#and avoid her calls for days if not hours

[dono-harm-totonystark]

Dear anyone out there who's got my brand of autism and can't bring themselves to drink water because of its texture and/or taste; and is struggling in the summer with everyone telling you to drink water but you would rather get heat stroke and die than have water in your mouth:

it's fine.

Drink anything! Juice, sports drinks, soda, squash, tea, iced coffee, whatever you can get in you. Eat popsicles if that's better. I don't care.

Because guess what? the main ingredient in all of these IS water.

I drink soda exclusively, all the time. I have my blood & urine tested regularly. I am not dehydrated, not even in the peak of summer. Sure, I'd love to drink juice, but soda is cheaper per litre and I can buy it in bulk and it will keep, as opposed to juice that Must Be Consumed Within 24h Or Else. ("Just put it in the fridge!" my neurotypical friends say; and then my object permanence makes me forget about it, it goes bad anyway, and I don't drink anything at all for days.) I am also a medical professional. Not for humans, but water metabolism is actually pretty much the same across all mammals. I have clients call all the time like, "I'm trying to get her to drink but she's not wanting water!" GOOD! That's a good thing! It means she's not dehydrated despite whatever she may have lost or she's getting enough water from her food to supplement those losses. That is a good thing! And any nephrologist worth his salt (hon hon) will tell you the same thing: your main indicator of dehydration is thirst. If you're thirsty, and you drink fluid, and you stop feeling thirsty? Congrats! You have achieved Hydration. What kind of fluid this was is secondary. (Side point: ever noticed how most doctors/nurses ask you about 'fluid intake', not 'water intake'?)

If you don't trust yourself to feel thirst, your second indicator of dehydration is the colour of your urine. If you look down and it looks strangely dark, and you think back and you've not drank anything in hours, you should probably do so. Also, the colour going from darker to lighter over the course of the day shows whatever you do for hydration is working.

"Sugar dehydrates you" is a myth. Sugar or salt, or most other readily available oral electrolytes are not diuretics. They don't make you urinate significantly more. If you intake too much of them, they will be excreted in urine, but that urine will be no more or marginally more dilute than if you had drank water, because of your kidney's reuptake mechanisms retaining fluid when it is needed.

The reason why this myth goes around is because sugar causing increased thirst, urine dilution, and chronic dehydration is something that happens with diabetes (and some other endocrine disorders). Health issues make it so you are more susceptible to various states of being, and you should always adjust your diet and fluid intake accordingly. BUT! If you are a healthy person with good kidney and pancreas function, you can safely consume water in any form or mixture, and it will hydrate you. Pinky swear. TL;DR: there's nothing wrong with needing to avoid water and drinking other fluids, if your body is able to pick up the slack.

~ sincerely, a person who has not drank water since the turn of the millennium and continues to be alive and well

PS. For the record, I'm not saying other fluids are as healthy as water or exactly as effective (though this is probably arguable, depending on what water we're comparing to what fluid) but since not everyone can drink water and it made me feel alienated to read 'you can still drink juice only if you drink water with it!' and I've met multiple people who had similar sensory issues and thought they were alone... It just felt prudent to mention it.

PSA: i keep seeing posts about staying cool in extreme heat that include advice like "gatorade is bad actually!" and "don't drink fruit juice it'll just dehydrate you!" and neither of these are true!

regarding fruit juice: there's apparently a misconception that Any Sugar At All will dehydrate you, and that's simply not true. yes, sugar will make you pee more when consumed in large amounts, but 1) the natural sugar in fruits won't do this to you 2) great news! a lot of fruit juices exist without any added sugar in them! 3) honestly even having a glass of the fruit juice with added sugar won't completely dehydrate you as long as you're also drinking water throughout the day. if its hot you deserve a cold treat of a drink!!! can't go wrong with fruit juice!!!

regarding gatorade: maybe this isn't an every day drink, but guess what: if it's 110F/40C or hotter outside, and you don't have AC, or you're moving around a lot outside of the AC, and you're sweating buckets: that's when you drink a gatorade.

gatorade exists to replenish all the electrolytes (salt) and glucose (sugar) that you sweat out. YES it is meant for athletes to drink during intensive work outs and not necessarily for people who aren't doing that kind of exercise. BUT GUESS WHAT! when you're sweating buckets because you had to walk to the bus in extreme heat, that's intensive exercise. please feel free to drink a gatorade after that! that's its intended use case!!!!

no: neither of these drinks should be a total replacement for water. but drinking a lot of water and then treating yourself to a fruit juice with lunch is a good idea!!! drinking a gatorade becuase you just had to walk for 20 minutes in the heat is a good idea!!!

Please Stop Spreading Misinformation About Drinks!!! It's fine if you drink things that aren't water!!!! Yes you should probably always be drinking water but drinking something else As Well isn't going to hurt you!!!! okay!!!! its fine!!!!!!

honestly so long as you are consistently getting Any (non-alcoholic) fluids in you, you're doing great!!!!!! okay!!!! i love you stay safe <3

[booksandteaandtears]

close calls: the second time

Dr. Jack Abott x f!attending!wife!reader

Summary: the second of three times you and your husband almost revealed you were married before the event of That's your wife? sunshine version - read about the first time

Sooo, I wrote something sexy this time... not full on smut as that's not really my writing genre, but it's definitely a little spicy... so! MDNI !!

masterlist

the second time

You'd just gotten of a plane from New York. You'd landed at 4 in the morning and an hour later you'd arrived in the Pitt, coffee and breakfast in hand. You were supposed to pick your husband up for a relaxing day at home, but plans had changed and you still had to confess to Jack that you wouldn't be home with him. You'd decided that your best change of bringing the news would be face to face.

Dana had texted you the day before that Jack had had a rough shift that night. Robby had gone to the roof to talk to him. You'd tried to call Jack, but he'd been asleep by the time you did, and the rest of the day you were stuck in conferences and meetings with pharmaceutical reps.

You walked in, sipping your coffee, scanning the room for black scrubs and salt and pepper hair. You saw Ellis standing at curtain six and shot her a wave. She signed for you to wait and finished up with her patient.

"Hey you, haven't seen you on the night shift for a while. Are you on call? I thought that second year resident was working pediatrics tonight?"

"Yeah, he is. I'm starting surgery in a couple of hours and I wanted to study up a little so I came in early. I just had a question for doctor Abbot about an eight year old girl that came in a couple of weeks ago. I was looking over her chart and he mentioned some abnormalities that I want to check out. Have you seen him around?"

Parker sighed and took a bite out of the bagel you'd offered her. "He's around somewhere. We've been having a hard week. Dr. Abbot missed a case of abuse on Tuesday and he came in the next day with three broken ribs. A six year old shot his sister in the foot and we had to amputate, two kids crashed their car into a bus because they were high. Killed two kids. Just a bad week. Dana said his wife's out of town so we should cut him some slack but he's been barking at us all night."

You winced. "So your advice is to avoid him for now and come back when the wife's back in town?"

"I'd say so."

"Well, I guess I'll have to brave it cause I've got to sign off on those charts by tomorrow and I want to check it out. Wish me luck!"

You turned away from doctor Ellis and headed towards the lockers, hoping to find your husband there.

You heard him before you saw him. He was shouting at Dr. Shen, clearly annoyed by the young attending's casual demeanour.

"Those parents are terrified, John! You don't step in there taking a sip of coffee and sloshing your damn ice-cubes. You're supposed to be a fucking professional! "

"The patient was fine, doctor Abbot. I was just about to tell the parents that."

"That may be, Shen, but they didn't know that yet. Parents are programmed to think the worst when their child gets hurt and it's your job to calm them down and explain what's going on. You're a doctor for fuck's sake. Patient care includes talking to their loved ones in a respectful way. You fucked up in there and I never want to see it again. Just get out now, and do your damn job!"

Shen passed you a couple of seconds later and you gave him a reassuring smile.

When you turned the corner you saw Jack leaning on the lockers, looking at the floor and rubbing a hand over the thigh above his prosthetic.

"Did your leg get sore from shouting at attendings? Heard you've been doing that all night."

Jack looked up and his face softened immediately upon seeing you.

"Hi." He said softly. You smiled at him.

"Doctor Parker diagnosed your grumpiness as a symptom of missing your wife, so I'm here to remedy that."

His face lit up as he stepped towards you, his hands on your back and his lips on yours within seconds.

"I've missed you," he whispered between kisses, pushing you against the wall with his chest, trapping you between his arms "the house has been too empty without you in it."

You smiled against his lips. "Now I know you're lying, you hate it when I leave my stuff everywhere. You're always on my back about cleaning it up."

"I wasn't saying I missed your mess," he pulled away from you and brushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, "I missed you." He pressed his lips to your forehead, "I missed this. I missed having you close. I had almost forgotten how much I need you close to me, it's too hard to function without you."

You pulled him closer to you, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

"I don't function without you either."

You could feel Jack melting further into you, his head resting on top of yours, his hands tracing your back lazily.

You look up at him. "Did you have a bad week, Jack? You were barking at Shen like he killed a patient."

Jack sighed. He pushed himself away from you and turned, so he was leaning next to you on the wall.

"Yes, it was a bad week all around. Lots of kids with injuries their parents should have prevented, a few too many abuse cases, two veterans that OD'ed. I wrote it all down, like my therapist told me to, but that didn't really help. All I really wanted to do was hold you, talk to you about it, maybe fuck my feelings away afterwards."

You smiled at him. A boyish grin painted his face, turning towards you, his lips finding your neck. He'd hinted at how much he missed your physical connection over texts the last week, even sending some pretty risqué pictures, but your hours had been so opposite that you hadn't been able to help him over the phone.

"But I guess we can do that last one in a couple of hours. I'm only on for..." He looked at his watch, "another 115 minutes."

You pushed your husband off and decided you would have to break the news that you had spend avoiding since you had seen him in the hallway.

"About that..." you whispered at him. Jack groaned and messed up his hair with his right hand. His left hand was resting on your hip, softly squeezing.

"Please tell me you did not take a shift today." He groaned.

You smiled at him guiltily. "Doctor Keaton knew I was coming back today, so she called me last night to ask me to scrub in on a heart transplant this morning. The kid's seven years old. He's been on my patient list for four years, I just couldn't say no. Besides, this is doctor Keaton we're talking about, she's a legend, I've been waiting for a surgery like this for months. She's going back to Pakistan next week so this might be my last chance." You pout at him, trying to persuade him of the urgency of this surgery.

"So you are canceling a day in bed with me, your husband, after not seeing me for a week, because you want to hack someone open? You really are a surgeon."

You slapped his bicep, playfully. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him again, this time he was leaning against the wall and you were pulled flush against him. Your hands fell on his chest and the feeling of his taut muscles grounded you. You'd missed your handsome husband as much as he'd missed you.

His hand flew upwards, holding you where your jaw meets your neck. His eyes focused on yours intently. His voice was calm and low.

"Are you really going to keep me waiting another day? My dick's been hard since I saw you standing in the hall. I could barely manage waiting two more hours, and now you're telling me it's going to be tonight? I thought I made it clear that I've missed you, sweetheart."

You could feel your heartbeat fastening, his words creating tension in your body. The hand on your neck pulled your face closer towards his, so close you felt his breath against your lips.

"Jack," you whispered back, "We're in the middle of a hallway in your ER."

He nodded at you and closed the distance between you, his lips brushing over yours.

"There's an on call room around the corner on the right side."

You giggled at him. "Dr. Abbot! Are you really suggesting what I think you are?" Your hand sneaked towards his crotch, assessing that he was telling the truth about his cock. His eyes were glistening with want. You leaned into his ear. "It's actually really hot."

"Fuck." He groaned back. "Go, I'll be there in a minute."

You kissed the point below his ear while your fingers brushed against his dick again and he hissed at you. You giggled and made your way to the on call room, leaving him standing flushed in the hallway.

Jack took a minute to lower his blood pressure, making sure nobody had seen you go into the room before he opened the door himself.

The door opened again just a couple of minutes later.

"Hey Dr. Abbot, I just saw you sneak in here, sorry to wake you up already, but I have a question about that patient in three-" Shen looked up from the tablet in his hand and shut up.

Jack no longer had a shirt on and was about to rip your scrub top over your head, both his hands underneath the top near your boobs.

Jack growled at Shen, who was still standing in the doorway, staring at the pair of you.

"Shen! Get out! And for fuck's sake learn to knock!"

Shen turned around and scrambled out of the door.

"Shen!" Jack shouted when the door closed.

"Y-Yes?"

"I'll be- I'll be out in a second. Just stay right there and keep your mouth shut. Give me a minute."

"Okay boss. You sure you only need a minute? Looked like you were kind of in the middle of something."

"Shen! Just shut up!"

Jack dropped the tension in his body, letting himself fall on top of you.

"I will fucking kill him for seeing this, for seeing us."

You giggle at him and close your arms around him, holding him closer to you. "No, you won't. You'd have to fill the night shift attending position and you hate interviewing people. Besides, he barely saw anything."

He groaned into your neck. "I'm pretty sure I might just kill him tonight for having interrupted. Now I'm going to have to wait until tonight to have my way with you. My balls were blue enough without having been near you, I might burst with the way they're feeling now I've actually been able to touch you. I'm never letting you leave for an entire week again."

You tease him a little by rubbing your thigh over his crotch.

"Pretty sure your balls aren't the main problem area right now. You look like you have a soda can shoved down your pants. I think Myrna might have something to say about that."

"You know, you're not really making it any fucking better right now."

He sighed again and pushed himself of you. You handed him the shirt that was lying next to your head.

"I better check it out. That patient in three was critical a couple of hours ago. And I better talk to Shen about this as well. If he so much as breathes a word about this I'll have him for fucking breakfast."

"Jack?" He looks back at you, love flooding his eyes. "Just make sure he doesn't spill? Please? I don't want people to know yet, I'm only just getting used to everyone around here. I'll buy him a years worth of Dunkin if that will help."

"I'll make sure babe, don't worry. He's a good guy, he won't tell, we won't have to bribe him. Besides I don't ever want to see an iced coffee in his hands ever again." He put on his shirt and scrub top and walked towards the door, looking back before opening it.

"Good luck with the surgery today, I want to hear everything about it the moment you get back, I know you've been excited about working with doctor Keaton. Just promise me that when you arrive back home we won't leave the bed until tomorrow. I love you."

Then he opened the door and got back into the chaos of the pre-dawn ER.

[lemmesayimyourbiggestfan]

difficult - kim jong-hyeon

kim jong-hyeon x reader

you can find the second part here

word count: 2,1k

i'm so obsessed with good boy but my obsession with lee sang yi has been strong since bloodhounds, always the second male lead, my shayla 🥹

requests are open!

You didn’t tell anyone. Not that you were sick, not that you hadn’t eaten in over a day due to the loss of your appetite and energy, not that your head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton and your body ached like you’d been sparring for hours. 

It might have something to do with the recent streak of messages that you exchanged with your quiet, methodical, unreadable colleague with a stick in his ass - Kim Jong-hyeon. His messages were always short, never sentimental, but they still managed to drive you crazy. Don’t skip lunch today (that one time you’d been avoiding the canteen food because you had been punched in the gut on a mission so hard you felt for days as if you were going to throw up), Your caffeine intake is above normal this week. Drink water before 3 p.m.; Meeting got moved to 11:40. Bring actual notes this time, or maybe the worst of them that made you not speak to him for a week: Forecast says wind gusts over 20. Don’t wear the skirt you wore last Thursday. 

The last one said: Weather says 4° and raining. Don’t be stupid to wear that thin coat. 

Well, as a proof of your stubbornness, you decided to wear said coat and also said skirt, just to piss him off. But seeing his calm, indifferent expression was not worth laying on your couch while contemplating your life choices. 

You had worked with Jong-hyeon for just under a year in the inspection division of the auditor’s office - long enough to know he preferred actions to words, silence to sympathy, logic over anything that could be considered as warmth. You joked around him anyway, prodded him with sarcastic comments just to see if he would twitch. He rarely did. 

You had heard of his lost golden medal, the eye injury, the breakup between him and officer Ji Han-na. You once saw that he still had a picture of her in his wallet - smiling, radiant, the photograph worn in the edges. Such a heart-throb, you thought, breathing out loudly through your aching throat as you moved to your side, shivering even beneath the blankets. 

One thing that you could say about Kim Jong-Hyeon was that he was observant - which was probably the most dangerous thing about him. He noticed everything. 

Which is why, at exactly 2:13 p.m. on your second sick day - the second one you didn’t tell anyone about, didn’t put in the system, just disappeared without a word - someone rang your doorbell. Wearing socks that didn’t match and sweatpants that had become a second skin, you crawled out of the comfort of your living room, fully prepared to yell at a delivery guy for waking you up from your fever nap. 

Except when you had cracked the door open, it was not a delivery guy. It was Jong-hyeon. 

In plain clothes, black hoodie, hands in his pockets like he had every right to be there and none of the intention to explain why. 

You blinked once, stupidly. 

He blinked back, then lifted a small white plastic bag in one hand and said, “You didn’t answer your phone.” 

You didn’t remember your phone ringing. 

You blinked again, slower this time, like your brain was buffering under fever and disbelief.

“You called me?” you rasped, voice barely hanging together, every syllable like gravel scraping your throat.

“I called twice,” he said, calm as ever. “And messaged. You read them but didn’t respond.”

You stared. Not because of what he said, but because he was here - on your doorstep, in casual clothes, carrying the plastic bag like it was just another checklist item. Like tracking down your half-dead, flu-ridden body on a Tuesday afternoon was standard procedure.

“You tracked me down,” you said slowly, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Like I’m some kind of fugitive.”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he repeated flatly.

“Maybe I didn’t want to be found.”

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses - just slightly. A flicker, gone before it settled. “You didn’t want to be found,” he echoed, dryly. “While shivering, with a fever, probably half-delirious, and definitely stupid enough to skip three meals.”

“I had two oranges.”

“That’s not food.”

You sighed, gave up. Stepped aside.

He walked in without another word.

Your apartment wasn’t messy, just… uninhabited. Like you’d curled up in one corner of it and abandoned the rest. Jong-hyeon’s footsteps were quiet, but your awareness of them was loud, like your body remembered the sound of him even when your mind was still sluggish.

He made himself at home - not comfortably, not with ease, but with precision. Shoes by the door, hoodie sleeves rolled up, bag unpacked in a neat row on your kitchen counter. Medicine. Sports drink. Rice porridge in a sealed takeout bowl. A digital thermometer still in its box. A packet of heat patches. Your go-to coffee order with the right amount of milk, syrup and sugar. You had no idea how he had picked up on that. 

You watched him from the couch, cocooned in two blankets. Your throat ached, your joints ached, but your pride ached the most.

“So you just showed up. Because of a missed text?”

“Because you don’t miss texts,” he said, glancing up just once. “And you don’t skip work. And you don’t disappear for two days without a single complaint, unless something’s wrong.”

He placed the porridge on your coffee table. Didn’t look at you. “And because I told you not to wear that damn coat.”

You opened your mouth to respond - something cutting, probably, something to match the heat crawling up the back of your neck - but then he turned to you with a plastic spoon and said, “Eat while it’s still warm.”

You did.

You hated that it tasted good. That it soothed your throat. That your stomach, traitor that it was, grumbled in appreciation. You hated even more that he sat across from you in the armchair and didn’t speak, didn’t comment, didn’t pry. He just watched, calm and unreadable, and somehow it was that silence that cracked you open.

“Do you… do this for everyone?” you asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No.”

“Right,” you croaked. “Just the sick, stupid ones who ignore dress code warnings.”

He didn’t look up from the notes he had started scribbling in the margins of a folded case file. “You make it very difficult to ignore you.”

There it was. Almost a compliment. Delivered like a reprimand. Wrapped in that clinical tone that tried so hard to be impersonal, and failed so spectacularly when he looked at you - really looked - and you felt it.

Noticed.

Registered.

Held in the kind of gaze that always made you feel a little like you were under a microscope and a little like you were falling.

You dozed off at some point. Fever dragged you under like a tide, and when you woke, the light had changed. Dimmed. Shadows stretched longer across the ceiling. The bowl was gone. Your blanket had been tucked higher over your shoulders and there was an unfamiliar hoodie in your lap. 

Jonghyeon was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, now only in his t-shirt, typing on his phone with one hand and sipping something from your mug with the other.

“My cup,” you said hoarsely.

“I washed it,” he replied.

“You don’t drink tea.”

“I do when there’s nothing else.”

You stared at the back of his head. His hair was still slightly damp from the rain - the fine strands curling at the nape of his neck. You could smell the faint, clean scent of whatever he used: something herbal, practical, expensive. You hated how well you knew it. Hated how you pulled the hoodie closer.

“You can go,” you said after a beat. “I’m alive. Crisis averted.”

“I know.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t glance at his watch. Didn’t sigh in annoyance or reach for the hoodie you were now clutching like it belonged to you. He just sat there, on your floor, absurdly calm for someone who broke into your sick day like a one-man intervention.

“I put a new bulb in your lamp, it was flickering.” he finally said, unbothered.

“Oh.” Oh. “Thank you.”

The silence stretched - long enough for you to feel it settle between your ribs, heavy and real.

“You’re staying?” you asked, quieter this time.

“For a while.”

You should’ve rolled your eyes. Thrown a pillow. Said something cutting and clever about how he was hovering like a ghost with control issues. But your head was too heavy, and the fever had softened your edges. You didn’t want him to go. Not when his presence was the only thing in your apartment not swaying with the fever.

“You’ll get sick,” you murmured, turning on your side to face him more fully.

“I won’t.”

“How do you know?”

He tapped his phone screen once, checking something - maybe his schedule, maybe a case, maybe the exact second he planned to return to pretending he didn’t care.

“I don’t get sick from people like you.”

You furrowed your brows. “What the hell does that mean?”

He looked up. Finally. His gaze was level, unreadable.

“You run yourself into the ground before asking for help. You’ll skip meals before asking anyone to check on you. If I didn’t come, you’d still be lying here with two oranges and a mild death wish. That’s not contagious. It’s just infuriating. And stupid.”

You blinked. And blinked again. “Is that… supposed to be concern?”

He stared at you for a beat. Then:

“Don’t fish for sentiment. I brought medicine, not flowers.���

You let out a broken laugh, too hoarse to be pretty. “Thank god. I’d be really worried if you showed up with tulips.”

Another silence. Softer this time.

You didn’t remember closing your eyes. Didn’t remember your hand moving, either - until your fingers were brushing the back of his head. Just a light touch. Unthinking. Fever-drunken instinct. His hair was soft, softer than you expected, still faintly damp, curling slightly at the ends.

He froze - not sharply, but like a system processing something unexpected. He didn’t stop you.

You carded your fingers through once, twice, and felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten fractionally. It was a small thing, a private betrayal of a man who prided himself on control. You smiled into the pillow.

“You really do smell nice,” you murmured.

He exhaled through his nose. “You’re delirious.”

“Mm,” you hummed, letting your hand drop. “Maybe.”

And still, he didn’t move. Even when your hand slipped off his shoulder and back into the folds of the blanket. Even when your breath slowed again and your body curled back into itself, comforted.

He stayed. Sitting on your floor, staring straight ahead.

You drifted again, half-asleep, but not quite gone. Somewhere between the heat of the room and the weight of the blankets and the quiet company of a man who refused to name the way he cared, you felt it. That subtle shift. Like gravity had pulled him closer.

“Why her?” you asked, voice rough, barely audible, unable to stifle your curiosity and maybe something else. “Why Ji Han-na?”

Another long pause.

Then, low: “She made sense. We were in the same place.”

You waited.

“But?” you prompted, eyes still closed.

“We just are not anymore. There’s nothing more to it.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I thought I wanted quiet,” he added. “Turns out I needed someone stubborn enough to ignore me. And sharp enough to know when I’m lying.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The ache in your chest wasn’t from the virus anymore.

“Do you still carry her photo?” you asked, almost childishly.

“No.”

A beat.

“I got rid of it last month.”

You opened your eyes.

“Why?”

He looked over his shoulder at you then - finally, fully - and for the first time all day, something in his expression cracked. The edges softened. The wall dropped an inch.

“I met someone more difficult.”

You let out a sound - half-scoff, half-wheeze. “That’s your type now? ‘Difficult’?”

He tilted his head. “Apparently.”

You turned your face into the pillow, cheeks hot for a reason that had nothing to do with fever. The hoodie he’d left on you still smelled like him.

“You can sleep,” he said, standing now, walking to the kitchen without ceremony.

“I already did.”

“Then sleep again. I’ll still be here.”

You blinked at the ceiling, voice low. “Why?”

He didn’t turn around.

But he said, simply:

“Because you didn’t ask me to stay.”

And then, in the quiet, you heard it - the sound of your kettle starting to boil.

You smiled.

Because for a man who never said what he meant, Kim Jong-hyeon had just said everything.

[pantiesandpamperssissypart2]

"Diaper butt." Those were now the two most important words in Kevin's vocabulary.

In fact they now defined his existence, at least in the town of 10,000 where he'd taught community college English for the past five years. Well, on the internet too, but that only meant another, what, 5 billion people or whatever?

He'd been SO good at hiding his perverted desires from everyone in his life and in the town. Sure, at home he liked to tape himself into his Pampers and jerk off into them, but no one knew about that. He told folks he was just looking for the right gal to meet, not that he had a one-inch clit that could only shoot sissy shampoo when encased in crinkly diapers. And the one time he went to a professional domme he drove eight hours away. Made sure to maintain his anonymity.

And then, one weekend, when he had to finally indulge his need for some public humiliation, he made sure to drive to a mall a whole four hours away where absolutely no one would know him. He had on his thick diapers and tight leggings and posed for some pictures outside his car in the parking lot.

Then he really got brave and worked up the guts to waddle into the big mall in the city. He then got exactly what he desired: snickers, smirks, smiles, outright laughter and a few verbal taunts like, "Fucking diapers," and "Your Pampers are full."

But it was the folks who didn't see who were the most important people in the mall that day. How was Kevin supposed to know that Kristen Johnson and Alicia Berry, two sophomores in his English class, both of them loud-mouth, arrogant party-girls, had taken that weekend to visit Kristen's cousin in that very same town four hours away. They'd spent the weekend partying at the four-year college in town and before heading back home had hit the local mall.

That's where, as they ate in the food court, they saw...Mr. Jensen? Their English prof? Wait...is that him? It is! Oh my god! And is he...wearing diapers?! Yes, look at that diaper butt. Holy shit! Holy shit. They secretly followed and recorded him waddling around. They recorded people reacting to him. They recorded him adjusting his shirt to make the diapers even more fucking obvious. When he started walking toward them they avoided his glance and recorded his diaper crotch as well. What in the actual fuck. For 20 minutes they recorded this diaper faggot waddling around and then followed him out to his car and watched him drive off. Of all the things.

The next day in class neither could contain their laughter. They'd talked for about 24 hours straight about what to do with the video and the knowledge. Kristen, a bit more evil of the two, suggested blackmailing him. But eventually they decided that everyone needed to know about the diaper-wearing weirdo in the town. First they’d have some fun.

When they walked in together with Kevin clearing the chalkboard Kristen said loudly, “God why does it smell like a fucking diaper in here? Who filled their pants?” Alicia laughed while Kevin stopped writing. No way they knew. Maybe someone had farted before the two walked in. Ten minutes into class Kevin asked a question and Kristen raised her hand to say, "Well, Kevin, I think..." and Kevin stupidly interrupted to say, "Um it's Professor Jensen, Kristen. You remember."

"Oh," she replied, acting confused. "Okay, if you don't want me to call you Kevin I can call you by your real name. Professor Diaper Butt."

Alicia burst out laughing while the rest of the class was confused. Kevin stared slack-jawed. Seconds later Kristen uploaded a YouTube link to the class's Slack channel. "Kevin Jensen, aka Professor Diaper Butt, walks around in Pampers."

There it was. A 20-minute clip of Kevin waddling around in his thick, humiliating diapers, exposing himself, humiliating himself. Soon enough the class erupted in laughter and "holy fucks." Kevin checked the Slack group. Watched three seconds. He heard the calls of "Diaper Butt" from other students

Soon enough they'd tell their friends about Professor Diaper Butt. The administration would know. The townsfolk would know. The internet would know. Everyone would know about his diaper butt. His defining feature. The only thing that now mattered for a diaper butt faggot who'd gotten exactly the humiliation he thought he wanted...right up until he didn't.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a fever. l Joel Miller

Summary: you needed a doctor's help, but you felt guilty about everything

Warnings: parenthood, Rosie is sick, Ellie appears, tears and exhaustion, Joel is a support for the Reader, guilt and remorse

A/N: A few people have written to me saying they were worried Joel and Rader's daughter would actually be named Crumb. It's so sweet… I love reading your thoughts.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

When he first saw her, he knew he was lost. She was perfect in every way. Joel didn't believe he'd ever feel that again, that fulfillment and love that filled him completely.

After losing Sarah, a vast emptiness filled his heart, consuming him completely, every day. Ellie was like a daughter to him, and he would have given his life for her without hesitation, but Rosie...

Rosie Miller was something else.

"She has you wrapped around her little finger," you observed one morning as he walked to the stables, your daughter watching you tucked into a baby sling, snuggled against his chest.

"She likes horses," Joel replied, completely unfazed.

You smiled, knowing perfectly well how much he cherished every moment he could spend with her.

Rosie was almost three months old now. She seemed to be growing every day, and both of you couldn't get enough of her. Parenting was demanding, and you often had no energy for anything else, but when you looked into your daughter's eyes, so similar to her father's, you knew you wouldn't trade it for anything.

You had the opportunity to breastfeed her, which you appreciated immensely, but you appreciated the pump even more. It allowed you to sneak out sometimes, or just catch a few hours of sleep while Joel nursed the little one. And God, he was great at it. He was also your rock, your support system.

And Ellie.

She turned out to be a wonderful big sister. Although she still stubbornly avoided using her real name, Rosie, constantly calling her Crumb—mainly to see Joel's face—every time you asked her for help, she never said no. You tried not to overload her with the baby, but she always said she liked it and that at least "Crumb would have a role model." Joel paled when he heard that.

It was getting colder, and it was impossible to leave the house without a woolen sweater or jacket. Since Ann had learned to knit, you quickly got a warm hat for Rosie and Ellie, and gloves for yourself.

However, something had been worrying you for the past few days. "Joel, she's a little restless," you noticed, trying to feed Rosie after her evening bath. She fidgeted in your arms, waving her hands nervously.

He had just emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp and his shirt sticking to his shoulders. He glanced at Rosie. "Maybe she's not hungry?"

"I don't know... It's her feeding time."

"Let's put her to bed. We'll keep an eye on her. Maybe she'll get hungry later."

You did as he suggested, but you already knew you wouldn't sleep that night. And you were right. It was almost one in the morning when a whimpering sound from the crib caught your attention. Joel was snoring softly as you slid out from under his arm and reached for the crib.

"Joel? Joel..." you whispered. He immediately heard the change in your voice and opened his eyes quickly.

"What happened?" he asked sleepily.

"Rosie's all hot." You lifted her out of her crib and laid her in your bed. "Can you feel that?"

He placed his hand on her cheek, and she gasped in frustration. You knew from the look in his eyes that you were right.

"Maybe it's nothing... We'll put some cold compresses on her, that should help."

You nodded and quickly went to the bathroom to wet a small towel. Joel was already a father, he had experience, and he knew you trusted him, even though you were nervous. When you saw your frightened expression in the mirror in the dark bathroom, you prayed that nothing worse would happen.

But the compresses didn't help. Rosie drank some milk, but then squirmed and whined. An hour later, while you were changing her diaper, you noticed a worrying redness and rash on her skin.

"We have to go to the clinic," you said, and Joel didn't ask any more questions.

You simply threw your jacket over your pajamas and wrapped Rosie in a warm blanket, and you and Joel stepped out into the dark street.

"It looks like roseola. Some people call it three-day fever," said the young doctor who worked the night shift at the clinic. "The symptoms clearly point to that."

"What does that mean?" you asked, gently trying to grasp Rosie's hands, which she waved as she sobbed.

"The virus causes three-day fever. It causes redness and a rash, but it should go away on its own."

"She didn't want my milk," you replied, feeling a strange sense of guilt.

The man smiled. "You have to keep trying, but you can also try giving her water. I'll give her something to bring down her fever, okay?"

You nodded. The doctor left, and you struggled to dress Rosie, even though your hands were shaking. Only Joel's deep voice reminded you that he was there with you.

“Let me do this, honey,” he said, and you nodded, sinking into the chair.

You stared at your shaking hands until you finally clenched them, trying to calm yourself. “Jesus, I feel so helpless…”

“I know, but we did everything we could,” Joel replied. He seemed calm, but his heart was pounding. He had to be strong, though, for you and for her. “When Sarah was little, she had it too. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

“How did you cope then?” you asked, remembering that Joel was raising his daughter alone.

He took Rosie into his arms, and she snuggled into his chest, sobbing quietly. “I panicked. I took her to the emergency room. But I found a doctor and a nurse there who helped us. Just like they’re helping Rosie now.”

You tried to smile, but you couldn’t. Fatigue and stress were taking their toll—your whole body ached, and your breasts were heavy with milk. After a while, the doctor gave Rosie some medicine, and you took her home. It wasn't until the morning that she ate, which you accepted with obvious relief.

“You should eat something,” Joel announced, appearing in the bedroom with a tray of dinner and a cup of tea. “Ellie’s asking if she can come in.”

“Of course she can,” you replied, leaning against the headboard. The girl slipped inside.

“Hi,” she greeted shyly. “How’s Crumb? Joel told me what happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t with you at the clinic.”

“Oh, honey,” you groaned, patting the spot on the other side of the sleeping Rosie. “It’s good you were asleep. You couldn’t help us there, you’d just worry. I think she’s feeling better now.”

Joel placed the tray on the nightstand and sat down next to you, looking at your daughter with concern. You reached for his hand and squeezed it gently, your eyes meeting.

"She ate some more and fell asleep. Those meds worked wonders."

"Yes, she'll feel better soon," he replied. "And you? You should get some sleep."

Ellie tore his gaze from Crumb's plump face. "He's right. You look awful. Maybe I'll sit with her and you can take a nap?"

"I don't think so..." you started, but Joel interrupted.

"You can't help her if you're exhausted. Ellie's right, eat and take a nap, and we'll take care of Rosie."

You couldn't win against them.

It was already afternoon when you woke up. For a moment, your head was free of all worries. You stretched out in the warm sheets like a cat and buried your face in the pillow for a moment. Then the room fell silent. Joel took Rosie and Ellie downstairs so you could rest, but how was he supposed to recover? Tears welled up in your eyes. You got up and quickly went to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would help.

You stripped off your clothes and threw them in the laundry basket, then turned on the hot water. The bathroom soon filled with steam. Without a second thought, you stepped under the stream, letting the water wash away the exhaustion of the previous night. Soon, your tears began to mix with the warm water.

That's how Joel found you, sitting by the tub in your bathrobe, your eyes puffy with tears.

"I heard you were up," he said, sitting down next to you and wrapping his arm around you. "What happened, honey?"

You sniffled. "I feel so helpless... She felt so bad, and I couldn't help her..."

Joel sighed, brushed your wet hair back with his hand, and kissed your temple. "We were both helpless. Rosie is sick, but it will pass..."

"How can I live knowing there will be times when I won't know how to help her?"

You sobbed, wiping your cheek with your sleeve. "I knew bringing a child into this world was risky, but I didn't expect... Damn, I feel so guilty that she got sick."

He hugged you tightly. He knew how you felt, all too well. It was a terrible feeling, not knowing what you should do, yet hoping that what you were doing would be enough. There were sleepless nights ahead, worries about her health and life, doubts about whether what you were doing was right. That was what parenthood was like, and you felt overwhelmed by the responsibility. You loved Rosie more than anything in the world; she was a part of you and Joel, but the thought of something happening to her... terrified you.

"You're doing great, honey," he said softly, hoping his clumsy words would help. "I can't tell you it'll get easier with time, but you have to trust your intuition. It's a miracle we have her, and she's lucky to have a mom like you. Ellie is lucky too. And..." he sighed heavily, "I think Sarah would love you too."

You snuggled closer to him. Whatever lay ahead, you were in this together. As partners, friends, and parents.

Together.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner @libraryofneith @princess76179

[digitialwonderland]

Swan lake with the TF 141

Pursuit at Swan Lake

Chapter 3 Previous

Simon’s warmth seemed to follow you through your dreams like a phantom. Foolishly, you chased it past each flashing image of your nightmares. But when you woke, it was nothing but your white feathers that were gathered around you. The fire was at a low simmer, and his scent still seemed to cling to the furs.

He returned the next night, and the next. Always carrying with him the jar of medicine, and always leaving food behind. It took only a few days before you were able to gather enough strength to start moving.

“We’ll start off slow, until you can swim on yer own again.” Simon mumbled as he quickly tossed off his shirt.

He had been planning this out step by step, taking everything with more care than he ever dared to give himself when healing. Truth be told, it broke his heart every time he had to watch his doll go through her transformation. Even in her sleep she let out soft whimpers of pain as feather and beak replaced her skin and lips.

Simon stepped forward, not missing how the swans large eyes seemed to linger on his torso. “We only have about an hour before sunset,” he reminded her as he crouched down and held out his hands. “Let’s make it count, yeah?”

She hesitated for a moment, looking down her beak at his large hands. He could see the gears turning in that head of hers, practically hear them. But after a moment she gave a small huff and then slowly started to stand. “Easy, sweetheart.”

The words fell from his lips far easier than he ever cared to admit. He had almost tried to resist calling her all the endearments, but the sweetness the stung at his cheeks and warmed in his chest was like a hit that he could grow addicted to.

She stood and wobbled for a second. Even in this form, Simon could see the way her eyes narrowed in determination and the way her legs trembled a bit. “Tha’s it, doll.” He held his hands further out, unable to help the hope that blossomed in his chest. “Take it nice ‘n slow.”

In a shuffle, she cautiously made her way to him. She spent every step like she was expecting for the pain to come back to haunt her, Simon would be lying if he didn’t wait on the edge for her to show signs of pain. It was so natural that he barely noticed how ready he was to jump in if she needed him. But his doll was strong, and sure as night she slowly made her way into his arms. “There she is.”

Simon scooped up the swan as delicately as if she were an infant, “you did good, doll.” He held her to his chest, careful to avoid the blackened star of feathering on her plumage. He still found it difficult to look at the mark. Every time he did he felt his eyes snag for a few seconds too long. Guilt always followed, along with the tight squeeze of regret in his heart. But there was something underneath all that, a beast he refused to acknowledge.

He took the first step into the lake, watching as the water rippled out from beneath him. Her eyes flicked back and forth, watching the flock at the other end of the lake. Under different circumstances he would have chuckled about how worried she was for them.

Deeper and deeper he went into the cool water, it wasn’t an awful temperature, the spring heat had offered the lake some time to warm after winter. “There we go,” Simon muttered, more to her than himself as he settled in a spot that was up to his waist. “You ready, doll?”

She looked down at the water, tapping her beak at it as if to disapprove in some way. But then, her sleek, white-feathered head dipped into a nod. “Just swim right back to me when yer ready to be done.” It sounded a little ridiculous, telling a swan to come back when she was done swimming. But then again, she wasn’t a swan.

Slowly, Simon lowered her into the water, letting her get her bearings before fully letting her go. She bobbed for a second, making Simon’s heart nearly turn to stone, but then her feet started to catch a rhythm and she started to move.

In the distance, the flock of swans quacked in an uproar, almost like a choir. She responded in equal, paddling in happily little circles in the water.

Hardened Hunter be damned, Simon couldn’t stop the smile that cracked crookedly over his lips. In any form, it was a delight to see his doll happy. The way her eyes squinted even hinted at a smile. “Tha’s good, love.” He watched her swim around, the golden light of the setting sun passing over her feathers. She didn’t need him one bit, a thought that had panic rising in his chest, even when he pushed it aside.

She swam until the sun had slipped beneath the horizon. Then, with slightly more ease than she had the last couple of times, she transformed. Simon felt his breath escape in a small gasp as he watched her avian body dive beneath the water and transform into her beautiful human form beneath the wavering surface.

God, she was gorgeous. Possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. But he fought hard to shove down the feelings that warmed in his chest because of it.

She surfaced again in front of him, her eyes wide as a little lambs. Quickly, Simon cleared his throat and averted his eyes from what was just beneath the surface. “Let’s get you dry n’ dressed, doll.”

The more Simon visited, the more your body strengthened and the more your burns healed. Yet, you still refused to admit it. The fire flicked in front of you, he had brought a sort of sleeping mat this time, said that ‘a lady ought to have a proper sleeping arrangement.”

Now, the warmth of the fire radiated from the embers in front of you, and his warmth burned behind you. How had you so easily allowed a man to get so close? The very man who had shot you was now beside you, propped up against his pack and whittling. Every night since the first had led to more training, or rehabilitation rather. You could walk, swim, hell your burns had even smooth out to a light pink mark. And yet, Simon still returned every night to spend it with you.

The thought had your cheeks warming and your heart leaping. But you weren’t ready to admit that, you couldn’t admit that. After all, you spent half your life as a bird, who would want to be with someone they only saw at night?

“Simon?”

“Yes, doll?”

You shifted onto your back to look up at him, “where are you from?”

He paused whittling all together, his eyes going distant for a moment. Then, just as suddenly, they flicked down to you and softened. “A land very far from here.”

Well, that was certainly vague. Your brows pinched, and you could feel your frustration with the response gather in the crinkle of your nose. This didn’t seem to have the desired effect though, his eyes only gained this new, tender warmth that seemed to spread across his whole face. Even the parts hidden by the beard and ear length hair he still had yet to maintain. Everything about him just seemed to melt into something endearing.

“My home is a kingdom filled to the brim with spirit,” he murmured, reached down and brushing some of your hair off your forehead. “The people there are kind and hard workers.” He paused, his eyes going distant again. “When winter touched the land, it didn’t dim our smiles. People would dance and sing in celebration.” He chuckled quietly to himself, “every year, on Christmas, you could walk down the street and find every house with there front door open.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because each home was hosting a feast, and each feast was open for anyone to join.” A crooked, handsome smile formed over his lips and his rough fingertips started to swirl mindlessly in your hair. “In the summer, it was perfect. Filled with colorful flowers and parades for the royal family.”

“Your home sounds beautiful…” you breathed, mind deep in the thought of a place so full of life.

“It was.”

“Was?” Your eyes drew back up to see his face, where some of the warmth had drained away.

“‘S not my home anymore, doll.”

Something deep within you saddened, almost like you could feel his hurt, even without context. “Where do you live now?” You asked softly, unable to bridle your curiosity for even a second.

“With a friend.”

Afternoons continued as swimming lessons, or more like “supervised swimming”. And then nights became quiet moments of comfort and warmth. You’d fall asleep beside him and wake with his presence still clinging to your skin.

Waking up without him, started to almost … hurt. Like the contrast between his warmth and the morning chill was only becoming more and more dramatic. But no matter how much it did hurt, you still clung to the moments spent with him. It was like you had nothing else to live for.

Even as you began to join the flock during the day, you found your attention lingering on the tree line. Waiting for that same tall, broad shoulder silhouette that would surely appear that night.

Now was one of those moments that you felt your heart leap at every shift in the shadows. You swam closer to your shared camp on the shore, your eyes flicking between the trees and the horizon.

He’s running late today. The suns about to set.

Something about the uncharacteristic tardiness sent your heart down a path of growing panic. What if something happened? What if Makorov-

No.

You wouldn’t let yourself go there. Surely that evil, cruel man had better fish to fry than you.

Much to your relief, something in the brush finally moved and Simon stepped out, approaching your camp with a perfectly normal appearance and demeanor. It was silly, you never should have even worried. He was Simon, of course he was fine.

You swam to the shore, just in time for the sun to slip out of the skies grasp. You dove into the water as a bird and reappeared as a woman. When you did, Simon was right there at the edge of the water, holding out a towel and politely turning his head away.

“You had me scared there for a moment,” you smiled, still elated with relief as you stepped into the towel and let him wrap the thick cloth around you.

“Would never abandon you, doll.” He reassured, but his eyes took a moment to go to you. They lingered on the woods, darting around as if in search of something.

“Simon?” He finally looked down at you, his jaw set and tensed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, love.” He tried, reaching up and gently resting both hands on your arms.

There was a sharp click from the woods. Someone loading a crossbow. “Nae, Ghost. I beg to differ.”

Both your heads whipped towards the voice, but you only got a glimpse of who stepped out of them before Simon tucked you behind his large frame.

It was a man, a northerner if you had ever heard that accent before. His eyes were nearly as bright a blue as the summer sky, and his hair a dark brown that resembled some of the chocolates you so often found yourself craving. More noticeably, his head was trimmed short on either side, leaving a proud strip of hair down the center. Over his broad shoulders, a wolf fur was draped, but there was nothing beside that to cover his strong chest and abdomen. A kilt was belted around his hips and draped over his thick, muscular thighs, dawning colors of bright blue and deep, rich green. Out of all the details, the only one that mattered was his gaze on you and the crossbow he had fixed right at you and Simon.

“Soap, let me explain.”

Kyle couldn’t help but slouch in his chair as more and more families entered the front door of the thrown room. His capacity for polite greetings had long since expired, even for the princesses that were potentially going to become his fiance in the up coming weeks.

“Might want to sit up before your mother says something.” A familiar, gravely voice said from slightly behind his thrown. Captain John Price of the Royal Guard.

Kyle sat up, but took the brief break in arriving guests to speak to the man. “When you see the young women that have arrived, Captain, what do you think?”

The man stepped forward as to be more visible to the young prince. “Well, my prince, I see great potential. Most of these princesses seem quite accomplished, you have many good options.”

“Yes yes, but what makes them…stand out.” Kyle pressed, resting his chin in his palm. “What makes them any different from women that you have met in the kingdom.”

A keen, intelligent smile curled over Price’s lips. “I think you will find them very different from the women I have met, my prince.”

Kyle couldn’t help but snort, he knew very well of the ladies the Captain and his men spent time with. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that weighed down on him. “You know what I mean, I-I’m not just looking for a princess, Captain. I want someone who could lead and love the kingdom while at my side.” He glanced over at the king and queen, who were speaking among themselves. “Despite what my parents want.” He tacked on quietly.

The captains eyes warmed and wrinkled at the corners with an expression so soft it was simply unfit for such a hardened warrior. “If you keep that in mind. I don’t doubt that you will be able to find the right one.”

It eased Kyle’s soul to have his support, but still, something within him had felt frantic lately. Night and day he would fidget or find himself unable to sit for too long. “I hope you are right.” He murmured, watching silently as the next royal family stepped through the doors.

Hope you enjoyed it lovelies! Next chapter coming soon!

[kabr0ztrousers]

A classic monster fucker prompt. Fem! werewolf x Fem!reader but one of them has a girlcock. The rest I leave up to you

Kabr0z Writes Episode 163: Raid Leader

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: Oral sex; femdom; oral knotting; breath play; choking; orgasm denial

A/N: It feels funny publishing the werewolf throatfucking episode immediately after being armchair diagnosed as oral retentive by a werewolf-obsessed friend 🤣 who knows maybe it was 🌙 who requested this and just forgot a signoff

#############################################

Your first glance was on a forum. Where else? You both avoided dating apps, too many creeps for either of your tastes, so when you chanced upon one another in an MMO forum it was like fate itself had set you up. Neither of you knew what was beginning when you decided to meet up in the capital city, idling near the bank. From that first meeting, you started questing together; questing became raiding, and with it the inevitable requirement to actually speak to one another. For the first time in your friendship, online handles melted away and you finally heard one another. You had to admit, you hadn’t expected your friend to also be a woman, or for her voice to enrapture you so.

You obeyed her instructions to the letter, and you rarely failed your raids when she was leader.

It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.

Her voice rang out “Keep pressing, remember he's got a big AoE when he hits 1% so make sure to dodge to about twelve hundred range and watch that healthbar”

“I love you” The words escaped you before you knew you were saying them. The call went dead for a moment. Everyone heard, even as ingrained muscle memory sent a dozen brightly-coloured avatars hurtling backwards out of the range of an explosion, even as the boss fell and the loot table allocated drops.

You didn't sign in for a few days after that. How could you have been so careless? So rash? You didn't even know each other's names, how could you love her? It was only when you came back and checked your mailbox for the login reward that you noticed. An unread message. From her.

“I love you too. Call me”

You jumped on a direct call with her. It didn't even have chance to ring before it connected. Was she waiting for you? You blushed. She had her camera on. And precious little else.

“Hey, how are you?” Her mouth was moving, but you couldn't keep your eyes off her tits. She was a lupine, snow white fur covering every part of her that you could see, going some distance to preserve her decency but still leaving very little to the imagination. You felt like you could guess her cup size just from the video feed, not that she needed to wear a bra.

“I- uh, I… That is to say…” You couldn't string a thought together, let alone a sentence. You closed your eyes, and a few deep breaths later you introduced yourself, with your real name this time

“Cool, I'm Wynn. Well, Blodwyn, but that's a bit of a mouthful.”

Wait. That's a Welsh name

“You're Welsh?”

“Yeah, from the Valleys, you?’

You didn't answer. Not right away, you were too busy typing out your mailing address to her

“Wow, real close… Tell you what, don't go anywhere, and give me a half hour.” With that, her feed went dead.

So you waited. The chat on your screen, staring at her icon as it went from available, to away. Twenty long minutes passed. Nothing. Twenty five. Nothing. Thirty five. Noth-

A knock at your door. You frowned. The post arrived hours ago. Nevertheless, someone just knocked.

You opened the door. Your jaw dropped. She was standing there.

“Aren't you gonna invite me in?”

Your mouth was flapping like a fish, opening and closing as she pushed past you into your living room

“Is it alright if I sit?” She already was, nestling herself on your sofa, patting the seat next to you. She'd dressed, at least, though her booty shorts and crop top still didn't leave anything to the imagination. You sat down next to her, feeling your blush rising in your face, allowing a furry arm to hold you tightly to her side.

Wynn leant back, putting her digitigrade feet up on your coffee table. Normally you'd tell her off, but you still weren't quite capable of words, half buried as you were in a plush tit. You were being rotated, gently but inexorably turned so your front was against her side. Your face rested against her boob, your hand on her belly, then her crotch.

It was all so sudden. So forward. If it was anyone else, you'd tell them to stop. Dress them down for presuming so much, after all you'd only just met in person, you hadn't even known what she looks like for an hour. But it's her, and you'd never say no to her. Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, finding a sheath.

“Like what you find down there?”

You nodded, still sheepish

“Words, sweetie. Use your words”

“Y-Yeah” you took a moment “I wasn't expecting it, but it's nice”

Wynn purred in satisfaction “Good. You wanna taste?”

“Mm-hm” you nodded, already working the shaft as it filled her sheath, tip poking out into her pants.

One hand opened her shorts, the other pushed you into her crotch. Mouth-open, you let her push to your face into her sheath, grinding you against her hardening cock. You weren't idle, catching a ball in your mouth, nibbling on the skin of her sheath. It's not the first time you've sucked a cock, but it might be the most you've enjoyed the experience, and you haven't even taken the dripping column into your mouth yet

“I'm gonna use your face to jack off, then if you're good I'm gonna let you clean my cock afterwards. Sound good?”

Your voice was lost in her ballsack. You twisted your hand into a thumbs up

“Good girl”

A single gasping breath was all you could suck down as she lifted you. Then she buried herself in your throat. You couldn't stop gagging. Your cunt wouldn't stop dripping. Both of her hands were on your head now, squeezing gently as her balled fists pulled your hair. You didn't care. Both of your hands were on your body, rubbing your clit under your pyjamas as you groped your own tit.

Wynn took her time, pushing you low on her cock, precum pulsing out of her every time your gag reflex squeezed on her. She hadn't let you come up for air yet. Your ears were starting to ring, the room beginning to spin. You coughed a little around her, eyes darting to meet her deep gaze.

Her beautiful muzzle was twisted into a lustful snarl “You wanna breathe? Then make me cum”

Your hands went to her. Your own denied pussy screamed out for sensation, for touch, for the cock you were so busy suffocating on. You cradled her balls in one hand, her knot in the other, squeezing the base of her length, hearing her growl as you did

“That's it, just like that. Keep going. Keep going. Keep-”

Her mouth opened in a silent howl. You spluttered as those strong hands pressed you down. The knot slipped past your lips, filling your mouth as it expanded. Her balls tensed, rising up to the base of her sheath as thick cum exploded down your throat.

You didn't need to swallow. You didn't have a choice. It pumped straight down your throat, every drop caught by your desperate, gagging gullet. You slapped at her leg, trying to tap out as she pulled your hair harder. Your cunt was clenching on air.

At last she pulled herself out of your mouth, wincing slightly as her knot slipped free. A few final pumps painted your face in ropes of jizz. You were being held up by your hair, tongue out, panting.

“Was…” you swallowed the last of the cum coating your mouth “Was I a good girl?”

[gelus-ugs]

Where the Heart Belongs

↯

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Female Reader

Timeline: Sometime during the RTTE series

Prompt: When a letter from home creates unfamiliar feelings of longing and homesickness, [Y/n] begins to question where she truly belongs. She’s torn between going back to the family she left behind, or staying with the dragon riders on the edge. When a sudden attack threatens everything she loves, [Y/n] faces the flames of war, the longing of homesickness, and the feelings of romance she’s been avoiding this entire time.

☆彡

Background: [Y/n] is from a village called Aarhus. Aarhus has been allies with Berk for generations; the two villages accompanying each other through every war and change in traditions. [Y/n]’s father is the chief of Aarhus, making her the second resort to rule the village if something were to happen to its current chief - after it’s first successor: [Y/n]’s older brother. When she was a young teenager, [Y/n] began to accompany her father and older brother whenever they visited Berk for business matters. During her first visit to Berk, [Y/n] met Hiccup, and the two immediately bonded over multiple shared struggles (The fact that they were considered outcasts, the fact that they were the chief’s children, and the heavy expectations that weighed on their shoulders). Hiccup and [Y/n] grew close, writing letters back and forth and spending as much time together as they could whenever [Y/n] visited Berk. When Berk transitioned from being dragon hunters to dragon riders, Aarhus did the same. Business between the two villages grew a lot easier since they could rely on dragons for transportation. Hiccup went from writing letters to simply visiting [Y/n] whenever he pleased (Thanks to Toothless). The two would constantly travel with each other, disappearing for days at a time to explore new areas of the archipelago or simply visit their favorite ones. Hiccup eventually helped [Y/n] find her own dragon: a whispering death that she named [Dragon’s name]. When the dragon riders were established and they found and settled on the Edge, Hiccup was quick to invite [Y/n] onto the Edge with them, allowing her to build her own hut. [Y/n] accepted, moving onto the Edge and becoming apart of the Dragon Riders.

⇩

Key:

[D/n] - Dragon’s name

[O/b/n] - Older brother’s name

[S/n] - Sister’s name

[Y/b/n] - Younger brother’s name

The Edge was quieter than usual.

[Y/n] sat on the edge of the cliffside, [D/n] curled behind her like a scaled shadow. The occasional breeze tugged at her clothes, but it was the emptiness in her chest that truly left her feeling cold.

A letter from [O/b/n] sat in her lap, curled in the same way it had arrived. However, [Y/n] didn’t need to read it again; she memorized every word.

“I’ve met someone, her name is Freya. She makes me feel like the world isn’t so heavy anymore.”

[Y/n] felt happy for him; truly, she did. However, the sudden ache that left a void in her chest wasn’t jealousy; it was longing. It was an old, bitter feeling that made her throat close and her eyes sting.

She missed home.

She missed the sound of [S/n]’s giggles echoing through the forest, and the way [Y/b/n]’s smaller hands clutched her larger fingers like they could keep him steady.

She missed the scent of home-cooked stew simmering above the fire and the screeching of her father’s wooden rocking chair when he sat down to tell a story.

Instead, here she was, all alone on the Edge. It was a place she loved deeply, but it suddenly made everything familiar feel out of reach. She stayed in the same spot for hours, ignoring the growing concern in her dragon’s gaze.

She eventually stood, brushing off the dirt that clung to her clothes, and made her way to her dragon. Maybe a ride would help clear her mind and get rid of the homesick feeling that stuck in the pit of her stomach.

It didn’t.

Nor did training with Astrid, flying with Snotlout, messing around with the twins, or helping Fishlegs research dragon behaviors. For days, [Y/n] was quick to volunteer herself for any and every task, even the ones that weren’t mandatory.

Whenever someone questioned her, she always brushed them off, but they noticed how her smile was always a little too forced and her laughter was always too short-lived.

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with her.

It was late when she finally decided what she really needed: comfort. And, she knew where she could find it. Before she could think twice about what she was doing, her feet carried her to Hiccup’s hut.

She raised her hand to knock, but froze at the words that were spoken from the other side.

“Astrid.”

Although muffled, Hiccup’s voice could be heard through a crack in the door.

“I…I think I finally figured it out.”

Astrid hummed, her voice coming through the crack as well.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how I feel.”

There was a pause, and [Y/n] felt her stomach twist.

“She makes me feel grounded.”

Hiccup continued, his voice softer now.

“And when I’m with her, the weight of being the future chief, and the pressure, it’s all just…gone.”

Astrid spoke gentler than before,

“You really love her, don’t you?”

“I think I always have.”

[Y/n] felt her heart shatter as she slowly backed away from the door, turning around and leaving without making a sound.

꥟

[Y/n] didn’t leave her hut the next day, or the day after that. [D/n] refused to leave her side, wrapping her body protectively around her rider’s, growling at anyone who attempted to bother [Y/n]. After a while, the others assumed she was sick, so no one pressed.

It wasn’t until the sun began to dip below the horizon on the third day that a sudden knock rattled her window. [Y/n] blinked at the sound, slowly sitting up when it happened again - but this time quicker, and more urgent.

She opened the window, quickly ducking her head as a terrible terror launched itself into the room and skid to a stop on her floor, letting out a huff through its nose. [Y/n]’s brows furrowed in confusion as she looked down at the small dragon, her eyes widening when she noticed something attached to the underside of its belly.

A letter.

Taking the paper and unraveling it, [Y/n] immediately recognized her brother’s handwriting, although it was a bit messier than usual. As her eyes skimmed the page, her chest grew tight.

“Dragon hunters, Aarhus, Under attack.”

[Y/n] didn’t finish the letter; she didn’t need to.

“[D/n].”

She breathed, eyes wide as she rushed to dress for battle,

“We have to go, now.”

꥟

Aarhus was surrounded.

The sky was engulfed in flames, smoke twisting like angry spirits the further it rose. Dragon hunters bordered around the shoreline, their nets glossy in the firelight, similar to spiderwebs.

What they didn’t expect was a whispering death to soar from the skies, merciless and powerful.

[D/n] roared as [Y/n] launched herself onto deck after deck, the two of them attacking any dragon hunters that challenged them. [Y/n] took down ropes, chains, and men who dared trap the dragons and villagers of Aarhus.

She moved through the raging wind and roaring flames - furious, relentless, and shaking from adrenaline. Her shoulder burned from a graze that an arrow left on her, but she didn’t stop.

She didn’t until a horn blew, [Y/n] immediately understanding the signal as she mounted [D/n].

Retreat.

[Y/n] flew away as the remaining enemy ships retreated. She returned to the island, watching as [O/b/n] sprinted towards her, panic in lacing voice.

“[S/n] and [Y/b/n], they’re gone!”

Time slowed, and without hesitation, [Y/n] mounted [D/n] as quickly as she had gotten off,

“Which direction?”

The two younger siblings were quickly located. [S/n] on one ship, [Y/b/n] on another.

On his own dragon, [O/b/n] veered toward [Y/b/n], and [Y/n] angled toward [S/n]. Arrows rained from the ships below, and [D/n] dodged them with precision, effortlessly weaving through the chaos.

[Y/n] leapt from her dragon midair, crashing onto the boat and causing the hunters to scatter around her. Her body moved with grace as she fought effortlessly, the daggers she occasionally fought with whirling through the air and never missing its target.

[Y/n] soon reached [S/n], who was tied down and frightened. [Y/n] began to saw at the ropes, barely noticing when a hunter lunged from behind. She reacted instantly, shoving [S/n] behind her and out of the way.

In an instant, [Y/n]’s arm felt like it was on fire, the hunter slicing a sword through her limb. She let out a strained cry, but she didn’t stop - she didn’t even dare to hesitate.

[Y/n] hauled [S/n] onto [D/n]’s back, blood soaking what was left of her sleeve as the dragon took off. Moments later, they landed back on Aarhus, [O/b/n] immediately rushing towards them, their father following behind.

“You’re bleeding!”

[O/b/n]’s voice cracked, his eyes widening at the amount of blood that seeped from her arm.

“I’m fine.”

[Y/n] insisted, but before she could take a single step forward, her knees buckled. The world around her spun and her vision blurred as she quickly collapsed.

꥟

[Y/n] woke with a loud gasp, feeling as if she had just surfaced from underwater. She slowly blinked at the ceiling above her, the overwhelming scent of herbs and medicine filling her nose. Looking slowly around her surroundings, she figured she was in one of the medic rooms.

She looked down at her arm, feeling how stiff it was under the multiple layers of bandages. She figured that she had to get stitches, but that was the least of her concerns as she smiled softly.

Her younger siblings were safe, and that’s all that mattered to her. A sudden knock at the door made her flinch as she turned to face the entrance of the room.

“Come in.”

[Y/n] rasped, a cough following after from the dryness in her throat. She expected [O/b/n], or maybe her father, but she didn’t expect Hiccup, who stood on the other side of the entrance.

He stepped inside slowly, as if he were hesitant about his presence being allowed. [Y/n] sat up, her expression neutral, as Hiccup walked towards her.

“How are you feeling?”

He asked, voice low and laced with concern.

“I’m fine, I could be worse.”

A silence fell between the two as Hiccup knelt beside the bed, placing a hand on her uninjured arm. After a few moments, Hiccup finally spoke.

“Why’d you leave without telling anyone?”

[Y/n] didn’t look at him, adverting her gaze somewhere to the side.

“It was urgent.”

“You could’ve gotten killed.”

“I had to protect them!”

At this point, they both stood before each other, eyes glaring at the other as the air thickened with pressure.

“You don’t get it!”

[Y/n] snapped, her brows furrowing in frustration,

“My siblings are everything to me!”

“And you’re everything to me!”

Hiccup shouted, rendering [Y/n] speechless. She felt her heart pound with emotion as she opened and closed her mouth like a fish, adverting her gaze to the ground as she spoke.

“Don’t say that...”

[Y/n] whispered,

“You already have a girlfriend.”

“What?”

Hiccup’s brows furrowed, confused as to what [Y/n] was talking about,

“Who?”

“Astrid.”

[Y/n] spat, rolling her eyes as if the answer was obvious - which, to her, it was.

“I heard you two that night. I went to find you, and-”

Realization finally hit him as he quickly cut [Y/n] off,

“That wasn’t about Astrid.”

[Y/n] blinked, watching as Hiccup reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pendant on a leather cord.

“That night, I was asking her about your siblings’ names-”

He said softly as [Y/n] gently took the necklace from him.

“-Because I didn’t want to ask you directly. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise…”

[Y/n] simply stared as she admired the jewelry. Carved on the pendant was the Aarhus crest, and beneath it were four names: [O/b/n], [Y/n], [S/n], and [Y/b/n].

[Y/n] felt her breath hitch as she slowly lifted her gaze to look at Hiccup.

“I made it for you…”

Hiccup murmured.

“…Because I know how much they mean to you, and…I wanted you to know that you mean just as much to me.”

He gently took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over her skin as he stared at her with the most gentle expression.

“I love you, and I’ve loved you since the first time we met.”

Hiccup confessed, watching as [Y/n]’s lips slightly parted.

“Since you looked at me like I wasn’t strange, and since you laughed at my dumb jokes and shared your stories and made me feel like I belonged. You make me feel like I’m home.”

[Y/n] swallowed, her heart aching with a strong sense of emotion that rendered her speechless as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Hiccup…”

He cupped her cheek, using his thumb to brush away the tears that fell from her eyes.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

[Y/n] answered within a heartbeat, and a smile rested on Hiccup’s face. Without sparing another moment, their lips met - soft, sweet, and long overdue.

When they pulled apart, they rested their foreheads together, their breaths mingling as they kept their gaze on each other.

“I love you.”

Hiccup whispered, and [Y/n] couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you, too.”

[storytimefromthecreed]

Habits

Disappearing for days or weeks at a time was regular and expected for Toji, every Thursday he’d pack up a bag and head out only to return a copy hours later. In the beginning, it didn’t bother you, but when you started noticing the lack of weapons and blood, the hair on the back of your neck rose. Gojo said it wasn’t a mission. Nanami had no clue.

Toji might have been a womanizer before you, but he wouldn’t cheat, so it couldn’t be drugs or alcohol. Gambling? Rent was paid and he didn’t have that empty look in his eye. Something was up and he wasn’t telling you. It couldn’t be cheating, could it? What else could it be? That thought broke your heart.

Not Toji who listened about your books and threatened to jump into the page and beat up the characters that made you cry, who bought you flowers every month because you did that before you started dating and now that he was your man deemed it his job, or did faces masks with you and pretended he wasn’t the one who asked for it.

“Did I offend you or something?” A raven brow rose.

Heat flushed over your cheeks and you looked away. “Uh, nothing.” A weak lie.

He huffed, “You’re not thinking about your other hoes, are you?”

Projecting? You head whipped so fast, he put his coffee mug down and his hands up.

“Kidding. Are you good?”

You spat, “Fine.”

Backpack slung over his shoulder, he kissed your temple, “Still love you even if you’re a little weird.” Then he left again.

You weren’t going to do it, shouldn’t do it, but you did. Abusing your training to follow him into an unlabeled building. Too pristine for any form of illegal fighting event and too many kids to be a gambling event.

“Ma’am?” The young woman at the receptionist desk looked away from the computer to greet you with a warm smile. “Is there anything I can help you with? Are you looking to schedule?”

“Schedule?” Your brows furrowed. People filled the waiting room either reading or scrolling on their phones, the paintings of nature hung on the walls, and the smell of disinfectant filled the air. “A doctor’s office?”

He was sick. Could he even get sick? The wall caught you and the receptionist balked. “Ma’am?” But you couldn’t hear her.

This was why he was acting weird and didn’t explain to you. After what happened with his first wife, he knew the pain of losing someone you love…he was protecting you.

“I think she’s going to faint.”

“Is she having a panic attack?”

“Are there any doctors in the building?”

“(Y/N)?” His concern-filled voice cut through the noise. The whites of his eyes could be seen as he maneuvered through the room and caught your shoulders. “Babe, are you ok?” Tears blurred his paling face, “What’s going on? What do you need me to do?”

“Mr. Fushiguro? He’s ready.”

The call was shot down by his glare.

“(Y/N) just tell me what you need and I’ll do it. I’m trying, I promise. Am I stressing you out so badly you’re fainting and having panic attacks? Babe, I’m sorry. Please tell me I didn’t send you to therapy.”

The tears slowed, the room stopped spinning, and he came into view. Concerned. Scared. You’d never seen him scared before.

Understanding finally reached you. “Therapy?”

Red flushed down his neck and to his ears. “How about we get you settled first before we talk about me?”

Therapy. Toji was going to therapy. And you stalked him here.

His therapist was definitely going to ask about this.

The rest of the room avoided the conversation. “I should…” You straightened, humiliated for the both of you. “I’ll see you at home?”

He slowly nodded and brushed his lips against your temple. “Love ya,” he whispered, “even when you’re weird.”

“Love you too.” Back straight and head down, you ducked out of the office and waited for him at home.

A part of you wished time would slow down so he wouldn’t tell you what a complete lunatic you were, but another part of you wanted to get it over with. You groaned into your hands. Therapy.

The click of the lock made your blood freeze. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his backpack on the counter, and jumped on top of you on the couch. Covering you with his body, but propping himself up on his arms to not squish you. A wicked grin stretched across his face, “You follow me now?”

Another groan and your hands covered your face.

His stronger ones pried them off, his laughter shaking the both of you. “No, no, don’t hide from me since apparently I can’t hide from you. What’s going on, babe? Don’t trust me or something?”

“Toji…” His eyes widened then narrowed as he studied yours. All playfulness wiped from his face.

“That was it, wasn’t it? You don’t trust me.” Hurt. He was utterly hurt.

“I’m an idiot.” You said, “I thought…”

“What? That I was cheating on you or something?” His breathing hitched. The shatter of his heart could be heard. “You really thought I was cheating on you?”

The excuses sounded so weak now that he was looking at you like that. You hurt him. You’d gotten past all his defenses and wounded him. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes hardened. “I thought we trusted each other. I thought you trusted me? We were partners, a team, that’s what you,” he pointed at your chest, “said. Your words, and they meant nothing? I did this for you, for us, and-”

“I’m sorry, ok! You have every right to be mad at me.” You groaned, allowing his rage because hey, he was right. “I’m always saying you should talk to me, and I didn’t even talk to you first! I should’ve known better. You were acting weird, and I got scared. You hate being in one place for too long and commitment, and I didn’t want to scare you and lose you, and, and,....”

His lips found yours and every nerve ignited. Warmth radiated from your chest, burning out every other emotion, until there was only him. Toji drew back with a pant, his bangs hanging over his forehead. “Does that feel like I’m not committed to you?”

You numbly shook your head.

“Damn, I know I wasn’t easy to deal with in the past, but that’s the past. I’m a changed man, you changed me. Got at job at that damn high school, deal with that blue eyed freak of a friend for you, and you didn’t think…didn’t know?” He sighed, and focused his breathing. “You said you were going to consider forever with me when I got more emotionally mature, right? I listened to you. I’m trying.”

“When did I…?” You scanned your mind and couldn’t figure out when you’d said that.

“I must have rocked your world too hard that night for you not to remember,” and he added under his breath, “and every night in between probably didn’t help,” then he continued, “but you said that that one time when I was being gentle-”

“Oh my god!” You gasped in his face.

Sitting on his lap gave you the perfect view of his post-orgasmic face. The subtle pink tinting his cheeks ran red down his neck and at his ears. His eyes traced you, his fingers slowly mapping out your arms then up your shoulders before down your back. You shivered. Pseudo-innocence pulled his brows together. “Like that?”

Pressing your lips together did nothing to stop your smile. “Like when you’re gentle.”

His gaze softened and he looked away. “Thought you liked it rough.”

“I like however you touch me.”

“Hm.” He said absently. Then he stilled, focused, and pressed his lips gently against your neck. “Like that?”

Another shiver.

The smile could be heard and he pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “How about this?” Another shiver and he rewarded you with kisses trailing up your neck, lining your jaw, and finally on your lips. Blazing eyes bored into yours. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted me to be yours forever.”

A tiny laugh escaped you, your fingers burying into his hair and massaging his scalp. “I’m glad you said it. If you’re emotionally mature, you can have me forever.”

Toji rolled his eyes like you knew he would, which is why you never brought up the direction of your relationship. You knew he loved you in his own way, but you also knew better than to ask for commitment from him. Even though he moved in, paid the rent, took care of the groceries, stopped gambling, and was utterly loyal and devoted to you; commitment would send him running and even if there was no label on it, you didn’t want a future without him.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” He laughed at his own joke.

“I’ve always been a bad influence.” Your lips found his. “That’s why you like me so much.”

“I like you so, so much.” His breathless words were lost in the rest of the night.

You were half joking, you didn’t think he’d actually do it! You were going to stay with him anyway, but now didn’t seem the best time to say that. He peered down expectantly, “I remember that.” You said.

He nodded firmly, “That’s what I thought.” Kissing you quickly, he rose with a groan. “I forgive you. See? All this therapy stuff is really helping. See why Nanami recommended the guy. He knows about our world, so I don’t have to hide stuff.” He scoffed, “Not that I tell him everything. Anyway, I can’t believe my dear little girlfriend would hunt me down because she thought I was with someone else.” His eyes darkened. “Kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes and left the couch. If he wanted to make fun of you for a little bit, he got to. “Not jealous,” you massaged his shoulders, “territorial.”

He hissed, his arms snaking around you. “Don’t think you’ll seduce me into forgetting this.”

“Guess we’re both picking up habits from each other.”

You were over his shoulder and heading to the bedroom before your sentence was through. “Then you should show me what you’ve learned.”

[mikereads]

“You and Tommy have the right idea. Hang out with the boys!” -Gay, that is gay sir!

[spaghett-onaplate]

i'm perusing court listings and the very first case i looked into is multimillion dollar fraud 😭 they can't all be this interesting surely

[victusinveritas]

Story below the cut to avoid a paywall.

There was no explanation, no warning. One minute, I was in an immigration office talking to an officer about my work visa, which had been approved months before and allowed me, a Canadian, to work in the US. The next, I was told to put my hands against the wall, and patted down like a criminal before being sent to an Ice detention center without the chance to talk to a lawyer.

I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, a small town in the northernmost part of Canada. I always knew I wanted to do something bigger with my life. I left home early and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I built a career spanning multiple industries – acting in film and television, owning bars and restaurants, flipping condos and managing Airbnbs.

In my 30s, I found my true passion working in the health and wellness industry. I was given the opportunity to help launch an American brand of health tonics called Holy! Water – a job that would involve moving to the US.

I was granted my trade Nafta work visa, which allows Canadian and Mexican citizens to work in the US in specific professional occupations, on my second attempt. It goes without saying, then, that I have no criminal record. I also love the US and consider myself to be a kind, hard-working person.

I started working in California and travelled back and forth between Canada and the US multiple times without any complications – until one day, upon returning to the US, a border officer questioned me about my initial visa denial and subsequent visa approval. He asked why I had gone to the San Diego border the second time to apply. I explained that that was where my lawyer’s offices were, and that he had wanted to accompany me to ensure there were no issues.

After a long interrogation, the officer told me it seemed “shady” and that my visa hadn’t been properly processed. He claimed I also couldn’t work for a company in the US that made use of hemp – one of the beverage ingredients. He revoked my visa, and told me I could still work for the company from Canada, but if I wanted to return to the US, I would need to reapply.

I was devastated; I had just started building a life in California. I stayed in Canada for the next few months, and was eventually offered a similar position with a different health and wellness brand.

I restarted the visa process and returned to the same immigration office at the San Diego border, since they had processed my visa before and I was familiar with it. Hours passed, with many confused opinions about my case. The officer I spoke to was kind but told me that, due to my previous issues, I needed to apply for my visa through the consulate. I told her I hadn’t been aware I needed to apply that way, but had no problem doing it.

Then she said something strange: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not in trouble, you are not a criminal.”

I remember thinking: Why would she say that? Of course I’m not a criminal!

She then told me they had to send me back to Canada. That didn’t concern me; I assumed I would simply book a flight home. But as I sat searching for flights, a man approached me.

“Come with me,” he said.

There was no explanation, no warning. He led me to a room, took my belongings from my hands and ordered me to put my hands against the wall. A woman immediately began patting me down. The commands came rapid-fire, one after another, too fast to process.

They took my shoes and pulled out my shoelaces.

“What are you doing? What is happening?” I asked.

“You are being detained.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

That would be the response to nearly every question I would ask over the next two weeks: “I don’t know.”

They brought me downstairs for a series of interviews and medical questions, searched my bags and told me I had to get rid of half my belongings because I couldn’t take everything with me.

“Take everything with me where?” I asked.

A woman asked me for the name of someone they could contact on my behalf. In moments like this, you realize you don’t actually know anyone’s phone number anymore. By some miracle, I had recently memorized my best friend Britt’s number because I had been putting my grocery points on her account.

I gave them her phone number.

They handed me a mat and a folded-up sheet of aluminum foil.

“What is this?”

“Your blanket.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was taken to a tiny, freezing cement cell with bright fluorescent lights and a toilet. There were five other women lying on their mats with the aluminum sheets wrapped over them, looking like dead bodies. The guard locked the door behind me.

For two days, we remained in that cell, only leaving briefly for food. The lights never turned off, we never knew what time it was and no one answered our questions. No one in the cell spoke English, so I either tried to sleep or meditate to keep from having a breakdown. I didn’t trust the food, so I fasted, assuming I wouldn’t be there long.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I called Britt and told her that I didn’t understand what was happening, that no one would tell me when I was going home, and that she was my only contact.

They gave me a stack of paperwork to sign and told me I was being given a five-year ban unless I applied for re-entry through the consulate. The officer also said it didn’t matter whether I signed the papers or not; it was happening regardless.

I was so delirious that I just signed. I told them I would pay for my flight home and asked when I could leave.

No answer.

Then they moved me to another cell – this time with no mat or blanket. I sat on the freezing cement floor for hours. That’s when I realized they were processing me into real jail: the Otay Mesa Detention Center.

I was told to shower, given a jail uniform, fingerprinted and interviewed. I begged for information.

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know your case,” the man said. “Could be days. Could be weeks. But I’m telling you right now – you need to mentally prepare yourself for months.”

Months.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was taken to the nurse’s office for a medical check. She asked what had happened to me. She had never seen a Canadian there before. When I told her my story, she grabbed my hand and said: “Do you believe in God?”

I told her I had only recently found God, but that I now believed in God more than anything.

“I believe God brought you here for a reason,” she said. “I know it feels like your life is in a million pieces, but you will be OK. Through this, I think you are going to find a way to help others.”

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. She asked if she could pray for me. I held her hands and wept.

I felt like I had been sent an angel.

I was then placed in a real jail unit: two levels of cells surrounding a common area, just like in the movies. I was put in a tiny cell alone with a bunk bed and a toilet.

The best part: there were blankets. After three days without one, I wrapped myself in mine and finally felt some comfort.

For the first day, I didn’t leave my cell. I continued fasting, terrified that the food might make me sick. The only available water came from the tap attached to the toilet in our cells or a sink in the common area, neither of which felt safe to drink.

Eventually, I forced myself to step out, meet the guards and learn the rules. One of them told me: “No fighting.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I joked. He laughed.

I asked if there had ever been a fight here.

“In this unit? No,” he said. “No one in this unit has a criminal record.”

That’s when I started meeting the other women.

That’s when I started hearing their stories.

And that’s when I made a decision: I would never allow myself to feel sorry for my situation again. No matter how hard this was, I had to be grateful. Because every woman I met was in an even more difficult position than mine.

There were around 140 of us in our unit. Many women had lived and worked in the US legally for years but had overstayed their visas – often after reapplying and being denied. They had all been detained without warning.

If someone is a criminal, I agree they should be taken off the streets. But not one of these women had a criminal record. These women acknowledged that they shouldn’t have overstayed and took responsibility for their actions. But their frustration wasn’t about being held accountable; it was about the endless, bureaucratic limbo they had been trapped in.

The real issue was how long it took to get out of the system, with no clear answers, no timeline and no way to move forward. Once deported, many have no choice but to abandon everything they own because the cost of shipping their belongings back is too high.

I met a woman who had been on a road trip with her husband. She said they had 10-year work visas. While driving near the San Diego border, they mistakenly got into a lane leading to Mexico. They stopped and told the agent they didn’t have their passports on them, expecting to be redirected. Instead, they were detained. They are both pastors.

I met a family of three who had been living in the US for 11 years with work authorizations. They paid taxes and were waiting for their green cards. Every year, the mother had to undergo a background check, but this time, she was told to bring her whole family. When they arrived, they were taken into custody and told their status would now be processed from within the detention center.

Another woman from Canada had been living in the US with her husband who was detained after a traffic stop. She admitted she had overstayed her visa and accepted that she would be deported. But she had been stuck in the system for almost six weeks because she hadn’t had her passport. Who runs casual errands with their passport?

One woman had a 10-year visa. When it expired, she moved back to her home country, Venezuela. She admitted she had overstayed by one month before leaving. Later, she returned for a vacation and entered the US without issue. But when she took a domestic flight from Miami to Los Angeles, she was picked up by Ice and detained. She couldn’t be deported because Venezuela wasn’t accepting deportees. She didn’t know when she was getting out.

There was a girl from India who had overstayed her student visa for three days before heading back home. She then came back to the US on a new, valid visa to finish her master’s degree and was handed over to Ice due to the three days she had overstayed on her previous visa.

There were women who had been picked up off the street, from outside their workplaces, from their homes. All of these women told me that they had been detained for time spans ranging from a few weeks to 10 months. One woman’s daughter was outside the detention center protesting for her release.

That night, the pastor invited me to a service she was holding. A girl who spoke English translated for me as the women took turns sharing their prayers – prayers for their sick parents, for the children they hadn’t seen in weeks, for the loved ones they had been torn away from.

Then, unexpectedly, they asked if they could pray for me. I was new here, and they wanted to welcome me. They formed a circle around me, took my hands and prayed. I had never felt so much love, energy and compassion from a group of strangers in my life. Everyone was crying.

At 3am the next day, I was woken up in my cell.

“Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

I jolted upright. “I get to go home?”

The officer shrugged. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

Of course. No one ever knew anything.

I grabbed my things and went downstairs, where 10 other women stood in silence, tears streaming down their faces. But these weren’t happy tears. That was the moment I learned the term “transferred”.

For many of these women, detention centers had become a twisted version of home. They had formed bonds, established routines and found slivers of comfort in the friendships they had built. Now, without warning, they were being torn apart and sent somewhere new. Watching them say goodbye, clinging to each other, was gut-wrenching.

I had no idea what was waiting for me next. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.

Our next stop was Arizona, the San Luis Regional Detention Center. The transfer process lasted 24 hours, a sleepless, grueling ordeal. This time, men were transported with us. Roughly 50 of us were crammed into a prison bus for the next five hours, packed together – women in the front, men in the back. We were bound in chains that wrapped tightly around our waists, with our cuffed hands secured to our bodies and shackles restraining our feet, forcing every movement into a slow, clinking struggle.

When we arrived at our next destination, we were forced to go through the entire intake process all over again, with medical exams, fingerprinting – and pregnancy tests; they lined us up in a filthy cell, squatting over a communal toilet, holding Dixie cups of urine while the nurse dropped pregnancy tests in each of our cups. It was disgusting.

We sat in freezing-cold jail cells for hours, waiting for everyone to be processed. Across the room, one of the women suddenly spotted her husband. They had both been detained and were now seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

The look on her face – pure love, relief and longing – was something I’ll never forget.

We were beyond exhausted. I felt like I was hallucinating.

The guard tossed us each a blanket: “Find a bed.”

There were no pillows. The room was ice cold, and one blanket wasn’t enough. Around me, women lay curled into themselves, heads covered, looking like a room full of corpses. This place made the last jail feel like the Four Seasons.

I kept telling myself: Do not let this break you.

Thirty of us shared one room. We were given one Styrofoam cup for water and one plastic spoon that we had to reuse for every meal. I eventually had to start trying to eat and, sure enough, I got sick. None of the uniforms fit, and everyone had men’s shoes on. The towels they gave us to shower were hand towels. They wouldn’t give us more blankets. The fluorescent lights shined on us 24/7.

Everything felt like it was meant to break you. Nothing was explained to us. I wasn’t given a phone call. We were locked in a room, no daylight, with no idea when we would get out.

I tried to stay calm as every fiber of my being raged towards panic mode. I didn’t know how I would tell Britt where I was. Then, as if sent from God, one of the women showed me a tablet attached to the wall where I could send emails. I only remembered my CEO’s email from memory. I typed out a message, praying he would see it.

He responded.

Through him, I was able to connect with Britt. She told me that they were working around the clock trying to get me out. But no one had any answers; the system made it next to impossible. I told her about the conditions in this new place, and that was when we decided to go to the media.

She started working with a reporter and asked whether I would be able to call her so she could loop him in. The international phone account that Britt had previously tried to set up for me wasn’t working, so one of the other women offered to let me use her phone account to make the call.

We were all in this together.

With nothing to do in my cell but talk, I made new friends – women who had risked everything for the chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

Through them, I learned the harsh reality of seeking asylum. Showing me their physical scars, they explained how they had paid smugglers anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 to reach the US border, enduring brutal jungles and horrendous conditions.

One woman had been offered asylum in Mexico within two weeks but had been encouraged to keep going to the US. Now, she was stuck, living in a nightmare, separated from her young children for months. She sobbed, telling me how she felt like the worst mother in the world.

Many of these women were highly educated and spoke multiple languages. Yet, they had been advised to pretend they didn’t speak English because it would supposedly increase their chances of asylum.

Some believed they were being used as examples, as warnings to others not to try to come.

Women were starting to panic in this new facility, and knowing I was most likely the first person to get out, they wrote letters and messages for me to send to their families.

It felt like we had all been kidnapped, thrown into some sort of sick psychological experiment meant to strip us of every ounce of strength and dignity.

We were from different countries, spoke different languages and practiced different religions. Yet, in this place, none of that mattered. Everyone took care of each other. Everyone shared food. Everyone held each other when someone broke down. Everyone fought to keep each other’s hope alive.

I got a message from Britt. My story had started to blow up in the media.

Almost immediately after, I was told I was being released.

My Ice agent, who had never spoken to me, told my lawyer I could have left sooner if I had signed a withdrawal form, and that they hadn’t known I would pay for my own flight home.

From the moment I arrived, I begged every officer I saw to let me pay for my own ticket home. Not a single one of them ever spoke to me about my case.

To put things into perspective: I had a Canadian passport, lawyers, resources, media attention, friends, family and even politicians advocating for me. Yet, I was still detained for nearly two weeks.

Imagine what this system is like for every other person in there.

A small group of us were transferred back to San Diego at 2am – one last road trip, once again shackled in chains. I was then taken to the airport, where two officers were waiting for me. The media was there, so the officers snuck me in through a side door, trying to avoid anyone seeing me in restraints. I was beyond grateful that, at the very least, I didn’t have to walk through the airport in chains.

To my surprise, the officers escorting me were incredibly kind, and even funny. It was the first time I had laughed in weeks.

I asked if I could put my shoelaces back on.

“Yes,” one of them said with a grin. “But you better not run.”

“Yeah,” the other added. “Or we’ll have to tackle you in the airport. That’ll really make the headlines.”

I laughed, then told them I had spent a lot of time observing the guards during my detention and I couldn’t believe how often I saw humans treating other humans with such disregard. “But don’t worry,” I joked. “You two get five stars.”

When I finally landed in Canada, my mom and two best friends were waiting for me. So was the media. I spoke to them briefly, numb and delusional from exhaustion.

It was surreal listening to my friends recount everything they had done to get me out: working with lawyers, reaching out to the media, making endless calls to detention centers, desperately trying to get through to Ice or anyone who could help. They said the entire system felt rigged, designed to make it nearly impossible for anyone to get out.

The reality became clear: Ice detention isn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare. It’s a business. These facilities are privately owned and run for profit.

Companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group receive government funding based on the number of people they detain, which is why they lobby for stricter immigration policies. It’s a lucrative business: CoreCivic made over $560m from Ice contracts in a single year. In 2024, GEO Group made more than $763m from Ice contracts.

The more detainees, the more money they make. It stands to reason that these companies have no incentive to release people quickly. What I had experienced was finally starting to make sense.

[vitunhienokivi]

.

[kiyoomiee]

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s been in the training room for hours now. Sweat trickled all over his body as his arms never stopped swinging.

“Sukuna, you’ve been here for more than an hour now. That punching bag will break any moment.” Toji voiced out as he walked in.

“What’s wrong with you?” He tried to ask Sukuna.

“She’s mad at me. Been ignoring me for two days now.” Sukuna dropped his arms and sulked. Fucking hell, he misses you so much.

“Ah that pretty doll? Couldn’t imagine her staying mad that long with your annoying ass.”

“She’s my pretty doll. Don’t call her that.” Sukuna grumbled at Toji but the man ignored him.

“What’d you do?”

“Her medical director was being a misogynistic ass, so I punched him on her behalf.” Sukuna smirked, remembering how gratifying it was to punch the bastard in the face.

“Heh, would’ve done the same if I was there. But didn’t it occur to you that she might not want you to fight her battles for her?”

“Why wouldn’t she? I could send that man in a hospital without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s exactly why asshole. Besides, you’ve seen how she handles herself in her own field. So go apologize instead of breaking our goddamn equipment.”

boxer!sukuna who corners you in your office so you can’t avoid him anymore. Locking the door close and closing the blinds so nobody could interfere. He went looking for you right after finishing his shower.

“We need to talk.”

“Not here Sukuna, I’m working. And I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You can see where this was going, tears already threatened to fall in the corners of your eyes.

“No. We need to talk right now, or else I’ll go crazy-“

“You’re going crazy? You haven’t talked to me in two days Sukuna. Now you’ll stroll in here and break up with me?”

“Break up?“ What the hell?

“Can’t handle the emotional part of the relationship? I should’ve known since you’re-“

“Since I’m what?” His voice was loud and angry. It was the first time he got mad at you.

“How could I even dare to break up with you when you’re constantly in my mind? When I’m trying my best just so you could notice me? When I’d surrender at your feet if you’d only say the word? I’ve pursued you for months and waited for you to see me. Even with countless rejections, I would’ve continued to wait for the rest of my life as long as there’s no ring on your finger yet. God, my infatuation even turned into obsession.” He sounds dejected as he chuckled to himself in pity.

“Now you’re saying I’m here to break up with you? No baby, I’m here to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness. Because I’ll lose my goddamn mind if I don’t have your attention on me even in a split second. Why can’t you see it? I’m so fucking in love with you that the thought of leaving wouldn’t even cross my mind.” He continued on and sighed in agony.

“Y-You’re what?” You were stunned. It was the first time he said that three lettered word.

“I love you so fucking much. So please, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have interfered because I know you could stand up for yourself. But I can’t say I regret punching that motherfucker in the face.”

“I know you won’t, ‘kuna.”

“Fuck, don’t cry baby. I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He got on his knees and wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. You leaned into the warmth of his touch.

“Yeah but thanks to your little stunt, that man was fired and I won’t have to deal with his misogynistic comments anymore.” You just finished talking to the higher ups and the HR a while ago, they assured you that they’ll handle the case and that your medical director will be terminated immediately.

“I’m sorry too Sukuna, for avoiding and ignoring you. I should’ve reached out to you sooner.”

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve reached out. It won’t happen again baby, I promise.”

“Ryo.” You called him and caressed his face.

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.” His brain stopped functioning when he heard you say that.

“A-Are you sure? I’m not pressuring you just because I said it earlier-“ Ears turning red, he was now flustered and asked just to make sure he heard it correctly.

“I love you Ryomen Sukuna, I’m very sure.” You expressed lovingly, together with a quick peck on his lips.

“You sure know how to make me crazy for you, sweetheart.”

[quickestgold]

Okay but LISTENNNNN. Reader and Jack having feelings for eachother but he pulls back (she’s still new , too young , etc) he’s been cold and she decided to take that day off work and go to Pitt Fest and …oh no…. (Still lives but it’s BAD)

Strip Her: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma/gun violence, mass shooting, GSWs, blood; Reader basically does what Santos did, but in the field hah! > No "good girl" energy from Jack, just anger for putting yourself in danger lol

Word count: 2k+

A/n: Thanks so much for sending this in, so sorry it's taken so long!! Lmk what you think!! ♡

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"Hi, handsome."

"Wanna come over after your shift?"

Read.

You huff out a humorless laugh. The old man really left you on Read.

You know Jack isn't a big texter, making the age-gap between you hilariously obvious. But today it gets to you.

Jack isn't your immediate superior, but you wonder if this is why he's been acting cold. More than usual.

The ER staff love to talk. Of course they do. But neither Jack nor you care about that. You’ve made it clear there’s an undeniable connection between you.

So, you’ve acted on it.

The last couple of months have been bliss, an unspoken understanding of exclusivity.

But now, Jack's been distant. Swapping shifts, avoiding working with you.

Was it something you did?

You've already double texted him today, wishing him a good shift and letting him know that Robby's asked you to 'babysit'.

How embarrassing. But you draft another.

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, will be up for some fun when you get home... ;)"

You delete the last part. God. Don't show your age!

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, see you soon."

You hit send.

Code Triage. Emergency Department Now.

The mass casualty event is in full swing. Patients come and go. Green. Yellow. Pink. Red. Black and White.

It's a haze of coordinated chaos.

Jack keeps trying to reach you in-between treating patients, leaving you countless voicemails.

Of course he would.

"Hey, Y/N. It's Jack. Call or text me the second you get this message, okay?" His voice trembles. "She's not picking up."

"I can't reach Jake either." Robby mutters.

"I'm sure they're ok." Dana offers gently.

Time slips away, minutes turning into hours. Their shift was supposed to end a while ago, but they've stopped keeping track.

"I'm going to check on triage." Robby announces, stepping out to help Shen and Ellis assess incoming patients. "No pulse. Black and white. Pink zone. Strong pulse. Unresponsive. No obvious GSW. Red zone GSW left chest."

A familiar voice cuts through the noise. "She was talking when we first got into the truck. T- There was so much blood."

"Jake!" Robby's at his side in a flash.

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad...", Jake cries out.

Robby is at a loss for words, his medical instincts fighting the fatherly ones in a gruesome match.

"I've been putting pressure on the wound the whole time", Jake stutters.

"That's good. You're good", Robby reassures him, more for himself than Jake.

The team rushes Leah into the ER. Jake follows closely behind. "You can't stay with her. There's no room and we need to work on Leah right now", Robby says firmly, getting to work immediately.

Jack spots them and hurries over, panic rising in his chest.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asks, voice tight.

"I- I don’t know," Jake mutters. "She stopped Leah’s bleeding, then went back in."

"What do you mean?" Jack growls, trying to keep his voice calm.

Robby looks up, taking in Jake's words. The lines on his forehead growing deeper.

"People were screaming. The shots were so loud. She- She went back to see if others needed help." Jake's eyes well up, before he is wheeled off to get treated.

Of course you would put someone else's safety over your own.

Others might see it as noble, but Robby and Jack think it's reckless.

They exchange a look, knowing there's nothing they can do to reach you. To make sure you're okay.

Jack is called to another patient, while Robby proceeds to work on Leah.

Despite their best efforts, it's not enough.

Minutes pass. Jack watches Robby closely, his desperation becoming more evident by the second. Dana gives Jack a knowing look, recognizing the only person who can reach Robby right now is him.

Jack steps closer, glasses off, his voice gentle.

"The bullet tore through her heart", he says softly, giving Robby time to process.

"Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can't keep up with the blood loss. If she was our only patient, we'd do a thoracotamy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we'd get her back." Jack's words hang heavy in the air, but he continues.

"We're gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl." Jack doesn't let it show, but it pains him to see Robby hurting like this.

Robby does one final pulse check. But Leah's heart is no longer beating, the realization shattering his own.

"Okay, we're done", Robby whispers, breaking.

"We stopped at 19:47", Dana declares. "Move her to Pedes?", she asks gently.

Robby just nods.

"You want me to go with you to talk to Jake?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, thanks. I got it."

But another gurney is wheeled in. Robby notices first.

"Jesus Christ", he mutters. "What's going on?"

"Female. 30s. GSW to the right inguinal region. Retroperitoneal bleed", Dr. Mohan declares. But there's someone else kneeling at the end of the gurney, holding the patient's leg up. Robby and Jack's eyes widen, when they meet yours.

"The bullet must have tracked north and hit the external illiac", you state nonchalantly, ignoring the stunned looks from your colleagues.

It was supposed to be your day off.

"Dr. Y/LN did a REBOA in the field to stop the bleeding", Samira continues.

"You did what?!" Robby gasps, incredulous but unable to hide his pride.

Jack is by your side in an instant. "Are you shitting me?"

"Hello to you too, Dr. Abbot", you smile weakly, still focused on the patient’s wound.

Another time, your smile would’ve lit a spark. Not now.

Jack's anger is palpable.

You’ve seen it before, his cold, stone-faced demeanor, always one existential crisis away from breaking. But never directed at you.

"Are you hurt?" Jack’s voice is dangerously low.

He's scared.

Robby and Jack scan your blood-soaked clothing. You quickly dismiss their concern.

"Uncontrollable bleeding from a pelvic artery, no other options. I blew up a balloon in the aorta to stop the bleed. Going in a few inches, zone three, below the kidney. I just needed to hit the femoral artery."

You hesitate, but go for it anyway.

"Piece of cake", you grin, weaker than usual, but you hope they don't notice. They do.

"Radial's stronger." Mel confirms.

Robby and Jack both notice your uneven breathing but chalk it up to the stress and trauma you've experienced.

"Also, GSW to the chest, left hypochondriac region. Probable internal bleeding", you continue.

"No. That's not true-", Samira objects.

You direct everyone's attention to your own chest, your breathing becoming erratic.

"What?!" Jack's voice cracks, disbelief, shock and fear hitting him all at once.

You feel like you can hear your own heartbeat, the ER growing eerily quiet at your confession.

"Okay. Let go of her leg", Robby orders in an intimidating tone.

"Gurney!" Jack barks.

"I need to lock the balloon first." You stare directly into Jack's eyes, knowing he won't budge. You turn to your friend and mentor, pleading.

"Robby." He knows you're right.

"Do it." Robby nods, ordering Whittaker to check the wound once you're done.

"BP's 110, by palp", Donnie announces.

Jack remains frozen, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

"The balloon can stay up for an hour max. Get IR and Vascular on the case." Robby directs, before drawing everyone's attention back to you.

Your patient is stable.

You've done what you can.

But the blood loss is catching up with you.

"I- I think it's a through-and-through. My back hurts like hell and my legs feel funny." Jack snaps out of his trance, his training kicking in.

Robby lifts your top, shocked at the severity of the injury. Jack shuts his eyes, unable to stomach the sight.

It must be bad.

But it doesn't hurt too much.

Not a great sign.

"Okay. Stabilize her", Robby orders, multiple hands are on you immediately, steadying you. Grabbing the base of your neck, your shoulders and hips, securing you in place.

You're still sat on the gurney, but have now let go of the patient's leg.

"Strip her", Jack commands, voice low and firm, eyes dark and unreadable.

You try to lighten the mood. "Gee, buy me dinner first, won't you?"

A few giggles from the team, but Jack's lips are tightly pressed together in a fine line, facing downwards.

Dana cuts through your top, leaving only your bra. Unusual. But you're relieved to not flash your coworkers. You'd rather like to maintain the mysterious vibe you've got going on.

"Cowards", you tease. More chuckles, but worry growing on everyone's faces.

You whisper to Jack, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't respond. Can't look at you. Instead he orders a chest tube and a unit of blood.

A sharp gasp rips through you, the weight on your chest suddenly making it hard to breathe. "Fuck, that hurts." Any last traces of playfulness vanish, replaced by something else.

Fear.

Jack realizes he has to save his anger for later. "Hey. It's okay", a slight smile now tugging at his lips. "I've seen you worse", but the vulnerability in his voice betrays him.

Shit. It must be really bad. He's cracking jokes now?

Your anxiety spikes.

Is Jack about to watch you die?

You shiver at the thought. Or maybe it's the blood loss. Probably both.

Your vision blurs. Your thoughts get foggy.

"J-Jack?" You're not sure he hears you. Or anybody really. Did the words even come out?

Your eyes flutter shut. There are no more thoughts.

Only darkness.

Robby orders Jack to step back, the roles tragically reversed.

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He has been distant with you. But not because of your age, or your careers.

No, it's because letting you in means risking losing you and he knows he can't survive that kind of pain. He’s seen too much death, too much loss. And loving you only makes that fear stronger.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"I know." Robby is laser-focused, but shudders at the thought of Jack up on that roof again.

Painfully aware of the inevitable cost of losing you.

They won't. They can't.

Monitors and machines beep in a faint rhythm.

You wake, eyes heavy. A familiar figure is propped up in the armchair beside your bed.

He looks like shit.

Jack's wearing the same bloodstained scrubs, dark circles beneath his eyes, hair dishevelled. On second thought... it's a look.

"Hi, handsome", you whisper, unsure if it’s the relief of being alive, the pain meds or just seeing Jack, but a wave of comfort floods you.

He leans in, eyes wide with tenderness.

"Hi, beautiful."

His gaze radiates a warmth that kept you alive, even when your skin grew cold.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is soft. So unbelievably soft. The anger has subsided, but you know there’s a conversation you’ll have another day.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Peachy", you exhale, giving him a warm and genuine smile. He returns it, his shoulders relaxing more with every steady breath you take.

You hesitate, but finally go for it. "So, about you leaving me on Read." Your smile turns into a familiar smirk. "You know only old people leave voicemails, right?"

Jack's breath catches in his throat, caught off guard. He chokes out a strangled laugh.

"You're unbelievable", he says, before leaning down, his lips brushing gently over yours.

The grip this man has on me I swear... Also, I'm still in shock from ep13 and I fear it's only getting worse... Jack being so rational about letting Leah go was So Painful, so writing this was very cathartic. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[kuidore]

Zoeystery headcanons ✧ KPOP Demon Hunters ✧ Zoey x Mystery

✧ ultimate yapper girl x listener boy

✧ He thought she was cute the moment he saw her bouncing her shoulders to soda pop while Rumi and Mira glared at her

✧ he’s not shy, just quiet. he just isn’t used to being human, and it tires him out a lot more than the others.

✧ He slowly feels like he’s actually relearning his humanity with Zoey, not just going through the motions of a human life like he had felt doing the idol thing

✧ Zoey gets anxious that people aren’t listening to her if they get too quiet. She’s used to being mid-ramble, asking a question, and not getting a response because the person tuned out and she didn’t realize

✧ after the first time she asks Mystery if he’s listening, he starts letting out noises of acknowledgement to reassure her while she’s talking so she doesn’t have to lose her train of thought

✧ he wants her to know that he’s listening very intently, and will sometimes even just say it out loud when he doesn’t have a better comment to make

✧ Zoey thinks it’s adorable, and she slowly feels less and less uncomfortable rambling for hours about television or animals or the songs she wanted to write

✧ She eventually just naturally stops apologizing for rambling or being too over the top, to him and to other people

✧ He starts getting better at conversations, but only with her. He asks social questions he used to think were stupid or boring or useless, because she’s the only one whose answers he actually wants to hear

✧ Mystery remembers nothing from his actual life on earth before the demon realm, and that doesn’t change even as he gets more comfortable as a ‘human’

✧ He couldn’t care less. He outright tells Zoey that it “leaves more room in my brain for the memories we make”

✧ she has to excuse herself from the room for a moment and yell into a pillow about how cute he is

✧ He can hear her doing it. when she comes back with a notebook he’s smiling wider than she thought he was even capable of

✧ she sits him down and they make a bucket list of everything she can think of that she considers “necessary to the human experience”, no matter how small

✧ she feels bad about being *excited* over his amnesia, but she can’t help but chatter about how she was going to be ‘introducing him to all this new stuff!’

✧ items on this list include but are not limited to; seeing the ocean in person, finding a really cool rock that you wanna keep forever, going to the bathhouse, and spending an entire day on the couch

✧ Mystery doesn’t really see what’s interesting about any of it, but he agrees because he wants Zoey to go with him

✧ He likes it, mostly because *she* likes it. He could be literally stranded in the arctic, if Zoey was finding a way to have fun he would be able to do it too. His number one idea of ‘fun’ is just… being around her.

✧ Mystery constantly wants to have Zoey on his lap/between his legs/sitting in literally any position where he can wrap his entire body around her from behind and rest his chin on her shoulder.

✧ he falls asleep like this fairly often. Zoey calls him her weighted blanket

✧ in general they both sleep a lot, they take afternoon naps together almost every day

✧ After enough time he’s got basically everything human down besides the ‘not barking at people who get too close to Zoey for his comfort’

✧ that one is an active choice. He has absolutely no intention of stopping that one

✧ bad saja boy became bad Mystery fairly quickly

✧ He pouts every time she says it. At first she felt bad about it, but eventually she started to find it cute

✧ he’ll sit with his head in her lap while she writes lyrics. She’s always patting his head and playing with his hair while mumbling about how soft it is.

✧ one day he realizes the whole time she’s been avoiding his bangs, and he grabs her hand and moves them away himself so she can see his face when she isn’t actively trying to kill him

✧ “You already know what I look like. I don’t care. If it’s just you.”

✧ She’s so giddy she grabs him and kisses him for the first time, and they’re both a little shocked by it

✧ it was the first time she saw him blush and she immediately became determined to make him do it as much as possible.

✧ She already has a notebook of things he likes and dislikes so she can remember (she has ones for Rumi and Mira too obvi)

✧ she adds a section to Mystery’s for things that make him blush

✧ she’s studying this guy like a bug and he secretly likes it

✧ He keeps the bangs cause most of the time he’s just so unable to control his own facial expressions that he would probably get into a fight in public

✧ but he starts pinning them back when he’s with Zoey