#(only reason i didn't get the leather jacket is bc i already have one AND it's real leather not the ''vegan'' plastic that dan's is made of

[kardulis]

my fave thing about the wad polaroids tumblr account is the way so many of the twitter people have kpop-related usernames... when im on twt and see a new pola i don't register whether the op is a kpop stan too bc my tl is full of it (and dnp) regardless but on tumblr the username is the first thing i notice

being a kpoppie really convinced us to not even blink before buying a merch item just because it comes with a silly little photocard 💀

[toxictigertonic]

ive tried to request and then immediately talked myself out of it 3 times now bc i get so nervous about asking off anon 😭 uhh can i get the prime assets dressing up :3c or like their clothing habits/preferences

Dressing them up like barbie dolls. I should do one of those dress up memes for them and draw them in stupid outfits. I'm putting Coyle in a skirt.

COYLE

- This man would wear leather 90% of the time, including leather pants. He takes wonderful care of his leather as well, makes sure to condition it as often as needed to keep it beautiful. If you see him sniffing his leather jacket, ignore it.

- It does not matter that he's sweating to death in said leather, he's not taking it off. He can't let you see his shirt with puppies on it underneath /j

- Prefers his clothing rather tight, super loose fitting clothing feels like it gets in the way. He likes the feeling of the wires wrapped around him for that reason.

- Would commit denim on denim crimes. Denim jeans, denim jacket, denim boots (referred to as doots by futterman). He does this to piss people off.

- Despises too much color in an outfit. Bright and colorful disgusts him, he's wearing neutrals and only neutrals.

- Would let a reagent decorate his beard with bows if he was promised pistachios. This is only if the pistachios are in his hands while they decorate.

- You'd think he'd wear heeled boots to make himself seem taller, but you'd be wrong! He's got the insoles that make him taller instead :)

- I think you could convince him to wear a rodeo cowboy outfit. Tassels and all that. You'd tell him he looks cool and he'd believe you.

- Cargo short dad vibes. Each pocket is full of cigarettes and/or pistachios. He doesn't care about the fashion he likes the utility. Takes him a good 5 minutes to get anything out of a pocket though.

- Wore fingerless gloves when he was younger bc he thought they made him look cooler. He'd try them on again and Franco would bully him relentlessly for trying to act younger than he is. He's crying in his room afterward.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- She'd be the English teacher with a collection of fun skirts. Cute patterns, silly patterns, gaudy patterns, you name it, she's wearing it. Futterman says she looks like a rainbow threw up on her.

- She'd also love bold earring choices. Big earrings that make you double-take to make sure you saw them right, earrings that light up, anything with frills. She's a lover of the bold, partially because the children love her crazy styles.

- She'd play around with different lipstick colors if she had access to them. A nice purple lip would make her happy. If Futterman didn't call her a whore for wearing it.

- Futterman would also call her a whore if she tried to wear a shorter skirt, but she'd still tried to get away with it. Not super short, mind you, she's got an image to keep up for the children, but maybe something a little below the knees?

- If a reagent offered to do her hair, like put little accessories in it and detangle it, she'd cry. She wants to feel feminine and she wants to feel pretty, and a pretty bow might help her with that.

- She'd love to wear a petticoat under her skirts, the extra poof would make her feel fun. That's if Futterman didn't find a way to make a fat joke about it.

- Futterman himself would have a collection of very dapper bow ties. Polka-dots and stripes and maybe even little stars, and a variety of colors. He feels fancy when she changes them out for him.

- He'd hate it, but I think Phyllis would have a variety of little hats for him. I wanna see him in one of those little propeller hats. Spin it and she takes off of the ground.

- If it were modern times I could absolutely see her wearing a giant t-shirt with something like a kitten or a puppy on it. Maybe even tie-dye. She'd be a big t-shirt enjoyer is the main idea here.

- Would LOVE chunky heels or maybe even platforms if she was feeling adventurous, but I have this bad feeling she already got shit for being a tall woman. Let her be an even taller queen.

FRANCO

- I love the concept that he wears his clothes too big to feel smaller. While I'm not sure if Murkoff gave him his outfit that he wears in game, I don't think he's too upset about it being oversized.

- I also think that he likes wearing his suits bc they make him feel a little less ugly. He knows the suit is dirty and stained with a bunch of different shit, but a suit is a suit, and suits make you handsome, right?

- He's very particular about his bow ties, he only likes a select few patterns and colors. They still have to match with his suits, though. Can't have himself looking like a fool who doesn't know how to dress!

- Would attempt to steal one of Futterman's bow ties bc he likes it and thinks it'd look better on him. Would almost get fucking annihilated as a result.

- We know his hygiene isn't great from the comics, but I think he's at least slightly ashamed about just how filthy his outfit is. I think he's just kinda accepted that it's not going to be cleaned/he has no way to clean it.

- If you put him in a brand new zoot suit and stuck him in front of a mirror, he'd try to act cocky and like he knew he was handsome as hell. But you'd absolutely be able to tell by how he's smiling and how his eyes are watery that he hasn't felt this attractive in awhile.

- A personalized pacifier WOULD be considered a part of an outfit. If his paci matched his outfit he'd feel so damn cool. And if it had his name on it and looked nice? He'd feel like a prince.

- He's gotta wear his dress shoes, they're a mandatory part of his look, but he wishes they had a little more heel to them. He's joining Coyle in the insoles that make him taller. My short king.

- Outside of the suits, he'd love a soft, heavy sweater. Something that really makes him feel like he's being cuddled. The color wouldn't really matter to him, as long as it offered him some comfort.

- I'm a firm believer in him wearing diamond earrings. I know it doesn't fit as much with the baby part of him, but the mobster in him loves showing off his wealth. He'd fiddle with them a lot, though.

I accidentally assigned Gooseberry's style as "lesbian art teacher" and I won't be taking it back ❤️

[thedeal-if]

The angst ask answer for Aliyah has me wondering 👀 how would the ROs react to & comfort a dying or severely injured mc? Sorry if this is spoilery or anything!!!

Loving ur writing so far u are so epic <3 /gen

Thank you anon😭💕

The angst ask!

Nearly all death scenes (no one is safe here) are already outlined and rely very heavily on the moment and the plot! I don't think this is spoilery at all without context so yay!

I chose the severely injured angst bc I got a very specific death scenario ask too and I didn't want to answer the same thing for the two of you/blend my answers into one ask ^^

Crushing stage btw

Dante doesn't think it's physically possible for him to keep his distance from you—as if simply holding your hand would give you enough leverage to slip away from him, as you lay bleeding out. No, Dante needs to hold you. He needs to be the one whose hands press against your bleeding stomach, the one whose chest attempts to chase your heartbeat from behind.

And there it is, Dante barely remembers that he too needs to breathe. He speaks, speaks, speaks, and then he realizes he's not speaking in English. Dante switches languages clumsily as the words weigh on his tongue:

“I know it hurts. I know, I know,” you wince in pain, Dante presses his lips together, his palms grow warmer and warmer against your wound “I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, okay? Hang on a second.”

Lilith thinks, rather irrationally, that the only reason they can smell your blood so vividly is because of her monstrous nature. They convince themselves that yours is a nick and theirs is a delusion fueled by overwhelming care and worry. But Lilith is often wrong, and the scent of blood grows so thick they can practically feel it down their throat.

“Oh, love,” Lilith frowns, they wrap an arm around your waist and help you sit down “Breathe with me, okay?”

You nod woozily and Lilith worries—they often do, they have plenty of reasons to be concerned about you. The Succubus removes their jacket and presses it against your wound.

“I’m here with you, love, everything will be okay.”

Your best friend proudly wears the badge of ‘Person Who Worries Most About [Name]’, and the mere idea of watching you getting hurt is more than enough for Josh to feel queasy—he has that good of an imagination. Josh can't fathom the thought of seeing you getting hurt, but control slips between his fingers like water, and that very thing is proven when he sees it unfold before his very eyes.

It's much worse than anything Josh could have imagined, but his mind isn't catching up with such a line of thought. He's too busy catching you before you fall, keeping you awake, trying to do something, anything. At all.

Josh's ears ring.

“Shit, fuck. Shit,” your best friend looks around. Josh needs to find some help, he keeps his hand tightly wrapped around your wrist, feeling your pulse against his fingers. Is he panicking? Josh feels like he is.

Villanelle thinks she's seeing things. Maybe it's some kind of prank, maybe it's a dream. Maybe she'll wake up on her cozy bed. But that doesn't happen.

The young witch then thinks this is a vision. Villanelle feels detached from her body as soon as you start bleeding, like her soul was flung out of her body and into a movie theatre: a horror movie starring you.

But Villanelle blinks and finds herself standing just as she was, battling denial.

“[Name]!” the witch calls, wide-eyed and terrified. She runs to your side frantically, hand trembling, “Stand— Stand still. I think I might be able to help. Everything will be okay—everything is okay.”

Leather rustles together as Victor takes off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders—it doesn't warm you up, but it does make you feel ever so slightly safe. The Demon Hunter pulls you a little closer, checks your breathing and pulse, he checks you over carefully in case you're bleeding. He's so methodical you almost feel like you're at a doctor's appointment. Victor presses a hand against your bloodied side. He grumbles something, speaks up when you woozily tilt your head in his direction.

“I'll take care of this,” Victor assures you, his inflection betrays nothing, but his hands are steady as they support you “Focus on staying awake, [Name]. Can you do that for me?”

Victor drags you, but then he stops and hoists you up.

Aliyah grips your shoulder, keeps you standing straight as your head swims with the lightheadedness of the pain. Her demeanor is serious, her eyes are anchored on your wound—and how it bleeds, bleeds, bleeds—

“It’s not fatal,” Aliyah declares, so coldly and so surely, you don't know what to think “Not now.”

The Genie looks up at you, then down at your wound. She sighs, hesitates, presses a finger against your non-fatal injury. You see her smirk a little.

“Do you want to wish for me to heal you?”

The situation is so bizarre you nearly laugh.

“Are you going to stop if a say no?” you gasp.

Aliyah hums a little, your wound stings as she seals it shut, “I'll add it to your tab. Let's find your doctor friend.”

Panic seizes him like a constrictor around his stomach. There's an entire rave in Nathan's stomach.

“Shit that looks bad,” Nathan mumbles.

He makes no effort to touch it, or you, at first. His hands hang by his side for a few moments, then he lifts them and cups your cheeks, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“You're not dying on me, okay? I'm sure it's not that bad. Breathe with me.”

Nathan helps you breathe, and he also tells you to close your eyes. There's a soft press of his forehead against yours, and a brief light that burns your eyelids. It disappears as quickly as it came, and Nathan takes a wobbly step back.

“There,” he grins “All healed up.”

Eden catches you before you fall—she nearly falls with you, manages to draw strength from some unknown place, and keeps the two of you from keeling over. She pushes every muscle in her body until you find yourself sitting, with Eden pulling your shirt up—taking her own jacket off—and pressing the fabric against your injury. Eden strokes your knee when she sees you wince.

“Bear with it,” her voice sounding so rough might be due to nerves and not lack of empathy.

“I’ll try,” you wince again, forcing a tiny smile so she doesn't worry too much.

Eden rolls her eyes—fondly—and looks your wound over, “It looks bad. But not too bad. Hang on, [Name].”

[izzy-b-hands]

Rambling abt the half dream half nightmare that woke me up today below the cut. feel free to ignore, just need to vent it out somewhere. Probably going to include me talking abt Current Family Issues and Feelings so. yeah. TW for mentions of someone in hospital, death, religion, and overall family dysfunction lmao

I know that ultimately, right now, if something big and/or terrible happened medically to anyone in my family back in ND, I wouldn't be able to go see them. The money just isn't there (part of why I'm not going out there this summer nor are they coming out here at all.) I've accepted it, and I try not to think abt it.

That said, LOVE (read: HATE) my brain deciding a hyper realistic yet weird dream abt my mum winding up in hospital is the way to go this morning. Complete with:

-her bf refusing to speak to me abt it, and telling me not to bother going to visit her in the weird, somehow existing in both CT and ND simultaneously, hospital with a 'haven't you already been enough of a burden to her?'

-me staying in my grandparent's old house in ND, and for some reason that meant being wildly unable to get ready to go to the hospital. Finding my clothes was nearly impossible, but. all their old decorations were back up on the wall so even as I was searching for them I like. Didn't want to leave? As if the house would revert back to being sold like it has been irl, if i left it. Finally I wound up just stealing clothes from my grandfather's side of their closet (specifically his old 80s styled 'eagle on a tree branch' print sweater that he got forced to toss a few years ago bc it was becoming more holes than sweater, and one of his old, big leather jackets. somehow i found jeans that fit me, idk how considering i can't seem to do that irl rn but i digress)

-me showing up to the hospital FINALLY only for Noel Fielding?? to be sitting outside it with a friend dressed in what i can only describe as absolutely gorgeous future techno witch clothing. Unfortunately they were fucking dicks in this dream and scared the shit out of me by joking that 'it was so nice I'd shown up still despite the worst' and implying my mum had already passed. Noel did shout apologies as i stomped off inside and that as far as he knew she was still okay, but his friend is the one who handed me a wrapped in plastic, small, metal stool with a weird cartoon face on the seat so i could 'sit with her body, like sitting shiva, right?' (not like that at all to my knowledge, but then again my family has rarely to never fully followed any of the various religious rituals around death, we just. take the bits the dead person liked from them and ignore the rest, for better or for worse. Maybe that's just what happens when a family is a mishmash of various christian sorts from Catholic to Protestant with the hidden knowledge that actually, prior to ppl moving to the States, ppl in the family were Jewish but inter-marrying into Catholic families for safety-sake, and so any Jewish traditions used now are done wrongly and weirdly and in odd bits and pieces. At least that's as much as I've been told/have found out abt it, anyway)

-I proceed into this stupidly fancy and open concept hospital, to immediately find a hugr crowd mucking up the elevators (crowding the elevator bank and refusing to let others on.) That's where Con showed up, and helped me make it up the ridiculously wide, roundish staircases (think like. wide rounded stage steps, but for each level of this hospital), while also trying soothe me by telling me Housemate was already here and waiting for me, so were my grandparents and even Mum's bf (he promised to keep him away from me lol, it was v sweet in an otherwise filled with anxiety dream.)

-however, as we were struggling up the steps (also full of crowds, pushing each other around, so we literally had to hold hands and hold onto the railings and walls to avoid being shoved down the stairs), he kept hesitating on saying more abt mum. He tried to distract me by mentioning that, since I was here, the docs might want me to address some of my own health issues but that he wouldn't let them force me into any treatment i didn't want. Then he finally alluded to mum being in worse straits than I'd been told abt and said something to the effect of 'doing only what you can, not what she or others would expect of you' and 'not to set yourself on fire to keep someone else alive' plus admitting he was deeply worried my family was abt to force me into a big decision that absolutely wasn't the ONLY treatment option that would help mum, but it was implied to be the one mum's bf and my grandparents were pushing for.

-still dunno exactly what that option was, but just before i woke up i started hearing the latter part of the song Gethsemane from JCS (Housemate and I have been watching various versions irl this weekend lol), specifically the bit where Jesus dares/begs/etc God to see how he dies. This was accompanied by me finally reaching my mum's hospital room, and a stupid bright light emanating from it and like. Not to critique my own brain and the dream it created, but that was far too on the nose for me personally lmao.

-and I woke up thinking abt the call with my grandparents that I had on Thursday (didn't go super poorly but went. kind of weird and uncomfortable and confirmed again that like. they're happy for me being out here in CT, yet at the same time hold it and my happiness against me to some unconscious degree as originally outright confirmed by Mum in an earlier call her and I had like. Tail end of last year lmao. the main crux seeming to be 'why couldn't i find happiness in ND/what's wrong with all of them/why wasn't i willing to keep trying to make my life work in ND regardless of my happiness/don't i know how hard it is without my being there to help everyone whenever they ask/etc family bullshit')

And now I'm laying here thinking. If the Worst would happen for any of them, they would fully expect me to empty my bank accounts and do whatever else i had to, to get to ND not just to see them, but to help. to take care of as much as possible for them (mum and grandma get decision paralysed by sad/scary life events, my aunt is so uncomfortable with sickness and death she won't do hospital visits or funerals at all anymore for anyone, my cousins...are young enough they won't know how to handle it/won't want to, my grandpa tends to just shut down and isolate when things go to shit, and that's not to say that they all don't still get done things that need doing in these situations, but that they DO all usually need prodding and help and have leaned on me for that since i was a kid.)

And i would of course want to see them/help however i could, but. not to that extent. not to the point that I'd have nothing for myself, no money or help (bc they're not in a position to return that help or money to me, and they'd be so emotional as to likely be extremely offended and upset if i mentioned needing help myself.)

That said, I'm sick of silently daring them to watch me die just for their sakes, even tho i do still love them all dearly. and of course, that's entirely too dramatic but at the same time, Mum and I have had convos abt 'what if there's a shooting somewhere that we're at, how do we handle it, how are we attempting to protect each other' and Mum always says she would take a bullet for me, but she didn't protest when i say that I'd take one for her or anyone else in the family first. Last time she just nodded like. yeah. of course you would. so. Feelings, abt all of this.

If u actually read this full thing that was A. very sweet of u and i appreciate that u care abt my silly lil fucked up brain enough to do that (genuinely, I'm v grateful) and b. here is a pic of Nisha as what little compensation i can give for u reading this long ass ramble lol

[teawithkpop]

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 7

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6 - pt 7

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 5.4k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, a lot of emotional turmoil, talk of pregnancy scares (birth control, contraceptives, etc.), implied discrimination towards sex workers (not by any of the boys dw), mentions of sexual acts

slowly hands you a cake that says "I haven't updated this fic in 14 months and I don't know when the next part is coming but here's an update thanks for being patient" in comic sans

-------

The rush to the hospital goes by in a blur of tears and shouting and panic and questions that you can't bring yourself to answer. The only constant is Min Yoongi's hand, firmly locked in your own throughout the ordeal, tethering you to reality.

You now sit in a private room on a sterile medical table and wait to be seen, too numb inside to feel the sting of the cold metal as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Yoongi stands beside you, still holding your hand, his fingers are laced through yours and squeezing as if it could sap away the fear that eats away your insides, leaving you hollow and empty.

"It'll be alright. Don't worry about a damn thing, okay?" He shifts his weight anxiously, betraying his own underlying worries.

You barely remember him throwing his jacket over you before being rushed out of the house, and you don't feel deserving of the modest coverage. Though the leather is worn and soft against your skin, all you can feel is the harsh metallic zipper, scratching at your chest as though reminding you of your wrongdoings.

"Yoongi…" you start to say, but he cuts you off, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Don't you fucking dare. Don't apologize."

You feel tears well up in your eyes. Your chest grows tight with the words he's forbidden you to say.

"I've already called Namjoon, it'll all be fine. Don't worry." He works his jaw and rubs your hand with surprising tenderness, glancing to the little window in the door every other second.

He's been assuring you with those same words for the past half hour, but it feels like it's been an eternity. As you glance at the clock on the wall, watching the hands tick by, you imagine a scene like that of a health documentary. Tiny sperm, swimming up your insides… fertilizing your previously dormant eggs.

Fuck. You've fucked up.

You might be pregnant with Min Yoongi's child. Your Opticon birth control implant could send you into toxic shock at any moment.

You don't see how things can get much worse than this.

The door finally opens, and what appears to be a nurse steps inside. She holds a clipboard, and examines it while she lets the door close behind her. "Let's see now, Miss..." Her shoulders slump marginally as her eyes reach your name. "Oh, right. The PhysCom."

You don't have the energy to ignore the change in her tone from friendly to disinterested, and simply nod. However, you feel Yoongi stiffen beside you.

The nurse lets out a brief sigh and dons a professional expression. "So, what appears to be the problem?" She directs the question to Yoongi.

"We think her birth control implant isn't working." Yoongi explains, his eyes darting furtively between you and the nurse. "She, um… she reached orgasm."

You flush at the memory, ashamed of your failure to adhere to even the most basic of rules set before you.

The nurse makes a noncommittal noise and jots something down. "Says here it’s an Opticon. And you didn't turn it off, sir?"

He shakes his head.

The nurse touches the end of her pen to her mouth, a note of sympathy forming in her eyes. Not for you, but for Yoongi. "How long have you had her?"

"Excuse me?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

The nurse tucks the clipboard under her arm, giving him a weary, patient smile. “With PhysComs, we have a list of probable scenarios we’re supposed to check for, to better inform the doctor of the situation, and speed along the treatment process.”

She barely spares you a glance before returning her attention to Yoongi, her voice lowered just a fraction. “It’s not uncommon for newly hired female PhysComs to try and… well, intentionally get pregnant from their clients. Especially if those clients have any amount of wealth or status.”

Yoongi seems lost for words.

She nods as if to agree with his surprise. “It’s some psychosis associated with the job,” she says with a shrug, then straightens her posture once more. “So has she been acting strangely at all? What are her symptoms?”

Your ears burn a bit at being talked about like you’re not in the room, but this isn’t the first time you’ve been in such a position. Oftentimes checkups during training were the same way, the physicians would speak exclusively among themselves and Madame while they examined every inch of you, inside and out.

Yoongi, however, is not used to such an experience.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” He says, in a voice much calmer than you would have expected. But one glance at his face tells you all you need to know. His eyes are burning like hot coals. Molten and dangerous.

The nurse doesn’t pick up on his irritation, and busily flips through the pages on her clipboard. “I need reliable information, sir. If you please,” she prompts him.

You can feel Yoongi’s hand clench around yours, and you turn to quiet him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hoping to reassure him enough so he’ll talk to her, but he stands his ground, his eyes glued on the nurse.

“Get out,” Yoongi says.

The nurse does a double take. “Excuse me, sir?”

“I said get the fuck out of here.” He points to the door. “Send us someone who will actually help.”

She fumes silently for a moment, but decides not to argue with him, and heads for the door in a huff.

Yoongi scoffs as you two are left alone once more. “What the fuck kind of bedside manner was that supposed to be?” He mutters, staring at the door.

“It’s okay.” You place a hand on his arm.

“No, it’s not.” He’s adamant, and you sigh wearily. How do you explain that this is only what can be expected?

You pick out a few haphazard words from the maelstrom in your brain, too tired to find the best phrasing. “Medical personnel… they don’t really get it.”

“Get what?” He asks, turning to you in outrage. “Being a fucking decent human being?”

You flinch, withdrawing your hand. You’re too tired to try and get your point across. But he notices you wilt and immediately comes closer, lowering his voice and placing both his hands on your arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the edge of anger fading away to gentleness. Kindness. “What do you mean?”

You sigh, looking off to the side. You don’t deserve to have him look at you like that.

You carefully remove his hands, trying to maintain some semblance of a professional distance, even in the face of disaster. “Most hospitals don’t look favorably at PhysComs. We were given a few lectures about it in training. We use up their resources and time that could instead be given to patients who didn’t willingly put themselves at risk.”

You remember how your fellow trainees had reacted after those discussions. Many of them found the treatment to be unfair, but you yourself felt that, in a way, the medical field’s viewpoint was reasonable. Your choices are what landed you here.

“What the- what are you talking about?” He huffs, still seemingly in the dark. “You didn’t ask for this… this scare. It wasn’t your fault.” He tries to meet your eyes, but your gaze is fixed firmly to the linoleum floor.

A mirthless smile paints your lips. “But I chose this life. And these risks along with it.”

Before he can question you further, the door bursts open and Kim Namjoon enters the room, both his dress shirt and his hair are rumpled, and his eyes are frantic. “Sweetheart?” He rushes to your side and crushes you in a hug. “Are you alright?”

You hear Yoongi let out a breath of relief. “She’s okay, for the moment.”

Something about the way Namjoon holds you feels like a lamp being held against your cold skin. You’re too damp inside to light a flame yourself, but his own body warms you from the outside in the meantime. You want to let yourself enjoy it, but the memory of your unresolved questions leaves you limp in his arms, filled with nothing but misery and confusion.

He pulls back after a moment, checking you over for signs of injury. His eyes are wide with concern. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

A flare of shame rises up in you at the notion of telling Namjoon about your rule-breaking and everything that occured since this morning.

Thankfully, Yoongi seems to sense your hesitance, and he fills in most of the pieces for Namjoon. Namjoon’s expression remains stoic as Yoongi recounts what happened - you being brought home unconcious, seducing Yoongi - up until the mention of your orgasm. Namjoon’s jaw slackens slightly at this, and his eyes scan your face, searching for something.

It’s at this moment that the doctor walks in, a different nurse at his side. He’s a slightly older man, a few wrinkles creasing his brow, and a smile that appears kind until it lands on you. His face is then tinged with that same indifference that most medical professionals give you.

You wish it was your usual physician, but since this was an emergency, you didn’t have time to take the trip to your usual practice. Whatever hospital is nearest, that’s what Yoongi had told the driver.

The man turns to Namjoon, who arguably commands more presence than Yoongi, and the kindness returns. “Sorry for the delay. Busy night. From what I understand, your PhysCom has malfunctioned, is that correct?”

“Her Opticon malfunctioned, yes.” Namjoon corrects him. His diplomatic tendencies are a blessing right now. You just want to know if you’re pregnant or not. You want to know if you’re losing your job. You want to go home.

The doctor runs a few physical tests on you, feeling your breasts, peering down your throat, and examining your vaginal canal, checking for any other symptoms of malfunction from your Opticon. “All’s well so far.” He says, pulling his forefingers out of you, snapping off his gloves, and disposing of them. “May I take a look at the ComGear?”

You feel a flash of panic, waking you out of your stupor. Fuck, was it still in the group chat? You pull out the slim device, heart hammering as you check. Nope. Just settings. Thank god.

You hand it over, and then remember with a looming feeling of dread exactly why it might have been left on the settings page...

“You do so much for us, jagiya.” Taehyung keeps his hands braced on your arms, his thumb rubbing gently against your skin. “You’re always there for us. Always giving… Now it’s time for you to receive.”

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-” Jimin’s eyes fall to your compromising position, Yoongi’s dick still out, your leaking core exposed, and claps a hand over his mouth. He looks like he might cry. “Oh no...”

The pieces fall into place, and there’s no doubt in your mind. They must have switched it off.

But why? Why, why, why…?

The doctor - you’re too frazzled to read his nametag - pulls out a pair of reading glasses and takes a look at your ComGear, poking around the device with his pointer finger. “Hm. Strange.” He squints. “The Opticon does appear to be switched off.”

Namjoon blinks. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid that’s the case.” The doctor shows him the setting, the toggle very much in the off position. Namjoon takes the device and looks at it in shock.

The doctor coughs. “I know that, um… for some individuals, the temptation and the… risk associated with no protection during intercourse can be sexually arousing. It’s not the first time we’ve gotten a case like this.”

He removes his glasses, folding them back into his pocket. “However, I would remind you and anyone else who uses this one’s services that although Physical Companions may be virtually expendable, it can become quite expensive for your own sake to impregnate them on a whim, using and discarding them, what with the standard fees for breaching their contract and-”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Namjoon interrupts him, and you notice the iron grip he now has on Yoongi’s arm. Likely the only thing restraining him from throwing a punch. “We’ll be more careful.” Namjoon glances at you, confusion making a little crease between his brows. “Is there some sort of morning after pill she can take, or…?”

“I’m afraid the lingering effects of the Opticon implant render any outside hormone blockers ineffective.” The doctor says, his smile turning thin. “It’s a bit of a blessing and a curse. The hormone production and ovulation suppressant in the Opticon normally make the chance of fertilization zero percent while in use. After it’s switched off, chances are still fairly low at 30 percent, for up to 24 hours. But the chances of fertilization after taking a morning after pill are significantly lower than that, at only five percent.”

He shrugs. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Chances are, your PhysCom will be right as rain and ready to pleasure clients again in about a week.”

A week.

First a week of suspension on Namjoon’s terms… Now it’s on medical advisement.

“A week? What should we do until then?” Namjoon voices your very thoughts, Yoongi seething silently beside him.

“Well, we won’t have any results until three to five days from now.” The man clarifies. “But I highly recommend you leave the implant switched off and keep her on traditional contraceptives until we know for sure. I strongly recommend utilizing other PhysComs in the meantime, just to be safe.”

You’re finished.

The doctor hands Namjoon a paper bag, most likely containing birth control pills and condoms. “She may be somewhat volatile for the next few days. You can bring her in for another checkup in a week.”

You’re weak.

“Thank you.”

You’re numb.

-------

It was a silent car ride back to the house, and as Namjoon helps you step out of the vehicle, one hand holding yours for stability while the other rests on your lower back, you can’t help feeling utterly useless. Detached from your surroundings.

What’s the point of any of this now? There’s no way they’ll want to use you until this is resolved. You’re of no use to them as a sex toy until at least a week from now, and by then it’ll be far too late to earn their favor back.

“We need to have a meeting. Call the others into the living room.” Namjoon speaks to Yoongi in an undertone, and you feel a small ache of hope. Maybe things will work out if everyone just talks to each other.

But when you enter the house and Namjoon begins to steer you upstairs, you finally find your voice.

“No.” You resist against him, turning around at the base of the stairs. “No, I want to be part of the meeting.”

The surprise quickly fades from his face, instead turning to concern. “You need to rest."

Something about the look on his face, about being told yet again through his actions that this doesn’t concern you, it causes something inside you to snap, your apathy vanishing in the wake of this new beast beginning to rear its ugly head within you.

Your throat closes up and a scream erupts from your aching chest. "You don't know what I need!"

Namjoon matches your desperation with an infuriatingly patient look of sympathy. He approaches you, his hand outstretched, but you stagger back away from him. He smiles sadly and drops his hand. "Stay here. It's what's best for you."

What's best for you.

The words throb in your mind, like the memory of an old wound. They bounce listlessly off the walls of your grandiose prison long after Namjoon shuts the door, sealing you away again.

You don't know what comes over you as you see visions of launching yourself at the door, pounding and scratching at the wood like a wild animal.

You could just open the door and follow him downstairs. Some part of you does register that.

But you want them to hear you. You want them to hear you rip your throat raw as you exorcise your demons.

You blink and you're standing still.

You haven't moved.

Your spacious room feels stifling. Like the walls are closing in on you, suffocating you.

Silken ropes sway in the dusk, catching your eye from beyond the balcony window. Your escape route from earlier that day.

You don't think twice before stuffing a few meager belongings into the long forgotten backpack kicked beneath your bed.

You need to leave this place.

You can't stay here.

-------

It had started drizzling not long after you left the house, and even now as you sit on the damp curbside, waiting for the next bus to take you far away from this place, it strikes you as funny, in a way, that the weather is crying for you, since you can't muster any tears of your own.

It's cold and misty, a foreboding atmosphere, by all accounts. It makes you question if what you're about to do is the right call.

But you shut down the arguments in your head as quickly as they appear.

Second guessing was what had gotten you into this situation. You need to follow your instincts.

And your instincts are telling you to flee.

It won't be so bad, you try to convince yourself. After the first night on the road, you'll eventually find a new town, a new home, a new place for yourself in this fucked up world. You've done it before, you can do it again.

You're considering suitable aliases for your new persona, when you sense another person approaching, their shoes tramping through the wet grass.

You don't look up at them, hoping they'll pass by and leave you alone. But they come to a stop beside you.

You keep your gaze on the road, droplets rippling the puddled potholes.

Then the stranger goes to sit on the curb too, and you can't help but look at them.

You'd recognize those lips anywhere, even beneath a baggy hooded sweatshirt.

"It's a bit late to run errands, don't you think?" Seokjin says, pulling his sleeves down to keep out the chill as he perches beside you.

He glances at you, then looks ahead at the road, the same way you were. You return your gaze forward, too exhausted to make a run for it. Though you don't get the sense that he would chase after you, even if you tried to escape.

Maybe that's exactly why you decide to stay put, but you don't give the suspicion any more thought.

"What do you want?" You finally ask, your voice croaky from being silent for so long.

"Nothing."

"Liar," you mutter, hugging your knees to your chest. "Everyone wants something."

He chuckles. Rests back on his hands. "I guess you're right about that."

Damn right you are. You didn't study the human condition through your years of training to be fooled so easily by pretty words.

"So?" You prompt him, still staring at the dreary horizon.

He takes a moment to respond. The silence is punctuated by the distant noises of traffic, an occasional car passing by, its headlights shimmering in the mist before disappearing down the road.

“The others are all out looking for you, you know,” he says simply. “Why do you think that is?”

If it were anyone else that had run away - their manager, a friend - you know what the answer would be. Because they care about that person. But how can you believe that about yourself, when you know you can never amount to anyone with that level of importance to them?

Ironic, since you’re the person with which they can be most intimate and vulnerable.

“I’m a liability,” you reply halfheartedly.

His silence serves to confirm your suspicions. A runaway PhysCom? Far too risky for a group at their level. You could become one of those anonymous sources like you saw in the news. A firsthand account of the BTS members’ secret sexual urges. Unacceptable. Snatches of words from the NDA you signed buzz around the edges of your mind like stray flies.

But since you're no longer connected to your network, then your tracker is probably disconnected. If the bus had come just a little earlier, you might already have escaped without a trace.

“You really think that’s the only reason?” Seokjin’s voice pulls you back to the moment.

His abysmal attempt to divert from the problem gets a hollow laugh out of you.

“Any other reason has ulterior motives. It’s just business.” You check the time on your ComGear. The bus should be here any minute. “I’m leaving, and I won’t let you stop me.”

“I don’t intend to,” he agrees, to your surprise. “God knows you’ve been put through enough.” He then leans forward, resting his forearms across his legs. “But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Your ears perk up at this.

Seokjin seems to take your silence as permission to continue. “The reason we decided to suspend you. It wasn’t… entirely selfless.”

You purse your lips in irritation and fix your gaze upon the horizon, settling your chin beneath your crossed arms. “Right. Ulterior motives, like I said.”

He clicks his tongue. “Touche.”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

Your curiosity gets the better of you.

“So, what… were you planning to replace me?” You ask, trying to sound contemptuous. “I heard you all having your little group meeting in the kitchen. There are plenty of shiny new whores at your disposal, take your pick.”

He still makes no noise.

You wait, preparing to accept a bitter confirmation of all your fears.

But then he finds his voice. “We could never replace you, dear.”

You stop. Look over at him. His eyes are half lidded, his smile bittersweet as he stares off into the distance. After a few moments, he fishes around in his pocket and pulls something out, then hands it to you.

His smartphone.

“Here,” he murmurs, sympathy in the quirk of his lips. “In case you need to call anyone. Those devices they give you don’t have a cell plan, I assume.”

He seems to sense your wariness, and waves the phone a bit in a gesture of insistence. “I can buy a dozen new ones. It’s no trouble.”

You very hesitantly take it. “Thanks.”

Of course, he has no way to know that your ComGear is now jailbroken, for all intents and purposes. But… is this a trap? What if there’s a tracker in the phone? But why would he need to put a tracker in it if he doesn’t know your ComGear is off the grid?

The rumble of an approaching motor pulls you out of your cyclical thoughts, and you get on your feet, slowly coming out of your dissociative sulk.

But you still feel numb. Nothing matters anymore.

Nothing at all.

Jin gets up along with you, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Stay safe, alright?”

You give a brief nod of acknowledgment, only half in his direction as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder more securely. The hydraulics of the bus screech as the vehicle comes to a stop and lowers slightly, allowing you to step onboard.

You glance back, fully expecting Jin to stop you. But he doesn’t. He blinks raindrops out of his eyes while you board, and gives you a small smile once the doors close behind you. He lifts a hand in farewell, then turns and starts to walk away down the street.

He’s really letting you go.

You pay your fare and find a seat towards the back of the nearly empty bus. Rain pelts at the windows, picking up in earnest, and it feels like yet another layer, another barrier, separating yourself and creating an ever-growing chasm from the life you knew up until yesterday.

You pull out Jin’s phone, staring at the dark screen and wiping away stray raindrops from the surface with your sleeve. Why had he come to find you, if not to stop you?

“But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Maybe he felt guilty. Or remorseful for the hell you’ve been put through recently. You would normally have felt immense satisfaction at such a thought.

But you can’t feel much of anything right now.

You don’t think you’ll be able to feel properly again. At least not for a long, long time…

Hm? The screen lit up. You must have pressed a button by accident. You swipe at it again, and to your surprise it unlocks. Who doesn’t put a passcode on their phone?

Is it possible… he disabled it before he gave it to you? Maybe. Whatever. You’re so tired of thinking, playing investigator and second guessing people’s motivations.

You scroll over to the phone icon, and tap on it, briefly considering calling your parents. But the wetness on your fingers messes with the touchscreen and you open the messages app instead.

You’re about to wipe the screen and try again, but… the most recent messages are… all about you. You tap on the group chat among the seven of them, currently bustling with activity.

[ Kim Namjoon ]: has anyone found her [ Park Jimin ]: hyung I’m so sorry [ Park Jimin ]: it’s all my fault [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not at the studio [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’ll talk about it later Jimin [ Kim Namjoon ]: everyone keep looking [Jeon Jungkook]: manager said they can call her network to track her down [Kim Taehyung ]: should we do that? [ Jung Hoseok ]: no! she could get in trouble :( [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not a stray pet [ Kim Namjoon ]: exactly [ Kim Namjoon ]: we need to keep this quiet for her sake [Kim Taehyung ]: she hasn’t replied to my texts or calls [ Min Yoongi ]: me neither [Jeon Jungkook]: hyung... will she be okay? [ Kim Namjoon ]: everything will be fine don’t worry [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’re going to fix this somehow [ Min Yoongi ]: whatever it takes [ Jung Hoseok ]: where could she have gone... [ Park Jimin ]: what if she doesn’t come back?

You scroll further up, past days and weeks and months of texts between them… not even a day between mentions of you. Wondering if you’re alright. Hoping you’ve eaten enough. Wanting to do more with you.

The thread of texts Jimin sent to Seokjin just yesterday.

Hyung I wish things were different I want to hold her I want to tell her she’s enough I wish I could kiss her… I think I love her Do you ever feel that way?

And Seokjin’s reply.

I do I know just what you mean Why do you think I turned those secondaries away last night, hm? No one can compare She really is special…

He didn’t… fuck the secondaries? After you broke at dinner, he… didn’t...?

You switch to his thread with Namjoon from a few days ago.

I know you’re our leader but I don’t think this is the way to go You need to be more cautious

Namjoon’s reply.

What we need is action, hyung If we work together on this, we could get rid of these unnecessary rules We could all have what we want Including her It’s what’s best for everyone

Seokjin took several minutes to reply.

You’re going to lose her.

Jin knew. He tried to talk Namjoon out of writing that stupid essay, or maybe it was about your suspension.

Either way, he defended you.

You open his thread with Hoseok. Dimly, you recognize that you shouldn’t be snooping, but you’re too absorbed to stop.

Hyung, I think she really wants this All of us ♡ I don’t know how, but we need to show her that it’s okay That we want it just as much

How do you know that’s what she wants?

I can’t say ♡ But I know now She wouldn’t reject us Our feelings She feels something too

The date and time lines up with this morning. The morning after he made love to you.

He didn’t tell them. He kept your secret.

“Our feelings”? What does he mean? Him, Jimin, Taehyung… Seokjin? Do they all…?

Your head spins, the hollowness of your heart filling with a rush of jumbled emotions, like a tide crashing in. All your numbness is washed out with light, just a pinprick at first, that grows rapidly into a ray of warmth as you consider what all this could mean. The chasm starts to narrow, and you get the urge to jump ship, to turn back and figure this shit out. To know once and for all what they want from you. What you mean to them.

But how can you trust this isn’t a trap? How can you be sure?

The answer is as simple as they come.

You can’t.

You can’t be absolutely certain that their intentions are pure… that this is the right thing to do… that you won’t be hurt again.

But maybe... trust isn’t about being infallible. Being right. Being sure.

Maybe it’s built on what ifs. On trying again, even with no guarantees.

Guarantees are only as good as their word, and talk is cheap. Lies are easy. Your Opticon had a 100% guarantee, and look where that got you.

But you remember the way Hoseok held you that night, and made love to you like you’ve never felt in your life... When Jimin kissed his way down your body, with only the best of intentions. Namjoon’s strong arms embracing you when you felt powerless. Yoongi’s hand never leaving yours, even while you waited in the hospital. Jungkook carrying you home after you fainted, breaking your door to make sure you were safe in bed. The look in Taehyung’s eyes when he finally kissed you, breaking the ice you’d been growing around your heart.

How Seokjin let you go.

Maybe...

You get up with a start, rush to the front of the bus, and hastily ask the driver to let you off, much to the old man’s disgruntlement, but the moment the doors whoosh open, you take off at a run.

You want to go home.

You want to try again.

No matter how much you try to bury it, to forget the way they make you feel, you care about them. All of them. On a much deeper level than that of a PhysCom and client. And it scares you.

But you’re done running from fear. From uncertainty.

Now you’re running towards it willingly, as you give chase down the torrential streets, searching for that familiar hooded figure and hoping you’re not too late. You’re embracing the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty, the paranoia... letting their shadowy claws sink into you until they can’t hurt you anymore. Until they fade away, cowering under the glow of your determination.

You’re setting some new rules for yourself, no longer letting fear control your thoughts and actions, barring you from any chance of happiness.

You see Seokjin in the distance, trudging home through the pouring rain. You run faster.

You’re fucking terrified. But you’ve never felt so free in your life.

“Jin!” You shout to get his attention, still a block away. He turns around, and shakes his head, seemingly confused, but a smile starts to appear. You smile too.

Finally, you catch up to him, and without warning, you throw your arms around his shoulders. Damn, he’s always taller than you remember.

He laughs, shocked by your change of heart. “What are you doing?”

“I want to hear you say it.” You reply, looking up at him as rain dashes down your face. You don’t know when you started crying, but you’re grateful to the weather for masking your tears.

“Say what?” He asks, his hands resting on your waist to support you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, rain sliding down his perfect face.

“How you feel about me.” You reply, studying his eyes. “Be honest.”

He seems to sense the gravity in your words. He holds you closer. His eyes soften.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

For the first time since all of this started, you sense no deception in his words, no double meaning, no hidden agenda.

Because you aren’t searching for reasons to doubt this time.

You’re searching for reasons to trust, and you find them.

You want to kiss him. So you do.