#because I'm the one who was in the “wrong” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

robinavich · 2 days ago

Text

hey, siri | jack abbot

synopsis: you become privy to some abbot-sponsored healthcare fraud

w.c: 3k

ao3

an: this literally isnt even the fic ive been working on for weeks. I assume this is in the godlight storyline? not sure if I'm gonna do anything with this. is there anything here. might delete it. it's unclear. i'll delete it at a later date. this will never get finished. you are nothing to me

You’re half-slouched over the counter—on-call, because apparently that’s a thing that wasn’t in the job description on Indeed—glasses perched on the tip of your nose.

Pinned to the desk, the EMTALA medical screening exam form struggles under your elbow, lines crinkling with every movement like it’s physically trying to escape from your abuse. The corners curl upward, creased and folding, preparing to leap off the desk and report your treatment directly to the Bar Association.

It’s the kind of betrayal only paperwork is capable of—narc-like, obvious, and absolutely not HIPAA compliant.

Your lips lift in a soundless sneer, glaring down at the paperwork.

…manifesting itself by acute symptoms of sufficient severity such that the absence of immediate medical attention could reasonably blah blah blah…

One little insurance checkbox tells you to go kill yourself.

An Emergency Medical Condition IS present.

Below it, the same answer negated.

An Emergency Medical Condition is NOT present.

At the bottom, Jack Abbot, M.D. is signed, the form ready for submission with one stroke of your pen.

A small mhm escapes you as you clear your throat and shuffle the papers in front of you, fingers busy carding through the snitching form, smoothing out the crumpled pages before tucking it behind the next, restoring them to numerical order like that will make your choice easier. It’s a god-awful hand. Even you can recognize that.

Fingers interlace and fold neatly before you.

Your leg starts to bounce anxiously, eyes cutting to the doctor next to you.

And then back.

One small hand reaches out and clicks your pen, loading a round in the chamber.

It hovers over is NOT present.

You set it back down. It’s finally becoming clear why Robby fucking hates admin. Because truly this is fucking stupid. Why does this stupid piece of paper get to just decide that someone doesn’t have the right to life.

As the seconds creep past, your poor neck muscles rebel against the effort of holding your head up, letting gravity tug it down incrementally from where it’s slumped in your hand.

“It would be so easy to just…materially misrepresent the record right now,” you murmur, mainly to yourself, but your target audience is just anyone who will listen.

Abbot’s neck creaks as the fatigue-burdened bones slowly turn his head in your direction, eyes pleading.

“Sweetheart, it’s three in the morning,” he begs softly. “What the fuck does that mean, honey?”

“Like,” you shrug, not knowing how to will out words not snug in a cocoon of mitigation. “You ever think how easy it would be to just check off the wrong thing?”

Jaw flexing rhythmically while he digests your words, the doctor looks back at where his own charting is holding him hostage. He almost scoffs. “You ever think about how fast they’d disbar you?”

Your hand lolls sideways against your palm as you muster a crooked grin.

“You make enough money for the both of us, it’s fine.”

“What, and bank roll your little,” his hand flicks, as if he could materialize and itemize your bank statement midair, “designer matcha habit?”

Tired eyes squint at him sideways, the form before you momentarily forgotten. “Oh, please. You’ll grunt, and then hand me your little card, and then smuggle me into the building with some half-assed consulting badge you printed in the breakroom.”

His eyes cut to you, glinting.

Considering.

“No,” the words drop to a promise, scraping down your spine. “I’ll make you work for it, kid. Properly.”

From where your hand dangerously keeps you upright, your head slips and nearly hits the table. Catching yourself just in time, palm pressed hard against your forehead, you pray there’s a shadow dark enough in this world to hide how wide your eyes have gone.

But you’ve never heard a better incentive to destroy your career.

You could work for it.

You could be a housewife. Take a Pilates class. Breakfast ready for him every morning. Wake up before he comes home. Look pretty and be ready for him to fuck you. Anything you say, Jack.

That’s obviously so fundamentally who you are as a human being.

Rational brain presents an argument to the court. How long have you been working for this career? What was the outstanding balance on your loan this morning?

Both tremendously great points.

Lizard brain—smelling suspiciously of gasoline—presents a counter argument. It shrugs, tosses a lit match into the courthouse, and coos, yeah, but imagine how hard he’d fuck you in all the shiny jewellery he bought.

You clear your throat.

Actually, fuck this little checkbox.

“Okay, how bad could the fine be? Like three dollars?”

“That’s not my area—that’s supposed to be yours, actually, sweetheart,” soft, like he’s reminding you. Bastard. Rougher, “But I think it’s more than a damn Baja Blast.”

“Good on you for knowing the price of a Baja Blast, old man.”

His eyes slide shut and when they reopen they’re looking at the ceiling as if trying to find some patience God hid in the tiles. The man is really just trying to make it through the night.

Obediently perched on the edge of your chair, you patiently wait for his laugh.

Silence settles softly.

“So, do you, like, hate me or…?”

“No, honey, but you are currently the only thing standing between me and my job.”

As if that’s your fault. You weren’t the one who wrote into incomprehensible law, hey, let’s make sure companies can dictate who is sick enough to receive medicine. yes they stand to make a profit. no I don’t care.

“Okay, I’m sitting, but whatever.” You grab your phone, and flick it open, the confidence of your motions like you have God on speed dial. “Let’s ask the real expert, huh?”

Already knowing you’re not serious, he looks back at his chart.

“Hey Siri,” you ask, pitching your voice all fake-curious, eyebrows up like you’re genuinely about to learn something. “What’s the vibe with falsifying medical data so patients get care they don’t qualify for?”

Jack doesn’t even glance up from the chart he’s pretending to update, head sliding forward to squint at the computer screen. Tired exasperation threads his words.

“We did it a couple months ago and it was fine, so please be my guest.”

Your smile freezes halfway through its mocking curve. The words land between your eyes, gently rocking your head backwards.

Siri quietly reports her findings in your hand.

“You did what?” you ask, because surely that didn't mean what those words meant.

Jack doesn’t even turn to you. He just shrugs, all nonchalant and been there done that, as though what he just confessed wasn’t a felony charge.

“Our jobs,” he says simply.

Simply.

Like our jobs covers the live ethical grenade he’s just tossed at your feet.

You’re not even sure why you feel surprised.

You look at him, and then back down to your glowing phone where Siri very unhelpfully displays medical malpractice attorneys near you, and then back up to Jack.

In fact, you’re sure you’ve seen Jack Abbot’s handwriting neatly printed in the bottom right hand corner of more flagged-for-legal-review, suspect paperwork on your desk than you’ve seen the scrawl of the actual chief attending on any paperwork that you didn't force him to sign at gunpoint.

All things that slip under the radar if you’re not looking for them. Supplies routed through different departments. Procedures using medical devices that cannot be accounted for in inventory. Repeated requisition forms requests with supplies that never officially get used.

If you wanted to be a villain—if you wanted to ensure that those barriers to care stay reinforced with steel—you could. You could dig in and report every instance where something doesn’t add up. But you sign off and forward to insurance. You haven’t taken a real math class since high school, so whatever.

It’s one thing when you’re not expected to know the numbers and the facts. It’s easy to turn a blind eye. It’s another thing when you do know the facts.

And, unfortunately, you’re fluent in words.

“You lied?” you repeat slowly, peeling the syllables apart in an attempt to reveal the sin wrapped in bureaucratic red tape. You swear you can hear the backfire of your brain short-circuiting.

“Not lied,” Jack corrects, finally looking at you again. Two large hands spread like life leaves no alternative other than mild felony. “We rephrased reality.”

Then, softer, earnest, “We helped someone. It’s fine, sweetheart.”

Your lips move of their own accord, absently mouthing we rephrased reality, the sentence unfamiliar and clunky on your tongue. You know you knew all of those words individually, but put together and presented like this, it’s just not clicking. Is it a new language? Is Jack into ConLang?

Rephrased reality?

Who is this fucking guy?

The vision fires like a bullet through your brain—a brief, crystal-clear image, of a man wearing safety goggles and an I have an idea demeanor.

Ginger guy? From MythBusters?

You’re fucking dating ginger guy from MythBusters?

You push gently off the floor, the wheels of your rolly-stool shouting their dire need for WD-40 with every pass.

However, physics was also not a prerequisite for law school, so naturally, you miscalculate both force and distance, your not as gentle as you thought push sending you haphazardly knocking into his frame. You ricochet backwards several inches and hands fly up to scramble for hold on his shirt. His palm lands on your thigh, warm and steady, anchoring you exactly where he wants you.

“Careful,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t want to make anyone here do their job.”

And that felt suspiciously like a jab. Bitch.

“Jack, if you’re serious,” your voice—straightforward and devoid of all humor that typically resides there—lowers to a whisper that he shifts closer to hear. “This is malfeasance. You’re talking about fraud.”

Conspiratorially matching your low volume, he huffs out a laugh—half disbelieving, half impressed by your ability to effortlessly move from his light-hearted girl to someone who uses malfeasance in conversation. “Minor infraction. Good fraud.”

“While I don’t doubt it was,” your mouth hangs open as you pause, inhaling a stuttering breath to keep your composure, “good fraud, you’ll notice it still has the word fraud after it.”

“Kid, it’s fine. It’s not that deep.” A corner of his mouth twitches, too amused for your liking.

You scoff, frustration mounting. “With a brain as shallow as yours, nothing is.”

Where did he even learn not that deep?

Your head snaps up to his, brows furrowed. “And why are you talking like that? Who taught you that? Stop that,” you order in rapid succession. “Stop distracting me with your— your,” fingers wiggle in the air, face disgusted, “newfound child lexicon.”

He catches your hand mid-flail and folds it into his own. His other hand stays heavy on your thigh, thumb brushing idle circles that say stay put.

“I’m not doing that.” He was. “I have a weathered man lexicon.” He does not.

Jack’s tongue peaks out and swipes at his bottom lip.

“She was a kid,” he says earnestly. “She was pregnant.”

“Are we talking, like, how you call me kid, or, like, a kid kid?”

“Fourteen.”

It’s your turn to blink—slow, like maybe if you close your eyes long enough, the sight of him lounging there, genuine and morally flexible, will vanish and take his small confession with it.

But it doesn’t. He’s still there when your lashes lift again—calm, infuriatingly calm, watching you unravel with the same patience he probably uses to falsify half the fucking paperwork in this godforsaken department.

Slowly, it escapes you, taut and under your breath, dwindling composure fraying edges of the sound waves, “Oh my God, you’re using the past tense.”

“She didn’t die.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” you snap out between gritted teeth.

He’s just out there running circles around red tape with a perfectly straight face.

Like some sort of superhero.

A superhero who knows that you can only bend the rules where you know they’re weakest.

You breathe in, exhale every ounce of composure you have left, and narrow your eyes—zeroing in on the word that’s still rattling around like a loose screw.

“You said we?”

His shoulders move a fraction and you jab your finger into his chest.

“Shrug again and I’ll bury you under whatever version of reality you want, Abbot,” you warn.

His mouth opens like he’s going to explain, closes, then opens again.

Finally, he just says, “Robby.”

You blink.

Yeah. That checks out, actually.

But, like, in theory, though—you didn’t think he would actually ever do it. Yet, a stubborn, ridiculous part of you swells with pride. That’s your freaking day shift attending.

And now you’re actually kind of pissed at the night shift attending.

“He what?” The words slowly slip out of you, voice soft with incredulity. “You what? Y’all what?”

“You know,” he muses, ignoring your questions altogether. “I’m starting to think you were joking with that Hey, Siri thing.”

“Of course, I was joking,” you hiss out. “Why would I not be joking about that? Do you know what my role is here? What I get paid to do?”

You jab a finger at your own chest for emphasis next—your badge, heavy with Hospital Counsel, rattling the bars in its cage pinned to your ribs. Your entire job was to make sure this doesn’t happen.

Your eyes narrow.

Slightly leaning forward, you pin the doctor with your stare.

“You two keep this shit to yourselves. You take that and you— you bottle that up. You die with it,” you command, your voice low but firm. “Not even God should know, that’s how fucking good you should be at keeping this to yourselves.”

The last word snaps out sharper than you mean it to. It echoes a little in the too-quiet room. Jack doesn’t flinch, just sits there on that stupid rolling stool, eyebrows lifted slightly like he knows you’re not done yet.

You shift your weight, jaw still tight, eyes flicking off to the side—anywhere but his face. There’s a pulse of silence where your mind scrambles to stick to your training: Report. Reprimand. Get the compliance team.

Wash your hands.

But it doesn’t. It stalls.

You shift your weight marginally, eyes darting to the side.

If you don’t report this, you’re technically involved. So, really, now, you're implicated and you don’t even know what for.

Your spine, held stiff by principle and policy, loosens under the thought. Curiosity edges in, dragging your kicking-and-screaming legal training by the ear, shushing it with a sly little hey, girl, at least hear the man out.

It floods through you, itching under your skin.

You really want to know what that whole story is.

Man, part of you wants to see where it goes so bad, you can practically taste the disciplinary action on your tongue. False binary is a fallacy, sure, but, like, you’re already in it now. Might as well be all in.

And, like, come on—this is Jack. You’re not gonna throw him under the bus. You love Jack. The man came over on his only day off and built you an Ikea bookshelf because you asked him what do I do with that little metal L? Which, for the record, you knew what to do with that metal L.

And also, he can’t just drop that information on you and not finish that explanation. You’ll fucking kill yourself if you don’t get the rest of it. And you’ll do right when it coincides with his shift, just so he can deal with the trauma and the paperwork.

And also also, like, why do Abbot and Robby get to have a cute little secret? You wanna be in Secret Club. You can keep secrets. You’re so fucking good at keeping secrets.

You deflate a little, resignation further unwinding your spine.

Tongue pressing against your molars, your head dips down and your eyes flick side to side, scanning the corridor for any wandering admin or first-year resident who might overhear and rat you out.

You should report this. You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because you know him. You know him the way you know your own heartbeat—constant, wildly inconsistent in what it wants to eat, sometimes too loud in your ears when things get overwhelming. But always there. You know the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he’s trying not to laugh at you. You know the weight of his silence and the difference between the kind that means leave me alone and the kind that means please sit next to me until it passes. You’re not married, but he’s it.

And he knows you too. He doesn’t flinch when you’re difficult. Doesn’t waver when you’re tired or sharp-edged or messy. He just stays.

And because under all the ethics and the contracts and the squeaky-clean policy talk, you live for this. The forbidden little confessions no one else gets.

The volume of your voice lowers under the hum of the department.

Someone coughs down the hallway.

“But, uh…You know, God gets off at, like, eight-thirty this morning, so, like…if, maybe, you wanted to tell God without, like, potential legal repercussions,” you tap your fingers together, steepled in front of you. “I think she would really like to know what— uh, what you’re talking about.”

Jack’s eyebrows climb on his head. “Would she, now?”

“Yeah,” you say, sucking your teeth. “Yeah, that’s why, um, they do confession.”

“Confession, huh?” The man across from you narrows his eyes, lips twitching. “That’s part of the job, though, right? So wouldn’t she be working?”

You think for a second.

That’s a good point, God would have to be on the clock to hear confessions. He could do pro-bono work, you suppose. There’s a lot of paperwork involved in that, though, and you’re sure he has, like, mass suffering to preside over.

“Yeah, well,” you wave your hand in the air, dismissing your inner-monologue. Maybe Abbot should be the lawyer. You’re obviously fucked. “Overtime.”

“Oh,” he says, tone pleasantly surprised. “God’s clocking overtime on the night shift?”

You nod, a little too quickly to hide your curiosity. “I mean, the union reps keep trying to shut that shit down, but,” you click your tongue, waving your hands vaguely at the divine hassle, “the angels are striking again, so…all hands on deck, there.”

A short, forced classic angels, am I right? chuckle escapes your otherwise stoic face.

Then you shrug, nodding sharply again, and crossing your arms over your chest.

And then you swivel a little in your chair, your nerves jumping at the potential for drama.

“And, like, imagine, all those centuries of listening to claims— uh, murder confessions with nothing fun to break the monotony,” you say, almost pleading at this point.

Abbot shifts his jaw, the ghost of a grin flickering. “Sure. God probably doesn’t get enough hot goss.”

“Exactly, girl, so spill,” the words fly out of you, desperate. You pause, reining yourself in. “Uh, later. After— after eight-thirty. And also…” jerkily, your index unfurls and points to the ceiling, “to God.”

A flicker of something crosses his eyes—a little tired, partly entertained, and extremely fond at your flailing attempt at a theology lesson. His mouth curves into that rare, careful smile he never wastes on anyone else.

“Amen, honey,” he mutters.

Oh, he’s enjoying this way too much.

His gaze flicks upward, brow furrowing just slightly as if he’s consulting some internal filing cabinet labeled How to Pin You with Felony Charges. The warm hand resting on your thigh raises slightly, his index finger spinning a single, slow loop on the cloth, physically rewinding a VHS tape only he can see.

“Hold.” He says it low, an order. He pauses the invisible tape with a slow, deliberate sweep of his fingers, then lets his hand drift lower, palm curving around your leg. His thumb presses in, eyebrow lifting a fraction at your breath catching. “I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly.”

“God gets off at eight-thirty, but he’s pulling OT to listen to my sins,” he recounts lowly, “while you, no relation, also get off at eight-thirty. Now, are you billing hospital time or holy time while my soul’s on trial?”

You press your lips together, left hand coming to rest idly on our cheek while you attempt to think—something getting increasingly difficult with every moment his palm sends warmth shooting up your leg.

“Can we do, like— maybe like, uh— like a divine double shift situation?” you ask.

He tilts his head forward slightly and his hand tightens around your leg, but says nothing.

You swallow, feeling the silence stretch between you.

“Yeah, I’ll admit that one got away from me,” you concede.

The silence grows. Does this guy even blink?

You pivot tactics then.

Slowly, you slink your foot around his metal one, and roll yourself closer, slotting one leg between his. Leaning forward, you begin to reclaim your personal space and launch a counter-attack on his.

His arms brush yours.

“Holy time, obviously,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m God’s strongest soldier. I deal with you every day.”

#jack abbot x reader #abbot x reader #the pitt #jack abbot #dr abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #dr abbot x you #*writing

310 notes · View notes

erwinsvow · 7 hours ago

Text

𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 — 𝐣.𝐚.

summary: you're too young for me and this is wrong and i'm supposed to be teaching you float around jack abbot's head. but every time, knowing that he shouldn't, he still leans in to kiss you.

word count: 17.9k

tags: first year!reader (but no age mentioned + she has a stupid nickname), illicit workplace relationship, lots of guilt/we shouldn't do this (mostly from jack), yearning/pining, shea's version of slowburn and a bubbly reader and much too much dialogue, regular hospital talk/mention of injuries/death and fourth of july special scene <3 maybe out of character for the other doctors but i tried my best!, smut (fingering, orgasm denial, dirty on-call room sex, creampie because.. duh).

note: based off of the intern baking for jack during his bad week blurb, also known as i can't help myself

jack abbot stares at you, then down at the containers in his hand filled with cookies that you baked for him after he spent the better part of a week yelling at you, and then back at you.

and then he laughs for the first time all week and wonders to himself—what the hell am i going to do with you?

because truly, you are something else. jack’s seen you in passing during day shift sign-offs at seven pm, and occasionally walking to the lockers a touch early. reflecting back, while placing the yellow tupperware into his own locker, he thinks he’s even seen you as early as six-thirty in the morning some day, if not most days.

he can’t resist—who told you about his sweet tooth, he’s not actually sure—but he opens up the lid. just like you had told him before you walked away to start your shift, the round chocolate-chip cookies don’t have any sea salt on them, not that he minds.

he bites into one and chews on it while trying to remember what else he knows about you—all that comes to mind is your teary eyes day before last when he yelled at you over something he can’t remember right now.

it hadn’t been that big of a deal—there was a patient presenting with disrupted kidney function and you hadn’t discontinued their nsaids on your initial evaluation. the solution, usually, is a stern conversation and to inform you for next time. no ibuprofen for the guy with bad kidneys, something you would have figured out in the next hour even if they hadn’t immediately caught it.

but for some reason (he knows the reason, he thinks grimly) he had yelled instead. raised his voice, caused a scene. every nurse nearby had looked up and started whispering—and he knows how the gossip goes in this place.

even ellis had intervened and dragged you away, glancing back to give him a look something akin to what the fuck, man?

because he doesn’t yell—it’s not hardwired in him to do so. he was raised in a loud house but he’d almost looked to avoid it everywhere he went, trying his hardest to not become like his father in that way.

the realization that he never yelled when his wife was still alive hits him like a slap to the face every time. he can’t help it, and he’s sure everyone justifies it for him. even when he’d yelled at you and you’d stood in front of him like a kicked, teary-eyed puppy, he hadn’t realized he’d done it again—taken out his frustration on the nearest thing. he’s sure that parker’s with you in some corner, telling you how he usually never yells and it’s his week from hell and you’ll see the real abbot next week.

that doesn’t take away from the fact that he made you cry, though.

nor does it erase the fact that you made him cookies. quite frankly, delicious cookies. maybe the best ones he’s ever had. soft and chewy and made with semisweet chocolate chips. before he realizes it, it’s seven pm sharp and he’s eaten the whole thing, shoving his go-bag into the locker carefully on top of the container you gave him and going out to join you for sign-offs.

and he doesn’t realize it either, not until you stare at him for a moment too long, garnering a cough from mckay as she tries to tell you about the patients from the chairs, the ones that you’ll be following up on and taking care of for the rest of the evening.

there’s chocolate smudged on his fingers, and he’s licking it off, trying to pay attention to robby—who looks at him confused, and then glances at you, and turns back to jack almost… knowingly—while you’re paying attention to him.

and jack, well, everyone knows about jack’s staring thing. they call it just that—he has a problem with overdoing eye contact. he doesn’t know when he picked it up, though he’s sure it’s another one of those military attributes he pretends he doesn’t have. what he does know is that he’s always been able to tell when someone’s looking at him, like you are now.

jack turns his head just to look in your direction for a moment and he finds you already facing in his direction. your gaze quickly goes from his eyes to his fingers and then back to cassie, and he doesn’t have to be near you to know that you’re flushed.

then he stops himself—he doesn’t have any business digging around in your thoughts, wondering what exactly made you look away, was it the fact that he turned to look or that he already knew you were staring—and for the first time all night, he tries to pay attention to robby.

fuck. is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of your time on nights? resisting the urge to turn and lock eyes with you, to make sure you’re there and make sure you’re looking, even when he knows you are?

no, no. he’s not that guy. he’s not the guy who obsesses over the nice, pretty intern and accepts her cookies when he’s the one who made her cry to begin with.

you have a place in this hospital, and it’s to learn and grow and better yourself under his guidance, not stay nestled in his thoughts that linger somewhere between inappropriate and really inappropriate.

no, what jack wants to do is get you alone somewhere quiet so he can apologize, and make sure that you believe him.

rarely does jack abbot get what he wants.

you’re talking with mckay still, going on about something at a mile a minute, in more of a carefree tone that he’s never been on the receiving side of. every time he’d spoken to you the previous week, he’d been angry and you’d been dejected. it’s not how teaching is supposed to be, especially not jack’s teaching. he’s always been proud of how he treats residents, how they flourish under him, how they end up liking nights like john and parker did.

he catches the ending half of your conversation with cassie.

“-but the recipe doubles really, really easily, so if you make them and you feel like you want more, because, i mean, i made them for a bake sale once-”

“and it’s always a crowd pleaser?” cassie asks, tilting her head at you, looking as focused as jack has ever seen her. he doesn’t know the context, though he’s sure it has something to do with harrison and his school.

you, on the other hand, are completely engrossed in the conversation. as though cassie’s son and his school’s bake sale are the most important things on the planet.

“always! it’s so good. but just make a test batch—it’s so easy. half the recipe, try it out, and then if you like it, you can use the extras to let people try it before they buy it-” you’re interrupted, parker calls out your name somewhere in the distance.

the day shift has began to filter out. robby pats jack’s shoulder firmly before muttering i’m outta here, but jack stands frozen in place, wanting for some reason, to hear the end of your conversation.

he didn’t know people could be so passionate about baked goods—but he guesses it makes sense. for you, that is.

“actually, that’s not a bad idea. you sent me the recipe already?”

“yes, i texted it. but i can email it if you want, or i-”

jack actually laughs—you’re so eager to get cassie this recipe. he thinks you have more energy right now than he’s had all day.

he hears cassie thank you, and he gets a glimpse of you beaming at her, a bright, pretty smile, before the charge nurse calls out his name and his shift really starts.

shen jumps on with him and he sees you somewhere in the distance, probably running through your game plan for some patient in the chairs with ellis. you smile brightly at her too, and for the first time in a long time, jack has a thought that he deems in the category of uncontrollable.

he’s a disciplined guy, always has been. thoughts don’t consume him like wildfire, rather they run through a series of checks and balances before he even fully thinks them. last week his system had been all off, leading to you getting yelled at in the first place, and right now, the whole thing seems like it’s gone haywire, focused on one thing in particular.

what does he have to do to get you to smile at him like that?

the night shift is a place of routine. jack wants to get you on a trauma with him, wants to show you what he’s like when he’s of sound mind and not thinking about how last week, a couple of years ago, he had the worst day of his life. and then a couple years before that, another worst day of his life.

he has an overpowering urge to show you what he’s like on a normal week. he can even picture it in his head—handing you gloves and asking you questions that help you run the trauma, to get you in the habit of approaching the cases like he does. the questions are to make you believe in yourself—if you know the answers, you could have run this whole thing by yourself. if you get something wrong or don’t know, he throws in an easier one next time.

you might be a little worried at first but you’d get the hang of it. and then, after the patient was stable and he got to tell you good job, you’d do it. smile at him, beam up at him like you’ve been doing to the others. the kind that makes your eyes light up, makes little lines crinkle in the corners of your face, lets him see your lips—well, that’s not important.

what is important is that you realize that jack abbot is there to help you, not to make things worse. that’s the side of him he wants you to see.

but unfortunately, the night shift is a place of routine. interns are on chairs, getting every move double-checked by a senior resident. there’s enough hands on the day shift to allow first years to jump on every incoming but nights are not nearly as well distributed.

so, you and jack fall into a routine—you both show up early for your shifts, walk to the lockers together in silence. sometimes you stare and he catches you, and other times you catch him. you think about asking him what he thought about the cookies, or if you can get your tupperware back, but then you stay silent and head out into the chaos.

one day at six forty-five, he sees you looking at him while mel is trying to tell you something that you are decidedly not paying attention to. after he looks your way, you turn back to her and start profusely apologizing.

he turns back to robby, missing half of what he said.

“you okay?” robby asks, gaze flickering towards jack, and then back at you, somewhere in the distance. jack nods. “how’s she been doing?”

he doesn’t have to say your name for jack to know who he’s talking about.

“fine. good. i haven’t gotten much of a chance to teach her, so-”

“right. teach.” robby says it and looks at jack differently—as if he’s amused.

“what?” jack snaps, suddenly irritated by the line of questioning.

“nothing. this week’s probably gonna be her last on nights, just so you know.” before jack can respond, robby puts his hands up in defense. “don’t shoot the messenger. apparently we’re supposed to be cycling interns and r-twos so they all get to experience nights. something about equality and fairness. i don’t know but you can read the memo.”

“fairness?” jack grumbles, though it’s mostly to himself. he’s annoyed, and he knows why, and he doesn’t like the reason why. “they used to put us on nights for three months at a time and the only memo i ever got was too bad.”

“careful, jack,” robby says, a little too sing-songy for his current mood. “you keep talking like that and she’s gonna think you’re an old grump.”

jack glares up at robby, wanting to reply but nothing biting comes to mind.

“you have a good night, jack,” robby says and jack mutters back a yeah, yeah. he turns to watch robby leave, but somehow, his gaze still ends up back on you, like it always does. it’s harder still throughout the course of the night, nerves somehow taking over him every time he wants to tell you to drop whatever patient’s hand you’re stitching and jump on this trauma with him.

the vision he’s been chasing, aimlessly at that, seems further and further away as the hours pass each night. your shift is filled with first degree burns and sprained ankles and kind-of, sort-of allergic reactions, when it should be spent by his side, learning everything he has to offer you before you’re back with the day shift.

because that’s why he’s so invested in making sure you’re on a trauma with him—because of how much he has to teach. parker and john haven’t said a bad thing about you, and even the day crew during passing exchanges—nothing besides wondering how you have so much energy at seven am without a cup of coffee in your system.

that is why he’s so invested—right?

on your last shift of nights for this block, you show up a little extra early. you think you can avoid jack by doing so, but he comes early too, wanting to catch you alone, if just for a moment.

you walk with your hands filled with more tupperware that he recognizes. the very same containers are sitting on his countertop right now, the contents mostly eaten. he doesn’t want to finish the last of your cookies even though they’ll get stale soon. and why that is, he pretends to not know the answer.

he follows you into the break room at six twenty-five while you open the lids and set out napkins.

“oh,” you say, surprised when you hear the door click behind you. you didn’t think anyone would have noticed you sneaking in there. “dr. abbot-”

“listen, kid, i need to-” jack’s eyes, without intending to, fall from your confused expression to the table in the room. you have more cookies—maybe snickerdoodle—in the containers. “what’s this for?”

“it’s my last day on nights.”

“so you made cookies?”

“it’s to thank everyone,” you ramble on, like you have to justify the idea to jack. “for being so patient with me. interns are already so annoying and then on top of that when they’re not sleeping. i just thought it would be nice. and there’s no nuts or chocolate so it’s more allergy friendly, you know. i-i’m gonna stop talking now.”

“no-” he says, too quickly, and you look just as confused as ever. your eyebrows knit and your mouth opens a bit and he stares at you, while you stare at him. in fact, jack wishes you wouldn’t look at him like this—cute and confused and too nice for your own good. “no, i mean-”

what does he mean? what he really wants to say is please don’t stop talking, but all that comes out is—

“that’s…nice. i’m sure they’ll appreciate it. and interns, well, they’re supposed to be annoying. that’s how you learn.” jack pauses, thinking he’s done well, that this is a good place to stop. “not that you’re annoying, that’s not what i-”

“thank you, dr. abbot,” you supply, smiling at him. and god, if it isn’t exactly how he thought it’d be—your bright smile feels like it sends a halo of warmth over the person you’re looking at, and this time, it’s lucky him. your face changes too, the confusion and concern melt away and are replaced with sheer joy, like you’re thankful for every bumbling word in a fairly awkward conversation.

he’s never been like this, he thinks, or maybe the confidence that surged through him during every trauma had nestled somewhere permanently, constantly hitched along into his real life. he’s never considered himself a don juan but he’s not a stranger to women either—and he certainly doesn’t stutter through sentences and backtrack because he’s worried he’s offended you. that doesn’t happen to him. it’s never happened to him.

but he supposes, taking in how you smile with your entire face and what else he can do to get you to stay smiling, that there’s a first time for everything.

“you were saying something? when you came in?” you ask.

“yes, uh-”

damn it. what was he saying? he can’t remember. it’s distracting—you, the cookies, your radiant smile, all of it. especially when he thinks about a week ago today, when you were standing in front of him with your wet eyes and wobbly chin, when he was angry about something he can’t even piece together right now. right—the apology.

“i just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. i-i hope you-”

but before he can finish the sentence the door opens. it’s dana.

“jack, robby’s asking for you. three incoming mvc’s and mckay left early for something with her son and no one else is here yet, and-” she stops, glancing between you, jack, and the cookies on the table. “hey, kid. you jumping in?”

you glance to jack when dana asks that, big eyes staring at him for permission. you really shouldn’t have done that, because he thinks you’re only making all the rest of this much worse, whatever he’s been pushing down and burying for the last week that seems determined to hit the surface today.

“tell him we’re coming,” jack says, and though he had more to say to you, he has to stop for now. on the walk to the trauma bay, jack recaps how he runs through traumas with you. he ties your gown while you pull gloves in his size, and then the ones in your size.

when you hand him the gloves, he gets a look into your eyes—pretty, nervous, excited. in that order.

“what do we have?” jack asks, and trail behind him momentarily, taking a big breath before walking out and following him into the trauma bay. robby jumps on the first ambulance with heather and leaves the second to you and jack. you see frank and mel walking towards the third one, still driving up.

the paramedic starts rattling off the vitals and the patient keeps speaking over him, thrashing up and trying to crane her neck despite the c-spine collar wrapped around it.

you know what you’re trained to do in these situations—listen to ems, treat the patient, figure out what she keeps interrupting for after you’re positive that she’s not going to die on your table. but some part of you just can’t let it sit like that. you can’t stand when someone thinks you’ve ignored a part of their sentence, much less ignore them entirely.

“wait, wait,” you tell the paramedic as they’re wheeling the gurney into one of the trauma rooms. all around you, the nurses have started their work, setting up iv’s and rolling in portable x-rays. they set aside blood and wait by the phone to call for the surgical consult or to clear up ct as soon as you and jack decide the patient needs one.

“excuse me?” he replies, turning to look at jack with an expression that asks are we listening to her? and even jack looks at you a little confused while you get closer to the patient, until you’re in her line of sight and she stops moving so much. the noise around you will never fully go quiet, but it dims down for thirty seconds.

“you have to stop moving so much, ma’am. what are you trying to say?”

“i really think we should-” the paramedic interjects, but you snap your head towards him, trying to figure out how to say shut up without really saying it.

“can you please, just give me a second?”

“my daughter, my daughter, she’s hurt, please-” she responds, not thrashing anymore, just crying.

jack looks between you and the patient for a moment. this case is surgical—she practically went through the windshield. there’s glass that needs to be removed, a concussion, possibly a chest tube, and an airway if she crashes.

“you guys need hands in here?” you hear trinity ask from somewhere behind you.

jack knows you have a choice here, and he thinks, for a moment, you’ll tell her to find the daughter while you finish this trauma with him. it’s for your own learning, your education. it’s to show you what the some of the worst outcomes from car accidents look like, things to check for in the future even if your patient looks fine.

“i’m gonna find your daughter, okay? but i need you to stop moving so they can take care of you. because she needs her mom, too.” you turn to santos, and trinity jumps in while you walk out. jack catches one glimpse of you before turning to his patient, laying still and compliant, crying silently.

an hour later, most of the day shift has gone home. trinity even stops at bed 19 where you’re suturing the little girl’s arm while she drinks a juice box and waits for a head ct in case she has a concussion too.

“when is it gonna be my turn on nights? abbot is so cool. i put in the chest tube and got to bring her up to surgery.”

you get an uneasy feeling in your chest thinking about someone else on nights with jack in your position—not the yelling, but rather the apology he never got to finish. how sincerely he looked at you when you left to find the daughter instead of finishing up with your patient—maybe it was a mistake. maybe he’ll be upset with you, but it doesn’t matter, since it’s your last shift, anyways.

“and those cookies are fantastic. alright, thanks bubbles. i’ll see you back on days.”

“bubbles? wait, those cookies weren’t for you-” you call out after her, but she walks away without responding. you turn back to the little girl.

“there’s cookies?”

“yes,” you sigh, taking your seat again. her arm is nearly done, just needs a bandage. dad is on his way, the social worker is informed, and someone should be coming over to take over to watch her until ct is ready. “i can give you one after your dad gets here, if he’s okay with it. but for now you have to rest.”

she asks you if her mom is going to be okay, and in truth, you don’t know the answer. you should, but you don’t. you excuse yourself when one of the nurses gets there to monitor her, and try to find parker so you can move onto the next.

jack must be in another trauma, because you don’t see him anywhere and though you’re not eager to get yelled at again, you do need to finish the conversation from earlier.

and you need your tupperware back.

you end up seeing six patients, getting four of them ready to be sent home and two waiting for beds upstairs and consults that are taking far too long. parker pulls you aside while she chews on one of your snickerdoodles.

“can you do nights more often? these cookies are great, bubbles.”

“okay, when did this catch on? i know trinity likes her nicknames but this is the first time i’ve heard it. also, what the hell does it even mean?”

parker looks at you with a tilt of her head.

“seriously?”

“bubbles? maybe something like, i don’t know, crybaby, i would have understood.” you pause, hesitating, and then glancing up from the screen you’ve been staring at, your half-assed attempt at a proper note. “wait, how long has she been calling me that?”

“since your first day. but it doesn’t sound like nearly as much of an insult as it used to.”

at least parker will give it to you straight.

“can i ask you something? about dr. abbot?” you don’t know where the surge of confidence comes from, but you think you need to ride the wave to some answers before your shift ends. you glance at your watch while parker does the same. almost midnight.

“i’ll give you five minutes. by the way, he was in the break room if you want to ask him directly.”

“really?

“yeah. shoveling down cookies. you’re gonna give him pre-diabetes.”

“really?” and it’s hard to hide your smile, entire face lighting up. “it’s my favorite recipe. well, second favorite, i guess. my roommate in medical school had a nut allergy so i always made snickerdoodles for her, but those brownies i made for him are probably are my actual favorite-”

parker’s expression changes.

“you made him brownies?”

“yeah?” fuck. “it-it was to apologize. for last week, the nsaids thing.”

“he yelled at you.” she pauses, staring at you a little more quizzically. “he made you cry.”

“he was having a bad week?” you offer sheepishly.

“right.” another pause. “what was your question?”

“i don’t remember. i’m gonna go see a patient now.” you save the contents of your note and decide to finish it later, during the three am lull with a hot cup of coffee and a cookie if there’s any left.

your question was going to be disguised with a ramble of some sort, asking ellis if she thinks jack abbot is the type to apologize for yelling at her or if there was something else he was going to tell her before those traumas came rolling in.

but lucky for you, you get your answer. four am, in the break room, running a little late on finishing your notes, behind on a schedule that you had invented in your own head. the last patient you saw had been really frightened of the hospital, as well as a language barrier that you had to wait thirty minutes to find a translator for at this hour.

you need a coffee, a cookie, and a computer to finish your notes. and then you need to leave the night shift and not be stuck in the hospital with jack abbot for twelve hours.

though there’s a smile on your face when you open the door, at the very idea that jack liked your snickerdoodles enough to shovel them down, or whatever parker had said. you look up and your smile gets replaced with surprise at the man standing in front of you.

it’s mental beetlejuice, or something. every time you think about him, boom, there he is. facing the counter, pouring black coffee into his steel gray tumbler.

“oh. hi.” how can you be so shocked that he’s in here? it’s four am with no incomings and it’s really not that big of a department. you passed the other two doctors on with you on the walk here—parker at central talking to a nurse and shen at a computer eating a granola bar.

“hey, kid. coffee? just made a pot.”

“yes, please.” you walk over, fetching your yellow mug from the cabinet. you glance at the table—your containers empty save for the crumbs of cinnamon sugar on the bottom. “was gonna have a cookie too. i should have made more.” jack pours you a cup and then hands you the creamer and the sugar. you notice that his own coffee is drunk just black though.

“it’s john, i’m telling you. he’s got a sweet tooth worse than mine. and don’t let parker fool you. i saw her in here three times tonight.” jack takes a seat in one of the chairs, but first he pulls one out for you.

you sit down and smile, laughing at his comment.

“well, she said that you were in here shoveling them down, so, i don’t know who to believe.”

“she said that?” you nod, taking a sip of your sweet coffee.

the coffee in the break room is notorious for being just fine. it’s never great, or even just good, it’s just fuel. but it tastes a lot better today.

“i’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.”

you laugh again. you look over, realizing there’s one cookie left in the container.

“one left. but you can have it,” you say, the caffeine and this conversation doing wonders for your energy levels. “i had a bunch at home earlier today and i make them all the time, so-”

“nah, kid. we’ll split it.” jack breaks it in half and slides it towards you on a napkin, and you smile at him again—warm, generous, compassionate.

a lot of big words to describe the smile of a resident he just got to know better this week, but he can’t turn it off. the radar in his head alerting him that the person he’s been thinking about for hours is sitting in front of him now, nibbling on half a cookie.

“that was a nice thing you did, earlier. with the mom and the daughter. she was completely compliant after.”

“i figured. i can’t believe the paramedic didn’t listen to her the whole ride in, though.” you take another sip of coffee before putting your mug down on the table. “not that he did something wrong. i know he was trying to help and they’re trained to focus on the patient and all that. but she was moving around in a c-collar, so i figured-well, i’ll stop rambling. they said the surgery went good so that’s all that matters, i guess.” you go quiet, taking another bite just so you stop yourself from talking too much again.

“both things can be true. he should have listened and he did his job. how’s the daughter?”

“good, good. i gave her stitches and she had some minor cuts. i think the mom thought she was bleeding a lot worse. dad’s with her, so…”

“you had the chance to jump on the trauma but you left to take care of the kid.” jack doesn’t say it with any sort of tone, presents it to you plainly, like a statement.

“is this the part where you’re gonna yell at me?” you blink up at him, worried again.

“no, no. i just-” he pauses, thinking about his words carefully. he smiles, like he’s about to laugh. “it’s just the sort of thing i can’t teach, so-”

there’s a knock on the door, and you audibly sigh. is it the worst thing in the world to ask for some privacy for five minutes in this place, to be able to finish a conversation with your attending for once?

it’s john.

“incoming. three minutes out. aw, man, are those the last of the cookies?”

you do get to jump on the case with shen and abbot, though the man isn’t in bad condition at all. took a spill on his kid’s toys and bruised his tailbone, but his wife called for an ambulance. he waits for a head ct and x-ray and the room clears out, and you wonder if you’ll get a chance to finish out your conversation with jack abbot.

you don’t.

he stays behind to tell robby something and parker and john usher you out for a celebratory latte—decaf, obviously—to finish your first small taste of nights. you carry your empty containers in the tote bag you brought them in, and realize you didn’t even get a chance to tell him to bring your containers back.

(whether you want the containers or an excuse to talk to him again, you don’t know. it’s a can of worms not worth opening now that nights are done—though you’re sure he must have finished the contents by now. the idea of your yellow tupperware sitting on his counter or his kitchen table, well… it leads your mind to wonder about other things.

what does his place look like? did he sit on his couch with brownies and farmer needs a wife, like you had suggested? what about in his bed? jack doesn’t seem the type to have a television in his bedroom, or the type to eat in bed, though sometimes you’ll make an exception for dessert, and maybe he can be convinced.

and then you cut the entire thought out of your head, because it’s downright unprofessional and you have no business spending time wondering about his bed or his couch or anything else. stupid tupperware. and what’s even worse is going home with the realization you might not get to find out what jack was going to say to you in the break room, either time.)

if you ask a hundred emergency room doctors what the worst day of the year is, you’ll get a hundred different answers. halloween, thanksgiving, and new year’s are all up there.

but jack abbot’s answer has never changed—fourth of july.

a day littered with sunshine, grilling, and sparklers. to any emergency medicine specialist, it’s more about sun-poisoning, choking on hot dogs, and burn injuries from at-home fireworks. the hospital is flooded with back-to-back traumas, ranging from people passing out at the beach in the afternoon to full body burns by the evening.

you had always predicted the worst part is how a lot of the injuries are on children. they’re the ones left unattended while mom and dad drink themselves silly or let them play with firecrackers on the pavement, assuming they’ll be fine. you’ve done two emergency medicine rotations in school and you think you know what the fourth will be like, that you’ll be unnerved the entire day by the sound of crying children and trying to hold back anger on the irresponsible parents.

but walking through the doors of the hospital on your second week back on days, you realize you really don’t know much.

like, for example, that jack abbot walks in beside you and mel at six forty-five. you look at him confused, and then turn to mel, who doesn’t match your expression but is also confused, you’re sure. jack is quick by the lockers—takes off his backpack and heads straight back out.

mel speaks up first.

“i didn’t know dr. abbot does days,” she says, taking off her jacket and folding it neatly.

“i didn’t either. do you know why?” it’s really an unnecessary question—it shouldn’t matter to you at all. but it does, and you’re terrible at burying things. it’s written all over your face that you want to know the answer why.

“well it’s likely just for overflow. i’m sure they’re expecting double the amount of patients today.”

“right. yeah, that makes sense.”

“though it is surprising-”

“what is?”

“-that he didn’t take the day off, i suppose.”

“why’s that?” you ask, and mel shrugs.

“fourth of july is a usually tough day for a lot of veterans. when i was at the va hospital, some of the other doctors who had served would stay at home with their families. and the noise from the fireworks, too-”

mel goes on, but you have a hard time paying attention to the rest of her story. one thought washes over you, filling you with enough dread to last all day, making your blood feel icy cold in your veins. jack doesn’t have any family to spend the day with at home, so instead he’s here for the day shift, to help with the extra patients.

“i hadn’t thought about that.” you say quietly. you put your stethoscope around your neck and hold the familiar container in your hands.

“that’s okay, a lot of people don’t. i don’t think i did before my year there. wait, are those more cookies?”

it seems that robby shares some of your dread. you head out with mel, putting the star shaped sugar cookies with red and blue frosting in the break room. during sign-offs you tell parker and john to grab a few—just a few! leave some for the rest of us—before they head home. you smile politely at frank, who seems very concerned with making sure mel knows how hectic this holiday gets in the pitt and ask cassie how that bake sale went.

and then robby pulls you aside, leading you in front of central.

“i brought sugar cookies, i hope that’s okay. is something wrong?” you ask, gauging how robby is looking at you right now.

“yeah, everything’s fine.” he looks around distractedly, or maybe like he’s trying to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “listen, i know you just got back from nights-”

“are you sending me back? to nights?”

“what? no, no, we need you on days. i mean, you just finished nights and you were with abbot for a bit. how’d that go, by the way?”

“dr. abbot?”

“nights.”

“oh,” you say, feeling yourself flush. warmth spreads over you despite how cold it runs in the hospital. flustered, you continue. “it was good. um, busy and i learned a lot.”

“and you got to spend some time working with abbot, right?”

“yeah. some-uh, yes. i did.”

“great. because today is a bit of a weird day for him. he’s not used to days and we get overwhelmed pretty quickly. he’s here to help and it’s always great to have extra hands, especially his hands, but-” you zone out for a moment at the thought of jack’s hands. “-he seems a bit off and i want to make sure he’s doing okay, and he’ll just ignore me if i ask. so if you could—?”

robby trails off and you stare at him blankly, blinking after fifteen seconds of silence.

“if i could what?”

“just, check on him, y’know, throughout the day. just make sure he’s alright. thanks a ton kid, i knew i could count on you.”

“wait, what-” but then robby is gone, and you’re left at central with dana behind you, handing you a tablet with a patient’s name on it and somewhere to your left is jack, immersed in a conversation with heather. you stare at him, and the he notices you looking, and looks back.

any other day, you’d turn and go straight to your patient, but not today.

today your attending has given you a task—check in on jack. make sure jack’s okay. and you are not the type of person to disappoint your superior.

you walk over to them, smile at both, and then watch as heather excuses herself. had robby told her about the task he’d assigned you?

“hey, kid. don’t tell me—america themed cookies?”

you shirk under his gaze, the idea that felt very cute last night suddenly seeming exceedingly corny.

“it’s just festive,” you argue. “the frosting is made with blueberries and strawberries instead of food coloring. it’s healthier, i mean, it’s practically like eating fruit.”

“i don’t think you’re winning that argument, but sure, whatever you say. if parker and john left any for the rest of us.”

“i made a bunch this time. i figured there’d be more hands on deck today, i guess.”

(you hadn’t figured that. your logic with doubling the recipe and yielding twice as many cookies was that maybe there’d be some leftover for the night shift to take home with them—specifically one salt and pepper attending who already has two containers of yours at his home. what’s a third?)

“smart. we’ll need them. it’s gonna be a busy day.”

“that’s what i’ve heard,” you look up at jack again with a small smile—trying to disarm him without alerting him of your motive from robby. “how are you feeling, by the way?”

jack knits his eyebrows together.

“how am i feeling?”

“are you okay? do-do you need anything? i can go get you a cookie now, if you want, before they’re all gone. it’s not just the night shift, you know, trinity plows through them. and mel doesn’t have as much of a sweet tooth but since it has the fruit frosting, you know, i think she’ll like them.”

jack looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes, like he’s holding back a laugh, stopping it short at just a smile.

“i’m, i’m fine, kid. and that’s alright, i’ll go get one in a bit.”

“oh. okay. well that’s good.”

“are you okay?”

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you lock eyes with him again.

“no reason. well, maybe we can go get that-”

“dr. abbot?” someone says, and you hold back the groan. it’s getting harder and harder to keep it inside.

the people in this hospital really don’t want you to finish a conversation with your attending.

“yeah?”

he gets pulled up, and you do too—back to the chairs. it’s the usual residual patients from last night, but as the hours pass, you get more injuries related to the holiday. the allergic reactions and sprained wrists turn into burns from the grill and heat exhaustion.

you find jack three more times in between seven patients—asking him he’s okay, how his patients are, if he wants that cookie now, or maybe water? all these people are dehydrated, it’s no good if their doctors are too, right?

the next time you do it, he locks eyes with robby right after. you sneak your way past moving gurneys and crying patients, just to tap his shoulder and check in one last time before you sit down to debride a severe burn, one that’ll have you gone for at least an hour.

“what the hell did you do, robby?” he asks, while they monitor a man who came in on the ambulance after setting half his body on fire trying to grill hot dogs.

“what do you mean? nothing.”

“that kid has-”

“did you try those cookies? they’re fantastic. no wonder you want her back on nights.”

maybe another two hours later, during a surge of ambulances, you realize you haven’t seen jack in a while.

you pat your patient on the shoulder—a little girl with her mom who took a spill on the pavement while chasing her sister—and tell them you’ll send the nurse over with their discharge papers, and set out to find jack before sitting down with yet another burn—your tenth or so at least so far today. you close the curtain and look at the chaos in front of you—gurneys lined up against walls, patients crying and the entire place smelling of burnt flesh and salt water.

dr. abbot is by the trauma bay, organizing patients as they come, and the whole thing feels more like a triage unit than it does an emergency room.

you see trinity seeing the others from the chairs, heather jumping onto an incoming with robby. mel and frank are in one trauma room and jack is standing in the middle of everything.

is it the best time to ask him how he’s doing? no. that much is clear to anyone with a functioning frontal lobe.

but you are not just anyone, you’re you. you get slightly muddled in the head when it comes to jack abbot, and you definitely are not going to disappoint robby when he put you in charge of checking in on him.

you weave your way through the floor, avoiding nurses walking through with supplies in their hands and telling whoever you were supposed to be checking in with that you’ll be right back.

you dodge two gurneys that almost took your knees out just to get close enough to say his name and for him to hear you. you don’t see the one rolling right behind you.

“dr. abbot, are-” you’re interrupted by the sound of your own yelp, when jack reaches out to clasp his hand around your arm. he yanks you hard, pulling you out of the way, and suddenly, all the noises of the emergency room die down.

you hear the paramedic behind you, apologizing as he wheels the gurney out and back to the ambulance bay. you hear dana shouting from central to you—watch out, kid!—and even the wails coming from the trauma room robby and heather are in—a woman crying.

but you don’t really hear any of it. your eyes are locked on jack’s hazel ones, his fingers still tight against your bare skin. his hands are softer than you’d imagined.

you blink at him stupidly, mouth falling open a little. you must look as dumb as you feel, almost getting hit by a gurney in the middle of a very busy shift. it’s like intern 101—things to avoid doing, especially in front of your attendings.

but jack doesn’t seem mad. he looks at you with concerned, pretty eyes, a focused expression. and then, at the same time—

“are you okay?”

you both stare at each other for a while. you must look the equivalent of someone starstruck, staring with sparkling eyes, looking almost as grateful for him as you feel. that gurney would have taken you out of commission—at the very least you’d hit your head and be filling out paperwork under gloria’s watchful eye.

but you’re fine, save for a large bruise forming on your upper arm with each second that passes by as you continue stare at jack.

“you two!” dana shouts over the other commotion, effectively snapping you out of it. all the noises return at once, making you wince, and what’s worse is that people are staring. “incoming, two minutes out. the rest of you, back to work-”

“come on, kid. you’re with me.”

you most certainly are.

at around quarter past eight on the fourth of july, you’re seated across from jack abbot at his favorite twenty-four hour diner.

well, to be fair, you’re making more assumptions in the thirty minutes you’ve been sitting here with him than you have for the entire time you’ve know him. first—that this is his favorite diner. second—that he’s as interested in you as you are in him. and third—that you’ll finally get to finish the multiple conversations you’ve started with him and been unable to finish due to interruptions.

but there’s no interruptions here. post dinner rush, with a group of teenagers a few tables away and a couple in business clothes eating on the stools by the counter. there’s no nosy residents or gossipy nurses or incoming traumas. it’s just starting to get dark out, and you know the fireworks will start soon.

what you don’t know is if jack is going to be completely okay tonight. you don't care if you’re a temporary distraction from the noise, but you do care if you’ll be enough of a distraction for him.

the two of you order enough food to feed the entirety of the night shift at the hospital right now. the short staffing is the reason why you didn’t sit down to eat until seven forty-five, but it’s fine. as long as you’re here with him now.

you justify it mentally while jack steals one of your french fries—the ones he said he didn’t want half of when you asked—that you just need to finish the conversations from earlier. that it’s not wrong or inherently bad to order half the menu with your attending, one that was responsible for all of your anxiety three weeks ago.

but staring at him like this, you wonder what you had been so worried about. in fact, over the last few weeks, you’ve realized he’s nothing like what you thought at first.

“okay, i know this must be sound terrible,” you start, setting down your soda and reaching for another salty fry. “but that was amazing. like, the thrilling kind of amazing. does that make sense?” you stare at jack while you await his response.

“yes, it makes sense,” he says, but he can’t contain the laugh anymore. it comes out from his chest—unadulterated laughter, the rumble taking over his entire body.

“you’re laughing at me?” you ask, though you don’t actually seem upset about it. it’s hard to feel any sort of upset when you’re listening to what may be your new favorite sound in the world.

“no, no, i promise i’m not. you’re just so… you. even on a day like today.”

“what does that mean?” you reply quickly, sitting up straighter in your seat, expression turning deadly serious. “god, i’m so sorry. is that completely insensitive? i know it can be a hard day, i mean, well i didn’t know know. but mel brought it up this morning when we saw you and then robby told me to check on you and i thought i was helping until that stupid gurney almost took me out. but i just meant after that! the traumas and doing them with you. i-i hadn’t done any yet, with you, so i-”

“when do you breathe?”

“sorry,” you sigh. “it’s a bad habit.”

“don’t apologize to me, please. it’s-” jack goes quiet, his mind searching to fill in the blank but coming up empty.

it’s nice, he thinks. sweet. refreshing. funny. you’re all of those things and more. you don’t bite your tongue and hold back thoughts. you ramble until he can step into your thoughts completely—see it from your perspective like he’s inside your brain.

and jack—well, jack has friends. army buddies, guys he used to study with during medical school, a couple people from his residency that he stays in touch with. he has robby, though his friendship with him is going to be on thin ice after what he put you up to earlier, and dana. his parents are gone and so are his in-laws but he calls his sister when he really needs to talk about something and he checks in with his wife’s siblings once or twice a year, usually around the anniversary of her death.

(he hadn’t done it a few weeks ago, though, and he has trouble figuring out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. but then he stares up at you, sipping your drink, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence, before you, undoubtedly, ask him if he’s okay again. like if he tells you that he’s not—because really, he’s not—that you’ll make it your personal mission to make sure that he is. and that, well, what is he supposed to do with that?)

luckily the waitress interrupts the silence with the rest of the food—grilled cheese and waffles and whatever else sounded appealing in a hunger-driven craze—and he doesn’t have to finish the thought.

you two do talk about other things—how he’s sorry about yelling that week and how you completely didn’t deserve it. you tell him it’s fine and that he had a bad week and that you’re not upset, that it would feel wrong to hold that against him. he tells you about how good the brownies and the cookies were, and you beam at him with that smile again.

the conversations ebbs and flows—how it was nice of you to take care of that woman’s daughter. how great you did in the traumas today. how stupid robby is for asking you to check in on him—don’t listen to him ever again, just, come to me first next time.

and then once the food is eaten and your drinks run empty, and the sound of fireworks is littering your eardrums, you just say it.

“i don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“i’ve spent lots of july fourths alone, kid. i’ll be fine.”

he probably will be fine. he has noise cancelling headphones and though his apartment is close to the park where the fireworks are held—an oversight he didn’t think of when he moved in—he can distract himself enough to get through the night. he’s been doing it for years—taking care of himself when it comes to things like this.

“no, i-i know you will be. i just don’t think you should be alone.”

and then, for a split second, the force of your caring, of your affection for him hits him like a blow. it rushes over him—the feeling of how easy it might be to let you take care of him. to let someone else do it for once. reality seeps back in slowly, bringing his senses back one by one.

the first thing it does is remind him that you’re an intern.

“kid,” jack says firmly, sitting up straighter in the booth. he rests his elbows against the table, staring straight at you, boring into your soul like he always does. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“why not?”

“well, for one, i’m your attending.”

“oh, who cares about stuff like that? it’s not like i’m gonna tell anyone,” you reply, as though the words had come to you quickly, like you really believed them.

as if you’d already put some thought into your response before he’d asked you the question.

you don’t seem the least bit hesitant about basically telling him to spend the night with you—whatever that might mean to you. he doesn’t want to assume things, but it’s been a while since he’s done something like this. he doesn’t know what’s changed in the last decade and he certainly has never done something like this with a resident, much less an intern.

the whole thing is seeming much too bill clinton to him. he wants to express the thought to you, though it doesn’t make much sense—he’s not married and he’s not the president but you’re an intern and he was raised right so it feels wrong—and then he realizes it quickly. are you even old enough to remember that scandal? he shakes his head, as though he can dispel the thought by physically removing it.

“i care about stuff like that. there’s a power imbalance here, and-”

“i’m not even on nights anymore!”

“but you will be on nights again in the future. in a few months from now, when you’re a second year. you’ll do a whole month of nights in third year, too.”

your lips curve up into a playful smile.

“getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”

“kid-”

“i said you shouldn’t spend tonight alone. you’re thinking three years ahead. i mean, don’t get me wrong, jack, i’m totally flattered, but i think you should scale it down. one day at a time and all that.” his expression changes and so does yours—it’s the first time you’ve ever called him anything other than dr. abbot. “i’m sorry. is that completely unprofessional? oh my god, am i one of those people? is that harassment?” you whisper the last part, as though you’re worried he’ll leave to report you this instant.

jack wants to bang his head against the table. he thinks, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time about what he’s going to do with you.

the waitress brings the check and he places his card in her hand before you can so much as glance at it.

“i… i just meant that, i think it’s a bad idea if you spend tonight alone. we can watch a movie or make cookies or whatever you want to do. it’s just-” you trail off, suddenly quiet.

“it’s just what?”

“if we both go home alone, i’m just gonna spend the whole time worrying about you, anyways. might as well worry about you while i’m sitting next to you.” you stare at the table the whole time you say it, and then your gaze flickers up at him before looking back down quickly. “that must sound crazy. i’m sorry-”

“stop apologizing to me, kid.”

it’s hard on a regular day to resist the urge to listen to everything you say, to comply since he knows how good you are. made of a kind of sweetness that he really doesn’t know the first thing about—how you got to be this way, with an abundance of compassion, enough to make him feel like he’ll explode from the sheer strength of it.

what jack does know is that he wants to find out.

you both get up, and you put on your pullover from what can only be your alma mater, grabbing the containers you’d brought into the break room this morning. he swings on his backpack and you both walk outside. it’s dark now, and you can hear fireworks somewhere in the distance. the noise is loud and uncomfortable even to you, and you briefly wonder how it might sound to jack, and decide again that you really, really don’t want him to be alone tonight.

“listen, kid. i don’t want you to waste your night worrying about me. you should-”

“oh, trust me, it’s not a waste. i have an ulterior motive for wanting to go back to your place,” you say, nodding when jack tilts his head at you in confusion, wondering if he’ll bite.

“yeah? and what’s that?”

“i need my tupperware back.”

your back thuds against the wall beside jack abbot’s apartment door. you’ve never been here but you try to blink open your eyes to take it in, to see if it’s just as you thought it’d be while his lips—soft and wanton and kissing you—stay against yours.

it’s stupid—why are you worried about his apartment when your attending is kissing you like you belong to him? but then you remember something frank had once told you during your first week, something about adhd and how all of you probably have it, and then you start giggling against jack abbot’s lips.

his fingertips, which were brushing against the skin of your waist after sneaking under your shirt, tighten around the soft skin there. you can feel them digging in, but stupidly, deliriously, and a little light headed, you wonder if you’ll bruise if he pushes hard enough.

“y’know, kid,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling away for just a second. his breath is hot against your lips and his touch makes goosebumps rise all over you, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up tall. “i haven’t done this in a while but if you’re laughing, i must be doing something wrong.”

you should say something, say anything, so he stops talking and keeps kissing you, but nothing comes out besides another laugh.

“i’m sorry,” you say, trying to catch your breath while jack’s hands hover over your hips. “i-” you glance up to lock eyes again, but when you see the way he’s looking at you, you stop laughing completely.

“if you’re uncomfortable, we can stop. you don’t have to-”

“no! no, i’m not uncomfortable. i-i’m laughing because this is so funny. you’re my attending and now we’re kissing and i’m in your apartment and it looks, exactly how i pictured it. and you’re so nice to me, but it’s the fourth of july and i want to make sure you’re okay because-”

jack interrupts you with another kiss, his lips pressing against yours. this time he doesn’t let up, his tongue slipping into your mouth while you collapse against the wall, knees suddenly very weak.

but it’s alright, because jack’s got you. he holds you up by your hips and your legs mindlessly wrap around him, his hands going to your ass to hoist you up and secure you around him. he lifts you up and starts walking, and you whine against him, impatient and fairly comfortable where you were.

it’s like he’s a mind reader.

“our first time is not going to be against a wall,” he mutters, mouth on the column on your neck, tracing kisses from your collarbone to your cheek and then back to your lips. you want to reply, you want to tell him that you would have been perfectly content against that wall, or the door, or the couch, or even the floor, but nothing comes out.

you pull away just for a moment to look at him in the dim light of his bedroom—flushed cheeks, breathing heavy, taking a moment to push a piece of your hair behind your ear before kissing you again. and then with his mouth on yours again, you realize that jack abbot has discovered some way to turn your brain off.

his touch is rough on your skin—when your scrubs got peeled off of you, you don’t actually know. he throws them somewhere on the ground and you paw at his shirt until he gives in and takes it off.

it should be slower, he thinks briefly, he should slow down and take his time and not even give in and slip inside of you until you’re already a writhing, aching mess. he’s out of practice but he knows how you are, knows what would make you fall apart piece by piece.

that’s what he thinks of when your hands go to the button and zipper of his pants. for everything he knows about you, you’re also impatient. and lucky for you, he is too.

jack is out of practice, but it doesn’t mean he’s forgotten everything.

“c’mon, kid,” he breathes against your collarbone, wrestling your hands away from and then pinning them over your head. “be patient.”

“i’ve been patient—!” you whine, but he doesn’t give in just yet.

“it’ll hurt, sweetheart. i have to stretch you out first,” he says, and you feel dizzy with lust. it washes over you and makes you dumb, and you, for everything you are, are not a dumb girl. at least—not normally.

jack skips the teasing this time, trailing fingers down your chest, between the valley of your breasts and over your stomach. when he gets to your leaking cunt, he collects the wetness there with two fingers, and when you start whining again, impatient and antsy and your entire body humming with want, he does it again.

reminds you to be patient, and then plunges a finger inside of you. a moan leaves your throat—choked and loud, but he wants you to be even louder. you don’t know when he adds a second, and then a third, but you feel the delicious stretch of your walls, how his palm stays in place for you to grind up against. your hips buck up and you’re ruining his sheets and crying for more though you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

and jack takes it all in. how wet you feel against his fingers, how beautiful the noises that you’re making are. so focused on you—the sheen of sweat on your skin and how responsive you are to his touch, the noises outside his walls get drowned out.

“jack, jack, more—” you plead, but jack doesn’t listen. everything in your body feels ready to finish. your muscles ache, the knot in your belly tightens, and heat washes over you while your toes curl in anticipation.

and then jack just stops.

“no—” you whine, the rush disappearing all at once. “no, no, jack!”

“patience, kid.”

“you’re being unfair-”

“no, i’m not.”

“then why’d you-”

“because the first time i make you finish is going to be when i’m inside of you. understood?”

and for once, you’re silent.

“i would have gone to the roof, probably.”

you blink open your sleepy eyes. you’re pressed against jack’s chest, your head resting there while he trails his fingers through your hair. you’re wearing his shirt, sleeping in his sheets, a cup of water that he got you from his kitchen resting on the nightstand.

you can’t feel your legs, but that’s a problem for tomorrow—but at least you know now that you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

“what do you mean?” you ask quietly. the fireworks stopped an hour or so ago, and the only noise you hear now is jack’s heartbeat thudding against your ear.

“the rooftop, at the hospital. i go there after my shifts sometimes.”

a lot of the time—but you don’t need to know that. from the way you immediately sit up in bed, his sheets slipping a little and exposing more of your soft skin that you don’t seem to care about, he can tell you’re concerned already.

his shirt looks good on you.

“tell me it’s just for fresh air?” you ask, reaching your hand over to run your fingers through the hair near his temple. his eyes close when feels your touch there, and suddenly, it feels more intimate than it has all evening. jack takes a deep breath, and then sighs.

“something like that.”

“jack-”

“it’s just… i don’t know. i got used to it, i guess. at first it was just to see what it felt like being up there. then it just turned into something else. i go up there after a bad shift and look at all the people below and… decide if it’s still worth it, i guess.” his hazel eyes look towards you and jack nestles himself more comfortably against your hand that hasn’t left him.

“what’s gonna happen if you decide it’s not worth it one day?” you ask quietly, wet eyes sparkling up at him.

teary-eyed and flushed in his bed, all for him. you feel your emotions so strongly that he can watch them flooding your body, taking their course, almost sense them radiating from you.

that’s the second time you’ve cried because of him, and he decides he’s not going to let it happen a third time.

he takes the hand that you had extended against him into his own and presses a kiss against your palm.

“i don’t think i have to worry about that anymore.”

you get back to your apartment around four in the afternoon—you have a rare day off today. jack’s back on the night shift at seven, and though he offered to let you stay the night while he was gone, you wanted to give him time to get ready before going into the hospital. everyone has a pre-shift routine, even if they don’t recognize it.

now that you’re back on days, yours consists of waking up early to stretch and eat a big breakfast and leave enough time lay in bed for an extra ten minutes before you actually have to get up.

you don’t know what jack’s is but you’re sure you’ll find out soon enough.

the two of you slept in, courtesy of his black out curtains. you’re more of a get up with the sun person, but exceptions can be made.

(you’ll be making a lot of them from now on. jack abbot made you cum three times in his bed and once in the shower, and then he washed your body with his soap, the one you can still smell on your skin now. he kissed you while making you breakfast—eggs and bacon—and then told you to stop apologizing every time you accidentally hit your foot against his prosthetic under his dining table. and finally, he gave you one of your containers to take back home, and said he’s keeping the other one here. why? you’d asked. insurance, he’d replied.)

so you go back home, make dinner for yourself and wash your singular yellow tupperware and text jack to have a good shift tonight.

you set an alarm for five, get out of bed at five-fifteen and get ready for work, more giddy for a shift than you have been since your first day of intern year.

when you walk into the hospital, early like always, you see jack talking to parker. he looks in your direction and even parker can notice his gaze following something, but she doesn’t say anything. you look away before smiling to yourself, the grin being glued to your face the entire walk to the lockers as you recall memories of the last time you saw jack.

one of the perks of always being early is that there’s no one by the lockers when you arrive.

(you’ve never thought of it as a perk until now though.)

jack walks in behind you a few minutes later—right as you’ve tucked away your pullover and your bag and he stands beside you as you reach to pick up your stethoscope.

“ah, hold on,” he says, taking the stethoscope of your hand and into his. he loops it around your neck carefully, setting it in place for you. “there you go.”

“really?” you ask with a laugh, closing the door to your locker. “when you walked in here i thought i was gonna get a kiss. wait, what did you tell parker-”

“c’mon, kid,” jack says, looking at you with an expression you’re not sure you could ever get tired of. “i’m not that obvious.” you stare at him. “yeah, okay. i told her to go finish the note from the last trauma.”

“lucky for you, i’m your best resident. these other chums don’t show up until much closer to seven. actually, one time, santos came five minutes late. so-”

and for the second time, jack interrupts you with a kiss. he leans in, pressing his lips against yours, and your hands go slack by your side. his mouth tastes like coffee and even after a twelve hour shift he still smells like jack, the way his sheets and his soap and his shirt had smelled when you wore it.

he pulls away, and your eyes blink open slowly, like you’re figuring out where you are. fluorescent lights and the smell of the alcohol wipes they use to clean everything lingers around you.

and, of course, your attending, the one who sneaks into the locker rooms before shift change to give you secret and likely highly forbidden kisses.

“my lips are sticky,” jack says, bringing a finger to his mouth and rubbing it against another. you can’t bear to look at his hands right now, so you look away, at the risk of being useless for at least the next hour.

“it’s this lip peptide thingy. i don’t know, it’s good for them, i think. better than chapstick and they have all these flavors. they say it-” you trail off, staring at jack while he stares at you. he licks his lips.

“tastes good, kid. see you out there.”

oh god. you lean against your locker and watch jack leave. a minute later, mel walks in with trinity.

“i don’t want to hear it, bubbles. i’m here extra early, and not just to prove a point-”

“well, actually, i think it is to prove a point, but not-”

“what’s wrong? did the cat finally get your tongue?”

“i never understood what that meant-”

oh god. it’s going to be a long shift.

and outside the lockers, robby finds jack.

“so?” robby asks, leaning against the counter while jack sorts through tablets. he hands one to parker and then another to john, and they go off to pass on their patients to everyone arriving.

“am i supposed to know what you’re talking about?” jack replies, noticing you from the corner of his eye.

you’re coming out with santos and king, a water bottle in your hand. he had filled it for you before you left his apartment, after you’d refused his offer of walking you home. you look in his direction, and then you both look away at the same time. jack picks up his coffee cup to take another sip—if he doesn’t get the taste of you and your lip peptide thingy out of his mouth, he’s going to have a freudian slip in front of robby.

“i’m talking about you and the kid.” jack sputters, choking on his drink mid-swallow. “woah. you okay?”

“f-fine. uh, what? me and the kid?”

“yeah. since the fourth, you know, are you two good again?”

robby looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the silence with an answer.

“uh, yes. yeah, of course.”

“good. that was my goal. she started on nights at a bad time, and uh, i mean no one blames you. but we don't want to scare away all our interns, either.”

“right.” jack looks back at robby. “anything else?”

“no.” robby arches a brow at him. “you sure you’re okay? because she’s back on nights soon, and i don’t want-”

“i’m good, robby.”

“alright then. where are we with sign-offs?”

you on the day shift is something manageable. something he can handle, something that shouldn’t be too terrible for you two to figure out. you always come early and he always stays a little late, and he’s sure that it won’t look suspicious.

if you’re on days, then he’s not the one primarily in charge of your post-graduate medical education. that falls to robby and heather and frank, and he can trust that none of them are going to accidentally interfere with you learning everything you need to learn to be a good resident.

to be a great resident—because he knows you have it in you. you’re made of the stuff it takes to be teaching other interns one day—compassion and kindness and how to treat the person while you’re fixing the patient.

robby and heather and frank can help you with that. but if you’re on nights, it’s an entirely different ball game. he’s responsible for your education, for approving your notes and questioning your decisions and making you jump onto incoming traumas and justify every choice you make. he’s also responsible for correcting you when you’ve made a mistake. making you drink a cup of coffee if he thinks you’re getting tired. waking you up if you fall asleep at your desk at three in the morning.

and that’s just the problem. for the first time, jack abbot wonders if he can do all of those things if you’re the intern he has to do them to.

for god’s sake—he couldn’t even wake you up to ask how you wanted your eggs.

that’s the conundrum he’s facing when you come back home that night, near seven thirty. he’s off tonight and back tomorrow night, which means he gets about eleven or so hours with you until you leave tomorrow morning.

“hi,” you breathe, when he opens the door to let you inside. you’re clad in your pullover and you drop your bag by the front door when you come inside. “it feels weird to not go straight home.”

“oh, sweetheart, you could have gone home. i could have met you there-”

“no, no, it’s okay. i have a noisy neighbor and, well-” you drift off, smiling up at him the way you usually do.

“well?”

“i’d rather wear your clothes anyways.”

what’s he supposed to do when you say things like that? a couple of words that make him happier than he’s felt in years, lifting the storm cloud that’s been following him around since the conversation with robby this morning.

but it’s an important conversation, one that needs to be had. jack is a lot of things, but he is absolutely not a meddler in the lives of pretty interns or in the business of hindering their education.

“did, uh, robby say anything to you today?”

“jack,” you start slowly, turning on the couch to face him completely. “he’s not a mind-reader, you know.”

“no, i know. i just meant—well, did he?”

“no. he was normal. he even apologized for giving me side quests on an already busy day.”

“oh. that’s good.”

you bring your hand to his hair again, running your fingers through it. it’s almost an instinct to him now—jack closes his eyes for a moment and you watch his shoulders relax.

“what’s wrong? what’re you thinking about?” his pretty hazel eyes meet yours.

“i just want us to be careful-”

“hey, you’re the one who kissed me this morning-”

“i know, i know. i need to be careful, too. i don’t want-”

“i understand. i wouldn’t want everyone knowing i’m screwing the intern either. it’s kind of a cliche, honestly, we’re no better than-”

“what? no, no. i don’t want anyone to say anything that could hurt you, or for this to interfere with your education. it is a cliche, and i know you’re close with the others and people can act very differently when they think that-”

“jack,” you start, moving yourself closer until you can crawl into his lap. his eyes flick over you, settling to watch your lips before he locks eyes again.

“yeah?” he asks, his throat dry.

“in five minutes, i’m going to be wet and naked in your shower. you can either keep talking about this or you can come join me.” then you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. “c’mon, i wanna hear all about how you spend your days off, old man.”

and then you get up, peeling off your sweatshirt, and then your shirt, and leaving him a trail of your clothes that ends with your panties on his bathroom tile.

jack is a lot of things. but stupid isn’t one of them—so he follows you in there and leaves the rest of the conversation for another day.

but that day doesn’t end up coming that quickly.

as it turns out, interns on day shift barely get to spend time with their attendings from the night shift. on top of that, he has no idea how anyone manages to have an affair with a resident—they’re at the hospital every single day, pulling eighty hour weeks and coming home, if jack is even at home, completely exhausted.

but he also learns that glimpses of you at shift change and sign-offs at seven am and seven pm are enough to sustain the two of you.

it starts with conversations in the locker room before your shift starts. he makes sure his residents are distracted before sneaking away to get a kiss or two and leaning against the metal lockers like a lovesick high schooler.

“you know that patient i was telling you about yesterday? with the bleeder? well, i came to change my scrubs and trin was grabbing something and she saw me and asked if i was mauled by a bear.”

“oh, god,” jacks says from his position, watching you do the same thing you do every morning. put away your hoodie, grab your protein bar for later, tell him whatever you’ve been thinking about since he left you yesterday night. “what’d you tell her?”

you smile.

“something like that.” you laugh, so then jack laughs.

“that’s a little dramatic, no?”

“i also told her i’m clumsy, but i think she’s come to the conclusion that i’m a sex freak.” you close your locker, facing your boyfriend-slash-attending.

“well, i mean-”

“shut up. do not-” you start with another laugh, but your smile fades when you see mel walking in with frank.

“uh, make sure to check that with ellis, alright?”

“yes, i will, dr. abbot.” jack leaves, smiling politely at frank and mel and turning back to look at you once. he really shouldn’t but he’s gotten in a bad habit of it, even though one day, someone is going to notice.

“did you just tell abbot to ‘shut up’?” frank questions, and they both look at you, waiting for your answer.

“no! no, of course not. i was just telling him about something a patient said and, um, dr. ellis wants to document it. yeah, she wants, like, really thorough notes, so he was just telling me. about that. um-”

mel looks at you thoughtfully, before bringing her hand to frank’s arm.

“i have noticed that she writes her patient encounters in a very specific format,” she says, and you sigh without realizing it. you let her carry the conversation into how frank’s notes could use some work, and then the two tease each other while you quietly make your exit.

another morning, jack stands at central with dana and robby, filling both of them in on two patients who are due to come back in the afternoon and the three patients still waiting for a bed upstairs.

heather and frank are bickering next to the three of them like they always do, like they’re siblings fighting in front of the parents, when he hears what they’re talking about.

“well, now i feel bad, ‘cause she’s mel’s friend, but i don’t even have that kind of energy after two red bulls, so-” frank starts, before heather interjects.

“it’s not about energy, it’s just a conversation about burn-out. candles don’t burn on both ends for a reason.”

“okay, you lost me with the metaphor.”

“you can’t be that nice to every patient forever. at some point you have to pick.”

“be nice or save their life?” frank supplies. “so basically, when is she gonna become like the rest of us?”

“i mean…” heather trails off, turning to dana. “what do you think?”

“i think they call her bubbles for a reason,” dana says, pushing up her glasses. she cranes her neck to stare at the screen of patients, looking for the next empty bed. “and i think north-two needs to be discharged, so if you two are done-”

“let me test our theory,” frank says. he waves over the lot of you coming in for your shift—you, cassie, mel, and trinity. you look over at jack, and he looks over at you, before you focus back on frank. “need someone to discharge this bed and then go grab the next patient from chairs. dana—?” he holds the clipboard and looks over at all of you, but it’s only half a second before you chirp up.

“i can do it,” you say brightly. you smile at frank and dana, reaching for the clipboard, while jack watches it happen.

“thanks bubbles,” trinity says, while the others dissipate. you make a slightly dampened face at the use of the nickname.

“one other thing,” heather asks. “when are we gonna get more cookies?”

“oh! i’m so glad you guys liked them. i guess another holiday, if there’s one coming up? or someone’s birthday? actually, i think there’s just labor day and i don’t know what kind of themed cookies i’d make. well, chocolate chip cookie day is in august, i think-”

“kid?” dana asks. “the patient? north-two?”

“right. i’m sorry. i’ll come check in after i bring the new patient back,” you say, still smiling when you walk away with the clipboard in your hand.

“what exactly were you testing?” heather asks.

“i don’t know, but she’s definitely doing whatever your metaphor meant. are we taking bets yet? i wonder how long she’ll last-”

“alright, enough,” jack snaps. “do you two not have anything better to do? who’s this helping?”

“jack?” robby questions, his eyes flicking towards dana, who looks back at him with a shrug.

“why would you want her to be jaded? isn’t it better for our patients that she stays like that for as long as she can? i thought you’d try to keep her that way, but i guess-”

“jack-” robby interrupts.

“you two, go help somebody,” dana says to heather and frank, before turning to jack. “what the hell was that about?”

jack sighs, not realizing when his hand had turned into a fist. probably when your name was brought up.

“nothing, i just- bad night. that’s all.”

“o-kay,” robby whistles. “you going up to the roof, or?”

“no. no, i’m going home.”

jack walks away, not in the direction of the door, but rather towards the beds on the north side, almost instinctively.

“what the hell’s wrong with him?” dana asks.

“i don’t know. since when does he just go straight home after a bad shift?”

“i have no idea.”

(that night at six-fifty, trinity pulls you aside before you two head home. you’re antsy since you want to get a couple of quiet minutes with jack before you have to leave, but when she starts talking, you forget all about it. listen, trin says, i’m sorry about the whole bubbles thing, i didn’t think it was bothering you. but collins told me that abbot was yelling at them about it and he was pretty upset, so i- but sadly, you don’t hear much of the rest of the conversation.)

you walk away from her after she finishes, reassuring her that you’re fine, before setting out to find jack. he’s putting his backpack under the desk at the hub, and you go straight to him, not entirely caring that people can see the two of you, supposing it’s fine as long as they don’t hear you.

“what’s the matter?” jack asks, and then much quieter—”everything okay, sweetheart?”

“you defended me?” you ask softly. you’re normally full of words but it feels hard to find them just now, your head feeling cloudy.

“no, no, i just told them to knock it off.”

“was it something bad?” you question, your expression knitting into worry.

this is exactly why he got upset—why he didn’t like their conversation from the jump, why he knew that he wanted frank and heather to stop talking before someone else overheard and jumped in and you found out what they were saying.

it’s not bad, even you wouldn’t think it’s bad. but jack doesn’t like it. he doesn’t like anyone speaking of you in any way that he doesn’t like and he especially hates the idea that you’d be upset when you found out.

“no. i just-” jack trails off.

“you just?”

“i don’t like anyone talking about you. and i don’t like that stupid nickname, so-”

you smile at him, not the sort of innocent smile one casts at their attending—the result of being told good job on a case or have a good night on your way out. no, you smile at jack the way you do everything—with the full force of every emotion behind it, wearing your heart on your sleeve.

and jack couldn’t look away from you, even if he wanted to.

(the two of you look like idiots—googly eyed and lovestruck and every other way to describe people who like each other a bit too much. this time it’s dana who sees the two of you. she does a double take on her way to hand a stack of tablets to the night shift charge nurse and blinks twice to make sure she’s seeing the right thing. jack abbot, a regular on the roof, and the intern who they call bubbles, looking at each other like the rest of the hospital has faded away into nothing. and then she walks away, and decides she’ll wait for robby to bring it up.)

it’s mel next—she’s incredibly observant as it is, but even more so when it comes to someone she considers a friend, someone like you. trinity jokes about the continual bear attacks that explain the hickies on your neck and chest when you change out of your scrub top and pull on your hoodie, but mel knows it’s more than that.

she’s always known you get to work early, but recently, every time mel comes in to put away her belongings, the space that you usually occupy is already empty. your things put away, locker closed and locked, your yellow water bottle already resting by the computer that you usually write your notes at.

and after that, it’s just a game of paying slightly closer attention. you walk out from behind a curtained bed and come say hi to mel, ask her how her evening was, how becca is doing. but when mel glances up at the screen to see what patient you were with behind that curtain, it’s empty.

that bed was empty. and well, mel’s not much of an detective (though she has her moments), but it’s worth a shot. waste a few minutes, stare at that curtain to see if she can figure out what, or rather who is behind it. she’s almost about to call it quits, frank was running late but he’s here now and there’s an incoming so she should start moving and then—

dr. abbot comes out from behind that same curtain. he leaves it open, comes to the hub, smiles politely at mel and tells her to have a good day, dr. king, and then he walks away.

more specifically, he walks in your direction. the back of his head moves slightly in your direction. you beam at the tablet in your hands. and then—

“mel? you okay?” frank asks, and she’s snapped out of it.

(she could have figured it out ages ago, she thinks afterward, reflecting on how dr. abbot never used to tell anyone to have a good day or hum while finalizing notes or look up and smile in your general direction before looking back down at whatever’s in his hands. the first time she met him, she thought he was the type of person you categorize in the debbie downer sort of group, whereas from the moment she met you, you were clearly more of a chatty cathy. but you’re her friend. and when she had told you about her feelings for frank, you had listened and supported her and never made her feel that it was anything less than okay.)

so the next time she sees you at seven am, already out by your computer or walking back from around an empty corner, when she notices dr. abbot trailing behind you, she doesn’t say anything. when dr. abbot hangs around late finishing up a trauma and you go ask him for his opinion on whatever patient you’re seeing, even when robby is free just over there, she doesn’t say anything.

even when frank brings it up over dinner with her and becca, a side conversation while they eat spaghetti—you noticed anything different with abbot recently?—she doesn’t say anything.

in fact, the closest she gets to saying anything is when dr. abbot comes in early—maybe around five-thirty one evening—because they’re getting swamped and heather and cassie have the flu and it’s been a terrible mess of a day.

you and mel have been running around the entire shift, barely stopping to drink water or eat something. when jack shows up and flocks straight to you and leans in to tell you something, your hand moves to touch his arm for half a second before you remember where you are and put it down. jack pulls out a granola bar from his pocket and leaves you with it to jump on the next incoming.

mel watches the encounter and puts her head down when you look her way, pretending that she’s drinking her water and staring at a tablet. when she looks up, you’re gone in another direction, but dana stares at mel, both with an understanding of what they just saw.

and then they go on with their shift.

it all comes crashing down, just as it had the first time, after a particularly terrible night shift. it’s always hard when someone dies in the first few hours, leaves a horrible, bitter taste in his mouth that makes him want to walk outside and not come back in.

it’s even worse when he knows he did everything he could, that there was no way this patient was making it off the table. that the devastated husband and the crying kids were completely unavoidable, that he still has to go back and jump on the next case and start fresh and try to drown out those noises.

drowning, drowning, drowning. he’s always trying to drown out something. if it’s not the fireworks then it’s the kids sobbing over their dead parent, and if it’s not that, then it’s how he relives his own worst day of my life every time someone’s wife dies in front of him.

it’s been one of those days. you’re due to start on nights in two shifts from now, and he still has no idea how he’ll manage to be any less obvious when it comes to you.

(the last thing he keeps trying to drown out is how wrong this is. the voice in the back of his head keeps reminding him, seemingly unable to stop, no noise being loud enough to get it to stop repeating itself. you’re still a while away from being a second year, but is that even any better? or is that another excuse he’s invented to stop feeling so guilty about the fact that you sleep in his apartment every night and leave cookies for him on the counter so he has something nice to come home to? jack doesn’t know.)

you show up at six-thirty, smiling sweetly at parker and john, telling them to grab a cookie on their way out. parker asks you why and you tell her just because, and you want five minutes alone with your boyfriend before he leaves.

you’re impatient, always have been and always will be, especially when it comes to any and all matters related to jack abbot. you’re eager to go back on the night shift because you think you’ll be able to appreciate it so much more now—learning under his tutelage, being able to discuss those foreign medical journals he shares with you over coffee at four in the morning rather than through his illegible, scribbled print on post-its and your neat handwriting in the margins.

you want it all, and you want it now.

so you made more cookies—oatmeal raisin—to make jack’s apartment smell nice, and you pack several of them to have a valid reason to distract the others so you can get those five minutes, maybe ten, in peace.

“hi,” you sing, while jack stands in front of you, tablet in his hand and blood on his shoes. “how was your night?” he doesn’t look up, but you don’t wait for an answer. “i made oatmeal raisin last night and i put some in the break room so i think we have five minutes. i want ten but i won’t be greedy, i mean, we’ll be on nights together soon, so at least that’ll be-”

“we need to talk, kid,” jack says, looking up at you with an expression you don’t recognize.

“what’s wrong ja- dr. abbot?” a nurse walks by just as you start your sentence, changing it mid-way.

“that,” he says, coming out a bit louder than he meant it to. “that’s what’s wrong.”

“jack?” you say it quietly. he doesn’t mean it like that—he doesn’t want you to be upset and worried about him when you have a whole shift ahead of you, one that you show up early to with distractions so the two of you can have a few minutes alone.

it’s all of it—it’s the fact that you even have to do things like that to get five minutes alone with him. it’s that you can’t let someone overhear you calling him anything besides dr. abbot.

it’s the realization that you deserve much better than what jack abbot can give you. more than five minutes behind a curtain or a couple minutes in the break room or thirty seconds at central hub before the charge nurse comes in with another incoming.

“come on,” he says, leading you away for a moment. you have twenty-five minutes before your shift starts and he has two senior residents who can run the show until robby walks in. he leads you to the on-call room, four walls enclosing four beds. surgery has rooms of their own, but sometimes the trauma surgeon on deck will crash in there waiting for the next page, so he checks the room before letting you into it, closing and locking the door behind him.

“i thought you were gonna yell at me. this is so much better,” you say.

your mouth has gotten you into trouble before, especially with dr. abbot. in fact, it’s what got you into this whole thing to begin with, but where you expect jack to laugh in the privacy of this room, he doesn’t.

“kid, we need to have a serious talk about this.”

“about what?”

“this. us.”

“oh, jack, come on-”

“no, i-i’m being serious. this is not okay, it’s not sustainable.”

“you’re upset because we don’t see each other? honey, i start on nights in two days, i think we can make it,” you say, coming in closer to bring your hand to jack’s shoulder. “what’s going on? really?”

“don’t you think that… what i’m doing is wrong? you’re an intern. this is about your education, i-”

“why do you think you’re disrupting my medical education just because you’re my attending? i know i get stupid around you but i promise, i’m not gonna stop paying attention to my patient because you’re standing near me. i am a doctor, you know-”

“kid, i-”

“no, stop. half this hospital is dating each other. robby is heather’s attending and i don’t see you storming them into on-call rooms to debate about his influence on her medical education-”

“that doesn’t even make sense-”

“it doesn’t have to,” you sigh, out of breath and a little winded from how loud you’re being. “we make sense. you and me. we’re good together. a lot of things in this place don’t make sense but we do. people die everyday and i don’t want to die wondering what could have been if i’d just-”

“don’t,” jack interrupts, his hands coming to your waist. they feel tight, like the first time he’d help you like this. he brings his face closer to yours, foreheads almost touching. “don’t say that.”

“oh my god. i am so sorry. that must sound so insensitive, i just meant-”

“stop talking.”

“but i-”

and this time, he doesn’t give you a choice, pressing his lips against yours quickly. you mumble against else against his mouth, but he can’t make it out, choosing instead to ignore it. like always, jack’s mouth tastes like coffee and you take it in—your boyfriend, your attending, and whatever else jack abbot is to you, kissing you like he’s finally realizing that he belongs to you, just as much as you belong to him.

jack’s fingertips travel under your scrub top, hands roaming the expanse of your back and then settling onto your waist again while you keep kissing, realizing that when you go back out there, you’ll be flushed and warm and your lips will be swollen.

and then you realize that you don’t care, and you let your body lean against jack’s. he pulls away for a moment, but you don’t let him get the chance to stop, leaning in to resume the kiss, desperate to feel his tongue against yours again.

jack does pull away finally, holding your jaw with his hand.

“this is so much better,” you mumble again.

“kid, we can’t-”

“yes, we can. we have so much time, jack,” you say, trying your best to sound convincing.

“it’s seven in the morning,” jack argues, though he doesn’t resist when you pull his navy shirt off and over his head, exposing his chest to you. you run your fingers down the exposed skin, pressing your mouth against his shoulder.

“no it’s not,” you reply, leading hot, open-mouthed kisses from his collarbone to his neck, back up to his lips. “it’s six forty-something.”

“someone’s gonna-”

“no one’s gonna,” you say, smiling in that way that you do, the way that makes it impossible for him to say no. “not unless you stop talking, old man.”

“oh. that’s how you wanna do this?”

“i’m not doing anything,” you say, pulling off your own scrub top, and then your shoes.

“you’re gonna kill me, kid,” leaves his mouth as your hands go to the tie of his scrub bottoms, undoing the knot. jack brings his hands to either side of your waist and lifts, bringing you down onto one of the beds with all of his strength, making you squeal as your head hits the pillow.

he starts with a kiss to your jaw, and then your neck, trailing down between your breasts while he undoes your bra. your hands find his shoulders, gripping him tight while he works his way down, littering your stomach with kisses until he gets to the drawstring of your pants.

his fingers work on undoing it while you whine, and then try to push yourself to sit up against jack’s weight on top of you.

“oh my god, this is so embarrassing. i didn’t know we were doing all this. i have so many matching sets of underwear for this very occasion and the one day-”

“sweetheart, i love you, but you really need to stop talking right now.”

“you love me?” you repeat back. “you love me. oh my god, i-”

you lean in, lips crashing together hard, until jack moves and he’s on top of you again. he slides off your bottoms first, his fingers dancing around the waistband of your panties—navy blue with lace on the sides and he thinks they’re awfully great so he’s not sure what you were talking about—and then you start giggling. nearly uncontrollable.

“kid, that’s twice now you’ve done that-”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry jack,” you plead, trying to keep a straight face but being unable to stop laughing. “i can’t believe this is how we’re saying i love you to each other-”

“you’re the one who wanted to date your attending-”

you burst into another fit of giggles, which jack effectively silences by kissing you again.

“one day,” jack starts, tugging your underwear down until it’s discarded somewhere by your feet, or maybe somewhere on the floor next to your clothes. “i’ll get to take my time with you again.”

that sentence leaving jack’s mouth makes your entire body tense up, a flood of want washing over you until you feel loopy.

you pull him in for another kiss, and you feel him against you, memories of the first time he stretched you out on his fingers running through your mind. you two don’t have enough time for that today, and you both know it, but it still makes your cunt throb with anticipation.

jack lines himself up against you, running his thick tip over your opening, collecting wetness and making pleasure course through your body when he bumps against your clit. it’s electric—like a live wire hitting your nerves and making everything feel like lightening.

your limbs already feel like jelly, and you let jack maneuver your legs up onto his shoulders, watching him while he looks down at where you two are connected.

he pushes inside and you moan—loudly and unfiltered—feeling that ridiculously amazing stretch again, your toes curling and every muscle tensing. jack leans in to kiss you and swallow the noises you make, but you still think it might not be enough.

when he pushes all the way in, your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head.

“i’m sorry, kid, we can’t be loud,” he breathes, followed by a groan. he uses his hand to cover your mouth, pulling out and then thrusting back in all at once. the bed creaks as jack starts fucking you with an intense rhythm, the thin wooden frame hitting against the wall repetitively.

you lock eyes with jack, moaning against his hand, feeling how big he is like it’s the first time all over again.

every ridge and vein makes you see stars while you focus on how full you feel—full of jack, how you want stay like this forever if he’ll let you—in a tiny on call room with the door locked and people looking for the two of you.

you repeat it against his palm—jack, jack, jack—while he keeps fucking you with an intensity that makes the coil in your belly keep tightening. he’s so deep inside of you that you’re sure you won’t be able to walk after this, let alone finish your shift, but the thought drifts somewhere far away when he changes the angle slightly.

jack pushes his hand against your lower belly and thrusts back into you, while your back arches and tries to fight him. maybe you’re trying to get away from how good it feels, that overwhelming sensation that the ground is about to give out beneath the two of you. you stare up at jack through teary eyes, taking in how he looks hovering over you, taking care of you and watching out for you and thinking about you first like he always does.

and then it happens, the hot sensation in your belly tenses, and then snaps, and it washes over you like a current. you feel it—the ringing in your ears feels like it’s making its way through your entire body and your walls clench and pulse around jack’s girth.

your eyes snap shut but when they open, you keep looking up at jack, finally forcing his hand away from your mouth.

“jack,” you get out, your throat dry and sore and lips aching. “i love you too-”

you hear jack groan, a noise that makes your walls flutter, and then you feel it again—jack’s hips stuttering, his grip on you tightening, and then warmth filling you, hot streams of cum coating your walls until it’s leaking out of you.

you take deep breaths, head hitting the pillow while jack collapses on top of you, and then rolls over until he’s beside you.

the room is silent besides the two of you breathing, until of course, you speak up.

“i can’t believe this is how we said i love you.”

“you already said that, kid.”

“i know. i just really can’t believe it. i figured it would at least be outside of the hospital, but, i guess that wouldn’t feel right.”

“sweetheart-”

“am i doing it again? the not knowing when to be quiet thing?”

“no, but i-”

“wait,” you cry out, sitting up immediately. “what time is it? oh my god-”

“don’t worry about that right now. i gotta get you cleaned up before-”

“jack, i have never been late for a shift before.” you sigh dramatically before you keep going. “i just knew it. this relationship is completely affecting my medical education-”

jack shuts you up with a kiss before you can finish the sentence, capturing your laugh against his mouth.

he starts making half a plan in his head, though what he wants to do is take you home with him right now.

“i think i’m ready for you to be back on nights now.”

“yeah? why’s that?”

“because at least we can sleep next to each other if you-”

“jack!” he hears robby’s voice shouting from the other side of the door, followed by three pounds that rattle the wood. “do not tell me that my intern is in there.”

“fuck,” jack whispers, while you stare at him with wide eyes.

“what should we do?” you mouth, while jack gets up, finding your scrubs and pocketing your underwear while he pulls on his own clothes.

“stay in here,” he tells you quietly. “just take your time.”

“okay,” you whisper back, leaning in for another kiss with a smile. “i love you.”

“i love you too.”

jack pulls on his shirt and unlocks the door, closing it quickly behind him as he steps out to meet robby on the other side.

“you’re kidding me, right?”

“i can explain, robby. we-”

“i don’t want to hear it. the on-call room? that’s disgusting, you know.”

“robby, i-”

“go talk to hr before gloria gets on my ass about this.” robby walks away, shaking his head.

you open the door, poking your head out, and jack turns back to look at you.

“gosh. i sure hope hr doesn't think you’re interfering with my medical education-”

♡ thanks for reading!

#ahhhhh i am so nervous about this there is so much dialogue i'm scared. <3 #that being said i loved writing this so much!!#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader

357 notes · View notes

hxbbit · 23 hours ago

Text

Darkest Desires (Void x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, all you wanted was to be distracted, to forget. Wishing that Bob could just stop being so nice and pin you down, do all those filthy things you don't dare say out loud. Too bad Bob can't hear your thoughts or read your mind. But someone else can...

Warnings: Unprotected sex, face fucking, choking and breath play, spit play, dom/sub dynamics, degradation and humiliation, dub!con (bob), slight voyeurism, name calling, afab!reader, no use of name or y/n,... lmk if I forget something, but really it's just pure filth.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: This is just absolutely self indulgent smut, cause there was a serious lack of Void!Bob fics imo. The last fic I've posted/wrote anything for public consumption was like 4 years ago, so I might be a little rusty, but I'm still pretty satisfies with how it turned out. Also not super proof read. I hope you enjoy it, though! Comments, reblogs and likes would be greatly appreciated... I need validation lol

It was so quiet on the ride back, you could’ve heard a pin drop.

No one spoke, no laughter. Just the low rumbling of the truck engine and the occasional ticking of the indicator, but you barely even registered that. Your thoughts were swirling. Overthinking and replaying every single step of the mission and how it could end so badly.

All of the hostages got killed. And the bad guys got away.

You should’ve done more, done things differently, maybe come up with a better plan. It was rushed because it was a very time sensitive mission, but you had to at least try.

The reality was, there was nothing you could’ve done and deep down you knew that. Didn’t mean you had to accept it, though.

A quick look around the truck told you that the others were probably thinking similar things. Solemn faces on each and every one of them. Even Alexei kept his mouth shut for once. That was a big indicator on how badly things had gone. He was usually the first one to try and motivate everyone or make a dumb joke.

Silence was only broken when you got back into the tower and Bob came striding towards the group.

“How did it go?” There was a hopeful and cheery tone to his voice and a small smile on his face that dropped immediately when he really took everyone in.

“What do you think?” Walker spat back, before turning towards his room, door slamming.

Bob knew not to take it personally, but you could still tell that he felt guilty. His face always betrayed his every emotion.

He then looked at you. And you just shook your head, not ready for words yet.

You were closer to Bob than the rest, understood each other wordlessly. When you met something just clicked and since then you have basically been dancing around your feelings for one another. Hesitant because you were working and living together. Both still dealing with your own demons and issues.

And even though it was an unspoken thing, everyone knew, but no one dared mention it.

You needed a shower. Showering after a mission was essential, not only to clean the physical grime off you, but it also helped with the unseen. As if the water would wash away the sins and worries, cleansing everything.

You were just stepping out of the bathroom, still wrapped in a towel when someone knocked at your door. You had a feeling who it could be.

“Come in,” you said, loud enough to be heard on the other side.

The door slowly opened and as expected, Bob stepped inside.

As soon as he had looked at you, he looked away again towards the floor, his face tinted slightly red.

“Uh- sorry - I uh- just wanted to ask if you were okay…” He trailed off, hands still on the doorknob, slightly fidgeting. Sparing a quick glance towards you. The towel around your body covered all the important bits, but it was more skin than Bob usually got to see. The few droplets of water that were still shimmering on your skin or fell from your wet hair and slid down the curves of your body didn’t help much either, his eyes drawn to them.

“No,” you answered honestly. “But I will be.”

A sad hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It was nice of Bob to check in on you and for a split second a part of you wished he wasn’t so nice and considerate. That part of you wished he would just rip that towel off you, throw you on your bed and take you, making you forget all about that failed mission for little while.

But you didn’t think Bob was the type to do that. He was gentle, loving Bob who couldn’t even kill a spider, always scared to wake the Sentry or the Void, so he pushed those things down. Kept his emotions in check.

It was something that also made you hesitate to pursue a relationship with him. You weren’t sure he could handle or satisfy those darker desires.

“Alright, well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He managed to actually look at your face this time, a faint blush still staining his cheeks and he tried to give you a reassuring smile. He was about to leave you and close the door when you stopped him.

“Bob?”

He looked at you expectantly, brows slightly knitted together.

You were so close. So close to saying to hell with it and asking him to stay. To spend the night with you, to fuck you until the only thing on your mind was him and how good he made you feel.

The words were at the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out, when at the last second you decided against it. He didn’t deserve to be used for your selfish needs.

“Thank you,” you whispered instead. His brows relaxed but instead you could’ve sworn that a shadow flickered in his eyes. Just as quick as it had appeared, it disappeared again and you weren’t even sure if what you saw was real.

“Yeah, of course.” A reassuring smile lit up his face and he moved to close the door with a soft click behind him.

Walking back into the bathroom, you finished drying your hair and body, putting on your underwear and a big t-shirt to get ready for bed.

It was strangely chilly as you stepped back into your bedroom and pushed back the blankets. You looked towards the window. Closed. Glanced towards the air-conditioning unit, but it was also off.

You looked towards the door and there he was.

Bob but not Bob.

Void.

Last time you saw him was such a long time ago, you almost forgot what it felt like to be in his presence.

He was darkness personified. A figure drenched in night. The deepest shade of black.

He was sucking in all the light around him and reflecting none.

Except for his eyes.

That glint in his eyes the only indicator of what - or who - he was looking at. And right now, he was looking at you. You stood frozen.

People don’t realize how eerie and uncanny it was, seeing a person but not at all being able to see their face or read their expressions. The only hint was him slightly cocking his head as he seemingly took you in.

“Bob?” You asked quietly, knowing that it wasn’t him you were dealing with.

“Bob’s not in control right now,” he replied.

“Don’t worry, he wants this too.” The voice came from all around you and was inside your head at the same time.

You didn’t know what to do. There were protocols and rules in place in case Bob lost control, but somehow you couldn’t do anything right now. Never have you frozen during a mission, but this was completely different.

“Come now, don’t be so shy,” Void continued speaking and it made goosebumps rise on your skin. He still sounded like Bob, but just like the rest of him, it was darker, deeper, huskier.

It was also smoother, no stuttering or stumbling over words.

Void took a step closer to you but you still couldn’t move.

“I know what lurks inside you. I can see it all. There is no hiding it from me.” He kept coming closer, each step silent as he moved.

For a moment you were confused, not knowing what he meant. Until he stood right in front of you. So close that you had to look up to still be able to look into his eyes, as they were taking in your whole body unashamedly and with intention.

And then he looked at your face again. Eyes boring into yours.

Staring at him so up close was like being in a dark room, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Eventually you could make out the contours of his face.

“I know you want to be fucked. Degraded. Made to submit,” the voice purred as he was raising a hand up to your face and slid his knuckles down your cheek. A breath hitched in your throat. Pulse quickening.

“Your thoughts were practically screaming it earlier. Like a little slut.” Void let out a low chuckle and you could make out a smirk on his face.

“But that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it? A needy little slut begging to be fucked.” He now traced the thumb of his raised hand over your lips.

You knew there was something very wrong with you, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch and feel arousal start to build in your body. A soft pulling sensation low in your belly. And a wetness between your legs, which had you involuntarily clench your thighs together.

Because Void wasn’t wrong. In fact he was so, so right.

His thumb on your lip moved from your bottom lip to push into your mouth and you opened it, let him inside. The pad pressed down on your tongue and you instinctively wrapped your lips around his digit, sucking on it.

All too quickly he pulled it back out of your mouth, dragging it over your chin and down your jaw. His hand moving into your neck where they found purchase in your hair.

The grip tightening, as he was closing the gap between you. His body now flush against yours, he pulled your head back further, making you look at his face as a quiet moan slipped from your lips.

You could now feel the solid panes of his torso against yours as well as the hardness of his arousal. Your body arched against him, wanted to feel more of him. Be closer. ´

“God, you’re so fucking eager, it’s embarrassing.” Again he let out a soft laugh and this time you felt it rumble in his chest against yours.

“Please…” It was the only word you could manage. And even then you didn’t really know what you were asking for. You just knew you needed more.

“What is it you want?”

Not even thinking about it, the word simply spilled from your mouth.

“You.”

He leaned in even closer and you could feel his breath fanning over your face.

“Is it me you want or Bob?”

That caught you off guard and you didn’t know how to reply. Of course it was Bob. Bob who you’d been harboring feelings for, for so long. But you wondered much of him was Void? And how much of Void was him? Guilt cut through your arousal at the mention of him, sharp and sickening. Was he aware of what was happening?

Void leaned in closer until his lips grazed your ear.

“He’s watching right now.” The words were whispered.

Bob watching. A voyeur. The idea twisted something deep in your gut. Filthy and wrong, stoking the flames of your arousal.

“Open your mouth.” Those were not the words you expected from him and you didn’t immediately react. He gave your hair a sharp tug.

“I said open. your. mouth.” His other hand came up, gripping your jaw. This time you complied, opening your mouth and you felt you knew what was coming.

He leaned over you a little more and when his face was directly parallel to yours, he spat into your open and waiting mouth. His spit hit your tongue, mixing with your own saliva.

“Swallow,” he ordered. You obeyed. Something about the depravity of it, made you let out a whimper and bite your bottom lip. Trying to keep more sounds from coming out.

His grip in your hair relaxed but was still holding on to you. The other one slid from your jaw down to rest at your throat.

“Good girl,” he muttered, smiling again. This time you could see the flash of his teeth and heat was blooming inside you, happy to have pleased him. Eager to do it again.

“Now what if I told you this was all you’re going to get?” Void asked.

“What?” It caught you off guard, panic rising inside of you. You needed more.

“Because if you want more, you’re going to have to work for it. That’s what whores do. And you do, don’t you? Want more?” Now it was his other hand whose grip tightened, fingers digging into the sides of your throat, slowly cutting off your blood flow.

“Yes. Yes I want more,” You ground out, voice trembling, your vision starting to blur at the edges until the only thing you could still see was him.

That’s when Void released you. Hands dropping to his sides and taking a step back. You needed a second, head still spinning, vision going back into focus.

“Then get on your knees.”

Immediately and embarrassingly fast you dropped to your knees. The floor hard underneath them. You were sure that you’d have bruises tomorrow, but you couldn’t find yourself to care right now.

Glancing up once more, you were met with the shining look of his eyes, head cocked to the side, observing.

Lifting your hands, you reached to open the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper and freeing his cock. Of course you had fantasized about Bob before, but even in your wildest imagination, you didn’t imagine him like this. Even in his all encompassing blackness, you could tell he was perfectly long and thick and felt heavy in your hands. It made your mouth water, just looking at him, and you needed to taste him.

“Go on,” he encouraged, but you didn’t really need it.

You started by dragging your tongue over the underside, from his base to the tip in one broad stroke and then closed your mouth around the top. You moaned at the weight and taste of him on your tongue, slowly moving up and down on him. Trying to fit as much into your mouth as you could, lips stretching, and taking him deep, but it was not easy. Not only because of his size, but also because of how hard and rigid he was.

Void let you work at your own speed. But you could feel him grow impatient. His hand found your hair once more, tangling in it and started guiding your movements. Faster, harder. You let go of his cock and placed down on his thighs, finding purchase there.

In time, his hips started moving too, thrusts matching your rhythm, pushing in as you were moving towards him.

You started gagging when he hit you especially deep. Forcing himself down your throat, making tears blur your vision. You looked up at him and saw that he had thrown his head back, chest heaving. And over the sound of your own gagging you could even hear him moan.

Seeing the effect you had on him, spurred you on more.

You tried opening your throat more, relaxing to take him deeper and slowly breathe through your nose.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, pushing you even harder down his cock and holding you there until you couldn’t breathe anymore and he was so far down your throat, sputtering around him. The sudden need to breathe made you want to pull back, but Void held you in place.

“Shhh, you can take it.” He was breathless but there was also an air of amusement to his voice. He obviously enjoyed hearing and seeing you suffer.

Digging your nails into his thighs, you tried to hold on and when he finally released you and pulled your head back you desperately gasped for air. Threads of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock.

“Is this what you fantasized about? Mouth wrecked, crying, being used like a whore?” He mocked and you only nodded still trying to catch your breath, but you knew that he didn’t really need your confirmation.

Before you could verbally answer, he shoved his cock back down your throat and started fucking your face again. Faster this time. Merciless. His tip making you gag repeatedly, your throat clenching around it while spit flowed from your mouth, pooling in your lap.

“You’re just a mouth to fuck. Nothing more,” he growled, still keeping his brutal rhythm.

“But you’re taking it so well.”

It was almost too much, not enough air filling your lungs, on the verge of passing out when he finally released you. Tears were now freely streaming down your cheeks and you collapsed in on yourself. Taking in heaving breaths.

And then, to your utter confusion, Void got down on his knees, too, He was on your level now and took your face in his hands wiping away the tears with his thumbs. Then the spit from your mouth.

“If only you could see yourself right now. So wrecked but absolutely beautiful. My perfect little slut.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you, but what surprised you even more was when he leaned in and kissed you for the first time.

It was surprisingly gentle, his lips sliding over yours, but hunger was hidden within. A promise that he wasn’t done with you just yet.

A part of you thinks you should’ve pulled away, felt ashamed or disgusted. But you didn’t. Instead you craved his approval and eagerly kissed back.

Void wrapped his arm around you and pulled you up to stand with him, placing you down on shaky feet. He grabbed the bottom hem of your oversized t-shirt, becoming aware for the first time how little you've been wearing the entire time. Pulling it over your head and discarding it to the side. Then he hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down, letting them drop to the floor. You stepped out of them, kicking them towards where your shirt was laying.

For a moment Void was simply staring at your body. The glint of his eyes roaming over your shape so intensely, it made you want to cover up yourself with your hands. But then his hands joined in on the exploration. Moving over your hips and waist, to your tummy and breasts, squeezing them, circling your nipples, before sliding one hand down between your legs, finding your dripping center.

That smirk appeared on his lips again, eyes shining.

"I knew you would be wet... but this..." he trailed off, shook his head amusedly as he slowly glided two fingers between your slick folds, grazing your clit on the way there and making a shiver run through your whole body. And finally he eased those two fingers inside you, with almost no friction, pumping them slowly in and out, knuckle deep.

Finally being touched by him felt like ecstasy. Wanton moans escaped your lips with every movement, eyes screwed shut, trying to take in all the pleasure. After all this build up, you knew that it wouldn't take much to make you come.

As if he had read your mind, he withdrew his fingers and slid them into his mouth instead. Making you watch as he sucked them clean with a grin. Tension coiled tight in your body, making you squirm as you were waiting for his next move.

Once he was done, he pulled his fingers from his mouth and placed his hands on your hips once more, quickly spinning you around.

With your back now to his front, he pushed you towards the bed.

"Get on all fours," he commanded. Quickly you crawled onto the bed and got into position.

You glanced over your shoulder as he discarded the rest of his clothes and then kneeled behind you. He stroked your back with his hands and squeezed your ass before he placed a sharp smack on it. You flinched but stayed in place. He repeated the same process a few more times until your butt cheeks felt hot and burning.

"I can practically see you dripping, your pussy so desperate for my cock.” He started sliding the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering up some of the wetness and spreading it over his length.

When he pushed in, without warning or hesitation, you were seeing stars. For so long you have wanted this, to feel Bob - Void - inside of you.

One deep and swift push and he was fully seated inside you. There was a stretch, a slight burn, but you were so wet and ready that it was bearable and even pleasant. Feeling your body try to accommodate him, taking everything he had to give.

He waited a few seconds for you to adjust and then started moving. His hands grabbed your hips tight in a bruising grip and every thrust was forcing a moan out of you. You pushed back, grinding against him.

"Your pussy feels so perfect, like it's made for my cock." He rasped out, moans escaping his lips too. Hearing him degrade you was filthy and beautiful, but the praise… it made you feel thing you weren’t sure you were supposed to feel. Not for the Void.

One of his hands slid up your back between your shoulder blades, pushing your front down against the mattress.

It allowed him to angle your hips more, hitting even deeper inside you. Gripping your bedsheets, digging your nails into the fabric you also buried your face in the sheets, muffling the sounds of your moans slightly.

His hand smoothed over the surface of your ass, before his thumb landed on your asshole, circling it, applying slight pressure but not quite pushing in. Stilling your own movements, you no longer pushed back. Letting him take complete control again.

You let out a whimper, not knowing if you wanted him to do it or spare you some dignity.

"Oh yeah, I'm thinking about it..." he mused, still fucking you, but having slowed a little.

"And I know you'd let me do it too, my dirty little slut. Let me claim your every hole. Make you mine completely." He kept going for a few seconds longer, making you wait. The air around you heavy with anticipation. Because he was right, you would let him.

"But I think I'll wait until next time."

Next time... the words barely registering in your lust-addled mind, but had a deeper meaning.

He reached for your throat, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back until you were flush against his chest. His other one snaked around your waist first up towards your boobs, giving your nipples each a hard pinch and tugging on them. Then further down towards your clit, starting to rub circles there. All the while still rutting into you from behind.

It didn't take long, your own climax building up so rapidly. The combination of him rubbing your clit, his hand on your throat applying pressure and feeling his whole body pressed against you as he was hitting those deliciously deep spots inside you.

You clung onto his arms, trying to keep him in place but you knew that he was stronger than you and he easily moved his hand away from your core.

"Oh, you're not gonna come yet... maybe I won't even let you come at all. Keep you a desperate, wanting mess. Utterly ruined without even finding your own release, just to keep you begging for more.” The voice was right by your ear.

"No please!" You cried out. You knew he would do it and that he would enjoy watching you suffer.

"I need it. Need to come,” you continued.

"Need it?" He laughed. "If you need it so bad, why don't you beg for it?"

Tears were beginning to prickle at the corner of your eyes once again but this time out of sheer frustration. Your last shred of dignity wanted you to keep your mouth shut, thinking that you could just make yourself come afterwards. But you knew it wouldn't be the same. You needed him to grant you the release, to be the one to bestow it upon you. The desperate part of your mind won.

"Please Void, please! Please let me come. I need it so bad. I want you to make me come, please!" The words were spilling from your lips, continuous. Breathless, lips quivering.

"All right, I'll help you out.” You could barely hear it, lost in your begging. Still chanting please, please, please over and over again like a prayer to this god of darkness, as he moved his fingers back onto your clit. In mere seconds, the coil that was so tightly wound inside of you, finally snapped. Pleasure releasing all throughout your body in probably the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced, blinding and all consuming, your whole body shaken by it.

And as those waves were still washing over you, a faint voice in the very back of your mind stirred.

He should not be able to make you feel like it. You should not have let him do this.

Deep down you knew, the voice was right. You have now crossed a line and there was no going back.

If it wasn't for Void holding you up, you probably would've slumped forward onto the bed. Limp and spent.

You knew that he was chasing his own release now. His thrusts becoming faster, his grip on your body tightened and with one last deep thrust and a low groan, he spilled himself inside of you. For a little while you just stayed like that, both with heaving breaths while still connected.

He then slipped out of you and without him holding you in place, immediately collapsed back onto your front. The soft mattress catching you. Only able to move so your head could rest on one of the pillows. Between your legs, his release was beginning to seep out of you, slick and warm and sticky.

Void came to sit down on the edge of the bed and he reached a hand out and gently stroked over your hair. And for a split second you could see a hint of Bob in that action.

"Fucking perfect," he whispered, head cocked to the side as he took you in.

You tried to fight it, but couldn't any longer, your eyelids too heavy, slowly falling shut. You were barely conscious, drifting off to sleep when you heard the voice again.

"He doesn't deserve you.” The dark voice whispered in your head. “But I do.”

Tags: @trelaney

247 notes · View notes

n0rmal-cat · 1 day ago

Text

Kpop demon hunters x reader- selling your soul for job experience Part 3

[i love you but...that hair has to go, also it took a little longer because i didn't want people to wait to long for 4]

part 1 part 2 part 4

It took the reader about an hour and a half to gather all the clothes they needed. “I got them!” they exclaimed, throwing the clothes at the boys.

“Ow…” one of them whined, rubbing his shoulder where the clothes made contact.

“Now go change! I need to see my vision realized,” reader insisted, gently ushering the boys toward the bathroom.

“Hold on, we can’t all go in together!” Jinu protested, glancing nervously back at the others.

The reader patiently waited by the door with derpy, who now had a little hat on. The door creaked open, and the boys stepped out one by one. “Yesss!... nooo....”

"I agree, this is stupid," Baby chimed in, crossing his arms and pouting.

"No, not you, you're perfect, you two on the other hand." reader studied romance and mystery.

"What, me? What's wrong with me?!" Romance asked, offended.

The reader tilted their head, narrowing their eyes in thought. "I didn’t notice it before with your hat, but your bangs are enormous." Romance instinctively placed his hands on his head, shock written all over his face. "But don't worry, I can fix it."

"Fix my hair…" Romance muttered, his expression blank as he processed the idea.

"And you," the reader said, shifting their gaze to Mystery, "we need some hair clips." They reached out to brush the hair away from his face, but received a low growl in response.

"Did you just-"

"Mystery, don't do that. They're not human anymore, remember? Plus, they're our manager," Abby stepped forward, playfully ruffling Mystery's hair.

"It's fine... just please don’t remind me I’m not human," they replied. "Ah, Romance, just come with me and I'll fix it for you." Reluctantly, he followed the reader into the first room they had woken up in.

“Sit down, I’m going to try and find a brush,” the reader said, sifting through drawers filled with things they did not own. “So, do you like your outfit?”

Romance chuckled playfully. "Like it?" He looked down at his yellow shirt. "Darling, I look like a Valentine's Day card made by a toddler with glitter glue. But if you're asking if I 'pull it off," grinned and tilted his chin up, "obviously."

Finally, the reader unearthed a pink hairbrush. "That’s good," they said, standing in front of him as they began their work. Romance watched them with a look of worry.

Romance winced as the brush tugged at his pink hair. "Are you-" yank "-torturing me on purpose?" His voice was strained. He clutched the bed sheets as if they were going to save him. "You know I could tell Gwi-ma to kill you for this, right? Not that I would! But-Ow! That’s my volume, you little menace!"

"Haha, the volume is your problem, and I'm not trying to hurt you, so sorry I'm just trying to fix it," reader replied with a laugh

The air between them shifted slightly as the reader worked through Romance’s hair, the soft bristles gliding through the strands. A comfortable silence enveloped them.

“Your hair is really nice. What shampoo do you use?” reader asked.

Romance laughed softly. “None. You don’t really take showers where we’re from. Can’t really do much of anything there,” he admitted, his gaze shifted away from them.

"Oh, it sounds... rough.”

Romance flashed a quick smile, though it flickered for a moment as his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "Yeah, well…" He let out a dramatic sigh, forcing his usual playful tone back in place. "It builds character! And at least I still managed to look this flawless without running water, ok, well, there is water, but it's not the cleanest."

The tension crept in once more.

“You know, your deal was pretty stupid, right? You should have bargained for more,” Romance commented.

“Yeah, well, if I had known I was selling my soul, I probably would have,” the reader chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you?”

Romance seemed to freeze, his playful smirk crumbled. He exhaled sharply, staring at his own hands as if they betrayed him. "...Because I wanted to be loved." His voice cracked just once before he forced another laugh, tossing his head back.

"Pathetic, right? A person who craves affection? Gwi-ma loves throwing that in my face." He glanced up at the reader with a grin too sharp to be real. "But hey, at least I got the idol gig out of it! Stage lights almost feel like the warmth of a lover"

"No, no, I don't think it's pathetic, love is a good thing to sell your soul over, in my opinion. I think everyone deserves love." reader looks at him sadly

Romance's breath hitched. "That’s..." he looked into reader's eyes, "That’s the stupidest take I’ve ever heard." His laugh was loud. "And yet... you say it like you mean it."

"Well...there, you're all done." The reader stepped back, admiring their handiwork with a satisfied smile.

Romance blinked, running a hand through his now neatly tamed bangs. "...Huh." He made his way to the nearby mirror on the wall.

"So?"

He playfully turned his head from side to side, tossing his hair with a flourish like he was in a shampoo commercial. "Well... somehow you didn’t manage to ruin me," he said with a grin as he looked at their reflection in the mirror. Then, with a fun twist, he spun around and gently tapped their forehead with his claws. "Just don’t let it get to your head, okay?~"

"ow, your claws are sharp." Their hands go up to their forehead. "Hey, actually, you know what, we can paint your guys' nails, I think it would make you more approachable," they said, taking his hand.

"That’s actually a pretty good idea...." he looked at his own hand

"you know I think I'm killing it at this manager job," reader smiled.

Just after their comment, a knock was heard at the door, reader paused their conversation and went to answer it. "Hello"

Baby stood right outside looking as bored as ever. “We’ve got a problem.”

"A problem, what problem?" reader asked, confused, they were only gone for like ten minutes.

“Well, the Hunters just dropped a new song called 'Golden,' and Jinu is freaking out about it” Baby pointed behind him, where Jinu was furiously scribbling notes.

"Yeah sure, why wouldn't they release a new song right after a world tour? Why didn't I plan for that?"

"Wait, the hunters are also singers? Oh, is that why you're an idol group?"

Jinu points a finger at reader, "You manager! You're going to help me book a spot to perform"

"Yeah you're definitely killing it, little manager." Romance pats their shoulder.

180 notes · View notes

zyettemoon1800 · 2 days ago

Text

Saja Boys reacting to you getting your nipples pierced

This is mostly a self-indulge hc for me. I just got my done yesterday and I feel like I'm going through it. If you have any tips to make the pain go away or may them heal faster, PLEASE let me know.

For almost a year, you have been saying that you were going to get your nips pierced, but you were kind of scared because it is a needle going through you. You and your friend were going to go get it done together, but she chickened out and you didn't want to do it by yourself. When you came back home sad, your boy was circling you asking what was wrong. After telling him, he decided to take you the following day to go get them done.

Romance

He was more excited about the piercings than you are

He took you to the store to get some piercings and doesn't mind buying a large amount of them. Even when you tell him that you have to keep the same pair in for like a year, he will just shush you and pay for them

When it was time to get them done, he is right there holding your hand the entire time.

If he sees you getting nervous about the needle, he will try to take your mind off of it by talking to you about some random things

He is about ready to cry when you squealed in pain as you closed your eyes tight

After it was all done, he carried you away whispering sweet nothings into your ear

Baby

He decided to get his nipples done with you and even made a bet with you over who would cry or scream first

He will take you shopping to get matching sets

When it is time to get them done, you go first, and because you didn't want to lose the bet, you just squeeze his hand and hold your breath. After it was done, you took some deep breaths and swiped the sweat from your forehead.

Since you did okay, Baby thought that it would be pretty easy for him. However, as soon as that needle entered him, he was cussing and gripping the hell out of your hand

Needless to say, you won the bet and had to cuddle him when you both got home

Jinu

He had already planned everything out and prepared.

Since he didn't want you to go through a lot of pain, he does transfer most of it to himself without you knowing

You knew your pain tolerance was okay, but the piercing didn't hurt at all. You look over at Jinu to ask him how they look, only to be met with a silent crying Jinu who is smiling and telling you they look perfect

Abby

He already has one, and he said that it wasn't so bad, saying, "It's like someone pinching you on the nipples.

Y'all bought the jewelry at the piercing shop to be sure that they are authentic

As you were waiting, he was gassing you up, talking about how you got this and it won't hurt at all

And you believed him until the needle went through your skin and all the color drained from your face

While you were stunned, the piercer quickly did the other one and cleaned you up

Abs carefully held in his arms as he called your name, though you remained silent

The piercer handed him an ice pack to put on you and told him to stay in here with you until you came too

He never downplayed anything again

Mystery

He has watched videos and reactions from people getting their nipples pierced, and he doesn't want you to go through the same pain because he would kill the piercer.

And since he made his own piercings appear without any help, he wants to do the same thing with you

He will want you to show him a picture of the jewelry you want and ask you to lay shirtless on the bed

He will mutter something as his hands hover over your boobs as the piercing suddenly appear on your nipples already healed and painless.

#saja #saja boys x reader #saja boys #baby saja #mystery saja #jinu kpdh #romance saja #abby saja #kpop demon hunter #kpdh

246 notes · View notes

catis15 · 12 hours ago

Text

As a pretty ill person who is also going to school for a medical degree

I understand both sides very well and

Idk I'm not great with words but yeah

Like one one side, Yay! We know this specific thing isn't wrong with you so we can rule out XYZ, and that means this treatment won't be dangerous or whatever other specific scenario

But also nooo because WTF do you mean we still don't know what's wrong and I have to continue living like this and like have the ambiguity of not knowing???

It's a vibe is my point and prev post is relatable 🤌

A doctor saying "Good news! Your labs look great" is like if you were watching a cop show and the chief walked in like "Great news, everybody! The best news! The killer is still at large and we have no leads."

48K notes · View notes

ivyyisbored22 · 2 days ago

Text

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞? 𝐍𝐨. 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 & 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot (requested by @stephanieeeyang. Tysm!)

Synopsis: Why just one when you can have both? And both are just as down bad as you are for them. Alexa, play "Same damn time".

Warnings: SMUT 🔞 after some plot. Uni AU. A pinch of tension. Unprotected sex. Pure FLITH. 3some (first time writing this), double penetration, drunk confessions, mentions of alcohol , dirty talk, rough & gentle HyunChan, cursing, creampie, oral (f recieving), multiple orgasms, rounds, praises, degradation, aftercare, name calling, pet names.

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: Everytime I write something I always think to myself, "This can't get any filthier." I'm always fucking wrong LMFAO. Some things mentioned might seem unrealistic(?), but again, this is fiction. And the story was sent by this ask.

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it.

Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 8.5k (it's worth it, just give it a chance🙏🏻)

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The city buzzed under your feet, somewhere between excitement and the nightlife. The usual gang—the guys and you—walked together, heading to a late dinner after an afternoon of wandering through art galleries and overpriced thrift shops.

However, you stayed somewhere near the back, not because you didn’t want to walk with them, but because he was up front—Bang Chan, with his sun-warmed smile and easy laugh, chatting with the guys like he wasn’t unknowingly the reason you kept stealing glances.

The cold breeze brushed past your skin, making a few strands of hair fly over your face, you pulled your jacked tighter over you, releasing a slow breath through your nose but your eyes still wandering towards that one certain curly haired boy you just couldn't resist as much as you tried.

You’d liked him for a while now safe to say but quietly. Hopelessly.

"Walk with your brain elsewhere, you're for sure to crash into a pole."

You flinched hard at the sound of that deep, rich voice, as if someone poured a cold bucket of ice on you, jerking you away from your thoughts.

You turned to see Hyunjin casually walking along with you, his hands slipped into the pockets of his pants, that smug smirk tugging the corner of his lips.

"I was walking fine," you muttered, rolling your eyes at him, turning your focus back to the street, following the guys, glancing around at the nightlife.

"Hmm," Hyunjin hummed, his gaze still on you from the corners of his eyes but walking nonchalantly, his height itself a distraction.

Goodness as if one man hasn't already taken over your thoughts. But...it's not wrong to like two men at once right?

"Well, it's not like you're dating Chan anyway."

The voice in the back of your mind said, when another intervened, "What happened to loyalty?'

Shut up.

You muttered that louder than intended, making Hyunjin arch a brow at you.

"Sorry I—" you stuttered. Gosh girl you're an embarrassment aren't you?

The voices in your head just wouldn't shut up.

"These guys are just walking this far for no reason." Hyunjin said, looking straight at Jisung and Felix who were already arguing about the menu, then halted suddenly.

"Wanna take a shortcut with me?" He asked, cocking his head to a sketchy looking alley.

One look down the alley and it was clear, it was dimly lit, tucked between a department store and some old boutique hotel, and absolutely not where the rest of the group was headed.

You hesitated.

But Hyunjin just stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching you with a lazy, almost amused curiosity.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice low, the kind that vibrated through your spine instead of your ears. “It loops back to the main street. I’ve taken it before.”

You looked up the sidewalk. Chan was still walking ahead, shoulders bouncing lightly as he laughed at something Changbin said. He didn’t even look back.

You met Hyunjin's gaze and before your brain protested, you were walking into the dimly lit street with him.

He didn't say anything, the world behind you dimmed, swallowed by the narrow corridor and the gentle thud of your boots on the pavement. It was quiet here, save for the hum of a neon hotel sign and the distant honk of a taxi somewhere nearby.

You tucked your hands into your sleeves, feeling the warmth of Hyunjin’s presence just beside you. Neither of you spoke at first. Not until—

“Chris doesn’t know, does he?”

You turned toward him sharply, heart lurching. “Know what?”

Hyunjin chuckled, low and dry. “That you look at him like that.”

Your throat went dry. You opened your mouth to say something then closed it, opened it again before your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

All you had to do was deny it. Just say, "What are you talking about?", but your silence spoke louder than your words could have.

“It’s cute,” Hyunjin added, hands still casually stuffed in his pockets, eyes ahead like he hadn’t just read you like a book. “You think he hasn’t noticed, but trust me. We’re guys. We notice.”

"Hyunjin," you warned him, unsure what you were warning him against.

How can your heart long for two guys at once? It felt wrong but well Cupid's been feeling bored apparently so you're his victim this time.

Your pulse picked up. You didn’t like where this was going—until Hyunjin's earlier words hit—"Walk with your brain elsewhere, you're for sure to crash into a pole."

Then suddenly, a cart, metal, greasy and loud came rolling out of nowhere from a side garage. You didn’t even see it in time. One second you were walking calmly with your thoughts elsewhere with Hyunjin, the next you stumbled sideways, heart shooting into your throat as the cart clipped your boot.

You braced to fall—Oh god, oh god—

—but Hyunjin caught you.

His arms slipped around your waist just in time, holding you just inches from the cold pavement. You clutched at his chest for balance, your faces close— way too close.

You could feel his breath on your cheek, see the faint mole under his eye, watch the amusement in his eyes flicker into something deeper. His fingers didn’t move. His hold didn’t loosen.

"Thanks." You let out a laugh. Nervous. Short. He didn’t laugh.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice softer now, lower. You nodded, but your eyes hadn’t moved from his. Neither had his from yours.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face, the fingertips tracing a line on your jaw as the thumb touched your bottom lip.

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from his sculptured features and those killing eyes that looked straight into your soul.

Hyunjin leaned in and your breath caught.

His hand slid to the small of your back, his forehead brushing yours—and your brain screamed Chan, no, yes, what are you doing—

You turned your head, just in time.

“Wait,” you breathed out. “You’re… aren’t you with Jiwoo or something?”

His lips barely halted. His brow twitched in mild irritation, like he’d been pulled from a trance. Then he huffed a laugh. “Jiwoo? God no. I don’t know why everyone thinks that.”

He pulled back, just slightly. His hands were still on you. You could still feel where he’d held you.

And suddenly, you weren’t thinking about Chan. You were thinking about Hyunjin’s lips and how close they were. How soft he looked. How sharp he felt.

Your hands pressed on his chest, you could have sworn you felt his heart thudding behind his ribcage. You licked your lips before they parted, as if you invited him yourself.

You kissed him.

It was warm. Deep. Pillow-soft with the kind of careful hunger that left you gasping for air. He tasted like cinnamon gum and the thrill of a bad idea.

And you broke it first.

“We can’t,” you whispered, wiping your lips. “We'll get caught.”

"No one is going to catch us baby," he said lowly before capturing your lips again this time, half harshly half gently, slipping his tongue past yours, angling your head to let himself get more access.

Your hands fisted his hoodie, not stopping him, pressing your body against him, not knowing the world was blurring around you and not knowing a pair of familiar eyes witnessed something you wish they didn't.

You could feel every line of him against you—his warmth, his breath, his hunger. But suddenly… you felt cold.

Like being watched. You pulled away. Hyunjin opened his eyes slowly, like he’d just woken from a dream. “Why’d you stop?” he whispered, still close enough for your noses to brush.

You glanced at the entrance of the alle, hoping to catch someone, but that feeling of being watched disappeared as quickly as it formed.

"We should go," you said, your voice quieter than you meant, barely audible over the faint city hum.

Hyunjin looked at you, his jaw slackening just a little as he took in the shift, the sudden cold behind your eyes. His gaze searched yours for something, maybe permission to keep going, maybe an explanation… but you were already turning away.

“Yeah,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he followed behind.

Eventually you made it to the restaurant, right on time before they all entered, almost nobody had noticed your brief disappearance.

You tried to play it cool and went close to Felix and Han, politely starting a conversation with them to get away, to distract your mind from two guys who had your brain lagging.

You didn’t look at Hyunjin, didn't dare to, but you felt him. The weight of his gaze. The silent question in it.

He took a seat two chairs down, next to Changbin, his jaw clenched and tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he dropped into the chair a little harder than necessary.

Then Chan, who was looking at you but wasn’t smiling. His brows weren’t furrowed in anger, either. No, his expression was calm. Too calm.

His gaze was steady and unreadable, but just behind his soft brown irises, there was something hollow.

Your gut feeling of being watched was right. He did see you. But your mind was way too fogged with the remnants of the kiss and chatter of the guys around you to ask how.

The conversation at the table rose and dipped around you like waves, but you were drowning in it, barely able to answer Han when he asked if you were going to share dessert later.

Hyunjin hadn’t said a word.

Chan hadn’t looked at you again.

So you sat there, between the two boys you couldn’t stop thinking about, pretending like your heart wasn’t wrecked over both of them in different, equally devastating ways.

The week after the dinner passed by in a blur, mostly because you distracted yourself with assignments, classes and the gym.

At the beginning it seemed fun that you shared a few classes with guys but now after the tension rising between you, Chan and Hyunjin at the restaurant that night, you cursed the universe for putting the three of you in the same class.

And for making your professor group you into working together for a project.

"I'll do my part and text you when I'm done," Hyunjin said, typing away on his phone, not bothering to look up at you or Chan, before he walked out of the classroom.

Your heart sank like someone had thrown it in the ocean tied to a stone.

You could hear the quiet shuffle of his bag, the creak of his chair, and the sound of your own breath as you avoided his eyes and stacked your notes with trembling fingers.

“I can drop you home,” he said after a beat. His voice was gentle, casual, too casual for how it curled under your skin and made your stomach flip.

You looked at Chan, feeling tired to protest so you gently nodded, smiling, walking along with him outside the class towards the parking lot.

The car ride was quiet. Rain drizzled lightly outside, streaking across the windshield as city lights blurred into soft golds and reds.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, fiddling with the strap of your bag, acutely aware of the space between you.

Chan had one hand on the wheel, the other drumming absentmindedly against his thigh, and his jaw was set like he was chewing back something.

You wondered if he was avoiding your eyes because he didn’t want you to see what they’d say. Or maybe, you were the one who wasn’t ready to listen.

You finally broke. “Are you alright?”

Chan didn’t answer right away. His eyes remained fixed on the road. Then he muttered, "I am."

Your heart sank deeper, so many emotions raging inside your body, you wanted to scream, to run away, to cry? You didn't know, it just felt overwhelming.

"Why are you being cold?" You asked gently, your voice almost blended with the sound of the quiet engine.

He didn’t answer at first.

The only sound in the car was the rhythmic swipe of the windshield wipers and the hum of the tires gliding along the wet asphalt.

His jaw flexed once. Twice. Then he exhaled, like he’d been holding something in for far too long.

“I’m not,” he said finally, but it was the kind of answer someone gave when they didn’t want to explain the storm behind it.

“Yes, you are,” you whispered. “You haven’t looked at me the same since—”

"I'm just tired, okay? That's it." His tone was sharp but it felt cruel, a sound you never heard from him and that sliced your heart into shreds.

You weren’t sure what hurt more—the sharpness of his voice, or the fact that he couldn’t even look at you when he said it.

"Oh," you said finally, your voice so small you weren’t sure if it was even audible over the low hum of the car.

Chan rubbed a hand over his face, breathing out slowly like he regretted the way it came out but didn’t know how to take it back. His eyes stayed forward, watching the rain trickle down the windshield in lazy streaks.

“I didn’t mean that,” he muttered, but it sounded forced.

"You don’t have to lie, you know," you said quietly, almost to the window instead of him. "If you’re mad at me, just be mad."

"I’m not mad." His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

You looked at him, at the way his lashes cast soft shadows over his cheek, the way his lips pressed into a flat, unreadable line.

You felt your heart drop. Like the air had left the car completely. Your fingernails bit into your palms as you stared down at your lap, fighting the sting in your eyes.

He finally reached your apartment. The car rolled to a slow stop in front of your building, headlights casting pale yellow light across the front step. You undid your seatbelt quietly, the soft click almost deafening in the silence between you.

You didn’t move to get out. Neither did he.Your hand hovered near the door handle, and then...paused. You looked at him again, giving him a small, broken smile and opened the door.

The cold night air rushed in. You stepped out.

"Thanks for the ride." You didn’t look back when you closed the door. Didn’t see the way Chan stared at the empty passenger seat long after you disappeared behind your building door.

He never told you he saw.

And maybe that was the part that would haunt you most.

"Yeah, he said the flight is..." The corridor was buzzing with the sound of students walking past each other, conversations and then morning rush filling the air.

You made it to uni looking like you had quite a night—swollen lips, puffy eyes, pink cheeks.

Have you been crying all night? Yes.

As you turned the corner into the open student lounge area, your steps faltered. There they were. Chan and Hyunjin.

Leaning casually against the vending machine counter, steaming takeout coffees in hand, mid-conversation like nothing was wrong.

Like your heart hadn’t been flipped, twisted, wrung out over and over for the past week.

Chan laughed softly at something Hyunjin said, his dimple flashing faintly as he sipped his coffee. Hyunjin, was in his usual oversized bomber, leaned back on his elbows, head tilted with that same relaxed charm he always carried.

Their eyes flicked up. Both pairs met yours.

You just stood there, half asleep, your hand clutching the strap of your bag, the hood and a few strands of hair covering your face.

"What happened to you?" Hyunjin asked, masking a playful teasing tone that felt distantly familiar. You arched an eyebrow at him then rolled your eyes, taking in a deep breath.

"Just spent the night finishing my part of the project. We can hand it in today."

You said, trying your best to hide the fact that you had been crying over two guys that drove you to insanity but they were here, sipping coffee like it was another normal day.

It was a normal day. Your hormones are well—when are the hormones ever kind right?

Hyunjin blinked at your response, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a lazy smirk. “Damn,” he said, drawing out the word as he took another sip of coffee.

“And here I was thinking you just decided to cry over us.” Your heart stopped, your breath catching in your throat you almost choked on it.

You huffed a dry laugh, brushing past it. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Chan didn’t say anything. Not at first. He was looking at the floor, his cup halfway to his lips, taking another sip.

Then he looked back at Hyunjin and said, "We should celebrate. We’re finally done with that damn thing."

Your brows lifted in surprise.

Hyunjin turned toward Chan, a brow arched, almost as if he was waiting for him to say more, but when he didn’t, Hyunjin grinned and shrugged. "Yeah. Our place tonight?"

You hesitated. For a second, no longer than a breath.

Your gut screamed: don’t do it.

Your heart whispered: go.

“Sure,” you said. “If there’s snacks.”

Chan gave a breath of a laugh. “I’ll get them.”

You hated how it made your chest flutter. You hated how effortlessly he could undo you.

"Come after seven," Hyunjin added, tapping his phone screen, already texting something you assumed was details or some silly group chat. "Don’t be late."

And just like that, the conversation moved on. They resumed their back-and-forth about professors, and why Minho had ghosted the group chat again.

But you… you stayed quiet. Your head was already spiraling. Because tonight, you were going to walk into their apartment, their space. After everything.

After the kiss.

After the silence.

***

The TV played some nameless reality show, the table spread out with Chinese takeout and Soju.

Thank god tomorrow is a Saturday.

You had finished your share of noodles, accompanied with a few dumplings and a pudding, and now your mind was all groggy after a few sips of alcohol.

Your alcohol tolerance was quite low, so even just a few shots of soju was enough to have you tipsy.

The half cold, half bitter liquid ran down your throat as you chugged it down mixed with coke, your chest heaving in a loud breath.

Chan glanced at you then at Hyunjin who was watching you concerned. Chan leaned forward, taking the glass away from you and pushing the alcohol bottles back.

"That's enough," he said, his voice almost like it was floating past your head. "You've drank a lot."

You tried to open your eyes to look at him, but they struggled and you smiled lazily, blinking slowly.

"I only had one si—sip," you hiccuped, sounding like you weren't tipsy but actually drunk.

Hyunjin moved first. He rose from his spot beside the coffee table, his long fingers curling gently around your wrist as he crouched beside you. His touch was careful, almost hesitant—like you were fragile, and one wrong move would shatter you completely.

“Here,” he said quietly, holding a glass of water out to you. You blinked at him again, unfocused and soft, but your fingers reached for the glass. Your hand barely wrapped around it before he helped you lift it to your lips.

The water felt cool, grounding, but it did nothing to stop the heat prickling beneath your skin. The one brought on not by the soju, but by them.

Hyunjin's eyes didn’t leave your face as you took a few sips. Neither did Chan’s. You could feel his stare, burning into your side like a silent question.

“Good girl,” Hyunjin muttered under his breath, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

The words slid over you like silk.

“Thaaank youuu,” you whispered with a lopsided smile, letting out a small breath as Hyunjin set the glass down.

Your head leaned slightly toward him like your body was betraying the secret you had shoved deep down all week.

His hand came up to steady you, fingers brushing your jaw as your eyelids fluttered shut for a moment.

"Careful," Chan said, still watching, voice tight.

You turned your head slowly toward Chan, eyes hooded and lips parted, your voice a whisper, not from nerves, but from truth.

"I want both of you."

The room went still.

The TV still played in the background, the sound of someone crying over burnt rice or a missed love confession. But here, in this dimly lit apartment, it was like time hit pause.

Hyunjin froze, his body supporting your lazy form, laying on the side of his chest.

Chan stared, his lips parted slightly, brows drawing together like he was trying to figure out if he heard you right or if it was just the alcohol talking.

But you didn’t stop talking.

"I want you both. At the same time," you repeated, slower this time, the words tasting like warmth and shame and something heavier, like relief.

"Hyunjin…" you turned toward him. "You kissed me like you meant it."

Then to Chan. "But you…Chan...God, you look at me like you already know how I fall apart."

Neither of them said a word. Just stared at each other then at you, your half limp body laid on Hyunjin.

"Sweetheart," Chan started softly, like he was talking to a child, "You've had too much, you need to rest."

"But I haven't!" You squeaked, lifting your body up and falling into Chan's arms who caught you with a blink of an eye, arms strong and steady.

"I tried not to ruin things. I tried to choose. But—but the truth is…I—I don’t want to."

Your face pressed to his chest, your fingers tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, and his scent wrapped around you like a sigh.

Chan’s jaw tensed above you, but he didn’t say anything. His hand just rubbed slow, reassuring circles over your back.

Hyunjin looked at the two of you, his heart clenching with something so painfully close to possessiveness, but he kept his guard down, only focusing on your words that kept slipping out.

"I...I ruined us didn't I...?" You slurred, half sleepy, half drunk, turning to see Hyunjin through your hazy vision.

There was silence. Not the kind that hurts but the kind that listens.

"No baby," Hyunjin's hand cupped your cheek, his eyes were impossibly soft, "You didn't ruin anything." He whispered.

You leaned into Hyunjin's hand, your body sagging onto Chan's, taking a slow deep breath as your eyes fluttered close then opened.

"I want you both so...so...bad."

Chan exhaled slowly, his breath warming your temple. "You’re drunk, sweetheart," he murmured again, softer this time. "We’re not going to take advantage of that."

Your chest squeezed painfully at his words, because of course he was right. Of course he would be the one to stay grounded when your world was spinning.

You could feel Hyunjin watching, but you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes again.

"But I need, hmmf," you tilted your head up, slightly enough to meet Chan's gaze.

"You...and..," you looked at Hyunjin, "...and you..."

Your finger lifted clumsily between them both, like a declaration with no rules, no permission asked. Hyunjin leaned forward slowly, as if every inch toward you cost him restraint.

His hand, still cupping your cheek, brushed his thumb gently beneath your eye. "You’re not thinking clearly right now, angel," he said, voice tender. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

But you did.

"I do,” you murmured, softer now, eyes glistening, your lips barely moving. "I like how you," you gazed up at Chan again, "how you keep me so safe and make me feel loved and," you met Hyunjin's face, "how you want to kill anyone who gets or is too close to me..."

Chan looked at Hyunjin. Hyunjin looked at Chan.

It wasn’t a stare of rivalry, it was something heavier. Like they were silently measuring each other’s resolve. Respect. History. And the girl resting in Chan’s arms like she belonged there, yet aching for Hyunjin’s touch like she needed that too.

Chan sighed through his nose, his large hand soothing up and down your back. “You’re drunk, baby. You’re saying what your heart wants, but your body can’t keep up with it tonight.”

“I can,” you mumbled, but your limbs betrayed you, barely holding their shape anymore, going soft against him like putty.

Hyunjin chuckled at your stubbornness, brushing the hair away from your temple. "No, you can’t and that’s okay."

There was no sarcasm in his tone. No teasing.

Only care. Only longing.

And the bitter sweetness of holding back.

Chan shifted slightly beneath you, readjusting your weight so he could cradle you better. “You’re going to sleep in my bed tonight. We’ll be here when you wake up. Nothing more.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “We heard you. Every word.”

Hyunjin stood up, walking over to open the door to Chan's bedroom and Chan slowly stood up as well, carrying you in his arms and this time your body fully gave up.

Chan gently laid you on the mattress and Hyunjin pulled the sheets over you, turning on the AC, the both of them watching the rise and fall of your chest, the soft curve of your hand curled against the pillow, your lips parted like you’d fallen asleep mid-sentence.

They walked out of his bedroom, in dreadful silence, closing the door gently behind them.

"She meant it," Hyunjin said quietly, voice low.

"I know," Chan replied. "The moment I saw you kiss her."

Hyunjin stiffened slightly. "You think I didn’t know?" Chan gave a sad smile, shaking his head. "I knew already. And I didn’t stop it, either."

Hyunjin looked down. "Because you like her too."

"Yeah,” Chan breathed out, fingers curling into a gentle fist. "And I think… I think she loves us both."

There was a pause, heavy with things unsaid. Questions, boundaries, the slow realization that they were both walking the same tightrope.

"…So what do we do now?" Hyunjin finally asked. Chan turned to look at him, serious but soft. "We wait. Let her wake up sober. If she still wants this tomorrow—"

"We give her everything," Hyunjin finished.

Chan nodded once.

And they both meant it.

***

The sheets rustled as you turned, a strangely familiar scent invading your senses as you stirred awake.

Sunlight filtered through pale curtains, casting a soft glow across the unfamiliar space. The scent that lingered in the air was clean laundry, coffee...and them.

You blinked again.

Not your bedroom. The room was bigger, tidier, and a desk pushed up against the wall—books, headphones, hoodies strewn across them in patterns you’d come to recognise far too well. Your heart skipped.

Chan and Hyunjin’s apartment.

"I want both of you."

You sat up sharply, eyes widening.

Memories came crashing back like waves. The confession. The way Chan looked at you—serious, protective. The way Hyunjin touched your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked. And the heat that simmered between the three of you, ready to boil over.

The door creaked open.

Your head snapped in that direction and then promptly forgot how to function.

There stood Hyunjin in black shorts and tank top that clung just a little too well to his torso, tousled hair falling into his eyes. Behind him came Chan, also dressed in a tank top and shorts, coffee mugs in hand.

He looked warm. Effortlessly devastating.

Hyunjin smirked. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

Chan chuckled behind him, his voice deep and smooth.

You swallowed hard, feeling a slight pulse in the back of your head. Hyunjin set a tray on the bedside table—toast, and a tiny bowl of strawberries and Chan set the mugs down beside the tray, looking at you.

"Why don't you freshen up?" Chan said softly, "Here," he walked over to his wardrobe and grabbed one of his oversized t-shirts.

Your fingers curled around the fabric Chan handed you—warm, soft, and smelling unmistakably like him. You blinked up at him, your heart caught somewhere between your throat and your stomach.

He wasn’t teasing. Neither of them were.

Hyunjin gave you a faint smile, softer than his usual smirks. “There's a toothbrush in the drawers. Take your time. We’ll be right here.”

You nodded slowly, hugging the tee to your chest as you padded into their bathroom. The moment the door shut, your chest heaved with a quiet breath.

Everything felt real now. No alcohol haze. No what-ifs. Just you—and the two men outside waiting like they’d already decided.

You rinsed your face with cool water, trying to calm the heat under your skin. But even that couldn’t dull the pulse steadily building between your legs. Not when their buff frames had your knees weak.

You slipped out of your clothes and bra, putting on the tee over your head. It fell easily over your frame, soft against your skin, the sleeves a bit too long, the length falling mid thigh.

You didn’t bother with pants. You didn’t want to. When you opened the door again and walked into the bedroom, both of them looked up from where they sat at each edge of the bed.

“I told you,” Hyunjin murmured, tilting his head toward Chan. “She makes it look better than you ever did.”

Chan let out a low hum of agreement, standing. He crossed to you in two easy steps.

“You okay?” Chan asked gently.

You nodded, your throat dry. “Just… feels surreal.”

“Still thinking about last night?” Hyunjin asked, but there was no teasing in his tone this time, just genuine curiosity.

You looked at him, then at Chan, both their eyes were on you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel guilty for wanting both. “I meant when I said it,” you said quietly. “I want you both. I still do.”

A grin painted Chan's face as he kneeled in front of you, his hands sliding slowly up your bare thighs under the tee, “If we do this,” he murmured, “you don’t get to hide from us after. Not emotionally. Not physically.”

“O—okay,” you whispered, your voice slightly shaking.

A shiver ran straight down your spine, your thighs instinctively pressing together, but Chan’s hands were already there, gently parting them again.

You gasped when his thumbs brushed the edge of your panties, feeling just how wet and warm you’d gotten already.

He stood up, placing his hand on the small of your back, guiding you back to the bed. The mattress dipped beneath your weights as you sat down, Hyunjin who was sitting in front of you leaned into your ear.

"That means when we fuck you,” he whispered, “we fuck you like you’re ours. Got it?"

You nodded, swallowing hard as you felt Hyunjin's face brush against your cheek.

“Lay back for us,” Chan said, standing and guiding you gently down onto the bed. “Let us take care of you.”

You laid back slowly, your heart thudding beneath your ribs, nerves dancing under your skin.

The moment your back hit the sheets, Hyunjin’s hands slid up the inside of your thighs with practiced ease, his gaze hooded, hungry—but beneath it, a glint of something warmer.

Chan hovered at your side, his fingertips brushing your cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispered, “we’re not going anywhere.”

Hyunjin pushed the tee up, revealing your pink lacy panties, a damp patch clinging onto your pussylips, the musky scent of your arousal driving up his senses.

“So soaked already,” he muttered, voice rough with approval.

He traced his long finger over the fabric, teasing your entrance, making you whimper, the muscles in your thighs tensing under his touch.

"Baby... look at me," Chan tilted your face, making you look into his eyes, his lips brushing over your cheeks, jawline, the corner of your eye before capturing them fully into his mouth.

You moaned softly into him, heat blooming through your stomach, your body exposed beneath their eyes.

Hyunjin's lips brushed over your hip bone, sucking a bruise into your skin, kissing every part of you he uncovered before focusing back on your clothed cunt.

He spread your legs with ease, sliding your panties to the side and pressed his mouth into your pussy, your gasp into Chan's mouth shattered the stillness.

He licked a slow, teasing stripe through your folds, groaning into you like he was starving. The grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you spread open for his mouth while his tongue moved with deliberate pressure.

Your hips bucked, pleasure shooting up your spine. Chan pulled back, leaving your lips swollen and slick from his kisses.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice like silk and gravel. “So responsive. You like how Hyunjin tastes you, huh?”

You could only nod, breathless, moaning as Hyunjin flattened his tongue and sucked on your clit.

Chan's fingers traced your breasts, circling the buds over his tee till they peaked, making them strain against the fabric, your hips shifted for more friction from below.

"You taste so sweet baby," Hyunjin murmured against your sloppy, went cunt, his chin soaked with your arousal, thrusting his tongue right into making you arch.

"That's it... Let him ruin you baby," Chan praised you, his mouth wrapping around your erect nipple while his free hand pinch and played with the other; God, this felt so good.

Too good.

Both Chan's and Hyunjin's cocks were fighting for freedom behind their shorts, the bulging and the throbbing of it now impossible to ignore.

"I— I need," you cried, your voice cutting short when Hyunjin's fingers slipped in with ease from how wet you were, curling them just right as he hit that spot making your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

Your thighs trembled violently now, muscles twitching under Hyunjin’s grip as he drove his fingers in deeper, tongue working relentlessly over your clit in tight, rhythmic circles.

"Fuck—Hyun," you whimpered, legs instinctively trying to close, but his hands pinned you wide open.

"Stay still, sweetheart," Chan cooed, voice syrup-slick as he leaned in again, capturing your lips, swallowing your moans like he was starving for them. “Let him make you come. You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

You nodded, helplessly grinding down against Hyunjin’s face, chasing the climax that was building like a storm under your skin.

Hyunjin growled low against you, the vibration making you cry out as he licked into you harder, deeper, matching the pace of his fingers.

“She’s dripping,” he mumbled, tongue curling along your folds, "You’re fucking perfect like this."

One of your hands fisted the sheets while the other clung onto Chan's bicep, his fingers now continuing to play with your nipples, after leaving his bruising trail of hickeys, marking himself on your chest.

Chan's hand moved from your breast to stroke your jaw, tilting your face so your teary eyes met his. “That’s it. You’re doing so good for us, baby,” he whispered. “Let go. Give it to him.”

And you did.

The orgasm hit so hard, it shattered you. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, back arching clean off the bed, thighs locking around Hyunjin’s head as he kept licking you through it, drawing out every trembling second.

Your body convulsed, hot fat tears sliding down the corners of your eyes as the waves rolled and rolled. Chan held you through it, petting your hair, grounding you, whispering praises you could barely hear over the blood rushing in your ears.

You shook so hard that when Hyunjin pulled back from your pussy, he whimpered at the loss of legging it go, but had to give you time to recover from how much you came.

When your body went slack, Hyunjin leaned up, his eyes wild, meeting Chan’s gaze across your body.

“She’s ready now,” he said, voice rough, pupils blown. Chan’s gaze dropped to you, checking for something—any hesitation—but all he saw was the blissed-out desperation still lingering on your face, your lips parted, chest heaving, legs trembling.

The gentle restraint on Chan's face snapped when his eyes met Hyunjin's with a devilish smirk, he leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead before whispering, "This is going to be hard. Fast. Soul crushing and we are going to ruin you."

Your eyes were glassy, every nerve ending in your body on fire as you squealed at Chan's growl. "Tell us or tap on us if it's too much and we will stop, but you better take everything we give you like the good little slut you are."

And that was the last of the gentleness you saw of Chan before he nodded at Hyunjin, removing his tee off of you and flipped you onto your stomach.

The both of them got off the bed, the syncing sound of the clinks of their belts echoing together as they shredded their pants, revealing their now impossibly hard cocks, heavy against their abs, thick and leaking beady drops of pre cum.

You took one look at their sizes and you knew you wouldn't make it out with the ability to walk after today.

You're definitely taking a sick leave for the week.

Hyunjin's hand cupped your face, carnal urges taking over his brain to just fuck you senseless already and Chan moved to the other side, ripping your panties and squeezing the flesh of your ass before giving it a sharp slap! making you gasp.

"Get on your hands and knees," he growled his command, and you did, slowly getting up with your face still in Hyunjin's grasp.

Hyunjin traced his thumb over your bottom lip, pushing it into your mouth, his other hand fisting his leaking cock, so long and proud, the tip flushing red and a long vein running underneath, you swallowed hard as you registered the position you were in.

"Suck," you already were before the world left his mouth, greedily sucking on his thumb, your cheeks flushed hot.

Chan lined himself between your legs, his thumb smearing your wetness before tracing the thick head of his cock against your entrance making you inhale a sharp breath.

"Relax angel..." Chan's voice dropped an octave, "just relax." He muttered, holding your hips as he pushed the thick length of his cock past your tight walls.

"Open your mouth," Hyunjin growled, pulling his thumb out. Your mouth fell open and he pushed his cock in, the warmth wrapping around his shaft until your nose pressed against the faint trail of hair.

"Holy fuck—" Chan gritted through his teeth. "She's fucking tight," he pushed all the way in, his cock sitting snug inside you and letting your gummy walls adjust to him, he felt like he could come the very second.

"What a slut, look at her." Hyunjin's voice was strained as he held your jaw, beginning to fuck his cock into your mouth while Chan pulled back enough to let the tip tease your entrance once more before slamming back in.

Tears leaked from your eyes, drooling dribbling down from the corners of your mouth and your juices coating Chan's cock, you were getting fucked from the front and back by the two men who showed zero signs of mercy in bed.

You were choking on Hyunjin's length and clenched around Chan, both of them groaning loudly, Chan's fingers holding your waist so tight, his fingers left marks on your skin.

Chan gave one hard thrust into you, pushing you forward, Hyunjin's cock touched the back of your throat, making you gag, his head fell back as he held onto the headboard to brace himself.

"Shit, be gentle with her Chris what the fuck?"

Hyunjin grittted, his chest rising and falling, sweating clinging onto his skin and Chan's hand dipping down your stomach to circle your clit in rough strokes making you shut your eyes and clench him hard.

"She loves it Hyunjin. Look at her, taking two cocks like the needy little slut she is."

You whimpered at his filthy words, no room to breath, hair tangled, skin sweaty and eyes teared up, you were turned on and ruined beyond belief.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, hands fisting the sheets, moans were muffled while getting fucked and choked and their loud groans of pleasure filling the air.

"I might come right now, fuck," Hyunjin panted before pulling his cock out of your mouth, letting you breath, long sticky strings of spit clinging from his length onto your lips.

Oxygen rushed into your lungs but was cut short when another brutal thrust hit you from behind, the tip of Chan's cock touching your cervix ripping a loud cry out of your throat.

"Can't take it sweetheart? Hmm? Should we stop?" Chan cooed, so mean and ruthless, you were too fucked out to make up words so you shook your head.

"That's what I thought."

Hyunjin slipped himself back into your mouth holding your jaw, the tangling the strands of your hair, your tongue traced every ridge and vein of his silky velvet shaft as he rolled his hips forward, making you take it all.

"That's it, sweet angel letting me fuck her pretty mouth like it's mine."

"Mine?" Chan hissed, rubbing your clit in rough circles and slapping your ass again, the stinging pain mixing with pleasure before he growled, "No. She's OURS."

Chan kept thrusting into you, deeper and deeper, brushing that sweet squishy spot in you repeatedly.

Molten lava dripped down his spine as thunder roared in Hyunjin's chest, both of them slamming into you one after another before Chan hit that sensitive spot making you shatter again, your walls squeezing him as you came flooding on his cock.

White warmth spilled down your throat while another load gathered inside your cunt, painting your walls, the two of them filling you up with their cum, using you like a fuck toy, their cocks twitching endlessly inside you.

"Swallow every drop," Hyunjin growled, pulling out of your mouth and you did, feeling the sweet saltiness of his hot load slide down your throat.

Chan pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip out of your wrecked hole, chest heaving and his curls clung onto his forehead.

You lost your balance and almost fell but Chan's hand slipped around your body and caught you. You were lost in worlds beyond pleasure— freshly fucked and completely ruined but by the smirk on Hyunjin's face said they weren't done by a long shot.

"Can you give us one more round sweetheart?" His thumb brushed so gently over your tear stained face, your eyes lashes were damp, your nose and cheeks were flushed.

"One more for us like a good girl?"

Your chest still heaved in heavy breaths, Hyunjin ran his hand through your hair, pushing them away from your face.

"Alright, we'll give you some time to breathe." He said, smiling as if he wasn't about to wreck you again in the next few minutes.

You weren't sure if you could take it anymore. But the way Chan felt inside you and Hyunjin felt down your throat, your lust filled, foggy brain wanted more.

After what was like five minutes, once your breathing was back at a good pace, Chan's eyes met yours again, soft but filled with a beast like hunger that was ready to devour anything that came in his way.

Hyunjin sat behind you, scooping your body, making you sit on his lap before he laid down, his head on the mattress bringing your back flush against his chest.

You felt the hardness of his cock against your ass, your pulse spiking up, anticipation running through every nerve ending as he angled you above him.

Chan hovered over the two of you, his gaze piercing into yours and running down your body, skin peppered with his hickeys and fingerprints, a smug grin tugging his lips.

"Ready for us, angel?"

"Yes," you whispered, and that was all it took.

Hyunjin's fingers found your sensitive, swollen clit, rubbing it in right circles as they dipped down to your entrance, parting your puffy folds before pushing his shaft into you in one deep stroke.

Inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside you, groaning between your neck and shoulder. You cried out from the stretch, the fullness, your walls fluttering as you clenched around him.

“Fuck—” Hyunjin hissed, “you are tight.”

Chan came up, his hands skimming your body, squeezing your breasts, mouth pressing to your neck. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered hotly, “you’ll make room for me too.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as Hyunjin’s cock remained unmoving inside you.

Chan watched your face, eyes glazed and no rational thought in his mind. “You’re okay,” Chan murmured against your jaw, kissing it.

“Breathe through it, baby. We’ve got you.”

Hyunjin pressed up, chest pressing to your back as he lined himself up carefully. His lips brushed your ear. “Relax,” he whispered. “Let us in.”

You exhaled, your body trembling from anticipation and pleasure, and slowly, Chan began to push in.

The stretch burned—sharp, a slight sting at first, then full and overwhelming.

Hyunjin grunted beneath you, his hands gripping your waist tighter as Chan filled the remaining space, pushing in inch by inch until he was fully seated, your body now stuffed with both of them.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think anymore.

“You’re doing so fucking well,” Chan whispered. “Taking us like you were made for this.”

“Look at her,” Hyunjin murmured, his voice hoarse. “So full of dick.”

You let out a broken moan, tears springing to your eyes from the intense stretch, the fullness, the feeling of being theirs completely.

They went slow at first. Timed. When Chan pulled back, Hyunjin pushed in—and vice versa. It was a rhythm that had your body shaking, your hands fisting the sheets, your mouth open but speechless from how overpowering it felt.

You were drowning in ecstasy, buried under praise and thrusts and heat and hands.

"God, you’re perfect," Chan groaned, his voice fraying at the edges. "So fucking wet, feel how messy you are, baby?"

“She’s dripping down on me,” Hyunjin answered, filthy and sweet in the same breath. "She likes being fucked dumb by us."

"Is that right?” Chan said, slowing his pace just to grind deep, right into your sweet spot. "You want us to ruin you, pretty girl?"

Your nails dug into the sheets, then into Chan’s shoulders as you tried to hold onto something—anything—but your body wasn’t yours anymore.

It belonged to them. Your mind, your pleasure, your heartbeat, everything was tangled up in the two of them.

They moved in tandem, one pulling out slightly while the other pushed in deeper, never leaving you empty, never letting the pleasure dip for even a second. You cried out as another orgasm crested, sudden and rushing.

The sounds leaving your bodies were sick, obscene, a filthy symphony of flesh on flesh and breathless gasps that made the walls feel too thin for what was happening inside.

“Fuck—Chan—Hyun—” you sobbed, your thighs trembling.

"That's it baby, come for us. Soak these cocks."

Chan kissed you hard, swallowing the sound of your moans. Hyunjin groaned when you clenched around them both, his hand snaking around to rub tight circles against your clit.

“So fucking perfect when you come.”

Their pace picked up, faster, rougher, a perfect storm of pressure and heat and praise. The sound of skin against skin, moans, the slurred mess of your name on both their lips, it was everything.

And then the pressure snapped.

You came with a scream, your whole body convulsing, brain going mush, walls clenching so tightly around them both that they swore under their breaths, holding on through the waves of your orgasm.

Hyunjin was next, thrusting harder as he chased his own edge. "Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna fucking—"

He came with a hiss, buried deep inside you, his grip tight around your hips as he stilled, twitching, his teeth dug into your shoulder from the intensity of how much he released.

Chan wasn’t far behind, pulling you closer, holding your face as he locked eyes with you while he gave one final, deep thrust and spilled thick spurts inside you with a low moan.

You were stuffed full with cock and cum, the white fluid basically leaking from the corners of your cunt, the substance overloaded up in you.

Chan's forehead dropped to yours, sweat-slick skin pressed against you as he panted against your mouth.

All of you trembled through the aftershocks, breathless and wrecked, but Chan quickly braced himself to not collapse on your limp body.

His cock slid out first, then Hyunjin. Chan got up on his knees watching your body utterly used and railed, the two of them pushing you beyond what you thought you could give, only to pull you back to reality and piece you back together.

Chan ran a hand through his sweat damp hair as he got off the bed, walking out of the room into the washroom to grab a warm cloth.

You remained motionless, breathing heavily on top of Hyunjin, who gently moved you to the mattress next to him, his fingers tracing softly over the bite mark he planted on your shoulder and over the hickeys Chan had left.

Chan returned, with a cloth in his hand, getting back on the bed, watching you carefully.

"Let me clean you baby," he said, gently parting your legs to wipe off the evidence he and Hyunjin had left in you.

Hyunjin got off the bed and put on his boxers, running into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

You winced slightly at the first swipe of the cloth, your body so oversensitive, pussy swollen, raw and tender in every sense of the word. But Chan’s touch was gentle and reverent.

"Sorry," he murmured, brushing a hand over your thigh. "Almost done, sweetheart."

You didn’t say anything, your throat felt thick, your limbs heavy, but not in a bad way. Your heart was full and you felt like you were floating.

Chan finished and tossed the cloth into the laundry basket nearby, his eyes scanning your body like he was memorizing you in this quiet, wrecked state.

His hand cupped your cheek softly, thumb brushing the dampness under your eye you hadn’t realized was still there.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low. A whisper between the two of you.

"Yeah..." you nodded slowly. "But I think I'm going to be sore for like a week."

Chan chuckled as Hyunjin returned, kneeling beside the bed with a glass of water. His brows softened as he saw you trying to sit up.

“Hey, no,” he said softly, helping you rest against the pillows instead. “Drink first.”

He held the glass to your lips, and you took small sips, feeling the cool water calm your dry throat after that much screaming.

You looked between them, voice quiet. "Are you both okay?"

Hyunjin gave a soft laugh, a little out of breath still. "I think you broke me, but in a good way.'

Chan reached forward to brush a small peck on your lips. “We’re okay, baby. Just making sure that you are.”

The two of them climbed back on the bed, one on either side of you, sandwiching you between their strong chests.

"Gonna spend the day with us today?" Hyunjin asked teasingly, his voice smooth as he pressed his lips on your temple.

"I don't feel like leaving you both," you mumbled sleepily, and they both chuckled.

“Good,” Chan said, rubbing slow circles on your thigh. “You’re not going anywhere from us.”

You exhaled a slow breath, melting into them completely. You were held between the two boys who had unknowingly tangled their way into your heart, body sore, lips kiss-swollen, a soft ache between your legs, but still you smiled wide.

Because you didn’t feel wrong anymore.

You felt wanted.

You felt theirs.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @greyyeti

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

348 notes · View notes

goneahead · 2 days ago

Text

Ok I don't usually wade into political posts, but its pretty f**king clear @project2028 and everyone else reblogging this and similar posts don't actually gives a damn about preventing camping deaths.

I'm also sure only a handful of people will reblog this post, because talking about NWS alerts and how to actually f**king saving lives won't put any more points on the political scoreboard.

But as a nomad, the misinformation in these posts is p**ssing me off and if I can save at least one life by telling some hard, inconvienant truths, then it will so so worth it. Feel free to unfollow me now.

There were AT LEAST 6 alerts issued from NWS for the Kerrville area. The NWS issued a flood watch on July 3rd afternoon. Flash flood warnings began 1 a.m. CT July 4, with emergency alerts at 4:03 a.m. (Kerr County) and 5:34 a.m. (Kerrville). At least 6 emergencies total, warning of a "deadly flood wave" on the Guadalupe River.

The problem was people decided to camp near a river where a flood warning had already been issued in the afternoon and they a) didn't keep their phones on at night to get alerts or b) make the decision to camp with an emergency radio so they could get alerts.

Trust me, I've been a nomad for over 8 years now -- a weather alert will most DEFINITELY wake you up IF you care enough about your life and the lives of your loved ones to carry an emergency radio and/or make sure your phone is charged.

So let's recap.

1. If you go camping, always make sure somebody always knows where you are. If your plans change, ALWAYS text or call somebody so that emergency crews know where to find you if shit goes wrong. People die every year because they couldn't be bothered to send a text that would have told emergency crews how to find them.

2. If there is a weather warning issued for the area where you decide to camp, always assume this will be the one time that the warning will turn into a serious situation. Write down the address or coordinates of where you are at before you go to bed. That way you are ready to give a good location to emergency responders if needed. Keep your phone on through the night and charged so the alerts can wake you if shit hits the fan. Battery packs for phones are only twenty to thirty bucks and can save your life.

3. You should NEVER camp unless you have an emergency radio and extra batteries. Again, this stuff is cheap and could save your life.

4. Have a f**king plan. I will repeat - have a f**king plan. Have a bag packed that you can grab quickly. Make sure you have meds, your pets stuff, extra keys in this bag, etc. If you are in an RV, keep a tool to break a window. If you are renting a cabin, know where the exits are and have a plan to get to safety.

5. Finally, shit can happen fast in a natural disaster. I had a friend who was camping near a wildfire. He stepped outside for a moment, looked around - and in that moment, the wildfire jumped the road and reached his RV. Fortunately he had his keys with him, so he was able to jump in his truck and drive to safely. His RV was a total loss. Keep extra keys in vehicles, keep your emergency bag close, and ALWAYS be prepared for things to go bad very fast.

Let me recap again. A NWS alert is ONLY as good as your willingness to be prepared, and every NWS warning should be heeded if you go camping.

Again, I know a lot of people will now unfollow me, or start sending me hate messages because how dare I challenge the Very Important Political Narrative that NWS failed, and you know what? I honestly don't care. If I can save one life by this post then all the hate I am about to get will be worth it.

#camp safe #please heed weather warnings #dont be a statistic #psa

179 notes · View notes

dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 2 days ago

Note

Random Question: In a Percy Jackson Au, with everyone being related to the gods, who would be Stan and Ford's parent? B/c I keep thinking either Athena(Ford smart) or Dionysius(madness).

Hmm. Hard to say, because they are twins so it'd need to be the same one, and they're mirrors of each other which makes choosing difficult. Hmm.

Dionysius would work better than Athena, but maybe Eris? The goddess of chaos? Fits their general behavior.

Ares might be interesting, Ford thinking it was wrong only for him losing his temper and showing off his own skills as a son of war (filbrick parallel there maybe?)

Hermes would work too, fitting Stan but making Ford feel alienated? Before he goes on his own 30 year parallel journey and sort of goes 'ah no this feels right actually'

Poseidon seems too on the nose, but i'm partial specifically because he's also the god of horses.

Thats what i've got off the top of my head! Hope this helps!

Waiit!!!! Additional thought!

Athena would absolutely work, because not only does she suit Ford for the obvious intellectual reasons, she suits Stan for also being the goddess of handcraft, and both for being a goddess of war. Fords the stereotypical son of Athena (not actually as wise as he appears lol), while Stan not so much, more creatively inclined.

Because not only would Filbrick still be their dad, maybe impressing her with his business savey? or something? and dumping his terrible parenting on the two kids he didn't really want, you could def add more angst with them showing up to camp, staying at the Hermes cabin, and only Ford getting claimed. They're twins, nearly identical, but Fords her son in all the ways the rest of her children are, exhibits traits similar to the rest of her children, and has six fingers. I'm not an expert, but my brief research into the subject shows that six fingers was seen as something to celebrate by greeks? Could be wrong, but Ford being bullied hard because of his hands with mortals, then getting praised for it when he gets to camp sure does sound like something that would boost his ego and twist his insecurity about it.

And then there's Stan. He's not a stereo typical son of Athena, more creative and loose than his siblings. Leans more towards those craft qualities and warlike, and him being Fords twin makes everyone stop and second guess their assumption that Athena must be their mother, because Stan's so different. Must be Eris or some other minor god or goddess. something that can get two such different kids.

Then Ford gets claimed, and Stan doesn't. Everyone knows Athena is his mom, they're twins, so her not claiming him is a deliberate choice. Another snub in Stan's face, being second best, the unwanted child. Fords moving out to the Athena cabin, and Stans hanging out with the Hermes kids. And he'll brush it off! Say he was just too much to handle, and really the Hermes kids are more his style! Everyone knows the Athena cabin is full of nerds after all! He'd hate it there!

(He'd love it. Surrounded by his siblings, all of them passionately explaining what they're doing to him, sitting there and getting to be a sound board or someone to bounce ideas off of is all he ever wanted to be with Ford. Sure he might not understand what they're doing and might get rowdy, but he's sure they'd have just as much fun as he and Ford did back home)

So while Fords shining as the six fingered newest addition to Athena's cabin, Stan's now the black sheep of camp. Why wouldn't his mom claim him? Whats wrong with him that the goddess wouldn't claim a child everyone knows is hers? Is he even? What if he's some kind of monster, some new beast there to get them while they're guards down.

The simple truth is that his parents are both terrible, and both prefer Ford. Even if Stan proved himself and got claimed later, there's no recovering his reputation, and his relationship with Ford's always going to have that hanging over them, along with the experience Ford got being by himself in the cabin, then feeling like Stan got dumped on him just as he was becoming his own person. Not seeing that Stan's smiling and joking around to hide the fact that no one likes or trusts him, and Fords the only person who talks to him at all.

Then maybe he does something, messes up something up for Ford that endangers the camp, and yeah its not so terrible they'll kick him out, the feeling of the one person who gave him the time of day turning his back on Stan is enough to be the same thing. Maybe Stan just disappears one day, and everyone mutters about how right they must have been not to trust him, not to include him, not to want to do anything with him. Maybe Fords sees it as Stan deciding he was better off alone, didn't want Stan to leave but thought he had all the time to be mad and talk about it later, but now Stan's gone, and no one knows where.

Whew. That got way more intense then i planned. Anyway thats my thoughts on it!

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #demigod au #i feel like a more vague parent would be better suited?#or at least their parent not claiming them #oooh

175 notes · View notes

hanniebaeee · 2 days ago

Text

Delicate - 2

Felix x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing much

Genre: angst, fluff

Summary: Hyunjin has a crush on you. His feelings have become especially strong after you climbed the walls of the frat house to meet your bratty boyfriend, Felix. Who is unfortunately, Hyunjin's best friend.

Part 1 - Delicate

a/n: Something from the drafts, because I'm too tired to write something new. Have a happy and peaceful weekend everyone 🫶

Something was terribly wrong.

You just knew it. Because the Hyunjin you knew - cocky and insufferable (but adorable, of course) one? He was completely gone. Like gone. Vanished.

And in his place was this version of Hyunjin who flinched so hard when Jennie, the very girl, with whom he has had way too many hook ups, merely touched his damn arm. Jennie had only wanted to give him a cookie. Now she looked absolutely miffed and embarrassed.

Hyunjin didn't say anything. Just kept brooding and eating all the snacks looking absolutely miserable.

Felix on the other hand was oblivious because all his attention was on you. It was his idea really - this trip - the beautiful cabin on the mountain. He wanted to make it up to you for going on a strike and not talking to you for three whole days before you took things into your hands.

But Felix and Hyunjin were a packaged deal, and you were ok with that. Jennie offered to come for moral support (and Hyunjin). And so yeah - the four of you in a nice cosy cabin, surrounded by pine trees and fog. Very romantic.

Felix was feeling you up under the blanket, keeping a straight face as he made small talk with the others. And you were trying to enjoy it, except your eyes betrayed you every time, peeking at Hyunjin who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Hyunjin had a secret. A secret no one knew about. A secret he's been guarding for a while now.

He had a crush on you. Well, not a crush exactly - because he was almost 99.75% sure that he was in love with you. Especially after he saw the way you climbed up a rickety old building (risking your life, according to him) for your boyfriend. Yeah, no one has ever done something like that for him.

He tried so hard to keep those feelings buried deep inside him. He kept his distance, tried to be normal, but it was so hard when you were watching him like a hawk.

Especially so because his eyes kept flicking to you and Felix. It was torture, watching you glow in someone else’s arms, and he hated himself for it.

---

Later that night:

It was past midnight, and you couldn't sleep at all. Tossing and turning for hours now, you gave up. You got off the bed, careful not to wake Felix, and slipped out of the room quietly.

The living room was dim as you walked in, the fire reduced to glowing embers. Hyunjin was sprawled on the couch, one arm slung over his face, his long legs dangling over the armrest. Your heart twisted - you knew for sure that he was hurting.

You approached quietly, sinking onto the couch beside him.

“Jinnie?” Your voice was soft, tentative. “You awake?”

He stirred, lowering his arm, his dark eyes meeting yours. They were unguarded, and your breath caught.

“Yeah,” he muttered, sitting up slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed water,” you lied, tucking your legs under you. “But I saw you and… what’s going on, Hyunjin? You’ve been off all night.”

He laughed, a hollow sound, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I’m fine. Just… tired. Long day.” He was deflecting.

You frowned, scooting closer as you said, “Don’t do that. You don't sulk like this. Talk to me.” Your voice was gentle but firm, your concern for him overriding everything else.

He looked away, jaw tight, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

“It’s nothing. Really. Just… Jennie’s a lot, you know? I don't really like her like that…you know -”

You weren’t buying it. Because Jennie wasn't any different from before. He's always been ok with her. There was something deeper here, and you could feel it crackling in the air between you.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your voice softer now, “I’m worried about you. You know you can talk to me right?”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, he looked like he might crack open, spill everything. But then he shook his head, forcing a smirk. “You’re too sweet, you know that? I’m good, promise.”

You sighed, reaching out to place your hand over his.

“I’m serious. You’re my friend, and I hate seeing you like this.” Your touch was meant to be comforting, but the second your fingers brushed his, something shifted. Hyunjin took in a deep breath, freezing for a moment before his fingers closed around yours, gripping tight, like he was afraid you’d slip away.

“Hyunjin…” you started, but the words died as he lifted your hand, resting his forehead against it. And then you felt his lips pressing softly against your knuckles. His mouth was warm, his breath shaky, and he held your hand there, eyes squeezed shut like he was savoring it - or bracing himself.

Your pulse raced, shock flooding your system. This wasn’t friendly. This was… something else.

“Jinnie, what -” Your voice trembled, as you stared at him, your mind reeling. Oh please, no. Not Hyunjin. Not Felix’s best friend.

The weight of it hit you like an avalanche - his lingering looks, his tension around Jennie, the way he’d watched you with Felix. But it couldn’t be. But the way he was holding your hand said otherwise.

He opened his eyes, and they were glassy, filled with a mix of longing and guilt.

“I’m so sorry!” he gasped, dropping your hand like it had burned him. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

You swallowed hard, unable to process this.

“Y/N, I'm so sorry, please don't… I swear I'll stay away-” he rambled on with fear in his eyes.

“No,” You said, finding your voice with great effort. “Jinnie, I don't know -”

You really didn't know what to say. He let out a sad bitter laugh. “I…I’m the problem.”

“Are you ok?” You forced yourself to ask, and he shook his head, slowly. “No.”

The single word hung between you, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, only that this was obviously a mess, and that you loved Felix with everything you had.

Hyunjin leaned back, putting distance between you both, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. “You should go back to him.”

You nodded, standing on shaky legs, but your heart squeezed painfully. You wanted to hug him, to fix him, but you knew touching him again would only make it worse. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Just… get some rest.”

He didn’t respond, just watched as you turned and walked back to the bedroom. You slid under the covers, curling into Felix’s warmth, but your mind was back with Hyunjin, replaying the moment his lips touched your knuckles - trying to wrap your head around the truth he hadn’t spoken but you’d felt all the same.

The next morning you woke up to the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the windows. But you’d barely slept - everytime you closed your eyes, you saw him. Not because you loved him like that. Nope. But he was one of your best friends, you adored him. And it hurt to see him so vulnerable and not knowing how to help.

Felix, blissfully unaware, pressed lazy kisses on the back of your neck, mumbling a ‘good morning’ and a promise of pancakes, his warmth anchoring you even as your heart churned.

Now, the four of you were gathered in the kitchen, Felix making you those pancakes. Jennie was velcroed to Hyunjin’s side as he tried to pour coffee, babbling about how cute he looked in flannel pajamas. Hyunjin’s face was a masterclass in barely concealed misery, his jaw tight, his eyes screaming 'send help’.

You glanced at your friend, feeling sorry for her. Jennie was sweet, but her oblivious obsession with Hyunjin was painful to watch - especially knowing that he was drowning in it. And Hyunjin looked like he’d rather be mauled by a bear than endure another second of her cooing.

Hyunjin’s hand froze mid-pour at something Jennie said (that sounded suspiciously like ‘couple spa’). The coffee splashed onto the counter and Hyunjin quickly put the put down and reached for some paper towels, dabbing the coffee with them. His eyes met you, a fleeting plea, and something in you snapped.

Before you could stop yourself, you swooped in, inserting yourself between them like a human shield.

“Jen, did you see the view outside? It’s, like, insane with all the snow!” you blurted, your voice a touch too loud. You grabbed her arm, gently but firmly tugging her toward the window. “Come look!”

Jennie laughed, completely missing the rescue mission you’d just executed.

“Oh my God, you’re right, it’s so pretty!” she squealed, bouncing over to the glass.

Hyunjin exhaled, his shoulders sagging with relief. He gave you a gentle nod, which you returned, but that moment was cut short as your eyes fell on Felix.

He was watching with a curious look on his face. His head tilted, one brow raised, his freckled face sporting a look that said, What was that about?

He was leaning against the counter, a spatula in one hand, his gaze was pinning you in place, and guilt prickled your skin. You moved fast, practically diving across the kitchen to him.

“Babe, those pancakes smell unreal,” you said, slid your arms around his neck. He grinned, an arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Trying to distract me, love?” he teased, his voice low, that Aussie drawl making your toes curl. His thumb brushed under the hem of your sweater, and he leaned in, lips grazing your ear. “What’s with the hero act, hm?”

Your heart skipped, but you played it off, laughing as you looped your arms tighter around him.

“Just saving Jennie from embarrassing herself,” you whispered, hoping it sounded convincing. “She’s… a lot this morning.”

Felix chuckled, but his eyes flicked to Hyunjin, who was now rinsing his coffee mug with the focus of a man trying to build a spaceship.

“Mm-hm,” Felix hummed, not entirely sold but too smitten to press it. He kissed your jaw, then your lips, slow and sweet.

You melted into him, relief flooding you as his warmth grounded you.

“I love you,” you murmured, meaning it, even as Hyunjin’s presence burned at the edge of your vision.

---

As the day went on, Jennie was literally unstoppable. You all were on a hike through the snowy trails, and Jennie was at it again, linking arms with Hyunjin and gushing about how “romantic” the forest was. Hyunjin looked like he was plotting to sacrifice himself to the wolves at this point, his steps slowing like he was physically resisting her touch.

You sighed, stepping closer to Jennie, pointing at a random tree.

“Jen, look at that! Is that a pine or a fir? You’re good at this stuff, right?” It was nonsense, but it worked - Jennie lit up, dancing over to take a look and explaining to you why it was likely a pine.

Felix noticed again, his sharp eyes flicking from you to Hyunjin as you all trudged back to the cabin. He wasn’t jealous - Felix was too secure when it came to you and Hyunjin. His love for you both was as solid as the mountains around you. But he was confused, and that was worse.

---

The final straw was watching Jennie trying so hard to get Hyunjin to go with her to the spa, and Hyunjin literally faking a stomach ache. Jennie pouted and stomped her feet, but then decided to treat herself to the resort’s lavender massage.

But the second the door clicked shut, the air in the cabin shifted. Felix’s easygoing vibe vanished, replaced by a laser-focused intensity that made your stomach knot.

He herded you and Hyunjin into the kitchen, the rustic space - wooden counters and the snowy view through the window did nothing to calm the storm that was brewing. Felix leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his freckled face set in a rare serious mode. His flannel was rolled up to his elbows, and even in crisis, you couldn’t help noticing how stupidly hot he looked.

Focus, damn it.

“Right,” Felix started, his accent sharp. “What the fuck is going on?” His eyes flicked between you and Hyunjin, who was gripping a dish towel like it was his lifeline. “You two have been weird all day. Dancing around Jennie, the sneaky looks - so, spill.”

Your heart plummeted. Hyunjin’s eyes widened, and for a split second, you both froze, like deer caught in headlights. Then, chaos erupted.

“It’s not what you think!” you blurted, just as Hyunjin stammered, “I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

Your words collided, a jumbled mess, and you both kept going, talking over each other.

“I was just trying to help him because Jennie’s been insane -” you said, waving your hands.

“I swear I didn't mean to -” Hyunjin cut in, his voice pitching higher.

“ - and last night he was so upset, when I saw him sleeping on the sofa, but it wasn’t like that -”

“- I fucked up, okay, but I wasn’t trying to make a move -”

“- he’s your best friend, I’d never do that to you -”

“- it’s my fault, not hers, she was just being nice!”

Felix’s mouth fell open, his eyes darting between you like he was watching a ping-pong match. He held up a hand, but you were too deep in the panic spiral to stop.

“I didn’t know how to tell you -” you said, at the same time Hyunjin groaned, “I tried to keep it together, but -”

“ENOUGH!” Felix finally shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. You and Hyunjin froze mid-sentence, you with your hands in the air, Hyunjin clutching the dish towel to his chest.

Felix’s eyes zeroed in on Hyunjin, narrowing. “Hyune. What. Did. You. Do?”

Hyunjin swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I… might’ve… caught feelings,” he mumbled, so quiet it was barely audible. But it was enough.

Felix’s jaw dropped. “HYUNJIN! YOU WHAT?!” He stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger. “Y/N?! SHE’S MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU ASSHOLE!”

“I DIDN’T DO IT ON PURPOSE!” Hyunjin yelled back, throwing the dish towel onto the counter like it was a grenade. “You think I wanted to fall for her? She’s your girl, I know that! I’ve been trying to deal with it, but Jennie’s driving me up the wall, and she -” He gestured wildly at you, “- keeps being so damn perfect, and I fucked up, okay? I didn't mean to kiss her hand last night, ok, and I shouldn’t have, but -”

“Hyunjin, stop -” You flailed as he went on with his panic induced verbal diarrhea.

“You KISSED her hand?!” Felix’s voice hit a pitch you didn’t know he could reach, his hands flying to his hair. He turned to you, eyes wide. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how!” you said, your voice cracking. “It was just my knuckles, and I was shocked, and I love you, Felix, you know that! I was just worried about him because he was a mess, and Jennie’s been so clingy, and I didn’t want to make it worse!”

Felix blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, rubbing his temples. “My best mate’s in love with my girlfriend, you’re playing superhero to keep Jennie off him, and nobody thought to just say something?”

Hyunjin groaned, slumping against the counter.

“It’s not like I was gonna do anything about it. I know she’s yours. I’m not that guy.”

“Then why the hand-kissing, huh?” Felix shot back, but there was a glint in his eye now, like he was teetering between pissed and finding this absurdly funny. “What’s next, writing her poetry? Serenading her outside the bedroom window?”

“It was a moment of weakness!” Hyunjin said, throwing his hands up. “I was emotional, she was there, and her hands are really soft, okay?”

You choked, torn between mortification and laughter. “Hyunjin, stop talking!”

Felix turned to you, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “And you! Why didn’t you tell me my best friend was having a crisis over you?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you!” you said, stepping closer to him, your voice softening. “And I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. I just wanted to help him. I love you, Felix. You’re my everything.”

Felix’s face softened, but he still looked like he was processing the world’s dumbest plot twist. He sighed, pulling you into his arms, his chin resting on your head. “I know you do, love. But this -” He gestured vaguely at Hyunjin, who was now staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole, “- is a mess.”

“No shit,” Hyunjin muttered, rubbing his face. “I’m sorry, Lix. I didn’t want this to blow up. I was gonna deal with it quietly, but being here, and everything… it fucked with my head.”

Felix snorted, his anger deflating into something closer to disbelief. “You’re lucky you’re my best mate, or I’d be throwing you into the snow right now.” He tightened his hold on you, his lips brushing your temple. “And you, stop being so damn heroic. You’re too cute for your own good.”

You laughed, the tension breaking like a dam. “I’m sorry, babe. I just… I saw him suffering.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gonna suffer more if he pulls that hand-kissing shit again,” Felix said, shooting Hyunjin a mock glare. Hyunjin raised his hands in surrender.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, his voice low. “I’ll back off. I promise. I just… need some time to sort myself out.”

Felix nodded, his expression softening. “Take all the time you need, mate. Just…talk to me, yeah?”

Hyunjin managed a weak smile. “Deal.”

“So… what do we do about this Jennie situation?” Felix asked, and Hyunjin sighed, because he knew what was the right thing to do.

The resort had such a beautiful restaurant. But dinner had been a stressful event. And right after dessert, you and Felix had slipped away, giving Hyunjin and Jennie some space.

Well, the restaurant’s cozy ambiance was about to be obliterated. Hyunjin had steeled himself, the words coming out haltingly but firm: “Jennie, you're one of my closest friends and you are an amazing person. I know you like me. I am honored, really…but… I don’t feel the same way, and I can’t keep pretending. I’m so sorry.”

Jennie froze, her eyes wide, the candlelight flickering across her beautiful stunned face. For one blissful second, Hyunjin thought she might take it gracefully. Then her expression crumpled, and she stormed out, her heels clicking furiously against the wooden floor. Hyunjin cursed under his breath, chasing after her, knowing this was about to go from bad to catastrophic.

Outside, you and Felix were still tangled in a kiss, your back pressed against a pine tree. His lips were moving down your neck, his hands starting to wander -

“YOU!” Jennie’s shriek sliced through the night like a siren. You and Felix broke apart, startled, as she barreled toward you, her eyes blazing with betrayal. Before you could process, her hands grabbed the front of your dress, yanking you forward with surprising strength.

“Jennie, what the -” you yelped, stumbling as Felix instinctively stepped in front of you, his hands on Jennie’s wrists, trying to gently pry her off.

“You stole him!” Jennie screamed, her voice echoing off the snowy pines. “Hyunjin loved me, we were good, and you stole him, you sneaky little -”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” you shouted, your own temper flaring as you tried to wrench your dress free. “I didn’t steal anyone! What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin skidded to a stop behind Jennie, his face a mix of panic and guilt. “Jennie, stop! This isn’t her fault!” he yelled, grabbing her shoulders to pull her back, but she was a whirlwind, her hands still clawing at your dress.

“You think I didn’t see you?” Jennie snapped, her voice shrill as she glared at you. “All the those times you just came in between us, batting your eyes at him, acting all sweet while I was trying to make this work! He was mine!”

“I didn’t bat my eyes!” you shot back, your voice rising over hers. “I was trying to help him because you were suffocating him! He doesn’t -”

“Don’t you dare say it!” she screeched, tugging harder, and a seam in your dress made an ominous ripping sound. Felix’s eyes widened, and he doubled down, his voice firm but calm.

“Jennie, let go of her now,” Felix said, his deep voice cutting through the chaos as he finally pulled her hands off you. “This is not how we sort this out.”

Hyunjin was still behind Jennie, his hands on her shoulders, trying to steer her away.

“Jennie, listen to me,” he pleaded. “I told you, it’s not her. It’s me. I don’t feel the same way, and I should’ve been honest sooner. I’m sorry, but this has nothing to do with her!”

Jennie wasn’t hearing it. She was a tornado of hurt and fury, her voice overlapping with yours as you both shouted over each other.

“You’re lying!” she yelled. “She’s been throwing herself at you, and you fell for it!”

“I love Felix!” you shouted, pointing at your boyfriend, who was now holding Jennie at arm’s length like she was a feral cat. “I don’t want Hyunjin! I was just being a friend!”

Felix, caught in the middle, looked like he was regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

“Can everyone just chill for a second?” he yelled, his voice carrying over the shouting. “Jennie, you’re out of line. Hyunjin, back me up here!”

“I’m trying!” Hyunjin snapped, finally pulling Jennie back a few steps, though she was still flailing, her eyes locked on you like you were the villain in her story. “Jennie, I swear, it’s not her fault. I don’t love you. I never did. I tried to go with it, but I can’t force it.”

That stopped her cold. Her struggling slowed, her face crumbling as the words sank in. The air went still. You stood there, your dress slightly torn, your chest heaving, Felix’s hands protectively around your waist. Hyunjin’s hands dropped from Jennie’s shoulders, looking guilty.

Jennie’s eyes filled with tears, and she took a shaky step back. “You… you really don’t like me?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Hyunjin shook his head, his voice soft but firm. “I’m sorry, Jennie. I don’t. You deserve someone who does.”

She stared at him, then at you, then back at him, her lip trembling. For a moment, you thought she might scream again, but instead, she turned and stumbled toward the cabin. Hyunjin hesitated, then started after her, but Felix held up a hand.

“Let her go, mate,” Felix said quietly. “She needs space.”

Hyunjin nodded, his shoulders sagging. You sighed, your heart a tangled mess, and leaned into Felix, who held you tightly against his chest, his lips brushing your forehead.

“You okay, love?” he murmured, his voice warm despite the chaos. “Your dress took a beating.”

You laughed, shaky but genuine, glancing at the ripped seam. “Yeah, well... She thought I stole him? Me?”

“She’s hurt. People say dumb shit when they’re hurt.” Felix glanced at Hyunjin, who was staring at the snow like it held the answers to the universe. “You good, Hyune?”

Hyunjin exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. “No. But I will be.”

Felix squeezed your hand, his lips quirking into a smile. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.” He shot Hyunjin a look, half-teasing, half-warning. “And you - stay out of trouble for five minutes, yeah?”

Hyunjin managed a weak smile. “No promises.”

The cabin was quiet, the aftermath of Jennie’s restaurant meltdown hanging like smoke in the air. Felix had guided you back inside, his hand warm as he told you that you did nothing wrong. But your mind was on Jennie - her tears, her wild accusations. You couldn’t let it fester.

Slipping away from Felix, who was now sprawled on the couch with a beer, you headed to Jennie’s room. You knocked softly and pushed the door open.

Jennie was on the bed, legs crossed, texting furiously. No tears, no sobs, just her manicured nails flying over her phone screen. She glanced up, her eyes dry but tired, and sighed. “Is that dress ruined beyond repair?”

You blinked, caught off guard by her casual tone. You glanced down at the torn seam, the fabric gaping where she’d grabbed you.

“Kinda,” you said, shrugging. “Might need a miracle.”

She patted the bed beside her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Sit.”

You hesitated, then sank onto the mattress, the plush bedding sinking under you. The room was a mirror of yours - furry blankets, a window framing the snowy mountains - but the vibe was all Jennie: scattered makeup and a half-empty wine glass.

“I texted Jay,” she said, not looking up from her phone. “He’s coming to pick me up.”

You stared at her, your brain short-circuiting. Jay? Her on and off fling from back home?

“Wait, what? You’re leaving?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

Jennie set her phone down, finally meeting your eyes. She looked… fine. Annoyingly fine.

“Don’t do that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That blank stare thing. What should I do, mope about someone who doesn’t want me?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, floored by her resilience.

“No, no, you shouldn’t,” you said, shaking your head. “But… I mean, you were so upset. I thought -”

“Yeah, I was,” she admitted, leaning back against the headboard. “I liked Hyunjin. A lot. But I’m not an idiot. I knew he didn’t feel the same. I saw the way he looked at you.” She paused, her voice softening. “He never looked at me like that. Not once.”

Your heart sank as you said, “Jennie, I didn’t -”

“I know,” she cut you off, waving a hand. “You didn’t do anything. You’re all wrapped up in Felix - you guys are too perfect. But Hyunjin… I thought maybe if I tried hard enough, I could save him from the heartbreak. You know, keep him distracted. But he’s too far gone for you.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. That was Jennie - always three steps ahead, already plotting her next move while you were still reeling.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mean to make things messy. I was just trying to help him, not… lead him on.”

Jennie snorted, a spark of her usual fire returning.

“Oh, please. You didn’t lead him on. You’re just you, and apparently that’s enough to make guys fall apart.” She smirked, but there was no malice in it. “Hyunjin isn't my first rodeo, and he won’t be my last. Jay’s got a Jeep and a cute smile, so I’m good.”

You laughed, despite yourself, the tension easing. “You’re… something else, Jen.”

“Damn right,” she said, winking. She picked up her phone again, her fingers hovering over the screen. “I’m leaving tonight. No point dragging this out. But you -” she pointed at you, “- better figure out what’s going on with your little love triangle. Felix is chill, but Hyunjin’s not.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

“Ahhh to be loved by all the perfect men,” Jennie said, her tone teasing but kind. She reached over, squeezing your hand briefly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t let Felix catch you playing hero for Hyunjin again.”

You chuckled, the weight of the day lifting slightly. Jennie was already moving on, her heart bruised but not broken, her sights set on the next adventure. That was Jennie - somehow always landing on her feet.

---

Jennie was packing her bags in her room, her usual whirlwind energy slightly subdued but not gone, while you, Felix, and Hyunjin lingered in the living room, the silence heavy.

The rumble of a Jeep outside broke the tension. Jennie emerged from her room, her suitcase in tow, her face a carefully constructed mask of nonchalance. She’d swapped her dress for a cozy sweater and jeans, but she looked as flawless as ever. Classic Jennie.

She stopped in front of you, her eyes softening. She let go of her suitcase to pull you into a tight hug. “I’m really sorry about ripping your dress. I was… a lot.”

You hugged her back, surprised by the lump in your throat. “It’s okay, Jen. It’s just a dress. You sure you’re alright?”

She pulled back, flashing a wry smile. “I’ll live.”

Her tone was light, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt. She turned to Felix, who stood to meet her, his freckled grin warm. She hugged him, her arms lingering a beat too long.

“Take care of them, okay? They’re trouble monkeys.”

Felix chuckled, squeezing her back. “Don’t I know it. Safe travels, Jen.”

Then came Hyunjin. Jennie stepped toward him, and he just looked defeated. She studied him for a moment, then pulled him into a hug, her voice dropping to a soft, affectionate tone. “You’re so sweet, Hyunjin. But such an idiot.”

Hyunjin let out a shaky laugh, his arms wrapping around her briefly. “I’m sorry, Jennie. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She pulled back, poking his chest. “Yeah, well, next time, don’t try to force something that’s not there. You deserve better than that. So do I.” Her words were kind but pointed, and you saw the crack in her armor - the hurt she was hiding behind her bravado. Jennie was tougher than she let on, but she wasn’t bulletproof.

With one last wave, she grabbed her suitcase and headed out to Jay’s Jeep, her silhouette disappearing into the snowy night.

Three of you stood in silence for a moment, before you eyed Felix and he nodded before putting an arm around Hyunjin.

“How about a movie, just the two of us?” he asked, steering Hyunjin towards the kitchen to grab beers.

“What? No no, please you planned this trip to spend time with her -”

“I'm sure she'll survive one night without sex.” Felix said with a grin, and you swat him on the head like he was a fly.

“Jinnie, I swear I need some peace and quiet tonight. So please, you're doing me a favor.” you said, grabbing your own snacks and drink and heading towards the bedroom.

“Are you sure?” He wasn't convinced.

“Yeahhh, goodnight boys!”

Felix dragged him off to the sofa.

“Come onnnn, what are we watching?”

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @sammhisphere @soona-huh @princesskrystix @thecutiepieme

#stray kids #skz #lee felix x reader #lee felix x y/n #lee felix x you #lee felix fluff #lee felix angst #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #hyunlix fluff #hyunlix angst #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff

133 notes · View notes

martygraciesversion381 · 20 hours ago

Text

BACK TO FRIENDS

lando norris x piastri!reader

warnings: angst, feelings, oscar being the best brother ever, lando acting like a bitch, suggestive talk, again i am deeply sorry

summary: you're Oscar Piastri's little sister and you and Lando always hated each other. So how did you end up in this weird situation with him? That's what you're asking yourself too

song: back to friends by sombr

a/n: I'm so sorry again. I can't really write long things I just got so much going on in my life right now and i'm still trying to improve my writing hope you guys understand

COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!

requests[closed for now]

masterlist

series masterlist

The Abu Dhabi grand prix atmosphere felt like it was out of a fayritale. People were happy, cheering for their favourite drivers and this race, with the constructor battle between ferrari and mclaren it was even more exciting.

You felt numb though, standing in your hotel room. To say that Lando's words in Vegas had complitely destroyed you was an understatement. Oscar spent more than a week to try and get you out of your apartment, he didn't know what could happen during winter break.

You put on a shirt with your brother's number on its back, making sure that everyone, Lando included, knew that you were only there for Oscar.

The walk to the garage was the worst walk of your life since you knew that in a matter of time you'd be seeing Lando's face again, the one that you had been able to avoid but not anymore.

He spotted you when you arrived, a smile made its way on his face and he made his way over to you.

"Hey! How are you? Haven't seen you since Vegas everything good?"

Why was he acting like nothing happened? What the fuck was wrong with him? You put on a smile, only for the hundred of cameras watching you.

"I'm good"

"Cool, perfect...I'll see you later yeah?" he asked and you nodded even if you had no intention of seeing him again.

You walked over to Oscar who had been watching your interaction.

"What did he want?" he asked clearly in his protective older brother mood.

"Nothing...was acting weird like nothing happened."

"What an asshole...you deserve so much better sis"

______________________________________________________________

Lando won, he fucking won. Which meant that mclaren won the constructors! You weren't happy for him, you were happy for the team, or at least that's what you were telling yourself.

He was glowing when he lifted his trophy and even more when the team sprayed him and your brother with champagne. How could this cheerful and handsome guy have said such horrible things to you?

When Oscar spotted you, reality hit you all at once. You were there for him, he invited you, he was smiling at you. Not Lando but your brother, the one who in all of this mess was your rock, the only sure thing you had.

It was 1am, when you heard a knock on your hotel room door. You opened it to find a drunk Lando standing there.

"Gimme head" he said and walked past you into your room.

"What the heck?"

"I said gimme head...c'mon I won t'day and you're my good girl aren't you?"

"Land you're drunk and just so you remember you ended things. So go find a random bitch who will give you head because I won't do it" you said firmly.

"You girls're all the same...only care 'bout you needs never givin' head to winners"

"And you boys all act like immature children. Now get out of my room before I call someone to kick you out."

Lando stood up muttering something about "stupid girl who doesn't deserve love" and walked past you making his was back to his room. The door slammed shut and you slid to the floor.

God, what the fuck was wrong with that man?

tagglist:

@cinderellawithashoe @itzzgillianj27 @motorsportbarbie13 @gorgeusreputation16 @swiftlyconehead @g00d--vibes @linnygirl09 @itsleslie1998 @rd14 @safeplaceholland @f1fantasys @rendezvoushn @lilorose25 @softhyunieeee @powerlinevallies @imboredway2much @joannaln4 @mckalala @ln4girlie @charlesgirl16 @graceln4 @mimisweetz @lavande3 @wilmonyibo7 @ks001 @ayap4paya @jule239 @urmomsgirlfriend1

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #lando norris fanfic #lando norris angst #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x reader #ln4 angst #ln4 imagine

128 notes · View notes

akunemayo · 2 days ago

Text

just one day│pt 2│flirting with an idol

fic masterlist

pairing: yoongi x reader

content warnings: angst, jealousy, alcohol, inaccurate BTS lore (i agonized over the timelines on this), cursing, y/n is explicitly referred to as female

notes: a scene from this chapter is based off yoongi's rap verse in 'embarrassment' from dark&wild! can you spot it? i also headcanon that y/n is the little female voice that says "yoongi-ah" during yoongi's rap verse at the beginning of 'just one day' because i'm clinically insane <3

words: 4.4k

June 2013 (Debut)

It had been over a year since you've spoken to Yoongi. After that last, disastrous day at the apartment, you never returned. The other boys were confused and hurt, but they were busy preparing to debut. Seokjin knew something was off with you, and once he saw Yoongi moping around as well, he'd put two and two together and realized something had happened between you two.

"We're officially debuting on the 13th," Seokjin told you over the phone.

"Really? Congratulations!"

"We'll be celebrating that night. Want to join us?"

"I don't know… I'm kind of busy," you said reluctantly.

Seokjin sighed. "Come on, Y/N. I'm debuting. Show up for once, okay? Whatever happened between you and Yoongi can't be that bad."

"You don't know what happened," you replied morosely. "Maybe it's Yoongi who doesn't want me there."

There was a long silence, before Seokjin said, "I think you're wrong."

It was the evening of the 13th, and something had possessed you to get ready and come to the dorm.

After you'd hung up on Seokjin a few days ago, you'd sat there thinking about it. The past year had been rough—not only because university had started to really pick up, but also because it had been harder than you thought to stay away from Yoongi and the other Bangtan boys. You saw Seokjin decently often, of course, but you avoided the dorm, and the other boys ended up caught in the crossfire.

You had to admit, you missed them.

Even before opening the door to the rooftop, you could hear them talking and laughing raucously. They were clustered around a folding table, grilling meat on a camp stove. You felt more nervous than you had in months, and kept your eyes lowered as you slid into a plastic folding chair next to Seokjin.

"It's been a while, Y/N," Hoseok said, trying to include you in the conversation. "How has college been?"

You smiled at him gratefully. "It's fine, I guess. A little busy."

"Definitely," Taehyung interrupted. "We haven't seen you in forever!"

"Ages," Jimin chimed in. He, like Jungkook, was still shy around you, but debuting had loosened all of them up a little. They were all chattering, flush with relief and triumph, except for Yoongi, who was as calm and collected as ever. You noticed he'd lost a lot of weight, which was concerning, and his features were sharper than ever, emphasized by his clear, pale skin. He glanced up when you sat—you noticed someone had put eyeliner on him—but he quickly flicked his eyes away, as if unable to even look at you.

A pang of hurt shot through you. For some reason, even though you'd explicitly heard him say he didn't want you around, you'd thought it might be different this time. You rose hurriedly, excusing yourself to use the bathroom.

"Hey, Yoongi, it's going to burn." Jin pointed at the piece of meat that Yoongi had put on the grill.

Yoongi was staring at the rooftop door where you'd left. "What?"

"Your pork belly. It's burning."

He shook his head as if clearing his head. "You're right. I should go talk to her."

"Huh? Are you eating this or not?"

Yoongi shook his head. "You can have it," he replied, getting up so quickly his folding chair folded up and toppled over.

Jin looked around, his face matching the puzzled expressions around the table. " What's with him?"

After you'd washed your hands—and splashed some water on your face, while willing yourself to get it together—you came out, only to find Yoongi waiting on the stairs. Feeling surprised and more than a little uneasy, you took a step back. "Oh… um… do you have to use the bathroom?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you," he admitted, avoiding your gaze. "Sorry. I hope you don't think I'm creepy for waiting for you here."

You shifted from one foot to another, feeling awkward. "It's okay."

Yoongi bit the bullet. "So… uh… I don't know if you remember, but the last time you were over at the dorm you might have overheard me and Namjoon talking about something."

"Yeah."

"When I said that I wished you'd stay away, I didn't mean it like that." Yoongi bit his lip. "I like having you around. And I'm sorry if I hurt you."

You waved his words away. "It did hurt me," you admitted. "But it's my own fault for eavesdropping. You don't have anything to apologize for."

He exhaled, relieved. "So… we're good now?"

"We're good now." You smiled at him, feeling some weight lift off your chest. "

Walking back up to the rooftop with you, Yoongi was trying not to notice several things. He was trying not to notice the perfume you were wearing, and how it smelled like flowers and clean laundry. He was definitely trying not to notice the form fitting shirt and jeans you were wearing, and the way they clung to you. And, probably most importantly, he was really, really trying not to notice the knowing looks Namjoon was giving him.

"Here, Y/N. I made you a plate." Hoseok handed you a heaping plate of rice, meat, kimchi, and vegetables. "I didn't know for sure which you liked, so I put a little bit of everything."

You beamed at him. "Wow, thanks."

Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek. It was a perfectly kind, thoughtful gesture on Hoseok's part—but something about it irked him. He tamped down his irritation, tuning back in.

"I actually haven't seen the debut video," you were saying.

"You have to see it now," Taehyung insisted. He jumped up. "I can get Jimin's laptop and play it for you!"

"I can show her," Yoongi interrupted. "Here. Come on." He handed you a spoon and chopsticks, to go with the plate. Taehyung went to protest, but Namjoon kicked his shin.

You glanced at him, a little confused. "Okay…"

As you were following him back down the stairs to the apartment, you wobbled precariously, almost tripping and dropping your precious cargo. Yoongi steadied you in the nick of time, wrapping an arm around your waist. His fingers where they rested on your hip were a little cold, and you felt hyper-aware of each one through the thin fabric of your jeans.

You shivered, and he dropped his arm, suddenly aware of your proximity.

"Sorry," he murmured. He punched in the door code, and held it open for you. "Ladies first."

"Thanks." The apartment was eerily quiet with all the boys gone. The thought that you and Yoongi were completely alone here, together, drifted through your mind.

Yoongi led you into the bedroom. His bed, one of the bottom bunks, had MIDI equipment scattered all over it. A cheap keyboard piano took up most of the space, and wires snaked everywhere, plugging into an old laptop. Carefully, he cleared some space for you to sit. "Sorry it's a little messy."

You raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine with it, but I'm not sure where you're supposed to sleep." You sat down next to him, pulling your knees up to take up as little room as necessary.

"I don't really sleep," he replied candidly, flicking some hair out of his eyes. Yoongi flipped the laptop open. "Here's the video of our debut performance."

"Wow." Your eyes widened. "That's Jungkook? Hang on… that's you?"

"Yep. Bang Si-hyuk PD had us styled and everything," Yoongi said, a trifle proudly.

"Oh my god." You leaned forward as Jimin did a flip over Hoseok on the screen.

"I helped write the songs," he boasted.

Shocked at the difference in the boys you knew and the ones you were watching, you asked, "Weren't you nervous?"

"Super nervous," Yoongi admitted.

"You don't look like it at all. You all look so confident." You rewound the video back to Jungkook's hat trick. "Especially Jungkook. Wow. I can barely recognize you guys."

Yoongi looked a little abashed. "Thanks."

"Am I still allowed to hang out with you?" you teased. "Now that you're a bigshot celebrity and all."

He laughed. "Celebrity, maybe, but I don't know about bigshot…"

Yoongi met your eyes and realized that you were much closer than he'd thought. Barely an inch of space stood between you two. This close, he could see faint freckles scattered across the bridge of your nose, even count individual eyelashes if he looked closely enough.

You were frozen to the spot, newly aware of Yoongi's proximity. The look in his eyes was something unfamiliar, and strangely intoxicating. It made you want to lean in.

The moment shattered when someone threw the door open.

"Hey, we're about to cut the cake… oh." As the door opened, you'd flinched away from each other, but apparently not quickly enough. Hoseok backed away awkwardly. "Sorry."

The door closed behind him, but the spell was broken. Yoongi was blushing furiously, looking anywhere but at you. Fueled by mortified energy, you leapt up. "Cake sounds good to me." And before he could say anything, you were already running out of the apartment and up the stairs.

Bonus…

Hoseok cornered him later. "So, want to explain what that was?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yoongi mumbled.

"Is that how it is?" Hoseok raised his eyebrows. Normally easygoing and cheerful, the seriousness of his tone surprised Yoongi. "Be careful, hyung. I don't think it's a good choice."

Yoongi sighed. "Believe me, I know." He glanced over to you, where you were laughing, trying to learn some choreography from Jimin. "I keep telling myself that."

August 2013 (2 months after debut)

"How have you never finished Home Alone?" You stared at Yoongi, aghast.

He shrugged. "Dunno. I thought it was kinda boring."

"We're watching it again." You opened Yoongi's laptop, on the (neat!) bed that Yoongi had cleared specially for you. Although Yoongi had been getting busier and busier, the two of you had started spending every spare moment together—messing around and playing music, watching movies, or just laying around talking.

The two of you had become closer than you'd ever thought possible. There was something you just understood about him—the fear and strength he hid behind a facade of gruff uncaring; the care and love that shined through in everything he did for all the other Bangtan boys—it was like you didn't need any translation to know what he thought. And for his part, he came to slowly understand your quiet dreams of becoming a music teacher; your worries about choosing your dreams over something more "realistic"; and your thoughtful attention to those you loved, as well. His sense of dry, deadpan humor matched so well with yours that he could make you burst out laughing with just a look—in a word, it was addictive being around him.

That day the summer heat was out in full force even in the evening, cicadas chirping in the warm humid air. As the movie played, you grew drowsier and drowsier as the heat, the familiar sounds coming from the tinny laptop speaker, and the rhythmic wheezing sounds of an old fan lulled you to sleep. Slowly, you nodded off, and your head dropped onto Yoongi's shoulder.

He froze in place, hardly daring to breathe as the fan blew strands of your hair around, wafting the floral scent of your perfume towards him. Gradually, creakily, it rotated away from you two, and he relaxed ever so slightly.

In that moment, however, you mumbled in your sleep and shifted closer to him until you were practically on his lap, nestling your face into his neck.

Yoongi's mind blanked completely. He could feel your warm breath ghosting against his neck, your arms wrapped around him, and your legs thrown over his lap. Carefully, agonizingly, he inched his arm up, wrapping it around you and pulling you closer.

You responded with a contented sigh, melting into him, and something fluttered in his stomach.

It was some time—he had no idea how long—before he finally regained any semblance of rational thought, and the first thing he could think was, shit. Fuck.

He was in love with you. He was in love with you, and he was an idol under a dating ban. He was in love with his best friend's little sister, and even as he repeated these reasons why he absolutely couldn't fall for you over and over in his head, they were losing their power. Reality, rationality—they were fading away to white noise as he sat there holding you in his arms. He was starting to fall asleep too, relaxing slowly under your weight.

The movie, which had been running, came to the home invasion scene. One of the bandits screamed, and you snapped awake, only to find yourself sitting in Yoongi's lap, cuddled up against him.

"Oh!" You lifted your head from where it was resting against his shoulder, already starting to blush furiously.

"You awake?" Yoongi murmured, his voice low and husky with sleep. Lazily, he patted your head, gently guiding it back to his shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

Flustered and confused, you settled against him again. "Yoongi…"

"Mm?"

You couldn't find the words to say—your groggy brain was rolling through a continuous loop of confused protests. His cologne smelled good; like something citrusy, and the ocean, and finally, your sleepy coziness won out, and you slipped back into sleep.

Namjoon opened the door later, returning from the studio. He took in the scene without much surprise—it was pretty obvious to everyone except you and Yoongi (and maybe Seokjin) where things had been heading.

He cleared his throat loudly and dropped his bag on the floor. When that didn't do it, he left the room, slamming the door as he went.

It was the slam that finally woke you two. Yoongi suddenly found himself laying in bed, with you snuggled safely in his arms. The sky outside was starting to darken, and he panicked. The other Bangtan boys—including your brother Seokjin!—could come back at any moment, and find him in bed with you.

He tried to ease his arm out from under you, but your eyes fluttered open, and met his. Mortified horror and confusion warred in your head, and you suddenly realized you were still laying on him.

Face burning, you sat up. "Wow, it's already getting dark."

Yoongi cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Avoiding each other's eyes, you both scrambled out of bed and hurried to fix wrinkled clothes and messy hair. Yoongi held the bedroom door open for you, as usual, and you squinted against the light of the living room. Namjoon was sitting on the couch reading.

You shuffled awkwardly over to sit next to him. "What're you reading?"

He held it up to show you the cover. "Kafka on the Shore. It's pretty good."

"I liked it too," you replied quietly. Yoongi was moving things around in the fridge—you could almost hear him trying to work off his embarrassment with quick, impatient movements.

"I went into the room to drop off my bag earlier," Namjoon said, carefully neutral.

Flustered, you couldn't make eye contact with him. "Oh."

"I won't tell Seokjin-hyung, if you're worried about that." He looked at you, not unkindly. "If you want my advice… well." He smiled, a little self-consciously. "I won't assume you want it. Just be careful."

"Careful?" You frowned. "You mean… around Yoongi? Or with my brother?"

"With your heart. Love always takes work… but some relationships take more work than others."

"Oh—no, I don't… it's not… Yoongi and I aren't—" you stammered.

Namjoon shrugged. "I don't know anything about it, and I won't say I do. It's not really my business."

You squinted at him. "You're kinda wise. They gave you such a weird hairstyle for someone so wise."

He grinned, running his fingers over the 'RM' shaved into the side of his head. "Hip-hop warrior by day, philosopher by night. What can I say?"

"Thanks for looking out for me, Namjoon," you told him. "I'll think about what you've said."

"That's all I ask." He returned to his book, and you sat in thought.

After you'd gone home, Yoongi went back into the bedroom, thinking to put back some of the MIDI equipment he'd moved off the bed. He spotted Namjoon's bag by the door—a bag that hadn't been there before he'd woken earlier.

Frantically, he searched his memory, trying to remember if it had been there when you had left the room with him earlier. Had Namjoon… come into the room while you two had been sleeping?

Namjoon cleared his throat from behind him. "Yoongi-hyung."

Yoongi's heart jumped. He turned around like he was facing a firing squad. "Did you… were you…" "I saw," Namjoon said gently.

Yoongi's knees folded, and he plopped down onto his unusually clean bed. "Oh."

"It's alright, hyung. Only…" Namjoon sat down on his own bunk, across from him. "I'm just worried there's a lot in the way, if you want to pursue her." He frowned. "Or if you've succeeded."

"No, no—we never… we didn't do anything. Just fell asleep. Near each other. I don't think she even likes me like that…" Yoongi trailed off, realizing he was babbling. "Uh, anyways. I know."

"I think you guys are pretty good together to be honest," Namjoon admitted. "It's just that I don't want to see either of you struggle." He sighed. "To be really honest, I think she likes you too."

"I don't know if that matters." Yoongi bit his lip. "Or at least, not as much as everything else."

Bonus…

Namjoon left him alone, and Yoongi lay there in bed, taking advantage of the privacy to replay his memories of earlier. He felt a little guilty, like he was fantasizing about you behind your back—but no, he told himself firmly, he was only remembering what had happened.

In his head, he savoured every moment, especially that one fuzzy moment, where, half asleep, he'd heard you call him Yoongi—no "oppa", no distance between you two. Eventually, he fell asleep like that, thinking of how right, how intimate and familiar, his name had sounded in your voice.

November 2013 (5 months after debut, first award show win)

You were back on the apartment rooftop. The boys were all flush with triumph and gratitude, hopped up on barbecue—which they rarely splurged on—and cheap soju, for those above the drinking age.

Namjoon brandished the glass trophy they'd won that night at the Melon Music show. "First award," he declared. "The start of many more!"

"I can't believe we won it." Jimin was still emotional, sniffling a little. "I can't believe I even debuted. Someone pinch me!"

Jungkook duly pinched him.

"Ow! Not that hard!"

"You asked me to, hyung…"

Looking over at Yoongi, you could tell he was feeling sentimental too, and trying hard to hide it. You smiled softly at him. "You really made it, huh? Now you're a bigshot celebrity."

He grinned back at you. "I guess I kind of am… I can't believe so many people like our music." Glancing down to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes, he added softly, "I can't believe so many people like my music."

"I never doubted you," you replied. "I knew you would make it."

"What about me?" Seokjin reached past you to grab some kimchi. "You believed in me first, right?"

You scoffed. "Don't compare, Seokjin-oppa."

He preened. "Right. You've known me for how many years, and Yoongi only for—"

"You can't compete with him, of course," you interrupted.

Seokjin made a sound of disbelief. "I can't believe this. I've been feeding you—"

"You've been feeding me?"

"—for twenty years at this point," he continued. "And you pick Yoongi over me? I'm still your bias, right?"

"That's a good question," Taehyung said. "Noona, who's your bias? In BTS, of course."

"Hm…" you pretended to think about it. All of the other boys had tuned in, and were paying attention at this point. "Jungkookie!"

Jungkook's doe eyes widened. "Me?"

"Him?" Seokjin complained. "Just look at this face! How could you pick someone over me?"

You shoved him. "Gross."

Yoongi leaned in. "Why Jungkook? Why not… another one of us?"

Shrugging, you gestured at Jungkook. "He's cute. Kind of innocent. I'd pick him if I was into boy groups."

Immediate uproar sounded.

"I'm your brother, you should pick me," Seokjin insisted.

"Are you not into boy groups? You're friends with us!" Hoseok protested.

"I can be cute…" Yoongi mumbled.

You gestured helplessly. "One question or comment at a time!"

Seokjin's hand shot up.

"Pass!" You waved him off. The boys erupted into laughter.

"You're so ungrateful," he sulked.

Jungkook was grinning. "Want me to sign a photocard for you, noona?"

"Sure, why not?" you replied, playing along. "Jungkook-ssi! I'm a huge BTS fan. Would you sign a photocard for me?"

Jungkook pulled out a pen and a photocard. "What's your name, please?" he asked politely.

"Kim Y/N," you answered. He signed it carefully before handing it to you. You started giggling when you saw it. "To Kim Y/N from worldwide star Jeon Jungkook," you read aloud. It set the other boys laughing again. "Jungkook, what's with this signature?" You pointed at his "autograph"—just a neatly written version of his name.

"I haven't actually come up with a signature yet," he explained. For some reason, this was even funnier, and you all collapsed in stitches, Jungkook included.

It felt like you'd laughed half the night away with the Bangtan boys. But soon enough, most of them were nodding off, sleepy after the adrenaline had run out.

Namjoon, stifling a yawn, gave you and Yoongi—the last survivors—one last look before he went down. "Are you sure you're okay to clean this up all by yourselves?"

"I'm feeling pretty awake. I'm sleeping in your guys' apartment tonight anyways," you reassured him.

"Well, if that's the case." He shot you an inscrutable look, before disappearing into the dim staircase.

Yoongi looked pretty tipsy. His face was flushed, and he was slurring his words a little. "Y/N," he said, as you were folding up the table.

"Hm?"

"Why is Jungkook your bias? What's so good about him?"

You looked up to see him actually pouting, and had to smile. "Yoongi-oppa, I don't really have a bias. I just said that to make Jungkook feel good."

He frowned. "How come I'm not your bias?"

"Ah…" you were at a loss for words.

"I prepared this photocard for you," he declared, handing you one of his own. It had "Yoongi xxx" scrawled on it.

You blushed. "Thank you…?"

"And you don't have to call me oppa," Yoongi said.

Carefully leaning the table against the wall, you spared a second to glance at him. "Why not?"

He shrugged lazily. "Don't have to if we're close, right? Aren't we close enough?"

"I don't know. Are we?"

Yoongi moved closer to you faster than you'd ever seen him move, outside of dancing. "Why? Would you like to be closer?"

Your face was burning. "Wh-what?"

He leaned towards you, one hand on the wall behind you. "Do you think we should?" he murmured softly against your ear.

A buzz startled both of you out of the moment.

"Um. One second." Awkwardly, you fished your phone out of your pocket. "Oh. Hi, Dad…"

Yoongi was mortified. He felt irked at the ringtone that had interrupted him—the atmosphere had been good, after all; he might have really kissed you… and then he felt ashamed. What was he doing, flirting with his friend's sister?

"No, I told you I'm staying at Seokjin-oppa's apartment tonight," you argued. "What? It's much more dangerous for me to come back now!" Pacing back and forth, you sighed. "Okay, Dad. If you insist." You hung up, and looked helplessly at Yoongi. "My dad wants me to come back home. He doesn't like the idea of me sleeping in an apartment full of boys."

Yoongi frowned. "It's so late at night. You can't go back on your own."

"It can't be helped." You were folding up chairs at top speed, trying to finish cleaning up. Yoongi stepped towards you, and took the chair you were holding out of your hands.

"Hey. Don't worry about this. I'll do it." His movements were quick and fluid, and you wondered how he'd sobered up so quickly. He glanced up at you, hair falling over his eyes. "I can go home with you." Yoongi blushed. "I mean, I can take you home. Not that I have a car. Like, I can go with you. To keep you safe."

You smiled softly at him. "I know what you mean."

Neon signs and light-up advertisements cast sickly light on the sidewalk, as you and Yoongi walked to your apartment.

"Seokjin-oppa used to be really weak; he mostly played a lot of video games." You laughed. "A total nerd."

Yoongi raised his eyebrows. "I did wonder why he knows so much about MapleStory."

"That's probably why he never got any confessions." You looked at him. "You would think so, right? Since he's so handsome? Not a single one, though."

Yoongi couldn't help asking. "Have you ever been confessed to? I'm sure you have." Since you're so pretty, he wanted to add, but held his tongue.

"Nope." You smiled, a little wistfully. "Not a single one."

Yoongi followed you as you turned a corner. "Really?"

You shrugged. "For some reason, yeah. Is that a little embarrassing?"

"I don't think so." Idiotic ideas—like confessing to you right then and there—were churning in his head, but he held his tongue.

"It's here." You stopped in front of an apartment complex. "Thanks for walking me home, Yoongi."

He started in surprise, hearing you say his name, no honorific. In the moonlight, your face was palely illuminated, tilted towards him. You were smiling at him, in that way you had that made his stomach flip over and do cartwheels. Something possessed him to lean in, to cup your cheek in his hand. He wanted so badly to lean down, to press his lips to yours, but he managed to tear himself away, letting his hand drop.

"Good night, Y/N." Yoongi forced himself to turn away, to walk away from you. He was afraid to look back, so he didn't see you standing at the door—confused and flustered, lips parted, waiting for something that didn't come.

a/n: it'll probably take me a while longer to actually get part 3 up, because when i posted part 1 i had some of part 2 written already. also, uni is kinda picking up for me and i don't have as much free time (also i started a teen vampire!yoongi wip against better judgement but wtv). i'm turning 19 in literally 3 days lol what am i doing with my life

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @themwordsblog @ohnaurshayla @bubbletsukki @sexytholland

#bts #bts suga #bts yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #suga #suga x reader #bts fanfic #loml #just one day myg

110 notes · View notes