,” Nam-Gyu’s drawling out, “you can wait a lil’ longer.” He’s answering for you. He needs to make it even and do the other side of course!

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Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills

((Lmk if you wanna be on my taglist for everytime I post <3))

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zazaiafe2 · 2 days ago

Note

I really like the approach your blog takes towards shifting in this community full of "Just assume" "Just decide that you're in your DR" yada yada. Although that does work, and the law of assumption sure is real, I do believe in it. But its application (keyword: Application) to things like shifting is something I have no idea how to do and I'm sure I am not the only one who has this issue, especially if the DRs are very "different" from our CR (fictional DRs most of the time fall under this category) Our ego does indeed play a HUGE role in what our awareness experiences through the physical plane. The "Assume you're in your DR" does work but it then also has many other supporting factors for those it does work and I realized that by reading your posts. Its okay if it does NOT work for some or is really hard to follow through with lets just be honest rn instead of blaming people for "not persisting" or some other crap 😭😭😭 Because straight up using LOA, esp for a place you haven't even felt a breeze of, aren't even completely sure is real??? Can be really wonky.

I thank you for making posts that give ACTUAL STRUCTURE to shift.. that, simply using the LOA logic lacks. And I love how you do state that it is not a process but rather like an instant flick of a switch.

Honestly, I relate to this so much. I used to believe much more strongly in the law of assumption, but the more research I do and the deeper I go into shifting, the less I fully trust it as a universal explanation. I do think it's a tool, and for some people it works great, but assuming it's a one-size-fits-all rule is extremely misleading.

If we take the law of assumption seriously, then we also have to recognize that people have vastly different abilities to assume. I have a highly rational mind and tend to resist anything that feels irrational or unproven. For me to accept something as true, I often need either an explanation or a heavily altered state of consciousness (ASC) where my mind allows it.

Even when I practice hypnosis , I see very clearly how differently people respond to suggestion and belief implantation. For some, one session is enough to accept a belief. For others, it might take dozens of sessions,and still, some struggle. The mind's critical factor doesn't work identically for everyone.

If I still fully believed in LOA, I'd probably say it's been extremely oversimplified, and that some advice can even be harmful. For example, telling someone who's feeling frustrated to "persist" with no nuance can easily backfire and feed into a frustration loop, especially for neurodivergent people or people who cognitively analyze their emotions deeply. The problem is that a lot of LOA advice assumes everyone processes things like belief, assumption, and persistence in the same linear way.

Obviously, for someone who has shifted often, assuming "shifting is real and natural" will be a much easier belief to hold than for someone who's never consciously shifted before. Their awarness already has experiential confirmation. For someone without that, it's a different challenge.

Also, I 100% agree with you that shifting isn't really a process, it's instantaneous at the moment it happens. The "process" is the preparation beforehand. I don’t believe at all in the "3D lag" concept; not only is there no proof for it, but almost everyone who shifts describes it as immediate once it occurs. I think a lot of these "lag" beliefs are more like coping mechanisms or ways to comfort oneself when it's taking longer than expected.

As someone who practices hypnosis, I can confidently say: assumptions and belief implantation are way more unstable and nuanced than people realize. Teaching people that assumption alone is enough, without considering individual differences, does more harm than good for a lot of shifters.

I honestly had a lot to say on this, but to sum it up: I fully agree with your take, and i think it's a part of the spiritual meritocracy and individualistic tendancies.

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lpmurphy · 2 days ago

Text

Begin Again

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Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots

Word Count: 6,615

Read on AO3 (Up to Chapter 15!)

Chapter Four: Day One Pt. 2

Hospitals had a certain smell. It wasn’t necessarily a bad smell; just distinct. It clung to her clothes and her hair well after her shift would end, seeped into her skin until she could’ve sworn her blood smelled like hand sanitizer and disinfectant. Parfum d’hôpital, Mom had called it. No matter the city, the staff, or the patient load, that sterile tang never changed. It was constant. Routine. Comforting, in its own strange way.

But the Pitt, as the night charge nurse had called it during her site tour last week, felt different; familiar in a deeper, more visceral sense. Like muscle memory. She was met with noise the second she stepped in, the waiting room already packed before seven a.m., and the ER buzzing with the sort of barely organized chaos only found in places that treated drunks with head lacerations and pulmonary embolisms at the same time. She’d already stowed her things in the locker she was assigned at orientation, ran through her morning prep, and now clipped her shiny new badge to her vest, zipping it halfway before stepping into the ring.

She hadn’t seen Jack yet, and with any luck, she wouldn’t. Maybe he worked nights. Maybe the schedule gods took mercy and decided their paths wouldn’t have to cross at all. She could live with that. Hell, she’d be grateful for it. Out of all the hospitals in the fucking country, he just had to work here. Still, she caught herself glancing sideways every time someone stepped too close. Her stomach tightened when tall figures moved in her periphery, heart kicking up before her brain could talk it down.

Stupid.

She exhaled through her nose and tried to shake it off. There were enough nerves in her chest already, no need to feed them. She’d earned this. She had every right to be here. And he… well. He didn’t get to take up any more space in her day than absolutely necessary. She pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and kept walking.

Let the day start. Let it be his day off. Please.

Her watch buzzed on her wrist and pulled her attention from the swirl of movement around her. The small display lit up with Abby’s text; Have a great day! Kick ass. Love you Mom :)

Her lips tugged up. Her sweet girl. Before she could start to tap out her response, squinting at the too small letters, another message rolled across the screen; Also, can I please spend the night at Mia’s tonight? Scott already said it was ok!

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. There it is. She tucked her mug under her arm, starting to tap out her response again, and stopped just short of getting mowed down by a gurney, patient writhing and moaning while nurses worked furiously on the move. Yep. Same shit, different layout.

She already felt right at home.

She spotted a familiar blonde bob and felt her shoulders relax slightly before she made her way toward the nurses’ station.

“This place always a zoo,” she called out over the din, leaning against the counter, “or are y’all going big for my first day?”

Dana turned, glasses sliding down her nose as she scanned the floor. Her face lit up when she spotted Beth. “What can I say? We like to make an impression.”

Beth grinned, the weight in her chest easing at the sight of a familiar face. “Yeah? Good or bad?”

“Too early in the day to tell,” Dana said with a wink, reaching across the counter to pull her into a quick hug. “Thank God, you actually showed. Now save me.”

Beth hugged her back with a laugh, still gripping Dana’s arms when she leaned back. “I thought about turning around, but then I figured you’d never let me hear the end of it if I did.”

“Damn right,” Dana said, swatting her arm with her clipboard. “Would’ve made a complete ass out of me with how much I’ve been talking you up around here.”

Beth laughed under her breath and leaned heavier against the counter. “Oh, good lord. I hope you’re not out here writing checks I can’t cash.”

Dana smirked. “Too late. Told them you were God’s gift to triage.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but truth be told, she was just grateful to have a familiar face around, and a welcomed one at that. She’d met the hilariously blunt woman years ago when Abby had made the varsity volleyball team as a freshman, and Dana’s daughter, Jenna, had been a senior and team captain. Beth had found a kindred spirit in the only other mom who showed up straight from a twelve-hour shift, still in scrubs, hair barely wrangled into a bun. They’d swapped war stories between sets; hallway births, combative psych patients, and the classic “I don’t know how it got in there, doc, I swear” foreign object cases. Just another day in the office for them, while the other parents quietly edged away from their corner of the bleachers.

Even after Jenna graduated, they kept in touch; mostly Facebook comments and the occasional text until earlier that summer, when Dana called out of the blue to tell her that there was an opening in her department. She recruited her like she was earning commission, said she wanted someone who could keep up and wouldn’t flinch when things got loud. “Besides,” she’d added, “if I have to deal with someone’s sorry ass all day, I’d rather it be yours.”

The timing couldn’t have been better. Beth needed a way out of Mercy fast, and Dana had practically lit up the runway and guided her in. She said yes before she had time to talk herself out of it, and now, here she was.

“How’s your sweet girl?” Dana asked, softening just enough to make the question feel like more than polite conversation.

“She’s good,” Beth said, a little smile tugging at her mouth. “She’s back to giving me hell, so I’d say she’s feeling better. Already counting down the days until she gets cleared for sports.”

“Sounds like Abby,” Dana chuckled. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone before they all scatter.”

She turned and scanned the nurses’ station like she was mentally taking roll, then gestured toward a small group still lingering nearby. “That’s Donnie and Perlah; don’t let Perlah’s face fool you, she’s friendlier than she looks. Kim’s the one over there trying to do six things at once.” Each gave Beth a quick smile or wave before darting off in different directions like worker bees.

Dana nodded toward the two residents standing over a terminal, both already halfway through reading something as they walked. “Blondie is Mel, one of the residents. She’s newer, you’ll love her. Sweet girl. Heather is with a patient already, you’ll meet her later. Let’s see, who else…”

Beth nodded along, doing her best to match names with hair colors and approximate height, though she missed the redheaded woman’s name. Cassie, maybe? She made a mental note to circle back later and properly introduce herself. Redheads needed to stick together.

Dana glanced back over her shoulder and gave her a dry look. “And yes. There will be a quiz at the end of your shift.”

Beth was about to reply when Dana raised a hand to flag someone down. “Robby! New girl is here.”

Beth turned in time to see a tall figure slow to a stop. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week; tired brown eyes framed with smile lines, stubble that teetered towards a full beard, hoodie thrown over black scrubs and sleeves pushed up to the elbows like they were already in his way. She recognized him vaguely as one of the dozen people on her interview panel.

“Doctor Michael Robinavich, our fearless leader,” Dana said with a smirk. “This is Beth, our newest glutton for punishment. And a friend of mine, so don’t scare her off.”

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it, Dana.” He smiled, slow and a little crooked, and let his gaze linger a beat too long to be purely professional. Beth clocked it instantly, but instead of bristling, she smirked. Damn. Too bad she didn’t date coworkers anymore. Or doctors, for that matter. Or dated much at all, really. He was cute; scruffy in a half-dead-on-his-feet kind of way. Just her type of man.

She switched her travel mug to her left hand and extended the right. “Doctor Robinavich. Good to see you again. Beth Baker.”

He took her hand, warm and firm, and held it maybe half a second longer than necessary. “I remember. Please. Robby.”

“Alright, Robby.”

“I’d say we’re lucky to have you,” he said, glancing down the hall like he was already late for something, “but we both know it’s less about luck and more about finally finding someone desperate enough to say yes.”

“Gee, you sure know how to flatter a girl,” she smirked, watching as the ambulance bay doors slammed open. A trauma team surged forward with a gurney, voices overlapping;

“GSW, two to the chest.” “Pressure’s tanking.” “Call the OR, now.”

Good morning, Pittsburgh.

The current pulled them down the corridor like a riptide. Beth crossed her arms, leaning back slightly to watch them disappear into a trauma bay. Five person teams. Nice. That was the same, at least. “Looks like I picked the right day to start. Seems like you could use the hands.”

Robby huffed a humorless laugh. “Welcome to the Pitt. Hands, prayers, small miracles. We’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

“Well, I don’t know about the miracles, but I’ll try my best,” she smirked, leaning back to get a better look at the triage screen over the station. “I’m ready to go, boss. Throw me to the wolves.”

Robby shook his head with a small, tired chuckle. “Remember, Baker, you asked for this.”

He glanced at his watch before turning to address the group around them. “Alright, seven on the dot! Night crew, pack it up and get outta here. Day crew, circle up.”

A ripple of groans, calls of “thank God” and “good luck, suckers” echoed from the staff clocking out, some already halfway down the hall, scrubs rumpled like they’d all just crawled out of a bunker. Which, Beth supposed, wasn’t far off. The day shifters drifted toward the center like planets in orbit. Beth followed Dana’s lead, stepping in closer with her arms folded, trying to look like she belonged when curious eyes flicked to her.

One pair of eyes felt heavier than the rest. Beth didn’t look right away. She didn’t need to. She felt it; just enough heat and weight to tell her exactly who it was. At one point, that look would make her feel steady. Now it just made her skin itch.

Whether she had wanted to or not, she glanced up, quick enough to hopefully go unnoticed. Jack stood across the huddle, shoulders squared but hands shoved deep into his pockets. The second their eyes met, his dropped quickly, and with it went her stomach.

Damn it. She really thought she was going to get off easy. Thought maybe, just maybe, the universe would cut her a break, just this once. Guess she thought too soon. Then again, when had the universe ever done Elizabeth Baker any favors?

She tightened her arms around herself and turned her attention to Robby instead, but she could still feel it. Could still feel him. Like a pulled muscle she couldn’t quite stretch out.

“Okay,” Robby said once the group clustered loosely in a semi-circle around the desk, “night wasn’t terrible. Only 3 codes, so slow night. Two admits waiting; ortho consult on one of them, psych consult on the other. Myrna is around here somewhere, so be warned. Bay 2’s got a GSW, Bay 3’s still hot; MVA, headed to OR.”

He rattled off the rest with practiced ease: attending coverage, consult availability, OR backups, a heads-up that radiology was short-staffed again, so expect delays. Beth scanned the group, trying to clock faces and squint at name tags, then caught his look again. It flickered across at her like it was unintentional, but it landed all the same.

This time, she didn’t look away. Her spine straightened like a wire pulled taut, and she met his eyes with a calm she didn’t quite feel. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just met hazel eyes that had taken too much sleep from her. If he wanted to look, then fine, Jack. Look. If she had to remember every goddamn detail, then so did he.

Jack didn’t hold her stare long. He shifted his weight, blinked, and looked down like something on the floor suddenly needed his attention. Beth didn’t let herself feel good about it. She didn’t let herself feel anything at all. Instead, she turned back to the group without a word, jaw tight, heart ticking faster than it had any right to, and nodded along to Robby’s quick debrief.

“Couple of techs out sick, so keep that in mind. Langdon’s still out, so until he’s back in—”

“Twenty-three days,” a voice piped up from across the huddle. It was the blonde resident with glasses, Mel, Beth remembered, and she was grinning before the group turned to look at her.

Mel blinked like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. Beth caught the soft flush that crept up her neck. She offered her a smile; not teasing, not pitying. Just quiet recognition. Mel returned it before dropping her eyes to the floor.

Robby smirked and gestured toward Mel like he was proving a point. “So, yeah. A few weeks.”

Then he turned toward Beth, stepping aside just enough to make room for her in the circle. “Alright, last thing; new face on the floor. Everyone, this is Dr. Beth Baker. She’s joining us from Mercy, and somehow we convinced her we’re the better circus. Try to keep fooling her, yeah?”

Beth raised a hand in a quick wave, giving the crowd a small smile. A few people nodded or murmured greetings, a couple offered smiles. Someone in the back muttered, “Sorry in advance,” and got a smack from Perlah. Beth already got the feeling she was going to like Perlah.

“She’ll be a regular on days,” Robby continued, “since we’re doubling up on attendings until Langdon is back in. If she looks confused, help her. If she looks competent, leave her alone. Let’s keep up the illusion so she sticks around, yeah?”

A few chuckles arose before Robby wrapped up with the last few instructions and a quick nod before the group began to disperse. Jack was gone before Robby even finished talking, ducking into a room as quickly as he could. Staff pulled back into the steady current of the floor, the hum of urgent footsteps and clipped voices filling the space again. Somewhere down the hall, alarms buzzed sharply, and a gurney rattled past, a paramedic jogging alongside it.

Robby turned to Beth, a gentle smile warming his face as he crossed his arms. “Hey, how about you take the morning to settle in? No pressure. Just get comfortable, get a feel for the place before diving into any cases.”

Beth gave him a knowing look. “The classic ‘take it easy’ offer, huh? Funny, I’m usually the one giving it. This must be what the other side of the desk feels like.”

Robby chuckled and tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Technically,” he made air quotes with one hand before tucking it back in, “you’re supposed to shadow me today. The grand tour, login walkthrough, pretend we’re not short three staff. Whole nine yards.”

Beth smiled, tapping her nails against her mug. “Ah yes. Shadowing; where I trail behind you like an intern while we pretend I haven’t been doing this since Bush was in office?”

He chuckled, smirking. “Which Bush?”

Beth let out a dry laugh and shook her head, brow raised. “Ouch. Watch it, Robinavich. I was just starting to like you.”

Robby laughed quietly. “So no to the tour of the supply closet and some good old administrative hand-holding?”

“This is hardly my first rodeo.” She sipped her coffee and shrugged, gesturing between them. “You sign off that I was glued to your side all day, and I’ll tell any administrator who comes looking for my babysitter that you’re in the bathroom?”

His grin widened. “You got yourself a deal, Baker.”

“Pleasure doing business with ya.” She set her mug down in front of an empty terminal, tucking it up under the counter before she stepped back to look at the triage board again. “Alright. Put me in, Coach. Where do you need me?”

“Triage is underwater,” Robby said, eyes skimming the hallway again. “Honestly, it’s been underwater since, oh, I don’t know… forever? You okay taking rounds?”

Beth gave a quiet laugh and nodded. “You got it.”

He smiled, handing over the triage iPad mid-scroll. “System’s the same as Mercy, so you should be golden. Just tap here to log in, swipe to claim, double-tap to open charts… but it looks like you’re already three steps ahead of me.”

“Like I said; hardly my first rodeo,” she said, already tapping through. She glanced up at him with a small smile. “How often are vitals reassessed? Every two hours?”

He opened his mouth to say more, but paused when he noticed Jack step out of a room. He didn’t see her, distracted by whatever a resident was presenting to him as they walked. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, scrub top clinging in familiar places that Beth dropped her eyes from. Deep in her gut, she felt that same twist she’d felt in the shower that morning, ancient and oppressive, but something traitorous fluttered against her ribs for a moment before she grabbed it by the wings and shoved it down hard. She kept her gaze on the iPad, but her jaw shifted and she bit down on the inside of her cheek until a jolt of pain lessened the pressure.

He looked the same. Or maybe he didn’t.

It was hard to tell when her memory refused to let go of a younger version that lived within it. His curls had gone gray, but they still flattened from where he dragged his hands through them, brow pressed together the same way it had when he was tired or irritated or thinking too hard. She used to tap that space with a finger when it wrinkled to get him to loosen up a bit before he’d trace his thumb against her lips. His laugh came at something the resident said in passing, brief and dry, just a flash, but it twisted in her gut at how familiar it sounded. His lips tugged up for a moment, and that was the same too. Too small. Too tight. Wrong. Not hers.

And from the look of the band on his finger after he peeled off his gloves with a practiced snap, it hadn’t been hers for some time now.

Jesus Christ, Beth. Get a fucking grip.

He glanced at Robby first, then his gaze found her. She looked down again before she could catch his eyes.

“Hey, Abbot!” Robby called, waving him over without missing a beat in his instructions. Beth’s fingers moved across the screen, feigning focus to keep from looking up.

Jack approached as Robby nodded at the chart she’d pulled up in a desperate attempt to look occupied. “Looks like you’re all set. Before you go, Baker,” he glanced to Jack, then back again with a faintly conspiratorial smile, “This is Jack Abbot, one of our—.”

“We’ve met,” Jack said without pause. He barely broke stride as he moved past them without so much as a sideways glance.

Beth didn’t flinch. Or at least tried not to, she hoped she’d done a good job of hiding the way her shoulders tensed. Just adjusted her grip on the iPad that was a little less steady now, pretending to scroll, and looked back to Robby, whose brows were now raised somewhere near his hairline.

“Well,” Robby said slowly, watching Jack disappear down the hallway, “I was going to say I think you two’ll get along…”

Dana leaned back, charge phone pressed to her chest, and gave Robby a look. “Don’t take it personally, Cap. He’s been like that since he got in.”

Robby huffed a short breath of amusement, but Beth could tell he didn’t love the brush-off. She didn’t either, but she pushed it aside. Kept it tucked away, same place she stored all the old hurts with his name on them. Wasn’t the first time he walked away from her.

Beth glanced past him, gaze catching on a cluster at the far end of the counter. Three kids—no, not kids, but close enough—stood in a loose triangle like they were at a middle school dance and waiting to be asked to dance. Eager. Green. Good lord, they kept looking younger and younger every damn year.

Still, she felt something warm uncoil in her chest. They never got less determined, never less passionate. That was the beautiful, painful thing about working with med students that she loved the most; they threw themselves into the fire without flinching, certain they’d walk through it untouched. She remembered that feeling well.

She flicked her head toward the group. “So, do I get to corrupt the youth yet, or is that privilege reserved for next week?”

“Be my guest.” Robby’s smile was easy, his voice pitched low as he gestured discreetly at the students. “Javadi, Santos, Whitaker. Take your pick.”

Beth tilted her head toward them. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Favorite?” Robby gave a mock-offended scoff. “Doctor Baker, a good teacher never picks favorites.”

But he flicked his eyes toward Whitaker with a wink before being called down the hall. He excused himself with a quick, light touch on her arm, and then he was gone, leaving her alone in front of the kids.

The three students stared at her like Dad had just brought home his new girlfriend. She stared back.

Santos was the first to break eye contact, picking at a nail before straightening her back and sinking onto one hip like she’d seen enough to be bored. Beth knew that type. Sharp, maybe too sharp, often had something to prove. Usually the first to burn out or burn through people.

Javadi stood with the kind of composed alertness Beth liked; eyes scanning not just her, but behind her. She was already looking for context clues. That was promising. Beth could work with that.

Then there was Whitaker.

She already knew she was going to like Whitaker.

Poor kid didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Or his face. He kept shifting his weight like he was caught between asking a question and hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. He caught Beth’s eye and she smiled, which he returned uncomfortably. She knew this type, too. There was a reason they became the favorites, and usually, damn good doctors.

She pointed to Whitaker. “You. Come on.”

He glanced behind him, then back at her, uncertain. “Me?”

She gave him a flat look. “I’m pointing at you, aren’t I?”

“…Yes?”

“Then let’s go. Triage awaits.”

Alright, day one. Let’s do this.

- - -

She lasted all of fifteen minutes in triage before the first real one rolled in. Fifty-eight-year-old male, brought in by a wife who had watched him hobble around for a full day post-MVC insisting he was fine. By the time Beth clocked him, he was ghost-pale and gripping his side like it might fall off. The bruise had spread across his flank in angry purples, blooming like a rotten fruit; classic Grey’s-Turner sign. Ruptured pancreas. Not fine.

Robby cracked a grin and joked that she didn’t waste any time when she came busting through the doors flanking a gurney, already calling for labs and a FAST scan to the nurses she had introduced herself to in the same breath.

She scrubbed out sometime around ten after the guy made it to the OR stable, and by ten fifteen, they threw another chart at her. This time, a construction worker who took a fifteen foot tumble off some scaffolding. Fractured wrist, three cracked ribs, and a CT that showed a kidney laceration. He got a bed. The marble up a toddler’s nose that she removed in the waiting room did not, but a very frazzled mom got a pep talk, little man got a sticker, and Beth got a surprisingly nice hug from a stranger.

By noon, she was three coffees deep, two traumas handled, and only marginally behind on her charting, which, all things considered, felt like a win. The morning had been one case after another, but manageable. No mass casualty alerts, no screaming family members, no staff dissolving into tears in the hallway. Just a full board and a decent rhythm and the chief attending shooting her flirty smiles between patients. She was starting to think she might like it here.

She finally crossed paths with the other ER redhead a little before noon. Cassie, just like she’d guessed. By then, Beth had already given up on the protein bar she’d been pulled away from three times and earned herself two new bruises from a run-in with a gurney, but things were otherwise going surprisingly well. Cassie was sharp, funny, easy to talk to, and as it turned out, they had a few Mercy friends in common. By the time Beth settled in beside her at the terminal with a half-flat Diet Coke, they’d traded mom stories and made carpool plans for the wedding of one of those friends they were both invited to. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. She liked everyone so far; even if one of them had been doing a damn good job of pretending she didn’t exist.

Maybe she had been right when she told Abby that she was a little excited.

“Tawny actually called me when she found out you were working here,” Cassie said, glancing over at her as she signed off a chart.

Beth chuckled, already lamenting whatever the sharp-tongued, firecracker of a nurse that always goaded her into drinking far too much during staff get-togethers had told her new coworker. “Uh-oh. How afraid should I be?”

“All good things,” Cassie promised. “She said to tell you she’s still pissed at you for leaving, though. Also, she set the bar high; said you were basically the emergency department’s resident baked goods supplier.”

Beth grinned, tilting her Diet Coke towards her in a mock-cheers. “Gotta save something for the second day.”

It was so far easy. Comfortable in a way that tamed the beast that had been trying to rip its way out of her gut since she woke up. And when Cassie finally asked, “So what made you leave Mercy anyway?” she almost didn’t mind the shift in tone. Almost.

Because that was the exact moment Jack slid into the empty terminal across from her like he hadn’t spent the entire morning acting like she didn’t exist. He still hadn’t said a word to her. Not during rounds, not when they were alone together in the staff room together for a fleeting moment, not when she’d brushed past him grabbing a pair of gloves and he flinched like he’d been shot.

She didn’t care. Not really. Not that her now-married high school ex-boyfriend hadn’t looked at her all day, and apparently had decided to pretend that whatever history they shared never happened. He didn’t need to look at her. She was happy to pretend too if that’s what he wanted. She’d gotten pretty damn good at that.

Still, something in her chest shifted at the sight of him. That little flutter of that stupid little girl she’d left on that rooftop after she learned that fairytales didn’t exist. She took a sip of the Coke and shoved that girl’s head right back under the water where she belonged.

She set the can down, eyes still on the screen as she reached for a pen, only to brush against his hand as he went for the same one. Just the edge of her pinky, a quick skim across the back of his hand, but it was enough to fire up nerve endings she hadn’t used in years. She pulled back like she’d been shocked.

“Sorry,” she said too quickly.

“‘S fine,” he muttered, already logging out of the terminal and hustling away like he had somewhere else to be. Anywhere else.

Beth cleared her throat, eyes fixed on the screen even though the words were suddenly hard to read. “There was… a change in leadership,” she told Cassie, hoping the pivot was smooth enough to pass for casual even though she could feel her pulse in her throat. “Mercy just stopped being a good fit.”

Cassie gave a slow nod, eyes trailing after Jack before turning back to Beth. Her lips parted, and Beth braced herself for the one question she’d been hoping to dodge today, feeling it coming like a wave she didn’t have the strength to duck. She really should’ve practiced her answer in the car. Because right now, everything she could think of sounded absolutely batshit insane.

“GSW en route. Male, mid-teens,” Dana called from the desk. “Drive-by. G1 to right upper arm. ETA two minutes.”

Beth could’ve kissed her on the mouth when she looked over at her and asked, “Baker, you want it?”

She was already halfway out of her seat. “Yes, please,” she called back.

She’d never been more thankful for someone else’s shitty afternoon in her entire life. She grabbed gloves and a gown from the trauma cart, forcing herself to settle her breathing into something calmer. Controlled. She didn’t glance back to see if Cassie was still watching. She just kept moving.

She’d figure out a good answer on the drive home. Something clean. Something that didn’t sound like she was still holding a grudge. Something that didn’t sound like a lie.

- - -

By the time she made it to the locker bay at the end of her shift, her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache. Her feet throbbed in protest with every step, her back twinged when she bent to undo her laces, and she was pretty sure she could no longer smell anything except bleach, blood, and hospital-grade antiseptic.

The gunshot wound had turned into a full-blown treasure hunt for a fragmented slug, and everything after that blurred together into a parade of sutures, scans, a very brave five-year-old with a dislocated elbow from the monkey bars, a hypoglycemic trucker who swore up and down he hadn’t eaten anything weird despite his glucose clocking in at 34, and a frat boy with a steak knife stuck in his thigh who had no reasonable explanation as to why it was there and zero shame.

All in all, a pretty fun first day.

The locker bay was blessedly quiet now, the shift change rush thinned out and gone. Beth rubbed at her eyes, stepped in front of her locker, and sighed as she rested her forehead against the cool metal for a moment, already dreaming of the bottle of red waiting for her at home on the kitchen counter. As Abby would say; she’d been a brave girl. She’d earned a little treat.

She punched in her code, Abby’s birthday, like always, and hit the unlock button. Twisted the knob, and was met with resistance.

She blinked at the lock, shoulders sagging. Must’ve fat-fingered it. Always took her two or three tries to get it right after a long shift anyway. She tapped it in again, slower this time, glancing down at the text Abby had sent her before twisting the lock again. Still jammed.

Beth let out a breath. “Okay, Baker,” she muttered. “Get your shit together. Let’s go home.”

She tried again. 11-19-08. Press red. Twist.

Once again, nothing.

She frowned and double-checked the locker number just in case the day had finally broken her brain. Nope. Right one. She was mid-punch on her third attempt when a hand brushed lightly against her shoulder.

“Nice work today, Baker,” Robby called as he passed, backpack slung over one shoulder, his scrubs half-untucked like the rest of him was already off the clock. He gave her a grin on his way down the hall. “Think we’ll keep you around.”

“Hope so,” Beth smiled despite herself. “Have a good night, Robby.”

He threw up a little wave without turning around and disappeared around the corner. She stared back at the locker like she could will it open by sheer exhaustion alone, sighed again, and tried the code one more time. Still, it didn’t budge. She closed her eyes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her vest.

This stupid piece of metal was the only thing standing between her, clean clothes, and her couch. She refused to be bested by it. She swallowed down the frustration fluttering in her throat and let out a determined, steadying breath. New doesn’t mean impossible, she told herself. Be smarter than the locker, Baker.

11.

19.

08.

Red button.

She twisted the knob, holding her breath out of sheer hope. Surely, this had to be it. She was feeling lucky. And…

Fucking nothing.

She huffed and rubbed her eyes, biting down hard on her cheek. She glanced around, hoping nobody was watching a college-educated woman nearing fifty-years-old in a losing battle with an electronic lock. She pulled her phone from her vest pocket and tapped into her email. Maybe the welcome packet had locker instructions. Reset steps. Please, God, anything, but she was met with nothing but HR fluff.

She was just about to try again until a hand reached over, covering the pad.

She glanced over, expecting to see Robby, maybe Dana, someone easy. But the shape of the hand and the scar on his knuckles told her she was wrong before she even looked up. Broader. Familiar.

Jack.

He looked at her for the first time all day. No smirk. No amusement. Just… tired. And that was almost worse. The clawing in her gut didn’t stop, but something lighter stirred underneath it. A fluttering against her ribs that she didn’t want to feel, that felt almost cruel.

He lifted his hand from the pad without a word, like helping had never been out of the question, held down the reset button until it chirped, then pressed the pound key. When he tilted his head toward it, she didn’t argue. Didn’t ask how he knew. Just swallowed her pride and typed in the code again. Red button.

The lock clicked.

She twisted the knob and pulled the door open. “Thanks,” she murmured, offering him a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He nodded, returning one of his own. That same damn tight-lipped thing he used to use when he didn’t know what to say but wanted to pretend he did. It felt just as wrong now as it had back then.

He opened the locker next to hers and started gathering his things in silence, the faint sounds of zippers and metal echoing down the now-empty hall. She couldn’t see him past the door between them, and she was glad for it. Whatever was hanging in the air between them didn’t need a face to go with it.

Beth turned back to her locker and reached for her bag with fingers that fumbled more than they should have. She busied herself with pointless organization, straightening things she’d already straightened that morning. A change of scrubs. Clean shoes. Spare socks. A battered toiletry bag with a sticky zipper. A photo of her and Abby in DisneyWorld for cheerleading nationals in February was taped to the mirror on the door. Jack didn’t walk away, just continued to pack up in silence while they both pretended the other wasn’t there.

He finally broke the heaviness after what felt like days. “Good work today,” he said softly.

Her hands stilled, fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag. She wanted to say something snarky, something dismissive to keep him at arm’s length the way she’d promised herself to do. But the way he said it tightened something in her throat. It was simple. Honest. Like he meant it.

Instead, she tugged her keys out of her bag and managed a soft, “Yeah. You too.”

He didn’t say anything else. The silence settled again, thicker now. She could hear him moving; clinks of metal, the rustle of fabric. Close. Too close.She squeezed her keys so tight that the teeth bit into her palm.

This was ridiculous, she told herself. They were nearly fifty, for God’s sake. Too old to be dancing around the edges of a thirty-year-old wound like nervous teenagers, and he was married. He’d obviously continued forward the same as she had. She’d buried that hatchet a long time ago; stitched her heart back together piece by piece and kept going. Pushed through med school alone, survived the last year of residency with an infant and her family on the other side of the country. Built a career, raised a daughter, made a good, stable life. She could handle a conversation with a boy she used to love.

Except somewhere along the way, she’d kept a map to that damn hatchet. Hadn’t even realized she’d drawn it until he walked into that exam room and she saw him again. Thirty years and all it took was one look to feel the ache of it all.

She hadn’t even known he’d gone into medicine. She guessed that had always been the plan though, until it wasn’t. She’d head to med school first, and he’d do his time saving lives in combat zones. Then it would be his turn to suffer through labs and lectures once he got out and she held down the fort until they both had a few new letters following their last name. But that version of their future ended the night he pulled out of her parents’ drive like he couldn’t get out fast enough. Her knowing anything about his life had stopped then, and he’d made sure of it.

It didn’t matter. She’d told herself she didn’t care so many times it should’ve been true by now. The scar tissue around that wound was thick, and she knew better than anyone how difficult it was to cut through.

She chewed the inside of her cheek and glanced at his locker door. Be the bigger person, Beth. There’s a bar two blocks from the hospital. Buy him a drink, say what needed to be said, clear the air. Then go to admin, and request opposite shifts. Put on your big girl panties. Learn to swim.

Not like he’d say yes anyway. He probably had his wife waiting for him at home; a family to hustle back to. She had to get back to… well, Abby was at Mia’s for the night. If she put her DoorDash order in now, she might beat it home.

She sighed. God, she was so tired of being the bigger person. She slammed her locker shut with more force than necessary and turned.

“Jack—”

But he was already gone. Only the soft whisper of the door swinging closed at the far end of the corridor remained.

She stood there for a moment, keys clutched too tight in her fist, the echo of his voice still warm in her chest. Beth exhaled, long and slow. Then, she adjusted the strap of her bag, squared her shoulders, and walked out alone.

Maybe she’d get that drink anyway.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot/oc #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x oc #dr abbot x oc #jack abbot

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harmonyrae · 2 days ago

Text

Ivy League

Fall Semester: Sophomore Year🍁🍂🎃🏈

Premise: Based on this post by PomeRinn aka @waterrinmelonn. All the boys are modern rich international kids going to a prestigious university. They’re attending Yale, an Ivy League University in the American Northeast. They're all the same age. My FMC will end up with only one of them in the end.

Content Warnings: Mildly Suggestive & Explicit Language. Some fluff. Some angst. Slow burn in its purest form. Underage drinking. FMC is drugged (she’s okay, unharmed) but please be aware of your own triggers while reading. 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 7.6k (oh lord it's a long one)

Part One Part Two

“You’re sure we got assigned to Lawrance Hall? Like, 100% sure?”

“Hun, I emailed and called, we are in Lawrance Hall this year. Same room, no overbooking, we’re good babe!” Tara sighs as she reassures you for the 100th time.

Finding out you’re changing dorms was stressful enough as it is, but getting assigned to the hall that caused you insane anxiety last year made you even more on edge. Thankfully, Tara was on top of things and joined you in calling Student Housing to double, triple, quadruple check.

“My flight got delayed, so I will be arriving a few hours later than I expected. Are you and Caleb already on campus?”

You look over at the driver seat, Caleb had changed quite a bit over the summer. He started an amateur basketball league at the country club. He only ever used his parent’s membership to the club for the gym anyways, so he decided to do something for the community. He often held practice outside, so he was tan and much leaner than before break.

You had your own tan lines given your summer job as a lifeguard at the same club. You’d been going with Caleb to the club since before you were able to swim and knew the staff well. When they offered you the job, you were ecstatic. A chance to save up some money and get a tan at the same time? Deal of the century.

“Hello? Are you still there?” Tara’s voice brings you back.

“Sorry, yeah. We just arrived. Caleb is still trying to find a parking space to unload my shit.”

“He’s moving into the frat house, right?”

“Yup, he’s going full frat bro.” Caleb rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You’re literally wearing your hat backwards right now.”

He immediately swivels his hat around. You break into a fit of giggles as you hear Tara begging for a picture on the other end of the call. Caleb finds a spot and backs in, waving to the parking attendant before getting out.

“Did Sylus or Zayne ever get back to you?”

“Not yet, I think Zayne is still with his cousins and Sylus is on a plane.”

“I can’t believe they got assigned to Lawrance Hall too. If they’re on the same floor, I’m buying a lottery ticket.” A voice echos through her phone announcing a departure. “Oop, that’s my flight! I’ll see you in a few hours bestie!”

After wishing her safe travels, you hang up and join Caleb who had just successfully convinced the parking attendant to let him stay parked for 30 minutes.

“Thanks man. We’ll be out of here as soon as possible.”

Thankfully you’re not on the fourth floor this year so the trek back and forth wasn’t as miserable. Second floor, right at the end of the hall by the stairwell door. Your room is a tiny bit bigger and has a decent view. The shared bathroom with the room next door would take some getting used to. It was nice you didn’t have to share the showers with the whole floor, but until you meet your neighbors you can’t say that with full confidence.

“Alright Pips, I think that’s it.” He takes off his hat and smoothes back his sweat slick hair.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to help you move in?”

Caleb pulls you into a sweaty side-hug making your squirm.

“I’m sure. The house is going to be super busy and I know you get anxious.”

He’s right. A chaotic frat house with a bunch of sweaty guys running around? No thanks.

“Okay, just let me know if you need anything. We’re still meeting for dinner with the gang, right?”

He nods and you walk him out, waving him off when he shouts something about ‘behaving.’ When you return to your room you focus on getting your bed made up and finding your corkboards. You spent the last week printing out pictures and making collages to hang up. You had an impressive collection, pictures from your first Yale football game, movie night in the Commons, fencing tournaments, your first published piece in the Yale student paper and a whole board dedicated to three special felines.

You’d be hounding Zayne for updates when he arrived, Galen is probably so big now. You follow the Instagrams for the girls who adopted Lilith and Dream. It warmed your heart that they kept the sisters together. Sadly, Zayne’s cousin doesn’t have any social media so you can’t keep an eye on the little cheesepuff. As you pin the board to the wall, you giggle at the photo of Sylus with Galen on his head. It was the only time Galen was calm during the entire roadtrip to DC. You’re glad the foster agreed to let you, Tara, Zayne and Sylus transport Galen to his temporary home with Zayne’s cousin over Spring Break. Spending a week in DC was also a fun time.

You fluff your pillows and toss another throw blanket over the bottom of your bed before flinging yourself down to take a breather. It’s only then you realize the afternoon sun is shining directly onto your bed. Sitting up, you look for the string to the blinds, you knew you should have brought curtains.

The ledge of the window is wide enough for you to prop your foot up and possibly stand for a minute or two. Just long enough to grab the cord and lower them. Taking a precarious step forward, you wedge the toe of your sneaker into one of the grooves of the radiator and hold onto the walls on either side of the window to balance yourself. You’re about to hoist yourself up onto the ledge when the door to the bathroom opens into your room.

Tara’s going to need that lottery ticket.

“What on earth are you trying to do?” Zayne rushes over to yank you back. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

Leaping away from the wall, you throw your arms around him.

“Zayne! When did you get here? Where did you come from? How’s Galen?”

“I can only answer one question at a time.” You let him go and let him reach up to grab the cord himself, easily lowering the blinds and darkening the room.

Flipping on a lamp, you sit on your bed and pat the space next to you. As soon as Zayne sits you begin your interrogation.

“Okay, when did you get here?”

“I arrived from DC at noon and spent an hour in traffic. Luckily, the taxi driver was a quiet man so I got caught up on my reading. I arrived in my dorm room about fifteen minutes ago.”

“So how did you get in here? Are you on the same floor?”

He glances at the bathroom door, which he left wide open. When you look over, you can see straight through to the adjoining room. Where his backpack sits on the bed. You stare at him, then back through the door, then back at him.

“No way.”

“I’ll have to talk to a member of Student Housing. They usually don’t allow this kind of arrangement.” He offers.

“Every semester it’s something else! Last year they put me in the wrong room, this year they put us in adjoining rooms with a shared bathroom! I’m sorry, I like you, Zayne, but I don’t want to share a bathroom with you and Sylus!”

“I understand, I will find a member of staff immediately.” You grab his arm to stop him from standing. “What?”

“I want to hear about Galen first…”

He questions your priorities, but shifts on the bed to get more comfortable as he divulges more info about Galen. He pulls out his phone to show new pictures, sending a few to you so you can update your picture board. Eventually, you discuss his class schedule, his plans to volunteer at the shelter again, how his summer went. The sun was setting before you knew it.

“I’ll find someone to ask about the room situation and meet you at the dining hall in around 30 minutes.”

You thank Zayne and return your focus to getting the room set up. Your mom had bought you a skincare fridge and you were itching to stock it. A clatter and squeal alerts you to the arrival of your roommate. You turn just in time to brace yourself for impact.

“Oh my god! I’m never getting on a plane again.” You grunt as she squeezes you tighter. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Tara.” She lets you go and you stretch your back from where she squeezed a little too tight.

She drops her bags off on the other bed, examining the room and stopping at the open bathroom door. She doesn’t say a word before running through to the other room. You call out and chase after her. When you enter the other room you’re greeted with a sight for sore eyes. Tara clings to Sylus, her arms wrapped around his waist while his arms are raised, clearly unprepared for this attack hug.

“Yes hello, I missed you, Tara.”

He looks up and gives you a once over, smiling.

“Missed you too, kitten.”

He must have gotten extra sun this summer too. His hair is even more of a contrast against his tanned skin. His go-to tank top and jean combo still suits him, but he has more accessories now. A chain on his belt, bracelets, rings on almost every finger. And best - or worst, depending on your sanity - of all, fresh ink swirling down his right arm. Tara lets him go and grabs his hand, twisting his arm so she can get a better look at it.

“This is so cool! When did this happen?”

“A few weeks ago, I wanted it to be mostly healed before returning to campus.”

You take a step forward and get a closer look. You can only make out scales and shadows, too caught up in how the ink thins at his wrist, circles his arm, covers his bicep, crawls up his shoulder and drops down his back. The question is on the tip of your tongue, but you know it’s a bad idea. Tara beats you to it.

“How far does it go?”

Sylus responds exactly like you think he would, he pulls his shirt over his head and turns. While your cheeks are on fire, you can make out the design a bit better. It’s a dragon. Its body continues to spiral down his back and over his ribcage, its wings folded against its back. You can’t see the end of the tail as it disappears below his waistband.

“Use your imagination for the rest.” Tara slaps his arm and you momentarily black out.

“Wait, it’s not normal to share a bathroom with guys like this, right?” Tara walks through the bathroom, realizing the set up.

“No, Zayne is finding someone to talk to about it.”

“Zayne’s already here! Oh my god!” Tara jumps up and down. “I’m texting Rafayel and Xavier, I need to see all my boys together again.”

She skips off into your room, leaving you alone with a shirtless Sylus. He’s made no significant effort to put his shirt back on and you’re about 10 seconds away from blacking out again.

“You look good.” He noted. “Spent your summer in the sun, did you?”

You bite your lip and hold your breath as you turn to face him. He fiddles with his shirt, his muscles twitching as he maintains eye contact.

“Yeah. Worked as a lifeguard. Helped with swimming lessons too… uhm… What about you? You look…” God, you’re awkward. “... Good. You look good too. Tan. I mean.”

Sylus tilts his head, lips twisting into a smirk. He takes a step closer.

“Stayed with my uncle at his beach house in Busan. Helped him fix up his vintage car. I visited my mom in Moscow during the rainy season. Joined her for a few outings to the beaches there.”

Another step.

“I am glad you stayed in touch.”

Another step.

“Well, yeah, someone had to convince you not to name that bird of yours ‘Shadow-Dragon’.”

He grins, eyeing you.

“He was going through a phase. Seemed fitting.”

He’s much closer now, if you didn’t know better you’d think…

“Dinner in 10 minutes! Come on! Oh my god Sylus, put your shirt back on. Show off…” Tara calls over her shoulder as she returns to her room.

You stare at your feet, waiting for him to take a step back.

“I’m going to change. Got all sweaty moving in. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You don’t wait for him to reply, just spin and race back to your room. Why are you being so awkward? You were calm, cool and collected all summer while messaging him and now? Sure, he couldn’t see how you buried your head in your pillow and screamed in frustration over what to say, but you thought you had reigned in your emotions.

Dinner was only awkward for about .5 seconds, as soon as Rafayel arrived he was raving over Sylus’s tattoo and critiquing Zayne’s hair. You hadn’t realized before, but Zayne grew out his hair. It was a good look for him, more casual, less preppy. Caleb didn’t waste anytime hyping up his fraternity, praising the cooking staff, the private pool access, the bigger rooms. He brought his roommate, Gideon, who immediately clicked with Tara. They chatted most of the night, barely paying attention to Caleb’s performance. You knew exactly what he was doing since he practiced his pitch on you on the drive back to campus.

“Finley told me to have someone in mind to tap as soon as I get back. He said the earlier the better since Sigma Chi had lower recruitment the past few semesters. And 20% graduated in May.” He mused. “What do you think Rafayel and Sylus would say if I tapped them?”

At first, you laughed, but then you weren’t so sure. Rafayel might enjoy the challenge of being more social. He’d mentioned he was far too comfortable last year, didn’t try to branch out and try new things. Sylus, on the other hand, was a wild card. Could go either way. So when Caleb arrived in the dining hall, you knew he’d be in salesman mode.

“Sigma Chi has the best parties and social standing, sure, but there’s a lot more. They host private sporting events, and have internal teams. Finley already offered me a co-captain position on his basketball team. Next week we’re doing a fundraiser for members' tuition fund. There’s also a shit ton of networking opportunities - we might be sophomores but it’s never too early to think about life after college.”

“Caleb, you sound like an infomercial.” Zayne grumbles.

“I’m just making sure Rafayel and Sylus know all the benefits to joining.”

“Well, I’m down.” Rafayel pipes up. “Could serve as inspiration for a collection. The ‘reality of a frat bro’ - vivid colors, hidden elements. I like it.”

“I’m not sure, honestly. Doesn’t seem like I would really be a good fit.” Sylus counters.

“No, you definitely would. There’s a few engineering majors who invested in renovating the basement into a workshop. They won’t even let me in without a welding mask.”

Sylus is instantly more attentive.

“Should have led with that Caleb.” You snicker as he back-tracks to go over how tapping works.

🍁🍂🎃🏈

You hit the ground running this semester, less anxious than last year. Still undeclared, but taking more classes you actually enjoy. Other than Biology, math and science are not your strong suits. But with Zayne next door, you breeze through your first exam. Rafayel is in the same class and after nearly failing he finally admits defeat and asks Zayne for help.

“Please don’t make me ask again.” Rafayel mumbles.

“I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.” Zayne flips the pages of his textbook as if Rafayel’s not even there.

Rafayel sighs and leans closer to Zayne.

“Oh great and powerful master of science and medicine, might you consider tutoring me so biology is no longer the bane of my existence and cause of my despair?”

Tara spits out her soup, barely grabbing a napkin in time to save her sweater. Zayne looks up, peering over his glasses.

“When is your class held?”

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday - 2pm.”

“You’ll arrive at the library at 5:30pm on Wednesdays for exactly 2 hours of tutoring along with Y/N. If you’re late, there’s a fee.”

“A fee?!”

“For every 5 minutes you’re late, you get a tally. If you rack up 10 tallies you have to buy me a premium chocolate box from Durfee Sweet Shop.”

“Those are like, $50 each!”

“Don’t be late then.” Zayne concludes.

Rafayel has never been more punctual. He could afford the chocolate, but the thought of spending $50 on sweets made him irrationally angry. Wednesday quickly became your favorite day of the week. Rafayel argued that there was no real reason to memorize the differences between bacteria, viruses, and fungi. Zayne argued that understanding the differences is actually a very important element of health and wellness. You just sat there, sipping your coffee, enjoying the break.

Thursday evenings were still reserved for Fencing Club. Xavier was determined to have you putting down the foil for a sabre before the end of the semester. The idea of moving from a structured fight to something more fast paced was an exciting prospect, but you weren’t sure you’d be ready. Xavier, however, was persistent, more so than usual.

“And… flunge! There we go, excellent. Stop laughing!”

You don’t mean to, but the term itself and Xavier’s accent is too funny. Xavier advances without warning and you jump, barely escaping Xavier’s sabre. He doesn’t yield the right-of-way when you successfully parry, instead opting to pursue you further, forcing you to hop down off the mat.

“Xavier!”

You scramble to right yourself as he continues to lunge and thrust his blade. Your back hits the wall and the point of Xavier’s blade dives straight into the wall beside your head. You scream and stare at Xavier, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Always stand your ground, even if your opponent is trying to advance and take over your space. Don’t let them. Don’t wait for the perfect moment to take control, trust your instincts and just do it. You can’t remain in defense mode forever.”

His words dig a little too deep. He’s talking about fencing, right?

For the rest of practice, he focuses on your footwork. His attitude is noticeably more somber and you chase after him when practice ends. The leaves have just begun to change, the wind making you shiver as it blows through your hair. You reach Xavier right before he heads into his dorm. He avoids eye contact, choosing to stare at his shoes.

“Xavier. What’s going on? You’ve never been that aggressive with me before.”

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.” You stay quiet, waiting for more. “I… I usually train when I get overwhelmed. My coaches would push me around just so I could fight back. I got stronger while blowing off steam. I shouldn’t have pushed you, I’m sorry, truly.”

“Why are you overwhelmed? Classes?”

He shakes his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Got a letter from my uncle.”

“Oh…” You shuffle closer. “Did something happen?”

“My parents want me to come home for the holidays.”

If a letter asking him to visit for the holidays is enough to make Xavier feel like this, his relationship with his parents must be worse than you thought. You follow him to a bench to sit. He scoots closer to you, sharing his warmth.

“I haven’t seen my parents in almost 7 years. Going home… I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.” He smiles, pleased with your quick response and subtle anger. “You don’t owe them anything. You should celebrate the holidays with people who make you happy.”

“You have a good relationship with your family, I’m guessing.”

“It’s decent. Not perfect though. I know I don’t know your situation, I shouldn’t assume.”

He shakes his head.

“You’re not wrong, I guess I’m just… not ready to face them yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.”

You put your arm around his shoulders and rest your head against his. He leans into your touch, taking a deep breath, a cloud of hot air billowing out of his mouth into the cold. It’s not until your ass is numb from the frigid metal bench that you let go. He thanks you and you invite him to the next study session with Rafayel and Zayne.

“Watching Rafayel crash out over DNA sequencing should put a smile on your face.”

He agrees before shuffling inside.

You’ve always been a fixer, wanting to help your friends and family with whatever they’re going through. Even if it means sacrificing your wellbeing. You know it’s not the healthiest thing to do, but it’s almost like you’ve been programmed that way. You spent most of your childhood helping Caleb through his teen angst. And no with Xavier, you can help him feel better, distract him. With Rafayel, you can study with him. Zayne, you simply knock on his door and hand him a cup of Jasmine tea. Sylus is a bit trickier. He hasn’t told you much about his family life and can be a bit hard to read. But when it comes to keeping a hall full of angry students from bashing down his door at 3am, yeah, you can help with that.

CAW CAW CAW CAW

You roll over and moan, already hearing Tara jump out of bed in a fury. She swings open the bathroom door and barges through, slamming her fist on the door to Sylus and Zayne’s room.

“Sylus I swear to god!”

You stumble out of bed and waddle through the bathroom just as Zayne opens the door, eyes heavy with sleep, his soundproof headphones hung around his neck. He mumbles something, but you just pat his shoulder and shuffle past him. Someone begins knocking on their main door and Tara takes the lead on damage control for tonight. You pull Zayne’s desk chair from across the room to Sylus’s desk, where he’s hunched over his crow. His fingers shake as he tries to maneuver the tiny chip into place.

“Did you eat dinner?” You shout over the incessant cawing.

He shakes his head and you open the top drawer of his desk to grab a granola bar. You open it and hold it up to his mouth. He doesn’t take his eyes off the chip, but does take a bite. When the chip finally slides into place, the cawing ceases and the crowd outside his door disperses. Except for Becket and Tiffany, the floor RAs, who begrudgingly enter the room to issue Sylus his second warning.

“Sylus, you’ve got to stop working on this in the middle of the night. If you get one more warning, we’ll have to kick you out of the dorm. So please… just go to bed…”

They leave in a huff, slamming the door behind them. Sylus stares at the bird on his desk, half a granola bar in his mouth. The skin under his eyes is darker, like he hasn’t been sleeping at all. You hear Tara say something about going back to sleep and Zayne puts his headphones back on and curls up into a ball in his bed.

“Sy?” He nods, acknowledging you. “Why can’t you sleep?”

This gets his attention. He looks over, frowning when he sees your exhausted expression.

“You’re not coming to dinner as often either. So, I’m not moving from this chair until you tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”

He snorts and you pinch your lips together. Adorable.

“You’ll be sitting there all night, kitten.”

“Then you better get me one of those energy drinks you’re hiding from Zayne.”

“It’s not your job to fix everything, you know?”

You know that, but you’re going to try anyway.

“But I can listen.”

And there you sat, all night, sipping on a sugary energy drink and eating granola bars until the early morning hours. Not everything he talked about was necessarily related to his “problem” but you could see the relief in his eyes as he vented.

He revealed that his father has been relentlessly messaging him about returning to Seoul. Telling him he should have enrolled in Seoul National University to study business. Criticizing every choice he makes: where he spent his summer, wasting his money on tattoos or ‘toy robots.’ His dad has no idea who his son is or what he cares about.

“Usually, I don’t give a shit. It’s just been non-stop the past few days. I bought a burner just to avoid his calls. How fucked is that? Having to buy a goddamn burner phone so your father doesn’t call you during class?”

It’s around 7am when the sun peaks over the horizon, casting a hazy glow through the window. You’d moved to sit at the end of his bed since the Yale-provided desk chair had started to bruise your ass. At some point, Sylus had laid down, his head next to your thigh. When you woke up to Zayne’s alarm, his head had shifted to your lap, your fingers woven through his hair. You yanked your hand back to your chest and carefully slid a pillow under his head before climbing down off of his bed. Zayne had already spotted you, his arms crossed, silently judging you.

“Don’t look at me like that. He’s sleeping and the bird is quiet. Take that as a win.”

You’re not sure how you survived classes that day, but when you got back to your dorm Sylus was still fast asleep. You knew it’d be hell getting caught up on classwork, but he needed the sleep. And helping him study is a problem you can actually help with, unlike his situation with his asshole of a father. But you find yourself imagining what you’d say to the man if you ever met.

🍁🍂🎃🏈

“Please tell me you guys are on your way. Please. Please please please.”

You shouldn’t be laughing, it’s not funny that you’re running late to the party. But Caleb has never been so anxious about a party in… well, ever. Clearing your throat, you steady your voice.

“If you had joined us, you could have micromanaged everything yourself.” He all but growls. “Tara is helping Rafayel with his makeup. We should be on our way in about 15 minutes.”

Caleb groans, that was not what he wanted to hear.

“Just call me when you get here. I’ll get you past the line.”

“There’s a line?” You sputtered.

“It’s the Sigma Chi Halloween party, of course there’s a line! We’re the only frat that hosts a part on Halloween night. Everyone else hosts parties over the weekend. There’s already over 100 people downstairs.”

“Shit!” You squeal. “Okay, we’ll be there soon.”

You hang up and skip into the bathroom where Zayne and Xavier are getting ready. Xavier is more keeping Zayne company while he fights with his hair, he was the first to be ready. His costume was more a non-costume costume. Jeans, sneakers, a white t-shirt and a navy bomber jacket with a big NASA pin on the chest. The “casual astronaut” he called it. He just didn’t want to make a big fuss over an outfit he’d only wear once. Practical as ever.

“Zayne, are you sure you don’t need my help?” You offer.

He drops the comb to the counter, staring at his reflection. Putting on his glasses he turns to face you and raises his brow.

“Do you really think this is a good costume for me?”

You know he’s frustrated, but with his hair standing on end he looks like a different person. Add the glasses and sure enough, that’s Doctor Who alright. The blue suit he found at the thirst store is slightly oversized making the costume even better. Thanks to Sylus, he had a red tie and red converse. And he already owned a beige trench coat. You’d have to beg him to say ‘Allons-y’ at least once for Snapchat.

“You look perfect, Doctor.”

His eyes brightened, a blush spreading over his cheeks. He’s working his ass off to become a real doctor, tonight he gets to just have fun but still kinda technically be one. You pat his shoulder as you continue into the other room. Tara is basically straddling Rafayel to get his eyeliner just right. You choke back a laugh and walk over to observe.

“Tara, if you poke my eye one more time I swear to god…” She shushes him.

“How’s it going?” You inquire and Tara sighs.

“I’m almost done, just another… swipe… here…”

Rafayel wiggles and Tara slaps him, not hard enough to do damage but he still acts as though he’s been stabbed. He might be annoyed now, but he does look amazing. One eye smudged with red, the other smudged with blue, pointed curves of matching eyeliner dripping down his cheeks. Tara takes a tissue and smudges the lipstain on his lips so the corners of his mouth extend out. The purple in his hair had faded, making it the perfect time to add the red and blue temp dye. His costume was just as impressive as the makeup. An exact replica of the t-shirt from the movie, a thick sweater half red and blue, ripped blue jeans and a leather harness connected to his belt and choker. Top tier costume right here. He’d also painted a plastic bat since the frat wouldn’t allow real bats for safety reasons.

“Holy shit, Rafayel, you look incredible.”

Tara holds up a mirror and Rafayel grins, a cocky smile forming.

“Okay, Tara, I forgive you for stabbing me in the eye.” Tara hauls herself off his lap.

“I need to apply my lashes and then we are good to go!”

She runs back into your shared room. You couldn’t wait to get pictures together, the last person you matched with on Halloween was Caleb and there’s no chance he could pull off what Tara’s wearing. Black leather shorts, fishnet tights, a black velvet corset, chunky heels - all pulled together with a set of black devil horns and matching wings. The devil to your angel.

You’re glad your mom and dad aren’t here, they’d never let you out of the house like this. A white mini skirt, thigh high white socks, a strapless white lace corset with a thick satin ribbon lacing up the back, white strappy heels. Your white wings and fluffy halo, in perfect contrast with Tara. It’s not that revealing, but it’s still the sexiest Halloween costume you’ve ever worn.

Rafayel stands and crouches next to Sylus’s desk, where Sylus is typing away on his laptop.

“Are they staying in?”

“Haven’t fallen out for 30 minutes, so I think we’re in the clear.” Sylus said, his voice slightly off.

“So everyone’s ready then?” You ask.

Sylus closes his laptop and turns around in his chair. Oh how you wish you had been recording to capture his reaction. His eyes were already a main feature, but tonight they were even more intense with black liner smudged into sharp wings. So when his eyes widened, they damn popped out of his skull. His mouth literally dropped open, his gaze lingering over your bare shoulders, down to the little bows at the top of your socks against your thighs. For all the times you’ve been lost for words when looking at him, it was nice having it reversed for a change.

“Ahh… I wasn’t expecting… I thought - ahem - you look amazing, kitten.”

You could spot the fake fangs when he smiled, the little lisp he has thanks to the cosmetic piece is making your brain fuzzy. His costume was not too different from his everyday attire, maybe a tad more luxurious. Fitted suit pants, dress shoes, a red silk shirt unbuttoned so low you questioned your morals, and the amount of jewelry…

“Are you wearing every single piece of your jewelry collection?”

He stands, his hands held up as he examines them.

“Pretty much. Is it too much?” You shake your head.

How you’re just now realizing his hair is slicked back is beyond you, but fuck he looks fantastic. Rafayel steps into your peripheral and crosses his arms.

“If you two are done flirting, we have a party to get to.”

You shoot a glare in his direction and he cackles, ignoring your fury. He heads for the bathroom and you can hear him rallying the troops to head out. Sylus stops at his dresser to pick up a tube of fake blood. He’s about to dab some to the corner of his mouth when you stop him.

“Wait! Use lipstain, it’ll last longer and you can eat and drink with it on.” You pick up the lipstain Tara left behind, offering it to him.

“Could you help me apply it? Seems like you’re more familiar with it than I am.”

He sits back on his desk and you slowly approach him while unscrewing the cap. You gently hold his chin while you swipe the product over the corner of his mouth, letting a small drop drip down. You realize you’re all but staring at his lips, reveling in his smoky scent and allowing your imagination to run wild. Even if it’s just for a moment. You feel Sylus’s hand on your hip and your eyes flick up to meet his. His lips part, as if he’s about to say something, but he stops himself, hesitates. Before he gets another chance, Tara is bounding into the room.

“We are lea– oh… I am interrupting something fantastic, I’ll go!”

You back away from Sylus and grab her wrist.

“No no no! I was just adding the final touches to his costume, we’re ready to go.”

You drag her behind you, leaving Sylus behind as you return to your room to grab your phone. Caleb will lose his shit if you all don’t get to the house soon.

🍁🍂🎃🏈 (Trigger Warning relates to this chapter)

The house was literally packed with people when you arrived. True to his word, Caleb helped everyone skip the line and get into the main house. You recognized his Top Gun jumpsuit and Aviators, he’d worn it last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. Obsessed is not a strong enough word for how he feels about Tom Cruise and that movie.

Of course he gave you shit about your costume, but he stopped himself from running to his room to grab a hoodie for you to cover up with. Tara assures him that she’ll keep an eye on you and she’ll personally punch anyone who tries to touch in the throat.

A few members of the fencing team are members of Sigma Chi, so as soon as they spot Xavier they crowd around him. Xavier has been looking happier recently. Turning up the intensity of your training sessions has helped him mellow out a lot. Sure, you’re so sore you can barely walk to class the next day and you have a few bruises, but you’re happy if he’s happy.

Caleb drags Rafayel and Sylus on a tour of the house while you, Zayne and Tara follow behind.

“And here’s the sunroom, we have a couple amateur artists who come in here to paint or draw. I’m sure they’d love to get lessons from an actual art major. Our last Bachelor of Arts member graduated in May, so we need more creatives around here!”

Rafayel inspects some of the sketchpads left scattered around the room. He shakes his head, clearly unimpressed, but does occasionally crack a smile. Seems someone has potential. Continuing on, Caleb stops to point down a set of stairs to a metal door.

“Down these stairs is the workshop I mentioned. Luke and Kieran said they’d show you around a little later.”

The house is massive, plenty of rooms to house the members who want to live close to campus. The main kitchen is locked, but a secondary smaller kitchen is busy with people mixing drinks and eating the various appetizers prepared by the staff. Caleb grabs a beer and offers one to the rest of the guys.

“Is there any wine, by chance?” Rafayel asks.

“Actually, yes. Finley is a big wine fan, he should have a couple bottles around here.”

Once Rafayel has his wine, Caleb finds you and leans in so he’s not shouting over the crowd.

“If you want to try beer, you can take a sip from mine. Just don’t –”

“Don’t take a drink from any strange men, I know the drill. I’m good right now. This place is crazy! The pool is the size of a lake!”

Caleb chuckles. Someone calls his name and he promises to return as soon as possible. You watch him run off through the crowd and take a moment to look around.

Zayne, of course, has found the sweets, but he’s also found someone to chat with. A tall girl, her light brown hair tucked up into a neat bun, her nurse costume only slightly revealing. She is wearing a sweater, which she keeps pulling closed to hide her chest. You can assume the costume choice wasn’t entirely her own. When Zayne smiles and points to a plate of macaroons she lights up, eagerly grabbing one to try.

Rafayel and Xavier have reunited. If you had to guess, Rafayel is the one who dragged Xavier onto the dance floor. But it looks like they’re actually having fun, so you can’t help but smile. Even though they’re roommates, they haven’t exactly bonded like you and Tara have. When Xavier started joining you and Rafayel for your tutoring sessions, they started getting closer. It was like they were trying to see who could keep a straight face the longest while insulting each other. Zayne has started keeping score, writing down the funniest ones to use on Sylus.

Speaking of Sylus, you look around and can’t find him. You assume he’s getting that tour of the workshop. Tara stays at your side, taking on the responsibility of socializing for the both of you. Parties are not your thing, even though you attended tons with Caleb in high school. He just had to be Mr. Popular. If it were up to you, you’d be curled up in bed with popcorn watching Halloweentown. But you wanted to at least try to be more social, try new things, meet people.

As soon as Gideon showed up, Tara was fidgety. You could tell she wanted to hang out with him, but that would mean leaving you alone.

“Tara, go! I’m fine! Caleb should be back soon.” She squinted at you. “Go! Flirt! Be merry!”

She hugs you before taking Gideon’s hand and following him through the crowd. You watch her for a minute, making sure she’s not being taken to some scary secret room. Gideon stops at the DJ booth and whispers something to the DJ. When the songs change to Tara’s favorite band, you want to applaud. Oh, he’s a keeper.

You decide to get a drink while you wait. Making your way to the kitchen was a challenge, but once you’re there you huff a sigh of relief. You eye the bottles of booze, a few bottles of soda, a large bowl of punch and a whole keg of beer. You’ve tried beer before, it’s not for you. The punch is just out in the open, who’s idea was that? Hard liqueur scares you, so you play it safe with a soda. You fill up a red cup with ice from a cooler and open a new bottle. As you sip the cool beverage, you resume your scan of the crowd.

“Don’t start without me dude! Hold up!”

A guy wearing a cop costume races by you, almost making you spill your drink all over yourself. You lean back and he pushes past. You watch him turn the corner and disappear.

“Dylan! Watch where you’re going man!”

A male voice calls out beside you. You turn to face the man, trying to hide the fact he startled you. An attractive blonde stands before you, his hair swoops down over his forehead, brown eyes so dark they’re almost black. He’s dressed as a firefighter, well, half-dressed. He wears the boots and pants, suspenders hang loosely off of his hips and a fireman’s hat sits on his head, but his chest is bare.

“Sorry about him, Dylan’s always in a rush to get somewhere. I haven’t seen you around here before, have I?”

You clutch your drink to your chest and put on a polite smile. You shake your head.

“Well, I’m Chad, and you are?”

Of course his name is Chad. He’s the most Chad looking Chad you’ve ever seen. He’s a bit forward, but his company is not uncomfortable. You take a sip of your drink before answering. He rests his hip against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest. A marketing major with a scholarship to play baseball for Yale. He’s funny, but not that interesting.

“Hey, is there a bathroom nearby?” Your chest feels tight, usually that’s a sign of a panic attack coming. You just need a few minutes to yourself. “I just need a second.”

He guides you to the bathroom and follows you inside. Before you can tell him to leave, a hand reaches in and grabs him, yanking him back, hard. You gasp, stepping back through the door to see Chad on the floor. When you look up, you find Sylus standing over him. Your eyes widen, confused by his sudden appearance.

“Fucking prick!” Chad stands and gets in Sylus’s face.

You open your mouth to try to defuse the situation, but instead, you immediately turn to launch yourself towards the toilet. Emptying the contents of your stomach in the most painful way. Your sides ache from the force and you gasp for air. A hand suddenly pulls your hair away from your face and you see Tara kneel down beside you. You can’t even ask her what’s happening, your eyes watering as you heave once more.

Zayne’s voice echoes through the bathroom. You see his hazy figure through tearfilled eyes lifting the cup you left on the bathroom counter up to his nose.

“I don’t smell anything.” There’s an edge to his voice. “I’ll carry her.”

Before you can try to speak again, Zayne is lifting you up. The pretty brunette he was talking to earlier drapes his coat over you and holds your cup carefully. Zayne carries you out of the bathroom with Tara and the other woman close behind.

The house is loud, so fucking loud. There’s shouts and grunts and swearing. You hear Caleb’s voice calling out for Sylus, then Rafayel’s calling out for Zayne. Closing your eyes, you try to shut out the noise so you don’t vomit again. You can see flashes of red and blue behind your eyelids just before everything goes black.

🍁🍂🎃🏈

You wake up on the bathroom floor, a blanket wrapped around you and a towel rolled up to serve as a pillow. Your throat is dry, your head pounding, stomach cramping sharply. As you try to sit up, you hear Tara’s gentle voice.

“Hey, take it slow. Take a sip.”

She holds a bottle of water to your lips and helps you drink. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, only made worse by the cool water. You look past Tara to see Rafayel and Xavier curled up on the floor next to Tara’s bed, fast asleep. Rafayel’s face pressed against Xavier’s chest, his makeup smeared onto Xavier’s jacket.

“What’s going on?” You rasp.

She hands you the water bottle and you sit up a little straighter, leaning back against the wall. Before she gets a chance to explain, Zayne walks in. His costume has been replaced with sweatpants and a hoodie. Tara looks up at him from her position on the floor.

“The Benadryl worked, stopped the hives from spreading and she hasn’t thrown up in an hour.”

Zayne crouches and places the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Good. Have her drink another bottle of water and then try some crackers. If she gets sick again, we’re going to the hospital.”

Tara nods and you can’t stop the tears from welling up. The longer it takes them to tell you what’s wrong the more terrified you become.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” You beg.

Zayne kneels and looks to Tara, who looks ready to punch a wall.

“We think you were drugged at the party. And it seems you had an allergic reaction. You’ve been in and out for the past few hours.” Zayne explains.

Zayne’s phone rings and he stands, apologizing as he leaves the room. You’re numb from head to toe. Barely keeping it together. Tara crawls over to sit next to you and puts her arm around you, pulling you into a hug.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Wh-where’s Caleb?”

Tara giggles softly and moves over, pointing into the room behind you. You turn to see Caleb passed out on Zayne’s bed, snoring softly.

“And Sy? Sylus?”

“Tara, I need to borrow your car.” Zayne re-enters the bathroom and unceremoniously interrupts the conversation. “It’s urgent.”

Tara nods and hurries into your room. You look up at Zayne, taking in his clenched jaw and serious expression. Your stomach drops, which hurts given what it’s been through.

“Zayne, where’s Sylus?”

He sighs.

“In jail.” 🍁🍂🎃🏈

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: (If you'd like to be added to the Ivy League taglist comment a🎓) @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @ankitavminkook @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmutm0 @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @stellar-seas @babylilxc @havenhope-art @lly5duck @freddy-2002-blog @sylus-hunter @plzdonutpercieveme @saybeyonce @red-f1sh-blue-f1sh @am-drawings AN: I am trying to be as respectful as possible with the delicate nature of what happened to FMC. In no way am I using what happened for meaningless plot. Sometimes a fixer needs to let others help them & knowing they have friends willing to do so with zero hesitation is extremely important. If you're a fixer, please make sure you're letting others help you and you don't beat yourself up for not being able to "do more."

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siriusly-yoongi · 2 days ago

Text

She wants to be saved chapter 20

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

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Pairing: alpha BTS × omega reader

Chapter Warnings: I don't really know what to put for warnings, likely inaccurate medical information, self-harm, sexual assault,

Word count: 4004

Posting everyday has been way too hard on me and I just cannot keep up with it. I'm aiming for every other day now instead.

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JIMIN

It was nice waking up in a nest. I haven't slept that well in a long time. It was perfect. Well, almost. She didn't join us.

I noticed it first during breakfast, I thought she was just hungover. She wouldn't touch her food and she kept staring off into space.

After breakfast she went into her room for a while, then out of the blue she came to me and crawled into my lap. It looked like it took a lot of effort to do. Something is wrong. I can see it on her face something is very wrong.

I don't even have time to call for Namjoon before she's gone. Her body goes stiff at first, her pupils shrinking into tiny pinpricks. Then she goes limp in my arms, falling against my chest. I think she knew it was about to happen, that's why she came to me.

"NAMJOON!" I call for Namjoon, my tone panicked.

She dropped, and i don't know why.

Namjoon runs into the living room and rushes over to the two of us. He takes one look at her and pulls her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She's complete limp in his arms, he has to rest her head on his shoulder cause she isn't even supporting it herself. This is bad.

This is what we expected to happen that first night. When Hoseok destroyed her nest. But that was a week and a half ago. Nothing bad enough to cause a drop has happened since then, that has to be the trigger. It has to be. But why now.

As if reading my mind, Namjoon looks back at me. "Delayed drops can happen. Its rare, but it does happen. They're usually way worse than normal drops."

As if on cue, she starts choking, struggling to take in a proper breath. "Breathe babygirl, just breathe." She doesn't respond at all. Not that we expected her to.

After a few minutes of trying to get her to breathe properly with no luck, Namjoon hands her to me. "I'm gonna go grab Yoongi and pack a little bag for overnight. I'm taking her to the hospital. She's getting worse and I'll feel better if she's being watched properly" he speaks calmly but I can tell he's panicking inside

After a few minutes Namjoon comes back with Yoongi and a bag and I hand her to Yoongi. "I'm coming" I state firmly, no one argues.

Once we get to the hospital, Namjoon carries her inside and she's taken back into a room pretty much immediately. She's hooked up to an IV and they put a tube of oxygen in her nose to help her breathe better.

They check her over and they decide they want to keep her here to monitor her, just like Namjoon had expected.

I was asleep on Yoongi's lap when a bunch of beeping woke me up. I sit up, and look over at Namjoon as a doctor rushes into the room.

"She isn't breathing on her own, I need t-...." the doctor said something else after that but I stopped listening.

Yoongi pulls me closer to him, pulling my head into his neck like he usually does with her. Yoongi has been a lot more open to touch and affection since she showed up, and I'm really grateful for that.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the noise. I'm a paramedic, I shouldn't have trouble hearing this kind of thing. But this is my mate. This isn't some random person I'll never see again. This is our omega. And I cant listen to it, I just can't.

She had a tube down her throat for the next 5 days. She'd had her eyes closed this whole time but in day 5 they opened again. They took the tube out of her throat and she was able to breathe on her own. The whole pack is here. They had to move us to a bigger room just so we could all fit comfortably. Her pupils are still tiny pinpricks and she's still completely unresponsive.

They decided to keep her for one more night before sending her home Friday afternoon, telling us to come back if she gets worse.

We get her home and bring her into the den. Yoongi lays with her in the middle of the nest while I lay behind Yoongi. Having alphas that the omega doesn't trust super close to them can make the drop worse and I don't wanna risk making her get worse. So I mold myself around Yoongi's back and try and sleep.

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Yoongi and I decide to give her a bath before everyone else gets home. We get her clothes off and my heart sinks. She has deep slashes all over her stomach. These had to have been from the night we slept in the nest, she was in the pool and we could see her stomach the day prior to it and she dropped the day after.

She finally tenses up for the first time instead of being completely limp as Yoongi lowers her into the water. "Its okay kitten, you're okay." We've been talking to her, its unclear whether or not she understands us.

Yoongi ends up pulling his clothes off and getting into the bath with her because she went limp again once she adjusted to the water and its not safe for her to be limp in the water like that.

He sits behind her with her body tucked between his legs, her weight resting against his chest.

We make quick work of washing her body and her hair then rinse her off.

Yoongi wraps her in a towel then hands her to me, wrapping a towel around himself. "Lay her on her bed to get her dressed, it'll be easier." He suggests before leaving the bathroom to go get dressed.

I carry her to her room and lay her on her bed like Yoongi suggested. Its like having a baby. She doesn't even hold her own head up.

As soon as I'm no longer touching her she cries out, her breathing turning erratic and tears rolling down her cheeks.

I rush back over to her and sit down on her bed, pulling her into my lap. "Okay, okay. I'm right here babydoll, I didn't leave you." I try and soothe her with my voice. I still don't know if she can hear me, I don't think she can see me, at least not very well, but I know she can feel me. She could feel when I stopped touching her. She felt the water touch her body. She can still feel.

I wait for Yoongi to come back up and get her clothes since I cant really leave her long enough to grab them.

Once she's dressed, Yoongi takes her back downstairs to the den and we curl back up in the nest.

Jungkook is the first to join us. Then Hobi and Tae, then Jin, and lastly Namjoon.

No one made dinner tonight, we ended up ordering pizza again, even though it hasn't even been a week since last time.

She's propped up against Namjoon's chest while Yoongi tries to feed her some of the pizza, it doesn't go very well and she ends up choking. Namjoon has to tip her forward and pat her back like you would to a child.

This drop is bad. She's completely helpless.

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NAMJOON

Mindlessly I run my fingers along her face. Stroking her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She seems to like it, her eyes close at least. That's the only reaction I'm getting from her. It's been 2 weeks since she first dropped, its now July. Any weight shed gained since being here she's lost again from not eating. We've managed to feed her a few spoonfuls of applesauce and yogurt, things of that nature. But not much. We've been using a medicine syringe to get her to drink water but its likely she's pretty dehydrated.

As I'm stroking her face she makes a soft noise and I look down at her. She's looking up at me, her eyes actually clear instead of glassy. Her pupils are still tiny, she's still gone. But she's looking at me. This is the first sign if improvement we've seen.

"Can you hear me baby?" I ask softly, looking down at her where she's laid on her back, head on my thigh.

She doesn't respond, continuing to just look up at me.

Another few days pass and they're uneventful.

Its late, everyone just had dinner and I'm sitting there holding her when she reaches over and grabs onto Yoongi's shirt. The movement is slow and choppy, like she's struggling to move her own body, but she manages. Yoongi smiles at her, swiping his finger down her nose a couple times. We've discovered she likes that.

It takes few days for her to be able to sit up on her own. Then another few days for anything else to happen. By now its been just under 3 weeks since she first dropped.

I was asleep with her in my arms when I felt a sharp pain over my cheek and on my shoulder. My eyes snap open and the first thing I see is her hissing at me. She bit me and scratched my cheek. She must be disoriented from being out of it for so long.

"Hey, hey its okay. Its me baby. Its Namjoon. Its alpha, its okay." I try and approach her, she hisses again but let's me approach her.

"There, see. It's alright." I pull her head into my neck to she can smell me better but she's still tense.

I call for Yoongi and he comes into the den. I hand her over to him and she relaxes almost immediately. I think she'll always have the strongest bond with Yoongi. He was the first sense of safety she ever had in her life. That bond will always be strong and I cant wait to see what they're like once their properly mated and marked.

"You've been gone for 3 weeks kitten. You scared us." Yoongi kisses her forehead.

The rest of the pack comes into the room, presumably overhearing us talking.

I can see how badly each of them are itching to hug her. Our instincts have been worse than they've ever been since she's been in a drop for so long

Taehyung rushes forward and grabs he face, but he doesn't kiss her yet. She was drunk, she might not be okay with it sober and he knows better than to force it. She leans forward and kisses him though. Id be lying is i said I wasn't a little bit jealous. Why is he the first one to kiss her, he didn't even like her at first.

Jimin, Jin, and Hoseok look on in shock. If forgot they weren't there to witness them kiss the last time.

"When did this become a thing!?" Jimin is jealous. Very jealous.

She pulls away from Tae, not before biting his bottom lip like the little brat she is, making him yelp and pull back.

"When she was drunk. She got upset that I kissed Yoongi but not her, I said I didn't want our first kiss to be while she was drunk. Tae apparently didn't care and ran over and kissed her" I shake my head.

"Then Tae tried to fuck her in the pool!" Jungkook adds, earning a slap to his chest from Taehyung.

She giggles softly and i hear her stomach growl.

"Okay okay, let's get you some food" I pick her up and carry her to the kitchen, its about the time we usually go to bed but she's hungry, so first we get a snack.

Jin comes in and makes her a smoothie which she finishes rather quickly. Poor girl must he starving. I hand her a bottle of water and she gulps down half of that as well.

She rubs her eyes and heads back into the nest, whining once she sees everyone's positions. She's very fussy about her nests and how people lay in them. Yoongi and I found that out the hard way when we tried to move one night.

She rearranges everyone and leaves herself out again. Yoongi quickly gets up and pulls her into his arms, nuzzling into her neck. "Namjoon has been hogging you for 3 weeks kitten. THREE WEEKS! I'm getting some omega snuggles whether you like it or not"

She giggles as Yoongi presses a few kisses to the side of her neck.

We all cuddle up together and we all start to drift off to sleep.

Everything is okay now.

But it wasn't.

She's not there when Yoongi wakes up around 4. He shakes me awake and I open my eyes, a low growl falling from my lips, annoyed.

"What? It's the weekend, let me sleep."

"Where'd Y/n go?" He whispers

That gets my attention and I quickly get up. We search for her and eventually we find her sitting on the back porch. I relax a little until I catch her distressed scent, then I'm right back to being worried.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

YOU

It stings. Really bad. You don't know what possessed you to make you cut and burn your face but once that urge was there it was too strong to ignore.

You had cuts on your cheeks and along your jaw, just deep enough to bleed but not deep enough to leave permanent scars. Youve gotten good at that, knowing how deep you can go before you'll scar. You probably shouldn't be as proud of that as you are though.

You cut up your arms and your chest too. You took one of those magic eraser sponges and rubbed it over the same spot repeatedly until the area was bloody and oozing, leaving you with second degree friction burns. And they sting. Very badly. You'd discovered you could do this accidentally one day. You were trying to get hair dye off your skin and accidentally gave yourself a burn on the side of your face.

You'd done it on the back of your neck, the middle of your upper chest, the backseat of your hands, and the entire top half of your face. You knew you'd regret it as soon as you did it. The boys would see it and you'd be screwed. But at the time you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You hear movement behind you and you catch both Namjoon's and Yoongi's scents. You panic and bolt before they can see. You don't want them to see.

You run through the woods in the dark until your legs feel like jelly and they give out underneath you, sending you tumbling to the ground. You just close your eyes. You know its not gonna be long before they find you, they always find you when you run.

So you close your eyes and just lay there. You're tired and breathing heavily. You don't want to see the looks of disappointment on their faces when they see what you've done.

When you open your eyes again, its light out. That means its been at least a couple hours since you first got out here. You realize why shortly after you sit up. Your scent is very faint. You didn't mean to, but you must've been subconsciously masking your scent since you didn't want to be found. They must be worried sick. Now all you felt was guilt.

You pull yourself to your feet and look around, you have no idea where you are. All you can see are trees. Its pretty, the woods are. Green as far as you can see in all directions. Youve never been this deep into the woods before, you didn't even know they went this deep. You don't have your phone either. You're lost.

You walked aimlessly for hours. Hours. And you eventually made it out of the woods! Only, you didn't come out where you started. You look around and you're pretty much in the middle of nowhere. There's a few benches but other than that there's nothing.

So you start walking, there is a road a little ways down do you decide to follow it. It'll take you back to the city, at least you hope it will.

You do make it back into the city, and you guess by now it's around 5 or 6 considering where the sun is at in the sky. You don't know the address of the house, you'd never taken the time to look, so you cant exactly ask for directions.

You do know the name of that beach though, and you know how to get home from there.

You ask a woman with a young child, your voice comes out small and quiet. You're still not used to using it but you're gonna start trying to talk more. If you can do it when you're drunk you can do it while you're sober.

The lady gives you directions and you thank her, setting off in the direction she pointed you in.

Its dark by the time you get to the beach and you're thoroughly exhausted.

You sit down to rest, just for a while.

You need to take a break and catch your breath. You know you have an hour walk back home and you wont make it very far without collapsing if you don't stop and rest now.

Not long after you sit down on the sand, a man approaches you. He seems to be in his late 20's and he starts trying to talk to you.

You smile to be polite but you have a bad feeling in your gut so you quickly get up and try to leave. The man quickly gets up and grabs you by your waist, lifting you off the ground. He doesn't say a word as he carries you off somewhere down the beach.

You kick and scream but it makes no difference. No one else is on the beach. No one can hear you.

"Stay still." Your body listens immediately, you stop kicking and you fall silent. Fear swirls in your stomach and there's nothing you can do. He used his alpha voice on you, you can't fight back.

The last time you were on this beach you found that baby. Now this time, well whatever is about to happen you know it isn't gonna be good.

He carries you to a group of guys who all turn and look at you as you're put down on the sand.

Hands are on your body before you can even register the guys moving and all you can do is stand there.

It starts off innocent enough. Hands running along your waist and your neck. Caressing your hair and your face. Then they move to slapping your ass and grabbing your chest, their hands slowly slipping underneath your clothes.

After a while they get tired of your clothes and they pull them off, discarding them on the sand. All the while they're taunting you and teasing you. Calling you degrading names.

Your laid back on the sand and they started exploring your body. Kissing your chest, sucking on your nipples. It starts with heir mouths, kissing and nipping at your skin. Then their hands, one of then slips their fingers inside of you and you scream, still unable to move because of that command that one of them keeps saying every few minutes. Alpha commands don't last forever, they'll wear off after a certain amount of time. So they have to keep restating them.

One of them command you to keep quiet and its like you're choking on your own voice. It feels like you're suffocating. You want to scream, cry out, but you cant. No matter how hard you try you just cant.

They all take a turn with you, taking off their belts and forcing themselves inside of you. You dissociated through the majority of it, most of them had pretty small dicks so it wasn't extremely painful. It hurt still, but it wasn't unbearable pain wise at least. Then the last guy took a turn and you quickly found you weren't able to zone out for this one. He was big, and you could feel the veins inside of you. This man could probably pull girls just with his dick if he wasn't such a shitty person. You'd be lying if you said they weren't conventionally attractive men. Sure they weren't your boys, they weren't tens. But they were at least average or slightly above. And that bothered you. It upset you that you didn't find these men ugly.

You could smell the blood as the last guy pulled out, you could feel it running down your thighs. It was too thin to be anything other than blood. You don't think any of them came inside of you, though a few of them did over your chest or your stomach. You felt disgusting. Dirty.

They went back to kissing and touching you for a while, a few of them taking another turn while the others played with your boobs or sucked on your skin.

Once they were done with their dicks, one of them swiped his wet fingers into the sand and put them back inside of you. Every movement burned and scratched, the sand irritating your skin and your insides. He kept adding more and more sand and they took turns doing this for quite some time. They hit you with their belts and poured sand in your nose and mouth.

Their violations continued until the sun started to come up, only then did they leave. Leaving you there bleeding and in pain.

It took a little while but the alpha commands eventually wore off the first thing you did was pull yourself to the water and rinse off the best you could. You can barley walk but you manage to take a few steps at a time.

You get back to your clothes and shake the sand off, you're grateful they didn't rip your clothes. You dress yourself and sit back down on the sand.

And you cry. You don't know what else to do other than cry. You cant walk an hour home like this. You barely made it to the water and back.

You're there crying for at least a few hours before you feel someone wrap their arms around you from behind.

You hiss and scream, but you have no energy to put up a fight. "It's okay, shh it's okay Y/n. It's just me. I know I'm probably the worst person that could've found you and I'm sorry that it wasn't one of the others but I'm not gonna hurt you." Its Hoseok.

You relax a little bit against him, sobs bubbling up in your throat then making your whole body shake as they come out.

Hoseok turns you around and gasps as he sees your face but he doesn't comment on it. He pulls you into his chest and just holds you while you cry.

"You smell like other alphas... like.." he doesn't finish his sentence, a deep, deep growl coming from deep within his chest. His scent turns into a suffocatingly strong charcoal.

Cum is the strongest way to scent someone else, it has a distinct smell to it. You know he smells it on you. That must be why he's angry. He's angry at you for this. For betraying his pack. He said he wouldn't hurt you but that was before he knew what happened. You start to panic, frantically apologizing, telling him you didn't mean to. You didn't want to.

"You.. you think I'm mad at you..." he whispers, his voice shaking "No. No, no petal, no. I'm not mad at you. Never would I be mad at you for this. No sweetheart. Not at you." He holds you closer.

#bts #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #kim taehyung #min yoongi #park jimin #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #x reader #bts omegaverse #omegaverse fic #angst #bts fic #fluff #hurt/comfort #bangtan

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