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seungminsleftear · 6 months ago

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Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 5470

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years,, Reader is referred to as female and wife,

Trigger Warnings: Infidelity and Betrayal, Emotional and Psychological Trauma, Unresolved Grief and Loss, Intimacy and Relationship Issues, Family Conflict, Self-Worth and Identity Crisis, Anger and Violence, Emotional Isolation, Suicidal Thoughts or Self-Harm, Intimate Relationship Details

Author’s note: I have not watched season 4 and yet I know about Five x Lila… Kms

Spoiler: All you get is, There will be a part 2

Click here for part Two!

I MOVED ACCOUNTS THE REST OF THIS FIC WILL BE PUBLSIHED ON @seungminsbaldspot !!

They had been missing for a few hours now, and the anxiety was beginning to gnaw at your insides. You could only guess that Five and Lila had gotten caught up in a different timeline—something your husband was well-acquainted with doing. You tried not to think the worst. After all, Five was skilled, perhaps the most skilled among you, but the worry persisted like a shadow clinging to your every thought.

He had told you stories about when he was young, disobeying his father, and jumping through time. He saw the apocalypse, lived through it, unable to return to his original time. He would speak of the chaos and destruction, the sense of being unmoored in a fractured world. Then he told you about the moment the Handler found him, plucked him from that desolation, and invited him to join the Commission. And that's when he met you.

And oh, how he hated you.

You were, and still are, the complete opposite of that grumpy old man. You were always precise, a stickler for the rules, never one to color outside the lines. The Handler loved you for it—your discipline, your meticulous attention to detail, your unwavering commitment to the Commission's goals. You were reliable, the perfect agent, the kind who made her job easier.

He, on the other hand, was a wildcard. Reckless and unpredictable, he saw rules as suggestions rather than absolutes. He didn't care about the consequences, not when there were bigger things at stake—things only he could see in the chaos of time. He was a man who thrived in the midst of uncertainty, a constant challenge to your carefully ordered world.

But that was part of what drew you to him, wasn’t it? That contrast. The way he lived life like he was on borrowed time, like every moment was his to seize. You hated how he would disregard protocol, how he’d show up late to missions or disappear altogether, chasing his own ghosts through the folds of history. And yet, there was something about that fearlessness that fascinated you. Something about the way he could stare into the abyss of time and laugh, as if daring it to swallow him whole.

The Handler loved assigning the two of you missions together. You were the perfect team, each of you balancing out the other's weaknesses. She liked to say you were two sides of the same coin—your precision and his improvisation, your strategy and his audacity. Together, you were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.

It wasn't always smooth, of course. He had a way of getting under your skin, pushing your buttons in ways no one else could. He loved to rile you up, to watch that carefully maintained calm of yours crack, just a little. He’d tease you mercilessly, call you names, question your every move. But you never let it show, not in front of the Handler. You knew she was watching, always assessing, always deciding where her next move would take her. And despite your irritation, you couldn't deny that he had a knack for getting results.

And you hated that. Hated that he could bend the rules, defy protocol, and still come out on top. But the more time you spent together, the more you began to understand him, to see the method in his madness. He wasn’t just a reckless fool; he was smart, sharp, and had an uncanny ability to read a situation and turn it to his advantage. There was a reason the Handler kept pairing the two of you up, and it wasn’t just because she enjoyed watching the sparks fly.

You had never thought Five had cared so much about you—not until that one particular mission.

It had been a long day, the kind where the hours blurred together, each minute weighed down with tension and danger. You were both exhausted, having fought your way through the tangled threads of time, dealing with threats at every turn. Endless close calls, contact after contact, each encounter more chaotic and draining than the last. You were used to this kind of work, but that day felt different. Maybe it was the weight of the mission, or maybe it was something else—a premonition, a sense that something was off.

You and Five had been tracking a target across multiple timelines, chasing down a loose end that the Commission desperately needed tied up. The mission had seemed straightforward enough at first, but complications arose as they often did, turning what should have been a simple extraction into a drawn-out battle. After hours of fighting—ducking bullets, dodging blows, and navigating through the chaotic flow of time—you were growing weary. You prided yourself on your precision, your ability to remain sharp under pressure, but even you had your limits.

You weren’t thinking straight. The fatigue was getting to you, and in a moment of distraction, you let your guard down. It was only for a second, but that was all it took. A sharp pain tore through your side, and when you looked down, you saw the knife buried deep in your abdomen. The world seemed to slow around you, a haze of shock and disbelief clouding your vision.

You staggered, clutching the wound, trying to maintain your balance, but the pain was overwhelming. You heard Five shout your name, his voice cutting through the fog of agony. There had been a strange edge to it, a raw urgency that you hadn’t heard before. You had always thought of him as the consummate professional—gruff, detached, always in control. But now, there was something different in his tone—something almost frantic.

He was at your side in an instant, his figure blurring with the speed of his movements as he dispatched the remaining threats with a brutal efficiency that was startling even to you. His face was tight with concentration, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that were usually so unreadable—were filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Fear, maybe? Or was it… concern?

“Stay with me,” he had commanded, dropping to his knees beside you. His hands moved quickly, one pressing against your wound to staunch the bleeding, the other rummaging through his coat pocket for something—bandages, maybe, or some kind of first aid. He was muttering under his breath, a stream of curses and commands, as if he could will you back to health with words alone.

You tried to speak, to tell him you were fine, but your voice came out in a weak, strangled gasp. The pain was spreading, a hot, searing sensation radiating from your abdomen and up through your chest. You could feel yourself slipping, the world around you growing dim and distant. But even through the haze, you could still hear his voice, sharp and insistent, pulling you back.

“Look at me,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. You forced your eyes open, focusing on his face—his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, determined line. “You’re not dying here, got it?”

There had been a fierceness in his voice that surprised you, a kind of raw intensity that you hadn’t heard before. You’d seen him angry, sure, and you’d seen him frustrated plenty of times, but this was different. This was personal. And it was then that you realized: he wasn’t just afraid of losing a colleague. He was afraid of losing you.

“Five,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. You wanted to say something comforting, to let him know you’d be okay, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was reach out, your fingers brushing against his, a silent acknowledgment of his efforts, of his fear, of his care.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, his gaze locked onto yours. “I’m not losing you,” he said again, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve lost too many people already. Not you. Never you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the chaos around you fading into the background. It was just the two of you, caught in this strange, suspended moment, connected in a way that was deeper than words, deeper than time.

He worked quickly, efficiently, binding your wound with a piece of his own shirt, his movements precise and controlled despite the tension radiating from him. You could feel the energy building around you, the familiar sensation of time beginning to warp as he prepared to jump you both back to the Commission. His hands were steady, but there was a tremor in them that betrayed his calm façade.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Just hang on a little longer.”

And then, with a blinding flash of light, the world around you shifted, the familiar pull of the time jump tugging at your very being. The pain in your side flared, a sharp spike of agony that ripped through your consciousness, but you held onto his hand, your grip tightening as you were pulled through the fabric of time.

When you opened your eyes again, you were in the Commission’s infirmary, the sterile white walls and the faint hum of machinery a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind. Five was still there, his hand still holding yours, his face pale but relieved. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his eyes never leaving your face, as if making sure you were really, truly okay.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he muttered after a moment, his voice rough, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me.” Despite the pain, you managed a small smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much,” you replied, your voice weak but teasing.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a softness in his gaze, a kind of tenderness you’d never seen before. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head,” he said gruffly, but you could hear the relief in his voice, the unspoken gratitude that you were still here, still alive.

And in that moment, you knew that things had changed. You’d always been a perfect team, but now, you were something more. You had seen a side of Five you’d never seen before, a vulnerability he’d never shown anyone. And you knew, without a doubt, that he cared about you—deeply, fiercely, in a way that went far beyond mere partnership.

As you lay there, your hand still entwined with his, you felt a strange sense of peace, a quiet understanding passing between you. Whatever happened next, whatever dangers awaited in the tangled web of time, you knew one thing for certain: you wouldn’t face them alone. Not as long as Five was by your side.

Since that day, he had been inseparable from you. At first, you found it strange—his constant presence, the way he seemed to hover just a little too close, always watching, always ready. Five had never been the type to show affection, to offer comfort. He was all sharp edges and quick wit, a perpetual storm in human form. But now, there was a softness to him, a quiet protectiveness that he tried, and mostly failed, to hide. And you no longer minded. In fact, you found it endearing. You came to cherish his closeness, his silent support.

You liked the constant teasing and the bickering that filled your days, a steady rhythm of banter and back-and-forth that felt more like home than any place you had ever been. It was comforting to have someone with whom you felt so... normal, someone who could keep up with you, match your pace, challenge you in ways that no one else could. The loneliness you’d once felt in the vast corridors of the Commission faded away with him by your side, replaced by something you never thought you’d have—companionship. Friendship. Love.

Many years later, during a quiet moment in the middle of another mission, Five finally confessed that he loved you. It wasn’t a grand declaration, nothing like the romantic stories you’d heard growing up. It was simple, almost matter-of-fact, the way he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had been stitching up a wound on his arm, your fingers deft and practiced, when he suddenly blurted it out.

“I love you,” he had said, his voice gruff but sincere, his eyes not meeting yours. For a moment, you thought you had misheard him. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, his expression more open and vulnerable than you’d ever seen. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he added, softer this time, as if testing the words.

Your heart had skipped a beat, and you found yourself smiling, a real, genuine smile that you hadn’t felt in years. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was the truth, the simplest and most profound truth you had ever known.

Not long after, he asked you to marry him. It was as unceremonious as his confession of love, almost awkward in its delivery. You were in the middle of cleaning your weapons, preparing for yet another jump, when he looked over at you, his brow furrowed in that familiar way of his. “We should get married,” he said, as if he was suggesting you grab a cup of coffee.

You blinked, taken aback by his suddenness, but then you laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that felt good, felt right. “Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “Of course, yes.” There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. The life you’d built together, the bond you shared—it was more than enough.

The two of you quietly eloped, keeping your marriage a secret from the Commission. It wasn’t their business, after all. They didn’t need to know about the life you were building together, the small moments of happiness you stole between missions, the way you found comfort in each other’s presence amid the chaos of time. You had your little secrets, your private world carved out of the madness, and you intended to keep it that way.

And when Five decided he needed to go back to his family, “The Umbrella Academy,” you didn’t hesitate. You went right along with him, standing by his side as you always had. You knew how much he had sacrificed, how much he still carried with him—the weight of his past, the ghosts of his mistakes. But you also knew that he had found a new purpose, a reason to keep fighting, to keep moving forward. And wherever he went, you would follow.

And with that, you find yourself back into the present. You’re pacing around the room. Every minute feels like an hour, and every second that ticks by without a word from Five or Lila makes your heart pound harder in your chest. The silence is broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation or the soft shuffling of footsteps.

Then, suddenly, the air around you seems to shift. A low hum fills the room, and the familiar tingling sensation of a temporal disturbance ripples through you. Everyone turns toward the source, eyes wide with a mix of hope and apprehension.

A flash of blue light erupts in the center of the room, and for a moment, it’s blinding. You shield your eyes, your heart leaping into your throat. When the light fades, you blink, trying to clear your vision, and then you see them—Five and Lila—standing there, slightly disheveled but very much alive.

The two of them share small, strained smiles, a strange new tension between them that wasn't there before. Diego rushes at Lila, hugging her tightly, his strong arms pulling her close. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispers, his voice breaking, betraying the tough exterior he usually maintains. Lila laughs softly, but it sounds different—almost forced—as she returns the embrace, her eyes darting briefly to Five.

Five stands apart, his expression carefully neutral, he struggles to make eye contact with anyone — especially you. He scans the room as if searching for a distraction, his posture stiff, his hands clenched at his sides. "Good to see you're all still in one piece," he mutters, his tone flat. When his gaze accidentally meets Lila's, he quickly looks away, as if the sight of her is too much to bear.

You smile at Five, offering a small nod. You both aren’t much for public attention, and you hoped a subtle acknowledgment would be enough to connect, to let him know you’re there. But Five never meets your eyes. His gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrowed brow. What’s your deal, Five?

You feel a knot of worry tighten in your stomach. Something is off with Five, more than usual. You’ve known him long enough to recognize when he’s hiding something, but this is different. It’s like he’s shut down entirely, locking everyone out—including you.

The others, caught up in their own reunions, don’t seem to notice the tension radiating from Five and Lila. Diego pulls back from Lila, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. “What happened to you two?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the subtle changes in their appearances—the slightly haunted look in their eyes, the way they seem older somehow. “You’ve only been gone for like 4 hours”

Lila’s smile is tight, almost brittle. “Feels like a lifetime,” she says with a small, hollow laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. Her gaze drifts back to Five, and for a moment, there's something almost like longing—or maybe regret.

Five flinches at her words, just barely, but enough that you notice. He looks down, his jaw clenching. “Doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, cutting off any further questions. “We’re back now. That’s all that matters.” But his voice wavers slightly, betraying a crack in his composure.

You step forward, unable to keep the concern from your voice. “Five…what happened?” you ask softly, hoping to reach him, to break through whatever wall he’s put up.

He finally looks at you, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that makes your heart sink. “Drop it,” he snaps, a sharp edge to his tone that makes everyone else in the room go quiet. The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable, the unspoken tension between him and Lila now impossible to ignore.

Lila clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, maybe we should all just… take a breather,” she suggests, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s a nervousness in her voice that makes it clear she’s not as relaxed as she’s pretending to be. She glances at Five again, and you see it now—how her eyes linger on him just a moment too long, and how his jaw tightens in response, his expression guarded.

Diego, picking up on the strange atmosphere but not fully understanding it, frowns. “Did something happen between you two?” he presses, his eyes narrowing as he looks between Five and Lila. His gaze drops to Lila’s wrist, and his eyes widen slightly. “You hate wearing bracelets,” he points out, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Lila instinctively pulls her wrist closer to her side, but not before Diego catches sight of the handmade leather bracelet. “No, I like them,,” she says but her voice lacks conviction. Diego shakes his head, his frown deepening. “Yeah, you do. You traded the one I gave you for a vacuum, remember?” His voice is heavy with accusation, his eyes now fixed on the bracelet. “Where’d you get that one?”

Diego’s eyes narrow even more, his gaze shifting to Five. "Did you make that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. The question hangs heavy in the air, charged with accusation and disbelief.

Five’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he glances at Lila, then back at Diego. His jaw is set, his posture rigid. “I sure as hell didn’t make that bracelet for you,” he replies coldly, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. There’s a finality in his tone, a hint of something unresolved but unapologetic.

Your breath catches in your chest, a painful tightness forming there. He made it… For her…? The thought is like a dagger, twisting in your gut. You blink, trying to process the revelation, the reality of it sinking in like a stone. A handmade bracelet—something so personal, so intimate.

You glance at Five, but he’s not looking at you. His gaze remains locked on Diego, unwavering, as if bracing for whatever comes next. A storm of emotions swirls inside you—betrayal, hurt, confusion. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in, the air thick and suffocating.

Diego’s gaze shifts from Lila to Five, and you can see the pieces slowly clicking into place for him. His face hardens with a mix of realization and fury. “Did you screw my wife?” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The words explode into the room like a bomb, the air suddenly charged with tension.

Five’s eyes remain steady on Diego, his face an unreadable mask. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but Diego’s not interested in hearing it. His fists are clenched at his sides, his entire body radiating a barely restrained fury.

“You did, didn’t you?” Diego’s voice rises, each word heavy with the weight of betrayal. "All this time, and you—you were cheating on me?” His accusation shifts to Lila, his eyes burning with hurt and anger.

Lila quickly steps between them, placing a hand on each of their chests as if trying to physically push them apart. “Guys, let’s not do this right now,” she urges, her voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. “This isn’t the time or place.”

You stand frozen, disbelief washing over you. Your mind reels at the weight of Diego’s words. Cheating? The idea feels like a punch to the gut. You’ve spent countless years with Five, fought battles by his side, faced the end of the world more than once. And he gives it all up—for what? For his brother’s wife, over the course of seven years in another timeline?

Your breath catches, a sharp pain blooming in your chest. You try to swallow it down, but it’s too much, too fast. The reality of what you’re hearing—of what Five has done—feels like a betrayal deeper than anything you’ve faced together. The walls seem to close in around you, the weight of the revelation pressing down on your shoulders, threatening to crush you.

You look at Five, searching his face for some sign of denial, of regret—anything that might soften the blow of this new reality. But he’s still staring at Diego, his expression unyielding, almost defiant. His jaw is set, his eyes cold and distant. There’s no apology there, no remorse—just a cold, hard acceptance of what’s been done, of what can’t be undone. The sight of his indifference twists the knife deeper into your heart.

You feel your chest tighten, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Your hands are trembling, fingers curling into fists at your sides as you fight to keep yourself together. You want to scream, to cry, to lash out and demand answers. But you know it won’t change anything. The damage is done, and the betrayal runs too deep. You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.

You shake your head, unable to look at Five any longer. The pain is too raw, too intense, and being in the same room with him feels unbearable. You can’t handle this—not now, not like this. The walls are closing in, the air thick and suffocating. Your heart is pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what’s been shattered between you.

Without another word, you turn on your heel and leave the room, your steps quick and unsteady. You feel the eyes of the others on you as you push past them, but you don’t care. You can’t stay here—not in this room, not with them. Not with him. The hallway stretches out before you like a lifeline, and you move toward it, your movements frantic and desperate, as if putting distance between you and Five might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

You stumble into the hallway, your vision blurred by unshed tears. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you need to get away. Away from the pain, away from the betrayal, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Your feet carry you down the corridor, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you fight to hold back the sobs threatening to break free.

You finally reach an empty room, but as you reach for the door, you realize with a jolt that it's the one you and Five share. The one where you slept beside him last night, completely unaware of the storm that was about to hit. The memories of your shared moments—whispered conversations, late-night confessions, stolen kisses—flood back, now tainted with a sense of betrayal and loss. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the doorknob, but then you push it open and slip inside, closing it behind you.

The moment the door clicks shut, you collapse against it, your legs giving out beneath you. You sink to the floor, your back pressed against the wood, and the tears finally come. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks, and a broken sob escapes your lips. The room is quiet, painfully so, and the sound of your cries seems to fill every corner, bouncing off the walls and echoing back to you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold the pieces of yourself together, but it’s no use. The dam has broken, and the flood of emotion is too strong to contain. You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You cry for the loss of trust, for the betrayal, for the love you thought was unbreakable. You cry for everything you’ve lost and everything you can never get back.

The bed looms in the corner of your vision, a cruel reminder of the intimacy you once shared with Five. It’s still unmade from this morning, the sheets tangled from where you both slept. You remember the warmth of his body beside you, the way his hand would always find yours in the dark. The way he would hold you when you were scared, whispering promises of forever. Promises that now feel like lies.

You lift your head, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You look around the room, and all you can see are the remnants of a life that no longer feels like yours. The books on the nightstand that you read together, the photos on the wall of happier times—all of it feels like a cruel joke, mocking the trust you placed in him. The room, once a sanctuary, now feels like a prison, filled with ghosts of a past that will never return.

As the tears flow, you realize something with a cold, hard clarity that cuts through the haze of your grief—nothing will ever be the same again. Not between you and Five, not between any of you. The damage is done, and there’s no going back. You feel a hollowness settle in your chest, a void where your love for him once lived. You wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again, or if this betrayal has shattered you beyond repair.

It’s been a few days since the cheaters blinked back to your timeline. Each day has dragged on, an endless cycle of numbness and pain. The initial wave of tears has subsided, replaced by a slow-burning anger that simmers just below the surface. How could he? How could she? The questions run through your mind on a loop, feeding the fire that burns inside you.

You try to go about your daily routine, but everything feels off, wrong. The house feels different—colder, emptier. The others tiptoe around you, unsure of what to say, how to act. They’ve seen the hurt in your eyes, the way you flinch whenever Five enters the room. They’ve heard the way your voice trembles when you speak, how your words are laced with a bitterness you can’t seem to shake.

And then there’s Five. He moves around the house like a ghost, his presence a constant reminder of the betrayal. He tries to talk to you, but you can’t bear to look at him, let alone hear what he has to say. His words mean nothing now; they’re empty, hollow, like the promises he once made. You’ve built walls around yourself, high and impenetrable, to keep him out—to protect what little remains of your heart.

Your anger grows each day, festering like an open wound. It fuels you, giving you strength when the pain becomes too much to bear. It’s the only thing that keeps you going, that stops you from collapsing under the weight of it all. You cling to it, because without it, all you’re left with is the emptiness, the loss, the heartbreak.

We have been married for years, you think bitterly, and yet we never even once slept together, let alone him see me naked. How in the hell could he have fucked Lila over the span of seven years? The thought is a searing ache, cutting through the numbness that has settled over you. He always said we were too busy for such nonsense.

The double standard gnaws at you, a relentless, cruel irony. All those times he claimed there was no time for intimacy, no room for such personal moments because of their dangerous, high-stakes missions. And now you have to grapple with the fact that he found time for Lila—time to build a relationship, to share moments that were supposed to be sacred between the two of you. It feels like a betrayal of not just your love but the very essence of your marriage.

You remember the conversations where he would dismiss your need for closeness, brushing it aside with promises of better times to come. “We’re too busy,” he’d said, “We have a world to save.” Yet here was the proof that when it came to Lila, the rules were different. The lies, the excuses, all of it crashes down on you, leaving you gasping for breath.

The anger is raw, a jagged edge that you can’t seem to smooth over. It’s not just about what Five did; it’s about the betrayal of trust, the violation of promises made. The fact that he could share himself so completely with someone else, while withholding even the smallest gestures of intimacy from you, cuts deeper than any physical wound could.

You pace the empty room, the anger simmering, demanding an outlet. It’s a fire that consumes everything in its path, burning through your hope, your trust, your love. And it leaves behind a desolate landscape, a place where you’re forced to confront the stark reality of what’s been done.

How could he justify this? you wonder. How could he reconcile the intimacy he shared with Lila while claiming there was no time for us?

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frudoo · 7 months ago

Note

The 141!slasher au has me cackling. Reader lowkey being like "well, if the dick is good"

Imagining reader being taken in to be questioned by the cops for something unrelated to the boys killing. Maybe she witnessed a crime, or maybe someone else got assaulted by the guy who grabbed her. Would the guys be suspicious? Do they have a "get picked up by the cops" protocol, or do they believe there's no chance of ever getting caught? (Does reader already have a "don't talk to the fucking cops without a lawyer [ACAB!]" mindset that helped Johnny be confident in telling her the truth?)

Does reader ever help with kills? Ngl kind of seeing reader work at a children's hospital or as a social worker and taking note of ppl she knows are abusive and being like hey...Simon...<3...did u need ideas of who to kill next...

Anyway thank you for letting me share my thoughts:)

We love a reader who has her priorities straight ;)

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/trauma.

Deep breaths. It has nothing to do with you or your boys.

The blinds are shut and there’s a weird buzzing noise coming from somewhere inside the room. Across from you sits a social worker and a detective, and your leg bounces anxiously.

It’s mandatory. You’re helping a child and his mom out of a bad situation.

You’d suspected something was wrong the first time Oliver was brought to your class with a couple of bruises on his leg. You had immediately written your observations down on his sheet and reported it to your bosses, but they brushed it off. Little boys are clumsy, after all, especially when they’ve just recently learned to start walking. The next couple of weeks, the toddler showed up unscathed and happy.

This morning, however, his mother dropped him off with a black eye and scratches all over his torso. You could see cuts of her own beneath the makeup she’d been crying off. You’d paged your bosses to come to your classroom immediately, and this time, they took it seriously. You weren’t thrilled that the police had to be involved, but you understood that it was necessary in saving this sweet family. You answered all of their questions honestly—neither saying too little nor too much.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am. You’re dismissed,” the detective gives you a solemn smile and rises from her seat, opening the door to allow you out.

You clutch your purse tightly as you walk through the precinct, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. You’re no stranger to facilities like these. Much of your childhood was spent sitting beside your father at his desk, acting like a good little girl, coloring on blank sheets of paper and pretending that daddy wasn’t such a monster. At work, he was a hero who citizens and coworkers alike depended on to keep them safe and happy. At home, he was a tyrant, taking every opportunity he could to use you and your mother as a punching bag.

As a child, you’re taught to depend on all the people who are meant to care for you—family members, the police—those whose first priority should be to protect. You should have been able to trust your father. You should have been able to run to him whenever you scraped your knee or got bullied at school, but instead, he was often the one causing you harm. Your mother got sick of the abuse and left when you were five but didn’t bother taking you with her, so he was all you had. He intimidated you into silence, but even if you had reported him, who would have believed the troubled young daughter of such a dependable officer? You learned too quickly, too young, that it would always be their word over yours.

When you first became a daycare teacher, you didn’t expect to see yourself in so many of the children you either cared for or saw in passing. It broke your heart every time you saw a toddler with a limp or an older child who still wet themselves at naptime, because you knew what they were feeling. You knew the despair they felt in every step they took, the fear they felt every time someone came to pick them up and take them right back to their broken home. The very day you started is the same day you decided you had to stay there, to be some kind of light in the darkness too many of these children should have been too young to ever know.

You have an unspecified amount of time off—your bosses decided that there was too much of a risk that Oliver’s dad might show up and try to start shit with you for reporting him. There’s still a lot of investigating that the police and child services have to do, and as of right now, the scumbag’s whereabouts are unknown. It’s nerve-wracking to leave your babies even despite knowing they’re in good hands. You’ll have to make sure and call in every day to check on them.

It’s about an hour drive back to the farm, and you spend every minute dreading the reunion with your lovers. None of them know about the situation, and you’re not exactly thrilled to catch them up to speed. Still, you owe it to them to be honest. God forbid they find out about it somewhere else and start believing some warped version of the truth. Just the mere idea of them distrusting you makes a sour feeling rise in your gut.

Kyle is working in the garden when you arrive, a wide smile on his face as he waves to greet you. The grin you send his way isn’t quite so excited, and immediately he knows something is up. If he was a bloodhound, you’d be sure he could smell the unrest in the air. The slam of your car door alerts the other three men of your presence, and they all line up by the front door curiously. Your heart is racing as you walk inside, motioning for them all to join you in the living room.

You sit in the recliner with your hands folded in your lap, nervously eyeing each of your husbands. The fear that they might hate you because of what happened gnaws at the front of your brain, chewing until it aches. You’re not even sure if you could blame them—after all, they had a good thing going before they met you. One wrong move and the cog in the machine gets tossed aside like trash.

“Speak, lovie,” Simon grunts impatiently, syrupy brown eyes scanning over your face, watching, analyzing.

“There was an incident at the daycare today,” you begin. “Child services had to get involved, and I was called to the police station to explain my side of things.”

You’re shaking like a leaf, unable to look at any of them. The tension in the room is so thick that John could probably cut through it with his machete. Not one of them has so much as blinked, each waiting on another to say or do something first. You do.

“It had nothing to do with any of you, I swear. I’m off work for a few days while the whole thing gets settled. I can’t say much about the case, just that… there was an abusive father involved. They haven’t found him yet, and they’re exercising the idea that I might be a target for reporting him.”

“Fuck,” Kyle mutters exasperatedly, rubbing his hands over his face as Johnny wraps an arm around his shoulder.

You finally gather the courage to lift your head, and to your surprise, there is no fury or hatred in any of their expressions. At least, not directed at you. They look more like they’re waiting for an order, leaning forward in their seats like attack dogs ready to pounce. Suddenly it’s clear to you—they may have been an item before you entered the picture, but once you joined them, you became their commander, one that they’ll remain loyal to until the day they die.

“I have a proposition,” you whisper, looking directly at John.

“Give us a name, sweetheart.”

#ask me!#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #141 x reader #tf141 x reader #slasher!141 #slasher!141 x reader

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gorillawithautism · 18 days ago

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A little over a year ago, on February 3rd 2024, Clark Joseph Harman was murdered. He was 12 years old. Not even 24 hours prior, He had been legally kidnapped by two men from a "transport" or "escort" company that had been hired by his parents. He was brought to Trails Carolina, a "wilderness program" and part of the troubled teen industry. The act of being legally kidnapped in this manner is often called getting "gooned" in survivor communities.

Before I properly start, I have a note: I learned of his name because someone in the r/troubledteens subreddit found it not long after I heard of his case. I did not learn his name because it was consensually released by his family. As such, I will use only his initials (CJH) throughout the rest of this post. I decided to head the post with his name because I think it's important that people know it. It was not consensually released, and that should be respected, but he was still a whole person. He was a twelve year old boy with a name and a family and so much life left to live. All of you should witness what was taken from him.

The medical examiner's preliminary report states that after CJH was gooned, he went through a check-in to process him into the program. He was uncooperative at first, demanding a phone call with his parents, but was able to cooperate after talking to them. He was placed on a 1-1 with a staff member who was with him at all times. The staff member says CJH chose not to eat dinner. Then they went to bed. According to Trails' protocol, he was to sleep on the floor of the cabin with a staff member sleeping beside him. His set up was a thin mattress with a thick plastic sheet folded into a canoe-like shape and set on top of the mattress. Above that, a sleeping bag inside a bivy with a zipper alarm that would go off if he tried to leave his tent. CJH slept but he was restless and mumbling. He had a (staff-permitted) moment outside his tent around 11pm but then goes back to "bed." Around midnight, he is restless and mumbling in his sleep once again, and he begins thrashing. It eventually subsided. Routine checks were performed by staff, but the bivy being opaque meant that they did not actually see CJH. I will note that this detail was against protocol. Normally, the bivy has a mesh interior door and the staff would have been able to see CJH in their routine checks. However, the mesh door on the tent they used that night was broken, so they used the weather resistant outer door instead. Despite these routine checks by staff, the thrashing at midnight is the last noted incident until morning.

And yet morning comes, and a little boy is dead. Staff find him in his tent lying on his right side with his feet at the head of the bivy and his head at the tapered end of it. He is cold and unresponsive. 911 is called, CPR is unsuccessful and a little boy is dead. A little boy is dead and they don't notice until morning. A little boy was kidnapped and now he's dead. A little boy was in the troubled teen industry for less than 24 hours and he's dead because of it. He will never get out of the industry and he will never leave that wilderness program and he will never heal from the trauma he was forced to endure because he's dead. They killed him. The program killed him, the staff killed him, our government killed him, those goons killed him, his parents killed him, you killed him. A little boy is dead, and an uncountable number of people are at fault.

There's an extent to which his parents are victims too. They lost their son because of an awful choice they made. And while I don't know these people personally, I do know enough about how this industry works to know it's highly likely that they believed in what they were doing. Everything they did was legal, and everything they did was advertised to them as something that would help their child who they didn't know how to care for. I'm not saying it was a good decision, but I know how predatory this industry is. A parent who doesn't know where to turn, a child who clearly needs help, and suddenly a web page. Or a hired educational consultant. Or another parent. Or a pamphlet. Something or someone that tells them "There are schools and programs for children like yours. There are options for parents like you." They say "Send your kid to Trails Carolina. It's like a summer camp for kids who need help." According to several cult researchers, the troubled teen industry is much like a cult. The parents are often people who genuinely care about their kids and truly believe this will help. The cult drew them in as cults do. CJH was killed by his parents and their choice to send him to trails. CJH was killed by his parents, and that cannot be changed. They will always have to carry that responsibility, and I cannot stress enough how it was their fault and they do have a part in this. But if I let a single person come away from this with the impression that they are entirely or even mostly to blame for their child's death, I will have failed to communicate just what this industry is and what it does to children and their families.

The system at large is what's at fault. The program itself, Trails Carolina, has killed kids before (Alec Lansing, 17, died of hypothermia after being injured while attempting to run away from the program, Trails Carolina, November 23rd 2014). Other programs have killed kids before, both recently (Cornelius Frederick, 16, killed in physical restraint, lakeside academy, May 1st 2020) and further in the past (Phillip Williams Jr., 15, official cause of death was a "brain aneurysm" but this was determined with no proper investigation and he had been severely beaten in some sort of "therapeutic boxing ring" before his death, Elan School, December 27th 1982). These programs are not made to help us. They are made to fix us. And in practice, all they do is kill us and traumatize us. They manipulate, they brainwash, they abuse, they hurt, they kill. All of them do. Even the ones that supposedly don't utilize physical restraint methods. Even the ones where staff don't sexually or physically assault the kids in their custody. Even the most tame and least violent of programs. Even the ones that don't interrupt our academics, even the ones that don't drug us with excessively or incorrectly prescribed medication, even the ones in tourist hotspots like hawaii, even the ones where a kid can work with horses or dogs or rabbits. They all abuse us. All of them.

And it's legal. It's all legal. Even our deaths are legal. Trails Carolina was forced to shut down after CJH's murder, but other programs still exist and the DA chose not to press charges. Let me say that again. The District Attorney. Chose not to press charges. For manslaughter.

On November 6th 2024, District Attorney Andrew Murray issued a press release where he stated that while CJH's case was "heartbreaking" and "tragic," that it "did not involve criminal intent or recklessness sufficient to warrant criminal charges for involuntary manslaughter under the law." The carelessness of having CJH sleep in an opaque tent where the staff could not get sights on him during their routine checks was not enough. Letting him to sleep in a tent where such suffocation was even possible in the first place was not enough. Having an alarm on the door so he would be unable to get out without consequences was not enough. Forcing him to sleep in this tent despite the fact that he was both "audibly and physically upset" about this sleeping arrangement was not enough. A dead child was not enough. And it will not be enough so long as these programs exist. Everyone that put him in that situation and everyone who allowed it to go without any sort of legal charges or reform is at fault for this child's death.

And that includes you. Every single one of you who is not a victim or survivor of the troubled teen industry. All of you who watch these children die and say nothing. All of you who force survivors and victims to trigger themselves over and over again in an attempt to speak up against the system that hurt us. All of you who don't listen. All of you who listen once and then let yourself forget about us. Every single one of you.

A child is dead, and more will die. And it feels like TTI survivors and victims are the only ones who care. How many of us will die because of you?

#swingset #sws tti #ask to tag #sources are in replies

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forsworned · 9 months ago

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It’s said canonically that simon riley has trauma around intimacy from torture 😔 If you feel comfortable writing it, can I please ask for a short fic of an Afab reader body worshipping/lovingly pleasuring Simon after they both work through his trauma and he’s getting all soft and emotional and babbling about how good reader is making him feel and how much he loves them and can’t believe someone cares about him this much? I always liked the idea of Simon being portrayed as vulnerable and soft and not this dom sex god a lot of people portray him to be. I really love your work and would love to see your take on this request :)

Soft ft. Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Author's Note: So I do recall someone making a post about this and I have to say I do not agree with everything. Men definitely process trauma, specifically sexual trauma a lot differently than women do. While women experience guilt, men experience anger. And maybe it's not all men who experience it that way, but after reading the comic and making my own assessment, I can say that Simon does have lingering anger. Of course, he is hell-bent on avenging his dead family, but all that pent-up energy could be going toward trying to even the score. He is pretty level-headed and able to compartmentalize. He has support from his comrades as well as undergoes mandatory rigorous mental health assessments because that's military protocol. He needs to be able to perform his duties on the field without putting himself or others at risk. He also most certainly gets mandatory counseling. Although he may be reluctant, his superiors are very much aware of the possible impact that it has on his mental health. So all that to say that Simon is not without help. He is not as "damaged" as people may perceive him to be. He's not a broken individual. As seen in the remastered MW's, albeit reluctant he can clearly put his trust in others. He develops relationships with the people who he works closely with meaning he is capable of change. SIGH. I just wish people would break this down a little more, but I do get what you're saying. His masculinity, trust issues, and the type of secret operations he goes on can lessen the effectiveness of the therapy. He's definitely a very complex character with layers to him, but I just don't think he's as weak as you may think he is. It's also important to note that it hasn't been confirmed that this current Simon went through the same thing. He could have a completely different background. Honestly, Activision is so fucking inconsistent but ANYWAYSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I hope you enjoy this. Also if you read this all the way through, I applaud you. But thank you for enjoying my work, I didn't mean to critique you and your request, but I just couldn't let it slide LOL

Warnings: PnV sex, AFAB!Reader, Some Canon Simon Lore, Sexual Content, Mentions of Sexual Trauma

"Si—Simon..."

You sigh out in pleasure with every roll of your hips as you grind down on him. Your clit grazes against his lower abdomen, and his cock stretches you out pliant. Fingers dig into his shoulders, marking half crescents into his pale, scarred skin. But something feels off.

His hands loosen their grip on your hips, and upon opening your eyes you find him his half-lidded gaze distant in a familiar haze. He isn't present.

"Simon." You halt the rutting of your hips, cupping his stubbly cheeks. "Are you alright?"

His onyx hues fixate on you. He is clearly readjusting his withdrawn eyes to refocus on you. You didn't want to say it yet, but you had felt him go a little soft a few seconds prior. "We can stop."

"No, no." His fingers squeeze your middle as he sits up a bit. You shake your head, but he's not letting up. "Why stop?"

You firmly grasp his face and his blonde lashes flutter up at you with a seemingly unreadable expression, but you're no stranger to Simon's detachment. Although he loathes to admit it, it happens. The relearning of being intimate is tumultuous for him.

"Because you're not mentally here, my love."

He frowns. "But I want y'to finish."

You exhale sharply. He doesn't even deny it. "No, Simon. I'd feel disgusted with myself if I finished while you weren't here with me."

He struggles to reply. In all honesty, he doesn't know what to say. It's not exactly a common occurrence, but he's not too keen on having a conversation about it. You never pry though. His therapy sessions are his own, unless, of course, you join him if he so desires.

Couples counseling is mandatory. A rule you established when you first decided to tie the knot. If you had problems that were beyond just a sit-down talk, a professional would have to intervene. And Simon agreed. No fuss, no muss. To preserve the sacredness of your relationship, he'd do anything.

He sighs. "'m sorry, dovie." He caresses your sides, feeling the gooseberries on your skin rise. A small smile adorns his lips and you giggle at his smugness.

"Stop it." You begin to get off of him, but Simon holds you firmly. You feel his dick harden inside of you, now kissing your cervix. A little gasp escapes your chest as you readjust yourself.

"Y'like tha'?" Simon's grinning now. It's his confidence gleaming through the abysmal darkness of his mind. The life in his eyes feels revitalized, and you now feel his vigor—literally.

"Yes, but..."

"'m here, love." He reaffirms, squeezing your waist again. "'m here. Please, 'm achin' for you."

He groans a bit and bucks his hips when he feels you pulsate around him. You return your own moan, leaning forward but his fingers thread through your hair and he brings you into a sloppy, heated kiss. His hips thrust into you slowly and deeply, earning a guttural moan from him.

For a moment as you withdrew from the kiss, your gazes meet and Simon's eyes soften and become glossy with tears that brim over his oculars and spill over the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, baby." You coo, holding him close as you kiss his face. His sadness is silent, yet palpable. You're now babbling sweet, sweet words to him as you pepper him with kisses, and Simon holds you as if you're going to slip away. You gently guide him through the double inhale technique you learned from your therapist, and with the sweetness of your voice, the kindness in your eyes, and the tenderness of your touch, he feels at ease.

"I dunno how y'put up with me."

You grin, kissing the corner of his lip. "It ain't easy."

"Oh?" He flips you over on your back, pressing you firmly against the mattress and you giggle into the nape of his neck. "Wanna say that again, love?"

You thread your fingers through his sandy blonde hair and kiss the tip of his nose. "You're not hard to love, Simon."

His eyes soften once more and he kisses you deeply. Simon has never cherished anyone more in his life. You were always so patient and kind from the jump. You were truly the "greater woman" behind the "great man".

He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes as you gently card your fingers in his hair.

"Thank you, lovie."

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healixhospitals24 · 7 months ago

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Emergency Response Protocols: How Healix Hospitals Manages Trauma Cases

In the critical moments following a traumatic injury, the speed and efficiency of medical intervention can make the difference between life and death. At Healix Hospitals, we pride ourselves on our robust Emergency Response Protocols designed to provide swift, effective care to trauma patients. Our meticulously crafted protocols encompass every aspect of trauma management, from the initial emergency call to comprehensive post-trauma care. This holistic approach ensures that patients receive the highest standard of care when they need it most.

Understanding Emergency Response Protocols

Emergency Response Protocols are a set of standardized procedures and actions taken by medical professionals to manage emergency situations. These protocols are essential for trauma case handling, ensuring that every patient receives timely and appropriate care. At Healix Hospitals, our emergency medical protocols are continuously refined to incorporate the latest advancements in medical science and best practices in emergency healthcare services.

The Importance of Rapid Response in Trauma Management

Time is a critical factor in trauma management. The faster a patient receives immediate medical intervention, the better their chances of survival and recovery. Our rapid response strategies are designed to minimize the time between the occurrence of trauma and the delivery of definitive care. This involves a coordinated effort between emergency medical services, our emergency trauma team, and the hospital's emergency department procedures.

Key Components of Emergency Response Protocols at Healix Hospitals

1. Immediate Medical Intervention

The first step in our Emergency Response Protocols is to ensure that patients receive immediate medical intervention. This begins with the emergency call, where trained dispatchers provide critical instructions to bystanders and coordinate the arrival of emergency medical services. Our EMS teams are equipped with advanced life-saving equipment and trained in critical care procedures to stabilize patients en route to the hospital.

2. Trauma Care Protocols

Upon arrival at Healix Hospitals, patients are quickly assessed and triaged according to our trauma care protocols. This involves a rapid evaluation of the patient’s condition to determine the severity of their injuries and the appropriate course of action. Our emergency trauma team is ready 24/7 to provide life-saving protocols and initiate necessary interventions immediately.

3. Emergency Department Procedures

Our emergency department procedures are designed to facilitate efficient trauma patient management. This includes:

Rapid Triage: A swift assessment process to prioritize patients based on the urgency of their conditions.

Advanced Diagnostics: Immediate access to diagnostic tools such as CT scans, X-rays, and ultrasound to accurately diagnose injuries.

Specialized Care Teams: Availability of specialized care teams, including surgeons, orthopedic specialists, and neurosurgeons, to provide targeted treatment.

4. Crisis Response and Management

Crisis response is a vital component of our Emergency Response Protocols. In situations involving multiple casualties or complex trauma cases, our protocols ensure a structured and coordinated response. This includes:

Mass Casualty Protocols: Procedures to manage large-scale emergencies effectively.

Crisis Management Teams: Dedicated teams trained to handle high-pressure scenarios and ensure that resources are allocated efficiently.

Communication Systems: Robust communication systems to coordinate between different departments and external emergency services.

Continue Reading: https://www.healixhospitals.com/blogs/emergency-response-protocols:-how-healix-hospitals-manages-trauma-cases

#Emergency Response Protocols #Trauma management #Emergency medical protocols #Critical care procedures #Trauma case handling #Emergency medical services #Rapid response strategies #Trauma care protocols #Emergency department procedures #Crisis response #Immediate medical intervention #Trauma patient management #Emergency healthcare services #Life-saving protocols #Emergency trauma team #Hospital emergency procedures

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shun-ie · 19 days ago

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₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝ the past, the present, and the future (rhys larsen)

content : longest fanfic yet, rhys larsen, differentpath!au, amab!reader, slowburn, sexual awakening?, strangers to acquaintances to friends to lovers, mentions of trauma/ptsd, healing the inner child, ooc-ish rhys, unprotected sex, slight mention of fingering, bttm!malereader, ceo!reader, mentions of kinks, lmk if i missed anything :))

shun-note : rhys larsen is not my oc. he belongs to ana huang, the author of twisted games. i also noticed that there weren't a lot of twisted series fics (or there's none at all), so i made one. missing some details, but i wanted to post this already so it doesn't rot in my drafts lol

[not proofread]

m.list !

cold hearted. that's what rhys larsen first thought of y/n l/n, the ceo of l/n conglomerate. after being the bodyguard for bridget von ascheberg, the crown princess of eldorra, he took up another commission to drown away the ache that was left when he parted from the woman he spent his two years protecting.

y/n l/n was vastly different from any of those rhys had guarded in the past.

y/n put his work first. sleep? he'd sign and read through papers until he collapsed and died. eat? he'd starve just to entertain the board of his company. he did however, keep a strict hygiene and exercise routine. in those two months with y/n, he never once saw the frown leave his lips. it was like it was permanently scarred on his face. the total opposite of bridget.

rhys was offered the job just after he freshly resigned from his post. he was reluctant to accept the commission, but accepted once he found out it was a man he would be guarding this time. he did all the background checks, read y/n's information, did security protocols, just like any other clients he had previously.

and as he trailed behind the ceo, who parted the crowd of paparazzi and 'fans' like the red sea, he was brought back to the moment when he first met the indifferent man in front of him.

"this is sir y/n l/n. lately, he's being harassed by paparazzi. he has been followed home seven times in the past month . . . ambush interviews . . . and he can't eat in restaurants anymore," the secretary listed as she spoke to rhys via request of y/n's father who took care of affairs in china. "he normally does things alone without bodyguards, but this time people have gone too far," she further explains, pushing an open folder with photos taken by the paparazzi.

they consisted of y/n sitting in a booth at a restaurant, entering sister company buildings, walking through the park, and even leaving his car as he approached his house. it was never this bad with bridget.

as he examined the photos, alongside the blueprints of y/n's house and the company headquarters he requested beforehand, the secretary says something that catches his attention.

"sir l/n doesn't talk much. so don't feel hurt if he gives you the cold shoulder when you guys meet," hurt? hilarious. i don't even know him well enough to be hurt. "-he most likely will ignore you." arrogant? stuck up?

it was then when he met y/n l/n that there was something else. from the way the ceo's eyebrows furrowed, stress shadowing his tense but elegant form, as he scanned the papers in his hand, a cup of something in his other.

"miss clarke, i have another meeting with missus barett on wednesday at seven pm. add that to my schedule. and move my call with mister harris around nine pm after the meeting." he then stopped in his tracks, taking notice of the other presence in the room. he blinks, eyeing the large man sitting in front of his secretary. long hair, broad muscular frame, gunmetal eyes, and a scar slashing through his left eyebrow. he wore all black. "you must be the bodyguard my father hired. rhys larsen, correct me if i am wrong."

y/n's voice was full on business, leaving no trace of any other emotions other than serious and commanding. words rolled out of his mouth like smooth silk and his earlier strides could rival fairies that pranced around gracefully as they took flight.

"yes and if i may, i'll be looking around the building for any security measures," rhys got straight to the point. there was no point dancing around the issue. no point in introductions, they knew each other well enough. it was obvious. his indifference masked the slight curiosity that sparked as he watched y/n disappear into his office, where he caught a glimpse of neatly stacked paperwork and the large window that overlooked the city from above.

even as he drove away from the airport, he knew nothing about the man he's protecting. unlike bridget who he had arguments and decent conversations with, y/n only gave him one or two word responses before silence loomed over them like a cloud everyday for the two months they were together. the basic information about the ceo was nothing compared to the behavior, habits, likes, and dislikes of the crown princess.

he took casual glances from his rear view mirror, observing as y/n scrolled through his hundreds of emails, noting down important information on his pocket journal.

rhys has never seen y/n stop working.

"you're ruining yourself." it was just a thought, he never intended for it to slip. he curses in his mind.

y/n hums, never looking up from what he was doing. "why is that?" he knew exactly why, but he chose to ignore it. he wore himself down most of the time, all the time. he never intended to stop, but the words rang clearly in his mind. you're ruining yourself.

"it just looks like you're burning both ends of a candle, trying to manage yourself and work," rhys focused on the road, "but you can't."

y/n has never disobeyed his instructions which he was thankful for as it made everything easier. he never really did go out as much as bridget did. even then, scheduled events and meetings were always smooth as rhys had planned it to be.

y/n wasn't as hard headed, outgoing, and filled with fire. not like bridget. rhys didn't even know why he was comparing two polar opposites. but being with him, he thought of the crown princess in eldorra who offered him extension of his contract, which he refused. and now he's here.

"i work . . . because it distracts me from my reality."

y/n has never talked about why he does what he does. it felt right in the moment. rhys has never pried answers out of him, partially because he didn't converse with him, however his eyes told him so. those stormy grey eyes that showed nothing but genuine curiosity even though he tried to hide it.

rhys didn't know what to think as they reached the end of the highway. two months and y/n finally spoke a full sentence. rapport was a card he had set to the side because of their circumstances, now he might as well consider putting it back on the table. he saw y/n put his work down, temporarily ceasing his work which were probably with a month or two deadline, and relax against the seat.

"i hate thinking of other things, other people," y/n lets out an empty chuckle, finding rhys' eyes through the rear view mirror, "isn't that why you took the commission to bodyguard me? to forget about the previous client you protected? we're a bit alike, you and i. we do things that would take our minds off things."

it felt like a bucket of ice cold water washed over rhys as he heard those words. we do things that would take our minds off things. his grip tightened on the steering wheel, gazing away from those sad e/c eyes that ingrained themselves in his memory. he never thought his longest interaction with his client would be so depressing, yet eye opening. he knew of three things.

one. he is trying to take his mind off of someone.

two. y/n works to take his mind off of something or someone.

and three. y/n wasn't cold hearted. only seemed like it.

rhys stood at the sidelines, alert and ready. his eyes wandered around the event, as if looking for any threats that would suddenly appear out of nowhere. he then dragged his gaze towards his client, who was in the middle of a group of other businessmen and women. he shared a tight and practiced smile, trying to act polite and respectful as the night dragged on.

y/n wore a tailored suit, it was simple yet elegant. his hair was slicked back, lips full and glossy from constantly licking it as he swirled the wine in his glass. he was total perfection. a face that would leave anyone in ruins. but rhys caught the slight tremble of his hand and his eyes flashing to different places, as he squeezed out of the group that huddled around him. it looked as if he was panicking, though he regained himself when he knocked back the wine. rhys almost left his spot if it weren't for the pointed and reassuring look y/n shot his direction.

it was four months after that conversation. their relationship was less tense and less quiet. y/n now regularly held conversation with rhys, getting his opinions on philosophical and theoretical things. sometimes they spoke about the geographical locations where the company could build a new branch of resort. it never trespassed the gates of personal life.

when rhys asked about something he did for himself, y/n blanked him and changed the topic.

"since you're working because of something or someone, what do you do for yourself?" it was a question that he came up with as they got deeper into the conversation about places that could potentially become a tourist spot. rhys didn't always like talking because it included emotions, but with y/n it felt natural. it was during these one on ones that he caught glimpses and pieces of the person behind the cold ceo exterior.

y/n blinked, turning away and opening another topic about attractions. "what about a butterfly house . . ." rhys sighed through his nose quietly. during the first day he said that he doesn't become included in his clients' lives and that he wasn't there to be a friend, confidant, or anything else. but looking at how y/n tensed when he even hears the words family and yourself . . .

rhys knew y/n at least needed a someone. we're a bit alike, you and i.

it didn't take long for him to notice the signs of ptsd. the way y/n only spoke about his father, excluding his mother in conversations. avoiding places that had closets that contained cleaning supplies or were used for storage of documents. there were also times rhys heard shuffling in the kitchen way past midnight even when they got home around ten or eleven in the evening.

as much as rhys tried to ignore the sense of care, not wanting things to repeat, he couldn't help but feel a bit of fear that y/n wouldn't come out of hi bedroom. would he fail to protect him because of how he lived outside and inside work? terror flashed through him as he thought about it. he's working too much, he'll kill himself before he could even reach forty.

and as of that moment, his heart thrummed against his rib cage. he screamed profanities in his mind as he lost sight of the client he was supposed to protect. he bulldozed through the people, ignoring their glares and mumbles as his eyes darted around for y/n.

there was another thing he feared. repetition of the past.

being with bridget for over two years changed a lot of things for him. never has he breached the contract rules until her. he's hasn't felt anything like it until her. he prayed to the gods that she would be the last. hopefully.

as he rounded a corner, he caught sight of a silhouette through a slightly ajar door. he pushed it open and found y/n sitting on the middle of the floor of the empty ballroom. intricate designs decorated the walls and ceiling, pieces of furniture finishing off the classic look.

"i know that you think of your previous client when you guard me."

it made rhys tense at the door. in all the years of his life, he was the one to read the other, not the other way around. something about y/n challenged him. they were simply a mystery to each other. unlike bridget who knew about his past and him knowing hers, y/n and him knew nothing about each other aside from the basics.

"when i look at you . . . it looks like it pains you to be guarding me. you think you're good at hiding it, but you're really not," y/n droned out, looking at the night sky through the windows. "during the first two weeks, i noticed some habits you retained from your commission before this one. it seems to me there was more to this certain client, that's why you took on the job of protecting me. something must have happened."

rhys stiffened ever so slightly, feeling a spike of both irritation and astonishment. he didn't like this. but at the same time, he also felt a bit of relief that someone knew. he couldn't lie about anything. something did happen with bridget, but he had hardened his heart, ignoring the twisting ache when he left. he left her when he was claiming her in his mind.

"you should think of resigning as my bodyguard," y/n gets up from the floor, patting down his suit and fixing his collar and cuffs, "i think you should go back to your previous client. i can find another bodyguard."

rhys immediately closed their distance in five strides. he's six inches taller and towers over y/n easily with his broad and muscular figure. his eyes doesn't shy away from the heated connection of misunderstandings and mystery that brewed between them in a steady pace for the past six months and threatened to explode like a nuke. "i wanted to be your bodyguard. a client from before doesn't change anything. it shouldn't. protecting you is number one priority." his words were like knives slicing into the tense atmosphere. he didn't want his client doubting him.

silence hung heavy over them, both of them not once backing away from the fiery eye contact. rhys was right, despite his relationship with bridget, that doesn't deter him from doing his job. his job is solely focused on his current client. to protect y/n l/n.

"mister rhys, you truly do surprise me." y/n turns away from his bodyguard and brushes past him, feeling a tug at his heart. he places a hand on his chest, he clenches it and lets it drop back to his side. "i'm exhausted. let me just bid my farewells, then we can leave this godforsaken event."

rhys stared at the back of y/n as they headed back to the garden. the faux personality that he reserved for the attendees returned, treating the man he just spoke to in the ballroom as nothing but another him. no, he didn't have a personality disorder, that's for sure. he just likes hiding behind masks. he definitely fits the role of a ceo.

a year passed. rhys continued his job as the ceo's bodyguard. he really fit the role. during the first week, he memorized y/n's schedule, plans, and the blueprints of the headquarters and estate. the following months, less paparazzi flocked y/n and there were occasional attempted assaults (which was new). he was completely amazing.

y/n watched the man he had been with for one year and a half. since that night during the garden event, a lot of things have shifted. their once debatable and business talks transformed a bit more personal varying from favorites and elaborated opinions on preferences. there were times they strayed away from one topic to another as he signed papers and went over some of them. it took away the ache of loneliness he felt over the years he took his place as ceo.

where his company would be the words he read and the calls he took and the coffee curbed his exhaustion he can never get rid off, he felt lighter than he did before rhys became his bodyguard.

rhys sat on the couch flushed against the trimmed walls of the office, furnished with bookshelves, a glass coffee table, and small trinkets here and there. he could feel y/n's eye drilling holes into the side of his head. he gave him a glance only to see the man turn to his papers, pretending to digest the words printed on them.

y/n had him sit on the couch, getting a slight headache from seeing and hearing him standing at the door and occasionally walking around. rhys found it amusing how the cold hearted ceo felt emotions such as frustration and glints of sadness when the world saw him as someone who used people for his gain and didn't feel a drop of guilt.

throughout the year, he got to know a lot of things about y/n. he loved reading, not his paperwork but novels. he spotted some books laying around but didn't question them and instead, skimmed through the pages. he specifically liked crime and fantasy. he also liked jazz. there was a shelf of cassettes and vinyl records near the fireplace.

"what happened between you and your previous client?" the question brought rhys' attention to y/n again. this one was very personal. were they close enough to even talk about it? he did say that what happened in costa rica stayed in costa rica.

rhys sat back, pondering before concluding. "if i were to answer that, you have to give me something of equal value," the idea of exchanged caught y/n by surprise. interest flickers through his eyes as amusement showed on his face.

"are you bargaining?"

rhys laughs lightly, the sound squeezing at the ceo's heart. "it's business."

y/n reached for his chest as he gulped. he brushed the feeling off and nods, "i like that. let's talk business then." a devilish and heart stopping smirk lifted the corners of rhys' mouth.

"i noticed on the blueprints that you don't have any room that's as small as a pantry. even your walk in closet is as big as your bedroom. why is that?" rhys had an inkling, an assumption, but he wanted it to come out of y/n's lips. he saw his client huff a breath, a thought crossing his mind, before slumping, regal self gone.

"i have ptsd. it was from my mother. when i was younger, she had this twisted sense of duty. she packed my schedule with a lot of lessons. mostly languages and subjects related to business. if i have a low score, she'd lock me in my room for a few hours. if i failed, she'd lock me in a closet. to distract myself, i indulged in hobbies and other things. she found out and locked me in for i don't know long. all i know is i was hungry and thirsty. it didn't take long for my father to find me, he had just come home from a business trip. the house was a mess after that," his voice wavered slightly, but regained its steadiness as he thought about his father. no amount of therapy sessions cured his fear of enclosed spaces.

when he tried to overcome it once, his lungs constricted, he felt nausea and sweaty, he couldn't think at all. he felt so helpless.

y/n was silent for a while before shaking his head, trying to rid of himself of the resurfaced memories. one he tried to forget but couldn't. not when they lingered in the back of his mind. if he couldn't get over his fears, then he couldn't get over his past. so he'd ignore it as long as possible.

"we're alike, you and i." rhys reused the words y/n had told him a year ago, this time removing the words a bit. and true to the bargain, he told him all about bridget von ascheberg. as soon as he mentioned her name, recognition flooded through y/n's eyes. he listened attentively, nodding and humming here and there. (read twisted games for better understanding) understanding settled in the air. comfortable silence followed soon after, both returning to what they were doing before their heart to heart.

rhys gazed at the man sitting at the desk. in a timespan shorter than his time with bridget, he and y/n knew each other in a deeper level. maybe it's because they were both men? or was it because the silence and waiting for the starting few months pushed everything into place? maybe it's because y/n took his time being comfortable first before conversing? he didn't know, there were a lot of possibilities.

he was certain of one thing. there was more to y/n's story.

three months passed. aside from the company parties, meetings, and alumni event, everything was smooth sailing for y/n. he did receive death threats once or twice, but it was all sorted out by rhys who stuck to him like glue. he either trailed behind him like a scary dog or stood beside him when having idle chats with other people.

they started eating at the table together, as y/n's father demanded one day during one of his visits and berated his son for not asking rhys any sooner. the latter has become less alert when they were in a room alone together, not like before where he would pace at times. now he sat reading or sketching, occasionally focusing as if listening or looking for something.

it was the first time rhys saw y/n in casual wear. jeans, shirt, and a jacket. his father had told him to go have fun for one day, then he could go back to working until the day he dies. so there they were, at an amusement park.

a sparkle of childish curiosity passed through y/n's mind as his eyes went from one ride to another. its been a decade since the last time he had fun. the thought twisted at his heart. where everyone enjoyed normality, he couldn't. fun time was a luxury for him when he was around ten to fifteen. he had to work hard for it, but it was only brief. how he wished to experience it all.

"is it your first time in an amusement park?" rhys stood beside him, still in all black, though his outfit was a bit more laidback. he stood tall, oozing with a sense of responsibility. he received a mute nod.

the longer y/n looked around, the more he felt overwhelmed. his lips quivered as he swallowed hard. sadness embraced him. the heaviness of the situation weighed on him. all those stolen childhood days could've been spent being reckless and facing the consequences later, having fun, making friends, and exploring life. "i never thought i'd see a rollercoaster in real life."

rhys followed y/n around. those books that laid around the house held utmost significance. they were worlds that he could imagine himself in, leaving the reality that was set in stone by his mother. universes where he could be the main character of the story, even if it's just for a little while. he felt the sliver of happiness his mother depraved him of.

they walked around the park buying souvenirs and trying out food. they went on the dropper and dropper. y/n looked at the cars of the ferris wheel and refused to get on even when rhys mentioned that the view was nice at the very top. for their last stop, they decided on the haunted mansion. it was the main attraction.

as they entered the mansion, they were covered in darkness. there were dim lights that led the way. there were many twists and at one of the turns, rhys and y/n got separated. the latter looked around in wonder, a burst of excitement guiding him through the maze of halls. the cold hearted man was hidden away in the suit of the ceo, in casual clothes he was just y/n.

just as he was about to run off somewhere, he was shoved against the wall and locked in someplace dark. he furrowed his eyebrows and took a step only to realize there was limited space. his eyes widened as he tried to move, feeling around only to find to familiar structure of two closet doors trapping him.

"hello!?" he tried to open the door only to find out it's been wedged closed by an overturned chair. he slams his palms against the wood, sweat rolling down his forehead, suddenly feeling hot. "let me out!"

his hands slid against the frame, pressing himself against the wall of the closet as if trying to make more space. he hears his pulse in his ears, eyes darting around frantically trying to find some sort of light in the blinding darkness. he feels oxygen leave his lips in pants, he's light headed. "please . . ."

he slides down the wall as the tears of the past come rushing to the present. tears slide down his cheeks as he becomes the helpless child he once was. "please . . . i'm sorry" he wheezes out, his mind flashing back to the old closet in their old estate.

cool air brushed against his sweaty forehead and he's pulled out of the closet and into a set of arms. "l/n? l/n, stay with me." rhys pats y/n's cheek, trying to wake him up from his episode. tears kept pouring as he muttered nonsense. his heart was racing too fast. "why the fuck did you lock him in a closet!?" he barked at the actors, who flinched back from the scalding tone.

"it's part of the experience. it was supposed to be for two minutes," the manager calmly de-escalated the situation.

rhys scowled, supporting y/n who was out of it. "take it out of the fucking experience." he hears the disoriented man mumble something before taking him someplace else where they could have a bit of privacy.

"thank you . . ." y/n stared blankly at the people walking by. he was sitting on a bench. he didn't know what to say. the last time he had an episode was when he tried to overcome his ptsd six years back. it didn't work, instead he had a similar experience but a tad worse.

rhys stood before him, blocking him from the nosy people who tried to peer. his arms were crossed, flexing as the irritation from earlier slowly faded. they were separated by two actors. he was forced into a pit of fake bones and when he was out he was faced with a serious situation. y/n's ptsd episode.

"it's my job."

y/n sighed, shoulders slumping. even on the one day where everything should be normal, it still turned out to be another traumatic day. the child that hid in the mansion of his mind always found his way out, replacing his current with the past. he hated how he couldn't even overcome being in a closet for five fucking minutes.

"no it's not. your job is to protect me from physical harm. but as of this moment, you eased my emotional harm. for that, i thank you," he raised his head and gave him a small smile. it felt foreign, but it felt right in the moment.

rhys' breath hitched. that damned smile that y/n gave. it was unexpected from someone who was frowning everyday. he felt that familiar tug on his heart. one he didn't want to feel, but couldn't kill. y/n looked gorgeous being showered in the golden sunset.

that smile . . . it looked good on him.

another year had gone by. a lot had changed since that day at the amusement park. almost three years, a lot of things changed.

y/n was a bit more expressive with emotions, only with rhys and his father however. he slowly started easing off his work and had rest days. despite having said days, he still could only get in, two at maximum, hours of sleep. he was eating more. rhys was there through everything. another constant in his life.

"i was thinking of a beach resort in areas where resorts aren't that popular," the chief marketing officer proposed, standing confidently in front of the board officers. y/n sat at the head of the long table reading through the hard copy of the presentation. rhys stood to his side like a hawk. since that day in the amusement park, he didn't want another shove incident, even though there weren't any closets nearby.

y/n flipped through the papers once again and sighed, "our company shouldn't only be resorts. i need a proposition that steers away from the word resort. we can't market that forever." he moved his head from side to side and sighed as he felt that satisfying pop. he's been sitting listening to propositions for an hour and a half. his ass felt numb. "everyone, let's take ten."

as people filed out the room, y/n flipped through the rest of the propositions with a groan. it was so deep and stressed, it was attractive. rhys felt his cock stir with interest as he eyed the serious ceo.

he's been having urges. that tousled hair of y/n, he just wants to run his fingers through them and tug them back. those tense shoulders, he could fuck the stress out of him by bending him over the table.

rhys shook his head and cleared his mind. during the past year, he has been curious about sexuality. normally he didn't care, however now that he's feeling something for the same sex, he's been doing some research. it started off small, from bits of information and opinions of other people in the community until he got too deep and even discovered pornographic videos.

it would be a lie if he denied watching some videos, but it was for research purposes. all his life, he had always been interested in women, but since he met y/n, he has been questioning a lot of things in life. he wants it to stop. he had to remind himself that things from the past should never repeat.

as rhys had an inner conflict, y/n had his own as well. he tried to distract himself from the masculine presence behind him, acting as if he was going through the papers. it was half true, he was trying to ignore the glimpses of moments that flashed through his mind of these past two months where he relieved himself at the thought of his own bodyguard. he felt a bit shameful, but it felt so wrong and right at the same time. rhys had been uncovering a past he tried to keep buried. however, it resurfaced every time he saw him.

"you know . . . the reason my . . . mother locked me in the closet . . ." it was a random blurt out, but it was on his mind. rhys showed a sign he was listening. "i danced as a hobby. she didn't like it. she claims its girly. i'm also . . ." y/n trailed off with a thoughtful hum. "i've never really said this to anyone but my mother. i'm also into men." no matter how long its been.

rhys felt his stomach flip. he stared ahead of him, feeling a bit of relief. "good to know."

those three words made y/n's heart flutter. he hid the heat appearing on his cheeks, thankful that his back is turned to the bodyguard that tested and pushed him. but he had to ask, even though deep down he knew the answer, "what does that mean?"

"you have work to do."

three months passed, which makes three years. in those months, y/n came out to his father, who responded with an i suspected that. being the ceo, he was expected to negotiate. he did, though during those meetings, he couldn't avoid proposals like arranged marriage or marriage to merge companies. before he could answer, rhys was already there making his presence known, a frown on his face, scaring away other ceos. it got to the point where y/n only made phone calls for such meet-ups.

to rhys, its been hectic. to resist y/n's bold advances such as sliding a hand against his bicep, sometimes his chest. looking up at him through those lashes with big innocent eyes, even though they're far from it. that cute smile from the amusement park that seemed to be only reserved for him alone. and those sounds he lets out when he's stressed or working.

y/n was driving him insane. forget the contract, they can make a new one where he'd fuck the ceo into submission anytime and anywhere he wanted as long as he stayed his.

rhys knew y/n wanted him. he could tell from his actions and his words with underlying meanings. it was killing him to keep his hands to himself. if he could only reach out, wrap a hand around y/n's neck and kiss him like there's no tomorrow . . .

it was one in the morning, they had just gotten home. in the car, y/n proposed to play a game. two truths and one dare, in which they took turns. as they stepped into the warmth of the mansion, y/n came up with a question for rhys' chosen truth. in all honestly, he just wanted to entertain his client (hopefully to tire him out) so he could turn in for the night before he took him right there on the front door.

"what are your kinks?"

as the game progressed in the car, the questions got more inappropriate, definitely borderline breaching their contract.

"hair pulling . . . bondage you could say . . ." he listed off other kinks, fixing his shoes beside y/n's before entering after him. he could feel himself harden the more the other spoke to him about something sexual, as if interviewing him before having him fuck him senseless.

until that question made his heart stop. "would you kiss me?"

rhys slowly turns to y/n, who was looking at him with mild interest with a mix of arousal. he could feel it from the three feet distance between them. the way y/n's eyes traced his lips, dipping below his chin, and stopping at the bulge straining against the black pants.

y/n was sporting the same in his pants. after he admitted to liking men, it was never the same since then. it would never be the same. not when his heart tugs and flutters because of the man standing in front of him. not when his heart fell hard when he found him in the closet in that haunted house. not when they'd had all these one on one talks. through all he stayed.

"yes. would you like me to kiss you?" rhys returned the question as they neared each other, one foot apart. maybe his feelings started growing the moment the silence turned into small and slow conversations. or that time y/n acknowledged what he truly felt when he left bridget. maybe because they shared some similarities. or is it because y/n relied on him to take away the pain of loneliness of only thinking of the future, not allowing himself to heal from the past and appreciate the present.

"yes."

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ rhys' pov

with that, i dove down and molded my lips against his. i guided his head, tilting my heard, pushing against him. his pants echoed in my ears, trapping him against the nearest wall, taking his breath away. when he tried to pull away, i chased his lips, claiming them once more.

when i pulled away, he looked awestruck. i kiss him hard. i press our clothes cocks together and i feel him hump against me, my hands caress down his body and kneads on his cheeks. grunts pour into my mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.

his legs hook around my hips and i carry him upstairs into the bedroom i claimed. i drop him onto the bed. "clothes off." i turn to grab lube and condoms in the drawers. when i turn around, my breath is almost caught in my throat.

the curves and groves of his body, the fullness of his skin, and the way it's begging for attention, makes me want to drop everything and just fuck him raw. i am well aware this is my second breach of contract. i had no reason to do this. this would be another hook-up and-

"breach of contract or not. resigning or not. once you fuck me and i like you, i'm yours and you're mine. i swear to fucking god, we're not arguing about it. we'll fuck it out too."

that was enough for me to push him against the mattress. i'm not asking him how he knew what i was thinking because most of the time it's like he could read my mind. but he did say, i wear my thoughts on my face. maybe it was something only he could do.

my thoughts never once wavered even as i scissored my fingers into y/n's hold, my eyes watching every contort of his face, every redness of his skin. the noise that fell like waterfalls from his swollen lips as i pressed against the bundle of nerves while he desperately pushes against my hand. i groan under my breath. it took a lot of self control to not just fuck him stupid and take away his walking ability.

everything in my mind felt silent as i admired the man under me, taking me inch by inch after throwing the condom on the other side of the room claiming to want to feel me fully and be filled with cum. that almost made me lose grip.

as i bottomed out, i almost immediately rutted my hips. it was so hot and i'm being squeezed tight but just right. i almost exploded right then and there. i felt him tighten his legs around my hips, uttering for me to go.

slowly i pulled out and pushed back in with a low groan. it felt good. so good. i started to pick up pace, slamming balls deep eliciting beautiful moans and whimpers that tickled my ears like a melody.

my hand found its place around his neck, pushing him back into the soft cushions. i apply light pressure and he cries out in pleasure.

"you're ge- hah~ getting b-bigger~ hng!~"

i felt his hands rub up and down against the scars on my back before they wounded around my neck, pulling me close. my nose traced his carotid as i planted kisses and nipped at his skin, my thrusts growing harsher and erratic.

i bit hard on his shoulder with a grunt as i felt him clamp around me, making me cum, shooting thick ropes of cum inside him. i felt spurts of warmth between us as y/n flinches and convulses from his high. he breathes heavily, a dopey smile on his face. i press a brief kiss on his lips and pull out. he groans and drapes an arm over his eyes.

"i mean what i said, whether you're my bodyguard or not. i like you and you're mine and i'm yours."

hearing that made my heart feel good. if there was a god out there, thank you lord for giving me a second chance. i laid beside him on my back. we both stare at the ceiling. under all that cold hard shell, he was very different. he warm warm and mellow. i was cold and barren. yet he thawed all that.

"can you i be your boyfriend?" y/n asked, interlacing our fingers together. it's been a long while since i've last been in a relationship. people say it's too late to try at my age. but it doesn't hurt to want and need. i crack a rare smile.

"whatever you want buttercup."

#shun-ie #male reader #fanfic #amab reader #male reader smut #twisted series #twisted games #rhys larsen #mlm #bottom male reader

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starlightshadowsworld · 1 year ago

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The idea that because of the Holocaust Israel has the right to ethnically cleanse the Palestinians, is absurd.

That's like saying the genocide of native Americans is okay because America was once under British control.

Hell that's like saying every country that was under British imperialism has a pass to commit genocide.

Because they suffered they should be allowed to let other people suffer.

That's not how that works.

You under went something awful, that does not give you the right to inflict that on others.

And they want to, a Israeli politican today (18.12.2023), David Azoulai said that Gaza should be made into Ausuwitch.

“The whole Gaza Strip needs to be empty. Flattened. Just like in Auschwitz. Let it be a museum for all the world to see what Israel can do. Let no one reside in the Gaza Strip for all the world to see, because October 7 was in a way a second Holocaust.”

The Ausuwitz Museum actually commented on this, calling it sick and hateful.

Agreed.

And that's without mentioning that Israel treats its Holocaust survivors like shit.

As of 2023 there are 165,000 Holocaust survivors in Israel and 1 in 3 live under the poverty line.

And it's not like they don't have the money for it either, given America gives them millions.

But they'd rather use that money to kill Palestinians than help their own people. Even putting foreign settlers above their own people.

They have the Hannibal protocol which calls for the killing their own civilian hostages, which they've done multiple times.

Even when they've stepped forward with a white flag and spoke to them in Hebrew, they've shot them and said they thought they were the enemy.

Because they don't care, they are using the trauma of the Holocaust as a tool to kill others.

Holocaust survivors are speaking out that what Israel is doing to Palestinians is exactly what the Nazi's did to them, but the Israeli government doesn't care.

Not for them, and definitely not for the Palestinians.

The fact people think they should be allowed to do any of this and thinking it's justified is disgusting.

#free palestine #free gaza #anti israel #anti zionisim #ww2 #world war 2 #israel #palestine #gaza

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ldysmfrst · 6 months ago

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American Mate (12) - Everyone Deserves a Second Chance

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 12 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 9,975

Work count for Story: 91,306

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs, and the other loves everyone. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work.

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This chapter does have pack dynamics, comfort, possessiveness, angst, minor mentions of past trauma, and self-doubt.

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

Can you do that?

Can you give them a chance?

Yoongi has more than once said that he would protect you, and now he seems also to want to protect you from his pack if they overstep. Is that something you should be worried about? Could you really ask him to stand against his pack for you? No, not really.

Then again, they are already protective of you– like all of them. They want others, non-pack hybrids, to know that you are theirs. If this morning was any example of them being protective or possessive, does it get more or less dramatic from here?

Are they just words they will use, or are they actions, too?

You are special to them. Jin told you this during your non-date date and changed the contract to show this. The rest of the pack seems drawn to you and finds ways to get close to you, seemingly without your knowledge. But oddly enough, you are not offended that they are doing such a thing.

The bigger question is, what will they show you off as?

As of right now, you are only you.

You will find your answers over the next few weeks – you have to.

“Prime Alpha? Luna is ready for us to return to the conference room,” Derik informs him with a smile as he takes in the stressed appearance and scents of those in the breakroom. Knowing these Alphas are mated to his Luna calms his heart and his Beta.

“Thank you,” Namjoon says as he moves to leave.

Yoongi bolts from the room faster than the rest as his Alpha tries to claw his way out from being separated from you. At this point, he couldn’t care less about following any kind of protocol. His only goal is to make sure you are all right since he was not around to protect you.

Jungkook flits between wanting to go after Yoongi and wanting to respect his Prime Alpha. Unlike Yoongi, he knows he cannot test Namjoon the way Yoongi, Seokjin, and even Taehyung can.

“Joonie,” Jin calls, pointing to the fidgeting youngest mate, which causes both remaining older Alphas to smile.

“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon says, gaining his attention with wide doe-like eyes. “You can go ahead. Make sure Yoongi-hyung allows our new mate space to breathe. We will follow.”

Breaking into a big toothy smile, Jungkook nods rapidly with his bunny ears flopping along. He takes off down the hall without a glance back, leaving Derik, Namjoon, and Seokjin chuckling.

“Common, let us go and see if everything has settled with your Luna, Derik,” Seokjin says, taking Namjoon’s arm and pulling him along. He is just as excited as he is worried about the answer.

Walking down the hall, the conference room door is still open, and the scent of vanilla and sweet peas soothes the frazzled nerves of the Bangtan packmates as they reenter.

At this point, the Director has moved to the head of the table, and Derik moves to an empty seat next to him. Y/n is sitting with Yoongi to her right, Taehyung to her left, and Jungkook standing behind her with Jimin and Hoseok on each side.

Not wanting to crowd her anymore, Jin and Namjoon return to their seats and smile at the sight of their mates. All of them happily talk together, and all of them touch each other in some way.

You rest your good hand on Jungkook’s while it is resting on your shoulder as you talk to Yoongi. Yoongi has his tail wrapped around you again but is leaning against Jimin. Hoseok runs his fingers through Taehyung’s hair while listening to him talk about what happened this morning. In the meantime, Jimin is holding onto Taehyung’s hand.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Seokjin whispers to Namjoon. “I’d say she was already bonded with all of them.”

Before Namjoon can reply, Manager Sejin enters the room with a stack of papers in hand, “Well, the contract has been finalized with BigHit, and I have everyone's copy with me. Prime Alpha, do you want me to keep the pack’s contract in the main binder?”

Namjoon’s eyes crinkle into small slits as his posture visibility drops in relaxation as he hears the news. Looking at you after, he says, “You signed.”

You return his smile; this time, it reaches your eyes as you nod your head, “Yes, Prime Alpha, I signed. I had some worries,” you glance at the three you kept behind, “but your pack is persuasive.”

That breaks the gate for celebrations all around. All you can do is giggle as the group of Alphas acts like clowns with funky dancing, shouting, and hugs.

“Well then, I’d hate to disrupt the mood, but Mr. Gulley and I must return to work,” Director Johnson announces as he and Derik stand to leave.

You also stand, “Thank you for your time, Director. I will maintain reports to you as required. Also, if the new girl needs any advice or help, please let her know to give me a call.”

“No worries, Luna. She is doing great, but we will keep that in mind. You just worry about healing and seeing where this,” Derek points around the room at the Bangtan pack, “all goes.”

“I think I have no choice but to heal,” you respond, shaking your braced hand at him with a chuckle. However, the look on Derik’s face makes you slightly falter because his eyes are reflective, making you think he is talking about something other than your hand.

After those two leave, Manager Sejin announces that he has arranged to have food delivered to the pack house soon since it is past lunchtime. This prompts everyone to head out to the vans.

Like the last time you left the office, you find yourself stuck in the middle, but the whole pack is present this time. Everyone has started talking in smaller group conversations that you end up just listening to, as most of it is in Korean.

One thing is certain: your Korean should improve by the time you finish the contract. The thought causes you to sigh to yourself and catch Jimin's attention.

“You okay?” Jimin asks, coming to walk by your side.

“Yeah, everything is going to be okay. I’m just realizing that I will need to brush up on my Korean more to keep up with everyone, but other than that, I am actually okay,” you smile.

“That’s good. You can also help us with our English. Remember, if we are ever too much, which we will be, you can always go to your den. That is your space, and we will only enter if you request us to or if we think you are in danger,” he says with a seriousness that resembles your time with him on the balcony.

“I will and will follow the same respect with each of your dens,” you smile back.

Exiting the elevator, which surprisingly held all of you, the boys come to a stop. Glances are passed between everyone, and some are glaring at the vans.

“What’s wrong?” you ask them with a sigh. You hope they are still not holding on to what happened this morning, but Taehyung won’t meet your gaze, and you are pretty sure it is still the issue. “Do you guys still have an issue with James?”

“No, we don’t,” responds Namjoon, to which you raise your eyebrow. “Mr. Green is fine, and we will be fine with him as one of our drivers.”

Sighing, you cross your arms and ask, “So what’s with all the glances and glares?”

“Sugar, the vans only fit five passengers,” Jungkook says as if you should know what that means.

“Yeah, I know. There are eight of us, so we have to split up. We did that before,” you say with slight confusion. “Can we not do that again?”

“What our youngest isn’t saying, Princess, is that everyone wants to be in the van you are in,” Yoongi clarifies, which makes you blush slightly.

“So, what do we do? Play rock, paper, scissors?” you say jokingly. Only they don’t see it as a joke, immediately turning into a circle and standing at the ready. “Wait! You aren’t really gonna do that, are you?”

“To be honest, it is the fairest thing to do,” Taehyung says. “However, I get an automatic seat because I am in service to you, right, Namjoon-hyung?”

“True, he has to stay with you. However, the rest of us will play gawi, bawi, bo, the Korean version of your game of luck. Everyone ready?” Namjoon asks, and everyone nods.

“Taehyungie, call it out,” says Jimin.

After a hysterical match, your van ends up with Jimin and Namjoon. To your surprise, the driver is James. Before you can say hello or get in the van, Taehyung walks up to James and bows, “I am sorry for my rudeness this morning, Mr. Green. I was not aware of your friendship with Miss Y/n.”

James happily accepted the apology but still seemed stiff around you. You don’t blame him for how things went down. Though, you do hope that he will relax around you again. Maybe he will when he doesn’t have a tiger hybrid looking like he is still about to hunt him down still.

Getting in the van, you sit in one of the swivel chairs, only to be pulled onto the bench seat with Taehyung to your left. Glancing at him, you can see that his face is trying to be relaxed, but the thinness of his lips gives him away. Leaming slightly toward the tall hybrid, you whisper, “Still feeling possessive, Taehyung?”

His eyes widen at your question, “Sorry, I struggle with that often, especially when someone is new to the pack. Are you okay with this? I mean, with me sitting here?”

You glance at Namjoon and Jimin, who are observing. You know, somehow, that if you had a problem with the seating arrangement, either would switch in a heartbeat; however, all three of them are leaving it up to you to decide. It gives you this strange, bubbly feel.

“The driver doesn’t know about the agreement, and even though he signed an NDA, you can never be too cautious, but if you require me to kneel,” Taehyung glances at the open petition, his voice soft as not to carry. “I would kneel as ordered.”

Returning your gaze to Taehyung, you consider his words, slightly surprised that he would still kneel in the van. Apparently, this is going to be a thing everywhere. However, he is right. Unfortunately, some people don’t follow the NDAs, and you don’t know James that well yet. There is no promise that Taehyung’s submissive behavior won't get out to the wrong people.

“No, this is fine. besides, you need to wear a seatbelt.” You agree but decide to clarify: “For safety reasons, I would like to modify the Acts agreement when dealing with transportation. I propose that you sit behind me, and if no seat behind me is available, you will sit on my left. Are the modifications acceptable?”

“As you wish,” Taehyung agrees. His posture remains slightly stiff as he buckles up. He doesn’t think you fully understand your position, but you will in time.

“Ooohoo, it is always a treat to see a tamed tiger every once in a while,” Jimin smiles, and you giggle.

Tamed tiger, your ass.

He is stronger and an Alpha, and nothing is tame about him. Even so, his choice to be put in this position is entirely on him. You are sure there are a hundred different things he could do to get out of having to be like this with you, but for some reason, he didn’t argue about it.

Trying to avoid that thought process, you redirect the conversation, “I told Yoongi that I wanted to get him and Taehyung a bell because they are both sneaky. Jungkook is sneaky, too. If it weren’t for your manager, I would have been so upset with Thumper and Kisa when they hid from me.”

When Yoongi’s nickname is used, Taehyung and Namjoon start chuckling. You get slightly embarrassed thinking you should only use the nicknames when talking with the corresponding person.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Namjoon says. “We are just remembering how excited he was to tell us you gave him a pet name.”

“Oh, I am glad he is excited and not ashamed,” you smile, still making a mental note to talk to them about when it would be acceptable to use your names for them.

“Trust me, Hyung is not one to keep quiet about something he doesn’t like,” Jimin adds. “He can be kind of rude about it sometimes, but he will also apologize right after.”

“Good to know the jaguar is hot-tempered like a normal feline. Gotcha.” You shake your head and smile. “Are you also hot-tempered, Taehyung?”

“Could you not tell this morning?” he snarkily replies.

“Miss Y/n,” Namjoon calls your attention.

“Namjoon, you are stuck with me for the next two months, and the rest of the pack has dropped the formalities with me, and I with them for the most part. You can too if you want to,” you offer.

That pulls a smile from Namjoon, “I would like that. I do have something that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” you ask as you sit back in your seat and turn to face him fully, giving the Prime Alpha your undivided attention.

Taehyung has angled himself in the corner while his tail brushes your arm slightly, his eyes also on the Prime Alpha. Jimin has also rotated the chair to face Namjoon as the van quietens.

“Well… ah… now the contract is signed,” Namjoon licks his lips and glances at the other two hybrids. “You went on your date with Seokjin-hyung. Did you think it went well?”

“Hyung,” says Taehyung with a sneer. “You know it went well. I heard you and Jinnie-hyung talk about it after they got home.”

You put your hand on Taehyung’s knee, which shocked him. You answer, “Yes, Namjoon. It went well. I have never had an experience like that. It was nice to get to know Jin. I am sorry, was I supposed to report that to you?”

“Oh no. You don’t have to report anything like that to me. I was just,” Namjoon pauses. “Y/n, I want you to accompany me tomorrow night.”

“Oh, of course,” you respond, pulling out your phone to enter the request into your calendar. Part of being a Playmate means that each Bangtan Packmate can request you, and it’s more on a first-come, first-served basis. “What times are you requesting? I think Hoseok wanted to request time tomorrow with some of the others as well, but I didn’t get a time frame from him. Maybe you can join?”

Looking at the calendar, you notice how blank it is right now. Your life is so simple. Each day is practically clear, but you have a feeling it's about to get filled quickly.

You hear snickering coming from Taehyung before he says, “Hyung, that isn’t how you ask a lady out.”

“Ask out?” you ask. Looking up from your phone, you see the Prime Alpha, the Alpha Wolf, blushing. Then it hits you. Namjoon wants his not-date date with you to be tomorrow.

“Yah! I was getting there,” Namjoon sighs, flustered with the situation.

“Namjoon,” you sweetly say his name. “Are you asking me to join you like I did with Seokjin?”

Another sigh leaves the Alpha sitting before you, “Yes, but it would be in the evening. You would have time to spend with Hoseok-hyung in the morning. Maybe.”

Namjoon straightens his back, causing you to do the same, and looks at you, “Y/n, would you please be my date to the LACMA Gala tomorrow night? It would be an honor to have you by my side to get to know you better and show you to the world.”

“You want me to go to the LACMA Gala? With you? There will be lots of paparazzi there, and it’s a Gala. A huge, fancy, very publicized Gala!” you say with a quickening pulse. While you were ready for another swanky dinner, you were not ready for an event as publicized and extravagant as this.

After taking your phone and passing it to Jimin, Namjoon holds your hands, sending out his vanilla and leather scent to calm your nerves.

“Y/n, there will be cameras, but there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that would stop me from having you by my side. I have arranged for gowns to be brought to the pack house, as well as make-up and hair noonas to help prepare you,” informs Namjoon without any hesitation.

“Hyung is going to take care of you, Y/n,” Jimin voices. “You will be treated like a royalty. If there are too many cameras for you and it just feels too soon, we can arrange something so you don’t have to walk the carpet. But you are going to have to get used to cameras eventually. It's hard not to when you are around us.”

“Are you sure you want to be pictured with me? Like at all?” you question Namjoon but look at everyone in the van. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

Growls resound through the van, causing you to jump slightly, but Namjoon only holds your hands tighter, “Y/n, I thought Hoseok covered this earlier, but let me remind you… Bangtan Pack does not allow for any self-deprecation.”

Shit.

“I… I wasn’t. I was worried about Army,” you scramble to cover what you said. “They don’t know you have a new playmate, which may cause a backlash.”

“Nice try. We smelled your scent tinge like perfume when he brought up the fact that it was a Gala, which means you are worried about getting your photo taken, how to behave, or what to wear,” points out Taehyung.

“I know how to behave at a Gala,” you defend yourself. “My mother used to make me go to them all the time. That is the easy part. I was worried about the attire, photos, and Army. I know how much they mean to you all.”

“Let us worry about the fans. I am sure Manager Sejin and PD-nim have a press release ready to send. Our true Army will be happy for us, and those who don’t will have to deal with it,” Jimin adds as if it’s no big deal.

“We have everything covered. We have been working on everything since the day you greeted us, as Hobi-hyung said,” continues Jimin. “Let Namjoon-hyung escort you to the Gala, please?”

You are amazed at the three Alphas' confidence regarding this very public event. More so, the intonation that you are more valuable, maybe more so than their Army, sends a slight tingle up and down your spine.

“All right. I trust you three.” Focusing back on Namjoon, you smile, saying, “Namjoon, I would be honored to be your plus one at the Gala.”

The rest of the afternoon was relatively simple. Everyone ate the late lunch together and then broke off into different activities. The maknae line decided to play video games while Jin and Hoseok were watching. Namjoon and Yoongi decided to work on new tracks, each tucked away in their respective dens on personal laptops.

You decided that it was a good time to unpack. With everything signed now, there wasn’t this hovering anxiety that they would suddenly shove you out the front door and laugh at you the whole time.

You left the door open a crack in case anyone needed you or for when they would call for dinner later. Supposedly, Jungkook was to cook tonight. You would have to learn their cooking and cleaning rotations to see where you could help them or squeeze your way into a slot.

As a child who spent a lot of time alone, you tended to listen to music while doing things. You put on your Pandora, mainly listening to Alternative and American Pop music from your youth and K-pop.

Currently, you were rocking out and dancing, as much as you could, to God’s Menu between re-folding the clothes you dumped out of your luggage bag Jin let you borrow.

Unknown to you, Taehyung had lost at the video game and came looking for you since it was his “punishment” to help you. Hearing the music coming from your room, he figured you were relaxing. However, when he looked through the crack in the door, he was just in time to watch your body move to Felix’s part.

It became a mini battle within himself to watch you.

He loved how your body moved, even when you had a miss-step. Your musicality was pretty spot on, and your voice was cute when you tried to hit the epically low notes for which the typically blonde-haired Stray Kids member was known.

He knew he could watch and listen to you for hours. However, he was jealous that you were dancing to Stray Kids and now to the song One by Astro. Why were these not BTS songs?

He wants to hear you sing their songs.

He wants you to be Army.

He wants to watch you move to the sound of his voice in more ways than one– preferably while under him.

It wasn’t until It’s Gonna Be Me from N*Sync came on that he couldn’t stay away. He knew this one, and it wasn't a rival K-pop band. When the chorus hit, he pushed open the door and joined in your dancing and singing.

“But I'm not like them. Baby, when you finally get to love somebody, Guess what?” he croons along with the boy band and dances his way to you.

“Taehyung!” you exclaim, shocked at the hybrid tiger’s entrance and intense look.

Pulling you close at the end of the chorus, he looks you in the eyes and sings, “It's gonna be me.”

You would freeze in your step, but the ‘lady’ your mother trained to be kept you moving.

“Keep dancing with me, Y/n. You have great rhythm, and it looks like you know a few different choreographies,” he comments, hoping you will allow him a few more moments of your body moving with his.

“Oh no. I just play around with what I have seen.” Then it hits you… he said a few. Pulling out of his hold, you back up to your phone and pause the music. You look at him with squinted eyes, “How long have you been watching me?”

Biting the inside of his cheek at his misstep, he says, “Just two songs. Astro and Stray Kids. Really? No BTS songs?”

You smile softly, thinking this could go one of two ways. Either he will understand that you do like BTS but that they weren't in your Top 3, or he will get possessive because you’re his Playmate and had better like BTS.

“There are BTS songs. Like Zero O’Clock, Run, ah um… Oh, I have Rainy Days and Arson too,” you scramble to list the titles of songs you think deal with BTS. Silently hoping to mention his song gave you bonus points.

Your response grants you a smile from him, “Alright. One of these days, I want to hear you sing one of our songs.”

“Ah, no, thank you. I don’t sing,” you say as you return to folding clothes. Wait, these look already folded.

Damn.

“You sounded pretty good to that Astro song. I am sure Eun Woo would appreciate your rendition of his part,” he says, joining your side and looking at the folded clothes.

“Not gonna happen. Like I will ever get a chance even to meet a member of Astro, that is if Astro still will stay together after everything,” you said absent-mindedly, rubbing the memorial tattoo for Moonbin on your arm.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, noting the sadness in your voice and the hint of mold in your scent.

Glancing up at the man next to you, you see the concern on his face, and his ears are trained on you. Smiling through the sadness of the industry's loss of such a talented person, you nod, “Moonbin’s passing still kinda hits me hard, ya know? He was my first bias, I guess you could say.”

Holding back a growl at the idea of you liking someone else as your bias, Taehyung wraps his tail around your thigh to show comfort– not possession.

While he wasn’t close to Moonbin, they were all acquaintances because Kookie and Eun Woo were close. A death in the industry hits everyone hard because they all know how hard it is.

“Facebook showed me an ad for True Beauty, starting with Cha Eun Woo, which led me to discover Astro, in turn, Moonbin and the rest of the K-pop world. His dancing was on point, his voice soothing, and his looks were unique in their beauty,” you say with a slightly thick voice, holding back emotions because you weren’t lying when you said it was hard. “I wouldn’t know much more about the industry or Korea if it wasn’t for him.”

“When he passed away, a bunch of Aroha designed this tattoo,” you pull up your shirt, showing your side and the purple crescent moon with the Astro band’s star logo.

“That is a great way to honor him,” Taehyung says as he traces the outline, which shudders your body.

Dropping your shirt back down and blushing, you pick up your clothes and put them away. Clearing your throat and changing the conversation’s direction, you ask, “What do you need?”

“Well, you should be sitting and telling me where to put those. Remember,” he points to himself. “Servant for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot that part. Umm… well, can you hang those up and give Seokjin the luggage cases back, please?” you ask.

“You got it, but I think his intent was giving them to you,” the tiger says, moving to do as you requested.

“Oh, he doesn’t need to give me his stuff. I have a smaller set that I can use for now. If I need to buy something bigger later, I will,” you comment, leaning against the end of the bed.

“Who’s buying something bigger?” says Hoseok from the doorway. “Are we going shopping? You know you need me there if we are gonna shop.”

Coming out of the closet, Taehyung smirks, “Your Doll thinks she is gonna get away with buying a new luggage set for when we move cities.”

You scoff at him. What does he mean you think, you know. There is no thinking going on.

“Oh, a luggage buy, that is a Jinnie-hyungie department. He likes everyone having the same set in their color of choice. You better talk to him first,” advises Hoseok.

“I am perfectly fine with getting my own. It doesn’t have to match anything,” you grumble to yourself; like hell, you can afford to buy a matching Rimowa set.

“Ah huh, yeah, sure, I will let him know you need to talk, Y/n. I will give these back to him and see if there are any plans for tonight, and then I'll be back. Is that okay?” Taehyung asks, his hands full of empty cases, as he heads to the door.

“Yeah, that’s fine. It’s late, though, so I think I might just get something small to eat and then head to bed,” you say.

“I will tell him you are hungry too,” notes Taehyung, and out the door, he goes before you can stop him. Seriously, you just said you might eat.

Re-stacking the clothes in the open drawer, your mind wanders off to how you might have to watch everything you say because it seems like someone has something to do with it, no matter what you say.

“Doll?” Hoseok calls for your attention. “Out of all of us, Seokjin is the most caring. For all intents and purposes, he is our Luna, and with that, he makes sure to feed the pack and ensure we have everything we need. That includes you now, too.”

“I know. I mean, like, I know, but I don’t know,” you let out a slight whine as you shut the drawer and walked back to the bed. “I know because I have been told, but I have never had someone who would take that role with me.”

“I am Luna of the pack. I am the friend who stops fights, even if they get physical. I am the one to buy things for people in need,” you tell Hoseok.

Hoseok smiles as bright as sunshine and sits beside you, saying, “Doll, you can relax now. You have seven mates all looking to spoil you silly.”

“Seven mates that are bonded to each other, you mean?” you correct his statement, which causes him to panic internally because he didn’t even notice his slip-up.

“Bonded or not, you are part of our pack for now. So much so that I heard you have a Gala to attend tomorrow,” he nudges your shoulder with his.

“Yep,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ “Namjoon wants to introduce me to the world.”

“As he should. The Prime Alpha should be the first person to be seen with you in public. It’s his honor to have that privilege,” says Hoseok.

You nod in agreement. It's odd to think that doing anything with you would be a privilege or an honor, but hybrids have their own culture towards that stuff.

“I know I mentioned spending time with you and a few others tomorrow,” he says as he puts his hand up just as to snap to him with an apology on your lips.

“We would still like to spend time with you tomorrow. The team of noonas that will get you ready will come around 11 am so we can have breakfast together and maybe help you prepare for your debut,” he excitedly tells you.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you for understanding, Hoseok,” you say as you lean against him.

“Of course, Doll,” he says, loosely wrapping his arms around your shoulders, allowing you to pull away if you didn’t want the skinship. When you relax more into his hold, he can’t help but chatter quietly in happiness.

The rest of the night is simple.

Jin orders food for everyone because you are hungry now and wouldn’t listen to you saying you could have some fruit, telling you that fruit is a snack and not a proper meal. Also, allowing the youngest to cook would “take too long.”

He also makes you sit with him to order a complete set of matching deep purple suitcases. He refuses to let you pay him back, nor will he tell you how much it costs.

All of Bangtan is amused by your interactions and the thought that you still believe you have any choice in matters involving Jin and his deep-seated need to care for others.

When you woke up the following day, you found yourself lying on top of Jimin and Jungkook’s body pillows, with Hoseok’s pillow under your head, Yoongi’s pillow between your knees, and Namjoon’s blanket covering you.

You had no idea how you got from where you started to where you were, but someone must have carried you to bed since you last remembered watching some Marvel movie.

Fluffing the pillow under your head a bit, you frown. Something feels off. Maybe you should get your own bedding soon. The ones the boys gave you are starting to feel like they aren’t enough. It’s not that they are flat, but they just feel off.

It doesn’t surprise you, though. Back at your place, your coat closet is more like a linen closet just for blankets and pillows that Evie’s family and your pack keep rotating in and out for you.

After washing your face and throwing on a tank top with a built-in bra and yoga pants, you start to break down your blanket fort, smelling each one along the way to see if it needs to be washed before you return it.

Knock knock

“Come in, I am up,” you call to whoever is on the other side of the door.

Glancing at the opening door, you are greeted by a sleepy-looking shirtless Taehyung, who zombie walks over to you and promptly falls face-first on your pile of folded bedding.

“Tae, I just folded those. If you are so tired, why are you down here?” you question, pulling some of the blankets out from under him.

“Because a certain rabbit told me my Mistress was awake and moving around too much,” he says, grabbing the blanket and pulling, which effectively pulls you down with it.

Grappling you like an octopus, Taehyung makes you lay with him. With one eye open, he asks, “Why are you up at 7 am?”

Mind you, he completely ignored the shrieking epp sound coming from you as he maneuvered you to where he wanted you, which caused a stampede of hybrids to come running down the hall.

Meanwhile, all you could do was try not to die.

Your mind is short-circuiting at the fact that the stoic, possessive tiger-turned-koala now has his legs intertwined with yours, his nose pressed into your hair as he buries your face into his non-shirt-covered chest.

“Sugar?” comes Jungkook, leading the mini stampede into your room only to come to a dead stop and get hit from behind by Jimin. Both are now gapping at the image of your entwined bodies.

“What the…” breathed Jimin as he noticed your tank top had ridden up, allowing them a glimpse of your lower back and some purple ink on your right side.

“You said Y/n was awake, and now I am making her go back to sleep. It’s only 7 am. That is no time to break down a nest,” muttered Taehyung as he attempted to pull you even closer.

“Y/n, why are you breaking down your nest?” asked Jimin, stepping around Jungkook. His eyes take in the almost put-away nest, his memories trying to take over his mind. “Taehyung, who said you could be in her nest without permission, too!”

“Minnie-hyung, it’s okay. She isn’t in trouble. You aren’t in trouble,” Jungkook says, pulling Jimin into a hug as his scent starts souring.

“Taehyung! Let me at least look at them to talk to them,” you command as you try to turn around with your eyes closed while trying not to touch the firm expanse of his chest before you.

Reluctantly, he loosens his hold and helps maneuver to make you the little spoon and him the big spoon. Burying his nose in the back of your neck and shoulder, he breathes deeply, allowing your sweet pea and vanilla scent to soak in.

It’s then that he realizes that you have a tank top on. Nothing is a barrier between him and your pure morning scent at your neck. There are faint traces of some of the pack on you from the bedding, but it’s very faint compared to your natural, untainted scent.

Your skin feels warm against his face and under his arm from where your tank has moved. He melts into that feeling of warmth and belonging.

You belong in his arms, even if you don’t know it yet.

“It’s a habit to put away and make my bed every morning, mother’s rules. Well, that, and I figured that you guys might want your things back. I can ask Derek or Evie to bring over some of my bedding or buy new ones,” you say to calm Jimin.

“It is also about time some of it gets washed, Jimin. I don’t want to make a bad impression on you guys,” you continue to focus on the now teary-eyed red panda.

“You don’t,” Jimin starts before he pauses to wipe his eyes. “Sorry...” he clears his throat. “You can keep your nest up all year if you want to. No one will make you break it if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, it’s not a nest,” you smile and giggle. “It’s just bedding. Like a mountain of fluffiness with amazing smells.”

A low growl from the base of your neck vibrates through your body from the hybrid behind you, “It is a nest.”

Moving to lean over you, Taehyung pulls you to lay on your back, saying, “You have scented bedding from each mate of the Bangtan pack that you surround yourself with every night.”

Jungkook sits next to your head, looking down at you, “You couldn’t sleep until you were surrounded by us, so to speak. Your instincts only settled once you smelt the pack.”

Your mind blimps out at the mention of instincts settling. You always knew the scents were important to you, but that’s just because you associated them with good things. So, why would the pack’s scents already be a good thing for you to relax in?

“My previous owners used to make me sleep without a nest,” Jimin says. “If I built one and didn’t break it down before anyone noticed, I would be beaten like a misbehaving animal.”

Your heart clenches at the similarities in your history, “My mom always said if you couldn’t make a proper bed, then how could you do anything of worth in a day? She would take a belt or shoe to me until I put it all away.”

As silent tears fall down Jimin’s face, you continue, “I learned to go to bed after she did and to wake up early enough that she would never know that I made my blanket fort.”

Low growls resounded from the two closest to you.

“No more. If you want a nest, or whatever you want to call it, in your room, you can make one and keep it up,” says Taehyung.

“If you need new bedding because they are dirty or our scents have faded, please let us know. We will give you something else to add to your nest so that you will always feel at ease,” offers Jungkook.

“You could also, I mean, if you wanted to,” struggles Jimin. “You can also use our pack nest. I am sure the hyungs won’t mind. Or we can make a big one in the living room.”

“Jin mentioned you are the one who makes the nests for the pack, Jimin. He mentioned that maybe we could make one together. I told him I didn’t have a clue how to make a nest, just a fort,” you say before a growl interrupts you, but you continue, “but maybe you can teach me more about what makes a nest… well, a nest?” you offer.

“Really? Do you mean it? You want to make a nest with me?” he lights up, effectively melting the three of you on the bed. “I would love to teach you about nests. I haven’t seen yours fully made, but I would love to.”

“Then it is settled. We will make one together soon. I don’t know how late Namjoon and I will be home tonight, so I might not get a chance to make one before I crash out,” you thoughtfully mention.

“We got you. Just show us the nesting materials that need to be replaced, and maybe,” Hoseok glances at Jimin, “Jimin can have a nest built for you when you get home?”

“Ooohh, a personally built nest from Jimin? Why don’t I get that?” whines Taehyung as you giggle.

“I could do that for you, Y/n, only if you wanted, though. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries,” offers Jimin, stepping closer to the bed.

“I would love to come home to a nest made by you,” you agree with a smile.

Jimin only responds with a deep blush and a stilted whine, to which Jungkook and Taehyung chuckle.

Taehyung looks at Jungkook and says, “That’s three times now she has done it.” Both of them picked up on you calling the packhouse “home.”

“It’s instinctual,” responds Jungkook as he leans forward, giving Taehyung a soft peck over you. All you can do is watch, but then you realize what you just saw and look away.

“Ah, guys, umm... I should get to separating, and oh yeah! Breakfast with Hoseok,” you say as you wiggle your way out from lying between the two lovebirds.

Standing up, you and Jimin make a lovely blushing pair, you from feeling like you are imposing on the two remaining on your bed and Jimin from the idea that you would love for him to make a nest for you. Taehyung and Jungkook end up laughing even more. The three of them end up helping you strip your bed completely, deciding that the central sheets were too chemical-smelling for them.

You end up with three piles: those that need to be washed, those that need to be scented, and those that need to be tossed out altogether. Walking out of your bedroom with the maknae line in tow gains you some smiles from the rest of the pack.

You are immediately brought into a hug by Hoseok, the only one sporting a frown, prompting you to ask, “What’s wrong, Hoseok?”

“I will have to cancel helping you get ready for the gala. I forgot I must go with Jin-hyung and Taehyung-ah to a meeting Namjoon-ah scheduled this morning,” he tells you.

Pulling out of his hug, you look at the rest of the pack, who all have dopy looks on their faces. “What?”

Yoongi walks up next to you, his tail wrapping around you. “You smell like the young ones, and you let Hoseok hug you, Princess. That is a big step for you, no?”

Your face drops into thought at his comment.

First, Taehyung grappled you while (and still) half naked, then Jungkook kept leaning against you to grab stuff, and Jimin laid his head in your lap as you discussed why you didn’t like how some of the material felt, hence the toss out pile.

That was a lot of touching.

Now Hoseok is hugging you, but you don’t pull back until you notice the others watching the two of you.

“I guess I am just trying to follow the hybrid pack mentality. Evie and Derek are also very touchy-feely. Getting around your idol and bonded mate status takes time,” you attempt to reason out.

“Anyways,” looking back at Hoseok. “I guess then it’s just breakfast with you, Tae, and Jiminnie? If that’s okay with you? It’s almost done. Jin-hyung is making us quiche,” he says with hope.

“Sure! I love quiches. Especially with spinach or mushrooms and tons of cheese!” you say, licking your lips. The action caught everyone’s attention for very ‘innocent’ reasons. “Where are we going to eat?”

“We can eat in the dining room, living room, or one of the dens, really wherever you want to?” offers Jimin.

“Well, I normally don’t eat in bed,” you say, making a few of them give you a shocked look. “Unless it's for a special reason. So, I think that living room would be more comfortable, but what about the rest of you?”

“I am headed to the gym near the guest house with Namjoon,” Jungkook says. “I'm going to grab my towel and meet you there, hyung.”

“I will head to my den and work on some solo stuff. Call me if you need me, Princess,” Yoongi says, kissing softly on your hair before going down the hall with his coffee.

“I will eat in the kitchen and then get ready for the meeting,” Seokjin mentions as he bolts to the kitchen, hearing the timer.

Watching the pack runoff, you shake your head, “You guys really take things seriously, don’t you?”

Grabbing your hand, Hoseok pulls you to the couch and puts you in the middle, with Jimin on the other side. Taehyung heads to the kitchen to help Seokjin bring out everything.

“With a pack like ours, you kind of need to. I don’t understand how Alpha Seung-Cheol does it with 13 pack members,” comments Jimin. “Then again, they mostly have Betas and Omegas. Maybe it’s easier that way.”

“My Omega, Evie, comes from a pack of 10. They didn’t have an Alpha either, but her dad, Papa Earl, sure as heck acted like one.” Settling back against the couch, you smile softly, remembering the mixed cat pack.

“Besides being a larger pack of Alphas, I will always be serious about spending time with someone I think is worth it,” Hoseok says. “So yes, if anyone had stayed behind, they would have been sent off with orders to practice the updated dance routine or something.”

Draping himself over your shoulders again, he continues, “This is my time with you, Doll. Jimin-ah is lucky to be allowed to join, and well… Taehyung has no choice.”

“I heard that,” Taehyung says, bringing in plates of food. “She could have sent me away if she wanted me to go, but she is the only one who can right now.”

“Thank you, Taehyung,” you say as you accept your plate. “Wahhh, this smells amazing, Jin! Thank you for making it!”

Seokjin carries a tray of drinks as he blushes at your comment, “It’s nothing. I figured this would be quick and easy to make. There is more in the kitchen. I already saved food for anyone else who might eat. Now you all have fun.”

Seokjin follows through with his promise to eat in the kitchen and then go upstairs. No one walks through the living room while the three of you talk about what is to come for the boys regarding the tour.

Taehyung adamantly chooses to sit on a pillow at your feet and feed you. Hoseok and Jimin tease him for being a ‘good boy.’ You don’t mind; eating hasn't been easy with your dominant hand in a brace.

However, your eyes keep wandering to his bare chest, and you continuously internally scold yourself for the distraction. He is just helping in penance; it’s not sexual, it’s not flirting, it’s not the K-drama male lead feeding his lover move… it’s not!

Thankfully, no one has commented on your distraction, even though they have all noticed it.

Taehyung keeps a mask of indifference while feeding you but still attempts to find ways to flex more when you look his way. There is a slight disappointment in your lack of reaction to his physical display, but he thinks you may be more for one to be chased. His Alpha doesn’t mind playing a game of cat and mouse with you– he is a tiger, after all.

Jimin internally laughs at your reluctance to give in and watch Tae’s muscles move with the darkness of his eyes as he feeds you. Meanwhile, Jimin notes that Taehyung is always eyeing your feet when you aren't looking at him, or he is not feeding you. Jimin wonders what color the tiger wants to paint them for you.

Hoseok, on the other hand, attempts to keep you engaged and help you while mentally preparing to scold the younger one for not getting dressed appropriately. However, the tint of arousal in your scent makes him question if he should praise the tiger instead.

By the time you are done eating, your stomach is full, and so is your calendar. Hoseok had noticed that you had not been added to the group calendar or the group chat since the meeting, so he added you to both.

“Well, Doll, it was a pleasure having breakfast with you, but Tae-ah and I have to get ready for our meeting. We leave in about 30 mins,” Hoseok says, taking Jimin’s plate and nudging the tiger to stand.

“I think Hyung said the team would be here around 11 or 12 to have you ready. He also ordered you lunch,” Taehyung added as he took your plates and his to the kitchen.

“So, I have a couple of hours till then,” you hmm, thinking of what to do.

“I could show you the pack nest so you can see how big they can be,” timidly asks Jimin.

“Oh sure,” you smile at seeing such a precious area. “Hoseok and Taehyung, I am going with Jimin. Have fun at your meeting. I guess I will see you later.”

“Probably not, actually,” Taehyung says with a scrunched-up brow. “I think Jimin and Yoongi are on guard for today, which is one of the only non-schedule things that would take me away from serving you as promised.”

“Yeah. So, Yoongi and I can be around you until the noonas come. When they arrive, we will make sure no one bothers or scents you until you are with Prime Alpha for the date tonight,” informs Jimin.

“Oh, that’s right,” you frown.

“Hey, hey,” Hoseok says, taking your hands in his. “Remember, no one is leaving you behind. We wish we were around you, but this is just something that helps our Alphas. Also, please allow Namjoon to show you who he is.”

“I will,” you smile. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

You have never… NEVER… seen a pack nesting room that big. Maybe it was because they are all Alphas? You know from Evie’s family that Omegas can get exceedingly picky about how a nest is set up. So, her packhouse ended up with 4 to 5 nests at a time.

The other glaringly obvious difference between your ‘human nests’ and a hybrid Idol’s nest was the quality of the nesting material. If you thought the bedding in your room was luxury, then the nesting room was made for royalty.

There were plans to take a trip to Hastens to pick out new materials for both the pack nest and your human nest. You tried to look it up, only to have Jimin take your phone away.

Apparently, I shouldn’t waste my time looking because it can only be felt, and he was paying, so picking the cheapest won't work, especially since they don’t have a website and don’t list their prices. It’s one of those places you must reserve and leave your credit card on file to walk through the door.

While in the nesting room, you respectfully stayed off the actual nesting bed out of respect, but that promptly went out the window when you stood up to greet Jungkook when he entered, and he bulldozed you on it. The excuse is that you can’t plan what you are doing if you don’t know how it feels.

It was like a cloud and a lot colder than what you were expecting.

“How is it so cold with all these blankets on it?” you asked no one in particular.

“Cooling water system,” replies Namjoon, standing in the doorway in a gunmetal gray suit and tie similar to the one he wore yesterday, but this one just enhanced the colors of his hybrid ears and tail. “Since hybrids run warmer than humans and Alphas run the hottest, they came up with a tube-like cooling system with water that runs under the mattress.”

“Does it only cool, or can it heat?” you ask because you could totally use that in any bed you slept in.

“Y/n, with seven Alphas around, if you ever get cold… I am sure someone would be willing to warm you up,” says Taehyung as he walks into the nesting room dressed in a solid black-on-black three-piece suit.

You unabashedly trail your eyes over his form. Like you can’t help it, his pants hug his legs almost like skinny jeans but formal. His jacket accentuates his muscular but slim build.

“I, umm,” your eloquence is astounding. Luckily, a flying pillow from Jimin saves you.

“Yah, you can’t just go around saying things like that,” the panda yells.

Namjoon picks up the pillow and tosses it back on the nesting bed, “Taehyung isn’t wrong though, is he? Tell me which of us would deny a request to cuddle with Y/n to make her more comfortable in the nest.”

“Who is cuddling with my Dear in the nest? I get first dibs,” Seokjin says, wearing his drop-dead gorgeous brown sandstone suit.

The hell?

When did you walk into a CEO/Hot Professor Fanfic?

You aren’t even walking; you are just lying there… they came to you.

“Sugar, you are starting to smell even sweeter. Are you gonna survive when we all have to suit up for an interview or an awards show?” whispers Jungkook.

Looking quickly at him, you see his face is super close to yours, and your breath catches.

“Yeah, no, maybe. Do I have to be there? I don’t think… won’t I be in the way?” you say again, showing exactly how much you didn't learn much in college, which is why you left.

“Alright, that is enough from you, mister,” Yoongi instructs from the door. “Give my Princess room to breathe. Namjoon-ah, the car is ready to take you to your meeting.”

“Thank you, hyung. Y/n, I will see you tonight. The team will be here in about an hour. I told them to set up between the living room and your room,” Namjoon says.

“Have a good time with our Prime tonight, Y/n. I hope I get a glimpse of you before you go. I missed seeing you dressed up for Jin-hyung,” sighed Tae.

“Maybe one of your guards will grace us with a quick shot, with your permission, of course, Doll,” mentions Seokjin.

“I wouldn’t mind that. Yoongi? Jimin? Would either of you be willing to do that for your mates?” You ask, looking between the two of them.

“We can try, but we can’t get too close. Maybe we can find a way to do it when you walk to the car,” thinks Jimin aloud. “The open air will help our scent not cling to your dress.”

“Gotta get you used to all the camera flashes before you leave,” Yoongi teases.

“Oh, that’s right, Y/n. PD-nim sent out the announcement that you would become our playmate this morning. Your director thought it would be best to do it now since the contract is signed,” announced Namjoon.

“So, I have to face the paparazzi, then,” you sigh. “There's no point in trying to skirt around it. All that would do is make me look weak and give you all a headache.”

“You will look amazing, my dear. Now, we had better go. Yoongi, make sure she relaxes and enjoys her time getting ready,” says Seokjin, hooking his arm in Taehyungs and pulling him out the door.

“Bye, guys. Love you all!” Namjoon says as he bids farewell. You sigh internally, rolling your eyes because you know Lily would faint if they ever heard Namjoon say that.

“Wait for me!” yells Hoseok, running down the hall. Practically skidding to a stop, he pops into the nesting room.

Yeah, you have Jungkook’s answer. You won’t survive all of them in a suit. You might have gone up in flames after seeing Hoseok in a fire engine red suit.

“Hey, Doll. I just wanted to say… have fun tonight. Namjoon-ah is more nervous than you are. I can promise you that! Bye,” says the marten hybrid, and off he goes to join the others.

You end up staring at the space where he was, flashes of the boys going around in your head with snippets of things they said like “Love you (all)” and “Someone would warm you up.”

“I think we lost her,” Yoongi says, standing closer than before. When did he move?

“Sorry, I was just thinking of ways to… deal with tonight,” you lie, trying not to reveal your not-so-innocent thoughts.

“Ah huh, we are just gonna pretend to believe you on that one,” comments Jungkook as he takes in the sweet tang of your arousal.

Pushing Jungkook away, Yoongi offers to help you, “Come on, I think you have time for a bath. The noonas have some way of washing your hair.”

Taking his hand, you stand up and follow him towards your room, “I already started a bath for you, but I think I may have to add more hot water. Namjoon asked me to use the vanilla bath bomb today. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure, vanilla or jasmine would be nice and calming, but can you put my hair in a bun to stay dry till the team gets here?”

Yoongi nods as you enter the bathroom. The scent of vanilla is light and pure, the tub is filled with bubbles, and some soft music is playing in the background.

“I put a towel on the toilet again, but Namjoon’s bathrobe for you to use,” Yoongi points to the dark blue, almost purple silk robe hanging up. “As the Prime Alpha, he enjoys when his called upon to smell of themselves and him only.”

“So, Namjoon’s scent is vanilla?” you ask, your brain cutting through all the times you smelled vanilla. You could swear it was on everything, but it was never vanilla alone.

“Not exactly,” Yoongi hesitates to answer honestly because he cannot just say it is the pack's mate scent. If you knew that and could smell it, you were smart enough to know that 1 + 1 equals you’re their mate.

“The vanilla compliments your natural scent, Princess, and it is considered a pack favorite,” offers Yoongi, hoping that he sounds convincing while putting your hair in a bun.

Still, considering the different scents you have smelt with the pack, it would make sense that they all enjoyed it. You have also always loved vanilla-scented candles and flavored candies.

Taking off your brace as Yoongi warms the bath, you ask, “So, I take it after I get in, I won’t see anyone till you and Jimin send me off like parents with their kid going to prom?”

“Prom?” Yoongi questions as he dries off his hands. “I think that is an American thing. But, yes, you won’t see us much until then. If you need anything, you can message the group chat or either of us individually.”

“Thank you,” you say as he excuses himself and closes the bathroom door.

Stripping down and getting into the bath, you shake your head at the fact that here you are again, in the bath, thinking of how crazy things have been. This time, however, you are not as panicked.

Well, sorta.

The contract is signed because everyone wants you here. You want to be here. They feel something special is happening between the eight of you to the point of possible integration. 4/7 of them look damn good in a suit, and you are going to go to hell for your non-good girl thoughts.

If they keep up the teasing, flirting, and various states of dress (Taehyung’s bare chest flashing through your head), you will have to find some personal alone time to release some of that particular tension.

Finding that private time when Jungkook can apparently hear you roll over in bed will be a problem. Maybe your bathtimes can be a bit more relaxing…

Oh, who the hell are you kidding? You haven’t been able to get off since, like ever. Toys used to work until you lost the baby. Now, nothing works, just like your ex used to say.

You are broken and disgusting.

But the honest attentiveness toward you and the heated looks from a few of the Bangtan pack have lit something inside you that you thought had been long dead.

Maybe you aren’t broken, and maybe you aren’t that disgusting.

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