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seungminsleftear · 2 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?

#tua4 #five tua #tua five #tua s4 #tua season 4 #the umbrella academy season 4 #umbrella acedmy #five hargreaves x reader #five x reader #number five #tua fanfic #hargreeves siblings #five hargreaves x you #five x lila

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dreamhousecafe · 2 years ago

Text

Also when having flashbacks it can be helpful to use the flashback protocol to bring you back to the here and now:

Flashback halting protocol reconciles experiencing self with observing self, (usually) quickly halting traumatic flashbacks.

Say the following sentences filling in the blanks, following the instructions:

• Right now I am feeling ______ , (name the current emotion, usually fear)

• and I am sensing in my body ______ , (describe current bodily sensations in detail),

• because I am remembering ______ .

(name the trauma by title, only — no details).

• And, at the same time , I am looking around where I am now in ______ (say the year), • here ______ ,

(name the place where you are) • and I can see ______ ,

(describe some of the things that you see right now , in this place), • and so I know ______ ,

(name the trauma again)

• is not happening now/anymore.”

Rothschild, B. (2000). The Body Remembers: The Psychophysiology of Trauma and Trauma Treatment. New York: W.W. Norton

How Trauma Affects The Body

Trauma can have a significant impact on the body, both in the short-term and long-term. Trauma can trigger the "fight or flight" response, which is a natural physiological response that prepares the body to respond to a perceived threat. This response can lead to a variety of physical symptoms, including increased heart rate, rapid breathing, and muscle tension.

Over time, trauma can also cause chronic physical symptoms, including headaches, chronic pain, gastrointestinal problems, and immune system dysfunction. Trauma can also affect the nervous system, leading to conditions such as anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Breathing exercises can be a helpful tool for releasing trauma from the body. One effective technique is deep breathing, also known as diaphragmatic breathing. This involves taking slow, deep breaths, expanding the belly as you inhale and exhaling slowly.

Another technique is alternate nostril breathing, which involves breathing in through one nostril and out through the other while blocking the opposite nostril with your finger. This can help balance the nervous system and promote relaxation.

Other techniques that can be helpful include progressive muscle relaxation, where you tense and relax different muscle groups in your body, and visualization exercises, where you imagine a peaceful scene or experience. It's important to note that these techniques can be helpful for managing symptoms, but they should not be used as a substitute for professional treatment for trauma or other mental health conditions.

#therapist adds on #tw: trauma #resource #self care #flashback protocol

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frudoo · 3 months ago

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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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forsworned · 5 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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starlightshadowsworld · 11 months 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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healixhospitals24 · 3 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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ldysmfrst · 2 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: 9,756

Work count for Story: 86,779

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 mates, 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 made a change in the contract. The rest of the pack is 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 could care less about following any kind of protocol. His only goal is to make sure you are alright 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 of the remaining older Alphas to smile.

“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon says, gaining his attention with wide doe-like eyes. “You can go ahead. Make sure Yoongie-hyung is allowing 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 Taeyung’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 very convincing.”

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. 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 I will follow the same respect with each of your dens.”

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.”

“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, which is the Korean version of your game of luck. Everyone ready?” Namjoon asks, and everyone nods.

“Taehyungie, call it out.”

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.

“Still feeling possessive, Taehyung?”

His eyes widen at your question, “Sorry, I struggle with that often, especially when there is someone 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.

“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. 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 behaviors 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 to my left. Are the modifications acceptable?”

“As you wish,” Taehyung agrees. His posture still 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 100 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 that maybe 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 sit back in your seat more and turn to face him fully.

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 becomes quieter.

“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 is able to request you, and it’s more on a first-come, first-served basis.

“What times are you requesting? I think Hoseok was wanting 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. “Hyung, that isn’t how you ask a lady out.”

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

“Yah! I was getting there,” Namjoon sighs. Clearly 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, not only to get to know you better but to show you to the world.”

“You want me to go to the LACMA Gala? With you? There will be paparazzi there, and it’s a Gala. A huge, fancy, very publicized Gala!” 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 in his, sending out his vanilla and leather scent in hopes of calming 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 too soon, we can arrange something so that 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, and it 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. My mother used to make me go to them all the time. That is the easy part. I was worried about the attire and the photos but also Army.” You defend yourself. “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.

“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 confidence the three Alphas before you have 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.

“Alright. I trust you three.” Focusing back on Namjoon, you smile. “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 some new tracks.

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 door.

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 just relaxing. He looked through the crack in the door 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 blonde-haired Stray Kids member was known for.

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’ that your mother trained into you keeps 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, “How long were you 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 Eunwoo would appreciate your rendition of his part,” he says, joining your side and folding 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 Eunwoo 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 Eunwoo, which led me to find out about Astro and, in turn, Moonbin. His dancing was on point, his voice soothing, and his looks were unique in their beauty. 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. “What is it that 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 up 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 then I will.”

“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 will be able to afford to buy a matching set.

“Ahuh, yeah, sure I will let him know you need to talk, Y/n. I'm going to 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.

“Yeah, that’s fine. It’s late though, I think I might just get something small to eat 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.

Restacking 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. He basically is our Luna, and with that, he makes sure to feed the pack and he ensures 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 walk 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 the fights, even if they get physical. I am the one to buy things for people in need,” you tell Hoseok.

Taking a seat next to you, Hoseok smiles his bright sunshine smile. “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.”

“Yep.” You pop the ‘p.’ “Namjoon apparently 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 that I mentioned spending time with you and a few others tomorrow.” 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 help you get ready 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 just 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 you a new matching suitcase set in a deep purple. 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 to come running down the hall.

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

Your mind short-circuiting at the fact 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 kind of 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 chest before you.

Reluctantly, he loosens his hold and helps you maneuver to make you the little spoon to his 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 stands as 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. 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 in an attempt to calm Jimin.

“It is also about time some of it gets washed, Jimin. I just 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 feel the need 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. “You have scented bedding from each mate of Bangtan 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 kind of 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 into?

“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, then 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 had it all put away.”

Watching 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 then you can make one and keep it up,” says Taehyung.

“If you need new bedding because they are dirty or our scents have faded, then 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 had mentioned you are the one who makes the nests for the pack, Jimin. He mentioned maybe we can make one together. I told him I didn’t have a clue how to make a nest just a fort,” growl “ but maybe you can teach me more about what makes a nest… well a nest?” you offer.

“Really? 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? How come I don’t 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 Taahyung 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 think I should get to separating and oh yeah! Breakfast with Hoseok,” you say as you wiggle your way out from between the two lovebirds.

Standing up, you and Jimin make a lovely blushing pair, which just makes the other two laugh even more. The three of them end up helping you strip your bed completely, deciding that the main 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, who is the only one sporting a frown. “What’s wrong, Hoseok?”

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

Yoogni 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 just 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 quiche. 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 den’s 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 am going to head to the in-house studio and work on some solo stuff. Call me if you need me, Princess,” Yoogni 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 she 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 what he said about eating in the kitchen and then going upstairs. Literally, no one walks through the living room while the three of you talk about what is to come for the boys concerning 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 feed you but still attempts to find ways to flex more when you are looking 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, when you aren’t looking at him or he is not feeding you, Jimin notes that Taehyung is always eyeing your feet. Jimin wonders what color the tiger is wanting 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 have to leave in about 30 mins,” Hoseok says, taking Jimin’s plate and nudging the tiger to stand.

“I think Hyung said that 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 the thought of 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.”

“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 give Namjoon the opportunity 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 really picky about how a nest is set up. So her pack ended up with 4-5 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 made to take a trip to a place called 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 hug Jungkook, 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. “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?”

“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 all of us 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,” he 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 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.” 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, now standing a lot 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.

“Ahuh, 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 up, “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 so it can 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.

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 is gonna 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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rose-gold-bullet · 4 months ago

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[𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞] Chamber x Reader One Shot

Summary: You’re an agent for the Valorant Protocol who deeply values their morning routine of drinking coffee alone. That is, until, the new guy gently disrupts it.

warnings: trauma from missions, insomnia, mostly comfort/fluff though

You woke up abruptly in a cold sweat, an experience that's common yet seldom talked about within the Valorant protocol. Mission after mission, kill after death, it's bound to take a toll on one's psyche eventually.

Alas, you were up now, which was slightly less upsetting than returning to your dream. You checked your clock; you rarely got enough sleep, but maybe today you've gotten lucky and achieved Sage's recommended 8 hours.

"5:30?" you muttered to yourself, "Typical." With a groggy stretch and yawn, you dragged yourself out of bed. Skye and Deadlock have probably already left for their morning run, and you were sure the other agents wouldn't be up for a few more hours. Might as well just keep your pyjamas on then, surely no one was going to see you anyway.

You got ready for the morning and left your room to find the communal kitchen. It was a bit early for breakfast but you figured it was as good a time as any for an absurdly large mug of coffee.

You put on a pot, plopped down on a nearby chair, and rested your eyes as you listened to the coffee machine slowly do its work, drip by drip. These mornings were quite peaceful, all alone as the sun slowly greeted you through the windows. You were used to working in solitude, so switching to cooperating with Valorant has been quite a struggle. The agents were kind for the most part and you were grateful to be a part of such a caring team, but you still cherished every moment you had to yourself.

Moments later, that time alone was interrupted by footsteps making their way towards you. You let out a sigh of annoyance and opened your eyes to witness a complete stranger wander into the kitchen. They were possibly the most attractive and elegant man you've ever seen, and it admittedly took a moment to stop staring.

"Um," you started, before realizing you were still in your quite revealing pyjamas. You cleared your throat in a meagre attempt to gain your composure, "I... don't believe we've met. You must be the new recruit I've heard about. Chamber, I think it was?"

He was already at the coffee machine, searching for the biggest mugs he could find. He glanced over to you, admiring you for only a moment before going back to searching the cabinets.

"That's right. It's a pleasure to meet you, chérie." He didn't ask your codename, probably because he's heard about you already. "Do you take anything in your coffee?"

You blushed at the pet name he's assigned to you so casually. Despite the intrusion, it's quite nice having someone make you coffee without you asking.

"Cream and sugar, please." He nodded and silently prepared both coffees before handing you your mug and sitting across from you, and you briefly caught scent of his expensive cologne. You took a sip of your coffee; he prepared it perfectly. You thanked him again and placed the mug down.

"So, Chamber," you started, "What are you doing awake so early?"

"Ah, I'm a weapons designer, you see. Sometimes inspiration strikes, and sleep must have to wait. Not only that, but it's rather hard to sleep comfortably in a place like this, no? I'm much too used to my home back in Paris." You nodded along, but you were only partially paying attention. You were already distracted just by his voice, and you nearly didn't hear his question, "And you? You seem quite tired, chérie, I worry you should be sleeping."

"Oh... I'm a bit of an insomniac is all," you lied, "Today I just got unlucky." In reality, you wanted nothing more than to go back to the days when your dreams weren't plagued with the horrors of the battlefield, but that's a bit heavy for a man you've only just met.

The silence was surprisingly comfortable, only occasionally making small talk but consistently enjoying each other's company. You were both mostly lost in thought, sometimes glancing at the other just to appreciate their beauty. Neither of you had really noticed.

"So," You break the silence. By now your coffee is only half full. "How do you bring your weapons into battle? The protocol has a policy of only buying from our manufacturer." You see his eyes light up at the mention of his passion before summoning a sidearm from the tattoos on his body. He chuckled at your bewildered expression before returning his gun back to his skin.

After a moment to take in what you just saw, you finally responded.

"That's... unique. Um, if you don't mind me asking, just how many of these tattoos do you have?"

"Would you like to come back to my room to see?" He flashed you a devious smile, and you almost choked on your final sip of coffee.

"You're quite the flirt."

"Only for you, chérie."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn't waver. "You know how to flatter too. But the others don't trust you, and unfortunately, I'm sure there's good reason for it. It's going to take more than some smooth words to get me into bed, I'm sure you understand." you stood up and took his empty mug before washing them both and putting them away. You were too focussed on the mugs to see the look of frustration on his face. He was a perceptive man, but he didn't know the others thought so poorly of him they felt they had to warn you of his existence.

"I'll see you around, Chamber." You gave him one more smile before leaving to return to your room.

"I look forward to it, chérie."

---

You never would have guessed it, but that brief conversation with the frenchman had changed your morning schedule ever since. For the first time since you've joined the protocol, you truly looked forward to having your alone time interrupted.

You didn't know it, but the reason you've met Chamber so late was because the other agents actively prevented it. You were smart and independent, but your friends simply loved you too much to leave someone like you with someone like him.

Luckily for Chamber, you were both early birds, and no one was awake to keep you two apart during your morning coffee. Maybe he hasn't been the most... transparent man in the past, but he's made it his mission to prove to you he's someone you can trust. It didn't take long for him to fall in love with so much more than just your appearance, and even the others had noticed he'd stopped flirting with everyone except you.

Today, like any other day, he woke up early. Though he didn't need it, he had set an alarm for 5:30 ever since your first morning together to ensure he was able to make you coffee on time.

He put on his typical suit you mentioned you liked, and quietly made his way to the kitchen.

As usual, he'd made you both coffee and had sat down, but for the first time in months, you were nowhere to be seen. He waited as long as he could, but he eventually got worried. Did you find something out about him? Were you scared of him because of it? He shook his head in an attempt to silence such thoughts, but he couldn't even finish his coffee before promptly heading to your room to make sure everything was okay.

He hesitated for a moment before building up the courage to knock.

"Ma Chérie?" His voice was gentle, "Is everything alright?"

No response.

"May I come in?" He asked after a moment. He was hoping you were just sleeping, but you've mentioned your nightmares before and how they're even worse than what most of your coworkers experience. He heard the faintest choked sob from the other side of the door, and took it as permission to enter.

There you were, crying silently on your bed. You were too exhausted to even be embarrassed by your now best friend seeing you like this.

"Oh, chérie... What's the matter? Is there anything I can do?" Chamber cautiously made his way to the bed. He wasn't used to comforting people, as he's never had as close a connection as he had with you. All he knew was that he desperately wanted you to feel better.

"It... It was just another dream. It's nothing." You tried so hard to mask the fear and sadness in your voice, and Chamber saw right through it.

"Can you tell me about it?"

You didn't respond. How could you tell him that his imaginary death is what brought you over the edge? That you've fallen in love with someone so deeply the thought of them leaving is unbearable? Especially when that someone is an attractive millionaire with thousands of potential girlfriends to choose from? The last thing you needed to hear was his smug laugh as you fuelled his ego.

But his ego was the last thing on his mind. More than anything, he just wanted you to feel better. "Please?" He asked, softer this time.

After a while, you finally answered. Your voice was hoarse and you could barely speak. you must have been crying for hours.

"You died. We were on a mission, and I couldn't help you. Sage couldn't save you. You were gone." The tears returned, stronger this time. "I was alone again."

Chamber was shocked. First of all, him? Dead? Impossible, he was simply too good. Second of all, he couldn't believe the mere thought of his death was affecting you like this. He was quite confident in himself, but to him you were magnificent, and he had figured you could never care for him the way he cared for you.

"There's no need to cry, mon amour. I'm here now. You know how safe I am on my missions, I'm not going anywhere." He sat down on your bed and grabbed your hand. You squeezed it tight, thankful for the reassurance. After a minute, he spoke once again.

"I have dreams like this too. About you." your sobs went quiet as you tried to focus on what he was saying. "I wouldn't be able to go another day without you, chérie. But I know how much of a menace you are on the battlefield. And even if things get... complicated during these missions, I will always put you first. I'll die if it means ensuring your safety. That's what I tell myself whenever I have dreams like these." He paused. He's a flirtatious man, but he's never said words like these out loud. He wasn't sure if now was a bad time, but maybe it would at least distract you from your dream.

"I love you too much to ponder you leaving me. It'd be torture." He finished.

Your eyes went wide. You were too stunned to speak. You both stayed like that for a while, you curled up in the fetal position with the now slightly disheveled man sitting beside you, holding your hand.

with a shaky breath, you finally spoke. "Can you please lay with me?"

He was surprised, but happily obliged. he loosened his tie and got under the covers with you, before gently placing an arm around your waist. He treated you like glass, or like you'd disappear if he did anything more.

"I love you too, Vincent." you smiled, and your tears slowly halted as you felt sleepiness take over.

He pulled you ever so slightly closer to him, and a single tear escaped him and found its way to the pillow under his head. He was grateful you were turned away and couldn't see.

Tomorrow, you will both be sent on your next mission. You'll both have to kill. You'll both have to see the person you love more than anything get shot at. You'll have to report back to Brimstone once it's over and pretend to be unaffected by the violence.

But that's the last thing on your mind. Today is the first time in months either of you had stayed in bed past 6 am. Chances are, you'll both wake up hours later, your bodies finally catching up on some much needed rest.

For the first time in months, you won't suffer from nightmares. He won't lay awake, fearing the other agents will finally convince you to avoid him.

The coffee he brewed for the two of you will get cold. For the first time in months, it will sit abandoned in the communal kitchen, for all the agents to see and wonder where you both went. And the two of you couldn't care less.

Notes: -2,119 words -allat just to be hardstuck silver is crazyy -cross posted from AO3 and Wattpad! thanks so much for reading <3

#valorant #chamber #chamber x reader #chamber valorant #valorant fanfiction #valorant x reader

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love-lilly02 · 8 months ago

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The Challenge: Chapter 6

Chapter warnings: Talk of insomnia, torture, not eating, depression, brief hyperseuxual mention, physical and mental scars, nightmares (please let me know if i missed any or if any need to be added!)

“MIA”

The words bore into his mind, tore a hole in his frontal lobe. He felt like he was drowning, sinking deeper into a black pit, the dark whispers of your voice and the blaring words of black text against a white screen.

“MIA”

They haunted him, day and night, hour after hour. when he blinked the words were there, when he ate the hologram of them passed in his view.

Never, in his life had he had to suffer with someone being marked as MIA. he had dealt with deaths, he had survived both others trauma along side his own. He had watched teammates get blown up, shot down, stabbed dozens of times.

They all recovered or died.

None of them went missing.

None of them haunted him like you did.

Sometimes, he would hear your voice calling to him. He could be filing paperwork, sitting in the mess hall, doing fucking anything.

And you were there.

Asking him to double check your mission reports, wondering what he was doing, if he was hungry, wanted to get something to eat. Sometimes, he would swear on his boys life that you were behind him, sneaking up to scare him like you always did. and he would wait, see if you realized he had heard you coming from a mile away, heard you whisper “scare cam” into your phone camera. He waited and waited, till your calming presence turned into a threatening one, till you weren’t holding a camera but a knife, a gun to his head.

Those were the worst. That and the nightmares.

He had stopped sleeping since you left, to afraid of the version of you he saw in his dreams. You terrified him, and not in the good way you used too. You would kick and scream at him, say it was his fault for allowing the mission, his fault for not watching you closer, his fault you disappeared. You would scream and beg the Russians to leave you alone, sob that you didn’t know anything, you had no clue what was going on, who they were, that you just wanted to go home.

You wanted your boys.

And you would scream for their help, call each of their names in turn. That’s what always got him, hearing your blood curdling scream as you were cut into again, burned again, slapped again. And every time he screamed back, every time he tried to move, tried to help you, but he was rooted in place, stuck in this hell forever.

Yeah. Sleep became a foreign concept.

The others noticed. Of course they noticed. Each of them had their own way of dealing with your disappearance, but it showed. Simon would have to double wrap his hands at the gym, Kyle stopped eating for weeks at a time. Johnny was just quiet.

It scared him. Your loss scared him. It scared him how loosing one person was able to break apart his team, the men who made it through thick and thin. And he had seen these same men live without each other, on solo ops or when one of them was hurt. They missed each other, sure. And it hurt like fuck to not have the other fourth there, like a piece was missing.

But not this. Never this.

This was new. This was raw, this was foreign.

This was hell.

And as far as he knew, no one was lucky enough to crawl out of it alive.

Exhaustion tugged at your body, dragging you down with every step.

sleep was a foreign concept, something you abandoned back at the Russian base.

You abandoned a lot at that base.

You abandoned them.

You told yourself that they didn’t care, they didn’t give a fuck if you left the team. They wouldn’t care if you never came back, if you just disappeared without a trace. Protocol stated that, with the way you went out, you were to be declared as MIA for seven years before you could be presumed to be dead. It wouldn’t take you seven years to get back to base, but it would take you way longer to get over what happened.

Much. Much longer.

It was an illusion, honestly. Something all basic magicians could perform, but not with a grenade. It was that or be shot down, although you were beginning to think being shot was the better option. It was certainly easier to deal with a bullet wound than second degree burns.

Maybe. You had never been shot before, who were you to know?

Anything had to be better than this. The burns scraped against the material of your suit, sending your body into intense amounts of pain with every step. It felt like someone was pulling you through a cheese grater, constantly, until you were nothing but shredded meat and skin.

The price you have to pay to live.

In order for the “trick” to work, you had to throw the grenade right at your feet. Which meant that your soles and legs were the most burnt, whereas your torso and upper body only suffered mild burns. Your hands were done for, completely charred to the point you could hardly flex your fingers anymore.

The reasoning behind that was your escape. Once you had thrown the grenade down, you used the five seconds it bought you to flip over the drain cover you were standing next too, effectively falling into the sewers and out of bullet range.

The cover, however, was red hot from the impact.

You would take it over being a goner.

Everyone else probably thought you were dead, or had died from the resulting explosion. You didn’t know if enough blood was left for it to be believable, you hoped so at least, that bought you some time. Immediately upon hitting the water you went radio silent, cringing at the disgusting slop that came up to your waist. Being in the water helped a bit, allowed the burns to be surrounded by something that was at least cool.

Open air did the exact opposite.

You weren’t sure exactly where you were, some rural town in Russia, that’s for sure. The only reason you could tell that was because of the signs that you saw every so often, each one written on in their harsh language. Of all the things you studied, Russian was among your least favorite, and while you were conversational you couldn’t read it to save your life.

A fucking shame, really.

Which left you to the next best thing, pray to some god for a way out of this hell.

There was a list of things Johnny McTavish hated to do. It wasn’t a very long list, but it was there, in some corner of his mind.

He hated being forced to stay still, he hated being told to be quiet when he was overexcited. He hated confined spaces, and— in the wrong situations— he hated being tied up.

But the number one thing on that list, the thing he despised the absolute most was disappointing his boys. Tied, of course, with making them worry. Just the thought was enough to make him spiral, a fact that had been proven dozens of times.

And a fact that was not helping his case right now.

Truth be told, he didn’t mean to switch up on them. He understood that they were used to Johnny always being loud and obnoxious, that it was something they had come to love about him, how even in their worst moments he was able to at least make them smile.

Which was the problem. This was a pretty bad moment, and he couldn’t even make himself smile.

And he had tried, honestly. Not in front of the others— he couldn’t embarrass himself like that— but alone, he tried doing some of the things he would do on a good day. Drawing, dancing, cleaning his rifles.

But he just… couldn’t.

Johnny was no stranger to depressive episodes, he experienced them all the time in his youth. Of course, back then he would have a quick fuck and make himself feel better, or maybe a few rounds from a few different people, but now adays that old trick didn’t work anymore. Usually he would just stay with Simon, talk it through with him.

But that wasn’t really possible. Not with this problem.

He hadn’t realized just how much the team was dependent on your being there, how different things were without your presence. You balanced things out perfectly, acted as a moderator for the four of them.

It was no surprise they fell for you. Anyone would have, after all.

It kind of reminded him of some Shakespeare play, or like a hallmark movie. They found you, fell in love, never said anything, and they lost you.

In any other situation that thought would have made him chuckle.

Now it just makes him even sadder.

He wants to help, he wants to do something. He wishes he could make the nightmares Price has go away, he wishes he could make Simon understand that no amount of training could prepare him for the situation you had found yourself in. He wished he could make Gaz eat something, anything, with the thought that you wouldn’t want him to starve, you wouldn’t want anyone to hurt themselves in the way the four of them were doing.

That didn’t stop them from doing it, of course, but he still wished.

Salvation came in the form of a video.

Gaz had called a mandatory meeting, claiming it was something of the utmost importance. They all met in Prices office, cramping into the small space.

Soap and Ghost took a seat on the couch, leaning into each other slightly. Price stayed at his desk, mounds of paperwork shoved to the side for Gaz to sit, perched as if he would have to make a run for something at any given moment.

They stayed quiet for a while, all of them just drinking in the atmosphere.

This wasn’t unusual, being called into the office like this. Usually it was by Price, who wanted to either scold them for their behavior or inform them of a mission. The only difference was your absence, your spot on the doorway glaringly empty. It felt like a black hole, sucking them deeper and deeper into their depression. The tense silence of the room didn’t help at all, and it was making each of them antsy.

“Right.” Gaz said simply. “Gonna keep this brief, then.”

He removed a computer— which the others hadn’t noticed was there— from his lap and placed it on the desk for everyone to see. A video was pulled up, paused on a black screen.

“Not before her junior year, but it’s bloody close.” Gaz mumbled, clicking start on the video.

After a few seconds of silence, your face came up on the screen, sitting next to a girl they don’t recognize. She begins talking first, introducing herself as Amy. Your voice fills the room next, proudly saying your name and grade, the very beginning of your junior year. You opened your mouth to keep going, before Amy turned to you and laughed.

“Fuck wait I forgot my grade.” You stared at her for a while, and then rolled your eyes, cutting the footage. The video resumed in much of the same fashion, and they realized what this was.

A blooper reel, for something you had tried auditioning for.

As the video continued, it slowly became more clear what the audition was— a performance at your school. You and your friend kept goofing off during the recording, resulting in multiple takes of one clip, regardless of how long it was. For some of them, you would press record and step away from the camera, then just start laughing uncontrollably.

It took a long time to realize that they had forgotten your laugh. Having gone weeks without hearing it was hard, and watching a younger, clearly happier you laugh so freely was odd for them to see. Your face was just about clear, missing some of the scars you now possessed from your years of experience with field work.

You were right, you did look different.

“Where did you find this?” Price asked, leaning forward. The glasses he used to read had long ago been thrown on the desk, all his attention on the computer in front of him.

“Did some digging.” Was all Gaz said.

It was all the answer they needed.

They watched the video all the way through the end, and when it finished they watched it again. And again. Till the sound of your laugh was engraved in their minds, till they were able to smile along with your jokes without having to wait for your explanation, till it felt like you were right in the room with them.

Finally, the video stopped repeating, and the office was quiet again. Simon tugged off the mask and ran a hand over his face, signing loudly. “She’s got seven years before we can jump to conclusions.”

“I think if i tried to jump right now, I’d fall flat on my face.” Price said, leaning back in his chair. The office went silent again, before a quiet chuckle came from Soap. He covered his moth quickly, failing to suppress his giggles at Price's statement.

If there was one thing the boys loved about Johnny it’s that his laughter was infectious. Once he started laughing, Gaz was smiling at him, and Ghost was smiling at Gaz’s smiling at Soap’s laughter. Eventually they were all giggling, each at each other in turn.

“Fuck—“ Soap said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Even when she’s not ‘ere she’s makin’ us laugh.”

“She’ll be back. Seven years couldn’t keep our girl away from us.”

“Our girl, eh?” Simon asked, throwing an arm around Johnny’s shoulders. Soap leaned into Simon’s side, smiling against his chest.

“Our girl.” Price confirmed, nodding. “No matter what happens, challenge be dammed, she’s our girl. Nothing’s changing it.”

“Excuse me sir? Do you speak english?”

“We no take foreigners-“

“Please—“ You begged, looking at him with your best puppy dog eyes. You watch as his gaze trails up and down your body, stopping at the marks on your hands. "Please I really need your help.”

The man looks around for a moment, double checking that no one is around before he grabs you by your collar and pulls you inside harshly. He closes the door, grumbling for you to sit in the kitchen.

You follow his instruction, taking a seat in the too cramped space. You watch as he moves around the room, throwing things into a pot and getting different medicines from the cabinets, mumbling to himself in Russian all the time.

After a few moments of tense silence, the man places a small container full of white ointment on the table.

"Will help with burns," He says.

As if that explains anything?

You let it go, however and smile at him in thanks. The moment you put the cream on your hands you fight the urge to scream at just how badly it burns, opting instead to bite your tounge till you can taste the blood in your mouth.

The man watches you struggle, and takes a seat across from you.

“You American spy?”

“No, sir, I just work for the army.”

The man nods, standing up “You will have more burns, I leave you to apply the rest.”

He walks out of the kitchen, and you hear the closing of a door some feet away. For a brief moment, you consider the thought that he might have cameras in the kitchen, that he's watching you on his phone through the system.

Just as quickly, you dismiss the thought. The man is absolutely huge, not Simon level but pretty close. If he wanted to do something to you he would have.

As it did with your hands, the ointment burned on each part of your body. It was like getting blown up all over again, and you kept your teeth grit so as to not scream out. Once you finish, however, you do feel better.

Slightly.

You leave the kitchen, wrapping the tatters of your suit around your body in a makeshift robe. Just outside of the room you see a set of clothes laid out, as well as a pair of gloves that look slightly too large for your hand size.

By the time you finish dressing, the man is back, carrying some vegetables with him.

“Who do you work for?” He asks, grabbing a knife from a drawer. You watch in awe as he makes quick work of the mound of food that was in his hands, throwing it into the pot without a second glance.

“A task force, sir.”

“The one four one?”

The room is dead quiet. For a moment, the only sound that can be heard is the boiling of water, and you take a cautious step back towards the front door. Running isn't something you want to do, and you're pretty sure it's not something you're 100% capable of, but if you had to get out of here you were willing to risk your health further.

Anyways, you still had that ointment. Technically that's all you really needed, and he wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't want you to use it.

“How did you-"

“Nikolai." He interrupts, holding out his hand. "I worked with them a long time ago."

You remember the name, it was heard in dozens of the stories Gaz and Price have told you about their missions before you joined. You take his hand, biting back a wince at the sting of your burns against the gloves.

“Do you think you could help me get back?”

AN: VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION

Hey guys, so while technically this is late i was hoping we could just ignore that fact for a while. If you couldn't tell by the contents of this chapter, this fic is going to take a darker turn than i even thought (this whole thing is written on impulse, i only have the reader's backstory planned and that's it) Future chapters will feature mental health issues, and some abuse so i just wanted to release an early viewer discretion to warn anyone who wouldn't be comfortable reading that stuff.

I promise i'll give you guys a fluffy BTS to make up for this angst bomb. Hope you enjoyed!

My Masterlist

#cod x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost x reader #141 au #141 x you #cod #tf 141 #call of duty

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maplewozapi · 3 months ago

Note

Women not being able to drum because they can already create helped me figure out what my dad meant when we were at a round dance. He's pretty traditional so he was pretty mad when a woman was at the table with the guys. I didn't understand why but your explanation makes sense for me :D

I’m so glad! There’s totally a disconnect when it comes to understanding drum protocols, the trauma of western exclusion of women needs to be addressed. Especially when explaining the drum and that the exclusion from the men drum groups isn’t anything malicious but there’s a problem with men not knowing how to explain it or just turning it into malicious exclusion and hurting peoples feelings. When the reason for exclusion is a spiritual connection that women have to their menstrual cycle. That time is the time woman had to pray and had how many days to pray with other women on their cycles but that prayer and gatherings are completely lost or not possible to because you gotta go to work. That was our space. The society we have been put into completely destroyed woman prayer and culture and most of the activities for prayer that have survived are men’s prayers. Without being able to pray the way we used to many tribes do let woman participate in traditionally men’s prayers. I don’t participate because of that traditional belief but until there’s a movement to teach and participate in women spaces and exclusive prayer I don’t see why women should be barred from spiritual rejuvenation the most accessible way they can.

💖🥺express and care for your native femininity it’s powerful prayer

#ask #ndn tag

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prolife-is-prolie · 1 year ago

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I celebrated Roe V Wade being overturned. I am now being investigated for having a miscarriage.

"The happiest moment in my life was when I said "I do" to my husband seven years ago. My second happiest moment was at the Supreme Court building on June 24, 2022. Seeing an endless sea of happy, cheerful faces, the champagne bottles being popped open, watching as bubbles floated on by, the feeling was electric! Babies were going to be saved!

And then a year later, on June 24, 2023, the third happiest moment in my life occurred. The two faint lines revealed themselves on the pregnancy test. I was pregnant! Finally! After years of hoping, praying, and multiple IVF treatments, I was finally pregnant! Life was perfect. My husband took me out to dinner and he never left my side the whole night. He came home from work one day with a giant book of baby names. It didn't take us long to decide: Ophelia if it was a girl, and Benson if it was a boy.

I thanked the Lord for gifting me with a happy marriage and a baby that I prayed so much for. But the Lord had other plans. August 23, 2023, my world came crashing down. I woke from a deep sleep and was overcome with painful cramps. I looked under the blanket and was horrified by what I saw: A huge puddle of red. I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet and I cried. I was having a miscarriage.

My husband woke up and noticed the puddle of blood. I've never seen him look so scared in my life. He hugged me while I sat and bled on the toilet. We then stripped down and got in the shower, where he held me, not caring about the blood running down my legs. I scheduled an emergency doctor's appointment for later in the day. The doctor confirmed our worst fear, I had a complete miscarriage. There wasn't anything more that could be done.

I sat on the table in that cold room while I waited for the doctor to come back with my paperwork. I was completely numb. I had no more tears left to cry. My husband stood by me and held my hand while we waited. And then we heard the knock on the door. We were expecting the doctor to enter. Instead, we were met with a couple of police officers.

My husband and I were escorted to the police station. It was there that we were informed that my miscarriage was deemed suspicious. The officers told us that due to the fact that we lived in a pro-life state, this was the new protocol. My husband and I were each taken to separate interview rooms, where we were questioned for six hours. I was asked a variety of questions:

What did I do the night before miscarrying?

Did I have a fall that could have caused the miscarriage?

Did I intentionally cause trauma to my abdomen to induce a miscarriage?

Did I take abortion pills?

Could my husband have slipped abortion pills into my drink?

At first, I tried to be understanding, but that quickly turned to anger. They were accusing my husband and me of purposefully killing our baby. I told the interviewer over and over that we wanted our baby and that we would do nothing to cause harm to our baby. After six hours, the questions let up. The interviewer left the room and I instantly broke down in tears again.

I cried for the baby I lost. I cried because my husband and I were being accused of killing our baby. I cried because I felt like nobody was listening to me. And I cried because this is what pro-choicers said would happen when Roe was overturned. Everything that they said would happen was happening.

Miscarriages were being investigated as murders. Children were being forced to give birth to their rapists' babies. Babies were being born and discarded in trash cans and dumpsters. And we have not done a damn thing about any of this. My husband and I were released, but not before being told that we weren't allowed to leave town due to the fact that we were being investigated.

I read articles about the women in Texas suing the state because of the anti-abortion laws. I read about the 13-year-old girl who gave birth to a baby she did not want. I read about the 11-year-old who had to flee her home state to get an abortion, only for the doctor who performed the abortion to get fined. I felt sick to my stomach reading these stories. And once again, my sorrow was replaced with anger.

I thought back to what I thought was one of the happiest moments of my life, Roe V Wade being overturned. In my mind, the happy smiles that I saw were suddenly replaced with evil snarls. The champagne that was popped was replaced with acid. The bubbles became heavy glass and they fell to the ground. My god, what have we done?

I forwarded the articles to my husband and I saw all color leave his face. The night after our interrogations, we ate dinner in silence. After knowing this man for 17 years and being married to him for seven of those years, he didn't need to talk for me to know what he was thinking. And I agreed with him:

Overturning Roe V Wade was a huge mistake."

-Constance, 37.

#pro life #pro chocie #roe v wade #roe vs. wade #abortion #anti abortion #my body my choice #fyp #fypシ

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sarafinamk · 8 months ago

Text

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 2

Summary: The riders know you're addicted to the red smoke. Certain members thought they could help you during that point of your recovery, but that proves to be more difficult than they anticipated.

(This is the OFFICIAL continuation of Part 1. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. Since this chapter contains a lot of sensitive topics, I will try my hardest to be respectful about this. The next chapter will be a little more light-hearted, I promise.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Demon Mentions, Hallucinations, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Self harm, Accidental Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing

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The next few days after your operation pass in a blur. Everyone has been trying to keep themselves occupied, holding on to what little air of normalcy still hung in the air. None of the riders have been able to fully process what could only be described as the biggest turn of events in their time fighting the war. It’s not the first time a member of the cult has had to undergo treatment. Victims that got converted due to planet invasion and nonconsensual exposure to the red smoke are rescued all the time. It is basic protocol for Space Riders. Sometimes a priest would be rescued. The story of how those members came to be priests varies. Some joined of their own free will, while others fought before the addiction made them lose the will to fight.

But you?

Archangels are infamous for their unwavering loyalty to the Prototype. They are the Prototype’s right-hand man, their council, and their second in command. Archangels eat, sleep, and breathe the Prototype and expect others to do the same. There are only a few known attempts to rescue archangels in history. The stories ended in one of three ways: they go back to the Prototype, (sometimes with a new band of “loyal” followers), they slaughter their rescuers, or they take their own life as a last resort.

Knowing that has made most of the Space Riders tense, Bubba included. The elephant has arguably been the tensest. Not even the sight of you resting in a cell with power mufflers on your wrists is enough to put him slightly at ease. He wasn’t a complete stranger to Aether magic (what others refer to as Divinity powers.) Granted, he only ever got to study this powerful and unique kind of sorcery through the catalogs, a few ancient ruins, and his team’s battles with you. Even then, doubt swarmed him with questions concerning how effective the cell, let alone the power mufflers will be in the long run.

Bubba sighs, pinching the bridge of his trunk as the signs of yet another headache emerge. That was one long argument with the Commander and council he would rather not revisit. Not that there are any that Bubba would like to recall. Dogday, despite all his good intentions, didn’t make it any easier for anyone. The two riders may have convinced the higher-ups, but the elephant knows that this is not the last time they will have this conversation with the Commander and council. The thought of that makes him take a swig from his coffee mug.

Problem number one may have been resolved for now, but now there’s problem number two: your red smoke addiction. With no red smoke to give you, it didn't take long for the symptoms to show up. Your feverish face contorts into a grimace yet again. Bubba glances at the vital charts. Of course, none of the numbers look any better than they did 10 minutes ago. He doesn't know why he hoped for expected anything different. Hopefully, the pain medication will do its job soon.

Bobby rushes back to your bedside with a cold, wet towel placed on your head. It's been a common occurrence with her ever since your operation. The "around the clock" care increased tenfold after the first signs of your red smoke withdrawal emerged. She even has the dark circles and bags under her eyes to prove it. Even when she's running on nothing more than fumes (and a few cups of coffee), she still runs around like she has had a good night's worth of sleep. Bubba can't help but sigh to himself.

The two medics are doing what they can to keep you comfortable and stable, but Bubba knows that the two of them will not be enough to help you right now. Hell, even Catnap's powers, despite helping you settle down and sleep, isn't a miracle cure for stabilizing your vitals in the long run. If Bubba wasn't tied up with diplomatic matters, he would take over more shifts for Bobby so that she could get some rest. Unfortunately, the others don't have the medical training so tasking them with watching over you is out of the question. Bubba insists on taking you to the HQ’s treatment center. Bobby refuses every time the idea is mentioned, insisting that the two of them are able to look after you themselves. That led to a few strong disagreements. Bubba may be miffed but can't say he blames Bobby for being concerned about the possibility of (1) another potential massacre on your end and (2) you being mistreated by those you’ve wronged. Unlike the two riders, however, the people at the center have the resources and training to help you.

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*MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING, PROCEED AHEAD WITH CAUTION*

You don't know how long you've been here. You can't remember. You just remember waking up to bright lights and a figure or two... maybe a few... standing over you. But then you went back into the world of darkness. Did you really wake up or was it one nonsensical dream?

You don't know.

You REALLY don't know.

It doesn't matter right now. All you know is that you're stuck in hell, and this is worse than what you grew up hearing about. Your powers stopped working, so you can’t escape. There was nowhere to run where those… things won’t find you and bring you back to your prison and torture you. Sometimes you can see the faces of your enemies before those things morphed into… something sinister. Your stomach was doing summersaults. There was a pounding in your head and chest that just won't stop. A burning tightness spread from your chest to your throat, leading you to choking and gasping at this point. This fire smoldering inside you just won’t die. All you want right now is to drop to the floor, close your eyes, and sleep. Your heavy, aching limbs beg for it, but no matter how hard you try, your head buzzes in protest.

All you need is some red smoke. Just a whiff. Hell, just a tiny little sniff. You don't care. You just need it coursing through you right now. It'll make all the agony stop. You keep praying, BEGGING, to the Prototype to forgive you, to save you from this damnation.

Yet he never answers…

Why won't he hear you?

You know you failed him, but you didn't mean to. You would never disobey him. Not after everything he did for you. You did everything right your whole life to show your gratitude and love for him and you still ended up here-

A searing sensation from your wrist pulls you away from your thoughts. You turn it over and you see... red...

It’s so bright...

So beautiful...

And it's spreading to the white decorating your arms. Your fingers, looming above your forearm are also decorated with red. For the first time, you deliberately take in slow, deep breaths. You take in the red now seeping through the white. With shaky fingers, you slowly unwrap the soaking red barrier on your forearm. To your joy, the red spread rapidly from your bare forearm all the way down to your fingertips. Your red-stained fingers brush over your forearm, painting it with more red. At that moment, you smile, knowing your prayers had been answered. It doesn’t have that sweet aroma as usual, but it will once you allow more to spread around you. Without hesitation, you got to work on the other parts of you that were wrapped in white. Thankfully, there were plenty. You've been wrapped up in white for so long. It would look SO MUCH BETTER in red. You will do ANYTHING just to see red.

You also did have to rip out some stubborn black stringy parasites from your torso in the process. Once you managed to get every single one out, though, there was so much more red embracing you in a warm hug. It was just like all the other times. It was like the Prototype was with you again. It burned so much at first, but after some time, a cold wave of euphoria washes over your entire body. You breathe out a sigh of relief because for the first time in a long time, you can’t feel any pain. Now that there's red around you, you can finally sleep peacefully.

Much better...

Darkness begins enveloping your vision, before being dragged back by... screaming and something shattering? It's hard to tell. All you can make out are a pair of red paws being wrapped around you and lowering you to the ground. A red figure pulls you close to it, but you didn’t mind. Everything about the red figure is so warm you just want to snuggle next to it for eternity. You close your eyes, taking in that warmth. It feels so good to sleep again.

-----

The Space Riders decided to have dinner at Kissy’s Diner. Unfortunately, nothing on the table looks appealing enough to eat. They either stared blankly or picked at their food and drinks mindlessly. No words were exchanged amongst the seven of them, not even one of Kickin’s and/or Hoppy’s stupid jokes to lighten the mood. But what was there to joke about right now? What was there to even talk about?

Picky sighs, noticing one particular member still missing. She wishes she could say she was surprised, but that doesn’t mean a perfectly good meal should go to waste (even if everyone else’s meals have long since gone cold). The pig stands up, exchanges quick goodbyes with the six present members, asks Kissy for take-out boxes for the entire table, and rushes out of the diner. She makes a beeline the one place their missing member could be considering recent events.

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to your cell to deliver dinner for both you and Bobby. If you were going to stay here, you needed some nourishment to help recover. And Bobby, (bless the kind-hearted bear), has been so busy helping you through your withdrawal that she hasn’t had a lot of time to rest let alone take a break. She can’t remember the last time she saw Bobby leave your side for reasons that didn’t include retrieving medication and other things meant for your comfort. Not even Dogday was able to convince her to rest for a while. (Pretty rich coming from HIM if you ask the pig.)

Bobby only left for a few minutes for some water and more medication. Apparently, you were having a hard time breathing. Picky follows Bobby to your cell and when they got there, there you were with scratch marks and aggravated open wounds. Not only were there now bloody bandages laying sprawled on the floor, but you went as far as to rip out your stitches. The pig shudders remembering all that blood on you while you stand there muttering things like, “More red. Not enough. Need more.”

For as long as she lives, Picky doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that scream from Bobby before she ran to catch you. Not even the shattering of glass and ceramics can drown out the bear’s screams and pleas for you to stay awake. Picky remembers rushing for Bubba which ended up with her alerting the entire team. Dogday raced to the cockpit immediately to notify the Commander about the emergency. The others followed Picky down to your cell. When they reached you two, they find Bobby’s trembling hands pressing a bloody rag against your bleeding torso. Poor girl was barely able to keep the rag steady. Bubba, Picky, and Crafty rush to your unconscious figure while Catnap and Kickin gently lead Bobby out the cell. She protested but couldn’t escape the boys’ grasps. All she could do was watch Bubba bark out orders to the other girls, including Hoppy who oddly had been standing frozen in place, staring the whole time. Picky and Hoppy ran to and fro with whatever Bubba demanded while he and Crafty worked together to keep you alive long enough for Dogday to get you to the station.

After 11 minutes, the crew finally made it to the space station. Dogday leads a team of medics to you and… well the rest is history.

*END OF TRIGGERING PASSAGE*

All the riders quickly exited their spacecraft shortly after the medics took you away. None of them wanted to stay on the ship right now. After some time, Bobby said that she was just going to get some “fresh air.” But just as Picky predicted, Bobby is, instead, sitting outside your blood-stained prison cell, curled in on herself with her head buried in her knees.

“Bobby?” Picky settles down next to her, gently placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Bobby slowly raises her head. Her muzzle is wet and the cascade of tears soaking into her fur isn’t helping.

“It’s all my fault.” Bobby takes a deep, shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have left (Y/n) alone…”

Picky opens her arms and Bobby leans into the pig’s embrace without a second thought. “No, it’s not your fault. No one could have known this would happen.”

That was met with more shaking, hiccupping, and whimpering as the tears began seeping onto Picky’s sleeve. She didn’t mind at all. The pig just whispers more soothing words and assurances while rubbing circles around the other girl’s back. They stayed like that for who knows how long. (Now Picky wishes they’d invested in a clock for the cells). Eventually, Bobby ran out of tears, but she remains curled up in Picky’s arms. She hasn’t bothered moving from her spot, instead opting to stare at the metal floor. Picky can hear her occasionally let out a heavy sigh. How this girl has not fallen asleep yet despite pulling frequent all-nighters for the last few weeks is beyond the pig.

“You know… It’s not forever,” Picky began gently. “It’s just until they get better. We can always contact the facility about their progress. We can even schedule visits with them.” Picky didn’t miss the way Bobby’s frown deepened nor the way her gaze remained hardened on the cold metal floor. “Hey, they’re going to be okay.”

The only response Picky gets is a brief nod. It seems to be the only thing Bobby has the energy to do right now.

-----

Quick note - I can't believe this story got this much attention! Thank you everybody for your support. And again, sorry for the confusion yesterday. I didn't meant to post the draft. I was not paying attention to what I was pressing when I was editing. Sometimes I hate writing on mobile phones. 😆

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