#I NEED TO CUT MYSELF I NEED TO CUT MYSELF NOW. I NEED TO. I MADE SO MANY PROMISES BUT I NEED TO DO IT NOW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hanibalistic · 8 hours ago

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HIT DOG HOLLER, HIT DOG'S COLLAR | JAKE SIM.

genre | fluff, angst / hurt comfort au

synopsis | when a dog was surrendered to the shelter you worked it, you had no other choice but to call your ex-boyfriend for help.

word count | 4.2k+

warning | mention of abandoned pets, pet urine / dog is referred to as 'it' in narration / mention of insecurities

note | i kept telling myself i am allowed to finish this even though i can't find any point in the story.

Jake bolted out of his dorm room when you texted him for the first time after six months.

The annoyed complaints of his half-asleep roommate were fleeting. Strings of curses bounced off his hurried figure as he scrambled to put on a pair of sweatpants. When he snatched the keys off his desk, he knocked over the water bottle on the edge and earned another earful before he slammed the door shut.

The roads were empty and dark so late at night, allowing him to speed without potential repercussions. He checked his phone repeatedly during the drive for new messages, but the only text you sent after finally unblocking him was ‘help. shelter.’ It was radio silence after, like it had been the past six months.

It had been a mistake.

Jake knew he wasn't the type of man to take a bet. During his university years, nonetheless! But the effect of alcohol, his aversion to confrontation, and his friends' rowdiness pushed him to keep at the lie.

One year ago, he drunkenly confessed to you at a party, and you gave him a chance. Twelve months into dating each other, his friends drunkenly told you the truth, and you cut him out of your life without so much as a tear.

Tonight was the first time you've voluntarily spoken to him. He didn't care that you only did it because you needed his help. He would have learned every skill under the sun if it meant you'd talk to him again—plumbing, repairing, installing, modifying, you name it.

Tires screeched over the white line and stopped. He turned off the engine and got out of the car, unfazed as the cold air hit him until he reached the door of the animal shelter you worked at.

The lights were on inside.

He breathed through his mouth because that was the only way to accommodate how much air he needed.

You were inside, waiting for him.

A moment passed after he knocked. You opened the door carefully, peeking over the door frame not because you were cautious of the visitor but because you weren’t ready to face Jake yet.

His hair was disheveled, and his small eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He did not wear enough for the cold weather, but the shelter was warm enough, so you tried to stop worrying about him.

Veins ran softly along his hands and arms, parts you’ve let touch you all over, inside and out. His limbs used to be confident and bashful, playfully reaching for your waist and shyly searching for your face.

Jake wouldn't dare to touch you now, not even to shake hands, not without your permission. He pulled at his fingers and watched you intently. His gaze traced your face, and his downturned eyes mimicked a dog on its death bed—timid, wishful, pleading.

"Hey," he greeted. "Is everything okay?"

You stared at him, subconsciously reminded of the first time you invited him to accompany you during a day shift at the shelter. Biting back a sob at the question, you shook your head and opened the door wider for him to enter.

“He’s back," you said. "Pluto is back."

Pluto was the golden retriever you and Jake fostered over the summer last year. He was adopted, returned, and adopted again after almost making it to his euthanasia day. It has been months since you last saw him so you thought he had found his forever home.

But, this afternoon, he surrendered again because the parents couldn’t handle having him and more than three children in the home.

You kept him company for most of your shift to ease his anxiety, but when it came time for you to close up and leave, he refused to enter the cage.

You attempted to lure him with toys and treats to no avail. It was as if he knew it would be over once he was locked up behind the metal bars.

“That’s...” Jake swallowed the frustration. He stopped hearing news about Pluto after you broke up. He had no idea it was given up once already. “That’s horrible.”

“I know. My coworker said she tried to convince the mother to bring Pluto home, but...” You trailed off in exhaustion. You rubbed your eyes and sunk your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you for help if I hadn’t run into a dead end. I don’t know what to do.”

"No, don't even–" he waved his hand dismissively with a soft chuckle– "don't even apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

You smiled. He always told you that. You couldn't remember a time when he was mad at you and demanded an apology, even when some of your decisions had been questionable.

If he was ever upset, you remembered all it ever took were hugs and kisses to make him feel better, the things you give your pet dog to brighten your day and theirs.

Sometimes, you wondered if he was easy or if it only worked for you because he was in love with you.

He told you otherwise, though. After dumping him, he spent two months pestering you however possible with a variety of apologies and only ever one confession: I love you. I love you more than anything.

He stopped after you snapped at him in public, practically humiliating him for your subconscious fulfillment.

You had given him everything—all of your firsts, all of your mind, and all of your body. He had deserved it. He stopped bothering you afterward, which was understandable.

A dog beaten and bruised enough would never return.

“Let's see what I can do," Jake said.

You pursed your lips and gestured for him to follow you.

The shelter remained the way it had been since the last time he visited. White ceiling lights, disorganized papers on the reception table, stacked metal cages, dirty food trays, narrow spaces, a dirty whiff of air, and abandoned pets everywhere.

He didn’t expect otherwise. There were never enough donations or government funds to make it a better place. People wouldn’t even do that for other people, let alone animals.

Jake spoke to the animals along the way, ignoring the ones asleep and cooing at the ones who jumped to greet him. As you led him to the back of the shelter, a sullen mass of fur curled up in the corner came into view.

"Pluto!" he exclaimed with considerate joy as he crouched with open arms. "Do you remember me, sweet boy?"

Pluto remembered. It got up from the corner and pounced on Jake, scraping its paws on his shoulders for a hug and licking his face. He laughed and rubbed its back, letting the affection attacks continue as Pluto pleased.

It got distracted when you also neared. Barking once for good measure, it bounced between your feet and Jake’s embrace, reliving how it used to be when he was still living with you both.

“He looks healthy," Jake said.

“He wasn't abused, just abandoned," you clarified.

"Same difference."

You peered at him like a hit dog about to holler.

In the depths of your conscience, you admitted that you were the one who gave up. Maybe you were well within your right to, or maybe you didn't believe in clarification and second chances.

You tried not to think about it too much. It made you feel bad.

"Where is his cage?" Jake asked offhandedly.

You motioned your chin toward the corner without thinking. You’ve already placed a cartoon blanket inside as a makeshift bed, and the dog bowl was filled half way with dry food.

“Alright, buddy,” Jake said, hopping onto his feet. “Let’s get you inside so we can go home.”

Pluto jumped up to meet Jake’s knees. He played with the dog, swinging his hands around its peripheral vision and playing bitey. You discreetly reached for the cage to open it. When he noticed, he stopped to hold Pluto’s face in his hands before lifting it up by its paws.

Jake was always the good cop. You made Pluto wait for dinner, didn't let it jump on your bed, and never fed it food under the table. Jake was easier. He took it on morning jogs, ran with it when it had zoomies, and sometimes cooked it a small plate of steak.

A little affection and a wide-eyed gaze could go a long way for Jake, but not so much for you.

You always knew the dog liked him better than you. You didn’t realize it would be easy for Jake to pick it up. However, just as you thought your ex-boyfriend would succeed, Pluto dropped its whole weight onto the floor and refused to budge.

Jake yelped at the sudden pull. His feet stuttered to balance himself, forcing him to release Pluto onto the floor. Not giving up, he shook his hands and reached down to try and pull it up again. The dog still wouldn’t budge.

Deciding to try another approach, instead of pulling Pluto up by its torso, Jake thought he could begin with its front legs. Once he gets them through, the rest should follow.

"Come on, buddy," he encouraged. “I know it's scary, but you gotta sleep somewhere warmer than the shelter hallway."

Pluto began to whimper when its front legs reached inside the cage. It used them to support itself, weighing itself down onto them to avoid being pushed inside wholly.

You furrowed your brows as you listened to Jake’s fading encouragement. He was a mirror of who you were a few hours ago when your shift began. He wasn’t growing impatient, only frustrated that this was how it had to be for a beloved pet.

Your shoulders sunk in defeat when you noticed droplets on the floor. Jake paused when you curled a hand around his arm and gently pulled him away.

“Let’s stop. He’s scared,” you said. “He peed on the floor. I’ll go get the mop.”

He glanced at the floor, but he was trying to see if you touched him again. And then he looked up at you, nodding in grim agreement. When you released his arm to clean the floor, he rubbed the spot with invisible desperation, trying his best to somehow keep your hold

"What do we do?" he asked, pressing a firm hold over where you touched him. "Shit, I feel horrible."

"You and me both." you sighed as you watched Pluto shrink into a corner. “I'll stay over with him."

"At the shelter?"

“It's not any worse than my apartment," you said. “Actually, I might be safer here with all the animals around. They’ll look out for me."

He wanted to protest. This was less about safety and more about comfort.

You looked exhausted, and he knew why. Midterms were happening left and right before the winter break, so you must be burning the midnight oil already. You’ve also got a difficult job to juggle with your classes.

He used to have to pull you away from your desk and trap you in his arms to get you to sleep.

Regardless, you needed to sleep somewhere soft and warm, and the animal shelter didn't have anything remotely similar to that besides the furry babies.

The furry babies and him, he supposed.

“I'll stay with you," Jake said.

You shook your head. This would ruin your plan to get over him, which has been going on for over half a year yet has garnered no real progress.

You still thought about him day and night, seeing him in the shadows of your once-shared apartment and whispering his name into your pillow. You blocked and avoided him because you knew he could lure you back so quickly because you had unfortunately been in love with him the entire time.

“It’s fine. You should go home,” you said. “I’m sorry I called you up so late.”

"No, I don't mind," he protested. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway."

He visibly gulped, swallowing any sentiment because you’ve rescinded his right to love you. And you bit your tongue to keep the fight and the cries in because it wasn’t easy to look at him and not do something.

You couldn't kiss him, you couldn't fight him, and you didn't want to hurt him.

"Do whatever you want," you muttered.

Jake watched you leave the room. He heard cabinet doors opening, and he moved against the wall to sit down. He reached a hand out, his palm facing skyward, and he gently lured Pluto onto his lap. When you returned, it was with two thin blankets, one for yourself and one for them.

You reached for the cage to take the food bowl out and closed the door, locking it. You sat next to Jake, across from his side, and wrapped the blanket around you.

"What are we going to do now?” You eyed the dog.

"What are the protocols?" he asked.

"We hold and look for housing," you said. "But–" you reached out to rub Pluto’s head–"he's getting old. It took long enough to find a family who's willing to adopt him, so there's no guarantee we will be able to find anything before he's put on the euthanasia list."

As Jake ran over what you said in his head, you took a small handful of dry food to feed Pluto, who released itself from pressing on Jake’s chest to eat. You smiled at its eagerness, but your brows were furrowed with unspoken sorrow.

It seemed you could already predict Pluto’s fate, but you needed to device a course of action for good measure. Anything to make sure you didn't give up immediately, even when there was nothing you could do.

There was nothing worse than being at the bottom. Knowing that after taking so many turns, you ended up at the dead end you were meant to reach anyway. Looking at you was almost like looking at himself—both of you have exhausted all your resources.

But Jake was known for going above and beyond. At least for you, he would.

“I can adopt him."

You perked up slowly in bewilderment. The reason why you two decided to foster Pluto back then was because of a dual income. If it was so affordable to own an old dog, you would have done it already.

"You live on campus. The dorms don't allow pets," you said. "You also don't have money. What are you gonna do if he gets sick?"

“I’ll move out. I’ll get a second job and pick up more shifts at the current one,” he said with a shrug. “There are cheap places to live, and I’m sure Jay will be willing to help me if it comes down to it.”

"Jake–"

“If push comes to shove, I’ll move back home,” he said, his voice slightly louder to drown out your worries with his optimism. “Let this be the last disappointing thing I do to my mom!”

You wanted to hold his face and talk him out of it. His optimism was both a friend and a foe. Sometimes, it pushes him to do amazing things, but mostly, he ends up embarrassing himself.

No, your coworker wouldn’t want to talk to you after being denied their vacation time over yours. No, your mother already thinks you buy enough unnecessary things; she won’t appreciate this. No, that won’t help anyone like you think it would.

You’ve often had to be his voice of reason for the most trivial things. It usually worked. His brain fries and he turns all putty when he’s being held, but he’s extra impressionable in your hands. He’d agree to anything just to keep you talking.

“You’re going to struggle," you warned.

“I'd rather that than have you feel guilty that you couldn't do more for our dog."

“You don’t know that I will,” you scoffed with a brief glare.

His eyes were on you. It has been on your since the moment you saw each other.

“I know you will. I know you," he retorted.

He was right. No matter how much you played up the role of a bad cop, or the nonchalant pet owner, ultimately, you cared. Maybe not as much as he did, maybe not as much as he could, and definitely not as openly as he could. But you loved the dog.

It was your dog. It was you and Jake’s dog.

Pluto stayed with you for a few of the happiest months of your life. The months when you woke up seeing Jake and went to sleep talking to him. Losing the dog is a significant progression to an end.

"This isn't about me." You shook your head. “Don't do this for me.”

“I can’t not,” he said. “I want to."

“Why?" It came out before you knew it. It was a trap.

The room went quiet, accompanied only by the sound of chewing and the impossible thoughts of escaping such silence. You focused on the food disappearing from the metal bowl, doing your best to keep away the tremors from knowing his eyes were on you, from already knowing his answer to your question.

Something has to happen when the food is gone.

A distraction, an apology, a reconciliation, a blackout.

"Because I love you."

A confession.

You dropped the bowl and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Heat released from all corners of your body, traveling to the base of your neck where it pulled at your nerves, souring all the way up to your tear ducts. He kept saying that; it was the last thing you wanted to hear from him.

His breathing quickened at your dismay, and the corners of his lips arched down in shame. He looked away from you at Pluto’s head, wondering what about his affection was so genuinely sickening that you had to reject it with so much force.

If it was about his bet with his friends, he had already attempted to explain that multiple times.

“I'm sorry I kept the bet from you. I really am. I will never deny that it was a terrible decision, that I was drunk when I first confessed to you," he said defensively, a whimper catching in his voice.

“Won’t you just–“ you rolled your eyes– “just stop. Stop explaining it to me.”

“No! I need you to understand that I never lied about how I felt after!” he exclaimed.

It never changed. His story wouldn’t have a contradiction even if he tried to rip it apart on purpose. He lied to you because he was drunk, he pretended to be your boyfriend, and then he ended up becoming it. His friends told the same story, and he repeated it multiple times. You’ve heard it all.

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it with intention. When he realized his eyes had begun to cry, his voice and movement followed. Looking down at the floor helplessly, his shoulders hunched up as if to shrink small.

You blew air into your cheeks and bit the inside of your lip. Seeing him cry made you cry. You never wanted to hurt him again. You didn't think that you could, and oh, how you were proven wrong.

“How come you don’t believe me?” he asked, his voice timid as a child wronged by his parents. “I fell in love with you. You have no right to take that from me.”

Feeling a sob come up, you dropped your head and stared at the floor. Goosebumps lined around your heart, suppressing its beating with unease. That was the problem. He told the truth, which was the problem because you couldn’t handle it.

"Do you know how I felt when I found out?" you asked. "I wasn't angry, or frustrated, or even sad. I was just disappointed that it made sense."

Jake wasn’t a man of your caliber. Even when he first confessed to you, you mistook it as an act of aggression. Hence, you double-checked with him the next day through text; surprisingly, he didn’t deny it.

He was a great boyfriend. He was kind and supportive, handsome and strong, charming and considerate. The whole nine yards. He stumbled once in a while, but he never did anything wrong.

It was both agony and relief when you discovered that he initially stayed for a bet. While it was hurtful to know you and him would have never happened otherwise, it fulfilled your growing itch that needed a reason to feel bad. While you lost the love of your life, the loss helped you make sense of a greatness you didn’t think you deserved, all by forcing you to let go of it.

Jake didn’t do anything wrong. He couldn’t if he tried. It was just easier when he didn’t love you back. Because then you wouldn’t feel like you were taking up too much space, and your inferiority has a reason to exist.

“It was hell to hate myself,” you said. “If I made it seem like you never loved me at all, then all the pain wouldn’t be for nothing.”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was tearful, and he played with Pluto’s fur so his hands wouldn’t claw at his skin to peel himself to death, knowing that you felt like hell when you were with him. “Did you always feel like that?”

You went around the answer but remained truthful. Yes, you felt like that all the time. No, it had nothing to do with him.

You told him how great he was, how you appreciated everything about him. The fact that he remembers every little thing, how his voice is soft, and his willingness to always be the bigger person.

Self-hate was an accumulated skill that can never be unlearned and only worsens. He was in the wrong position when it decided to show itself.

You simply didn't love yourself enough to have him. That was it.

Irregular drops of tears rolled down his face. He began to hiccup away the knots of air stuck in his throat that were supposed to be violent sobs. He looked everywhere but at you, and his hands curled and uncurled to catch pressure in the air.

He suffocated with every word you said. It didn’t matter that you admitted he wasn’t the reason; he was horrified that you thought his love would be better stored anywhere else than with you, his keeper.

For six months, he stayed cooped up inside himself, uncomfortable but unwilling to burst just in case you would come back to drain his soul out of him. He would return to where he belonged, through your mouth into your skin.

The dog on his lap had become a nuisance, but he kept it there.

Jake pushes nothing away. He stretches and pulls until someone snaps him in half to stop him.

"Please don't be upset," you whispered after cutting yourself short. “I'm sorry for everything. It wasn't your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either,” he said. “The mind is–is a weird thing. It’s a weird thing. Sometimes you can’t help it. I understand. It’s not your fault, either. I don’t want–“ he pursed his lips, his hair shaking with his head– “I don’t want you to blame yourself. It hurts knowing you did something–something bad. I don’t want you to–uh,” his voice became smaller, “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

Scooting to sit next to him, you took off his glasses and set them on the floor next to you. You pulled at the hem of your sweater to wipe the tears around his tired eyes. You cleaned him and yourself, wetting your sleeve with mutual suffering.

“What do I do?” he asked, leaning his head against the wall with a faint shake. “I miss you.”

“I'm sorry," you said, disarming your mind.

“I won’t say anything. You don’t have to believe I love you. We can just be friends,” he bargained. “I just want to be around. Please let me.”

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you pressed closer against his side and smiled bitterly at the notion that you’ll never find someone like him again. That was why you gave him a chance a year ago, but instead of his dashing looks and fit physique, it was his extraordinary affection this time.

Who else would love you enough to pretend he doesn’t love you at all? It’s just him.

“I should probably go see a doctor, huh?” you joked, wiping under his eye with your thumb. “They can help me come around.”

Jake raised his hand. It shakily hovered around your wrist, waiting for permission.

You pushed the back of your palm toward it, allowing him to engulf your hand with his, and then you brought it to his face, holding him gently. He smiled a little; he couldn’t help it upon the familiar, long-awaited touch.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

You glanced at his lips. Stained with tears, like it was rained on. You nudged his nose with yours, and you kissed him. He shuddered. His mouth was metallic and sour; you realized there was a canker sore in his mouth. It must be painful. He kissed you anyway, resting his whole life on your lips.

Pulling away, he bumped his forehead against yours, his features softening in relief.

It was always the same confession. He never deviated from it.

I love you. I love you more than anything. I love you more than me.

“Do you want to take care of Pluto together?”

And that was your version of it.

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hjvi · 2 days ago

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𝙉𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙜𝙞𝙖 PART 2 part one (optional)

Pairing: Bf!Chris x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the breakup, Chris reaches out to Y/N's therapist, desperate to understand what she's been sharing post-split, hoping to find a way to fix things before it’s too late.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Heartbreak. Angst.

Word Count: 8k

CHRIS POV

The sunlight streams through the blinds, forcing its way into the room and pulling me from a restless sleep. For a split second, I feel the warmth of it on my face and instinctively reach my arm across the bed.

“Good morning,” I mutter softly, my voice thick with sleep.

But the bed is cold. My hand grazes nothing but empty sheets, and reality hits me all over again. She’s not here. She hasn’t been here for weeks.

The hollow ache in my chest flares up again, as it does every morning, but I push it down, swallowing the lump in my throat. I throw the covers off and sit on the edge of the bed, my hands in my lap as I stare at the floor. For a moment, I just sit there, unmoving, as the weight of it all presses down on me.

I eventually force myself to stand, dragging my feet as I make my way to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink catches my eye, and I hesitate for a second before looking into it.

The reflection staring back at me doesn’t even look like me anymore. My eyes are sunken, dark circles heavy beneath them from the countless nights I’ve spent tossing and turning. My hair sticks out in every direction, unkempt and messy, like I haven’t cared enough to fix it. My skin is pale, almost lifeless. I look like a ghost of the person I used to be.

I grab my toothbrush and start brushing my teeth, the minty taste sharp on my tongue. I stare into the mirror as I do it, unable to look away from the version of myself staring back at me. The movements are automatic, robotic, like I’m just going through the motions because I have to.

Rinsing my mouth, I splash some cold water on my face, hoping it’ll wake me up or at least make me feel something. The water is icy, shocking against my skin, but it doesn’t help. I dry my face with a towel, toss it onto the counter, and take a deep breath.

I head back to my room, pulling on the first clothes I can find—a hoodie and some sweats. I don’t even care if they match. What’s the point? No one’s going to see me anyway.

The stairs creak as I make my way down to the kitchen. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. I grab a glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and lean against the counter as I drink. The cool liquid soothes my dry throat, but it doesn’t do anything for the heaviness in my chest.

The sound of footsteps pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up to see Nick and Matt walking into the kitchen. Great.

They exchange a quick look before Nick speaks up. “Chris, you can’t keep going on like this.”

I don’t respond, staring down at the glass in my hands.

“You need to figure something out. This can’t keep going forever,” Nick continues, his voice firmer this time.

“If you love her, why did it end?”

That question cuts through me like a knife, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My grip tightens on the glass, and I feel the lump in my throat growing, making it harder to hold everything in.

The pause that follows is deafening.

“Chris, I’ve never seen you like this,” Nick says, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to reach me. “Please talk to us. We’re only here to help you.”

I shake my head, barely processing his words. It’s too much. Talking about it means reliving it, and I don’t think I can do that.

Matt steps forward, his tone more encouraging. “Well, you need to talk to someone—anyone. Maybe a therapist.”

The word therapist hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve only been to therapy once, back when our parents practically dragged me there after I was first diagnosed with ADHD. I hated it. Sitting in that office, spilling my guts to a stranger who pretended to care—it felt fake, forced. Like I was just paying someone to nod and tell me I’d be okay.

I glance at Matt, shaking my head again, but his words stick with me.

Therapy.

I set the glass down on the counter, my mind drifting to her—Y/N. She used to go to therapy all the time for her anxiety. I remember the night she opened up to me about it. We were sitting on her bed, the room dimly lit by the string lights she had hanging along the walls. Her voice was shaky, and she kept fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie as she told me about the things she struggled with—the intrusive thoughts, the overwhelming panic that came out of nowhere.

I remember holding her, my arms wrapped tightly around her as I whispered that I’d always be there for her. That I’d help her through it.

And she believed me.

She started going to therapy less and less after that. She told me that being with me made her feel safe, like she didn’t need it anymore. Like I was enough.

But now…now I’ve become the source of her pain.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the memory, but it’s no use. Her face is burned into my mind, the sound of her laughter echoing in my ears like a ghost.

An idea suddenly hits me, sparking something in the back of my mind.

She must’ve gone back to therapy after that night. After the things I said, after I ruined everything, there’s no way she didn’t go back.

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips—something I haven’t felt in weeks. If I can figure out who her therapist is, maybe I can get some answers. Maybe I can convince them to give me something—anything—to help me figure out what’s going on inside her head.

I know it’s a long shot. I know it’s probably not even allowed. But at this point, I don’t care.

This might be my only chance to fix things. To make things right. To get her back.

And I’m willing to do whatever it takes.

I slam the car door shut and storm into the house, my mind racing a hundred miles an hour. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I don’t even know if it’s from the frustration, the anxiety, or the sheer desperation clawing at my insides. My hands are shaking—I don’t know if it’s from the cold air outside or from the weight of what I just found out.

I need to find something. Anything.

I rush up the stairs, skipping two at a time, barely able to breathe as I push my bedroom door open. The room is dark, only the dim glow of my lamp spilling light over the mess I’ve been living in. Clothes are piled up in the corner, my bed is still unmade from this morning, and the air is heavy—like it hasn’t been touched by fresh air in days.

I don’t even hesitate before I start tearing through everything. I yank open my drawers, throwing out crumpled-up receipts, random guitar picks, and old Polaroids I don’t have the heart to look at right now. My hands move frantically, shoving aside hoodies and sneakers as I dig through the mess, my breathing uneven.

Then, I stop.

A hoodie—her hoodie.

Ralph Lauren, navy blue, the one I used to steal from her even though it was already oversized on her tiny frame. My fingers graze over the soft fabric, and I swear I can still smell her on it. Vanilla, mixed with the faintest hint of lavender shampoo.

My throat tightens.

I set it aside gently, like it’s something fragile, before continuing my search. I check under my bed, my closet, the nightstand. My hands skim over the remnants of us—the lip gloss she left behind, the hair ties, the tiny silver ring she used to wear on her thumb before she started playing with it too much and lost it between my sheets.

She never asked for them back.

A sharp pain twists in my stomach, and I have to sit down on the edge of my bed. My hands press against my knees as I stare at the floor, my thoughts spiraling.

She never asked for any of it back because she doesn’t want to see me.

She doesn’t even want to be reminded of me.

I imagine her in her room, sitting on her bed, maybe curled up with her knees to her chest like she always did when she was anxious. I can see her phone on her nightstand, face down, waiting for a notification that never came. Waiting for an apology that never left my lips.

I clench my jaw, squeezing my eyes shut. Why didn’t I call?

I should’ve said something. Anything. Even if it was just to tell her I was sorry.

My fingers dig into the fabric of my sweatpants as I try to breathe through the guilt.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it.

A small orange bottle, half-hidden underneath a pile of clothes.

I reach for it, my hands trembling as I pick it up. The label is worn, slightly smudged, but the name is still visible—Y/N L/N. My eyes scan the rest of the text, and my stomach drops when I see the words printed in bold letters:

Prescribed by Dr. Callahan.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I turn the bottle in my hands, my thumb tracing over the edges of the label. She hasn’t been here in weeks. If this is still in my room, that means she hasn’t been taking her medication.

Has she been okay without it?

The thought makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.

I exhale sharply, standing up so fast the room spins for a second. I grab my phone from my nightstand, my fingers typing the number on the bottle into my phone.

I hit call.

It rings.

My leg bounces as I wait, my free hand gripping the bottle like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.

Voicemail.

I grit my teeth, but then I notice something—Dr. Callahan’s website.

I pull it up, my eyes scanning the screen so fast that the words blur together. The address is listed at the bottom. My heart stutters in my chest as I read it over and over.

I don’t think. I just move.

I grab my keys and rush out the door.

The waiting room is too bright, too clean, too quiet. The sound of the receptionist typing on her keyboard is the only noise filling the space, and it’s driving me insane.

I shift uncomfortably in the chair, my foot tapping against the floor. My hands are clenched into fists in my lap, and I’m pretty sure my knuckles are turning white.

The door to the office finally opens, and Dr. Callahan steps out. She’s a woman in her late forties, dressed in a blazer, with a calm but unreadable expression. She looks at me, then at the receptionist, and back at me.

“Christopher?” she says, her voice even.

I stand up so fast the chair scrapes against the floor. “Yeah.”

She glances at the receptionist before nodding for me to follow her. I do, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The office is small but warm, the walls lined with bookshelves and framed diplomas. There’s a couch, a chair, a desk—everything you’d expect in a therapist’s office.

She sits behind her desk and gestures for me to sit. I do, leaning forward, elbows on my knees.

“I don’t usually take walk-ins,” she says, folding her hands together.

“I know,” I blurt out. “I just—I needed to talk to you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “About?”

“Y/N.”

Her face doesn’t change, but I swear I see a flicker of something behind her eyes.

“I can’t discuss—”

“I know. I know, you can’t tell me anything confidential,” I interrupt, my voice shaking. “But I just—I need to know. Is she okay?”

She exhales, tilting her head slightly. “Chris, I understand that you’re worried, but I can’t disclose any details about my patients.”

I swallow hard, gripping my knees. “Please. I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” My voice breaks slightly, and I hate myself for it.

Dr. Callahan studies me for a long moment before sighing, leaning back in her chair.

“What I can tell you,” she says carefully, “is that you should return her medication.”

I stare at her, my stomach twisting. “So… she’s okay to see me?”

Dr. Callahan’s expression doesn’t change. “No. Do not go yourself. Maybe leave it at her door.”

I clench my jaw. “Why?”

She exhales again, standing up and grabbing her coat. “Because she’s not ready to see you right now. You really hurt her, Chris. That’s all I’m going to say.”

The words hit me harder than I expect them to. My throat feels tight, my chest aching like someone’s squeezing it.

I nod slowly, standing up.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

She doesn’t respond, just watches me as I turn and leave the office.

When I get home, I’m exhausted.

I drop my keys on the counter and run a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. The conversation replays in my head, over and over, until I can’t take it anymore.

I grab my phone.

I dial her number.

It rings.

And rings.

Voicemail.

I call again.

And again.

Thirty times.

Nothing.

I grip the phone tightly before finally pressing the voicemail button.

“Hey… it’s me,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I—uh, I have your medication. I just wanted to—” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I just wanted to see you. Just for a second. Please call me back.”

I hang up, staring at the screen.

The silence is unbearable.

I can’t stop thinking about her, about what Dr. Callahan said.

I’ve hurt her. Badly.

The thought of her sitting alone, trying to get through each day without her medication, without me, makes my stomach churn. She’s struggling, and it’s because of me.

I hear voices upstairs.

Nick’s laugh echoes faintly down the hallway, followed by the sound of Matt’s voice, a little louder, more animated. I know exactly where they are—Matt’s room. They’re probably streaming or recording, trying to keep the channel alive while I’ve been... well, absent.

I climb the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reach the top, I pause for a second outside Matt’s door. I can hear them laughing, joking with each other like they always do, but there’s something in their tone that feels... forced.

I push the door open without knocking.

The room is lit by a neon blue light strip that lines the walls, casting an eerie glow over everything. Matt is sitting in his gaming chair, his headset on, while Nick is sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

They both look up the second I step inside.

“Chris?” Matt says, pulling off his headset. His eyes widen when he gets a good look at me.

I probably look like shit. My hair’s a mess from running my hands through it so many times, my hoodie is wrinkled, and my eyes feel swollen from the lack of sleep.

Nick sits up straighter, his brow furrowing. “Dude, you good?”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, stepping further into the room. I can hear the faint chatter of the Twitch stream coming from Matt’s computer. A quick glance at the screen shows the chat scrolling rapidly, the viewers probably wondering what’s going on.

Matt looks from me to Nick and back again before turning to his setup. “Uh, guys, hang on a second,” he says into the mic. “We’ve got a little... interruption here.”

“Don’t stop,” I say quickly, my voice hoarse. “I don’t care if the camera sees me.”

Nick and Matt exchange a look, their worry written all over their faces.

“You sure?” Matt asks carefully.

I nod, collapsing into the chair next to him. My legs feel like jelly, and the moment I sit down, it’s like all the exhaustion hits me at once.

Matt adjusts the camera angle slightly, so I’m in the frame now. The chat immediately explodes with messages.

“Yo, it’s Chris!” “Where have you been???” “Are you okay???” “Chris, we miss you!”

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “So, uh, I know you’re all wondering what happened to Chris and why we haven’t been uploading with him...”

Nick’s elbow jabs into Matt’s side so fast it makes me flinch. “Shut up, dude,” Nick hisses, his voice low enough that the mic probably didn’t pick it up.

I glance at the screen, trying to focus on the chat, but the words start to blur together. My chest tightens, and I feel the familiar sting of tears welling up in my eyes.

I swallow hard, leaning closer to the mic. “Hey, guys,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

The chat goes wild again.

“Chris!!!” “Where have you been???” “Are you crying???”

I force a shaky smile, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here lately,” I say. My voice cracks, and I quickly clear my throat. “I miss you guys more than ever, and I hope to see you all normally again very soon. I just haven’t been feeling my best.”

The words come out heavier than I expect. They’re for the fans, sure, but deep down, I know who I’m really talking to.

Her.

I glance at the screen again, trying to focus, but the tears keep blurring my vision. My hands grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white.

“Guys, if you can hear me,” I say, forcing a small laugh to mask the emotion in my voice, “let me know.”

Matt glances at me, his concern obvious, but he doesn’t say anything.

Nick shifts uncomfortably on the bed, his eyes darting between me and the screen.

I lean back in the chair, running a hand through my hair. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my mind is racing. What if she’s watching? What if she sees this?

The thought is almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket.

I freeze.

For a second, I think I’m imagining it. But then it buzzes again.

I pull it out slowly, my hands trembling as I unlock the screen.

My breath catches in my throat.

It’s her.

Come over.

Nothing else.

My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I can’t move. My eyes stay glued to the screen, rereading the message over and over again.

Nick and Matt are both staring at me now, their faces a mix of confusion and concern.

“I... I gotta go,” I say abruptly, standing up so fast the chair nearly tips over.

“Chris, wait—” Matt starts, but I’m already out the door.

I fly down the stairs two steps at a time, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest. The phone is still clutched in my hand, the words "Come over" seared into my brain like a lifeline.

I don’t stop moving. My thoughts are a chaotic mess, but one thing is crystal clear—I need to see her. I need to see her now.

In the corner of the living room, there’s a small duffel bag stuffed with her things—things I couldn’t bring myself to give back. A hoodie she left the last time she slept over. A scrunchie she pulled from her wrist and tossed on my nightstand. A few bracelets, tangled together in a messy knot. I grab the bag and toss it over my shoulder,my hands shaking so much I almost couldn’t manage the zipper.

Her scent lingers faintly on the hoodie, and it hits me like a gut punch. My chest tightens as I pause for a second, staring down at the bag. What if this is the last time? What if she’s only calling me over to finally cut all ties?

I shake the thought away and slip on my sneakers, not even bothering to tie them properly. The laces drag across the floor as I grab my keys and practically sprint out the door.

The night air is cold and biting as I get into my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. The drive to her house is a blur. The streets, the headlights, the soft hum of the engine—all of it fades into the background.

The only thing I can focus on is her.

Her voice, soft but firm, echoing in my head: "Come over."

I don’t know what to expect when I get there. Is she angry? Sad? Does she want closure, or does she want to talk? The possibilities swirl around in my head, each one more nerve-wracking than the last.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white, and I couldn’t stop glancing at my phone on the passenger seat, just to make sure I hadn’t imagined the text. The world outside blurred together—the glow of streetlights, the faint hum of other cars, the dark silhouettes of houses passing by. It was all background noise to the storm of emotions inside me.

As I turn onto her street, my palms grow clammy, and I swipe them against my hoodie. Her house comes into view, and my stomach twists into knots. The porch light is on, casting a soft glow over the front steps, but the windows are dark.

I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and staring at her front door. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. My phone buzzed faintly in the passenger seat, but I didn’t look at it. The only thing I could focus on was the faint light spilling from her living room window.

What do I say? What if she slams the door in my face? What if she doesn’t even open it?

She’s inside. The thought sent a jolt through me, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I glanced at the bag sitting in the passenger seat, its weight feeling impossibly heavy. Her things. Pieces of her that I’d clung to for far too long, desperate to hold onto anything that reminded me of her.

I grabbed the bag and stepped out of the car, the cool night air biting at my skin. My breath formed small clouds in the crisp winter air as I made my way to her front door, each step feeling heavier than the last. The strap of the bag dug into my shoulder, but I barely noticed it. My entire focus was on the door in front of me—the barrier between us that I was so desperate to cross.

I stopped in front of the door, my hand hovering over the doorbell. My fingers trembled as I hesitated, the fear of what might happen next threatening to overwhelm me. What if she slams the door in my face? What if she doesn’t even open it? What if this is the last time I’ll ever be this close to her?

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to press the button. The faint chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet night, and I stepped back, my heart racing as I waited. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity.

The walk to her front door feels like it takes hours. Every step is heavier than the last, my heart pounding harder with each one. I can feel the chill of the night air seeping through my hoodie, but my palms are still sweaty, my fingers gripping the strap of the bag like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

When I reach the door, I pause, staring at it like it’s some kind of unbreakable barrier. My hand hovers over the doorbell, my breath shaky.

This is it.

I press the doorbell, the sound echoing faintly inside.

For a few agonizing seconds, nothing happens. The silence is deafening, and I feel my heart sink. Maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she’s upstairs, ignoring me, deciding I’m not worth the trouble.

But then, I hear it—the soft sound of footsteps approaching the door.

The knot in my stomach tightens as the lock clicks, and the door creaks open just a sliver.

And there she is.

She looks... different. Tired, maybe. Her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that swallows her frame, and her bare feet peek out from beneath the hem of her sweatpants.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

God, I missed her.

“Hey,” I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flickers to the bag slung over my shoulder, and her lips press into a thin line.

“I, uh...” I clear my throat, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I brought your stuff. I figured you might want it back.”

Her eyes soften just a little, but her expression is guarded.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

I set the bag down gently on the porch, my hands lingering on the strap for a second before I straighten up.

The knot in my stomach tightens as the lock clicks, and the door creaks open just a sliver.

And there she is.

She looks... different. Tired, maybe. Her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. Loose strands frame her face, wild and untamed, as if she’s been running her fingers through them all night. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that swallows her frame, the sleeves falling past her wrists, and her bare feet peek out from beneath the hem of her sweatpants, toes curling slightly against the hardwood floor.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

God, I missed her.

My throat goes dry. It’s like my brain short-circuits at the sight of her, my body forgetting how to function for a beat too long.

“Hey,” I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flickers to the bag slung over my shoulder, and her lips press into a thin line. There’s hesitation there, a wall built between us, but I see the cracks in it—the way her fingers tighten on the edge of the doorframe, the way her chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

“I, uh...” I clear my throat, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of myself. “I brought your stuff. I figured you might want it back.”

Her eyes soften just a little, but her expression is guarded, like she doesn’t know whether to let me in or push me away.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

I set the bag down gently on the porch, my hands lingering on the strap for a second longer than necessary before I straighten up. There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to explain, but the words knot in my throat, tangled with all the emotions I haven’t been able to process. I swallow roughly and turn to leave, but then—

A tap on my shoulder. Gentle, hesitant.

“Chris,” she says, barely above a whisper. “You can come in... if you want.”

Her voice wavers slightly, but the invitation is there. A lifeline I never expected.

I nod, stepping inside carefully, like the floor beneath me might give out at any second. The second I cross the threshold, nostalgia slams into me so hard it almost knocks the breath from my lungs. The familiar scent of her home—vanilla candles mixed with the faintest trace of her perfume—wraps around me like a ghost, pulling me under. My chest tightens as my eyes flicker around the space, absorbing every detail.

She leads me to her room, her fingers gripping the bag tightly as if it’s the only thing keeping her steady. When we step inside, I notice everything at once—the unmade bed, the pile of clothes on the chair, the half-empty water bottles on the nightstand. It looks... wrecked. Torn apart. A reflection of how she’s been feeling, how she’s been surviving without me.

My stomach twists at the realization.

I sit beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. She places the bag in front of her, hands trembling slightly as she unzips it. She doesn’t say anything at first, just starts pulling out her things one by one, setting them on the bed between us. Her face is unreadable, emotionless, but I see the way her fingers hesitate over certain items, how her breath catches when she picks up something tied to a memory.

Then she freezes.

A small, plastic box sits in her palm. Plan B. Her fingers tremble as she lifts it, her other hand brushing over the familiar silver foil of a condom wrapper.

Her expression shifts. Confusion. Realization. A flicker of something deeper, something more painful.

I feel my throat close up.

Shit. I hadn’t meant to put those in there. I wasn’t thinking—I had just shoved everything into the bag, desperate to get out of my house, desperate to see her. But now, sitting here, watching the way she looks at me, I realize what I’ve done. What this means.

The weight of it crashes down on both of us at the same time.

Me returning these things wasn’t just about giving her stuff back. It was a silent message. A quiet, unspoken truth that neither of us wanted to face.

This was me saying we’d never be that close again. That I’d never hold her against me like she was my entire world. That I’d never press my lips to her skin, whispering promises into the crook of her neck. That I’d never watch her breath hitch, her stomach hollowing out as she lost herself in me.

The morning she was hungover and wanted me to make love to her—it was the moment I broke. The moment I left. And now, this moment? It was the silent echo of that pain.

She inhales sharply, her eyes darting to mine.

“Chris...” she starts, voice unsure, awkward. “I—I’m sorry for... you know... that night. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Her voice is small, fragile, and it shatters something inside me.

I shake my head, cutting her off before she can keep talking. Before she can say something that might break me even more.

“No,” I say, my voice thick, heavy with emotion. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for that. That’s not... that’s not what this is about.”

She blinks at me, confused, but I don’t stop. The words pour out of me, messy and desperate and raw.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, my chest tightening. “For everything. For the way I handled things. For walking away when all I wanted to do was stay. I love you so much, and I don’t know why I did that. I was just—I was upset. I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. That you thought I was too much, too clingy, because I know I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop when it comes to you.”

Her lips part, her breath shaky, but I don’t let her interrupt. I can’t. If I stop now, I’ll never say it.

“It took everything out of me to not make love to you that morning,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Everything. Because it wasn’t just about that—it was about us. About how much I love you, about how much I need you. And now, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where we stand, I just—I can’t do this, I can’t live with the thought of never being able to touch you again—”

My voice catches, and I choke back a sob, my hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly my knuckles turn white. The emotions are too much, overwhelming, consuming.

But before I can finish—

She moves.

Her hands cup my face, fingers threading into my hair, and then—

Her lips crash into mine.

It’s not soft or hesitant. It’s desperate, full of every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every moment of longing that has torn through us like an open wound. She kisses me like she needs me to breathe, like I’m the only thing keeping her alive, and God, do I feel the same way.

Her lips are warm, soft yet demanding, moving against mine in a rhythm we lost but are now rediscovering. I groan into her mouth, my hands finding her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. There’s no air, no space, nothing between us except months of aching desire and the overwhelming need to feel her against me again.

Her tongue flicks against mine, and the taste of her—sweet and intoxicating, like vanilla and something uniquely hers—makes my head spin. My hands roam over the familiar curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, relearning her body like a map I had once memorized but was forced to forget.

I need her. Now.

Without breaking the kiss, I grip the back of her thighs and lift her effortlessly, pressing her against the wall. She gasps into my mouth, her fingers tugging at my hair as her legs wrap around my waist. My body presses against hers, every inch of me molding into her as if we were never meant to be apart.

I barely register the feeling of air brushing between us as I pull back just long enough to look at her. Her eyes—those big, beautiful doe eyes—stare into mine, wide and filled with so much emotion it nearly knocks the breath out of me.

I devour her.

My lips trail from her mouth to her jaw, down to the sensitive spot on her neck I know makes her shudder. I hear her breath hitch, feel her heartbeat hammering against my chest, and I smirk against her skin, pressing another lingering kiss right there, just to hear that soft whimper again.

I can't get enough of her.

With one swift motion, I pull us away from the wall and toss her onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She looks up at me with wide, hazy eyes, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

God, she’s beautiful.

I strip my shirt off in one quick motion, and her gaze follows the movement, her lips parting slightly as she watches. Her fingers reach out, featherlight, and trail down my chest, hesitating over the bruises from the fights I’ve been in, before tracing straight down to my v-line. The soft touch sends a shiver down my spine, my stomach tensing under her fingertips.

I cage her beneath me, hands on either side of her head, our faces so close I can feel her breath on my lips.

“I missed you,” I murmur against her lips, punctuating my words with soft kisses along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone. My voice raw, filled with every ounce of longing I’ve held inside. “I love you so much. You have no idea.”

She shudders at my touch, her fingers threading deeper into my hair as she whispers, “Me too.”

Her hands slide up my arms, over my shoulders, threading into my hair as she pulls me down, our lips brushing once more. “I do,” she whispers against my mouth. “Because I missed you just as much.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, full of longing, and I can’t hold back anymore. I cage her beneath me, my arms bracing on either side of her head as I hover just above her lips.

“I love you,” I whisper, brushing my nose against hers. “I love you so much.”

Her breath hitches, her fingers sliding up my arms, tracing the curves of my biceps. “I love you too.”

I trail kisses down her throat, moving lower, pressing my lips to the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. My hands slip under it, fingers grazing the bare skin of her waist, feeling the way she trembles beneath me. I slowly lift the material, kissing each new inch of exposed skin as I go—her sternum, her ribs, the delicate dip of her stomach. I can see her breathing unevenly, her stomach hollowing in and out as I press a lingering kiss right above her navel.

Her sweatpants are loose around her hips, and I hook my fingers into the waistband, pausing just long enough to look up at her. “Is this okay?”

She nods, but it’s the way she looks at me—her eyes locked onto mine, so vulnerable yet so trusting—that makes my heart nearly stop.

I tug them down slowly, letting my fingers brush against her thighs, and as I do, I catch sight of a small birthmark on her inner thigh. My lips curve into a soft smile, and I lean down, pressing the gentlest kiss right against it. Her breath catches, her fingers clenching into the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, my voice low, reverent. “So, so beautiful.”

Her lips part slightly, her chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths. I play with the delicate bow on the waistband of her panties, twirling it between my fingers, the gesture light and teasing. A memory flashes in my mind—her doing the same with the drawstrings of my hoodie the night everything fell apart. My throat tightens.

She watches me closely, her gaze never wavering, her eyes holding an intensity that makes my whole body burn.

I let my thoughts spill out, my voice raw, unfiltered. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you wanted that night.”

Her breath stutters, her fingers reaching up to thread through my hair as I tease my lips over the sensitive skin of her waist. I let my hands explore her gently, my fingertips tracing over the curves of her hips, lingering at the edge of her panties as I drag my mouth across her skin. She whimpers softly, her legs shifting beneath me, and I smirk against her stomach.

“Patience,” I murmur, pressing another soft kiss to her ribs. “I missed you, let me take my time.”

She lets out a soft, frustrated sigh, her fingers tugging slightly at my hair, but I don’t give in just yet. I kiss lower, my lips teasing along the waistband, my breath warm against her skin. Her breathing grows more erratic, her hands clenching at the sheets as she bites down on her lip.

Then I see it—a dark patch on the fabric of her panties. My smirk deepens as I drag my fingers over the damp spot, watching the way her thighs tense at the teasing touch. My lips ghost over her hipbone, pressing soft, lingering kisses before moving inward, tracing along the delicate lace trim.

I press a kiss right against the soaked fabric, feeling her entire body tremble beneath me. Her back arches slightly, a small whimper slipping past her lips. I hum against her, the vibrations making her shudder even more. My fingers toy with the waistband, pulling at it ever so slightly before letting it snap back teasingly.

“You’re so sensitive,” I murmur, my lips trailing back up to her ribs. “So needy.”

She lets out a strangled whine, her fingers gripping my hair tighter. I chuckle softly, running my nose along the crease of her thigh, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the birthmark I adored. I flick my tongue out, just barely grazing the skin before pulling away again.

She gasps, her head tilting back, frustration written all over her face as her chest rises and falls with every heavy breath.

I lift my head, locking eyes with her, watching the way her pupils are blown wide with need. “Tell me what you want,” I whisper, teasing the bow on her waistband once more.

"I want you Chris, nothing but you."

I tuck my head into the crook of her neck, nuzzling her gently.

I feel her smile against my skin, and my heart swells.

Y/NS POV

His fingers were buried to the knuckle inside your cunt, brushing against a spot he knew better than you did yourself. You rode down against his palm, looping your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to whine against his throat as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

“Cum on my fingers, baby.” He murmured against your hair, hand tightening its hold on your hip as he moved his fingers within you. “Let me take care of you.”

Your brows furrowed together, hips stuttering in their movement against his palm. You could hear the soft rumble of laughter in his chest as he helped you regain your pace, muttering something incoherent as your whines turned into keens, your lips parted against his throat as you clutched onto the back of his shirt for purchase.

“Good girl.”

That was all it took for you to come undone, crying out his name against his neck as your cunt spasmed around his fingers. He pressed kisses to your forehead as you rode his fingers through your orgasm, his thumb never stopping its circling of your clit until you whined through breathless words for a moment to breathe.

You could audibly hear the sound of your arousal as he removed his fingers from your cunt, both digits coated in a thin veneer of your cum. He looked at you, smiling wickedly as he pressed the fingers to your lips. You quickly opened your mouth, tasting yourself as he pushed his fingers into your mouth, nearly touching the back of your throat in the process. You noticed his breath deepening, pupils blown as he watched you suck his fingers clean.

“Missed that mouth.” He hushed out, words breathless as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth. You leaned up then, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your lips to his. His tongue sought yours, the kiss full of hunger and need, teeth clashing, and moans swallowed. You could feel his hard cock straining against his sweatpants, each shift of your hips on his lap causing him to all but whine into the kiss.

His hands moved to the waistband of your panties, trying his damnedest to tug them off you as you straddled him, only for him to pull away with a frustrated, “Help me take these off of you before I rip them off.”

You laughed, lifting yourself as your hands moved over his, removing your underwear, items of clothing falling to the floor with a soft thud. Your hand curled gently around his cock, lazily pumping it as you returned to kissing him.

He moaned into your mouth, brows furrowing together as your thumb swiped over his tip. It wasn’t long until his touch on your hips grew needy, thumbs pushing into your hip bones in a silent plea for you to get on with it already. You’d half a mind to make him wait, but you needed him just as badly as he needed you. With a short lift of your hips, you guided him to your entrance, sinking onto his thick cock seconds later.

The stretch had you whining against his lips, slick sounds pooling from between your thighs as you slowly rocked down against him, each movement of your hips bumping your clit against his lower stomach. You could feel his thighs tensing beneath you, muscles flexing in tandem with each canter upward of his hips, pushing him deeper within you.

His hands guided your hips, breaths coming out as short grunts whenever you’d squeeze around him. You could feel his cock dragging inside of you, brushing against that spot that had your thighs twitching under his hold. He trailed his lips from yours to your jaw, breath hitching against your skin in between open-mouthed kisses to your throat.

It was slow, passionate - everything you’d missed in the months he’d been absent. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through the back of his hair as you rode him. He kissed down your throat and onto your chest, free hand moving up to cup your breast. You tightened your hold on him, head falling back as he bent his legs, planting his feet against the mattress as he fucked himself up into you.

The new angle and urgency had your cunt squeezing around him, legs giving out beneath you as he continued fucking you. He let out a breathless laugh, hands moving to your hips, essentially pushing you forward to rest against his chest as he rutted up into you, each thrust of his cock brushing against your g-spot in an almost blinding sense of pleasure.

Your hands blindly grasped at his shoulders for purchase, uttering pleas for him, words soon turning into incomprehensible sobs as the pleasure left you unable to do anything other than whine out his name against his chest. You could feel your cunt fluttering around him with each thrust of his hips, the movement causing you to rock forward, clit brushing against his lower stomach.

“You hear that?” He grunted out lowly, grasp on your hips tightening to an almost painful degree. “Hear how desperate you sound for me?”

With a strangled cry of his name, you came undone, cunt spasming around his cock as he pumped into you. You went limp against him, eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you through your orgasm, whispering words of praise against the shell of your ear as he chased his release inside of you.

“So fucking good.“ He grunted, words followed by a sharp thrust upward, tip pushing against your cervix as he flooded you full of his cum. You whined against his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. As he caught his breath he lifted his hand, gently cupping your jaw to tilt your head back, eyes searching yours to ensure you were alright.

“‘M okay.” You whispered, voice barely audible. He nodded, sighing out a lungful of air as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. You rested back against him then, shifting your hips slightly to make yourself comfortable - or as comfortable as you could be with him still nestled inside of your cunt.

“Just-“ He started, wrapping his arms around you to ensure you stayed put. “Just stay there, I’ll carry you to the shower later.”

A faint laugh left you as you allowed him to hold you close, knowing neither of you had the strength to move from the bed anytime soon. You’d have to call the front desk and get clean sheets once you did, but for now, you were content resting against him, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat echoing within his chest.

“I love you.” You whispered, moving your head to press a kiss over his heart, earning you an affectionate hum as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I love you too, doll.”

A/N: Hey everyone! I just wanted to apologize for the delay with Part 2—I've been dealing with some heavy writer's block lately. On top of that, I'm working on multiple fics and writing requests, so it’s been a bit overwhelming. Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with me! I’ve never written from Chris’s pov before, so any constructive criticism is more than welcome! I really appreciate you all taking the time to read my work! 💖

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo

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cherryblossomcowgirl · 2 days ago

Text

Stitches

WC: 1.5k

Trigger warnings: Injury; crash, mentions of death; hospital; FLUFF

“Okay Lieutenant Commander Seresin, I am Dr. Y/n Y/l/n, let’s take a look at what we have here. Ejection from aircraft?” I flip through the chart, making my way into the small room. Concussion, bruising, lacerations, and some road rash. A feeling of worry spreads over me, an ejection? Not only does it sound dangerous, but it also sounds terrifying. My eyes rise up from the papers, meeting the bright green eyes of my patient. My gorgeous, Ken doll of a patient. He sighs, “How bad is it?” I scan him up and down, “We will need to keep you overnight for observation, but you should be able to go home in the morning. I am going to stitch you up now, your numbing shots should have kicked in.” Sitting beside him, I start to sterilize the wounds. He stares at the needle and I can see the nerves on his face. He gulps, “So, uh, where did you go to med school?” I smile in an attempt to calm him, “University of Texas. How about yourself?” The blonde man winces as I sew the first laceration closed, “Hook ‘em, ma’am.” I smile, “Born in Texas, or a transplant?” “Born and raised. From your accent I am assuming you’re the same?” A laugh escapes my lips as I finish up the second long cut on his arm, “Is it that noticeable?” “Yes ma’am. Now can I ask you something and you won’t get offended?” I raise my eyebrow, “Sure, Lieutenant Commander.” He grits his teeth as I finish up the longest cut on his leg, “How old are you? You look a little young to have graduated from med school.” I knot the stitch, “I am 28. This is my first year of residency. And you? Don’t remember seeing you around campus.” I pat his leg and he smirks, “36, ma’am. I would’ve remembered you.” I blush and start putting away my materials, “Well, uh, sir, I will be checking in during rounds. You can hit the call button if you need anything. Your CT scans should come back soon and I’ll read them for you.” As I walk away I can hear his smile as he says, “Thank you, doc.”

I knock lightly on the door before opening it, “Hi Lieutenant Commander. Your scans came back clear. We can get you out of here first thing in the morning. How is your pain right now?” He turns to me and smiles, “2/10. And you can call me Jake.” “Well Jake, let me know if you have any other questions.” He clears his throat, “Actually I do. Do doctors wear wedding rings?” I furrow my brow, confused, “Married ones do, why?” A smirk spreads across his face, “So there is no Mr. Dr. Y/l/n?” I laugh, “No, Jake. There is not.” “Well in that case, want to grab dinner once I get out of here?” Heat rises to my cheeks yet again, “Oh, Jake, I can’t..” “So there is a future Mr. Dr. Y/l/n?” I shake my head, “No, it’s just I am only 18 hours into my 72 hour shift.” He thinks for a second, “Well how about in 54 hours, I come back and pick you up? As a thank you.” I fiddle with the chart in my hands, hoping he doesn’t see how red my cheeks are, “Sure, Jake.” His smile spreads as I walk out of the room, “Press the call button if you need anything.”

When I walk in to sign Jake’s discharge papers, he is already out of his bed and dressed. I sigh, “You took out your IVs?” He laughs, “Yes ma’am.” “That’s my job.” Jake checks his watch, “I will see you in 48 hours, Dr. Y/l/n.” Shaking my head, I giggle, “You can call me Y/n, Jake.” His smirk makes my heart skip a beat, “Have a good shift.” “Thank you.” I walk out of the room, wondering what I am getting myself into. My shift flies by, like usual. I stand in for a couple of surgeries and actually get a few hours of sleep. My eyes keep peeking at my watch. That blonde Texan is taking over my brain. I have never seen such a beautiful man. Blonde hair, green eyes, tan, and oh so muscular. I clock out and change into my outfit. I curse myself for not picking something cuter. Just a pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Heading to the front of the hospital, I realize I don’t have his number to tell him where to pick me up. As I exit through the sliding doors, Jake is sitting on a bench and he’s holding flowers. He sees me and jumps up, “Hey there, doc.” I smile as he hands me the flowers, “A true southern gentleman.” “I didn’t know what your favorite kind was.. and sunflowers remind me of back home.. so I thought I’d grab them.” “You’re sweet. There’s actually a sunflower field on our ranch.” He runs his hand through his hair, “I’m assuming your car is here, but would you like me to drive? I’ve never picked up a girl from a hospital before so I’m not really sure what the protocol is.” I giggle, “I’ll ride with you, thanks.” He leads me to a lifted pickup truck and laughs when he sees my face, “You can take a boy out of Texas, but you can’t take his truck.” Jake opens my door and gives me a hand up. His hand is so large and steady. He starts the engine and starts driving. Country music is playing on the radio. I feel like I am back home, nervous and trying to impress my high school crush. Jake’s hand reaches over and settles on my thigh, “Thank you for stitching me up. They’re healing real nice.” I try to focus on anything other than his hand on me, “You’re welcome. You got pretty banged up.” He pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant and turns to me, “Yeah, dangers of the job. But I hope you like seafood, this spot has the best view in all of North Island.” “Sounds perfect.”

He opens the door and I follow him in, noticing how broad his shoulders are. Our table is outside, overlooking the ocean. We sit down and I gaze off at the waves, “This is beautiful, Jake.” He smirks and hands me a menu, “Do you like wine?” “I actually don’t drink.” He raises an eyebrow, “Can I ask why?” I laugh, “No deep or interesting tale, I’m just kind of a health freak.” He leans in, intrigued, “Okay give me the rundown.” “No food dyes, no high fructose corn syrup or artificial sweeteners, no seed oils, and I try to avoid very processed foods.” His jaw has dropped, “Okay, that’s amazing. You will be mortified to see how I eat.. a lot of freezer meals.” “Oh Jake.. we have to get you meal prepping.” He shrugs, “You’ll just have to teach me.” “Deal.” The waitress takes our orders and conversation flows so easily. Jake is smart, funny, and very thoughtful when he speaks. The food comes and it is amazing. Jake clears his throat, “I feel like I’ve bombarded you with questions, so it’s your turn.” I think, “Last serious relationship?” I regret asking it immediately. How forward can I be? He smiles, “I’ll be honest with you, it’s been years. My career doesn’t usually mix well with long term relationships. How about you?” I chew on my bottom lip, “I dated a little bit in college, but never anything serious. My whole life I have just been focused on becoming a doctor.” He nods, “I like you. You’re very straightforward.” “Yeah, uh, sorry. Like I said, it’s been a while.” “How was your shift?” I smile, “I got to assist in an aortic repair surgery and a defibrillator placement! The lead surgeon let me remove the damaged valve. I literally had a piece of someone’s heart in my hand.” “So you’re a surgeon?” “Well, first year surgery resident. Usually 75% make it through all 3 years.” His eyes meet mine with a look of genuine admiration, “You’ll make it.” A blush creeps across my face and I look down, “Thank you.” He pays for dinner and stands up, “Can I show you one more thing?” My stomach flutters and I nod, following him back to his truck.

He drives down the coast, finally pulling in to a quiet park of the beach. He opens my door and grabs my hand, “Watch your step, okay?” He leads us right past the dunes, sitting in the sand. I sit beside him, the crashing waves sending a calm feeling over me. I turn and meet his green eyes, “Were you scared when you had to eject?” He takes a deep breath, “Yes ma’am. That was the second time in my whole career. The lever jammed for a second. Didn’t think I’d make it.” Instinctively, my hand rests on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, Jake.” My thumb traces circles and I can see him relax, “You must be exhausted, I should take you back.” I breathe in the ocean air, “Just one more minute?” He throws his arm around me and pulls me in to lean on his shoulder, “As many more as you’d like.”

#glen powell x reader #jake seresin x you #top gun maverick #hangman fic #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #top gun

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scorpioriesling · 2 days ago

Note

Hii could I request some more ridoc smut? Literally anything I'm just feral for our silly lil man

Denial Is A River

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Ridoc x reader

Warning(s): smut, 18+, mdni

Summary: You'd think after so long, your ex wouldn't still be on your mind. After all, he never took anything seriously -- why should you? It would seem like going out for a night of fun with your best friend is exactly what you needed.

SR’s Note: Um... girly, aren't we all feral for this man, HAHA. I saw this request, sat my ass down, and immediately started writing. <3 Any excuse for Ridoc smut is a good excuse, right?

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Great," you mutter, rolling your eyes and looking away. Sloane turns, searching over her shoulder for whatever could've caused you such distress. Not finding the source, she turns back to you wearing a confused expression on her face.

"What-"

"Not what; who." You cut her off. She goes to turn again, but you grasp her bicep.

"Don't -- he was just looking over here." You shudder, bringing the plastic cup to your lips. When you lower it, draining the sweet mixture, Sloane is looking to you with a leveled stare.

"I don't even need to see who just got here. I think I already know." You swallow, the sweet drink tingling as it runs down your throat. She raises an eyebrow. "Ridoc?"

You shake your head. "Don't. Even say his name."

Now it's your best friend's turn to roll her eyes.

"Y/N, it's been six months. Don't tell me you're still letting him effect you-"

"He. Affects. Nothing." You bite out, lifting your cup again before remembering it was empty. Sloane sighs.

"Y/N... if you still have feelings for him, maybe you should-"

"Another drink?" You switch the subject, the faux-cheerful smile plastered on your face. You've been friends with Sloane long enough now that she doesn't take the bait; but, she's also learned when to "drop it" with you.

"I'm dry," she agrees, peering toward the crowded bar. "Let's migrate?"

You nod in agreement, following your blonde friend to the bar. After a while of pushing through people, trying to secure any inch of bar space; your hands finally meet the cool metal of the countertop.

"What'll ya have?" The cute, strawberry-blonde bartender asks. Sloane immediately straightens; and you smirk.

"Hmm... can you make me something with Fireball?" You ask, and he raises his eyebrows.

"I'm sure I can; and what for you?" His gaze locks on Sloane, and she coughs.

"Um... I, uh..." You giggle at your friend. She's never so... speechless.

"She'll have whatever your favorite is." You speak up, and he chuckles. Sloane glares daggers into the side of your head, but you only turn to her with a wink.

"I'd be happy to make it; been needin' another one myself tonight," he smiles softly to your friend before turning to start working on the drinks. Sloane folds her arms next to you, and you shrug.

"What? I'm just helping you out," you reason with her. She smirks, only looking past your shoulder for a second before pretending to be busy picking at her clothes.

"Fireball, huh? I never knew you to order something so... spicy."

You lock your jaw, whirling around to find Ridoc standing beside you. He smirks down at you, his tall frame shielding many of the club's overhead lazer lights as you look up at him.

"Pfft," you tut, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow. "You wouldn't know anything about... spice."

He chuckles, running a hand through his luscious, shoulder-length black locks. Your eyes immediately catch on the black hair tie around his wrist; a new kind of flame igniting inside of you.

"Ahh, Y/N." He shakes his head slowly, before reaching over and tapping Sloane on her opposite shoulder. "I'm just surprised this one still tolerates your attitude."

Sloane turns, finding no one before turning over the other shoulder to face the two of you. She only offers him an eyeroll.

"Ridoc. Hi to you too."

He chuckles, staring past you to your best friend. You scoff, smacking his shoulder.

"Staring problem?"

He looks at you again, raising his hands in surrender.

"Hey! I'm just trying to keep this little interaction here friendly."

You shake your head, reaching out to snap the thin rubber band against his wrist.

"Oh, yeah. I can see you've been keeping things very friendly." You glare, and he rolls his eyes. Sloane taps your shoulder, motioning to the drinks that had been set down on the counter before you. You turn to reach for yours, eyeing the bartender as he toasts Sloane.

Behind you, the unmistakable voices of Ridoc's friends ring out, and you internally cringe. You'd been close to his posse before the two of you broke up, and now... things were just, awkward.

Bringing your own glass to your lips, you shiver as he leans in behind you, his warm breath sending a chill down your spine.

"Bet you won't take it all without choking," he chuckles, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "At least, once." He steps back, and you glare at him once more before tipping your glass all the way back, ignoring the searing burn of the whiskey as you gulp it down. He only stares with intrigue as you turn your back to him, slamming the glass down on the bar.

The sound pulls the bartender out of his trance, his gaze toward Sloane snapping to the empty glass.

"Anything else for ya? Maybe for your boyfriend?"

Sloane snorts, covering it up with a cough before turning to you and shaking her head. You stare at the bartender, scoffing.

"Oh yeah. Give him something, reeeeal dry." You turn, throwing one more glance over your shoulder.

"And he's not. My boyfriend."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You'd spent almost two more hours, mingling and visiting the bar with Sloane before you'd realized how intoxicated you'd become. After three more drinks, you'd been feeling quite weightless -- almost forgetting your ex that somehow, always appeared in the corner of your vision.

Almost.

"I think I'm gonna see when Brett gets off tonight," Sloane slurs, her hands bracing against your forearms as the two of you stand in the middle of the dancefloor.

You chuckle. "Oh? So you're on a first-name basis, now?" You wiggleyour eyebrows at her. She laughs, nudging you with her elbow before leaning close so you can hear over the thumping bass.

"Hopefully we'll be past the first-name basis after tonight," she giggles, and your jaw drops. She grasps your shoulders, shouting right into your ear.

"And you might be too, if you do something about that second year staring at you!" She winks, pushing off of you to retreat to the bar. You look around confused, searching for whoever she was talking about.

You're on your third look-around when a warm hand slides along your waist, and you turn. The lights in the room blur, but the male standing beside you is in clear view.

Clearly... beautiful, that is.

"Hey," he shouts, flashing a bright smile. Your eyebrows raise, the alcohol in your system tampering any shyness you might have had.

"Hey," you say back, and he leans in closer. The black, short sleeve fits him to a tee -- every muscle defined along his tattooed arms. His scent of wood and salt hits you, and you breathe it in.

Delicious.

"I'm Matt," he says, his eyes gazing right down into yours. You smile up at him.

"I'm Y/N," you say, and he takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You're not sure if it's the alcohol or lack of nerves, but a faint blush spreads across your cheeks.

"Y/N," he repeats looking to you again. "First year?"

You nod, and he grins proudly.

"I'm in my second," he says. Your brows raise an inch; but, you're not intimidated. After all, you'd been with a second year before.

The sinking feeling in your stomach appears as Matt keeps talking. Would he know Ridoc? Gods, he probably did. You frown. Ugh, why did he always have to ruin everything?

Matt pauses, chuckling as he stares at you again.

"You alright?"

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Why were you even thinking about him right now?

"I'm... fine," you say, sucking in a breath as you feel both of Matt's hands softly holding your hips. He chuckles, his face mere inches from yours. Your head spins, the lights, the Charli XCX song playing in the back, this delectable man's lips about to touch yours-

"Hey man, what the fuck?"

Your eyes widen as Matt is quite literally ripped off you, the collar of his shirt rumpled in Ridoc's grip. He raises his hands in surrender.

"Look, man, I'm sorry! I didn't know-"

"Of course you fucking didn't," Ridoc growls, his usually playful tone absent. You stare in shock -- Ridoc was never this serious. In fact, that's what drove the two of you to break up in the first place.

"She's. Unavailable." He grinds out, and Matt huffs a laugh.

"Aight! Sorry, bro, she wasn't acting like it," Ridoc lowers him, releasing the hold on his shirt before glaring at him once more.

"I'd suggest you get goin', bro." '

That's all it takes before Matt is scurrying off into the sea of people. Ridoc turns, the anger still written all over his face. His brows only sinch together more when he takes in the anger on yours.

"What the fuck was that?" You shout, every ounce of pent up frustration bubbling over the surface. He rolls his eyes, stepping closer to you.

"That guy's a tool, Y/N," he says, his words running together a bit. Guess he needed to down a few to get though this night, too.

"You wouldn't know that though, because-"

"Because, what?" You throw your arms up in fury. "Because I'm 'only a first year'? Who are you to tell me who I can and can't-"

His hands reach out, grapping onto your forearms. He pulls you to his chest, bending at the waist to speak directly in front of your face.

"He shouldn't get to touch you." He says lowly, his eyes staring into yours. Your cheeks heat, the feeling of his hands on you mixed with the sweet musk of his cologne; it felt like how it used to.

"Nobody should."

You stare up at him with confusion, your only response a defensive one you'd learned to use so well around him.

"You're touching me right now," you sneer. "Doesn't look like you have any problem with that."

He chews on his bottom lip, his dark brows hooding his desired stare as he continues to draw you closer.

"You're right. I don't have a problem with it."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

“Oh FUCK yes… yes,”

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get you to leave the club with him. In fact, you practically jumped at the chance to leave — but, you let Ridoc think he “dragged” you out of there.

Truth be told, you were a bit giddy to feel his comforter beneath your back again.

“Mhm, you like that?” He taunts, pumping his fingers in and out.

You huff a laugh, another sarcastic response forming in your mind.

"I bet Matt could've done better." You toss him a wicked grin, and his brows furrow. He suddenly yanks his fingers out, immediately pulling you off the bed, yanking your dress up over your head before shoving you onto the floor.

Your eyes widen as your knees hit the hardwood, mouth practically salivating as he undoes his jeans quickly, pulling his thick cock out of his boxers. He slides his hand up and down it a few times, the other hand tangling in your hair as he yanks you closer.

"Always such a foul mouth, you've got," he tuts, and you drop your jaw. He slaps the head of his cock against your awaiting tongue twice, before shoving himself down your throat.

"This will teach you to be nicer," he muses. You gag, his thick length filling your throat even as he pulls out and pushes it right back in. He keeps assaulting your throat, fucking your mouth like you're his own personal plaything.

Not that you'd oblige.

"Good girl... mmm," he groans, thrusting in a few more times before pulling your mouth flesh with his pelvis.

“Want you to fuckin’ gag on my dick, baby,” You cough, your throat raw as the faint black hairs near his pubic bone tickle your nose.

He yanks your mouth off of him, grabbing your arms and hauling you to your feet once more. The relief is only momentary before his rough hands push you flush against his bed, bent at the waist over the edge of his bed.

Grabbing both of your wrists, he grips both of your hands behind your back, using one of his hands to slide his wet and ready cock against your sopping cunt. He leans down, kissing just below your ear before uttering a single sentence.

"No man. Will ever. Get to do this with you."

You suck in a breath, the tip of his dick pushing into your cunt.

"Besides me."

He wastes no time, shoving his entire length in, drawing a sharp cry from you.

Sliding out, and thrusting back in -- he watches in a trance as your ass bounces against his pelvis with each slam of his hips against yours. His grip on your wrists loosen, one hand opting to tangle in your hair once more.

"You're. Mine." He pants, drawing you up to meet his chest, flush with your back as he continues pounding mercilessly into you. "You belong to no one else."

His words, the air in the room, the feel of him -- it's all too much. The tidal wave building inside you threatens to wash over the edge, and your breath comes out in short gasps.

"Oh... f-fuck, Ridoc," the new angle plunges his length deeper into you, his tip rubbing the most sensitive spot inside of you. His other arm wraps around your waist as he speaks again.

"Say it,"

You moan as his balls slap against your clit, the wave inside almost too much to contain.

"I..."

"Tell me who's pussy this is." He gasps, his thrusts growing sloppy. You let out a cry of pleasure, your eyes squeezing shut as his grip tightens in your hair.

"Y-yours," you gasp. "Oh fuck, Ridoc it's all yours."

The title wave breaks free, your walls clenching around his huge dick as he gives you a few more thrusts. He cums not too long after, loosing himself in the way you feel wrapped around him again. He groans, low and deep as he releases his seed deep in your pussy -- another reminder that you're his, and only his.

You breathe deep, lying against his bed again when he finally releases you. He slips out of you, making quick work of cleaning himself off. You steady your breathing, making to stand and grab your dress from the floor.

Ridoc slides his boxers back on, pulling back the blankets on his bed and instead guiding you to lie down underneath them.

"Ridoc, I-"

He shushes you, adjusting the pillow beneath your head before sliding in behind you. Your heart swells as he presses a kiss to your cheek, pulling you flush against him as his arms wrap around you. You snuggle in, the warmth comforting as you work to wrangle your racing thoughts.

"We can talk tomorrow morning."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

#fourth wing imagine #fourth wing smut #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #iron flame imagine #iron flame #the empyrean #onyx storm #empyrean series #ridoc smut #ridoc x reader #ridoc fourth wing #ridoc gamlyn

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suzukiblu · 2 days ago

Text

WIP excerpt; "Tucker is having a normal one". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Yeah the whole ‘you know ethically-sourced leather is actually better for the planet and less wasteful than pleather, right?’ thing was not a happy realization for her,” Tucker confirms, switching screens on his PDA to send some bigger and scarier “ghost” programs ahead into the glasses of anyone they’re gonna be flying past on their Sam-search. “You the environmental type too, dude ? Because I promise I won’t slip bacon grease into your coffee but I will not quit eating bacon myself, gotta tell you up front.”

“Yeah, less that and more the leather type,” Drop-Dead Sexy replies wryly, sparing him a smirk again.

Tucker’s brain supplies some . . . images, he guesses. “Images” is probably the word, yeah. Then it overloads and crashes and leaves him blankly bluescreened.

“Uh,” he says, blinking stupidly a few times. He needs to restart his device, probably. Like–his brain, he means. Probably.

. . . he can do that. Probably. Eventually.

Uhhhhh.

Tucker just barely keeps himself from instinctively restarting his PDA, which would not be a good idea right now, and Banshee-Babe hangs that left at the next hallway. So like. That’s cool. A guy who listens. A guy who listens and has insanely cut muscles and badass superpowers and zero sense of modesty and is the leather type.

Ancients fucking spare him, Tucker thinks feelingly.

#dpxdc #data enkrypton #tucker foley #kon el #conner kent #superboy #wip: tucker is having a normal one

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911lsbts · 1 day ago

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With 9-1-1: Lone Star soon coming to an end, what’s one of the biggest things you’d say you learned about yourself while working on the series?

I’ve learned a lot about myself over the past 5 years working on this show. In many ways, I could say it was like another coming-of-age. So much has happened in the duration: I moved across the country from NYC to LA, endured the pandemic, the strikes all while working on it.

I’d say the biggest thing I learned is how to balance preparing and surrendering. In my crafting as an actor but also in life. I went to acting school and learned techniques for how to prepare for a performance and get myself ready to do what the scenes called for. And the process takes time. You need time with the script to not only learn the words but know what’s going on and what you need to do to get yourself in the space you need to live out the scene. In theatre, you have all this time to rehearse, but in TV, and in ACTION TV that is not the case.

Sometimes, the script was in revisions and you only got a couple pages to shoot your scene and your lines are different. Or you were going to rehearse the scene but the previous scene had a tech issue and we’re losing the location so we have to just jump into the emotional scene you thought you were doing the next day right now. Or you rehearsed the scene fine but when all the special effects are going, you’re trying to deliver this deep emotional scene hanging from a cable getting drenched in freezing water.

All these things that are out of my control would be happening but I’m still responsible for my performance. And I had to learn how to adapt my process to the production.

I learned how to prepare to let go.

On a separate note, what’s a practical skill you’d say you were surprised to learn while working on the series? Has playing a firefighter/paramedic come in handy in your personal life in any way?

I learned real fast that my little gym muscles wouldn’t cut it on this job. So I learned the importance of functional fitness and mobility work. But I can operate a fire extinguisher, and can don turnouts and an SCBA in less than 3 mins.

Luckily, I haven’t had to rescue anyone in real life since the show but I feel confident that I could help if something went down.

Without wanting to give away where Paul Strickland’s storyline might end in Lone Star, what do you (hypothetically) hope he’s up to, say, 10, 20 years down the line?

I hope that professionally, he’s still able to serve and help people and that he’s confident in his ability to lead. That he and Asha have a family of their own—Papa Paul has a nice ring to it and you can just tell he’d be a great dad. And you know, maybe they’d have a restaurant business on the side. Something that combines his two favorite things: cooking and books. He’s in Austin so it can be funky, you know. Yeah, he and Asha could have opened Austin’s first reading restaurant, it has gourmet food and a lending library.

#911 lone star #911 lone star spoilers #article #brian michael smith #s5

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tttt06 · 2 days ago

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The Apocalypse

Warnings! Gore, zombies, probably some angst if ya squint, size kink, death, apocalypse. Nobody dies, and it's still unserious.

Past K-pop Idol x International Black reader

Synonpsis~ A world where zombies made a sudden outbreak. You were only a fashion assistant. How the fuck were you going to survive. Well, 8 men pulled you into this large building. It had food, water, and people. With the help of Chan and Felix translating and Minho helping with your Korean, you muster up a relationship. One cuts deep with the buff Australian.

Word Count~ 7.2k

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I mean, I had plans for the future. I wanted kids and a husband, preferably buff. One minute, I'm running from zombies, and the next, eight Korean men are shoving me into a building.

The sound of helicopters filled the silence. I hadn't spoken since everyone was speaking in a foreign language. I wasn't from here. I was a fashion assistant on a trip with my boss friend.

Now I'm in a building I don't recognize with 8 strangers.

It was cold, probably from the winter snow. They were watching the TV, inspecting the newscaster's words, hanging onto every word. I was shaking in the corner, and not from the cold.

Surprisingly, the building was still up and running. The place was toasty.

I was shaking because I was terrified.

"You okay? No bites?" I looked to see who it was. I was flummoxed by his accent.

"Yeah, no bites." He smiled, "This was not how I was expecting my day to go." I sighed, sinking more comfortably into the wall. "You think this is forever, or maybe it's The Walking Dead." The buff man shook his head. "Nah, no way. I give it a week."

Well, that week fucking passed, and we were still trapped in this damn building. The TV wasn't working. Providentially, there were a lot of wireless chargers. We were able to charge our phones. It wasn't hard to notice how people were posting less and less every day.

"Kai cenat still streaming." Felix scooted over to look. "No way." I laughed, watching as Kai talked screamed to the screen. Hyunjin was trying to savor his battery by opting to paint. At this point, I knew the boys well. I knew they were Idols, and they knew who I was as well.

I had become the closest with Chan only because of how much English he could speak. Here and there, conversations would start between Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Changbin... but never with the others. Chan confessed, "We're gonna run out of Buldak soon. We don't have canned food here." I said, terrified, "You think... we'd have to go out there?" Chan shook his head, "We'll go out there. Not you." I worriedly confessed, "But I don't want you guys to get hurt out there." Hyunjin turned from his canvas to listen to us. Jeongin said, "If you go out there, I'm coming with you."

I couldn't believe it. These bitches were finna risk their lives for some food. Sure, the convenience store was a two-minute walk, but they shouldn't leave out.

We weren't the only 9 here either. There were staff members. Some went missing. They left for the same mission and never came back.

Han was making it his mission to learn about what was happening outside, but the media knew as much as we did. Which was nothing.

We treated it like zombies. If we got bit, we'd die. I'm terrified of what would happen. Hyunjin broke my deep monologue, and Chan led by saying, "Let's just go. Grab some weapons and get there while we still can." Chan asked, "Who's going, who's staying?" I looked at everyone. Han stood, I.N. stood, and nobody else did. "Okay, Y/N, kids, hold down the fort, yeah?"

This is stupid. What I'm about to do is really dumb, but I have to.

"Wait," I uttered hesitantly. "Yeah?" Chan asked. I took a deep breath, "I'll come with you." Minho stood up and grabbed my arm. He shook his head, "Don't." He selectively chose his words. "I have to. I need to." Minho didn't let up, "You will die." I nodded, "I won't."

He knew I was not only lying to him but to myself. Shaking my head yes while saying no is a huge giveaway already. If that wasn't enough, I was trembling in his grasp.

Chan commanded, "Alright, grab some weapons." I looked toward the wooden railing. I gripped the top of the railing and pulled it off. Chan added, "You're a strong girl." I laughed at his playful tone and lifted it over my back. "I'm ready to get Zombie guts all over me."

I hopped over the fence as we went to the convenience store. Chan was carefully looking out as Han jogged behind me.

Jeongin smashed a zombie's head in. The brain matter got on my shoe.

Fuck, now's not a good time to admit I pass out when I see too much blood.

The sky was orange. It had been for a month now. The air was so still that it felt like the earth stopped spinning.

I bit my lip as I continued to look around, "Hey, isn't that the convenience store right there?" Chan looked over to where I pointed.

"It is. Let's go." Han ran to the store and opened it. He let out a long breath. The store was empty.

Chan said, "C'mon guys. Grab everything and go. Also, do not leave until we're all ready. The added weight is gonna slow us down."

I nodded and walked over to the snack aisle. I slid every snack into the big duffle bag. My phone's flashlight stayed bright as I searched for more food.

I brought my hand to the back and felt someone grab my hand on the other side.

My heart quickened as I screamed. "AH!" The hand let go, and I peeped through to see Jeongin. "Sorry, Noona." I smiled and waved it off.

"It's okay." I continued to look around to no avail. I announced, "I'll look in the back to see if I can find anything." They waved me off, and I jogged to the door.

I quickly learned the door was locked when I jumped behind the counter. I slammed my body into the door, leaving the door to burst open.

I moved my flashlight around and saw the piles of boxes. "Yes!" I bumped into something and felt a yank in my hair.

I screamed as I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. It felt like I got bit by a dog. I whimpered from the pain, and I saw the boys running in.

The zombie fell to the ground, and Chan's eyes scanned my body. Han said, "SHIT! SHE'S BIT!" Chan ran to me and grabbed me bridal style. "We need to take her back now!"

They ran back to the company. Chan carried me like it was nothing while the boys stayed on defense. The streets were empty.

There were maybe one or two zombies strolling around the streets.

When we entered the building, I saw Minho's eyes go wide. Now that I could see how much was on my shoulder, I panicked.

"Oh my god! There's so much blood! Am I gonna be okay?!" Chan looked at me, "You'll be okay! Don't worry. Minju will help you."

I looked as the staff member ran to us. I felt myself starting to get dizzy as the blood dripped off my shoulder.

"I feel like I'm about to pass out." Chan sat me down on the couch, "I'll get you some water." I nodded absentmindedly.

The woozy feeling only developed more. And as the seconds passed, I passed out.

When I woke up, I was in bed, and a bandage was wrapped around my shoulder. I lifted myself up to see Minho carefully observing me. He was making sure I wasn't still feeling dizzy.

"Are you okay?" I nodded, "I pass out when I see blood. Wait... Am I okay? I feel fine."

Chan opened the door to see me up. He ran over and hugged me tightly, "Oh my god, you're finally awake!" I hugged him back confusedly, "Well, how long was I out for."

Chan said, "Two days." Minho called out, "Y/N's AWAKE!"

I watched as everyone bustled into the room. Felix was quick to give me a hug. Changbin held my hand as the other boys stared.

"I'm alive. How am I alive?" Seungmin explained, "Well, Minju thinks the zombie bites aren't spread through bites. It could be airborne... meaning, we're all going to die anyway."

I looked around at everyone, "Wait, what?"

I looked at them all, "We're gonna die?" Hyunjin's face turned solemn, "At least we're together, right?"

I nodded sadly.

Once everyone walked out, Chan was still there with me.

"I was so scared when you got bit. You don't understand what I was willing to do for you." I smiled lightly, "Channie..."

He grabbed my hands in his big palms, "Which is why..."

I listened to him, "I think you should cut your hair... I mean-"

"Chan... I can't do that."

He looked surprised that I said that, "Why? What's wrong?" I shook my head, "Chan, my hair isn't like yours. It won't just grow back in a couple of months. This takes years. It's not all my hair, but I can't do that."

His smile looked pained, "Please? You're already injured because I let you come with me." I shook my head, "No, I'm injured because I wasn't paying attention. Don't blame yourself. The bite will heal."

He sighed, "I- uh... at least think about it?"

I smiled, "Maybe."

A couple days passed. We were already getting nearer to the end of the December month.

We learned some things about Zombies. They don't pay attention to humans unless provoked, fight each other, and aren't hungry.

So, we have nothing to fight. Once we discovered that about them, the team became more relaxed. But they led us to more questions. Where have the rest of the staff and such gone?

"Big confession." I looked at Felix's round eyes as he spoke, "I'm the one who clogged the toilet." Chan slapped his shoulder, "Ew, mate. Fucking shit." I laughed at his accent and mimicked, "Fucking shit mate." Seungmin added, "Speaking of shit, the toilet?!" Lixie pouted apologetically. His freckles were frowning with him.

Chan called to me, "Y/N-innie. I need you over here." Chan was the group's leader, and apparently, he had the best means of survival skills.

I looked at him and smoothly walked over. He pushed a braid behind my ear. "Have you thought about what I said?" "No, I didn't. My hair is sacred to me." He half smiled, and that dimple popped out. "You have beautiful hair, but I'm just trying to keep you safe. It's so easy to grab... what if..." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I closed the gap and took his thick, pale hands into mine.

"I'll be okay." Though the Zombies didn't attack often, when they did, it would cause a herd.

Chan looked at me like I was crazy. "You make my anxiety go up. So stubborn." He whispered that last bit. He looked into my eyes. They made me feel so safe and seen. He looked like he was telling me something in his head over and over.

"Back to this. So I found a second generator in the basement of the building so we can get working showers again." I cheered, "I was getting tired of the B.O." He smiled, "I wanted you to come with me." I raised an eyebrow, "Why?" He shrugged, "We have the best chemistry together."

I laughed, "What the hell? Or are we the ones that have begged the most for the shower?" He rolled his eyes, "That too." I giggled, and he just stared at me.

His eyes went soft as I laughed. "I'm glad I can still make you laugh in a time like this." I tilted my head, "You always make me laugh."

He motioned, "Let's go tell the boys what we're doing, and we're out."

I gripped the flashlight as we traveled deeper into the lower levels. Chan had attempted to make conversation but could tell I wasn't feeling it.

That was until he asked me, "How does it feel? To have lived before this and for it all to be for nothing?" I stopped and looked at him, "Where is this coming from?"

His face had an unreadable expression. He sighed and looked at the ground. "I feel like I failed at protecting my fans." I patted his back, "Ah, that's not your fault." Chan shrugged, "My fans are out there lost and walking alone. It's been close to a month of us dealing with 'zombies.' How are we supposed to get back into making music." I looked at him.

Wow, he must've been really contemplating this for a while.

"I think it feels horrible. I had my dream job that I worked years to get, only for my boss to be (I assume) dead. I think my family is gone, my clothes are probably being worn by another surviving family, and the world is all in one big shit hole. So I get the feeling."

He smiled, "I'm glad you relate to me a little bit." I added, "I will never understand the feeling of having fans, but I think it's similar to having people back home rooting for you. And in a sense, I feel like I sorta let them down."

Chan wiped his eyes. "You crying?" He shook his head, "No, the dust is just gnarly down here." I kissed his cheek. He froze like a statue. His ears were the brightest red I've ever seen.

"C'mon."

When we came back, the water was on. Chan had been silent the rest of the night.

I guess I really messed with him when I kissed him on the cheek.

I again was sitting in the main lounge area. Seungmin was the first to turn in.

I had gone to bed also.

Ever since that day with the bite, I've been getting nightmares.

I woke up in a cold sweat and looked around. My heart was beating so fast, I felt so scared.

I felt like zombies were gonna come and get me.

I walked out of my room and into the dining area. There, Chan was on his laptop. He looked up in surprise. "Hey?" He smiled, "What are you doing up?"

I shrugged, "Couldn't sleep." He smiled, and I asked, "Well, what about you? Why are you up?" "Well, this inspired something in me. I've been saving battery on my laptop to make one last song."

He grabbed my hand, "You hungry?" I shook my head, "I feel like I could throw up." He furrowed his eyebrows. Chan placed the rear of his hand on my forehead to check my temperature.

"Ah, you sick? From the bite?!" I laughed, "Nah, just sweaty... I guess."

He said obviously, "You're not sweating." I rolled my eyes, "Okay, I feel hot."

He sighed, "Nightmares?" I blinked, shocked. He just read me like an open book.

He said, "The last couple of days, you've been sluggish, Y/N. You haven't been sleeping well, and you won't eat. Minju said you were fine... but I think that night fucked you up more than you're letting on."

My lips went to a thin line, and he glanced at my dimple. I didn't miss the look of affection on his face.

"What's really going on Y/N?" I shook my head, "I saw someone get shot as a kid, and I had night terrors. When I see blood, I panic and pass out... I've been having worse night terrors now."

His eyes scanned mine as his hold on my hand got tighter, "Don't make this weird, but do you wanna sleep in my room with me?" I only blinked.

I got that from Minho.

He smiled, "Don't leave my question hanging."

I smiled, "If you're okay with my sweating up your bed." His smirk sent heat down my stomach. "Oh, you don't know what I'd let you do in my bed."

I smacked his shoulder, "Chan!" He started laughing, and I got up. "C'mon." He smiled and walked me to his room. He looked me over, "You sleep in those clothes? Those are jeans." I laughed, "I don't have pajamas..."

He went to the pile of folded clothes in the corner and passed me a T-shirt and sweatpants. I laughed, "The shirt is enough, Chan."

His eye showed a glint of something unreadable.

I said, "Turn around." He did me one better and walked out of the room. He whispered, "Knock when you're ready for me to come in."

I changed and ran to the door to knock on it. Chan opened it and looked me over. His ears were turning bright red. "Okay, get in the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "Fuck no! What if there's a zombie under the bed, and it eats you?!" He waddled over me and hugged my waist.

He pushed me to the bed and said, "I'll survive." I bit my lip. I liked the way he manhandled me.

"Channie, I'm serious. Sleep with me. I need you to hold me." His eyes widened, "You...need... me?" I nodded, "C'mere." He nodded absentmindedly. He let me drag him to the bed.

He plopped down, and I laid my head on his chest.

"Night Y/N-innie."

"goodnight Channie."

When I woke up, he was gone. I searched for him, only to find Minho and Hyunjin.

"Uh, where's Chan?" Minho looked me up and down. Hyunjin was staring.

"What are you two looking at?" Hyunjin teased, "What'd you two do last night? You have his clothes on." I looked down and pulled on the corner of his long T-shirt. "I was tired of wearing jeans to sleep."

Changbin walked in loud as ever, "Did somebody say new jeans?!" His voice boomed in the hallways as he came back with food.

Jeongin placed down a huge box, "We went on a food run. Also, got your pads, Y/N." He tossed the pads, and I squealed, "Yay!"

Jeongin continued, "We have something to show you." I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

"What? What's the problem?" I entered the front lobby and watched the older guy in a torn-up suit stand beside Chan. "We found him on the street running from a herd of zombies."

I quirked an eyebrow, "So, who is he?"

I looked over the man again. I have never seen him a day in my life. He said in Korean, "I'm a scientist. I got kicked out of the government facility because I did illegal testing on the zombies. I was trying to help."

I blinked, "So, what? You know the cure?" He laughed, "No, not at all. This big guy over here kidnapped me." He aggressively patted Chan. My eyes followed Chan, "What are you planning on doing to him?"

Chan let him go, "I want him to save the world... using you."

The scientist guy settled in rather quickly. Too quick for my liking. He was only here for thirty minutes, and that nerd was already munching on our snacks.

I asked, "Do you know how this happened?"

The scientist said, "Yes. There was a meteor we'd been tracking because it threatened to hit the Earth. It hit the Earth and spread a gas that affected the human brain. This resulted in non-threatening zombies. Ones we can cure with the right stuff."

I asked, "Well, what's a possible cure?" He sighed, "Perhaps someone with an immunity. I do have to say, you do realize that only some Asian countries are having this problem, right? The states, Canada...et cetera, are all okay." Chan blurted, "Australia?"

The man said, "The zombies couldn't survive there. They died the same day." Chan looked relieved.

I asked, "I got bitten... does that mean anything?" He said, "Yes, well.... maybe. The chemical isn't in the air anymore. I know new soldiers went to the rock and returned fine. So, we've either started building an immunity, or the chemical has become dormant. I can certainly run a test and see what's happening in you."

Chan's hand went to my shoulder, "She's gonna be okay? We're all gonna be okay?" He nodded, "We just need a cure." Everyone looked so relieved.

I walked to my room. I needed time to myself. It was so much. We were gonna be okay, but to what extent. I would never see Chan again, or Lixie, or any of the boys.

I sighed as I curled up in my bed. The knock on my door echoed through the room, "Come in." I knew who he was by his footsteps.

Chan sat on the corner of the bed and asked, "When'd you get so good at Korean?" I said, "Minho had been teaching me."

He let out a light laugh and got up. He went to the side of the bed I was facing and squatted close to my face.

He whispered, "You doing okay?" I nodded. My fist wrapped up in the covers. Chan said, "You sure? It looks like something else is on your mind."

I sat up, "I'm trying to understand myself." His eyes followed my movement. I looked at him, and that spark in my eyes answered the inner questions.

I like him.... more than a friend should.

Chan smiled, "We're gonna be okay. Focus on the good for now."

Before he walked out, he added, "Question, you sleeping in my room tonight?"

My eyes widened, "You're okay with me doing that?" He smiled, "I'll happily let you sleep next to me for as long as you'd like." I smiled, "Yeah, I'll turn in soon."

It wasn't soon. I was too nervous to enter Chan's room. Now that I know how I feel about him, I felt like I was taking advantage of him.

I bit my lip as I crept into his room. He was sound asleep. I lifted the covers, and he stirred awake. "Sorry." He smiled, "Finally, you're here." He scooped me up and little spooned me.

His hands were careful where to touch. I closed my eyes in agony. I was horny now. The way he was touching me felt so good. His hands rubbed small circles on my womb.

I scooted my hips into his crotch, and I felt him harden quickly. His hands jerked to my hips and kept them still.

I turned around and stared at him. I could see the hunger in his eyes now. I leaned in and kissed him. His lip bit my bottom lip, and the next thing you know, his tongue was in my mouth.

He explored my mouth with his wet tongue. He pulled away to get some air.

He pulled me close and started ripping his own shirt off my body.

He sucked my chest, making me give him a moan. He flipped us over as he towered over me.

He took off his shirt, revealing the carefully sculpted abs. I whimpered when I saw it. He dove down to give me another passionate kiss.

I was happily okay with the passion. When Chan pulled away again, he hesitated. He looked down at his hands and then at me.

"What's wrong?" He got off me, "I- maybe we shouldn't do this." I furrowed my eyebrows to reach for him, "What? Why?" I reached out to him, but he flinched away.

My eyes lingered on his arm. "You don't like me?" He laughed, defeated, "Of course I do. I just... I can't." I was so confused. I liked him a lot, and now he was rejecting me.

I got up, "Fine," and I left. The tears streamed from my eyes as I ran to my room. I met with Hyunjin and Felix in the lobby.

"Yah! What's wrong?" I shook my head, and Felix ran over and hugged me. "Why are you crying? What happened to your shirt? Did something happen?!"

"Chan he- he..." Hyunjin's eyes widened, "He what?!"

Felix looked in disbelief. I started to realize how this looked, and I calmed down. "No! I was sleeping in Chan's bed, and we started making out, but then he told me he couldn't go any further. I don't know if I did something wrong or if he hates me..."

Hyunjin took a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "So it was consensual." I nodded, "YES!"

Hyunjin hugged me tightly. Felix sat, "Why were you in his room in the first place?" I pouted, "I was having night terrors."

Felix sighed. I continued, "But Chan invited me to sleep with him. I really like him, so why would he do this?"

Hyunjin joked, "Probably because he hasn't gotten any in a while and is rusty," I laughed. Hyunjin continued, "You wanna sleep with one of us tonight? So you don't have night terrors."

I nodded, "Who do you pick then?" I smiled, "Hyunjin tonight and Felix tomorrow!" Hyunjin grabbed my hand gently and swung it between us. I giggled, "See you tomorrow, Lixie!" Hyunjin and I skipped to his room. He took another look at me, "You wanna wear my shirt to sleep? It's not ripped up, and it'll be longer than the one you're wearing." I looked down at my ripped shirt, showing my bra.

I covered it quickly, "Sorry, you were in such a panic earlier I didn't want to tell you." I ran to his mini closet and looked for something to wear. "Ou, a Jersey. Oh my god, is this Versace?!" I pulled out the shirt, and he laughed. "You stop it. Now, put on any shirt you want and go to sleep."

I threw on a random graphic-T and got in his bed. Hyunjin had made his way to the floor, and I scooted to the edge of the bed. "Do you have to sleep on the floor?"

He smiled, "This is a... uhm... what's the word when friends sleep at each other's house?" I smiled, "A sleepover?" He smiled, "Yes! This is a sleepover."

I laughed and cuddled more into the bed. "Do you think I have a chance with Chan?" His hand reached for the ceiling and stayed there. He stared at his fingers as he thought.

"Chan has stuff going on, y'know? He always does. Maybe you would if he allows himself to love people again."

I said mindlessly, "What, he dated a gold digger once?" He lifted up and stared at me in shock. "Yeah! How'd you know?" I laughed, "Just a guess."

Hyunjin said, "He loved that girl. We thought of her as a family. We found out she was transferring money to her accounts and planning on leaving. On top of that, she had a boyfriend too."

I shook my head in disbelief, "Wow, she's horrible." He nodded, "Yeah, she was."

I raised an eyebrow, "Was? Nah, she still is." Hyunjin shook his head, "Nope, is. Her boyfriend killed her." My mouth dropped open. "You're fucking lying."

He nodded. "Chan still loved the girl, so... it probably hurts him."

I had nothing to say. I was in shock. "Okay, wow." It got depressingly silent as I thought about Chan's past.

I bet you'd never be able to tell on TV. I bet he was laughing and pretending to be okay, only to go home lonely. Maybe that's why he likes me.

I asked, "What was she like?" Hyunjin said, "She was kind and took the time to get to know us. Even after they broke up, she would still reach out to us occasionally. But, again... she was hiding shit."

I nodded, "I feel bad for talking about her. We should turn in." He turned to his side, his back faced me. "Goodnight Y/N." I smiled, "Goodnight Hyunjinnie."

I was woken up by a scream. Hyunjin and I stirred awake. We looked at each other as another scream echoed through the hall. Hyunjin grabbed his bat and my hand.

We ran to the main lobby. That's where the screaming was coming from. "I HAVE A BREAKTHROUGH!" Everyone was gathered in the lobby, confused. Changbin grunted, "Why are you screaming, old man?"

I looked at Changbin and mouthed, 'Watch your mouth.' Changbin looked down with a grunt. He gets grumpy in the morning.

When I looked around, my eyes locked with Chan's. He had pain in his eyes. He was staring at Hyunjin and me. Our hands were still together, and I wore Hyunjin's shirt instead of Chan's.

I get how it looked, and I let him believe it. If he really believed in me, he would at least ask.

"Y/N, can I trouble you for some blood?" I quirked an eyebrow as I stared at all the bandaids on his arm.

"How many times you plan on stabbing me?" He rolled his eyes, "You're obviously not scared of needles. You have a tattoo." I looked down at my thigh. I did have a big tattoo there.

"Yeah, go ahead." I let go of Hyunjin and walked over to the scientist. I said, "What's your name? You never told us." He smiled, "Call me Dr. Acanthopis."

Felix's eyes lit up, "Like the Australian spider." Acanthopis quirked his bushy eyebrows, "Yeah, that's right." Felix looked proud of himself.

I went to the makeshift lab with Dr. Acanthopis. He just put his supplies in the small nurse's room. I assume this is where people used to get IV drips.

I sighed as I looked at the broken clock. "How long will this take?" He said, "I don't know. Just sit and relax." I wiggled in the seat and sighed.

I closed my eyes as I smelt the alcohol in the air. The smell I always smell before getting a shot.

Acanthopis poked the needle, "I need a lot of blood." I nodded as I kept my eyes shut. I said, "I should probably mention I pass out when I see blood." We sat there for about two more minutes before he pulled out the needle.

I heard a glass break, and I opened my eyes to see the blood spilling on the ground. "Oh no." I blacked out right on that hospital bed.

I started to wake up a little and heard voices. "Is Y/N okay?"

That was Chan's voice.

Dr. Acanthopis said, "Yeah, she'll be fine. I just dropped some blood on the floor, and she passed out."

Chan let out a desperate breath. I felt him get closer and move my braid behind my ear. I tried to stay steady and still.

Chan said, "Please, keep an eye on her. She likes to drink the strawberry ice cream after she gets up."

Did he remember that?

Acanthopis clicked his tongue, "Noted."

Once Chan left, I opened my eyes. Acanthopis turned around as he moved the vials of blood somewhere else. Acanthopis mentioned he went to the fridge, "You gonna tell me what that was?"

I scooted up on the bed, "Nothing, Chan and I are going through something awkward."

He turned around and crossed his arms, "You speak Korean like a baby." I rolled my eyes, "You speak English like one, too. Piece of shit." He laughed, "Just an observation, no need to get sensitive."

I bit my lip and played with my fingers on my lap, "Hey? Are you actually upset?" I shot him a look, "No. Well, yeah, but not about that." He walked over to me and checked my wrist pulse, "Then what are you upset about?"

I sighed, "Chan, he's just... pulling back." Acanthopis said, "I say, I give you two liquid courage. What do you say, hm? We throw a party?"

I only laughed, but Acanthopis was being dead ass serious. He pulled a bottle of Soju from the fridge. "It's unsanitary that you keep blood and Soju in the same fridge." He shrugged.

"Get up, and let's go." He carefully watched me. He walked over to help my dizzy body get up. "I told you I took a lot of blood. I'll get you some strawberry Ice cream." He winked at me as he helped me to the lobby area.

Next thing you know, I was eating Ice cream in a circle of drunk men.

"Uno out!" Chan put his card down, and I sighed. I was too drunk. Chan was the only sober one there.

Felix screamed, "NO! ANOTHER ROUND!" Hyunjin checked his ear for blood, and I laughed. "Lix, relax! There's still four players in the game!"

Felix's face was dark red. He looked around and everyone and laughed, "Oh, okay." I groaned.

I looked through my fifteen cards. Lee Know made me pluck ten, and now I'm in deep shit.

Seungmin put down five '0' cards. "What the fuck?" I lifted all his cards to see he snuck in a 1. I threw the card directly at him as he laughed menacingly.

I took another shot before putting down my three reverse cards. We sat there for maybe ten minutes, figuring out which direction to go.

I sighed, "Binnie, you're next." He squinted at his cards as he silently decided. Changbin sat there for a good five minutes just thinking. Seungmin said, "PUT A DAMN CARD DOWN ALREADY!"

Hyunjin clapped as he laughed and waited for Changbin. Felix was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

I think he passed out because Hyunjin started looking at his cards. I shook my head, "Changbin-ah, it's just a game."

He leaned in and showed me his cards. I giggled next to him and told him which ones to throw down. I couldn't help but see Chan staring at the corner of his eye.

Chan's jaw clenched. He looked like he was seething.

"Hey, I'm gonna check out. You're all too drunk for this game." He laughed politely and got up. My eyes followed him as he left the room.

Hyunjin nudged me. I looked at him, and everyone stared at me. "I'm in charge of cheering him up now, huh?" Jeongin nodded, "I don't know what happened with you two, but he's been quieter."

I bit my lip and stood up. The trip to Chan's room was quick. I knocked on the door, and there was no answer.

I sighed and opened the door anyway. Chan was sitting on his bed with his headphones on. I walked next to him, and he jumped.

"Y/N!" I sat on the edge of the bed and asked, "What happened with Uno? No, what happened that night?! What happened to us? We are a team, but now, it feels like you hate me."

He only listened. "Y/N, I just... it's different..." I crossed my arms and leaned into him, "Different, how? I know about her." He quirked an eyebrow, "Know about who."

"Cece. Your ex-girlfriend." His eyes darkened, "What do you know? Why are you being nosy about my past?" I raised my hands in defense, "I'm not using her against you! And I'm not digging into your past. I'm saying I understand a little more about you."

Chan spat, "You don't understand shit." My heart skipped a beat.

He's mad at me.

My eyes began to water as he said, "Get the hell out." I cried, "No! I'm not leaving you alone!" He stood up as his voice roared, "LEAVE!" He grabbed both my wrists in one hand and began to drag me out of his room.

I rambled, "I'm scared that when this is all over, you're leaving me for good, and I'll never see you again."

He paused, "What...?" I cried, "I want to keep seeing you. I don't want you to shut me out! I need you! So, please don't leave me!"

He saw the tears in my eyes and let go. He pulled me into a sharp hug and whispered sorries in my ear.

He pulled away and wiped the tears away. "I don't need you crying over me."

I bit my lip as the tears kept streaming. Chan grabbed a braid and tucked it behind my ear, "You're such a pretty crier too." I hugged back into his chest.

Chan confessed, "I'm sorry for yelling. Cece is a touchy subject for me. I can't resent her because she's gone now. The only person I can be mad at is myself."

I lifted my head and looked at him, "I'm sorry for bringing it up." He shook his head, "Nah, I'm sorry for getting so angry. Listen, I found out later that her grandma couldn't afford insurance, so she dated me to help out her grandma. Sure, I felt used, but if I were in a situation like that... I'd do even worse to help my grandma."

I consoled him as I patted his back. "You don't have to put yourself in Cece's shoes. She took your hard-earned money. It's still valid to be mad at her even if she was a good person."

He just looked at me and smiled. But it was a smile I hadn't seen from him before. Something raw was behind those eyes.

I asked, "So, last night..." He looked at me, "Yeah, you and Hyunjin had fun?" I explained, "We didn't do anything. He slept on the floor. Hyunjin saw me crying and-"

"Crying? Why were you crying, Y/N?"

My eyes widened, and I quickly looked away. I played with my fingers, "I was so mortified. You rejected me last night." He quirked an eyebrow, "That's not what happened."

"What do you mean? I was there." Chan smiled that cute, dimpled smile as he plopped on the back of the bed. I looked behind me to view his face, "What's funny?"

"Do you know how pretty you are? Like, utterly gorgeous." My face heated up, "What are you talking about?" Chan said, "Last night, I was scared I was being too aggressive. It's been a while since a second party was with me in the bedroom. I forgot how to act."

I climbed on his lap, and his ears turned a dark red. "What if I like it like that? You don't have to have control. Use me like a little toy."

His eyes widened as I felt his dick harden underneath me. "Shit, Y/N." I smiled, "What?"

He grabbed both my hands and slammed me down into a kiss. It was messy and passionate. The sounds were wet as our tongues played in each other's mouths.

His hands traveled to my waist. I moaned in his mouth as he pulled off my shorts.

I pulled away to get the pants down. Chan stared at me and flipped us over. My palm landed on his big chest.

He started kissing my neck, and I wrapped my legs around his waist so I could feel him. His dick was so hard in his jeans. Fuck.

He always looked so good in ripped jeans that ripped at the thigh.

He swiped his thumb over my bud, making me gasp. His mouth sucked on my neck as he played with my pussy through my panties.

I bit my lip to stop myself from getting too loud. Chan's other hand lifted to my face as he forced his thumb inside my mouth. He opened my jaw, and the sound of my moans escaped my throat.

"Ah~ I want you to touch me." He teased, "I am babygirl."

My eyes rolled to the back of my hand as I felt his finger slip into my hole like nothing.

"Shit, Y/N. Why are you so tight?" He took off my shirt sensually. His tongue trailed down my stomach as I sucked in a breath. He looked up at me with that devilish smirk.

"Wait, d-do you ha-ave.... protect-" He shut me up with another finger. I moaned out as his mouth finally made its way to my thighs.

He kissed that part of my inner thigh that made me wet. "Protection? No." He asked as he steadily fingered me, "Why? Do you want protection?"

I shook my head, "If I get pregnant, we have nine months to save the world." He laughed. "You are fucked out."

He added a third finger, and his tongue made contact with my clit.

I gripped his hair as my legs wrapped around his shoulder.

"Mm~" He moaned while eating me out. It triggered vibrations on my clit. I let out an airy sound. An incomplete word. "Fu~"

He sucked harder as his rhythm quickened. My eyes closed as I relaxed. My eyes rolled behind my lids.

"That feels good?" I nodded as I scrunched my nose in pleasure. "Yeah. Cum for me, baby, hm? Cum all over my fingers."

I sighed as my pussy fluttered over his fingers. I felt my knot untie as I came uncontrollably. "Oh~ K-keep going~" He didn't stop moving his fingers in me. My grip on the sheets got stronger as he fucked my hole well with his fingers.

He pulled out as he stared at my gaping hole. "Yeah, you feel good?" I nodded. He pulled down his pants as he climbed on me. "Catch your breath, I'm not done."

He watched me breathe. He stared at the hickeys he left on my neck. I cupped his face and gave him pleading eyes.

I looked down to see his hardened monster cock. It was pale, long, thick, curved up, and the tip was a bright pink. The veins bulged from his hairless balls. I could visually see it pulsating.

I closed my eyes and whispered, "And he's big."

His cute smile contrasted with his rock-hard body. He smiled, "What you say?"

He peppered my face in kisses and said, "You thinking out loud, baby?" I nodded, "The group chat won't believe this shit."

His infectious laugh made me giggle. He asked, "You ready?" I nodded as he pushed himself into me.

His hands slid to my palms as he enveloped his hands into my open palms. My body rocked with his as he pulled out again and thrust.

"Yes," I whispered under my breath. Chan kissed my lips as he thrust into me again at a slow pace. The eye contact was intense as he watched my face.

I again wrapped my legs around him so he went deeper. As I felt him hit my G-spot, my pussy twitched around him.

"Fuck! That feels so good, baby!" Chan was loud in the bedroom. I moaned when he picked up his speed.

He dug his head into my neck as he fucked me fast and deep. "SHit! Shit! Shit! I'm cumming Y/N. Where do you want me?" His voice sounded so desperate in my neck.

"In me."

He fucked me harder, earning him a louder moan as I came with him.

I felt the pool of cum overflowing out. It dripped down my pussy as Chan pulled out.

I bit my lip, feeling the sudden cold rush of his absence.

He cuddled me close, "Don't be embarrassed tomorrow." I turned around to him, "What? why-?" He kissed me into silence.

He pulled me into his chest, and I sat there confused.

"Mm."

Han shouted, "Chan rock your world or what?" Everyone turned to Han, annoyed. Changbin was embarrassed, "We agreed we wouldn't mention it!"

Han shrugged as he drank his caprison.

Hyunjin said, "We heard your cute little moans last night." I said nervously, "Don't call them cute."

Chan's arms wrapped around me, "Yeah, I should probably mention. Y/N's mine."

And he's possessive!!!!

#kpop #stray kids #bang chan #chan x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #bangchan skz #skz imagines #Lee minho #minho #lee know #changbin #seungmin #jeongin #han #Stray kids #smut #x reader #black reader

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shakey-wakey · 2 days ago

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My first socks of 2025! AND my first socks knit with handspun yarn!!!

Pattern is the Circle of the Fae Mushroom socks by Sophie Skinner--heavily modded: i worked them bottom up instead of top-down; only looked at the colorwork charts and didnt follow any pattern instructions; and i altered the leg chart to fit 60 stitches instead of the original 70 (thats where those conjoined mushrooms come from, the og chart doesnt have those)

Only the undyed yarn is handspun, all the colors are scrap/stash yarn, and i think theyre all from knitpicks

Rambling about spinning under the cut

I used knitpicks stroll roving and did an opposing 3-ply zzs. I chose an opposing 3-ply bc in the Spinners Book Of Yarn Design, Sarah Anderson has a couple pages about her Great Sock Experiment, focusing on how different ways of spinning yarn affect how socks wear. On the pages about 3-plies, it seems that her opposing ply held up longer than a traditional 3-ply or a chain ply, and its supposed to add elasticity.

I spun up 84 grams of yarn (some used up for test spins to decide what i wanted to do) and ended up with 260 meters total, with the caveat that i ended up spinning skein 2 a bit thinner than skein 1. It worked up like a fingering weight and i had a little extra once the socks were done, about the amount i would expect if i was working with a commercial fingering weight.

I figure that since i was spinning intentionally pretty high-twist, the yarn is just fairly dense, but the socks are comfy anyways. Theyve surivied the wash already and the yarn bloomed a lot which im glad of- you could kind of see a lot of gaps in the stitches but now its a nice full fabric.

Im very excited to spin more sock yarn! And honestly the wierd gauge/yardage issue is reassuring, bc intellectually i know that i need 70-ish grams of yarn for socks and that the yardage isnt super important, but realistically i was playing yarn chicken at the beginning of knitting these and i didnt even need to be.

+bonus photo. This is apparently the ONLY progress picture i took... and yeah, i whittled those two support spindles myself too😎 thats: handknit socks+handspun yarn+handcarved spindles 😎😎😎 im very proud of myself

#the drop spindle is bc my monkey hands can only spin supported spindles z-wise so i needed it for the s-ply. not pictured is my big chungus #drop spindle which i ply everything with bc its my only spindle that can comfortably hold 50 grams #knitting #sock knitting #spinning #handspinning #whittling #fibre arts #fiber arts

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meadowfics · 9 hours ago

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meet me down on polk street

cho hyun-ju x f!woc!reader

in which you find your girlfriend during a harsh period within society

this will be a series that is based in america during the 1960s. after coming out as a trans woman back in south korea, hyun ju moves far away to california and meets who will be the love of her life.. y/n l/n.

warnings: harsh mentions of transphobia, harsh mentions of homophobia, harsh mentions of racism. there is NO squid game in this au, well at least in the 1960s!! y/n is intended to be a woman of color to fit within the storyline of how her and hyun-ju connect, but anyone can read this!!

next chapter will be linked here

its march 1967.. the air in seoul felt heavy, thick even.

hyun ju had spent years carrying the burden of silence, pressing herself into a mold that never fit. the special forces had demanded discipline, obedience, and above all, unwavering masculinity.

she had learned to march, to fire a rifle, to bark commands with a voice deeper than what felt natural. none of it changed the fact that, beneath the uniform, beneath the rigid posture and sharp salutes, she had always been a woman.

resignation had been the easy part.

telling her parents had been the war, not even close battles with the north side of the peninsula caused her to be this tense.

“why did you leave?” her mother’s voice had been tight, worried. hyun ju had never given them reason to doubt her before. she had always done what was expected. good grades. respectable career.

she had honored the family name.

and now, she had thrown it away.

hyun ju had prepared herself for this conversation for years, whispering the words in the quiet of her barracks, in the mirror of public restrooms where she dared to see her reflection as she truly was.

nothing could have prepared her for the way her father’s face twisted, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the table.

“i left,” she had begun, keeping her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest, “because i am not who you think i am.”

her mother’s brows furrowed.

“what do you mean?”

“i have never been your son,” hyun ju said, carefully, precisely.

“i– i am your daughter.”

silence. the kind that suffocates, that presses against your ribs until it hurts to breathe.

hyun ju’s mother’s lips parted, but no words came out. her father, however, did not hesitate.

“are you sick?” his voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

hyun ju clenched her fists under the table.

“no.”

“this is nonsense,” her mother finally spoke, her voice a whisper, as if even acknowledging hyun ju’s words would bring shame upon their household.

hyun ju had expected confusion. perhaps even denial.

nothing could have prepared her for the disgust in her father’s eyes.

“you are not my daughter,” he spat, rising to his feet so abruptly that the chair scraped against the floor.

“you are delusional. sick in the head.”

hyun ju felt something inside her fracture, a deep, aching wound that she knew would never heal.

“you need help,” her mother said softly, eyes pleading.

help. as if this was something to fix. as if she hadn’t spent her entire life trying to be something she wasn’t.

hyun ju stood. she didn’t argue. didn’t beg them to understand. there was no point.

“i will be leaving,” she said instead, voice hollow.

hyun ju’s mother reached out, as if to stop her, but her father’s glare made her hesitate.

“where will you go?” her mother asked.

hyun ju swallowed.

“somewhere i can be myself.”

she left that night with only a small suitcase and the cash she had saved.

for a week, she stayed in a hotel, staring out the window at a city that had never truly been hers. seoul was home, but it was also a cage. she wandered through familiar streets with unfamiliar freedom, but the loneliness settled into her bones, heavy and unshakable.

the loneliness was suffocating.

hyun ju had spent her entire life feeling like a stranger in her own skin, but now, sitting alone in the dimly lit hotel room, staring at the ceiling, she felt like a stranger in the world itself.

the walls around her were bare, just like the space inside her chest. the bed, stiff and unwelcoming, felt foreign beneath her. no warmth, no familiarity. just a place to rest her body while her mind spiraled into a place she was afraid of.

not even the beds in those cold military barracks felt this hard.

hyun ju needed to leave. she knew this in her bones, just as she had always known who she was. even as she clung to that certainty, another part of her whispered doubts, wrapping around her thoughts like ivy.

was she ready for this?

was she truly prepared to step into the unknown, to carve out a life for herself in a place she had never seen, surrounded by people she had never met?

hyun ju’s parents' rejection had cut deep, deeper than she would ever admit. it wasn’t just their words, but the finality of it. the way her father’s face twisted in disgust, as if the years she had spent as their child had been erased in an instant. the way her mother looked through her instead of at her.

they would not come looking for her.

she had no one left.

how was anyone supposed to love her if her parents did not?

the thought made her stomach twist, nausea creeping up her throat.

she pressed her fingers against her temples, breathing in sharply. she couldn’t let herself break down. not yet.

outside the window, the streets of seoul were alive with movement. people bustled past each other, heading home from work, gathering at food stalls, laughing, talking, living.

she had spent years moving through these streets, blending in, becoming just another face in the crowd.

she had never belonged.

the weight of expectation had pressed down on her shoulders for as long as she could remember. the uniform she had worn in the military had been a costume, a lie draped over her body, suffocating her every time she was called by a name that wasn’t hers.

hyun ju has grown her hair out for the last year. some thought it was just due to not having many barbers in the special forces. no.

the woman took in the fact that her silky hair has finally reached her shoulders. she still wore slacks and a button up that made her feel uncomfortable, but it will due for now.

five days after leaving home.. it was the morning time when she stopped at a newspaper stand.

little did she know, that newspaper stand will guide her in the next direction

the headline caught her eye.

"san francisco: a city of outcasts? the rise of the homosexual community in america.”

she picked up the paper, scanning the article. it was written with thinly veiled disgust, detailing how “deviants” had begun gathering in san francisco, forming their own communities, living openly, unashamed.

hyun ju exhaled sharply. she wasn’t sure if it was relief or fear pounding in her chest.

a place where people like her could exist.

she had heard whispers before, stories of american cities where people defied the rules, where they didn’t have to hide.

san francisco.

it was far. farther than she had ever imagined going. however, it was on the other side of the pacific.

she had enough money to get there, maybe take the ferry to japan and then a plane from there.

hyun ju folded the paper under her arm and walked back to her hotel, her steps lighter than they had been in years.

for the first time in her life, she had a destination.

—

to you, virginia had never felt like home. not really. it had been familiar, yes..predictable, routine. the kind of place where everyone knew everyone’s name, where sunday mornings were spent in church, where girls were raised to become wives, not dreamers.

you had always known you were different.

you grew up knowing the rules, watching your mother press your father’s shirts, hearing your grandmother’s hushed whispers about the girl down the street who had never married, the pity in their voices like a warning. but you never wanted that life.

you never wanted to settle into a house with a husband you barely loved, to push a stroller while you stared longingly at women in ways you weren’t supposed to.

so you had left. gone to college. the first woman in your family to do so.

it was there, in the winding brick paths and ivy-covered buildings of virginia tech, that you met jane.

jane had been everything you had secretly longed for. confident, smart, sharp-tongued in a way that made your stomach flutter. she is the only other woman of color on this side of campus.. besides you.

jane was the kind of girl who smoked cigarettes on dorm balconies, who read poetry with a knowing smirk, who pulled you into late-night conversations about philosophy and literature and the way women in books seemed to glow like something untouchable.

you thought that your relatability with the woman would bring you closer to her.

however, jane had never been for you.

you realized it too late.

the confession had been a mistake.

“i love you, jane,” you had said, your voice small, shaking.

jane had laughed at first. like it was a joke.

then you met her eyes, desperate, pleading. and everything shifted.

jane’s face twisted, disgust flashing across her features so fast that you barely had time to process it.

“you’re a freak.”

the words hit like a slap.

jane took a step back, as if you were something dirty, something unnatural.

“i was not aware that you were a mentally ill lesbian,” she spat, voice dripping with venom.

you couldn’t breathe.

the words echoed. over and over and over.

then everyone knew.

the rumors spread like wildfire. whispers in the halls, lingering stares in the dining hall, notes left on your dorm room door with slurs you couldn’t bring yourself to read.

your parents found out within the week.

the disappointment in their voices was worse than the hatred.

“what did we do wrong?” your mother sobbed into the phone.

your father said nothing at all.

it was over.

there was nothing left for you here.

so you left in the middle of the night, stuffing clothes into a bag, emptying the $1,000 you had saved into your pockets.

you didn’t know where you were going. only that you had to go.

after weeks of hitchhiking.. you ended up in san francisco.

the city felt like something out of a dream. something that you have only heard about through newspapers. loud, sprawling, alive in a way virginia never had been.

you settled into a tiny apartment on the north side of polk street, barely big enough to fit the life you were trying to rebuild.

it wasn’t much. though it was yours.

you found a job…secretary work, nothing glamorous, but enough to keep you afloat.

the days blurred together. work, home, sleep.

but the nights—

the nights were different.

—

tonight, the air is warm, thick with the scent of cigarettes and city life.

you walk down polk street, the heels of your shoes clicking softly against the pavement. you’re tired from the day, your blouse slightly wrinkled, but something in your chest feels lighter than usual.

you’re just two blocks from home when you see them.

a group of men…laughing, smiling, holding hands.

they’re beautiful. some of them are wearing pink, their faces painted with eyeliner and rouge. others are in silk blouses, skirts, heels taller than yours.

they belong to each other.

for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so alone.

you catch the eye of one of them, a boy with soft curls and glitter dusted over his cheekbones. you offer him a small smile, lifting your chin just slightly…subtle, but enough.

a signal.

me too.

he grins, his gaze lingering with a smile just long enough before he turns back to his friends.

you follow their laughter to the front of a bar.

black cat bar.

you stare at the purple neon glowing sign, your fingers twitching at your sides.

you’ve never been inside a place like this.

maybe this is where you were supposed to go next.

maybe this is where you will finally start to feel like yourself.

you take a deep breath, stepping forward toward the line.

little do you know—

there is a woman just a few steps ahead of you, a woman in a dress, her dark hair falling just past her shoulders.

a woman with nervous hands and hopeful eyes.

a woman who has run just as far as you have.

hyun ju.

next part coming very soon

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