#this is your life. your story. you get to decide who you are. how you grow. what you prioritize.

[aphrvdisiac]

THE BLACKEST DAY.

ellie williams & abby anderson x fem!reader.

part three of off to the races & to lie and love.

synopsis | devotions, crimes, sacrifices. how far will ellie and abby go to make sure you’ll never escape again? what will be the ultimate decision to make for your life, and what is worth saving — your life and freedom, or them and their undying love?

tags | adult language. NC-17 rating content & dark elements; m*rder, mentions of kidnapping, obsessive and possessive behaviors, infidelity, violent behavior from ellabs, manipulation, graphic descriptions of t*rture (even psychologically), threats made with weapons, blackmail. slight adult content; fingering, slight voyerisum, double penetration, asphyxiation, usage of mommy and daddy.

author’s note | i want to say there is not much smut in here due to the fact there is great dominant focus on the relationship; we get a new light of ellabs, but they are 10x more cruel and mean. please proceed with much caution as sensitive and graphic content does exist in this story. if you find anything triggering to your wellbeing, please click off and do not continuing.

if you have decided or do decide to keep reading, you are

hereby responsible for your own media consumption.

Despite how much you did confession, you knew you were meant for eternal damnation.

However, you didn’t know that was being permanently tied to Abby and Ellie’s forever — and having to know what they would do to keep you by their side. 

You thought in a span of a year after they had lured you back in, they would lighten up and make some adjustments within their behavior and emotions in order for you to live a more carefree life — which made you an idiot to think that they’d ever do that.

Things had only gotten worse since you returned, and that made absolutely sure you would never be able to escape from them again; not that you planned to, but they couldn’t put it past you anymore. 

While you knew you were loved and wanted by them despite all odds, you felt like a hostage — but yet, who would put up with you like they did? They took all risks and sacrifices for you, did what they had to so you would know where you belonged.

That was understandable and reasonable enough, right?

It felt like everyday you had to lie to yourself to keep going on, to have hope and faith within the relationship. 

“You cannot stab every person who looks my way!” You yelled, upset about how Ellie and Abby dragged you out of Saks earlier because a man’s eyes moved past you while you were looking at skirts. “He was simply being human by looking around!”

“He definitely wanted you. What are you not getting?” Abby wondered, eyebrows furrowed as she sipped on a glass of bourbon. “It’s common sense and knowledge.”

“This is like when that man at the restaurant last week called you love after he asked if you wanted a refill,” Ellie recalled, and you were about to break open your skull in front of them. “We are simply protecting you. Always will.”

“I’m going to take your gun and use it on myself,” you muttered under your breath. 

It was the possessiveness and obsession that you once admired, now become so deadly and uncontrollable that it drove them mad. It drove you insane too, but in the perspective that this is what the rest of your life would look like. 

Abby and Ellie took a seat on the couch, a few feet separated from each other as they continued with sipping their drinks. 

You stood in the middle of the living room, their eyes set on you with amusing grins dancing on their lips. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at the pair as Ellie cocked her head to the side, Abby waiting for you to speak your mind. 

You lifted up your left hand, your fresh manicure set being shown off. “You see this hand?” You asked, and they hummed. “Until it has a gorgeous Harry Winston ring on it, I don’t want to hear you both saying I’m all yours forever.”

“I don’t think we need to give you an engagement ring for you to know and understand that,” Abby stated, and you rolled your eyes, pursing your lips. “I feel like we have proven it enough; it’s you who needs to get that through your brain.”

“It’s unfair!” You said, and Ellie chuckled. “Murdering people doesn’t prove much.”

“No?” Ellie wondered. “You seem to enjoy our devotion to you, little one.”

“You enjoy this, bunny,” Abby followed up, her finger moving along the rim of her glass. “You know it yourself; you love that we would kill anyone for you. It gets you off as much as it does for us.”

You didn’t say anything back, only continuing to glare at them as they stared back. “I’m going to therapy now,” you said, dropping your arms and going to grab your purse. “I don’t want a bodyguard with me!”

“It’s for your fucking protection!” Abby yelled back, the pair hearing your footsteps fade away into the elevator, soaking in their high pride and ego. 

You were taken aback when they said you should go to therapy, stating how they felt guilty you had to witness Delilah’s corpse along with the amount of childhood issues you still held, and other amounts of shit to list. You were hesitant on it, but it was good that you could talk about anything, and everything — even about Ellie and Abby.

You could talk about how they were murderers, only due to the fact they paid the therapist to keep her mouth shut — they tripled her pay grade. At least at the end, you could let everything out and cry about it, be vulnerable and honest. 

A bodyguard ended up tagging along, staying three feet behind you and staying outside the therapist’s office as you sat inside, looking at your therapist, Jasmine. 

“How are you today? Do we need to talk about the girls?” She asked, notepad on her lap with her pen being played around by her fingers. “I know that look. What did they do now?”

“I am so sick of this bullshit where they say I am theirs,” you started off, holding onto the therapeutic plush that she kept on standby. “Of course, I am grossly attracted to it because of the strings that come along with that, but if I was truly theirs, why won’t they propose to me? They only speak of it when we are fucking.”

“Well, have you discussed this with them?” Jasmine asked, and you nodded. “You have to understand, all three of you have your issues that are brought into the relationship; the way your parents were has led you to be in love with toxicity.”

“It isn’t that toxic,” you protested. “We have problems, but.”

“They have killed for you, they had you bare witness to it so they could prove a point,” she added, and your eyes trailed away from hers, looking down at your lap. “Ellie and Abby didn’t have their own maternal figures, they disappeared; they knew abandonment, soaked that into yours, and transformed it into something sickening.”

“You say this, but never encourage me to leave,” you stated, and she tilted her head to the side, giving you a certain look. “I… I know it is not right, what they do, and I do hate it — but my whole life has been centered around them, they have given me everything, and I cannot just dismiss that.”

“You owe them nothing,” Jasmine assured. “You are still you, with or without them. I cannot force you to leave them, but you come in every two times out of the week, crying and complaining about them, what they have done.”

“Well, that’s what therapy is for,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. 

“Have you ever considered that you are in love with what they give, and not them anymore?” She wondered, and your eyes shot back up, locked into hers. “You said that they have given you everything — things that your parents couldn’t provide. You seek out that, not Ellie and Abby. You give into the things that fulfill your cravings.”

You scoffed. “And what cravings may that be?”

“Attention, love, protection,” Jasmine professed, and your brain had gone quiet. “Marriage won’t fix anything. You will continue to be in love with their providence, while they continue to be in love with violence and using you as an excuse to give into it.”

The room went quiet for a moment, being sure your heartbeat was making noise. “I do love them, I am in love with them,” you softly said, unknown to the tears that were coming out. “I do, I know I do.”

“You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that, rather than me,” she frowned, and sniffled, your head in your hands. “This relationship was built with purposes of chaos, manipulation, and violence — and that’s exactly how it will end. You know what they are capable of, and your love for them dissipated when you realized just how sick they are.”

After your session, you decided to go on a walk to clear your head further after your conversation with Jasmine. You knew you loved Ellie and Abby, you never questioned that at any time — the only things you questioned was how far they would go, and what personal sacrifices you would make; how much more your virtue and soul would be further tainted and bruised, just to satisfy their sadistic needs in exchange for their love and attention.

You knew there was darkness that clouded the relationship as they were purely responsible for it, but you gave into it — and somehow, you managed to find light within it all. Maybe it was to protect you from the cruel truth that they were psychopaths that didn’t hold an inch of remorse or mercy within their souls or hearts, not even in their minds. 

And sometimes, you did wonder if they used you as an excuse to murder, that maybe this entire time you gave them the perfect key for them to feed into their desires. If that was the truth, you would rather die. 

You walk back into the penthouse, taking off your shoes along with your scarf and coat. You heard your name being shouted from the girls' shared office as you careened to the sound of their voices and low jazz music that played. 

You stood there at the entrance, giving them a smile. “Sorry I took a while, I wanted to go for a walk.”

“How was your session with Jasmine?” Abby asked, putting down a file onto her desk as the pair made strict and serious eye contact with you, making your pulse race. 

They must have known something.

“It was okay, a really good session today,” you responded, picking at your cuticles. “It was one of those talks that just had me too in my head.”

“What did you guys talk about, though?” Ellie questioned, and you swallowed thickly. A haunting smile played on her lips, like she knew something and was trying to bait it out of you. 

Because they never ask what was discussed.

They said that was your business, your privacy, and they didn’t need to know about it. 

You went quiet, not knowing if you should lie though that would land your ass in hot water. You played with your necklace, fiddling with it as your mouth hung open, but nothing came out. You seemed gobsmacked, because you were.

What the hell did they know?

“I’ll tell you what was said,” Ellie started off, getting up from her desk chair, and slowly moved your way. “That fucking stupid therapist has been putting these lies into your head, and you’re believing her. Aren’t you?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, shuffling backwards. “Nothing was put in my head.”

“You hate what we do for you, little lamb?” Ellie asked, and you were on the verge of tears as she got close enough to grab your face, nearly cracking your jaw. “You think you are someone without us, hm? We can dump you back to your parents, and see if you keep thinking that.”

You sobbed, continuing to shake your head. “I–I was just talking!”

“Don’t fucking lie to us,” Abby approached the two of you, standing on the side while you looked at her. “We don’t pay her extra for no reason, and surely you are not that dumb to think we wouldn’t be keeping record of what your sessions consist of.”

You knew it was too good to be true. They just wanted to hold more stuff over your head. 

“You’re really breaking our hearts, bunny,” Abby sighed, but in a faux manner. “Do you think we are sick? Manipulative?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, and Ellie deepened her squeeze, getting a whimper out of you. “No, no! I was just too in my head!”

Ellie moved her head so you could be looking directly at Abby, your eyes glossy and tearful. “Do you know what will happen if you leave us, baby? If you even dare think about it?” She asked, her face close to yours that you could smell faint alcohol, and you shook your head. “We will fucking kill you. Your death will be guaranteed.”

“You are nothing without me! You have no fucking purpose if I don’t exist!” You shot back, and they chuckled. “You’ll go blue simply because I am the oxygen you breathe and crave; your life will be dull and boring because you have no excuse to fucking kill someone.”

“Oh, look who finally got a mouth on her,” Ellie cooed, pushing you into Abby’s arms, and you were being lifted over her shoulder. “It’s almost like you enjoyed being fucked to the point your brain is sponge; only things you’re soaking up is to remember your place and who your devotion is to.”

You were being led up upstairs, knowing what was to come. You were sure the thumping of your heart could be heard, felt against Abby’s shoulder, and nausea came over you with regret attached to it. You started to cry out a symphony of apologies, trying to find any use or way to get out of Abby’s grip but the eyes of Ellie’s was proof that it wasn’t such a good idea to do.

The wind was knocked out of you when Abby settled you roughly onto the bed, your clothes stripped off your body with the desperate yet furious hands of Ellie. “I swear I am not going to leave you or anything!” You pleaded, trying not to break into tears as your glossy eyes begged for mercy. “I–I’m sorry!”

Abby had already seized a set of bunched-up rope, loosening it as Ellie straddled on top of you to hold you down. 

A part of you was getting hot and bothered by this, but the emotional state of you could not take it. After such a therapy session and a conscious part of your brain coming to life during your session, you could not even take the simplest touch of their hands on you. 

“Violet!” You screamed. 

You hardly used the safe word. Hardly. It has only been used twice in the span of dating the pair, and today it had to be used. 

Ellie hopped off your body, Abby dropping the rope. You broke into heavier sobs, your chest moving too rapidly and your breaths were shaky. 

They were trying to comfort you, but you only snapped. “Get the fuck away from me!” You kicked and crawled away to where the pillows rest, curling yourself up into a ball. “Get out, get out!”

“Baby—“

“Leave me alone!” You yelled, tossing a flower vase that sat on the nightstand towards their exact direction. To your unfortunate luck, they moved out of the way of it. “I just want to sleep. Alone.”

“Fine. Sleep alone,” Abby seethed, marching out of the room as Ellie stayed behind for a few seconds before following the blonde’s direction. 

It didn’t take long until tears came running out of you, nearly drowning in your sobs. You laid down, sobbing into a pillow and brought your knees back up to your chest again, shaking and shivering. 

You don’t know why it was today when you felt like you were breaking. It had been three years now, and the good girl act you kept up for them was coming to a crash, feeling it in your bones. 

You couldn’t bite your tongue anymore, but you had to. Because you were much of a bad person as they were; everyone they killed or harmed was because of you, because you tattled and wanted to see how far they'd go. 

And this was it. You reached the final level, and it caused you to have a psychological breakdown. You were now trapped in love with them, not in love.

Your need for love, attention, and desire caused you every sense of dignity and self worth you carried. You were nobody without them because they stripped you of who you were before them — and that made you fucking sick to your stomach. 

You couldn’t stand a night in the house with them as you boosted yourself up out of the bed and moved back to the front door where your shoes and coat hung with your scarf. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Abby asked, noticing her and Ellie staying feets away from you. “It’s late.”

You turned your head to them. “I’m not a fucking child; if I want to be one, I’ll go to my parents.”

“The ones who don’t fucking care?” She spat back, and you rolled your eyes as you adjusted your scarf around your neck. 

“Well, when I left you both and asked for haven, they offered it without hesitation,” you stated, grabbing your purse. “I’m sick of this shit.”

And like that, you walked out of the house before they could further protest. 

Which was only the beginning of the end. 

You were four dirty martinis in, elbows rested on the bar countertop as old blues music faintly played throughout the dingy bar. 

A body sat next to you, hearing the man order bourbon on the rocks. There was significant silence as it was you, three other strangers, and now him sitting around in the bar smelling of old musk and lemon. 

“So you’re here alone?” He asked, eyes focused on the basketball game that played on the laggy TV in the corner. “Or are your girlfriends waiting around?”

Your eyes snapped to him on cue as he met yours. “What?” You managed to sputter out. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Well that depends,” he mumbled, slouching forward with his arms crossed onto the countertop. “You see, your girls did a great deal killing my friend, Brandon. I mean, h—he was gonna go to fucking Princeton!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, pushing away your drink. “I have to go.”

“Oh, but I’m not going to let you,” he told you, grabbing a hold of your wrist as he viciously gripped it and leaned in closer to the side of your head. “Unless you want your pretty brains blown out.”

He had a gun. 

You stayed firm in your seat, his hand removed from your wrist. “How do you know me? Who are you? What do you even want?”

“Karma. Payback. Whatever they call it,” he admitted, clearing his throat as his drink finally arrived. “See, I did some good research into you and your girlfriends. Whoever is protecting them has a good way of keeping anything about them completely clear and hidden.”

“No one needs to protect them. They are good people,” you said, brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Oh, but you— you fucking New York princess — no one is protecting you or your family,” he grinned, and nausea consumed you. “Now, you have a good record. I guess being a goody-two shoes will do that. However, those parents of yours… well, fuck.”

“My parents have nothing to do with anything,” you said, ready to break your martini glass for shards to stab into his eyes. “You leave them the fuck out of this.”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“I don’t even know your name, freak.”

“Vincent Hayes.”

“Well Vincent,” you said, getting up from your chair, and threw down a few twenties onto the stained countertop. “I don’t give a fuck what agenda you have planned or want to succeed at, but leave me alone or I will take a gun to your head.”

“You might want to care,” he suggested, grinning. “No one wants a father who commits tax evasion and bribery, and has multiple affairs.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, inching yourself closer to him. “And if you dare to come after my family, I’ll come after yours. Whatever you have, I’ll take it.”

“You didn’t have this much spunk before Ellie and Abby,” Vincent reminded you, and you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, a method you’d had to come to use to prevent any harmful flashbacks.”If I remember correctly, you were a loser bitch.”

“And so was your buddy,” you said, giving him a pat on his arm before you walked out of the bar, and back home. Once you were only a few miles away from the place, you took your phone out of your purse, and went to your phone app, contacting your dad immediately.

“Hello?” He answered after a few rings. “Are you okay?”

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” you started off, exhaling heavily. “Nothing’s bad happening, right? Like you would tell me if you were okay, or in trouble?”

He went quiet for a few moments, only static making prominent noise over the line. “You have nothing to worry about, okay? I am taking care of everything for this family, and I need you to continue staying with the girls because of that. Okay?”

Continue staying with the girls.

When you wanted to be out, there was always going to be a reason why you had to stay. You hung up the call, and continued to walk back to the penthouse, stifling your sobs as you walked past strangers and a violent urge to puke everywhere. 

You didn’t want to go back home; in fact, you were okay with staying at a hotel or anything else for that matter. You disabled the tracker on your phone, and went on to call Jasmine. “Good evening,” she picked up after only two rings, and you sighed. “Why are you calling this late?”

“I… I don’t want to stay with them tonight. And I know this is inappropriate to ask, but may I stay with you this evening?,” you wondered, sniffling, and looked at the ground. “There is just so much that has happened tonight since the session, and I don’t have anywhere to go because they’ll find me.”

Jasmine gave you her address, and you sighed in relief, minimal anxiety being lifted off your shoulders. “I’ll run a kettle of tea for you, and I’ll be sure to give the doorman your name.”

You were curled up with a soft throw blanket on Jasmine’s couch, a warm cup of tea sitting in your hands. “Did anything particular occur today?” She asked, and you sighed, soaking in the sweet smell of lemon. “Seems like you’re extra fragile today.”

“They recorded our session today, they know what I said,” you sniffled, looking up from your tea. “I don’t know how, and of course I know they pay you to keep things a secret, but… Yeah, they know.”

“I would still be silent even if they didn’t pay me,” Jasmine confessed, and you grinned, your ears perking up, too. “Not for their sake, but for yours.”

“You’re a therapist, not my savior,” you stated, taking a sip of the tea. 

“When will it be enough for you?” She asked, placing herself slightly closer to you. “You are exhausted, scared, and finished. When will you draw the line?”

You wish you had the answer to that, but you never would. You should have drawn the line the second they killed Brandon James or Delilah, but instead you ran back to them, and caved in you; you were indefinitely trapped forever, and the only way out would be death.

“You deserve better,” she whispered as you noticed her body leaning in towards yours, her head dipping to a side angle. You knew what was going to take place, and you reckoned with your loyalty as Jasmine didn’t hesitate to put her lips onto yours, you caving into the kiss. 

You were loyal and submissive to Ellie and Abby — you had been for years. If they knew you were with another woman, letting her kiss you and tell you that they didn’t deserve you, they would be cutting her apart before your bare eyes. 

You shifted onto her lap, the kiss turning into a messy, desperate makeout session as Jasmine’s hands found their way under your shirt, and unclasped your bra. “I got you, you’re safe with me,” she whispered between a kiss, your shirt and bra coming off during it. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore,” her lips dragged down along your neck, to your collarbones. 

Guilt and shame should’ve come so sudden to you, should have allowed you to push away but you only wanted more. 

It wasn’t like you were sex deprived because you weren’t — Ellie and Abby made sure sex was a continuous routine in your everyday lives. But it was the gentle touching, the soft reassurance and kisses that you missed, and Jasmine was filling that void, and that is what she was only doing. 

You were using her to fill your satisfaction. 

The sun cracked through the windows and flared across your eyes, forcing them open and adjusting to the brightness. An arm was wrapped around your waist, and you noticed the tattoos on Jasmine’s arms, your fingertips following the traces of them. 

Your touch awoken her, and she hummed, smiling the moment she saw you. “Hey,” she whispered. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

“I think she feels just fine,” Ellie’s voice came about, causing you and Jasmine to both jump up, your anxiety spiking. “Considering the fact our girlfriend’s clothes are off, and scattered in your living room.”

Abby stood aside, seemingly irritated and disappointed in you. However, you made out the gun that was in her front right pocket, and you swallowed thickly, nauseous and scared of what was to come. “I think Jasmine here thought she was her property,” Abby said, gesturing to the hickeys on your neck. 

“Just leave her the fuck alone,” Jasmine spoke up, and you cringed to her defense, only knowing she was making it worse. “She wants nothing to do with you.”

“Oh?” Ellie grinned. “Is that true, lamb?”

You felt small and weak suddenly, not responding or moving. 

“She won’t answer that,” Jasmine continued, scoffing. “She is scared of you, and she is done loving the two of you.”

“I’m really done hearing you whine, you bitch,” Abby chuckled, stomping towards Jasmine’s side of the bed, and grabbed her by a fistful of her hair. She tried to fight off your girlfriend, but it was impossible as she then dropped her to the ground, kicking her repeatedly in the lungs. “This is just the beginning of it.”

“Come on, sweet girl. We have to take these affairs somewhere more private,” Ellie said, and you glanced at her, shaking your head. You seemed like a scared, afraid puppy who had just been kicked again, and the auburn cooed at you, giving a faux pout. “You know something like this would happen, baby. Did you really think you would get away with this?”

Abby was in the background forcing a coat around Jasmine’s nude body, and slipping on her shoes. You couldn’t make out what the blonde was saying to her, but you were sure it wasn’t kind things, and possibly reassuring Jasmine that she was going to meet the end of her life. 

“Get on up, sweetheart,” Ellie pulled out her gun, clocking it. “Or do I have to re-train you all over again?”

You got up hesitantly, but moved your yesterday’s clothes back onto your body as Ellie made sure to keep the gun in your eyesight. “Are you going to kill her?” You asked, voice hush and soft, on the brink of crying. “You should hurt me, not her, Els.”

“We’re gonna find out together, baby,” Ellie grinned, and cocked her head for you to start following her. 

Minutes later, you and Jasmine were tossed into the back of a limo with your girlfriends. Abby had to securely put tape around her eyes and mouth the moment the doors closed behind you all, and you had to do your best to ignore her sobs. 

“We weren’t paying you to fuck our girl,” Abby blurted, and Jasmine let out a sniffle. “Miss Hills… You should have known better, even after you knew how Brandon Jasmes died when he decided to be a stupid fuck.”

“But you aren’t going to kill her,” you defended. “Not her — she does have people who will miss her, and someone will find out?”

“Like who?” Abby wondered.

Your brain registered the night of last, how you met Vincent Hayes who was a friend of Brandon’s, and was warning you of what he knew, and was going to do. 

“Someone’s threatening me,” you stated, and the girls shifted their eyes entirely onto you. “When I left last night, I went to the bar and this guy started threatening me – saying how he had stuff on my dad that could land him in prison.”

“And you decided to what — fuck your therapist? How fucking cliché can you be, sweetheart?” Ellie asked, and you rolled your eyes, visibly irritated and frustrated. “What’s his name? What does he know?”

“He knows your guys’ slates are clean, and you killed Brandon,” you recalled, and they hummed. “But he said my dad is committing tax evasion, bribery, and more. And then he…”

Your girlfriends shifted closer in, panicked but alerted.

“Spit it out, bunny.”

You sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “He then threatened to blow my brains out.”

Abby looked at Ellie, an unsettling laugh leaving her mouth. “Jasmine… Today is your lucky day,” Ellie said, Abby giving her a curt nod. “But we still need to take care of you for fucking around.”

The car came to a sharp halt as you looked outside to see an empty warehouse. Ellie opened up the door, stepping out while Abby grabbed and dragged Jasmine out of the car, the girl kicking her legs and screamed. “Bunny, you need to see this for yourself. This is your new punishment.”

It's not like you had a choice, you had to oblige and obey. You already put yourself in a grave for letting someone else fuck you, although you continued to see it as you using Jasmine. You got out of the car, following behind all the girls, and saw a table that had multiple objects on top of them; a wrench, hammer, pilers, and rope. 

Abby shoved Jasmine into a chair that stood in the middle of the large, empty warehouse. You eyed around, seeing dried blood spots scattered everywhere, and your body cringed and shivered. 

So this is where the killing takes place, you thought to yourself. This is where people I caused to die last saw before they went away.

And Jasmine was possibly next.

“I don’t want to see this please,” you cried, shaking your head. “Please don’t let me.”

“But you will miss all the fun,” Ellie said, frowning. “And I told you that this is your punishment.”

Abby binded Jasmine’s arms and legs, putting some around her waist to the chair to keep her entirely strapped down. “You think we must be exaggerating when we say we would do anything for you,” she started off, grabbing the wrench. “Or when we say that you lead all these people to die, and we just have to take care of them for you.”

The wrench then hits Jasmine in the stomach, a muffled scream coming out from behind the duct tape. 

Ellie stood behind you, her gun pointed to your back as her hand held and squeezed your jaw, forcing you to watch closely and attentively. “Some of those fingers of hers have to go,” she cooed, sighing dramatically. “It’s unfortunate. She was a good therapist for a while.”

The wrench went on to beat down on her legs, Abby taking a fun swing at every inch and part, bones cracking and breaking. 

“Abby, take off the tape,” Ellie suggested, and the blonde obeyed, ripping both pieces off. “We are going to give Jasmine a show, baby. Take off your bottoms.”

You nodded and sniffled, your shaky hands reaching to the waistband of your jeans and underwear as you snug them off down to your ankles. Ellie’s hand went from your jaw, down to your stomach and cunt, her fingertips grazing over it. You shivered to her touch, whimpering for more — it was sick how your body immediately responded and gave into her touch, wanting and needing more. 

“Who’s your daddy, angel?” Ellie asked, loud enough for Jasmine to hear. “Go on, and say who is. Let her know.”

“I–It’s you, Els. Only you,” you moaned, her fingers dipping inside of your cunt and perfectly curled in, moving at a harsh pace. “My body is yours and Abby’s.”

“You hear that, Miss Hills?” Abby wondered, dropping the wrench and picked up the hammer next. “Did you fucking hear that!” The hammer struck at her feet, a harsh scream escaping her but Abby got a cruel rise out of it, taking the hammer to her hands. 

Your brain ran around with what was happening around — Jasmine being tortured, Abby finding it humorous, and Ellie fucking you for her to see. 

Your climax approached you instantly, not giving Ellie a heads-up as you let it go, and continued to cry from how you wanted to cover yourself up and repent for how your body gave into Ellie’s demand. 

Abby shifted from the hammer to the piler’s in the blink of an eye, and used them to break and half-amputate a few of Jasmine’s fingers. You knew what they were doing, though — they were also torturing you, wanting you to understand that they could do worse than this next time. 

You knew about them being murderers, so why wouldn’t they give you a show. 

Jasmine Hills ended up being discarded in an alleyway hours later with a pulp face, dangling fingers, damaged palms, and a bruised and broken body. 

You decided to stay at your parents house for a few days after what you witnessed and endured. You didn’t know what to do about your girlfriends, almost terrified to even sleep around them, and you were already experiencing nightmares

“Amore, you have a guest!” Your mom shouted, and you groaned, getting up from your bed. You had been sinking in your comforters for those days, garbage of foods and cups dumped in mindless places, with you in days-old pajamas. 

You shuffled into the main living room of your parents Manhattan’s penthouse. Thinking it would be about anyone else, you were met with Vincent Hayes.

You couldn’t curse him out in front of your mother, without making it suspicious. “Um, hi?” You said, and he smiled, taking a close look at you. “How can I help you, Vincent?”

“We need to have a conversation,” he told you, and you sighed. Your gut wanted you to listen and have the conversation, a part of you feeling like it was something you needed to hear. You only nodded and gestured your head for him to follow you out to the terrace. 

You stepped into New York’s cold weather, sitting down at the small coffee table as he sat across from you. “So, you’re stalking me now?” You wondered. “I could have you arrested for that.”

“You’re barely with them,” Vincent said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. “I have eyes on you and them. Last thing I know is you were in some dingy warehouse.”

You sucked in tears to the memory, and he noticed, only tossing his pack and lighter to you. 

“They needed to do what they did,” you defended, lighting up the stick. “Nothing horrible happened.”

“The girl is in the hospital — the NYPD categorized her as a Jane Doe because she was that unrecognizable,” Vincent professed, and you let out a heavy puff. “You don’t want part of this, and I can help you.”

“What? Who said I want your help?” You scoffed and shortly chuckled, shaking your head. “Abby and Ellie are everything to me — you just don’t understand our relationship. They have done so much for me, more than my parents ever have.”

“A friend of mine in the DA office knows who has eyes on your dad, snitching him out and stuff,” Vincent started, lighting up his own cigarette as he dazed out for a second when he let go of his first puff. “You see, there is corruption in the justice system. Some of the prosecutors in the DA office know that the girls paid somebody to plant evidence on that other person, and that they are killers.”

“And you are telling me this, why?”

“You exchange information about Anderson and Williams, and the DA office will drop everything on your dad,” Vincent confessed, and your eyes widened, your heart sinking. “You don’t want anything to do with what they are doing. You were seemingly unaware until Brandon.”

“So let me get this straight,” you paused, deadpanning at him. “You want me to betray my girlfriends — the only people in my life who truly love me — just to save my dad’s ass? For all I care, my dad deserves to be there more.”

Vincent sighed, irritated and in disbelief. “I can see that you are struggling with what to do,” he stated, almost as if he wanted to sympathize, but just couldn’t. “If they get caught, you will be in just the same trouble as them. Imagine how that will look on your parents? What will it do to them?”

“It's like you said — I didn’t know what was happening until Brandon,” you repeated, nearly out and done with your cigarette. “The reason why your friend is dead is because he decided to be a prick, and think he was a high value man or something. If it wasn’t the girls going to take care of him, someone else eventually would.”

Vincent kept a calm demeanor, but with his hands tightened into vein-popping fists, it was sure he was going to blow at any moment. Minutes passed and his hands unclenched as he stood up from the chair, and burned out the bud of his cigarette. “There’s going to be a memorial for Brandon tonight at the St. Peter church,” he told you, and you raised a brow, tilting your head to the side. “Tomorrow will be one year since he was discovered dead. Just come by… I encourage you to do so.”

He excused himself out, and you continued to sit outside, staring at the skylines and sighed heavily. You felt an immense amount of guilt for Brandon’s death, it is something you couldn’t ignore, even as you tried to justify why he died or how he came to it. 

You were the only person at fault. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you took it out, seeing Abby’s contact name. For days, they have tried to ring you, text you back to back, and do anything they could to get an ounce of your attention. 

You decided to answer it this one time. 

“Bunny.”

The line was static for a few moments. 

“Bunny, come home,” Abby pleaded, and you sniffled. “We only mean to take care of you, love you — however we mean to do that.”

“I… Tonight’s not good,” you mumbled, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I have something to do, and I’m not just ready to see you and Els yet. I need time.”

Abby was quiet, and it caused you to shiver. Any silence that came from your girlfriends was not a good sign, and it could only mean they were a plot being made, or they were going to do something beyond inhumane. 

The line went dead, and you were left with the bustling noises of New York, your heart sinking into your stomach. 

How could anything get worse?

You stood outside St. Peter’s church, frozen and paralyzed in your spot as you watched people walk in. You swallowed thickly, your fingernails clawing into the palm of your hand to give yourself any hint of ease and calmness. 

Then you heard your last name being called out to you. You turned your head, seeing two older figures approaching you, a female and male. “I’m Detective Ramirez, this is Detective Adams. We are with NYPD Homicide, and we are revisiting a case involving Brandon James,” the female spoke, a smile playing on her lips to seem pleasant and kind. “It’s surprising to see you here.”

“His friend invited me,” you answered. “How can I help you?”

“Miss, you know why we are here,” Adams said, and you hummed, nodding. “You were declared a misfit for the trial, that’s why you weren’t in it, but you know what happened. And you can put them away.”

“If they were already found innocent, why retry them?” You wondered. “Doesn’t the justice system grant innocence to those who are innocent?” 

“The DA wants a retrial, but it is only possible if you agree to be part of it,” Adams added, and you scoffed. “If you consent to it, the DA will let go of your dad, and stop sniffing around.”

“You are some corrupted fucks,” you laughed. “Now if you excuse me, I have to get inside.”

Ramirez momentarily stopped you in your tracks, shining a small card in front of you. “Here are our contacts if you decide to change your mind.”

You stared at her and the card, back and forth, before your hesitant hand seized it and you nodded. You walked off, putting the cards in your purse and continued inside, a crowd filling the pews while some stood off to the side talking. 

“Welcome, child,” you heard the priest approach you, and you smiled, greeting him. “You are a friend of the deceased?”

You nervously smiled. “I guess you can say that, Father.”

You two shared a small, curt laugh until his eyes shifted a deep focus on you. “Something is troubling you however,” he stated, and you shivered, stumbling on your words as you tried to deny it. “The Lord never lies, my child. You are tackling something.”

“I believe I cannot confess here, Father,” you told him, and he hummed, nodding. He gestured his head for you to follow him, and before you knew it, you were in the confessional booths. 

All you could think about was getting fucked in one by the girls about last year. 

“Forgive me for Father, for I have sinned,” you began, blessing yourself and kissing the side of your hand shortly after. “Forgive me for I am not that religious but–”

“God accepts all,” the priest stated. “He forgives all.”

“Well Father, I think I killed a man,” you admitted, looking down at your lap. “My partners, they are protective of me, and it is in their nature. But they have taken it far multiple times, and I wasn’t aware of it until last year. And when I tried to escape them, I only allowed them back in, and now I am trapped in Hell.

“But, I love them, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to go to Hell for things they have done, or for God to hate me over it. They have killed so many people because I tattle-tale on them, and my partners showed no mercy, no kindness. And I just… I am so lost, and scared. Father, I don’t see no way out of this except self execution.”

“Self execution is a sin, I plead you know this,” he stated, and you broke into sobs, hunching over as you held yourself. “There is nothing wrong to love those who God brought into your life, child. The only sins that have been committed here are wrath, greed, and pride; and they have not been done by you. You are not responsible for the sins that have been committed, you are not destined for Hell.”

“But I have fueled their sins. I am their biggest one.”

The priest went quiet for a moment, a frustrated but saddened sigh escaping him as he himself struggled. He sympathized, knowing you were just a girl who was lost and landed herself in a wrong situation. 

For the past few years, the high was blissful and could not get better than that. You thought Abby and Ellie were your angels sent from God himself, but after Brandon, Delilah and Jasmine, you realized they were fallen ones, instead. Their fair beauty and success drew you to them, and you were blinded by it so much, you could not see what they were like beneath.

They used you to excuse their drive and need to harm individuals, to let out what they were made up of.

Evil.

“Am I wrong to love the Devil? Is that what this is, Father?” You asked. “I need to know.”

“Jesus loved Judas. God loved Lucifer. Does that make them wrong? Did they let Lucifer and Judas' betrayal and sins affect them?”

You sniffled, and only nodded to yourself, assuring you that this fate was old as time. You were not wrong to come to love them, but it was only about what you were going to do next. 

“I want you to do penance — charitable work, twenty hail marys for the next two weeks, and leaving these partners of yours soon,” the priest demanded, his voice tough and stern. “The Lord will then forgive you, my child.”

When everyone wanted you to stay with Ellie and Abby — even made a reason to — the voice of God himself demanded you shouldn’t. 

“Thank you, Father,” you said, and walked out of the confessional booth. Walking back into the main center of the cathedral, you saw Vincent, and his eyes immediately picked up on you. You decided to let yourself approach him as a smug look was plastered onto his face, and you rolled your eyes over it.

“Something change your mind?” He asked. “Thank you for coming, it means everything.”

“I just wanted to um… pay my respects,” you assured, and he hummed. “It is my fault he is dead after all. But I can’t stay long, I have some things to situate.”

“Going to testify?” He wondered. “I saw those detectives talking to you outside.”

“Wow, you do stalk me a lot,” you bitterly joked. “I am sorry about Brandon, though. I didn’t know they were so capable of… you know. I didn’t think they would do that.”

“The only way you can truly get forgiveness is if you leave them,” Vincent said, and you knew he was right, but it wasn’t that easy. Everybody made it sound like it was the most simple action you could make, but it wasn’t. 

Abby and Ellie had been your whole life, and they had committed so much towards you, and the thought of abandoning them after it all made you want to hurl everywhere. You knew that leaving them would end with catastrophic consequences, and it wouldn’t happen right away nor ever; the last time you tried to leave, you were brought right back in. 

You walked out of the church without saying much else, and you were met with your girlfriends right outside. You froze paralyzed, eyes scanning for the detectives as a precaution, and you shivered to their darkening gaze that rage with hunger and madness. 

“Come on, baby,” Abby beckoned you over to her car. Ellie fiddled with something in her pocket, and it made you hesitant and nervous. “We aren’t gonna hurt you, we just need to show you something.”

For once, your interest was piqued and you tried to let go of your anxiety, practically shuffling over to the car. Abby opened the backseat door, and you climbed in with Ellie trailing behind you. “I have to blindfold you, honey,” Ellie said, and you eyed her, shaking your head. “Not because of that. We are taking you to a sweet surprise, I cross my heart on that.”

“You could be killing me just for leaving,” you protested, and Ellie sighed, taking out one of her suit ties from her pocket. “No, no! I don’t want to die.”

“Oh, don’t be so hysteric,” Ellie groaned. “It is sweet and you’ll like it. It is what you have been waiting for.”

You wanted to hesitate, but instead slowly gave in and let Ellie blindfold you as your heart raced immensely under your skin, and you could feel a wave of nausea coming to you. They could be tricking you, and as foolish as you are, you had fallen for it and were about to be executed.

Maybe God heard one of your prayers, and decided to cave into it for you. 

The car ride went by in quiet, the only thing surely heard being your heartbeat and the sound of you cracking your fingers as a distraction.

Ellie put her hand over both of yours. “Stop that. You know it isn’t good.”

“I’m scared.”

“We would never kill you, bunny,” Abby stated, sincerity drawn into her voice. “We know you get caught up in your head because of things we have done and put you through, but the thought of taking your life has never crossed our minds. In fact, it still stands that we would not exist without you.”

You nodded, unknowingly of the grins that played on their lips. The car came to a full stop only minutes later, and Ellie carefully escorted you out, feeling hands on each side of your waist guiding you; Ellie’s hand was cold, while Abby’s was warm. 

They made sure you didn’t trip or fall down while altogether padding up a flight of stairs, always careful whenever they were the ones moving you around; you were that fragile to them. If you were to fall down on the pavement you were walking across and scrape your knees, they would immediately be kissing the wounds and tending to them, angry at themselves for being so mindless with you. 

“Okay, here we go,” Ellie whispered, and the second the blindfold was off, a symphony orchestra played a version of Hallelujah – but it wasn’t the original, but by your favorite 1994 version of it by Buckley.

A candlelit path remained in front of you with rows of your favorite flowers being placed everywhere, and you could see the city lights of New York in the background. 

Then you realized you were on the rooftop of Faye Academy – where history all started. Your partners moved you down the path as you broke into sobs with your face into your hands, and could not believe what was about to happen. 

A proposal. 

When you got to the end of the pathway, you were in a circle of roses and lilies that were in beautiful blossoms. Ellie and Abby stood in front of you, noticing them nervous for the first time ever in your life; usually they were so bold and confident, but in this moment, they were shaking and finding a way to calm themselves down. 

Ellie started off by stating your name, a shiver running down your spine. “You have been the bane of our existence for a few years now, and you will forever remain as our religion, and our sole reason for living and breathing. Abby and I never thought we would find the same soulmate, but it is one of the greatest and only blessings we got out of God, and we would not want it any other way.”

“Since the first day we saw you, mindful and occupied, we were instantly drawn to you,” Abby continued on, grinning as she could recall that very memory. “The light from the sun graced you that day, and we just knew you were meant to be ours for lifetimes.”

What you had just confessed to the priest fleeted through your head, and his demands for you were sunk into nothingness in this moment. You wanted to believe they were just finding a way to further hold you hostage, but the way their face and voices softened, laced with love and genuinity, you wanted to kiss them and forgive them for everything.

At the end of the day, they were your girls and they did everything for you. They were the ones who always took care of you and defended your honor when no one did, and when you were left abandoned and alone, they came to your rescue.

You were always meant to be theirs, one way or another.

“Will you be our wife, bunny?” Abby asked, and you broke into further sobs, nodding. Ellie took the ring box out of her pocket, and you saw a beautiful Harry Winston ring that made you nearly choke onto your sobs.

“I love you!” You shouted, jumping into their embraces as they both managed to hold you close. “Yes I will marry you– Fuck, I want to be your wife.”

A wife. You were going to be a wife to the loves of your life, and your brain managed to forget everything that had happened for the past year until only a few days ago. You believed that everything was worth it to lead up to this moment, and now everything would get better and healthier; you would be wives, and you would have to live a happy marriage if things were meant to be, or if a kid would come into the picture. 

“Our pretty little wife, hm?” Ellie teased, and you nodded again, earning a soft laugh out of them. 

In an hour, you were between the two of them back at your shared home, Abby kissing on your neck as Ellie groped your ass and bunched your dress up to your waist to get a feel of your soaking cunt. “So soon until we put a fucking baby in you, little one,” 

You purred at their touches and kisses, any ounce of purity and doubt moving out of you. You would let them desecrate you every time, and you would feel pure heaven and bliss in it, letting them own and control your body. 

“We missed you so much, baby,” Abby said, kissing behind your ear. “Make us proud and get on the bed.”

You hummed, maneuvering yourself onto the bed where you slowly removed your dress as you gave your girlfriends a strip tease, with your undergarments coming off last. You bent your body down, knees and elbows sinking into the mattress, able to feel it dip heavier from behind you. 

“Look at this pretty cunt,” Abby cooed, her fingertips grazing along it. “Will never be able to get enough of this; you just know how to make us want to destroy you, bunny.”

Ellie came onto the bed in front of you, her strap in front of your face as she pushed any strands of hair out your face, and gripped onto your chin. “You gonna be good for us, doll?” Ellie wondered, and your eyes softened before her primal ones, nodding.

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s our girl. See, you still remember who you belong to,” she praised, and you giggled, putting your hand around the silicone, licking the tip. “There we go, baby. Jus’ like that.”

Abby spat down onto your cunt, rubbing it in before she roughly pushed herself into you, and you gasped harshly, eyebrows furrowing. “Left us hanging for a bit, baby. You let another girl touch you and everything; can’t lie to you, it made us wet and turned on. We knew she wasn’t better than us.”

Ellie grabbed your head and forced a mouthful of her cock into yours, earning immediate gagging noises and a glop of drool forming around the object. Your eyes rolled, light breaths coming out of you with each thrust from Ellie and Abby, your head already dizzy and cloudy.

“Oh, look at you, sweetheart,” Ellie teased, petting the top of your head with each thrust she put forth into your mouth. “She just always gets so messy, doesn’t she, Abs?”

“She’s fucking soaking and milking my cock,” Abby groaned, feeling her own wetness form under the harness. “Just needed us to fuck her and break her all over again, make her remember she can’t leave ever again.”

Abby pounding into you always feel intoxicating, you always needed to be bouncing on her cock and letting her know how desperate you were; you wanted to suck and gag on Ellie for hours, and let her fuck the back of your throat until it was hoarse and raw. 

You needed them in each, every little special way that could satisfy your needs to the fullest extent. They could do that, no one else. They could make you theirs and make you feel worship with their sweet nothings, or cocks breaking into you one way or another.

Drool dripped down your chin, your eyes drooping as Ellie had to practically keep your head up to keep her cock shoving back and forth into your mouth. You allowed her to use your mouth, let her get her own sick satisfaction out of this moment, Abby doing the same thing while your cum was looping around her dick.

“Let’s break her,” Ellie said, and Abby stopped all movements into you, a whine escaping your mouth. “You need another punishment, baby. You must think we are stupid.”

Abby grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to be dragged to the floor before them, and your knees slammed against the hardwood floors. “Jasmine was one thing, baby,” she began, clicking the roof of her mouth in thought. “But the police are another. Where is your loyalty?”

You frowned, staring up at them back and forth. “It’s to you. It has always been to you.”

“And Vincent Hayes?” Ellie asked. “He is awfully close to you.”

“I wanted to pay my respects to Brandon,” you admitted, sniffling. “I… I felt guilty and bad.”

“Guilty? For what? For letting that sick fuck call you a bitch?” Abby questioned, and you shook your head. “Use your brain, sweetheart. You are clearly dumb, and need us to guide you through everything in life.”

“I’m not dumb, I—I just felt really bad,” you neared breaking down, eyes shifting away. “It is my fault he is dead. It is my fault so many people got injured or died.”

“Here is what you seem to forget – and look at us, baby,” Abby demanded, and you slowly peered back up at them. “It is our sole duty for us to take care of you, and protect you. Do you know where you would be in life without us? How sick and lost you would be? People would be using you and taking advantage of you if we never existed, sweetheart.”

“I… I would have minded my own business forever if we never met,” you stated, wiping your tears away. “I won’t talk to anyone, I haven’t spoken. This ring,” you lifted up your hand, “it states that I am yours for lifetimes, and I will do anything as your wife and partner. Nothing or no one could take me away.”

The pair seemed to be satisfied by your answer because in their heads, they got you right where they needed you forever; submissive, trapped, and loyal – like a fucking dog.

It took cunning patience to mold you into this state, and make sure you would never leave again; if putting a ring on your finger was the way, so be it — at least you could not go anywhere and your loyalty was finalized by a proposal, and soon a marriage. 

They could not risk you fleeing from them, and they had to keep as their pretty hostage for the rest of your shared lives; if they had to repeatedly kill, torture, and remind you where your lifetime stood, they would do just that.

After all, they loved you. They cared. Who else would?

A backhand came from Abby as she dragged you back to the bed, and in moments, you were stuck between Ellie and her. Ellie bent you slightly forward as spit went down your ass and she shoved her into your ass, and Abby wasted no time getting back into your swollen cunt. 

“Tell us who you belong to, sweet thing,” Abby said. “Come on, use your fucking brain.”

“I belong to Abby and Ellie, I be—belong to you!” You cried out due to their rigorous, violent pace, being able to feel them literally and physically break your holes. 

“Yeah, baby? Nobody else?” Ellie taunted, eliciting a breathy laugh. “We could fucking kill you, you know that? But we just love you so much, and wouldn’t want that.”

You shook your head, too spaced out to closely listen to what Ellie was saying; it should’ve been a sign, but you were focused on the feeling and motion of them pounding into you. “I—I love you so much, so so much,” you moaned, your back arching, and fingernails clawing into Abby’s wrist the second she put a tight grip on your throat. “So much, mommy. You don’t understand how much I love you.”

“Oh, we know baby,” Abby told you, grinning and panting. “Going to do anything for us, right?”

You nodded. “Anything for you. My loyalty and life is to you.”

“Then you are going to kill, baby,” Ellie stated, and the sexual high was shifted into terror and panic. “We are gonna teach our pretty baby how to kill, and take care of business.”

“N–No, please no!” You cried, their laughs ringing in your eyes as they sounded like maniacal psychopaths. 

“You need to– hey, focus!” Abby yelled, having to keep her hands on your waist to keep you up. “You need to take care of that boy, angel. That silly idiot, okay? We’ll teach you.”

That’s when you realized — you had taken the bait. You caved right into what they wanted and needed. 

And you would never have any way out every fucking again.

You broke into sobs, the sick high of pleasure and despair mixing into the heat of sex that lingeried and fully thrusted into the bedroom. Your body shook with anxiety, your climax rattling in you and took control over your nerves, the girls always finding a way to take a note. 

“No, you don’t get to cum,” Ellie spat, her hand wrapping around your neck from behind you, and you gasped when her fingers pressed into your throat; hard enough to leave bruising or any fingerprints. “Be a good girl, lamb. Don’t disappoint us more than you already have.”

“Please let me cum,” you managed to cry out, her strength tightening around your throat, almost slowly cutting off any airway. “Please!”

“Why should we let you cum, bunny?” Abby panted, pinching at one of your nipples. “You don’t think this is fun? Us using and breaking you?”

It didn’t take sex anymore in order for them to find their cruel ways to psychologically torture you, but rather mock and taunt at you for everything and anything. They did it with Brandon, Delilah, and Jasmine — everyone would be killed in front of you because it was the only way for them to break you into submission. 

You came anyways, and despite that they would usually stop and punish you further, they used it to their advantage and Abby’s put her hands on top of Ellie’s, both of them choking you and fucking harder into your sore, ruined holes, and your vision went blurry and you were croaking out cries and moans. It was sick that a part of you truly liked them being this vile and vicious with you, and that it would always get you off, but it was scarier that they would go further than this in the future. 

The violence was covered by affection, and now by marriage.

Abby and Ellie spent weeks teaching you how to use a gun on someone, be sleath and quick with it. They wanted you to kill Vincent Hayes at the very second you could, and be out of sight when you did it. You knew you couldn’t do it; you weren’t like your girlfriends. That’s why they liked you to begin with, because you were the complete opposite of them, and at some point, that must have changed. 

For those weeks, you spent time in isolation wondering what to do, what you could do without getting yourself or others killed in the process. You would stare at the ring, playing with it, and break into tears whenever your partners were around.

You were a hostage in a relationship for eternity, and the thought of escaping once more did cross your mind, but you knew what happened last time when you tried to; who knows, they could kill your parents just so you could come crawling back to them. 

You avoided any discussions about the wedding or future plans because you were slowly coming to terms with your decisions, with what you wanted to do, because you just simply couldn’t think about that. 

You sat in your parents home, telling the girls your mom wanted a spa day together in order to avoid suspicion; after all, you were doing well playing the sweet fiancée. 

Vincent sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hands. “You can talk to me.”

“I want out,” you mumbled. “But I need you to do one thing.”

“Well, what is it?”

You gnawed onto your cheek, inhaling sharply. “I need you to kill me.”

Silence filled the room. 

“What the fuck did you say?” Vincent asked.

“I said I need—”

“No, I heard you. You just must forget that your girlfriends are insane, and will do worse to me,” he stated, and you looked at him. “Why do you want to die?”

“Not actually kill me,” you said. “I—I just need a way out, and death sounds fleeting and the only way.”

Vincent joined the quiet that tumbled back into the living room, the two of you now staring down into your cups of coffee. After what felt like hours moving by, he hums. “Okay, I’ll do it,” he tells you, and though your heart sank, you nodded. “Think of it as an eye for an eye because of Brandon. I’ll take what is most precious to your girlfriends.”

“Okay, so how should we do this then?” You wondered.

Vincent got up from the couch, putting down his cup. “You’ll come to find out. I have to make this even. But you should talk to those detectives if you want a full clean slate.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to do this,” you started, taking a sip of your coffee. “My death could be planted on them. I’m a heiress, and that would be bigger news. I’ll leave something behind to admit Abby and Ellie’s full guilt for Brandon's death.”

“No way you would do that. You wouldn’t betray them like that,” he shot back, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t leave anything behind; how do I know you aren’t setting me up?”

“I am betraying them by finding the only way out, and I know you want revenge,” you professed, realizing how calm and collected you were talking about potentially dying for good. 

It was a suicide ideation, yes, but maybe Vincent would find a way to sympathize; you believed in that. 

“This is the revenge I had in mind.”

You tilted your head. “It’s the perfect revenge. We both get something out of it.”

“Do you want to actually die, or are you trying to fake it?” Vincent wondered, and you shrugged your shoulders. “Do I get something from you for admission either way?”

You nodded, putting down your coffee and stood up. “I will leave something behind in my bedroom after it is done. But do not betray me, or I will fucking kill you instead.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“It is fair,” you said, brushing past him as you took the cups to the kitchen and he followed behind you. “Now if you excuse me, I have to prepare any finalizations.”

Vincent found himself out, and you went back to your bedroom, spending hours putting together forms and transferring money into offshore accounts, and even called over your family lawyer to discuss a will. The lawyer sat in front of you at the kitchen table, files out in front of you. “May I ask why you are doing this?” She asked, sliding over the paperwork. “I mean, you are so young and people usually prepare a will when they are about to die. Your parents have a will with your name in it.”

“I understand that, but I just want to be prepared,” you said, grabbing your pen. “I want all my profits to go to charities for women in shelters, to under class schools for children where they will be rewarded with new books and computers for them; along with fixing up any structures they need done. A grand total of 20K will be rewarded to research, world troubles, and more. I have put it all down.”

The lawyer knew not to pry any further, and pointed to where you exactly needed to sign, and you did it with such ease, finally accepting what was coming to the end. You were tying up all loose ends that you needed to before Vincent would take charge of your fate. 

After the lawyer left and you signed away your destiny, you went back into your bedroom and grabbed a hard drive stick, putting it into the side of your computer.

 You turned on the recording, and you sucked in a harsh, deep breath that came out shaky and unsteady. “Abby Anderson and Ellie Williams killed Brandon James. There was a bloody-stained shirt that had his blood on it that was burned by them only a year after his death. I know this because I told them what Brandon was doing, and they got killed. I know the other people they have injured and killed before and after him. This is my admission of guilt.”

You paused, staring blankly at the computer screen, and you cleared your throat shortly after. “They are violent killers; there is no innocence in them or this case. By the time this has turned over to the courts, I will be gone. But I will not leave without confessing the only sin that has been killing me for months.”

You stopped the recording, and made sure it was filed into the hard drive, putting it in a box on your vanity; easy access for Vincent to get ahold of. 

After your admission, you took a walk into the bustling city of Manhattan, having your own headphones in to take away distractions or thoughts of anything that was to come. The girls spammed your phone, but you decided to go on airplane mode, and let yourself cruise around the city you were raised and born in. 

If your death would be soon, you rather take in any last memories. Your walk went on and on, losing any track of time as you were on it. You would go home, get changed for bed, and go to sleep with the decisions you decided to commit to. 

You let yourself walk and wander for hours, grabbing ice cream on your way to home. The sweet flavor gave you sweet memories of your childhood; how your dad would take you out for ice cream and sweets whenever you did well in elementary school, or how your mom would let you mix candy into a huge bag whenever you had a bad day. Those were the parents you always remembered and wanted back, but when their careers and success became bigger than you, they had shut and tossed you out. 

If they hadn’t, maybe then Abby and Ellie would have not come into your life, and ruined it all. 

You tossed your cup of ice cream into the bin outside your penthouse hotel, and the busboy opened the door for you as you thanked him on your way inside. The building felt colder and eerie, seeming as if no one lived inside and you were the only resident. 

You were sure you were overthinking it after the day you had, and were just overly tired. After all, it was New York, and people were always going out. 

You grabbed the elevator, and selected the floor of your parents’ penthouse, your hands in the pockets of your coat with your headphones and phone tucked inside of it. It took a few minutes until you reached the floor, and when you walked in, you heard the sound of glass clinking together. You paused inside the elevator, hesitating to get inside your home.

Silence entered back into the room, and you assumed it could have been your mom pouring herself a cup of wine and was making a ruckus for no reason. You sighed, walking inside anyways and when you dropped your tote bag on top of the island, you found the horror scene and sight of your butchered parents. 

Your scream ripped out of your throat, falling down into their blood as you first moved to your mom. “Mom, mama!” You screamed, crying and panicking. You picked her up, lifting her into your lap, your blood-covered hand brushing her hair. “Mama, please wake up! Come on, come on, you’re okay.”

You turned over to your dad, letting your head rest on his chest which was repeatedly stabbed at. You sobbed into him, grasping onto his shirt. Your jeans soaked in their pool of blood, and you shivered, wanting to cradle into their embrace again.

Now what was there to live for?

“Eye for an eye,” a voice came behind you, and before you could see who it was, your vision went cold and black.

Waking up from a concussion was more hellish than anything.

Your eyes took their time to adjust to fluorescent lightning, feeling loose ropes around your wrists and ankles, a throbbing ache in your frontal cortex. You felt nauseous and feeble, like death was reaching out at you, and about to take you.

The second your vision and memory was intact altogether, you realized you weren't in your home anymore, or hovering over your deceased parents. Instead, you were in a quiet, dimmed room as you were strapped and hostaged to a chair, and you groaned.

“Where the fuck am I?” You groaned. 

“I brought you here,” Vincent’s voice erupted through the room, and came in front of your eyesight. “I told you it would happen soon.”

You swallowed thickly, and hummed. “You killed my parents?”

He nodded.

“That wasn’t the fucking deal,” you spat. “My parents had no part!”

“Killing you was just not enough for me,” Vincent stated, and you fidgeted with the ropes. “You need to know what lose truly feels like. How it killed me when my best friend died.”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“The deal was I'll kill you,” he recalled, and you groaned. “But that’s just too easy. I want to have fun with it.”

Maybe he was just as fucked as your girlfriends. 

“If you kick or bite, I’ll hit you,” he threatened as he moved over to you and slowly took off the ropes, you staring at him while he did it. “Play nice.”

“I could rip out your eyes and eat them right now!” You snapped, and he chuckled. “You are such a fucking asshole. I hope you see Brandon in hell.”

Vincent could only then grab a fistful of your hair, using it to crane you in whatever direction that he took you in, the two of you leaving the room you were trapped in just a second ago. You moved into another room later, and then found your girlfriends tied to chairs, and clearly unconscious.

“Abby! Els!” You shouted, sprinting over to the middle of them, shaking them by their legs. “Hey hey, wake up, baby. Come on, wake up.”

“I took pride in knowing I was able to overpower them,” Vincent confessed, and you peered over your shoulder back at him, shaking your head. “I just needed an extra pair of hands to help me out; they are a bit feisty.”

Ellie and Abby slowly awoke out of their unconscious slumber, taking their time to adjust to their surroundings. “Baby?” Ellie whispered, and you smiled, nodding. “What’s going on? What the actual fuck?”

“We are about to play russian roulette,” Vincent grabbed a gun out of the back of his pocket; a revolver being loaded with clearly only a single bullet. “I am going to answer questions; if we are all honest, I won’t kill your girlfriend. If we aren’t, I’ll make sure she is tortured in front of you, and she kills herself.”

Ellie and Abby paused, registering what deal he had just made until they looked back at you, pure concern and disappointment in their faces. “What have you done, bunny?” Abby asked, and for the first time in a while, they looked panicked and scared.

You retreated backwards, and stood up, now standing center in the middle of the room. Vincent came to the side of you, feeling the cold tip of the gun pressed up against your temple, and you sucked in every despair and anxiety that ran through you.

“How many people have you killed?” Vincent asked.

Quiet. Silence. An oath of silence.

“I’ll blow her brains out right now.”

“About a dozen, maybe fifteen. Including your shit friend,” Ellie confessed, and you sighed in relief. The revolver luckily didn’t click. “We tortured every one of them, some of them were taped.”

“What?” You gasped.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ellie brushed it off, clearly unfazed.

“What did you do Brandon?” Vincent asked another.

“Just fucking killed him, man,” Abby answered, and revolver clicked, but nothing came out. “Fuck, okay! We burned a cigarette, cut his tongue — it was a while ago, we honestly forgot.”

“You killed my best friend like he was just cattle,” Vincent spat out, and you trembled. “You’re lucky I don’t kill your girlfriend, even after she betrayed you.”

“What is he talking about?” Abby asked.

You would rather kill yourself at this point because he knew what you were referring to. You were the reason you got them into this spot, that they were so blinded by their love for you, you casted them under this spell that had caught them in these chairs, and were possibly about to witness you die in front of them.

“I… I signed my will. I told Vincent an eye for an eye,” you sucked in a harsh breath. “You were part of that agreement, but not this shit. He even killed my parents.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Ellie shouted; she had never shouted like this before. Her voice was laced with pure distraught and anger, like she was willing to kill you herself at this point. “What the fuck, what the fuck! Are you fucking stupid!”

“Oh, don’t act like you are such saints yourself!” You seethed, scoffing in disbelief. “You only married me so I wouldn’t leave your asses again! You didn’t marry me out of love, you married me out of pure Stockholm syndrome! You use me to fulfill your need and drive of violence; you need me as an excuse to kill people!”

The pair went absolutely silent, and that validated everything Jasmine had told you long ago. 

“New game; I am going to leave this gun with you,” Vincent took it out, showing it off as he untied you a few seconds afterwards. “Your little girlfriend will decide who gets to live.” He slowly walked out of the small four by four room, only then tossing the gun your way shortly after he walked only, the trigger off and the door closed and locked.

It was you, a gun, and the loves of your life. It was now a sicker, cruel game between the three of you. You put the gun in your back pocket, going on to untie your girlfriends as they massaged their wrists and glared at you with utter betrayal, and slight disgust. 

You made sure to careen yourself backwards at a steady pace, getting the gun out and instantly got the gun out of your pocket, pointing it up and direct at them. They took rapid notice, both of them raising their arms up in self defense and protection.

“Okay, bunny… I know you are probably really scared right now,” Abby started off, and your hands became shaky, the sweat from your palms forming around the handle. “Just give us the gun, and we will figure it out together, okay?”

“Please don’t make this any harder,” you whimpered, sniffling. “I should do this — you guys have put me through Hell.”

“Little one, we care about you so much,” Ellie added, and your gaze shifted over to her. “You know we do; from the first moment we saw you, we finally understood our purpose for existing in this world, and that was to protect you, to care only for you.”

Your body shivered with anxiety, your brain trying to refuse anything they were both saying to you. “You don’t understand anything,” you whispered, and you tackled with multiple options to end this moment; shoot them and kill them, shoot them in the legs and run off, or end your own life. 

If you were to shoot them and run away again, where could you possibly hide? There would never be anywhere for you to go. You needed a way out but there wasn’t any, and that made you face only one true fate for yourself; you had to take yourself out. 

You turned the gun onto yourself, the head kissing your temple.

“Angel, no no! Put down the gun!” Abby shouted, and Ellie carefully stepped over to you. “Els is gonna take the gun, and we are gonna get out of here. We are gonna go home and pretend none of this happened, and move on to our happy lives.”

“I have to do this, I have to!” You sobbed, and they shook their heads. “If I leave and run away, you guys will find me and kill anyone who stands in the way! You always do that, and make me witness it as your sick punishment!”

“Baby…” Ellie beckoned, and her eyes softened to you. “No more killing, no more hurting. We promise. We knew that chapter was over when we asked you to be our wife. We want to move elsewhere with you, and begin our exciting new life.”

You couldn’t decipher genuinity or manipulation that played a role in her tone, and you could not tell if she was being honest with you, given how many epiphanies you’d been having ever since the proposal. Maybe Ellie was being right for once; the way she glanced at you was pure and worried, almost like she wanted to embrace you, and let you cry into her hold. 

Maybe that little hope that danced in your heart was right, and going to come true. 

You slowly put the gun down, sniffling and nodding. “No more killing please,” you begged, hiccuping and sniffling. “I can’t take any more of it.”

“Just us and our happy life from here on out, babydoll,” Abby reassured, and you nodded, frowning. You held the gun out into her reach, and the second she grabbed it, the door swung open to reveal Vincent with his own gun.

“Eye for a fucking eye,” he said, and an immediate pain stung to the middle of your abdomen. You stood in shock, every nerve going numb and your brain falling quiet on you. Your hand touched down to where the ache and throbbing sensation formed itself, only to reveal a coat of blood. 

Vincent ran off before the girls could get to him, and their attention landed back onto you when they heard your body thud against the ground. You stared up at the ceiling, your vision blurring in and out, and you felt eerily cold. 

“Eyes here, baby,” Ellie coeed, Abby ripping a piece of her shirt off and putting it over the wound, and applied pressure. “There we go, you are gonna be just fine.”

“There’s too much,” Abby panicked. “Too much fucking blood— I’m gonna fucking kill that fucker—”

“It hurts,” you muttered, breathing heavily. “It hurts— Please, make it go away.”

“We’re trying, angel, just keep breathing,” Abby worriedly smiled, Ellie stroking the top of your head. “You are gonna be okay.”

You just nodded, even though the fluorescent lighting was dimming and their panicked voices slowly turned into echoes, your ears ringing. If there is a Heaven, you hoped it’d be kinder to you than all your years were.

Privilege does not give you anything; you have to exchange many of it, just for a little something beautiful.

ONE YEAR LATER.

“Please rise before the court,” the judge said, and everyone stood. “This trial was once again complex and complicated, I will say that. The tape we got from the deceased was hearsay, and without her here with us, the jury had to make a decision based on other testimonies. Jury, do you have a decision?”

“Yes, your honor,” a juror lady stood, a card in hand. 

“What is your defense?” He asked.

“On behalf of the New York vs. Anderson and Williams, we hereby find them not guilty on multiple counts of first degree murder, manslaughter, torture,” the juror said, and the pair sighed in relief, knowing that their plans could fall back into place. 

When the tape was stolen and found from Vincent, he turned it over to the police which then resulted in the girls arrested. The trial took a while to begin, evidence being enough to upstart one, but they knew it would not conclude how Vincent intended for it, too.

You died horrifically before their eyes, and a funeral was held for you, and everyone attended for you; they knew you would have loved the turn out. You would have loved how Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley played for you, and how it is the only way they can easily cry.

But Vincent decided to go hide away, and what they did best was play cat and mouse. Vincent Hayes thought he could escape by murdering you, and trying to turn over your partners, but they love a good chase, and better yet – a needed murder.

“Miss Anderson and Williams, you are hereby dismissed and free,” the judge announced, and they cheered, hugging their top-tier lawyers. 

When Abby and Ellie left the courthouse, they took a trip to the cemetery and visited your grave. They sat down on the moppy gross, setting down flowers near your headstone.

‘Beloved Daughter, Friend, and Wife’

“We did it, angel,” Abby said. “We did it – and now we are going to avenge you. We promise.”

Abby and Ellie knew what they were going to do, and how they were going to get Vincent Hayes. They knew at the end of the day, it was the only way to remember you, and seek justice for your soul.

To the ends of the Earth. 

[dontmindme-just-whatevering]

This is a delicate topic for sure but a bundle of cells growing in someone’s womb is not a human yet in my opinion. It has the potential to be a human but it isn’t yet. in an ideal world only people who want to have children are getting pregnant. But we don’t live in a perfect world, and bodily autonomy is so so important, even if it’s got outcomes we aren’t always happy with.

I was pro life for a little bit, but then I heard about a mother dying because something went wrong with her pregnancy (she wanted more children) and was bleeding out. However, the hospital refused her care twice and she bleed to death. What I was told about what pro life was supposed to be and how it was actually being used is completely differently. We were not protecting babies but instead hurting mothers. Taking away their rights and protections for the sake of perfect unrealistic ideals. That’s just one story and their are many others and all together it does not paint a pretty picture.

I would also like to add that I realized a very important piece of why Christians specifically are so gung-ho about pro life. It’s because they believe in the second coming of Christ and they are genuinely afraid that allowing abortions could lead to his death before he’s even been born. I don’t want to bash on anyone’s religion, but I’ve given this a lot of thought and decided that I disagree with this point of view.

I believe everyone has the same capacity for harm and healing. it’s both how your raised and what you observe and learn as a kid and what you choose to do with what you learn and experience. I believe that Jesus was just some guy who wanted to have a net positive good in the world. And just so happened to become the most famous historical figure of all time, but only long after he had died. I believe there are tons of people like Jesus we just don’t talked about them because we don’t know who they are. Jesus is a celebrity but being more famous does not mean you are inherently better or worse than other people.

For me this isn't even about empathy or sympathy (though there's value in those as well), it is just straight-up a human rights thing. Once you have decided that there is *any* category of human that can be treated as less-than-human you've said that humanity is conditional, and so are the rights that come with it. You've already lost, you've granted the fascists their point because *you agree with them* that some people don't deserve to be treated like humans.

[vanilleandclove]

carried away; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader 

fourth of july always has always dampened a stain on your relationship, for the betterment of it, it helps you both understand each other a little bit differently.

warnings: ptsd episode. mass casualty event (mce), pregnancy & pregnancy issues, samira deserves a boy/girlfriend outside of the ed THE GIRL NEEDS NORMALITY AND CARE, aggressive patients, a damn bomb, whole lotta robby yap, langdon goes to rehab but is that really a warning, jack is halfway codependent (man has trauma), there will be a fluffy chapter maybe word count: 4.2k notes: had to search up bizarre stories from the emergency room & ask my immigrant, can do no wrong, dad his crazy stories (radiologist in the emergency department), only for him to ask if i was going to give up film school. if you're unfamilar with emergency depts in america, fourth of july is the peak holiday for injurys and chaos, happy summer for me.

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“Hey can I use you during the briefing, the Fourth is always a hectic day here, got some new faces and these kids aren’t familiar with how we run things during the summer” Robby asked you as you walked out of the lounge, seeing you lightly waddle as you needed to pee.

“Robby, these kids survived Pitfest- they can handle an independence day- but, sure, let me just handle this real quick” you grunted, feeling your bladder overwhelming full. This time around the life growing inside of you decided to fill and harass your bladder rather than morning sickness. Week 13, you couldn’t wait to get to at least the second trimester. 

You and Jack decided to tell Dana, Bridget, Robby, and Heather. They were the only ones allowed to know, even though it killed Jack to not tell his mom, slowly hurt you to not tell your sister or mom. Heather was ready to throw you a baby shower by the first day, Dana already bought clothes for your little bean. But Jack, Jack was a nervous wreck. Monitoring you closely while you slept and ate, helped you shower as if it was strenuous. He loved seeing your belly grow as small as it did from week 1 to 13. It felt like a year, to him it felt like time slowed just to spare him any worries. 

From babe; 

How’s work? Anything yet? I just fully clocked in lmao, you coming in today? Probably gonna get called in you know how it is every year Not really, this is the first time we didn’t go on vacation Dr. Abbot  Way too early for the teasing honey. I’ll pick you up if I don’t get called in. I love you and bug. We love you too- would love you more if I got lucky tonight. Depends on if you’re a good girl or not doesn’t it?

The most intimate time you’ve both had in 5 weeks was him giving you a foot rub, other than that nothing. You were either too tired and slept in- the pregnancy pillow he got you works wonders, woke up in the middle of the night with indigestion, or you put the lingerie on and then got emotional seeing him- sometimes all the three. You missed your fiancé more than anything.

Upon exiting the bathroom there was Robby grilling into everybody, “Doctor L/n will give you the rundown on how things go surgical wise on today”. 

“Surgery is usually bombarded- it’s a peak day for the entire ED, night shift comes and helps out when they phase in about two to three hours earlier” you announced, you ran this shit as if it were the Navy- courtesy of your man back at home who taught you how his C.O.s talked to him, “We deal with the stroke & heart related issues- I get the more severe cases therefore I am not always going to be down here”. 

You made your way to the board, “Trauma gets a designated 4 operating rooms today, we have three surgeons on call, all trained under me or my predecessor Doctor Greene- bless our lucky asses, Greene comes in to help every Fourth of July” looking directly into everyone’s eyes, Jack’s habit directly rubbed off on you, “Worst we’ve had was Fourth of July 2022, I was up a near 24 hours. We’ve had someone be given a bomb instead of an illegal firework- didn’t detonate, had to call the bomb squad when we were in the OR”.

“20 year old male, Mark Coleman, mom said he bought fireworks in Texas last week only for the fireworks to be an actual bomb- didn’t detonate in the field, bomb squad is already on the way” The EMT ran over to you keeping his voice lowered in order to not panic the crowd, supplying oxygen from the kids intubation, you nodded and ran over to change your gloves as you saw Jack in a woman’s chest cavity trying to stimulate her heart.

“What do you got?” he asked, thinking it would be more interesting, only to be given a concerned and almost scared look from you, “Doctor Shen, take over” John didn’t hesitate to replace Abbot, “Stimulate for another three, if no response send her up with Walsh and Greene”.

He discarded his gloves and placed a hand on your elbow to follow you to Mark, “Have bomb squad come in through the helipad, we can’t afford freaking out anyone down here, we have to operate on the west surgical wing anyway” you told Dana as she nodded.

“Wait, you're operating?” Jack questioned.

“Bomb squad’s going to be in there with me the entire time, I’m the only surgeon available and willing” you looked into his eyes almost as if you were being stern and for your selfish reasons of looking at him, “This is my department Doctor Abbot, don’t question my job, I won’t question yours”.

“I will question it if you’re putting yourself in immediate danger” he told you, searching for the exact feeling you were hiding, fear. 

“It’s my job Jack” you whispered to him before walking off. 

It was a three hour surgery with no one other than your surgical team and the bomb squad on the floor, Greene came in to help if something were to happen to you. Truth was Jack yelled at him over the phone when he told him that you “had it under control”- which you did, Jack barely built up the courage to open up about his war PTSD since he just started going to therapy, you weren’t exactly someone he wanted to handle a bomb extraction. 

When you went back down, he could breathe again, you took your losses as Mark may not be able to speak again as the bomb landed just in the right spot to strain his larynx. 

“There are also a lot of worried parents with children who are the spawns of satan. I had a mom that same year scream in both mine and Doctor Mohan’s face about her son falling into their active fire pit with soot all over his body, minor burns, earned a beautiful punch in the chest” you told them, seeing the smile on Samira’s face as she recalled the memory on the first year of her residency.

“I don’t give a fuck! He is screaming, just take him!” she screamed at you and Samira as you did the exam while explaining to Samira in passing.

“Ma’am there are no burns on your son, enough for it to be surgical or an emergency, we are currently swamped here. We are going to give you three cold compresses and some cream to help, only use Tylenol to control the pain because NSAIDs can be dangerous if he hit his head while falling in” you told her, giving her son a pat on the back as he shook from the bass of her voice as she screamed. 

“You fucking bitch, I pay your fucking wages through all of those fuckass taxes just for you to dismiss my fucking son?”.

You formed a barrier between you and her, making sure Samira wouldn’t be spat on or hit if the mom became even more aggressive.

“Ma’am I can assure you, you do not pay my wage or my coworkers wage, now please take your leave before I have security come and hold you in front of your son- now would you prefer that or the care we just gave you to handle this at home?” you responded, she got in your face only to take a step back and aim directly for your chest, Samira swore she heard a light crack before she screamed for security.

You were fine, winded, but fine none of the less. Jack spent the whole night back at your home kissing the middle of your chest as it began to bruise. You insisted it was because it gave him free reign to play with and admire your tits.

“It’s a hectic day for everyone, best advice I can give to you is phase your main patient load out of here by 4 or 5 pm, firework shows start around that time, by 8 pm you’re hopefully already home and night shift is here, we get all the road accidents here” you told them, “Just like Pitfest, if you cannot find Doctor Robinavitch, Doctor Collins, Doctor Abbot, or myself, the next level of command is to get approval from Doctor Mohan or- Doctor Langdon. Robby, Abbot, and I run things down here, we’ve been doing this together for the past 6 years, today is just one of those days that gets convoluted, now eat and hydrate, good luck”. 

When Frank got back from rehab, Abbot was impressed he put in the work. Heather and you knew he was going to be given his position back immediately and by May Heather had finally completed her residency program- Frank having to make up for the time lost. 

You all had a calm morning, taking a half day to resort for an oncall schedule. By 4 pm you were at home, resting on the couch as Jack made you the lunch you didn’t have time for at work. 

“So far nothing, might just be a quiet Fourth of July” you shouted at him from the living room. 

“Some of my old buddies from the VA invited us down to grill with them at 6, I told them maybe- depends on my wife” Jack said as he brought your food to you on a tray.

“Baby all of them are your age, so old?” you joked, giving him a kiss as he set down your food on the coffee table, “Also wife, Mrs. Abbot hasn’t even been engraved on my social security or Facebook”. 

“Last time I checked you have an Abbot in you”. 

“Unfortunately not in bed” you teased yet again. 

“Eat. Y’Might just pass out if I ravage you before eating” with every dirty joke you gave, Jack’s stoicism would top it. Made for good laughs over the years. Jack made you pass out once from overstimulation, scared the shit out of him, you found it quite sexy that made you feel that good- ever since then, he makes sure you’re hydrated.

You and him were no strangers to calmness in the cusp of afternoons to evenings, especially since you became pregnant, all you both wanted were quiet times like these. By 5:30, you both had showered and got ready for the barbecue Jack promised to attend. Only before you both got the call from Robby and Gloria to come in as there was a shooting at the Fourth of July firework show. Normally, you admired your fiancés punctuality, but he stood there pondering while staring into your soul. 

“You’re going?”.

“It’s a MCE, of course I’m going” you responded, grabbing your spare scrubs you kept hung up and sneakers, you were on your feet all day.

The reality of it was Jack was worried about another miscarriage, worried about you overworking yourself. He put limits where he knew you misconstrued them. 

“You’re being reckless” he blurted out as you packed your bag, you froze from the words that left his mouth, “I’m sorry honey but-“.

You swallowed the heartbreak that came with your fiancé questioning if you had the strength to get through this while pregnant. Swallowed the doubt that he put on you because he was worried, the doubt that only shined to you where he thought you couldn’t do your job while pregnant. The same doubt men put other women through because they think it’s not their place or they don’t belong. 

“We’ll talk about this later” you told him, shrugging him off as you walked away. Jack knew your limits under the guise of understanding you, though as much as it prided you both it had its repercussions such as right now. 

The car ride was quiet and tense, the air thick and both of your throats dry. You wouldn’t argue before work, everything stayed at home. As much as you knew where  his concern came from, you knew if something were to happen, he’d silently blame you in the deepest part of him even if his body rejected that fact. 

You took your leave ahead of Jack, feeling the light jerks of your stomach, there’s a version of you and Jack and you’re carrying it. You felt the weight of your chest as your breasts were sore from the bra and hormones. You saw both Javadi and Langdon outside as they handled triage, giving them the best of luck.

“What happened?” you asked Dana at her desk.

“Shooting at the park, we’re expecting 67 patients in the ambulances, maybe more depending on transport. You okay honey?” she questioned, seeing the tiredness in your eyes. 

“Yeah, some jerks but at least bean is moving” you lowered your voice. Normally, you wouldn’t feel your baby moving until a few more weeks, with your hyper vigilance and rotations to OB during residency, you knew the movement, the little soft jerks. You also knew you couldn’t wait for your womb to move away from your bladder and for the light aches of your hips to stop. “No sign of Greene? He never misses a year”.

Dana shrugged as she called her family, everyone around you called their loved ones as you just shrugged yours off. When Jack came in, it was your instinct to lean into his close proximity, your own way of telling him “I love you” while on the clock. His breath against the skin of your neck and the squeeze he gave your hand, it was going to be a long night. 

“Okay, this is not the first MCE you all have gone through, I hope we all are familiar with the protocol for tonight. Doctor Abbot, Shen, Collins, and myself are going to stay down here at all times. Your number one determinant for surgical cases will go to Doctor L/n, can’t find her? Go to Walsh, we have three fellows courtesy of Doctor L/n on standby in the ORs, send your patients up immediately, they know you’re coming” Robby announced, “SWAT and the police haven’t identified a shooter therefore they will be collecting any and all fragments of evidence taken from patients, upon extraction give it to an attending. Unfortunately, we are the only trauma center nearby, we are putting ourselves at risk for the shooter to arrive here”. 

Jack felt your body tense from behind him, his knuckles finding their way to rolling against your spine to ease tension. You waited a few seconds before speaking up. 

“Any and all cardio, neuro, pediatric, and advanced traumas go to me. Lower grade trauma, general, ophthalmic, and ortho will be split between Garcia and Walsh. Nipples to navel is no-man’s land if you for any reason believe your patient cannot get the most adequate standard of care for the situation, send them to surgery immediately” you told all of them, “If I am not available or are already in an OR, I can work on up to three patients per OR, I’ve done it before, I can do it again”. 

“You’re authorized for neuro?” Whitaker and Santos both questioned you, slowly being tempted to swap to surgery. 

“Neurosurgeons are hard to come by, no one ever wants to hire more because of pay grade. Therefore everyone else has to pick up the slack” you answered, “Doctor Rios is our attending Neurosurgeon, he taught me everything I need to know”. 

“Doctor Mohan and McKay, you’ll be with me and Walsh” you told both of them, “It’s going to be a long night”.

After dismissal you heard the distant sirens from the ambulances, giving Jack enough time to check up on you. 

“He’ll come by, he never misses a Fourth” Jack reassured you as you rapidly typed on your phone to Greene’s wife.

“His daughter’s family was over there, pretty sure they all went” you told him, shaking your head slightly before putting your phone away, “You sure you’re ready for this?”.

“Nothing we haven’t seen”. 

You looked at him once more, you saw the apprehension. Last Fourth of July he worked, a firework went off in the halls and sent him into a frenzy the rest of the night. You were a senior resident, just before you and Jack decided to finally take things seriously. 

“Doctor Abbot we ran out of chest tubes Princess told me-“ you walked into a room filled with blood all over the floor and no one else but Jack who was sunk down to the floor, prosthetic to the side of him. “Jack?”.

He remained quiet as he picked at his cuticles, blood trickling from his hand, there was a deep gash in the palm of his hand, blood flowing more as he flexed his hand. 

“Jack” you took a step closer just before he fixed his eyes on you, bloodshot and pupils blown. His hair was caked in blood, “Baby let me stitch-“.

“No” he spoke up, eyes never leaving yours. Luckily, it was cooled down outside, nothing too serious to begin with minus the car collisions that sent three families here. Jack had worked on one of the moms, the mom whose blood now coated the floor and him. “I couldn’t save him,” he muttered.

Your eyebrows furrowed, taking a look at the leftover chart to see if the mom was accidentally misplaced. Only to realize Jack wasn’t thinking coherently, “Baby, the Jamison’s mom is with Greene. She’s okay, he does thank you for stabilizing her”. 

“I couldn’t save him” a sob wrecked through his throat. You took your chances and got down on your knees, the blood on the floor staining your scrubs, making yourself be at eye level to him. 

You cautiously snapped your sterile gloves off to cup his face with your hands, only after you placed his spare hand on your chest where your heart was beating- erratically from the subsiding adrenaline. The blood from his hand coated your scrubs.

“Breathe with and repeat after me” you instructed, “Your name is Jack Abbot, you are currently in Pittsburgh as an attending emergency physician, in a trauma room with Y/n”.

He lightly breathed, his breath shuddered as he opened his mouth, “My name is Jack Abbot. I am currently in Pittsburgh and an attending emergency physician, in trauma room 3 with Y/n L/n”. 

“I am not overseas in war”. 

“I am not overseas in war”.

He calmed down as you tested it another three times. Upon the third he got up and let you clean and dress his gash. “What are you thinking?” you asked, silently giving him stitches. 

“I’m lucky to be with you”.

You smiled lightly, “You’re lucky it wasn’t Langdon who came in” chortling quietly, “three more stitches and you should be good cowboy”. 

“70 year old male, multiple GSWs to the chest, wife helped stabilize him on the field”.

“Mrs. Greene?” you called out as you walked away from Jack. 

Doctor Peter Greene was the 70 year old male with the 7 gunshot wounds to his chest. His wife, Lisa, was an anesthesiologist up until last year, she was barely 65.

“Oh my god Y/n” she sobbed before engulfing you into a hug, “Please help him” you nodded as you pulled away running off to the trauma bay they held him.

“Send him to the OR now, Samira you’re scrubbing in with me” you directed, “Cassie, Lisa Greene is out there, she’s bleeding from her legs I think she was shot can you check up on her?” both the girls nodded as you wheeled Greene to the elevator.

“Are you sure you want me to scrub in?” Samira asked as you reached the elevator, it was just you two- well three. 

“Samira, I’m pregnant” you confessed as the elevator doors closed on the two of you, “I’ve already miscarried once, I don’t plan on that again, I’m hoping his stubborn ass pulls through so my baby isn’t distressed from me being stressed, you being there is more than enough”. 

She looked stunned from the confession, smiling in the light of the situation, “Do you want me to get an OB down after just to see where things are?”.

“I may need you to sub in so I can sit down once or twice, I’ll be with you the entire time” you told her, just as you reached the third floor. The surgical wing was scattered as you made it to OR 4, your body stiffened up with worry as you realized it was the same OR. 

4 hours, it took you and Samira 4 hours to get every bullet, repair any tissue. You stood standing the entire time, your heels ached, knees slightly wobbly. Luckily, Greene was stable and okay, the ED only lost 2 patients that day, most non-surgical minus laparotomies split between your fellows and Walsh. You gave your graces to Samira as she beamed with joy, her job was her life, but luckily, you convinced her to finally go on a date every once and awhile.

The most important part, you still felt the light jerks. Peeing finally felt like liberation, what you really wanted was a bath and maybe a soda to substitute the craving for wine. You wanted to talk.

“Abbot?” you asked Bridget as her and Dana contacted the hospital officials to open the emergency department again. Bridget pointed up and you gave her a thumbs up. 

There on the roof, Jack was admiring the skyline with Robby. As the elevator dinged, Robby took his leave, giving you a smile and a nod.

“How’s Greene?”.

“Good, he almost woke up from the anesthesia, but other than that, stubborn bastard is asleep in post-op. His daughter came to drop off some clothes and food” you filled him in, the silence found the both of you in an unwelcoming way, “You doubted me today”.

“I did”.

“I became a surgeon at 22, by 27 I was already an attending” you started, “I’ve also was lucky enough to have Greene and Adamson as mentors, you and Robby as colleagues” you boasted, feeling the wind blow through your hair, “But, you walk into a room and patients don’t doubt you for a singular second. I walk in and it’s always a question of if I belong here- it’s not an age thing, that I learned a long time ago” you licked your lips before continuing, “I can feel our baby moving, at 13 weeks, I can feel it, I didn’t before. I think it’s because I’m a doctor, I am aware of the feeling. Let me put the limit on what I can and can’t do”.

Jack finally looked over at you, “I’m sorry” he started, sighing gently, “I feel you walk away and it scares the living shit out of me” raking his hand through his curls, “I feel selfish a bit, knowing you’re out of reach, that you’re upstairs operating and I don’t know what’s happening”.

You smiled at the sentiment of care, “I’m working” you told him, “I’m doing the job I fell in love with when I was a kid. Now my knees and back hurt both from age and the fact that there is a little Abbot in me” you took a second for him to smile, “This job gave me you, gave me some of the best memories I could imagine, I’d bargain the recklessness every single day if it meant I’m ending up with you”. 

He chuckled, moving away from his spot and climbing over the bars to hold you in his arms. He goes on the roof to admire the city, rather than the want to leave it. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m back out there, fighting”.

“I know. You talk in your sleep a lot” you told him. 

You saved him as much as he saved you.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[makeyuomine]

written in the stars // part 1

Summary: (Y/N) was hoping for a quiet evening under the stars at the Griffith Observatory — a chance to clear her mind. But something shifts when she spots Harry, a graduate student in Planetary Science, during the planetarium show. What begins as a few curious glances soon turns into lingering conversations, shared stargazing, and a growing connection neither of them saw coming.

Tropes: Slow burn, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, academic/nerdy bf x grounded gf

Author’s Note: Hi readers ⭐️ This is a work of fanfiction inspired by the public persona of Harry Styles. All characters, events, and scenarios are entirely fictional and are not intended to reflect real-life individuals, situations, or relationships. This story was written purely for entertainment and creative expression — nothing here is based on real events.

Also please note this is my first time writing a fanfic in literal years, so I’m a little rusty.

Thank you so so much for taking the time to read. I hope you all enjoy.

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(Y/N) had grown up with the Griffith Observatory practically in her backyard, but it felt brand new tonight. She had decided to attend a showing at the planetarium that evening.

Maybe it was the mist drifting in from the hills, softening the sharp lights of Los Angeles like a veil. Or perhaps it was how everything had started feeling a little off lately—like her life had tilted half a degree on its axis, except no one had noticed. She wasn’t looking for an answer tonight, just a reason to keep going.

The planetarium dome smelled the same as it always had—clean, slightly metallic, like old projectors and cool air. She chose a seat in the center row, her favorite spot since childhood. When the stars would swirl and expand across the ceiling, it felt like she was floating.

"I should’ve gotten high first," she muttered under her breath.

(Y/N) adjusts herself in her seat, getting comfortable. A few seconds later, someone slid into one of the seats beside her.

Not right beside her, but close enough to notice.

She glanced over, expecting some bored couple or a tourist with a camera.

The man beside her was quietly silencing his phone, settling in for the show. He sat alone, entirely absorbed in his own world—and looked absolutely, maddeningly gorgeous.

He wore black jeans, scuffed Vans, and a button-up shirt, with a navy blue cardigan draped casually over his shoulders.

His hair fell in loose, tousled waves near his collar—like he'd been running his fingers through it all day without realizing. A soft leather notebook rested on one knee, a pen poised in his hand, like he was treating the show more like a study session than a casual outing.

He noticed her looking.

"You don’t strike me as someone who’s here for an Instagram post," he whispered, a half-smile playing at his lips.

(Y/N) arched a brow. "And you don’t strike me as someone who’s here for fun."

"That's right," he laughed, offering a hand. "I'm Harry."

She shook it. "(Y/N)."

There was a pause, the kind that crackled with the promise of more.

“I'm a grad student at the university here,” he said, eyes flicking up to the domed ceiling. "I study Planetary Science."

Her brows lifted. "That's amazing. So you do this for a living?"

"Well," he said, shrugging modestly, "I try to make sense of celestial chaos. Planets colliding. Moons forming. Rings collapsing into dust. Romance, really."

(Y/N) smiled and raised her eyebrow. "That’s your idea of romance?"

"Well, what's yours?"

Her eyes met his, lingering a second too long.

"I... I don't know, actually."

She felt slightly flustered. (Y/N) didn't expect to be talking about romance, let alone being asked what she considered to be romantic.

"I'm sure you do. We’re alive in the blink of cosmic time, and somehow, here we are."

The lights dimmed.

The dome came alive with light��stars unfurling in spirals and flares above them. (Y/N) tilted her head back, chest rising and falling slowly. She found herself unable to focus on the show—despite having seen it more times than she could count. Her thoughts kept drifting to the handsome grad student beside her, and the way he managed to make astronomy feel like poetry.

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe the universe had timing. That maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all chaos.

Next to her, Harry was silent. Still.

He watched the stars with quiet intensity, occasionally scribbling notes into his notebook. How he managed to write anything in the dim light, she had no idea—but she couldn’t look away. There was something about him that felt effortlessly poetic, like he belonged to the stars he was studying.

Sensing her watching him, Harry turned his head.

And when she turned—drawn by the same invisible thread that had pulled her to come here alone, he looked away, like he’d been caught in something intimate.

The narrator’s voice filled the dome again. Soft, reverent.

"Venus spins backwards, did you know that? Her sun rises in the west and sets in the east. No one knows exactly why, but she defied gravity and expectations."

She.

(Y/N) swallowed. She wasn’t sure if it was the narrator's words or the way Harry tensed, just a little, as if he felt them too.

When the show ended, the crowd shuffled out in a hush, like worshippers leaving a chapel. Outside, the night was velvet and full of echoes. The Observatory loomed behind them, glowing like a crown on the hillside.

She lingered at the edge of the terrace, arms crossed, watching the smog-shrouded city glitter below.

Harry joined her quietly.

"You didn’t ask why I came alone," she said.

"I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would."

(Y/N) turned to look at him and chuckled, "That’s surprisingly respectful for someone who called planetary destruction romantic."

He grinned, then grew more serious. "Why did you come?"

She hesitated. Then: "Everything’s changing lately. People, plans. It’s like…I don’t recognize anything I used to count on."

He nodded slowly. A few seconds passed before he spoke up, "Sometimes I look at Jupiter’s Great Red Spot and think about how it’s a storm that’s been raging for centuries. Longer than any of us will live. But even that’s starting to fade."

"Hm, is this your version of a pep talk?"

"I’m just saying," he smiled, his voice softer now, "even the most chaotic of things can’t last forever."

She didn’t mean to stare at him again. She didn’t mean to want more.

But she did.

He was brilliant and magnetic and too much for the moment she was in. But he’d made her feel something—for the first time in months.

They stood together in silence, the kind that felt less awkward and more like a pause the night was holding its breath through.

(Y/N) stared out at the city lights, scattered like fallen stars across the hills. Beside her, Harry did the same. When he wasn’t looking, she stole quiet glances—drawn to how composed he seemed, how effortlessly he carried himself, like he belonged in some other era.

After a long breath, Harry pulled out his notebook and jotted something down, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I should get going,” he said finally.

He tore a small slip of paper from the notebook and held it out to her—edges rough, his number written in a looping, deliberate hand.

“In case you ever want to talk stars again,” he said. Then, after a beat, his mouth curved with mischief. “Or chaos.”

(Y/N) took the paper, fingertips brushing his.

“It was really nice meeting you, (Y/N),” he added, extending his hand with that same steady warmth.

She shook it, and for a second, neither of them let go.

“Call me,” he said, his voice low as he took her hand, brushing a soft kiss against her palm.

He let her hand slip from his, the touch lingering just a little too long. She stood there, utterly speechless, only able to offer a small nod and a shy smile.

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

She watched him go, lost in the sea of people, but something told her—he wouldn’t be gone for long.

And somehow, she knew she would stay with him, too.

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A/N: Thank you to everyone that took the time to read the first post of Written in the Stars! Please let me know your thoughts. Also make sure to drop any recommendations for other one shots, blurbs, etc.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

"Caleb becomes a wet rat (and gets unpixelated?!)"

Chapter 7: Helpless

Pairing: Caleb x GN Reader

Word count: 1105

Genre: Reverse isekai, fluff, romance, comedy, supernatural, angst, slow burn

Rating: General Audiences

Triger Warnings: none

<< previous next >> Tumblr Chapter List Ao3 Link

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The following night, once dinner had been served and dishes cleaned up, Caleb settled down by himself in a corner of the couch. After inviting him to join you in the warmth of the bedroom and Caleb refusing to budge, you gave him one last glance and retired to your room by yourself for the night.

The living room lamp left a warm and ambient glow around the room. Silence filled the air and Caleb’s thoughts started to wander off. You had left him with much to think about.

For whatever reason, the last scene you had played through came to his mind.

He had watched himself kiss the hand of a sleeping woman (MC, you had called her.. He thought.) and left to deal with the cleanup operation.

Caleb was starting to understand a bit of the premise for this game that you seemed to like playing. The main character, which you, the player was taking the role of, was a hunter “he” had grown up with. From the orphanage to his days in the DAA. Someone his other version was fixated on his entire life. Someone important.

It was a stark contrast to his own reality. The people in his life came and went. None of them were a constant, just a fleeting memory, ending on a sour note a lot of the time. The classmates who envied his genius and followed him in the hopes of getting attached to his name, the researchers that wanted a piece of his strength. The soldiers who betrayed him at the end of their lives. Even the woman who took him in got murdered.

Most of them forgotten, locked away in the back of his mind, never to witness an ounce of his attention again. Others, dead. For the better. According to him, anyway.

Caleb couldn’t wrap his head around the thoughts of wanting to protect someone to the point of obsession. There was a certain level of intimacy and understanding you would need with someone, to reach that point in your life where you would do anything to protect them. He never got to that point with anyone. The closest form of mutual understanding he had with anyone was that if he crossed them, he would be killed, and if they crossed him, they would be killed. 

The only time he felt close to someone was when he was dreaming. A one sided, yet deep understanding of the other’s emotions. And even those dreams, of someone that might or might not exist, were blurring visions. It was a ridiculously lonely situation.

Yet, there was possibly a version of him out there who had the chance to experience mutual understanding, instead of seeking one seemingly crafted by his mind. Even if it was in a story, playing out on the screen in the form of a roleplay game.

For the first time in his life, 

Caleb envied the thought of what could’ve been.

…

Caleb, to his discomfort, woke up hungry. Before, whenever this happened, he would’ve just gotten straight out of bed and whipped up something quick for himself. Now, however, the story was different. And his tiny cat paws couldn’t hold a single thing, much less a knife or chopsticks. He was stuck like this unless he somehow magically gained human hands again.

It had only been very few days since he came into this world, and he didn’t know how long he would be stuck like this before you woke up and served breakfast. Or if you woke up for breakfast at all. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands (paws).

He hopped off the couch and walked over to the kitchen area, sniffing the air. He was trying to remember where you put the cat food when the familiar scent of the food from yesterday’s dinner hit him. You had served him some kibble in a bowl, which was currently lying with the rest of the clean dishes next to the sink.

He jumped up onto the counter under the cupboard that smelled like cat food, sitting there for a moment and eyeing the cupboard to figure out his next move.

I should be able to reach it, right?

He jumped with his front paws aiming for the door handle.

As soon as the door opened, a box of cat kibble came flying out, spilling like rain everywhere.

…

You were brushing your teeth in the bathroom when you heard a loud thud and a “MREOW!” which suspiciously sounded like the cat in your living room. The speed at which you then proceeded to run out might've put even Usian Bolt at shame.

“Mmph-!” You stared at the scene in front of you with the brush still in your mouth.

Caleb was sitting on the kitchen counter, with cat kibble lying everywhere. From the counter to the floor. The cupboard on top was hanging open with the cat food box lying on the ground. And Caleb sat there, with his little paws tucked close to his body and his ears drooping low. He looked guilty as hell, not even looking at you. Just staring down, at the counter, at the evidence of the crime he just committed.

Your shoulders slouched and you shook your head. What a start to the weekend.

You went back to your bathroom and rinsed your mouth quickly, wiping your face as you walked back to the crime scene.

You looked at the cat which was now trying to push the kibble together, his paws doing an absolute amount of nothing against the food. It wasn’t even angering at that point. You just pitied him.

“You.. were you hungry? You should’ve woken me up earlier instead of trying to get this on your own, smart boy.” You said as you gathered the kibble together. He stepped back as he watched you clean.

As soon as the area surrounding him was clean, you looked at him. Surprisingly enough, he looked back at you, meeting your eyes. His ears were still drooping. 

“You could’ve gotten hurt.” You said firmly. He looked away as you kept staring.

He can’t really understand me, can he? 

..I wish he would trust me more.

You sighed as you reached out for him slowly. He didn’t flinch or move away, just staying still, looking down. Does he feel guilty?

You pet him gently. His paws shifted a bit as he leaned in towards you, head still hanging low.

For a reason you didn’t understand, your heart sank.

He looked so.. Helpless.

Like a child who was struggling to fit into his surroundings.

---

Taglist: @roseapov @mangooes @zukini-01 @browneyedgirl22 @mavix @staristoo @hohoooowhy @pirana10 @lunia-likes-pomegranet @bertieorangy @heyimseli @xxnessinessiellexx @mcdepressed290 @mentaltrouble2201 @stardustsunflowers13 @I-lover9 @destheoren @ixloom819 @super-nerder @mazlodowki @friedmagazineprincess @celestialzdiviner @deadghosy @fishwasher8 @dummiebunny @etsuniiru @wegottastayfocus @astraecho @multisstuff

A/N: You can DM me or comment if you want to be tagged in this series and it'll be done in the future parts !!

[rileym00]

I think its also interesting to add that, with him being an unreliable narrator; a character desperate for positive attention, would *and does* highly disregard any real negative traits beyond those reflecting his own that he dislikes, therefore ignoring anything that would point to signs of red flags that he should be situationally aware of. The group never really enjoyed telling him all their secrets, after all even a year/semester with someone, no matter how close you get, you wait a bit longer before including them in bacchanal plans (I would say in my opinion).

Camilla, for all her faults, was the woman of the group, and I wonder what her point of view the story would tell, especially her views on Richard, and the whole internal affair going on with murdering a person in your friend group. I wonder how much of her home life and compartmentalization of her traumas have made her completely repress feelings of guilt, especially since we know Bunny often tried making advances on her--and how many women wouldn't want to see the 'friend' who won't stop 'jokingly' asking you out pushed off a cliff??? I can understand the weight of the responsibility of murdering someone being a burden too great to bear, which turns into compartmentalization and disregard of even feeling the guilt in the first place.

Killing the stranger during their Maenad-trip could be another moment of full compartmentalization and disregard, especially since it felt dreamlike and they were fully under the influence.

However, do not mistake this as me defending her, only shedding perspective on different stances that could be affecting her coldness to the misfortunes of others

Who knows, maybe as a woman in the 70s in high academia decided to grieve very quietly, away from the group so as to not appear womanly, as well

Camilla, the infantilization and victimization from the fandom towards her character:

Firstly, Camilla is a victim, yes. She is the victim of her brother, and of the things that surround her, Bunny's sexism, Richard's creepy hiperfixiation, Francis' jelousy. She is a victim, but everyone in the book is a victim of something.

What makes her different is that she is a victim of her brother and the sexism towards her. However, the over infantilization and victimization does not suit me well. To not aknowdlege that she was as bad as Francis or Henry, is to look down at her.

She was fine with the fact that they killed someone, she was fine with Bunny's death, (moved, perhaps, giving that scene where she cried, however I've always suspected that was merely acting that Henry asked from her), the thing is: she was fine.

She's not an angel, and not the mastermind behind it, but she's an adult, she knew pretty well that what they were doing was wrong, and yet she didn't told Richard or anyone. The thing is: if she were to say something, everyone would have believed her because she's a girl and would be seen as a victim, but she was not interested on that. She had the opportunity to talk to the police and be seen as a clean victim, she did not because she did not care. She did not felt guilt.

People act as if Camilla is a little girl, a child that knows no bad or good. She knew. She's a complex character, and most people cannot see that the fact that she's a victim does not erase that she's not an angel or innocent.

When she was sent into a date, she did not even seem upset or anything. For her, it was just something she had to do to get their way. Just a simple task, she was not a tool. You can't be a tool, if you're aware and positive about the task. We must remember Richard was scandalized by the fact that Camilla was having fun. It's not that deep, she had fun on a date, playing around because it was just something she had to do, she did not feel bad or used about it, because most possibly, she was sent by Henry.

And we know that she could have declined anything, Henry did favoured her. She could have say no to the bacchanal, or to Bunny's death, she could have been not included, but the thing is: she's as evil and morally strange as Henry and Francis, this does not apply to Charles, since he's a different type, giving to his guilt.

Readers forget the most basic thing: They all are bad people. They are not good, they are victims, yes, but they are also sickly out-of-touch individuals.

Camilla is as bad as them, do not idolize her, do not look down on her.

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

A Bit More Time (Part Eight)

Schlatt x gn!reader <-P. Seven P. One ???-> Summary: You've finally had enough and decide that you need to talk to Schlatt about how you're feeling. Alcohol and feeling's don't mix well. Warnings: angsty! Crying, drinking, mentions of panic attacks and a breakdown, nothing graphic A/N: Look who's back! I love going mia and abandoning my tumblr for months. Expect this story to have 2 or 3 more parts, probably ending with some smut - I have the rest of it planned out so hopefully I won't take as long this time. Thank you all for being patient ❤️

It's been nice having Jay back in your life; he's slotted back in so easily and patched right over the hole he left in your heart all those years ago when he all but disappeared on you. He's brought comfort and familiarity again that you've just never found with anyone except him.

For the past few weeks, it's been comfortable, working back from awkward past friends, to learn each other's movements again, figuring out how each of you slots into each other's life again as your friendship settles. You hang out a lot now, spending a lot of time with each other just doing nothing, running errands, going on drives, watching movies - just existing together in an incredibly domestic way that you always thought your friendship would evolve into, just with a different title than you hoped.

That's been the real kicker in all of this, the aching still in your heart as you slump down in the couch next to him, leaning slightly into his side as you watch a movie in his living room and remind yourself that you can't reach out and curl up into his lap the way you want to. You'll just make it awkward if you say anything, so you keep your mouth shut.

It hasn't been easy. There was a particularly hard night a week ago when you stumbled upon him on Bumble, which you signed up for in an attempt to take your mind off him, which failed spectacularly, and realised that he was putting himself out there for other people, not you. You had swiped on him, sending him some stupid message as your hands shook and tears flooded your waterline, which you swallowed back when he called you and tried to laugh off his embarrassment at being caught like that.

"Oh my god," your friend Bec squealed excitedly over the music, playing loudly in the bar you had gathered all your friends into, wanting to show Jay the few spots you had become regulars of before he left. She thrust a phone over to you, Jay's eyes following curiously as he peered down over your shoulder, "that guy with the dog matched with me."

You whistle as you take the phone, hiding your grimace as you read his poor attempt at an opening line, but smile excitedly back at her, "that's so good! He was so good-looking!"

"Is this Tinder?" Jay asks next to you as he fails to hide his disdain for the pour attempt at a pickup line this guy decided would be the key to getting him laid, eyes shifting up to meet yours when you nod and hand Bec her phone back, "god don't tell me you're on these apps."

You just shrug and huff out a laugh, "I'm on Bumble," you mumble back, a bit embarrassed as your cheeks flood with heat when you hear him laugh next to you. You nudge him as you reach for your drink, "don't laugh. How else am I meant to meet guys?"

He presses the tongue to the inside of his cheek as his eyes meet yours as he goes to say something before looking away, reaching for his own drink, "any luck?"

You just sigh and shake your head, "not really. No one worth my time yet."

It's just past midnight when you finally work up the courage to go, when the sick feeling in your stomach becomes too much, and you throw your hoodie on and charge out the door before you can give yourself a chance to backtrack. You hadn't been able to stop thinking about Jay all night, for longer than that if you're honest with yourself, and you've worked yourself up into an anxiety-fuelled panic that is fuelling most of your movements now.

The Uber driver doesn’t say much, thank god, and you spend the ride nervously watching the familiar streets roll by, each one pulling you closer to whatever it is you’re about to walk into. You don’t even have a plan — no neat little monologue lined up, no dramatic one-liner, nothing. Just a buzzing feeling in your chest that says if you don’t do this now, you never will, and a sick anxiety that follows as you near closer to Jay's apartment.

You’re halfway up the stairs to his apartment when you realise your hands are shaking. You knock once, loudly. You don't hear anything at first and consider leaving, taking the first chance you can to let yourself run away and forget you ever wanted to do this.

"Wh—" Schlatt squints at you through the crack in the door, voice slurred and groggy, “the fuck’re you doin’ here?”

Your heart drops a little. He’s drunk.

"Can I come in?" you ask, trying not to let your disappointment show. His eyes are bloodshot and heavy-lidded, hair messy and and clothes wrinkled, like he's been tossing around for hours. He leans against the doorframe, blinking hard as if trying to make sure it’s really you, willing his eyes to focus and not see straight through you.

He swings the door open without answering.

The place smells obviously like whiskey, there's a half-empty bottle of Jameson on the coffee table, a show paused on the TV, and the blaring light coming from his office where he's left his streaming set up turned on. He walks in ahead of you, stumbling a bit before collapsing back onto the couch, head lolling onto the cushion behind him.

"It's midnight," he groans as he lets his eyes fall shut, his words sound almost pained as he sinks into the cushion.

"I know," you say back as you stand there, awkwardly, unsure of where to situate yourself as you watch him.

"Why're you here?" he says, the words snapping out of him in a way he hadn't expected, both of you flinching at his harsh tone.

You just stand there, not really sure what to say, as the words die in your throat and your brain goes blank of any of the thousands of things you've been dying to tell him over the past few weeks. After wishing for this moment for song long, months of longing and waiting and wishing, you're finally here, and you're floundering.

His eyes finally open to meet yours with a groan, as he blinks hard at the light pouring down the hallway, "I'll call you an Uber."

"what?"

"What?" he echoes back, though it sounds more like he's trying to defend himself from an accusation rather than ask a genuine question.

"You're kicking me out?"

"Is there a reason you're here?"

"We need to talk."

"Then talk," he says, his eyes intense as they stare at you, glossy with he effects of the alcohol as the storm of emotions swirl behind them.

"I don’t know what we’re doing," you force out, trying to keep your voice steady, even as it threatens to shake.

"That much is clear," he says as he forces a laugh, finally sitting up as he slumps over, head in his hands, as he rubs his face.

"Can you be serious?" you snap as you move forward, feet coming into his line of sight, even as he continues to avert his gaze from you.

"Can you just fucking tell me what's going on?"

"I like you!" you yell suddenly, the words coming out in a ramble of emotion, "I fucking like you ok? I like you and I've liked you for years now and I know you like me too but god you keep fucking pushing and pulling me and I don't know where I fucking stand."

He stays quiet.

"I don’t know what we’re doing," you continue, trying to keep your voice from rising further, "I don’t know if you’re trying to keep me close or push me away, or if you just want to have your cake and eat it too—"

"Don't make this about me being selfish," he cuts in sharply, jaw clenched.

"You are being selfish," you say, blinking back angry tears, "you've been selfish our entire friendship! I've liked you for so long and you fucking new that! You ruined any chance I had in highschool for a normal relationship, even fucking formal went to shit because you couldn't handle your emotions. Fuck and then you just stopped trying!" you say as the tears finally fall, "you fucking abandoned me when I needed you, you just stopped being my friend." Your chest heaves painfully as you begin to sob now, struggling to take in air as you feel a panic attack rise, "I turned up for you even when it was hard, I was always there."

"I never asked you to be," he spits, the venom in his voice shocking you as you watch him reach for the bottle of alcohol on the coffee table.

You watch him drink away his sorrows as he stands on shaky legs, pushing past you to walk away into the kitchen as you continue to sob in his living room, your head feeling dizzy as the room feels suffocating around you.

It's the kind of sentence that confirms all your worst fears, a gut punch that drives home the exact anxieties that plagued you for years when you thought about Jay. Once again, he has to remind you, your relationship exists on his terms.

You hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, glasses clattering that echoes violently in your ears as you shut your eyes, trying to force your breathing to return to normal. When you open them, he's standing there, watching you from the archway to the kitchen, swaying unsteadily on his feet as you continue to sob.

You don't know what to do, your eyes burn with tears as you both just stare at each other in silence, him, too scared to speak, and you, too heartbroken.

Finally, he says your name, soft and whispered as he moves forward to you, standing in front of you as he abandons the bottle of alcohol onto the couch. The apologies fumble out as he takes in the sight of you, crying like this in front of him, because of him, tears falling freely down his cheeks as he finally realises the extent of the damage he's done.

"I didn't mean that," he says gently, afraid to startle you, as he gently reaches for your hand, letting out a shaky breath of relief when you let him take your hand, "you know I didn't."

You just nod as you take his hand, forcing yourself to count your breaths as you calm yourself down.

"You're so important to me," he says softly as he steps closer, your bodies almost touching as the smell of alcohol on his breath invades your senses, "I've been a fucking awful friend to you."

"You have," you say softly, no real bite to your words even as you confirm his fears. As much as this hurts, as much as he hurts you, you know he didn't mean that, deep down he does care about you, years of friendship like the two of you had can't be faked.

"I want you," he confesses softly, "so badly. I have since school," he takes hold of your other hand, squeezing them comfortingly, "but I want to be good for you."

You nod softly as you shut your eyes, your breathing steady as you lean into his touch. "I want you to have everything you deserve," he continues, "and right now, I can't do that for you."

A tear runs down your cheek, "I can't wait forever."

"I won't make you," he promises, "just a little bit more time."

Lovely patient people who are interested in this: @jellybell92 @olive823 @schlattandcompany @imgayandvoreethatsall @aesthetixhoe @mads-hemmo @elliejell @schluttforschlatt @kyxmlii @stoneybun @lambyblurbsfics @fancy-fleur-blog @falseplastictrees @stupiddguitarwh0re @m4yjail3rr @nagisasugino

[killmeleatherface]

I’m Here Part 2

This is the second part to my ongoing series.

Here’s Part 1

AN: hey yall! Loving Shawn Hatosy and Jack right now. I think this is going to be an angsty, yearning, will they, won’t they, type of thing. I’m not good at writing steamy stuff, but maybe I’ll get back there some day. Otherwise I do love a good Jack Abbot love story :)

TW: medical setting, no procedures, mention of Alzheimer’s (main characters mother has it). I think that’s it? Lemme know!

—

You really had intended to leave for good. You never imagined yourself standing in front of the ivory walls of the sterile environment before you. Pittsburgh Medical Center. Three years away and even seeing the double doors of the emergency department sent you head spinning into visions. Flashbacks. Past memories. Past traumas. Past people.

That fated night on the top of the roof.

You can’t let yourself think about that. What that night meant and what it did. How it didn’t just gradually coax your feelings out of the void, it grabbed a hold and choked it out of you instead. You loved Jack and he loved you, but he was marrying someone else. Married someone else…

That was the last time you’d been here and the last time you’d seen Jack. The last time you worked at the Pitt. After he’d finally let you through to the staircase, you burst into tears, finally letting years of pent up emotions go. By the time you’d gotten to the ground floor you had already decided to take the position at Mayo and quit immediately. You couldn’t work with Jack Abbot anymore. The thought of having to look at the hazel green eyes that used to only softened for you now belonging to someone who had probably long forgotten about your existence. Your mind swirled with endless scenarios.

You assumed Jack Abbot still workers worked here, you could almost bet on it. This place was his drug, his getaway, his home away from home. Everyone knew that. It’d have to take a life altering event to get him away from this place.

Like maybe his favorite resident (Best friend? Confidante? Mistress? All of the above?) not becoming an attending and instead taking a position twelve hours away without notice, or at least a goodbye. Of course Jack had every right to be hurt. But that was years ago. He’d moved on and married Rachel and probably had a had or two by now. That last part makes inside of you feel odd, like something is pulling you deep into an ocean.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Welcome back to the ED Doctor Garcia.” The blonde haired nurse says with a smile and her arms thrown up. Dana Evans, the sweet head nurse who had your back a miriad of times. The one who talked you down when you needed it, who talked you up when you really needed it, and the one who knew about you and Jack, even if neither of you admitted it or even spoke it out loud. She was good that way. Like everyone’s mom.

—

She called you before you got on to a plane that night. You had just thrown the last of whatever you could find in your room into a large suitcase, giving a final scan of your room. The room where most pivotal moments in your life happened.

You didn’t answer her.

“Hon, I heard you’re leaving on a plane tonight. Jack just told me some big news, said he can’t get a hold of you and I..well I told him I’d try because it’s important. Call me back sweet kid.” The voicemail you’d finally listened to a week later spoke.

You took another look around your room. You lived here through residency, studying endless nights with a Samara about whatever the other could think of. You became best friends with Samara here. You cried in here. You laughed in here. You lived the best and worst parts of a lot of your adult life in here. And now you were leaving it. You thankfully already had most everything boxed up anyways, your lease end matching up with your fellowship ending. Coincidence.

While zipping up your suitcase due to a yelling Samara announcing the Uber was there, you spotted a familiar piece of black fabric. It was a hoodie, and not yours or your roommates, but someone else - Jack’s. You instantly gravitate towards it, pulling it up to your nose. It still smells like Jack- mint, lime, antiseptic. At another call from Samara you stuff the hoodie in your carry on and bolt out the door.

You had a month off and you were originally had no plans, just thinking you’d unpack and get used to your new place, maybe take a spa day with Samara. You hadn’t thought that far.

When Jack kissed you, it changed everything for you. You had to get out of there. Out of the hospital. Out of Pittsburgh. Out of the state. And when you got home and decided that wasn’t enough you convinced Samara to come with you to Ireland. Ireland turned into a sort of world tour neither of you planned, but thoroughly enjoyed. Thankful for your dads ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you as a kid and your mom and I divorced so spend whatever you want’ credit card. While you were there you’d accepted the job in Minnesota officially. And that’s where you’d been for the last three years.

—

Until your mom needed someone to look after her and when you got back to town and realized that wasn’t the extent of it, you had to put your dear mother in a nursing home. She was deteriorating faster than you thought, and needed to be under constant supervision. Thankfully she’d gotten a spot at Shady Rose and could be with other elders experiencing the same symptoms as her.

“Hi Dana.” You smile back, genuinely happy to see a friendly face. You always loved her, and even got Christmas cards emailed to you every year. Then, throughout the year emails became variations of updates about her, her kids, other nurses, doctors, who was an attending, who wasn’t going to last through residency. Then the emails became “The nurses miss you. I miss you.” Then the emails started mentioning Jack and you stopped paying attention, stopped replying.

“Glad you’re back. Heard about your mom…let me know if there’s anything I can do.” She offers, and you give a head nod in response, choosing to focus your attention on the admit board in front of you, with her passing behind you and putting a friendly hand on your shoulder. She was probably on her way to help someone else who needed it. Dana, the departments surrogate mother, a woman worth a thousand men, the best charge nurse, shoulder to cry on, and friend you could ask for. Damn, you missed her.

As you’re trying to preoccupy yourself with anything else, a loud voice booms, “Rounds!” This causes any and all available staff to staff to gather in the center of the department and listen to the head attending brief the incoming staff on the past shift.

“Okay everyone, last night was pretty tame considering. A11 and D18 need to be continuously monitored for 24 hours but other than that, they can be discharged. But people, that waiting room is packed already. Let’s pick up the pace if you can. I know, I know. You’re all tired and doing your best. Trust me, I know.” Doctor Michael Robinavitch offers. His best friend Jack Abbot looks up at him.

“Let’s do it.” Jack announces, clapping his hands and beginning to walk away.

“Wait, guys! Just another minute!” Robby says loudly, trying to stop the crowd from leaving.

“We have a new attending starting today, everyone. Let’s introduce her, make her feel welcome.” Robby offers.

Huh, a new attending starting the same day you come back? Maybe they’d be someone you could meet and bond with over being the new kid again. You’re in a daze thinking and don’t hear him announce.

“Dr. Garcia, can you come up here just for a second?”

“Dr. Garcia?”

“Uh.” He laughs. “Dr. Garcia, are you here?”

No, no, no. He cannot be talking about you. You’re not new! Well yeah you’re a new attending here, but you’re not a new employee here. This cannot be about you. Robby is calling you front and center, in front of those old and new, and familiar…

The crowd is looking around, not sure who Dr. Garcia is. Suddenly a hand pushes your lower back. “Daphne, honey, that’s you. Robby’s talking about you!” Dana is pushing you forward now. Finally you give and push through the crowd until it opens to the two men in front of you. They both freeze, Robby mid stance, and Jack crossed arms.

Robby immediately clocks what’s going on and who you are. He glances at Jack who is standing with a stone cold expression. Robby walks over to you and motions to the crowd.

“Everyone, this is the new attending, Daphne Garcia. Treat her like you would me or Jack, she’s a good one.” He looks down at you.

You smile and do a half wave to the crowd. How embarrassing. You want to melt into a puddle and disappear into the ground where you stand. And the worst part is, you feel the unmistakable heat of Jack standing behind you. So familiar, but also like lava, so beautiful and mesmerizing with its trance of colors, but toxic if touched.

Again, you’re in a daze of heat, embarrassment and at a complete loss of what to do. You don’t hear Robby telling everyone to have a good day and get to work, the crowd actually dispersing for good. Once Robby steps in front of you, you come back.

“Good to have you back, Garcia. It’s nice to have a familiar face here again.” Robby offers, leaning over the nurses desk to grab a chart. He throws a smiler and heads off.

You still haven’t turned away. You don’t dare, because if you do, it becomes real. The person you tried your damndest to forget, the one you cried endless rivers of tears about, the one who gave you nightmares so vivid you could’ve sworn he was in the bed next to you. When you finally gain the gumption to turn around, there’s a ghost behind you. Nothing.

“Welcome back to the Pitt.” You mumble to yourself, grabbing your stethoscope and starting your shift.

—

[kudowon]

the thing that i love so much about hospital playlist and resident playbook is that such a permanent fixture and important part of the narrative is that you are never too old to begin again, and that your life is not over just because it didn’t pan out the way you expected it to. yiyoung gave up on her medical career and flunked out of her residency, but her entire arc revolves around starting over and trying again, and slowly shifting her mindset away from constantly wanting to quit and only doing it for the money to doing it because she is a great doctor and she loves what she is doing now, the people she has found there, and how it doesn’t make her any less qualified than the other first-year residents. jaeil used to be an idol and his group disbanded, but instead of treating it like some great personal tragedy, it is simply a part of his life and career that he loves to look back on, still celebrates, and that brings him closer to patients and friends alike. it is never frowned upon that he decided to become a doctor instead of focusing on his music career, while he is simultaneously never treated as stupider than his colleagues just because he comes from a different background. then there is ahn chihong, of course, whose life had been set in stone during his service which then was upended by his sickness, so he decided to pursue medicine instead. he could have given up, he could have stayed in the military in some desk job, but he didn’t; he decided to change his entire life in his twenties and thirties, and now he is a professor of neurosurgery. and then there is jaehak, who is the oldest chief resident at yulje, which, sure, he makes fun of and others do too, but who is so dedicated to his profession and to cardiothoracic surgery, to the people in his department, that it doesn’t matter. he is in his forties while other residents are in their twenties and it makes no difference at large. even seokmin, who was chief resident of neurosurgery, quit his job but was allowed to return. hospital playlist and resident playbook are stories that honor the fact that life is not ideal, that it can take different routes to get you to your desired destination, that even tells you, hey, you might not have wanted to be here, you might wanted to be somewhere entirely else, but this is where you are and it’s okay. you didn’t choose wrong, and it doesn’t matter when you chose. it only matters that you are here now, and that is not a failure. you can always try again. it is never too late to begin.

[callmecoke]

Hi again! I looked through your blog very briefly (gonna take a deeper dive once I am free from uni stuff, sigh), but honestly you feel like someone I would click quite well, so if you are still looking for requests, I would really love to see something fluffy and comforting about Graves from you. I really will devour with great pleasure anything you cook, but if you do something for Graves x Russian reader, I'd be even more happy. No pressure tho, genuinely

Most importantly I really hope you write things you enjoy and have people you like around you, here and offline obv. Sorry if I sound annoying lol, I just think you're cool. Much love!!

HEY!!!!!! You’re not annoying at all and I really appreciate the request! So, minor warning before hand, I am incredibly Australian, and know, admittedly, fuck all about Russia or Russian people. So if anything here is wrong or incorrect, just put me down 😞 (JK, lemme know and I can correct anything, or maybe add a few tidbits if a learn some new things) Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! I decided to do a headcanon list and not a full story lol I hope that’s okay.

Russian Reader x Graves Headcanons (Fluff)

Graves has picked up a few words during his time working with many, many different types of folks from all four corners of the world. They’re not full sentences though, more random tidbits. Sometimes their phrases that he doesn’t fully know the meaning of, but finds fun to say (The Russian version of “I’m going to fucking kill you” was repeated to him so much he started saying it out loud around the house. Didn’t know what it meant until you had to sit him down and explain why your relatives were looking at him a bit offended)

Despite how well he can repeat phrases he finds on the field, he absolutely fumbles when attempting to actually teach him the language. Suddenly, his fat American tongue can’t wrap around the words and it sounds like the syllables are choking him. Looks at you all proud each time because in his mind, he’s absolutely nailing this (he isn’t)

But there are some phrases you’ve taught him that he caught on to quite well. Things like “Я люблю тебя” (I love you) and “Любовь всей жизни” (Love of my life) he learned pretty quickly because his association was with you. He also looooves to pull these out when he wants something from you or is trying to soften you up. He a cheeky bastard like that.

Now, Phillip is all about the grill. He is the man who has full control of the barbecue at any and all social functions. He has self assigned that role and he takes it very seriously. However, that doesn’t mean that he is a single minded cook. In fact, with a clear recipe he can just about make anything to near perfection.

Pirog? The juiciest meat stuffing available. Kasha? Every morning with side of strawberries. Literally any dish you want, he can make. He cooks to impress. (And it’s a bonding moment if you have some recipes you wanna teach him. If you stand behind him and guide his hands you’ll get him blushing a little and give him a good laugh because you knooooow he’s normally the one with his chest against your back)

I do believe this man is a chronic google-er so he spends a lot of time on his phone searching up phrases like “New Russian Partner” “How to impress Russian family” “Russian culture” “Russian language learning easy”

If you’re new to America and are struggling to find your footing, he is more than happy to come to your rescue. And doesn’t necessarily mean he understands what you’re going through, because he honestly doesn’t know what it feels like to be homesick or isolated to such a degree. But that won’t stop him from trying to help.

I think you’ll find a lot of that in your relationship with him. There’s no real way around the fact how different the two of you are culture and upbringing wise. That’s not even talking about the distance between a civilian and a pmc. But that doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t give up for nothing, even for a partner three times out of his league.

He knows he’ll never fully understand the cultural shock, or your upbringing, or even half the words you speak. But he keeps doing his darnedest every single day, in the hopes that one day he will understand. One day he will speak Russian fluently, and understand Russian culture, and learn the history and learn everything and anything about all the things that make you, you. One day, starting now.

[midnightquips]

What We Never Were

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N needs a fake boyfriend for her sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, her childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth.

She thinks he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for her to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff, smut, mild praise kink, foreplay, 18+

Story Masterlist

Chapter 1 

Part III: Lines Crossed, Wires Tangled

The night unfolded easier than you expected.

You laughed more than you thought you would. Shared stories, swapped sarcasm. The beer helped. So did Phoenix, who anchored herself beside you with protective energy that kept the testosterone from getting overwhelming.

Jake hovered. Always nearby. Always watching. He brought you fresh drinks before you asked. Tucked your hair behind your ear once when the wind shifted. Stood behind your chair with his arm slung casually over the backrest—casual if you didn’t know Jake Seresin. But you did.

So you knew it meant: Mine. Even if it’s not.

At one point, you nudged his thigh with your elbow. “You gonna stand there all night like my bodyguard?”

Jake shrugged. “You’re nervous in crowds.”

“I’m fine. You should go play or something.”

His eyes flicked toward Rooster—who was leaning far too close to you for Jake’s comfort. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”

“I’m not twelve, Jake.”

Still, he lingered.

“What?” you whined. “I’m afraid people will think I’m your girlfriend or something.”

Jake crossed his arms. “Why not?”

You blinked. “Because it prevents me from getting laid, Jesus, Jake. Go.”

Phoenix choked on her drink. Bob tried not to laugh. Rooster did not try at all.

Jake sighed, muttering as he walked toward the pool table.

You didn’t mean it to be a dagger, but it hit anyway.

You sipped your beer, turned back to Phoenix, Rooster, and Bob—and immediately felt the shift in attention.

Phoenix leaned in. “So. You and Jake. Never?”

You rolled your eyes. “We get this question a lot.”

“But never?” Rooster asked, tilting his head.

You took a long sip. “You think Jake would still respect me like this if we had?”

Phoenix raised her brows in agreement. “Yeah, he can be a real dick to girls that fawn over him.”

“He can be a real dick in general,” you muttered.

Bob chuckled. “Sounds like you hate him.”

“I love Jake to death,” you said honestly. “But I’ve known him since before he hit puberty. I have no illusions about who he is. He might make the rest of the world think he’s a god, but I know better.”

Rooster sighed dramatically, resting his chin on his hand. “I really like you.”

You laughed, then felt the burn of someone watching.

Jake was gripping his cue stick tighter than necessary across the room, eyes locked on the way Rooster was looking at you like you were a song.

Javy wandered up beside him and followed his line of sight.

“You always do this,” Javy said. “Quit being creepy.”

Jake didn’t even glance away. “Do what?”

“Act like you’re her husband, when you keep swearing you’re just friends. Which, by the way, no one believes.”

Jake scoffed. “We are. It’s always been platonic.”

“Bullshit. You weren’t like this with Amanda.”

Jake flinched at the name.

Amanda—his ex of three years who’d demanded he cut you out of his life.

“We’ve been through a lot,” Jake muttered.

“Sure. Still doesn’t explain how you’re practically vibrating with rage every time Rooster breathes near her.”

Jake didn’t answer. Javy smirked and nodded toward the table.

“Let Rooster hit on her, then. See what happens.”

Jake’s head snapped around. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a grown woman. She can decide for herself.”

“That’s not an answer, man.”

Jake clenched his jaw. “Fine. I just trust her enough to shut him down.”

His eyes darted back to the table—where Rooster was now tracing the scar on your palm like he was asking for your damn star sign.

“Rooster?” Jake huffed. “She can do better.”

“Like who? Fanboy?”

Joaquin, overhearing his name, looked up. “What?”

“Would you date Y/N?” Javy asked with a smirk.

Joaquin froze, glanced at Jake’s expression, and immediately backpedaled. “Not with Jake around.”

Jake glared. “Fuck off.”

Javy just patted his shoulder. “You’re in so deep, man.”

Jake didn’t answer. Just turned back toward the table, cue in hand, glaring at Rooster like he could snap the man in half using only his thoughts.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Everest asks y/n and Haymitch to tell Arista about when happened to them before she find out like he did. How do you think they had that conversation?

“We need to talk to you about something.”

Arista nods, taking a seat on the ottoman as the sitting room door closes.

“If at any time you need to take a minute or if you’d like for one of us to leave the room, we will do that. Whatever makes this easiest for you-”

“Ok.” Arista cuts her father off, now nervous and fidgeting herself.

“Your father and I…well you know sometimes as victors we had to perform for the cameras.” Y/N begins, taking a seat beside Haymitch on the couch.

“I remember.”

“There were other things.” Y/N looks to her husband, “that we had to do to-”

“I made a deal to keep your mother safe after she won the games.”

“What kind of deal?” Arista wonders.

“I agreed to…” I can’t say it. Not out loud. Not to her.

“President Snow would sell him to higher ups in the Capitol.” Y/N tells her daughter, rubbing circles into Haymitch’s back.

“Like for…you know?” Sex?

“Yeah, honey.”

“You can’t just sell people.” Arista huffs, looking between her parents. “It’s wrong.”

“It is,” Y/N nods. “It was.”

“Are you ok?” Arista looks to her father, eyes full of unshed tears.

Haymitch nods, “yeah, baby. I’m ok.”

“It stopped when you got married though.” Arista decides. She can live with that.

“We got married so that I wouldn’t be sold.” Y/N admits. “But we still had to…be filmed together. That footage was sold instead.”

Arista feels ill, her head is light. Stomach churning.

Y/N moves from the sitting room couch, returning with the nearby waste bin. Holding it out to Arista, who isn’t sure if she’s going to barf or pass out.

“Don’t go.” Arista insists, tugging at her hand when Y/N begins moving back to the sofa.

Y/N sits down beside her on the ottoman, facing Haymitch. His hands shift restlessly as he stares down at them. She pulls Arista closer, cradling her the way she has since she was young.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Come.”

Haymitch forces himself to his feet, closing the space between them and seating himself on the opposite side of his daughter. Unsure of what else to do, he passes a hand over her hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Some of it was real right?” The marriage. “I mean you love each other.”

“We do,” Y/N assures her. “We love each other and that is real. It might not have started out the way we wanted, but I love your dad so much. I love you so much and I would never want a life without you in it.”

Arista nods.

“So when I say what I’m about to say, I need you to know that.”

Arista sucks in a breath, feeling her father begin to stroke her hair again, bracing her. “Ok.”

“When we’d been married for a couple months, Snow told us that we needed to have a baby.”

“He made you have Everest?” Arista blanches.

“Having a child while the games were still going on was a huge risk.” Haymitch tells her, “we didn’t want to take that risk. But we love Everest, we’ve always loved him.”

“Then why did you have me?” If her parents wouldn’t take that risk once, why a second time? Why a third?

“Because we-” Y/N breaks off.

Oh. Arista gets it now, “had to.”

“I wish you didn’t have to know all this.” Haymitch murmurs, “I wish it could’ve stayed in the past, between me and your mother; where it belongs. But if the only say we get in the matter is how you get to hear this story for the first time, then we wanted to be the ones to tell you.” Better to hear it from people who love you.

“We didn’t get to do that for Everest.” Y/N admits, “and we regret it everyday.”

“He knows you love him, Mom.” Arista says, “we all do.”

[bringbackavac]

buddie arguments pattern in one sentence:

eddie’s self–loathing self-blaming tendencies and buck’s insecurities (which are usually resurfaced by the current problem) cause them to clash with each other, with eddie being hot headed/confrontational and buck being defensive.

OFFENSE: when the fights get big, eddie’s the one who would raise his voice in frustration. sometimes by the need of having someone to blame. he’s not above using petty mean words, dripping with sarcasm and malice in the moment of heat, pointed straight at buck’s issues, to hurt where it hurts.

“because you’re exhausting! we all have our own problems, but somehow, we manage to suck it up. why can’t you?!” (lawsuit arc, 3x05) “i don’t know what you want from me, buck. forgive, forget, make you feel better about what you did.” ”when you decided to sue the department, to make cap the bad guy, did you ever stop for a minute to think what it could do to us?” (lawsuit arc, 3x06)

“wow, it really is always about you isn’t it?” “you got mad, so you acted out like you always do.” “[…] if you need to be pissed off at me, to make it easier for you? then be pissed off!” (eddie leaving, 8x09)

“[…] you’d make it all about you. the trial and tribulations of evan buckley, a tragedy in 97 acts.” (bobby’s death, 8x17)

even in smaller arguments, he’s never afraid to call buck out.

“you have a whole life ahead of you. so why don’t you take it as a win? stop feeling sorry for yourself.” (pulmonary embolism, 3x01)

“your actions, your choices, they impact the rest of us. thats what it means to be a part of a team.” (lawsuit arc, 3x06)

“you act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong.” (shooting arc, 4x14)

he doesn’t realize the moment he gets carried away by his own anger, his mouth involuntarily spills the true root of his problem.

“i couldn’t even call you to bail me out of jail! […]” (lawsuit arc, 3x05)

“if you’re gonna make this about me having to choose between you, or my son, […]” (eddie leaving, 8x09)

DEFENSE: on the other hand, buck is the type who draws back to himself and stays bitter on his own. loves to suffer and stew on his own, and when confronted, would always, always, try to defend himself—often missing the actual point.

“you’re my problem. your comfort level. you’re not supposed to just walk in here like you’ve been here for years! it’s meant to be a ‘getting to know you’ period.” (eddie joins 118, 2x01)

“you’re supposed to be truthful to your lawyer. why are you so pissed at me?!” “why can’t you see my side of this?” “i didn’t realize that. maybe i could visit christopher, you know the lawsuit doesn’t prevent that.” (lawsuit arc, 3x05) ”i needed my job back! i miss being here, being part of a team. i never meant for anyone to get hurt.” (lawsuit arc, 3x06)

”i know! […] but i made a promise, […] to his fiancée.” (trail derailment, 3x18)

“c’mon! it’s a fun story! it shows the neighbourhood has character!” (eddie leaving, 8x09)

“[…] instead everyone has been tip-toeing behind my back, cause apparently i’m to fragile to handle the truth.” (bobby’s death, 8x17)

to prove something, a point, his point. loves adding petty things that he knows would hit the mark.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be now. you’re just gonna keep on ghosting me. cause, halloween is over, just so you know.” (lawsuit arc, 3x06)

“do i have to run everything by you now?” “this is my new best friend, blaze. […] don’t want him to think i’m abandoning him.” “he knows how to stay, unlike some people.” “yes eddie, i’ll move! you’re not the only one who can do that, you know?” *to the dog, knowing eddie is behind him* “[…] and don’t go running off your people anymore, okay? you have no idea how hard it is on them.” “i don’t need you either.” (eddie leaving, 8x09)

“and you! you’re moving back to texas, mm?! like its nothing! it doesn’t affect anybody else. it does!” (eddie leaving, 8x10)

“sorry i’m sad that bobby’s dead.” (bobby’s death, 8x17)

TLDR: when buddie fights, they have their own type of hurting each other, knowing each other too well that they know perfectly what words to use and which buttons to push for it to deliver most.

[cherry-holmes]

From Salt, Iron, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮: A Supernatural Series

Part 8: Heat of the Moment

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: If the Impala could talk…

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word count: +7.1K

Warnings: I prefer to not give details to prevent spoilers. You’re on your own, kids.😉

A/N:🫣

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For the next three months, your life with the Winchesters and Castiel had settled into something that felt truly belonging.

And the family just kept growing around, when you finally met Bobby. He welcomed you into his house and the family business. He gave advices, lectured you on everything he knew, and gave you the confidence to reach for him whenever you need something.

Sammy was patient, endlessly. He would sit with you at the library for hours, explaining how the world had changed since your time: technology, laws, gender roles and equality, and modern slang. He was the one who taught you how to use a laptop, though he sometimes had to hide his laughter when you got frustrated and poked the screen like it might obey you faster.

Castiel, though, became something else entirely. A best friend. Maybe because, in his own way, he was just as out of place as you were. He didn't judge when you marveled at microwaves or stared too long at the flashing lights of a city skyline. He answered every one of your endless questions without growing tired, or if he did, he never showed it.

Sometimes, you and Cas would just sit together in silence, sharing a kind of wordless understanding that didn't need to be explained. He was your anchor on the days when the world felt too loud, too fast, too unfamiliar.

And Dean... he was something different.

He took it upon himself to introduce you to 'the important stuff.' Rock music: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Bon Jovi. Movies: Star Wars, Die Hard, Back to the Future. You name it. He was there, more than excited and willing to show the new world to you.

Late nights would find you both sprawled on the worn motel beds or the bunker couch, Dean grinning like a kid as he watched your reactions.

"You've never seen this? Oh, sweetheart, we're fixing that right now," he'd say, popping in a VHS tape or queuing up something on an DVD player.

And you soon discovered that you also had your own stuff to share.

One day, Sam found you curled into the far corner of the bunker's library sofa, knees drawn up beneath you, entirely absorbed in the worn pages of Pride and Prejudice. The copy had a cracked spine and yellowing edges, but you cradled it like treasure.

Sam's voice interrupted the silence, warm with surprise. "Didn't know we had that one in here."

You looked up, startled, but smiled. "I used to read this by candlelight... I never thought I'd hold it again."

Sam's brow quirked. "You know it's a movie now, right?"

Your eyes widened. "A movie?"

He chuckled. "Several, actually. There's the BBC miniseries and the 2005 version."

You blinked. "People still know this story? They watch it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, amused. "It's kind of a big deal."

And it was the end of Dean Winchester's movies era.

That night, Dean was sprawled across the bunker couch, TV remote in one hand, a beer in the other, deciding if he wanted you to see Lethal Weapon or Terminator when you bounced into the room, clutching the DVD case Sam had handed you.

"Dean," you said brightly, "we're watching Pride and Prejudice tonight."

Dean froze. "We're what now?"

You held up the case with the same reverence he reserved for classic rock vinyl. "It's a book I love. Sam told me it's a film now. Will you watch it with me?"

He looked at you, hopeful, radiant, practically glowing with excitement.

Dean groaned dramatically. "Fine. But unless there's a car chase, I'm gonna need extra pie for this."

You sat beside him, barely breathing as the film unfolded. His initial jokes dissolved somewhere around the proposal scene, and he started commenting about the movie like he was getting really interested in the story.

You glanced at him with a triumphant grin.

Later, as the credits rolled, he leaned back with a long exhale. "So... when Darcy said, 'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you'—that was smooth. I might use that."

You laughed, giving him a playful shove.

Dean nudged you with his shoulder. "Hey, don't look at me like that. If I'm gonna suffer through 19th-century foreplay, it might as well be with you."

Your laughter softened into something warmer as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you liked it."

He tilted his head, voice low. "Yeah... me too."

He was close. Always close: an arm thrown casually around the back of the couch, a shoulder brushing yours when you laughed too hard, a hand steadying you when the crowd of a new town felt overwhelming.

You didn't stay behind, either. After the incident with the creature by the motel pool, you had insisted on joining them on more hunts as an active member, and to your surprise, they had agreed.

Maybe it was your bravery. Maybe it was the fact that you refused to be treated like something fragile.

But little by little, you became part of the team.

You trained harder with Sam and Dean, practiced with Castiel, learned everything you could about the monsters that haunted the modern world.

At first they gave you easier tasks: research, backup, lookout. But it wasn't long before you were right there in the thick of it: salt rounds loaded, blade steady in your hand, heart pounding in rhythm with theirs.

The adrenaline, the fear, the victories—saving people and hunting things... it bonded you even tighter to them.

Especially to Dean.

You didn't sleep together at the bunker, it would have been too much, maybe, to cross that invisible line there. But during hunting trips, as the motels usually had only two beds, it became natural for you to share one of them.

At first, Sam felt like the most awkward third wheel, and insisted on take his own room. But neither you or Dean seemed to make it look like a serious thing. So you both will just justify it saying there was no need to waste money resources on a second room, and Sam wouldn't push anymore.

Dean would kick off his boots and fall onto the mattress with a groan, then look over at you with a smirk and say, "C'mon, deer, I don't bite."

The first few times you stayed stiff and awkward on the edge of the bed, afraid of getting too close. But Dean never pressed, never teased, he just offered his quiet presence, and somehow that was enough.

As time passed, you grew comfortable. You stopped worrying about the way your arm brushed his when you shifted at night. Stopped pulling away when you woke up with your legs tangled loosely under the covers. Stopped pretending you didn't notice the way your heart sped up when he was near.

There was tension, of course. But Dean never pushed. Never crossed a line. And somehow, that made it worse: made you ache for him even more.

You didn't know exactly when it happened, maybe it was one night when he stayed up until dawn patching up a cut on your forehead, hands trembling slightly; maybe it was the way he remembered you liked your coffee sweet and loaded with cream in the morning.

But somewhere between the laughter, the long looks, the soft silences... You realized you were falling for Dean Winchester.

Or maybe it was there from the beginning. Even before that very first kiss.

And even though the thought scared you, it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.

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"Oh my goodness," you laughed, your face lighting up with amusement as you clicked through your own laptop.

Of course, you had your own now. The Winchesters had bought it for you after you accidentally stumbled upon downloaded porn on Dean's. Sam was really pissed at him.

"Dean, you've got to see this!"

He looked up from where he was cleaning one of his knives, arching a brow. "What now? Another animal video you think might change my life?"

You turned the screen toward him with a grin. "Nope. Almost better. A pie convention two towns over this weekend. Apparently it's like, the 'pie event of the year'? There's a cherry pie competition, a blindfold taste test... It's like Disneyland made of pies."

Dean stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the salt canister on the table. "You're not messing with me?"

"Would I lie about pie?" you teased, and his grin stretched wide, boyish and awed.

"We're going. You and me. Sam can handle things here, he won't appreciate it."

Right on cue, Sam strolled into the room, coffee in hand, and Dean spun toward him. "Hey, Sammy. Claire and I are taking a little road trip. Couple days. Important business."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, pie?"

Dean didn't even bother denying it. He just smiled and shrugged in a funny way.

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was something fond in the way he glanced between the two of you. "Fine. I was planning on heading out with Charlie and Cas anyway. They roped me into some kind of lore convention... don't ask. Just don't die in a pie-eating accident."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "No promises."

You caught Sam's gaze as he turned to leave, and he gave you the tiniest smirk and wink before disappearing down the hall.

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Next weekend, the pie convention turned out to be everything Dean dreamed of and more. Booths stretched for blocks, each one offering free samples, contests, and flavors that had Dean acting like a kid at Christmas. You trailed behind him, your fingers sticky with berry filling, laughing as he tried (and failed) to talk a judge into giving him an extra slice of bourbon pecan. So he stole it from him, anyway.

By the end of the day, you both collapsed into the Impala parked just off a quiet country road. The sun was setting behind the trees, golden light spilling through the windshield, painting the car in a soft, amber glow. Dean handed you a beer, and you took a sip, still not convinced of the taste.

"I'm not sayin' it was the best day of my life," he said, eyes closed. "But if I die tomorrow, I'll go with a smile."

You laughed, turning in your seat to face him. "You really love pie that much, didn't you?"

He cracked one eye open and smiled at you. "I love anything that makes me forget the crap for a while."

There was a long pause then, not awkward, just quiet. The kind of silence that let you feel things you didn't know how to name yet.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly more serious. "Y'know... back there. All those people. Families, couples, kids..." He glanced at you. "Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like them. Normal. If I hadn't grown up the way I did."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the heaviness behind his words.

"My dad... he trained us to hunt before we even knew how to live. And I... I did things. Made choices that stick with me." He let out a shaky breath. "It's hard not to think I've screwed everything up."

You didn't say anything, just let your fingers gently brush the back of his hand resting between you. He didn't pull away.

You knew some things about their past: their family, the hell they'd been through. Dean was the one who told you, bit by bit. Glimpses of what they had done, what they had survived. The people that had lost. It was hard not to cry when you saw the hurt, the pain, and sometimes even fear in his eyes.

It made you want to free him from all of it... to lift the weight off his shoulders and make him feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

After a while, he looked down at your touch, then back up, his voice quieter. "Don't you ever want to know more about where you come from? About who you were before all this?"

You hesitated, eyes flicking to the windshield, watching the fading light turn to dusk.

"I used to," you said softly, that British accent sending shivers down his spine. "But it frightens me. What if I find out I was someone I wouldn't even like? What if I came from a world that wouldn't let me return here?"

Dean looked at you, listening intently, his breath caught in his throat.

"If I'm here now, it's for a reason," you continued. "And I don't want to waste time chasing shadows when I have a real life now. With Sam, with Castiel, and..." your voice faltered for a second, but you met his gaze steadily, "with you."

Dean didn't say anything at first, just stared, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he let out a quiet, breathless laugh; not mocking, just overwhelmed.

"You're something else, deer," he murmured.

And maybe it were the stars beginning to blink into the night sky above, or just the mere heat of the moment, but you felt the urgent desire to kiss him.

Dean's eyes were still on you, something soft and stunned flickering behind the green of them. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the low hum of cicadas around you, the distant rustle of trees in the night.

You swallowed hard.

"I mean it," you said, voice quiet but certain. "This... all of this. It matters to me."

Dean gave a small nod, but his expression was unreadable. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he didn't believe it, not really. That someone like you could want someone like him.

So you kissed him. To proof that for you he was worth of love as much as anyone else.

You weren't even sure what possessed you. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the pie, or just the way he looked at you like you were the one thing he didn't want to break. Your lips brushed his, tentative at first, barely more than a breath. But he didn't pull away.

He stilled.

And then he kissed you back.

Slow, warm, reverent... not like the rushed, careless kisses you'd seen in films. Not like the ones full of teeth and tongue that made you hide your face behind a pillow when they played on motel televisions. This was just different.

But still, your thoughts wandered to those scenes. The ones where the characters ended up tangled in bedsheets, breathless. You remembered the way Dean's jaw would tense slightly when those parts came on, how he'd glance over at you to see if you were watching. You always were.

So am I doing this right? Was it supposed to feel like this... like my whole body was trembling, but not out of fear, but something raw and primitive?

You didn't know, but you wanted to.

You pulled back slightly, breath hitching, your hand resting against his chest. "Dean..." you whispered, nerves tightening your throat. "I... I don't really know how this works. I've never..."

Dean's eyes widened a fraction, and you felt him tense beneath your hand. But not in a bad way, more like he was trying very hard to stay still. Just like you.

You cleared your throat. "But I... I want to."

He blinked at you, processing that. "You mean...?" His voice cracked just a little, and for the first time, Dean Winchester looked genuinely nervous.

You nodded, cheeks flushed. "I trust you."

Dean exhaled, slow and careful, and then gently squeezed your hand. "Okay. Then we're gonna take it slow. Real slow, alright?"

You nodded again, heart pounding.

He looked around, then jerked a thumb toward the back seat. "Gimme a sec."

You watched as Dean opened the back door, and started rearranging the Impala's interior with almost military precision. He took off his jacket, folded it into a pillow, pulled a blanket from the trunk, then ducked back inside to make sure the door locks were set.

When he was done, he opened the door for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. No pressure, just patience. Just Dean.

And before he could say more, you reached for him. Your hand curled into the collar of his flannel, tugging gently, and then your mouth found his.

It was clumsy at first, more instinct than anything, but it was yours. Hungry in a way that surprised even you.

Dean froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard, then responded with a low sound in his throat that sent a rush through your body. His hands came to your waist, steadying, anchoring.

You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "I want this, Dean. I want it with you."

That was all it took.

He helped you into the backseat carefully, never taking his eyes off yours, and shut the door behind him. You settled back against the makeshift bedding, nerves fluttering wildly in your belly. He joined you, hovering above, and you welcomed him between your thighs.

It was overwhelming in the best of the ways: his breath against your face, his fingers brushing your temple like a question. And you answered by reaching up to guide him down to you.

Dean kissed you again, slower this time. His lips moved gently against yours, coaxing rather than taking, and the warmth of him poured over you like sunlight after a long storm. His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek in a touch so tender it made your chest ache.

You clung to him, not just from inexperience or nerves, but because it felt like the only place you wanted to be. His weight above you was grounding, protective, and arousing way.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper against your skin. "We stop the second you want to, I swear."

You nodded, your breath shaky, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I trust you, Dean."

Dean lowered his head to kiss your neck, his pelvis already pressing yours into the seat. Your hand slipped beneath his shirt, caressing the warm skin underneath.

He groaned softly against your skin, the sound rumbling through your chest as his lips traced a slow path along your throat. Your fingers explored the curve of his ribs, the rise and fall of his breath under your touch grounding you more than anything else ever had.

Then he straightened up, managing to pull off his shirt.

You sat up slightly, breath catching in your throat as your eyes traced the lines of his body: the muscles beneath his skin, the constellation of old scars scattered across his arms and torso. Each mark told a story, and though you didn't know them all, you wanted to.

Your gaze lingered on the tattoo over his chest, the black anti-possession symbol, bold against his skin. Your fingers brushed it gently, the warmth of his slightly tanned skin beneath your touch. A few freckles dusted his shoulders, unexpected and endearing.

Dean leaned in and started with your boots, crouching low in the cramped space of the Impala's backseat. He unlaced them slowly, then slid them off one by one, his touch warm and steady.

Next, his fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, peeling it up gently, lifting it over your head, careful not to startle or rush you. When your skin met the cool air, you shivered, and he immediately reached your arms, caressing. His hands paused, reverent, before moving to the button of your pants.

He undid the button, then the zipper, moving slowly, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn't. The fabric slid down your hips, tugging carefully until the pants pooled at your ankles, then helped you shift to pull them free.

And there you were, semi-naked beneath Dean Winchester. Trapped in his car while he just looked at you with a quiet awe in his expression that made you feel more beautiful than you ever had before.

He guided you onto your back again with a soft kiss. His hands didn't waste time, caressing your exposed skin, tracing a delicate path along your shoulders, down your breasts, your ribcage, and over your hips.

"Tell me something, baby," his voice was a soft, warm whisper. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Touch myself?" you asked shyly, like you weren't sure what he meant—but deep down you had an idea. You flushed, like you'd just been caught in the act.

"Yeah," he purred. "You know, when you're in your room, alone, and you get that feeling right here." One of his hands caressed the soft flesh of your tummy, just above the hem of your panties. "Like you're feeling now. Have you ever tried to ease it, baby?"

"I might have," you confess in a whisper. You had, maybe. In your bed, when the thought of Dean was too loud, too overwhelming to ignore. You'd tried to soothe the instinct.

"Then show me."

Dean took your hand in his, guiding both into your cotton panties. You let out a gasp, a sound of surprise and pleasure, as he pressed your whole palm against your core.

"Move your fingers, sweetheart. Show me what feels good."

Your breath caught in your throat as you began to move, slow and uncertain at first. Dean stayed close, his palm pressed against the back of your hand, mirroring every motion, feeling every hesitant stroke.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. "Nice and slow. Let me feel you, baby."

Your fingers explored with timid curiosity, guided by instinct and the memory of lonely nights. But this time, it felt different. This time, Dean was watching. Feeling you. Breathing with you. Encouraging you.

His hand never left yours, he followed each movement, memorizing the rhythm of your touch, the little shifts that made your breath catch.

"You like it right there," he said, more statement than question. He could feel it in the way your hand paused, circled, lingered. "Show me everything, sweetheart. I wanna learn what gets you off."

He tightened his fingers just slightly, applying the gentlest pressure behind yours, enough to remind you he was right there.

"Feels better when I'm here, doesn't it?" he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to form words. "Y-Yeah..."

Dean's smile was slow, wicked, and full of adoration. "Then take more. Go deeper. You know what your body wants, baby. Don't be shy."

You obeyed, breath hitching again as the sensation intensified. Dean kissed your shoulder, his touch reverent, worshipful.

"That's my girl," he murmured. "So damn beautiful when you're like this."

You moved with a little more confidence now, spurred by his praise and presence. The heat between your legs was pulsing, building, and the knowledge that Dean could feel every tremor, every stutter in your motion, only made it burn hotter.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" he whispered. "Wanna feel you fall apart in my hands."

You felt his fingers taking the lead, thicker and rougher, parting your wet folds with ease, quickly finding al the perfect spots that he just learned, making your whole body tremble under his touch, utterly at his mercy. Your sticky fingers clenched into the muscles of his arm, seeking for relief.

Soft circles, and up and down, teasing your entrance like a menace. But he didn't push farther yet. No, he wanted you dripping, begging, ready for him first.

After a few more movements, you finally came undone with a soft cry. You felt your honey dripping thick out of you, and your whole body trembling beneath his.

He kissed your neck and collarbone, his fingers still working you—softer now, but still making you squirm beneath him, your hips shifting, chasing his touch.

"...Dean... more..." you moaned right into his ear, and you felt his still-clothed pelvis brush against the bare skin of your thigh, seeking friction, seeking release.

So your hands moved downward, searching for the buckle of his belt. Your fingers worked quickly, and you felt his body shift, helping you along, letting you work him open.

Dean's breath catched the moment he felt your delicate, tentative hand find him inside his boxers. He never left his place there, though.

You were amused by the expression on his face: his eyes fluttering shut, jaw tensing, and body surrendering over you.

He hardened in your hand, thick and warm, and the reaction made you even wetter around his fingers.

"Holy shit... deer," he groaned, low and rough under his breath.

Your hand started moving on his length— clumsy, inexperienced — but he seemed to like it. A lot. He started moving his fingers again, sinking both of you into a mess of hands, moans, and whispered names.

After a few minutes, he looked up at you, breathless. "Wait..." he growled. "If you keep going, I'm..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, the mere thought made him shudder.

"You what?" you asked, the almost innocent tone in your voice making him twitch in your palm.

"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, "you're gonna be the death of me."

A shaky breath escaped your lips at the unexpected sight of Dean bringing his slick-coated fingers to his mouth, savoring your taste.

"You taste so sweet, baby," he whispered. "If I had more space, I swear I'd eat your pussy out right here."

You didn't quite understand what he meant, but God, you wanted to find out right now.

He made room to work on his own jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. And once he was completely naked in front of you, the sight made your face flush an impossible shade of red.

You couldn't help but look away. You thought about his size... which definitely left your mouth dry.

For the first time that night, real nervousness settled in. Reality hit you, mixing with anticipation and desire. You wanted to feel him, but the thought of what it might be like to have him inside you made your stomach twist with nerves.

He noticed your wide eyes and gave you a soft, crooked grin. One hand reached up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. "You okay?" he asked, voice low and tender.

You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. "I just... I've never done this before."

His expression softened even more. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you," he promised.

Then he leaned down and kissed you gently, while his hands slid under your back to work the clasp of your bra.

His green eyes darkened the moment he saw your breasts for the first time. One of his broad hands cupped one, squeezing gently, his thumb tracing slow circles over your delicate nipple. You moaned, feeling heat pool between your legs, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

"You're so damn beautiful, deer," he whispered, warm and sincere. "Fuck, you're more perfect than I imagined..."

Then his hands moved to the last piece of clothing still on you. You lifted your hips, letting him slip your panties down and off, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

Dean sat back for a moment, just looking at you, jaw slightly clenched like he was trying to hold himself together. Then he reached over to the glove box, flipped it open, and pulled out a small foil packet.

You blinked. "What's that?"

He paused, smirking a little. "A condom."

"...A what?"

Dean's brows shot up, amused. "You've never seen one of these?"

You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on the tiny package like it might bite.

His grin widened as he tore it open. "Damn, sweetheart, you really are from another time."

You flushed, but the way he looked at you, warm and patient, made it hard to feel embarrassed. He held it up like he was giving a lesson. "This goes on me. It, uh... keeps things safe. And clean. You know, in case of babies, diseases, apocalypse-related mishaps..."

Your eyes widened even more. "Oh. That's... practical."

Dean laughed softly, low in his throat. "Very."

You watched, curious and fascinated, as he rolled the condom on. Once he was done, he looked at you again, his smile softer now.

"I didn't know there were tools involved," you breathed, heart pounding.

He kissed your temple, chuckling. "There's a lot I want to teach you. But tonight? Just this. Just us."

Your nod was soft but sure. Dean leaned over you, supporting his weight on one forearm as his other hand slid carefully down your side.

His lips found yours, slow and deep, and he whispered against them, "Listen, this might hurt just a little. I can't help it, but I promise it'll feel good soon after. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

You whispered a shaky "Okay," and wrapped your arms around him, grounding yourself in the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

Then, with a patience you hadn't expected, and a tenderness that nearly broke you, he began to guide himself against you.

You felt his tip brushing against your core, drawing soft whimpers from your lips, especially when he took his time to caress your most sensitive spot.

Your body responded instinctively, already stretching around him, a reaction born purely from need.

"Dean..." you breathed, almost desperately. You didn't even know exactly what you were asking for, just that you needed something, anything, to ease the ache burning inside you.

"I know, babygirl," he murmured gently. "I'm just making sure you're ready for me."

And then, after a few more heartbeats, you felt him shift, lining himself up at your entrance, and slowly begin to push into you. You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as a deep stretch filled you, unfamiliar and overwhelming. It didn't exactly hurt, but it wasn't easy, either. Your body trembled beneath his, adjusting to him inch by inch.

Dean kissed your jaw, your cheek, your lips, whispering praises in between: "You're doing so good... I've got you... just a little more..."

Finally, he was fully inside, still and patient, his forehead resting gently against yours.

"You okay?" he asked again, his voice strained now, clearly holding back for your sake.

You nodded, breath shaky. "Yeah. Just... don't move yet."

He smiled faintly, brushing your hair back. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

It didn't take long for him to start feeling you moving your hips. Timidly at first, just a small shift, testing how your body responded to the fullness.

Dean froze, groaning softly into the crook of your neck. "Fuck, sweetheart..."

The sound of his voice sent a spark straight through your spine. Encouraged, you shifted again, a little more this time, and his hands immediately found your waist, steadying you with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back just slightly and eased forward again, watching your face the entire time.

"God, you feel incredible," he whispered, kissing your temple. "So damn perfect around me..."

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your rhythm, matching your pace with slow, deliberate thrusts. It was overwhelming: his body, his heat, the way his mouth found yours between soft curses and whispered praises. The way he held you, like you were something precious.

"Dean... Dean..." You couldn't do anything else but say his name like a prayer, especially as he teased your limits, pushing harder, deeper into you.

The sound of skin against skin, moans, and whimpers from both of you soon hushed even the rain tapping on the roof of the Impala. Every improper, filthy sound you made only encouraged him to take you rougher... yet he still held back, still careful, still trying not to hurt or scare you.

Dean was also trying to keep himself from finishing too soon. You didn't know it, but he hadn't been with anyone in months. Sure, the need had been there, but his mind always betrayed him, because if it wasn't you, he didn't want it. It wouldn't make sense to be with someone else while thinking of you.

And now that he had you, it only confirmed that he didn't need anyone else.

"It feels so good," you breathed out, voice trembling. "Dean... please! Don't stop..."

Dean buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. His movements grew more intense, more desperate, until you could feel every tremble in his body.

His mouth traveled to your breasts, taking one of your nipples, his tongue tracing soft circles around it, his mouth leaving sucking marks on your soft flesh. Marking you as his. Your own breath hitched, the pleasure building to a crescendo that made your fingers dig into his back.

"C'mon, deer, cum for me," he groaned, feeling your pussy clench harder around his cock. "Feels so good, baby..."

You clung to him as the waves crested, your body tensed, then unraveled all at once, a soft cry escaping your lips as your world seemed to splinter in the most beautiful way.

Dean wasn't far behind. You felt him still, groaning your name like it was the only word he knew, holding you so close it was hard to tell where he ended and you began. His whole body shuddered against yours before he finally collapsed, breathing hard, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant patter of rain against the Impala's roof.

Then, softly, he smiled. "You okay?"

You nodded, still dazed, your voice a whisper. "I've never felt anything like that."

"Me neither, baby." Dean kissed you slowly, tenderly, like a promise. "You did amazing."

For a long, long time, he had wanted you. You were the one who lived in his deepest dreams, the one he whispered about in the solitude of his bedroom. Having you beneath him felt like the most natural, meant-to-be, thing in the universe.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he realized he might actually be feeling something.

Not a whim, not just a fleeting attraction, or a desperate lifeboat he clung to just to keep from drowning in his own misery.

No, this was real, and raw, and pure.

For the first time in his life, he knew that if you asked him to, he'd leave everything behind just to be with you.

He kissed you again, slow and sweet. "I'm not letting you go, deer."

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," you promised back.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The sun was already high when you stirred, warm light pouring in through the fogged-up windows of the Impala. The air around you was heavy with the scent of wet earth, leather, and lingering sex. You couldn't tell where you ended and he began, limbs tangled in the sweetest kind of chaos.

You blinked, the world slowly coming into focus, and that's when you realized three things in quick succession:

1. You were still naked.

2. Dean was still naked.

3. Someone was knocking on the window.

A loud, authoritative knock.

Dean groaned, half-asleep, and shifted against you under the thin blanket. "Five more minutes," he muttered against the top of your head.

"Dean," you hissed, your heart sprinting, trapped between the seat and his body, "Someone's at the window!"

"What!?" he sat up too fast, the blanket slipping off his shoulder.

Then came the knock again, louder this time, followed by a voice: "Sir? Ma'am? Step out of the vehicle. Now."

Dean swore under his breath. "Oh, son of a bitch."

You scrambled to clutch the blanket around you, and Dean fumbled to cover both of you with the rest of it, twisting around to squint through the window. Sure enough: a very unimpressed-looking sheriff, mirrored sunglasses and all, stood outside with a notepad in one hand and what looked like a ticket book in the other.

"Oh God," you whispered. "Dean... what do we do?"

"I got it. I got this," he said, trying (and failing) to sound confident. He rolled the window down two centimeters. "Morning, officer."

The man stared, jaw tight. "Morning. We got a call from the farm owner. Said he found your car fogged up and occupied. You do realize you're trespassing, right?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Right. Yeah. Look, uh... there's a very romantic explanation for this."

The officer looked pointedly at the crumpled clothes in the front seat and your sock stuck to the gearshift.

Dean winced. "Okay. Not a great explanation. But I swear, we're consenting adults. Nobody's in danger here."

"You're also naked in public," the officer said flatly. "Which puts us in indecent exposure territory."

"Okay, okay... technically, we're in a car..."

"You're not helping," you whispered.

Eventually, the officer gave five awkward minutes to "dress and compose yourselves" standing with his back turned. Dean struggled to get his jeans on while still inside the cramped backseat. You accidentally elbowed him in the ribs trying to find your bra. And your dignity.

"Romantic night under the stars, huh?" he muttered, wincing.

"Romantic until the part where we get arrested."

Once (mostly) clothed, you were herded into the back of a patrol car like a couple of teenagers caught skipping curfew. You just wanted to cry, humiliation creeping up your whole being.

At the station, Dean was allowed one call. Of course, he dialed Sam.

"Yeah?" Sam answered, groggy.

"I need you to come to the county sheriff's office."

Pause. "What did you do?"

"It's not... okay, yes, technically it's public indecency, but..."

"Oh my God," Sam groaned.

"Also, bring bail money. And pants. Mine have a strange stain on it."

"Dean, I don't wanna know..."

By the time Sam arrived, looking smug and far too well-rested, you and Dean were sitting in plastic chairs, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

"So," Sam said, barely suppressing a grin, "Romantic getaway, huh?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up and pay the damn fine."

Sam turned to you. "You okay?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair."

As Sam paid the bail and the receptionist handed over a brown paper bag with your boots inside, Dean leaned toward you with a sheepish smile.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The door to the bunker groaned open as you and Dean stepped in, both red-faced, tired, and still vaguely humiliated from the morning's events. Sam followed behind, biting his tongue to keep from laughing out loud for the hundredth time.

Castiel looked up from the map table as you entered. He tilted his head, his brows furrowing at the sight of you two slinking in like teenagers caught sneaking in after curfew.

You passed him by, unable to even look him –or Sam, or Dean– to the face, and go sit down in a chair. Castiel sat across from you, watching you with intense curiosity as you shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying not to wince. "Claire, are you injured?"

Instinctively, your eyes turned to Dean, who somehow seemed to read your mind: you were sore. His gaze softened, a silent apology in his eyes. Cheeks burning, you quickly shifted your gaze to the table.

"No, Cas. Just my dignity."

"What happened?" Castiel asked, his voice low and steady, like the head of a household demanding the truth from his daughter.

Sam, already sipping coffee and waiting for the explosion, said casually, "They were caught... romancing in the back of the Impala. By the police."

Castiel's gaze snapped to you. "You were compromised in a vehicle?"

You sank lower into your chair. "It's not..."

"I trusted him," Castiel said solemnly, pointing a very slow, accusatory finger at Dean. "I left you alone for one evening and this is the result?"

Dean held up both hands. "Whoa, okay. Let's not go full Puritan ghost here."

"She's from 1815, Dean. That is practically the Regency era. Have you any idea what this would do to her dowry?"

You choked. "I don't even have a bank account, Cas."

"And now your reputation is in ruins," he added gravely, looking mildly offended on your behalf.

Dean, trying not to lost control of the situation, ran a hand down his face. "Cas, I didn't seduce a nun. I took Claire stargazing and then... things happened."

Castiel turned to you, eyes softened but authority still on them. "Did he declare his intentions? Did he offer marriage, or at the very least a respectful courtship letter?"

Dean choked on his own saliva the moment the word "marriage" reached his ears.

"I don't think people write letters anymore," you mumbled.

Castiel's jaw tightened. "They should."

"Cas," Sam said, nearly wheezing, "You're reacting like she was ruined in the middle of a ball."

"She was ruined in a Chevrolet, Sam!"

"Okay, that's it. It's enough, dude," Dean replied.

But Castiel wasn't done. He stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your shoulder. "If you are with child..."

"CASTIEL!" The three of you shouted at unison.

He blinked. "Then I shall smite him accordingly."

"No one is smiting anyone, Castiel," you intervened, somewhere between a nervous laughter and wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

Dean stood up. "Listen, Cas, I really appreciate your concern about my girl, believe me, I do."

Your cheeks burned and your heart flipped at the expression he used to refer to you: my girl.

"But this is the 21st century, and she's a grown, consenting woman. We don't need divine supervision every time we get a little close. So, now I'm going to take a shower, and when I come back, everyone's going to pretend this never happened."

Castiel tilted his head, visibly processing the statement.

Sam cleared his throat and stood as well. "Alright, I think that's our cue. C'mon, Cas. Let's give them a little privacy."

Reluctantly, Castiel nodded. "Very well. But if she is harmed..."

"She won't be," Dean cut in gently, but firmly. "Ever."

The angel gave Dean one last glare before walking out of the room in a swirl of dramatic disapproval. Sam snorted, giving the both of you a knowing smile before following Cas to the kitchen.

Dean turned back to you, that cocky little smirk softening as he approached.

"Except you, sweetheart," he murmured low, only for you to hear. "I want you to remember everything."

Dean brushed his knuckles gently along your arm. "So... shower?" he offered, a glint in his eye that made your stomach flutter.

You nodded, smiling, heart thudding when his fingers laced with yours. He led you to the bathroom, and the door clicked shut behind you.

NEXT PART

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[buckets-and-trees]

Dangerous Desires

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 6.3k Summary: When you use Andy's private jet to run away to Stockholm for a few days, you confide in your closest friend about the complexities of your relationship with your dangerous fiancé.

Content/Warnings: power dynamics and emotional manipulation; forced engagement; use of pet name (sweetheart); smut (phone sex, mutual masturbation, fingering, clit play, nipple play)

Author Note: No one asked for this, some of you are going to throw daggers at me for returning to this series over others, but... Andy doesn't care much for what you think you want. He knows what you need.

Previous Part | Full Series

The last forty-eight hours have been a blessed reprieve from the intensity of your life with Andy. Stockholm greeted you with crisp air and Thea welcomed you with open arms, no questions asked—at first. You've spent the time wandering the cobblestone streets, admiring the architecture, and deliberately avoiding deep conversation about why you suddenly appeared on her doorstep. 

Now, sitting in her cozy apartment with containers of food from a local Swedish restaurant spread between you, you can feel the shift in the atmosphere. Thea sets down her fork with deliberate precision and fixes you with that penetrating stare you remember so well from college, when she could always tell when you were hiding something. 

"Okay, enough," she says, crossing her arms. "I've given you two days of sightseeing and small talk. I've watched you check your phone every thirty minutes like you're expecting either a bomb threat or a love letter. You’re safely out of jet lag territory. It’s time to tell me what’s really going on.”

You've told Thea bits and pieces—about meeting Andy, the whirlwind romance, the engagement—but you've kept the darker elements vague, painting a picture of a passionate relationship with a wealthy businessman rather than the complicated, dangerous reality.

You bite the inside of your lip as you look at Thea. Time zones and geography may have interrupted how frequently you talk, but she’s still your best friend, the one who’s known you for years, has seen your highest highs and your lowest lows. You know you can’t tell her everything, but you owe it to tell her more. And it’s why you came here specifically when you decided you needed to get away. 

Because you wanted and needed to talk to your best friend. 

"I don't even know where to start," you admit, twirling your wine glass between your fingers. 

Thea's expression softens. "How about with why you really came to Stockholm? And don't tell me it was just to see my beautiful face, though I'm sure that was part of it." 

You laugh, but it catches in your throat. "Andy is not just a businessman. He's complicated. Powerful in ways I didn't understand at first."

"What kind of powerful are we talking about?" Thea asks, her eyes narrowing. "Like, politically connected powerful or something else?" 

You hesitate, weighing how much to reveal. The confidentiality agreement flashes through your mind. "Something else. The kind that makes people afraid of him." 

Thea sets her wine glass down with a thud. "Are you in danger? Is that why you're here?" 

You take a deep breath, genuinely considering how to answer that. You decide you can honestly say, “He’s dangerous, but not necessarily to me. 

Thea narrows her eyes, but you know it’s at the situation, not at you. “I don’t love that answer. So tell me the real story. Not the glossy version you've been feeding me."

You sigh, twisting your engagement ring around your finger. "I met Andy when he hired my company to plan this elaborate charity gala at his estate. From the moment I walked into his mansion for our first meeting, I was affected by him. He's not just handsome, he's magnetic. The kind of man who commands attention just by existing in a space."

Thea leans forward, completely engrossed. "I remember you mentioning a big client around that time. That was him?"

You nod. "But I put all those feelings aside. I was determined to be professional - this was a huge opportunity for my business. Besides, men like Andy Barber don't usually go for women like me."

"What do you mean 'women like you'?" Thea interrupts, frowning fiercely. "You're amazing."

You wave her off. "You know what I mean. Men like Andy are supposed to date supermodels or socialites and old money.” 

Thea shakes her head firmly, leaning across the table to grab your hand. "No, stop that right now. You're brilliant, gorgeous, and built a successful business from nothing. Any man would be lucky to have you, even some fancy billionaire." 

Her fierce defense makes you smile despite yourself. "Thanks, but—" 

"No buts. I've always hated how you downplay yourself and I will never forgive your shitty ex." She refills your wine glass. "So what happened after the gala? Don't leave out any juicy details."

You take a large sip of wine, feeling warmth spread through your chest. She’s your best friend, but you still know you’ll be sparing her some of the details about that first night with Andy - not just the dangerous ones, but some of the spicy ones as well. You can’t put into words the kind of feelings he invoked in your body and in your soul that night or many of the other nights since then. 

Thea prompts you to continue with a gentle bark of your name to bring you back to the moment, and you huff a small laugh and go on.

"The gala was perfect. Everything went exactly as planned. I was packing up, feeling proud but exhausted, about to go home when Andy took me to his private office.

"He told me how impressed he was with my work, how he'd watched me all night." You pause, remembering the intensity in Andy's eyes that night. "Then essentially he said he wanted me. Not just for the night, but for good."

Thea's eyes widen. "Wait, what?" 

"God, Thea, I can't even explain what happened to me."

"So you slept with him," Thea supplies, a knowing smile spreading across her face. 

You feel your cheeks heat. "It was more than that. It was the most intense sex of my life.”

Thea squeals and kicks her feet out in celebration. You can’t help but grin for a moment with her. 

"I woke up the next morning in his bed, feeling like I'd been swept away in a storm. We hadn't slept much." You take another sip of wine, memories flooding back. “And then I noticed he’d put a ring on my finger before I even woke up. Said we had to be married. Right there, while I was still tangled in his sheets."

“Seriously?” Thea's eyes are wide with disbelief. "After one night?"

You shake your head in disbelief at your own actions - your acquiescence, even though you know how trapped you’d been. "Just like that. One night of incredible sex and suddenly I'm engaged to a man I barely know."

"Holy shit," Thea whispers. "That's... impulsive, even for you."

"I know, I know. It sounds insane. It was insane," you admit, running your fingers through your hair. "He wanted to elope, make it official pretty quickly. No fuss, no family." 

"But?" Thea prompts, clearly sensing there's more to the story. 

You take another long sip of wine. "But then he went and met my parents. Without telling me. As a 'surprise.'" 

"He what?!" Thea nearly shouts.

"Yep. Set up a nice lunch with them at the country club, introduced himself as the man who swept me up into an engagement, somehow won them over in no time at all. They love him, he seems to adore them, and now it’s a public wedding with my parents' full support. And it's happening in three weeks."

Thea chokes on her wine. "Three weeks? That's... that's practically tomorrow in wedding planning time!" 

"I know." You press your palms against your eyes. "I went from thinking we might elope to suddenly planning a high-society affair that people are already talking about. Andy's social circle is... important. Influential. And now they're all going to be there, watching."

"But that's not all, is it?" Thea asks softly, studying your face. 

You shake your head, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. "No. He had his lawyer draw up this prenup—this massive document with clauses about everything from infidelity to social media posts. And I negotiated some points, which shocked everyone including myself, but it’s still overwhelming."

“Of course it must be. But that's not all, is it?" Thea asks softly, studying your face.

You shake your head, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. "No. He wants to invest in my company. He wants to be a silent partner, become a part of the business I've built from the ground up. With all these plans for expansion and growth."

Thea whistles low. "That's a lot. So he's not just marrying you, he's buying into your professional life too." 

"Exactly." You drain your wine glass. "And the thing is, his proposal makes sense. The capital he's offering, the connections—it would take my company to a whole new level. But..."

Thea leans back, her expression thoughtful. "But you're worried about losing control of your company—the one thing that's truly yours."

"Exactly." You're relieved she understands so quickly. "My business is the one thing I've built entirely on my own. No help, no shortcuts. Just hard work and determination. And now he wants a piece of it."

"Have you signed anything yet? For the business deal, I mean."

You shake your head. "No. His lawyer gave me a week to think it over. That's part of why I'm here. I needed space to think clearly, away from his... influence."

Thea raises an eyebrow. "His influence?"

You feel your cheeks flush, remembering Andy's hands on your body, his lips against your skin. "He's... persuasive." 

"So the sex is that good, huh?" Thea grins, but her eyes remain serious. 

"It's not just the sex," you admit, though your pulse races at the memories. "It's him. The way he looks at me like I'm the only person in the world. The way he anticipates what I need before I even know I need it. He's attentive and generous and..." You trail off, struggling to articulate the magnetic pull Andy has over you.

"And dangerous," Thea finishes for you, her voice gentle but firm. 

You nod slowly. "Yes. And dangerous." 

"Do you love him?" she asks bluntly. 

The question hits you like a physical blow. You've been so caught up in the whirlwind of everything that's happened, you certainly haven't asked yourself that question.

"I..." you start, then pause, truly considering. "I don't know if what I feel is love or... something else. Obsession? Fascination? It's intense, whatever it is. I think if things had developed differently, I would absolutely love him."

Thea watches you carefully, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Do you think he loves you?" 

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears. "I don’t think Andy operates in those terms. He sees something he wants, and he takes it. I think he's... fixated on me, possessive of me. But love? I don't know."

"That doesn't sound healthy," Thea says gently. 

"No, I suppose it doesn't." You twist your engagement ring again. You meet her eyes, vulnerable in a way you rarely allow yourself to be. "I don't know if what I feel is love or obsession or Stockholm syndrome. But I can't imagine walking away from him now, even if I should."

Thea reaches across the table and takes your hand. "Listen to me. I've known you for over a decade. I've seen you fall in and out of love. I've watched you build your business from nothing. You're one of the strongest women I know, and that's why this scares me."

Her candid words make your stomach clench. "Scares you how?" 

"You've always known exactly what you want, and you've never let anyone dictate your life. But this man... in just weeks, he's become the center of your universe. He's infiltrated every part of your life - personal, professional, everything. That's not romance, that's control."

You wince at the blunt assessment, but you can't deny the truth in it. "I know how it sounds." 

"Do you?" Thea squeezes your hand. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like this man has bulldozed into your life and rearranged everything to suit himself. The rushed engagement, meeting your parents behind your back, now wanting a piece of your business... these aren't the actions of someone who respects your boundaries or autonomy."

Her words strike a chord deep within you. You've had the same thoughts, expressed them to Andy yourself, but hearing them spoken aloud makes them impossible to ignore and yet hard to acknowledge.

"I know," you whisper. "But Thea, you haven't met him. There's something about Andy that's... different. When I'm with him, everything feels right, even when it shouldn't." 

Thea sighs deeply. "That's what worries me most. The way you talk about him - it's like he's cast some kind of spell over you." 

You laugh weakly. "Maybe he has." 

"Look," Thea says, leaning forward intently, "I'm not telling you what to do. I can't. But I am asking you to really think about what you want - not what Andy wants for you, not what your parents think is best, but what YOU want.”

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. How do you explain Andy to someone who's never met him, never felt the force of his presence?

Because he’s nearly everything you would have wanted, if he’d only let you choose him instead of forcing a choice. 

"He makes me feel alive," you finally say. "When I'm with him, everything is more intense, more vibrant. And yes, he's controlling, but he's also... protective. Like nothing bad could ever happen to me as long as I'm his. And he makes me feel things I haven’t felt in years, or… ever really."

"But at what cost?" Thea asks softly. "Your freedom? Your business? Your ability to make your own choices?" 

You stare into your wine glass, watching the crimson liquid catch the light. It's the question you've been avoiding, the one that drove you across an ocean to sit in this apartment. 

"I don't know," you admit. "That's why I'm here. I needed to step away, to see if I could even think clearly without him around." 

Thea studies you for a long moment. "And can you? Think clearly now?" 

You consider this. The past two days have been a strange mix of relief and tension. You've checked your phone obsessively, half-expecting angry messages from Andy, but there have been none. Only a single text each morning: "I miss you. Come home when you're ready." 

The restraint itself feels calculated, as if he knows how precarious this time away is. 

Of course he knows that. 

You nod slowly. "Yes. Being here has helped. I feel clearer than I have in weeks."

"So what are you going to do about the business proposal?"

You take a deep breath. "I think... I think I'm going to counter-offer. Accept his investment but with stricter limitations on his involvement. Keep majority control for myself, maintain separate finances."

Thea nods approvingly. "That sounds smart. And what about the marriage?"

The question hangs in the air. 

You run your finger along the rim of your wine glass, taking your time to answer. "I'm going to marry him," you finally say, the words both terrifying yet grounding as they leave your lips.

Thea's face falls slightly, though she quickly tries to mask her disappointment. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I think it's what I need to do," you say carefully, meeting Thea's concerned gaze. "I know how it sounds, and maybe it's crazy, but... I need to see where this goes."

Thea doesn't look surprised, just worried. "If that's your decision, then I'll support you. But promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Promise you'll keep an escape plan. Money he can't access, documents somewhere safe, people like me who know where you are." She reaches for your hand again, squeezing it tightly. "Just in case."

The gravity of what she's suggesting makes your stomach clench, but you nod. "I promise."

"And for God's sake, tell me when the wedding is so I can be there for you," Thea adds firmly. "I don't care how short the notice, I'm not letting you marry this man without me standing beside you." 

The rush of affection you feel for her nearly brings tears to your eyes. "Three weeks from Saturday. I'll have the invitation details sent to you tomorrow." 

"Good." Thea refills both of your wine glasses. "And I’m going to tell those two bodyguards of yours to stay alert," Thea adds, glancing toward the window where she knows Shep and Mark are stationed outside her building. "I don't trust this Andy character, but they seem competent at least."

You smile, warmed by her concern. "They've been surprisingly helpful. I wasn't sure they'd even let me come here without telling Andy first."

"Speaking of which," Thea narrows her eyes, "does he know where you are?"

You hesitate. "Shep said he had to report my location to Andy's head of security, but he waited until we were already on the plane. I haven't heard anything directly from Andy about it, just those morning texts."

"That's interesting," Thea muses. "Not the reaction I would have expected from a controlling fiancé."

"I know.”

"Maybe he's giving you space to make your own decision about marrying him," Thea suggests, though her tone makes it clear she doesn't quite believe it. "Or maybe he's confident you'll come back regardless." 

You stare at your engagement ring, watching how it catches the light. "I think it's the latter. He knows I'll come back." 

"And will you? Soon, I mean?" 

You nod slowly. "The day after tomorrow. I've made my decision about the business deal, and I need to get back to wedding preparations." You laugh softly. "God, that sounds so normal. Like I'm just another bride worried about flower arrangements and seating charts."

"Will you tell him you talked to me about all this?" Thea asks, concern evident in her voice. 

You consider this for a moment. "I'll tell him I saw you, that you’re my best friend. The prenup allows for basic personal details to be shared with my family and friends ‘with careful discretion,’” you use the verbiage from the legal document looming in your belongings. “And at the end of the day, I had to come enlist my maid of honor. You will be, right?” 

"No question. Maid of honor and harpy of terror to this man," she promises with a wicked grin that softens to something more sincere. "I'll be there for you every step of the way."

You lean across the table and hug her tightly, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Thank you. For everything. For listening, for not judging, for being here." 

"Always," she whispers against your hair. "That's what best friends are for." 

When you pull back, you notice Thea studying your face with an intensity that makes you shift in your seat. "What?" 

"I just want to make sure you're really okay," she says. "That this is really what you want." 

You consider her question carefully. Is this what you want? The rushed wedding, the complex business deal, the dangerous man who's turned your world upside down? 

"Something in my bones wants him," you confess. "But I also want my life. I think I can have both if I'm smart about it."

Thea looks skeptical but nods. "Then let's make sure you're as prepared as possible. We have two more days to strategize." 

The next morning, you wake early to find Thea already in the kitchen, laptop open and a determined expression on her face. She's surrounded by printouts and sticky notes. 

"What's all this?" you ask, accepting the cup of coffee she pushes toward you. 

"Your battle plan," she says, gesturing to the organized chaos. "I've been researching everything I could about protecting yourself in a business merger and a marriage to someone with... significant means." 

You scan the notes, touched by her thoroughness. "You didn't have to do all this." 

"Yes, I did," Thea insists, pushing a stack of papers toward you. "If you're going through with this, you're doing it with your eyes wide open and as much protection as I can give you." 

You spend the day poring over Thea's research, making notes and drafting a counter-proposal for Andy's business offer. By evening, you feel more confident, more in control than you have since this whirlwind began. 

That night, as you lie in Thea's guest bed staring at the ceiling, your phone buzzes with a text. Your heart jumps, expecting Andy, but it's from your security detail.

SHEP: All clear tonight. Flight scheduled for 11am. We’ll depart at 9:30am for the airport. Let me know if you need anything else before then. 

Mark and Shep have been nothing but supportive in this adventure, given you space, but made sure you’re safe - not that you think you’re actually in any danger, but it’s been nice to have two big men watching over their shoulders for you so you don’t have to worry about it. You type back a quick thanks, then hesitate before opening your texts with Andy.

His last message stares back at you

ANDY: I miss you. Come home when you're ready.

You stare at those words, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. After two days of radio silence, perhaps you should respond. You type out a simple message.

I'll be home tomorrow.

His response comes almost instantly, as if he'd been waiting by his phone.

ANDY: Good. The house is empty without you.

There's something both reassuring and unsettling about how easily he's accepted your impromptu trip. No anger, no demands for explanations. Just patient confidence that you'd return to him. 

YOU: Did Shep tell you where I was?

Your phone vibrates in your hand, but this time it's not a text message. Andy's name and photo fill your screen as an incoming call. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hesitate for a second before answering. 

"Hello?" Your voice sounds small and uncertain even to your own ears. 

"There she is," Andy's deep voice fills your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "I thought a call might be better than another text." 

You sit up in bed, pulling the covers around you like a shield. "I'm surprised you called." 

"Are you? Some occasions call for a more personal touch." There's a hint of amusement in his tone. "Shep did his job perfectly—keeping you safe while you’re getting the space you wanted. Stockholm is beautiful this time of year. I hope you've been able to enjoy it."

There's a pause, and you can almost see him sitting in his study, perhaps with a glass of whiskey. It’s nearly midnight, meaning it’s early evening back in Boston. 

Andy continues, his voice dropping to that intimate tone that always makes your skin prickle with awareness. "I'm looking forward to having you back where you belong. I imagine you must be missing our bed by now... missing me." It's not a question but a statement, as if your longing for him is a foregone conclusion.

You bite your lip, caught between irritation at his presumption and the uncomfortable realization that part of you does miss him—his touch, his presence, the intensity he brings to everything.

"I've been busy catching up with Thea," you say, deliberately not confirming his assumption.

"Of course. I'm glad you've had that time with your friend." His tone is understanding, almost too understanding. "But I’m sure you must be eager to get home to me." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "I know how much you must be missing me, sweetheart. The way your body responds to mine, and it’s been so many days since I fucked you properly."

Your breath catches, and you find yourself sinking deeper into the pillows. "Andy—"

"The bed is cold without you," he continues, his voice a seductive caress. "I've been thinking about how you look spread out on our sheets, how your skin glows in the moonlight through our bedroom window."

You close your eyes, trying to resist the pull of his words, but images flood your mind unbidden. 

"What are you wearing right now?" he asks, and the question is so direct, so intimate that you nearly hang up. But something stops you—that same draw hook in your gut that has held you captivated by him since the beginning. 

"I'm not doing this," you say, but your voice lacks conviction even to your own ears.

"Tell me," Andy commands, his tone shifting from seductive to domineering in an instant. "What are you wearing, sweetheart? Don't make me ask again." 

You swallow hard, your resistance crumbling under the weight of his authority. "A t-shirt. And underwear." 

"What kind of underwear?" His voice is like velvet wrapped around steel. 

"Just... cotton. Nothing special." 

Andy makes a sound of disapproval. "When you return home, I want you in silk and lace. Always. Nothing else is worthy of touching your most intimate parts."

Your breathing quickens despite yourself. "Andy, this isn't—" 

"Take off the shirt," he interrupts, and the command in his voice brooks no argument. "Now." 

You hesitate, glancing toward your bedroom door, thinking of Thea sleeping down the hall.

"Don't make me wait," he warns. "I've been very patient these past days, giving you your space. Now I need you to be good girl and do what I say."

Your breath catches as you set the phone down on speaker and pull the shirt over your head, shivering as the cool air hits your skin.

"It's off," you whisper, picking up the phone again.

"Good girl," he purrs, and you hate how those two simple words make your body respond. "Now touch your breasts. Imagine they're my hands."

Your fingers tremble as they drift up to your breasts, a flush of heat spreading across your skin despite your internal resistance. You cup your breast, feeling your nipple harden under your palm. 

"Are you doing it?" Andy's voice is rough with desire. 

"Yes," you breathe, hating the way your body betrays you, responding to his commands from thousands of miles away. 

"Tell me how it feels." 

"It feels..." you hesitate, caught between embarrassment and arousal. "It doesn't feel like you." 

A low chuckle fills your ear. "No, it doesn't. My hands are larger, stronger. And I know exactly how to touch you to make you come apart." 

Your eyes flutter closed as his words paint vivid pictures in your mind. You can almost feel his weight on the bed, the heat of his body against yours. 

"Now slide your hand down your stomach," Andy commands. "Slowly."

You comply, your fingers trailing down your abdomen, your body responding to his voice as if he were actually in the room with you. 

"Stop at the waistband," he orders, and you freeze, fingers trembling against the elastic of your underwear. "Are you wet for me yet, sweetheart?" 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and arousal. "Andy, I—" 

"Answer the question," he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. "Are you wet for me?" 

"Yes," you whisper, the admission making you feel both vulnerable and powerful. 

"I knew you would be," he says, satisfaction evident in his tone. "You've always been so responsive to me. Touch yourself through your underwear first. "

Your fingers slip between your thighs, pressing against the damp cotton. A small gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice deepening with desire. "Now slip your hand beneath. I want you to feel exactly what I'm missing when you play little games and run off to another country."

You freeze as a faint rustling sound comes through the phone, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. Your breath catches as you hear fabric shifting, then Andy's breathing changes—deeper, more deliberate. A soft, rhythmic sound starts in the background. 

"Are you...?" You can't quite bring yourself to finish the question. 

"Mmm," he confirms, his voice rougher than before. "Did you think you were the only one affected? I've been hard since I heard your voice." The subtle, steady sounds continue as he speaks. "Now, circle your clit slowly. Don't rush."

You comply, your fingers finding your sensitive bud as the sounds from his end become more pronounced—a soft, steady rhythm that makes your core clench with need. Something about knowing he's stroking himself to the thought of you—to the sound of your breathing—makes your resistance crumble further. 

"Let me hear you," Andy commands, his voice tightening with strain. "Don't hold back."

You bite your lip, aware of Thea sleeping down the hall, but a soft moan escapes anyway as your fingers increase their pace. Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes closed, lost in the sensations and the sound of Andy pleasuring himself thousands of miles away. 

"That's it," he encourages. "Faster now." 

Your breathing becomes ragged as you follow his instructions, pleasure building in waves. The knowledge that he's doing the same, timing his strokes to your sounds, is intoxicating. 

"Andy," you whisper, voice trembling. 

"That's it," Andy murmurs, his breathing becoming more ragged. "I want you to slip two fingers inside yourself. Feel how empty you are without me."

You obey, gasping softly as your fingers enter your slick heat. It's not enough—not nearly enough compared to the fullness you feel when he's inside you.

"Tell me how it feels," he commands.

"Not... not like you," you manage, your voice breathy and strained. "Not enough."

His groan of satisfaction sends another jolt of arousal through you. "No one will ever fill you like I do," he says, his voice thick with possession. 

"No one," you agree breathlessly, your fingers moving faster as the tension builds. The sound of his breathing, rough and uneven, pushes you closer to the edge.

"When you come home tomorrow," Andy says, his voice strained with his own building pleasure, "I'm going to bend you over the first flat surface I find and remind you exactly what you've been missing." 

The image flashes vividly in your mind—Andy taking you against the wall, the kitchen counter, his desk—and a whimper escapes your lips. 

"Are you close?" he asks, though he must know the answer from your ragged breathing. 

"Yes," you gasp, fingers working frantically now. 

"Wait," he commands suddenly, his voice sharp with authority. "Don't come yet." 

You whimper in protest, your body trembling on the precipice. "Andy, please—" 

“I know, sweetheart," he responds, his own voice thick with desire, yet smooth as silk and just as dangerous. "I want you to pinch your nipple, the way I do when I'm about to make you come."

Your body continues to betray you, responding readily to his commands as if he were right there in the room. You stifle a gasp as you follow his instruction, more heat and slickness pooling between your thighs.

“Do it again.”

You comply, letting loose a tiny mewl, desire coiling tighter inside you with each second. The sound of Andy's breathing grows heavier, more urgent.

"Now," he growls, "come for me. Let me hear what I've been missing." 

The permission breaks the last of your restraint. Pleasure crashes through you in waves, your body arching off the bed as you muffle your cries with your free hand. Through the haze of your climax, you hear Andy's breathing hitch, followed by a low, guttural groan that sends aftershocks rippling through your soul. 

For several moments, there's nothing but the sound of both of you catching your breath. You feel the familiar mix of satisfaction and shame that always follows your intimate encounters with Andy.

"That's my good girl," Andy finally says, his voice warm with satisfaction. "I've missed those sounds." 

You collapse back against the pillows, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You reach for the phone, taking it off speaker, and pressing it to your ear as reality slowly filters back in. You're in Stockholm, in Thea's guest room, having just let Andy orchestrate your pleasure from across an ocean.

"I should go," you whisper, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you are, naked and exposed in a bed that isn't yours. 

"Not yet," Andy says, his voice gentler now but still commanding. "Stay with me a little longer." 

Against your better judgment, you comply, pulling the covers up to your chin as if they might shield you from his influence. 

"What did your friend think of me?" Andy asks unexpectedly. 

The question catches you off guard. "What?" 

"Your friend. Thea. I assume you discussed me with her. That was part of why you went, wasn't it? To get her perspective.”

"Yes," you admit, seeing no point in lying. "I needed someone outside of... all this. Someone who knows me."

"And what did dear Thea have to say about your dangerous fiancé?" There's a hint of amusement in his voice, but underneath it, you sense something sharper, more attentive.

You choose your words carefully. "She's concerned. She thinks everything is moving too fast."

"Mmm. The typical response of a protective friend," Andy says, sounding unsurprised. "And did you tell her everything? About who I really am? What I do?"

"No," you say truthfully. "I told her you're powerful, complicated. But I don’t even know all of what you do, and I’m smart enough not to tell her even if I did. I haven’t signed the prenup yet, but I assume we’re in a bit of a grey area there.”

“Very shrewd. But you’ve always had a good head on your shoulders.”

Andy's words are both comforting and unsettling. You’ve had a good head except for letting yourself fall into his trap and become so entangled in his web that you can’t or won’t find a way out 

"Did you tell her anything else?" he asks softly.

"Yes. Not everything," you admit. "Some things are just... ours."

A satisfied hum vibrates through the phone. "And what was her advice about marrying me?"

You hesitate, but decide honesty is the best approach. "She told me to be careful. To keep an escape plan."

To your surprise, Andy laughs—a genuine, warm sound that makes your heart flutter despite yourself. "Smart woman. I look forward to meeting her. Maid of honor, I assume?”

"Yes," you admit, surprised by his easy acceptance of Thea's cautious advice. 

"Good. You should have your best friend beside you on our day." There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice has that intense focus that always makes you feel like you're the only person in his universe. "Tomorrow can't come soon enough. I have something special planned for your return."

"What is it?" you ask, curiosity piquing despite yourself.

"Now where would be the fun in telling you?" You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "But I think you'll appreciate it. A little welcome home gift."

You sit up, pulling the covers around your naked torso. "Andy, about the business proposal—"

"We'll discuss it when you're home," he interrupts smoothly. 

"When I'm home," you agree, supposing that some conversations are best had in person anyway, especially with Andy. "I've been thinking about it a lot." 

"I expected nothing less," he says, his voice warm with approval. "You're not the type to make hasty business decisions." 

Just hasty marriage decisions, you think but don't say. 

"Get some sleep now," Andy says, his voice softening. "You have a long journey tomorrow, and I want you well-rested for what I have planned." 

The implication sends a shiver through you that's equal parts anticipation and trepidation. "Goodnight, Andy." 

"Goodnight, sweetheart. Dream of me." 

The line goes dead, and you sit there for a moment, phone clutched in your hand, body still humming with residual pleasure. You feel a complex mix of emotions—satisfaction, shame, anticipation, and a strange sort of emptiness now that his voice is gone.

You set your phone down and slip your t-shirt back on, feeling the cool fabric against your still-sensitized skin. Your mind whirls with conflicting thoughts. How is it possible that even from across an ocean, Andy can reach out and pull your strings so effortlessly? Make your body respond as if he's right there in the room with you? 

And yet, despite the momentary surrender to his seduction, you feel oddly empowered. You made this journey without his permission. You've spent days thinking clearly, planning your counter-offer, preparing yourself for what comes next. The fact that you gave in to one phone call doesn't negate the strength you've found here. 

You slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom, splashing cool water on your flushed face. In the mirror, your reflection stares back back at you, eyes bright, cheeks still flushed with pleasure. You barely recognize yourself anymore—this woman caught between desire and fear, independence and submission.

Tomorrow you'll return to Boston, to Andy's world. But you're not the same woman who fled a few days ago. You've made decisions, drawn boundaries, prepared yourself as best you can. 

As you crawl back into bed, you wonder what Andy's "welcome home gift" might be. With him, it could be anything from jewelry to something far more complicated. Whatever it is, you know it will be calculated to bind you to him even more tightly. 

Sleep comes slowly, your mind replaying snippets of conversation with Thea, Andy's voice on the phone, the business proposal waiting for your response. When you finally drift toward sleep, one thought crystallizes in your mind. You can want Andy—crave him even—without surrendering everything you are to him. The trick will be making him understand that. And holding yourself to that resolve.

Getting completely swept away by him would be easy, simple. 

But maybe, just maybe, you can carve your own way. 

Bahaha, happy I'm Your Man May, everyone! 😏

What do we think Andy has in store for our return?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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[frflyavenue]

Under Your Touch - Chapter 3

Pairing: poly!Ateez x makeup artist!Reader (fem!Reader)

Warnings: Eating and appetite, money is tight, (romantic?) tension, alcohol consumption, getting tipsy/drunk, reader gets overwhelmed, hints at trauma (reader), anxiety, casual swearing, flinching >>This chapter introduces some of Y/N’s traumatic responses, but doesn’t go into any specific trauma for now. All important to the story, I assure you :)

Author’s Note: LONG overdue update of Under Your Touch! Quick note I wanna make on this chapter—first, be aware that my knowledge of Korean is like… not good. That said, I’m a French woman who moved to America permanently to study, and for one year of my University program I studied abroad in the Mapo-gu district in South Korea. My Korean isn’t at all fluent, but I know enough to accurately use honorifics, add cultural details, and some vocab as I see it fit for the story. Also, I have NO CLUE how to romanize Korean, so feel free to correct me lol. Love you guys lots!!

Join me on ao3 @frflyavenue

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

WC: 6.3k

Chapter 3: Coats and Soju

“Shit-” You whimper, immediately putting the pricked pad of your thumb in your mouth, carefully setting the traitorous sewing needle down on the table in front of you.

There’s really no reason you should be so stressed about this stupid dinner party. Part of you knows that, of course. But the other part of you knows that this party is in celebration for the team hiring a new makeup artist (you) and that it’s purpose is to introduce her to the rest of the team (Ateez and their managers and also everybody else).

So yeah, you’re freaking out.

Your first thought when Hyerin called you this morning to inform you about the dinner party was what to wear. It’s Wednesday, meaning your first day is tomorrow. Cool, you still have no money. And subsequently, nothing to wear. You aren’t the type to go partying, and the only potential party outfits you could think of aren’t exactly formal enough for a work dinner. You could show up in jeans, but you aren’t sure if that’s a good idea for your first professional impression on the team. So, panicked, you went first thing in the morning to a nearby thrift store. On your desperate search to find something decent amongst the mostly ugly options, you managed to find a plain black turtleneck shirt, a cute black alternative style belt, and some men’s cargo shorts you hoped you could do something with.

At home, you began the desperate preparation to put something together. You grabbed your sewing kit, thankful to your past self for bringing your sewing machine with you to Korea, some craft scissors, your jewelry making stuff, and crossed fingers. You put on an Ateez ultimate playlist, deciding to listen to it just in case somebody asked you about their music at the party (you’re definitely going to be prepared, if nothing else), and you got to work.

It’s now an hour before you have to leave, and you’ve finally put together a presentable outfit. You cut the odd turtleneck into an off the shoulder top you managed to adjust to be skin-tight, but still modest. That part was easy. The hard part was the pants. You cut the legs of the cargo pants and sewed them together to resemble a skirt, before trimming the length to look nice on your figure. It was a painstaking process, but the result was a cute cargo skirt that went well with the black belt and the top. To top it off you quickly threw together some silver drop earrings and made a necklace charm to match, lazily disassembling one of your previous necklaces to make the process faster.

Now, you just need to get ready. You take potentially the fastest shower of your life and pull your hair half-up into a cute spiky style in a silver claw clip, braiding thin face-framing pieces to pull to the front. You spend a little more time on your makeup, deciding it should be good enough to prove to the team that you know what you’re doing. You end up with a cute smoky cat-eye liner, a dusty pink blush, and a very minimal base, deciding to let your skin breathe for the evening. You realize that, subconsciously, you went with a more alternative style to match the outfit, and you internally thank whoever gave you the strength to pull it together so last minute.

The outfit really pulled it together, and looking at yourself one last time in the body mirror before you left, you sigh in relief. You look at least half decent—better than what you had hoped, at least. Modest but still cute, and while your look was slightly more alternative style, you still looked cute and unintimidating, thankfully. You grab your purse, throwing on your one pair of boots and running out the door.

——————

By the time you get to the restaurant, you’re absolutely freezing.

God, Y/N, you really are stupid.

You try your hardest to stop the chattering of your teeth as you open your phone to call Hyerin.

In your panic to get out the door with a nice outfit, you completely forgot to grab a jacket. Wearing a skirt was stupid to begin with, but to not even bring a jacket…did you want to get sick?

You push the thought aside, ringing Hyerin’s number. “Unnie? I’m outside of the restaurant!”

Hyerin lets out an excited noise and hangs up, and you only have a few moments to feel confused before she emerges from the door.

Seeing her, your face lights up in a smile, and you rush to hug her. She squeezes you tight, holding onto your shoulders as she greets you.

“Y/N-ah, you’re early!” She exclaims, smiling bright. You nod excitedly up at her.

”Yeah! I wanted to get here before everybody else did so I could settle in a bit.” You admit, and she pinches your cheek affectionately.

The two of you head inside, and she brings you to the private, sectioned off room in the back of the pub that has been reserved for your party. Hyerin sits with you in a booth in the corner, pulling up her phone and clearing her throat.

“Okay, we have a party of 13. All eight of the Ateez members, whom I’m sure you know of?” You nod affirmatively. “Good. There’s the main manager for the members, Li Dohyun-nim. He’s really friendly, but kind of shy, so don’t be intimidated if he keeps to himself. Then there’s Kim Ara-nim, the manager and main stylist in the Ateez stylist team. She’s also really sweet. You actually remind me a lot of her. The only other person that will be here besides you and I is Yoon Sohee-nim, the KQ planner that takes care of everybody’s scheduling. She’s really good at her job, but she isn’t too social, so don’t feel hurt if she doesn’t really talk to you outside of work.” You hum, repeating their names to commit them to memory.

After a while of just chatting with Hyerin and sipping on beer, you check the time. It’s 18:30, meaning the rest of the group should join you and Hyerin any minute now. You bounce your leg nervously.

While it’s comforting knowing that Hyerin, Wooyoung, Jongho, and Hongjoong would all be there as familiar faces, you still feel as if your heart is in your throat. To your surprise, you hardly feel worried about meeting the managers. It’s the thought of meeting the remaining members that’s currently making your stomach turn. Five new men roughly your age… why are you so nervous? Your mind wanders. It’s just a bunch of… guys. Men. Plus, the other three will be there too. You like them. You smile in spite of yourself, pursing your lips together as you take another sip of beer. Wooyoung’s hands… Jongho’s little deer… Hongjoong’s eyes…

You choke suddenly, feeling your face go red. Hyerin, alarmed, pats your back, but you brush off her concern and catch your breath.

What the hell were you just thinking about, Y/N?

You press your cold beer to your cheek, hoping to cool down the raging blush there, when suddenly the door to your private room creaks open.

The Ateez manager you saw during your initial consultation, Li Dohyun-nim, you realize, enters first. You quickly stand up, bowing politely in greeting, which he reciprocates. Then enters a string of new faces—two women and a few unfamiliar, handsome men. You respectively greet them each as they file in, hoping your blush from before isn’t noticeable. When Jongho comes into view, smiling at you, you feel yourself relax a bit, giving him a more casual hello. Just behind him, Wooyoung enters holding the hand of an unfamiliar, muscular man with a stony expression, though you don’t have time to feel intimidated as Wooyoung lets go of him and rushes towards you, making you flinch in surprise. Noticing your discomfort, he opts for excitedly grabbing your hands instead of hugging you, a huge grin plastered on his face. The stone-faced man he was with suddenly giggles, his smile immediately warming up his face into an adorable one as he tugs Wooyoung off of you, shaking his head.

”Wooyoung-ah, control yourself!” He scolds through giggles, playfully hitting Wooyoung’s back. He turns to you, bowing in greeting with a smile still on his face. “Hi, I’m Choi San. I hear we’re the same age, so please refer to me casually.”

You smile sweetly at him, finding him adorable from this impression alone. “Nice to meet you, San-ah. I’m Y/N.” He nods and casually pats your shoulder before moving to take a seat.

The last two to enter the room are Hongjoong and a taller man with a face prettier than most women’s. You clench your jaw to keep it from dropping, not sure if you’re attracted to him or jealous. He smiles elegantly, bowing and offering you his hand to shake. “Hello! I’m Park Seonghwa. Hongjoong-ah has told me a lot about you.” You feel your cheeks warm up slightly at that, glancing in surprise over at Hongjoong who also seems a bit flustered to be called out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Park Seonghwa-ssi.” You turn to address Hongjoong, smiling. “It’s nice to see you again, Hongjoong-oppa.”

All thirteen of you settle down, finding your seats around the barbecue. You end up sitting between Wooyoung and Hyerin, both of which you begged with your eyes to join you, while a waitress brings your table a few meats to grill. Barbecue. It’s been too long since you’ve had it. Your mouth waters.

“…Y/N?”

“Huh?” You come back to, snapping your head over to Hyerin, realizing you must have zoned out.

She smiles, tilting her head in concern. “I was asking if you wanted to introduce yourself?”

You gasp, suddenly embarrassed as you clumsily stand up and give them all a bow. “I apologize. Good evening everybody, my name is Y/LN Y/N, and I’m going to be working as the new permanent artist on the Ateez makeup team. I’ve already spoken with a few of your members, and I thank you all for being so welcoming to me so far. I look forward to getting to know you all!”

You jump as they all suddenly cheer out their own welcomes, their excitement far more than you expected. While most coworkers may welcome you and pretend to really care, it seems that the eight men all sitting together are genuinely excited. You smile, taking it as a good sign.

Taking your seat back next to Wooyoung, you frown as Hyerin stands up and walks over to speak with another woman pouring drinks at the other end of the table. She’s rather tall, with cateye liner and probably the coolest alternative style you’ve ever seen. You’re almost intimidated, but her smile as Hyerin-unnie greets her, and the way she tucks her hair—dyed orange—back behind her ear they talk helps you connect the dots. Kim Ara-nim.

You look away in time to see the tallest man in the room approach you, and you stand up to bow politely.

“I’m Jeong Yunho,” he offers, his voice enthusiastic but calm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You look up at him, not sure whether to be more intimidated by the fact that he’s almost a foot taller than you or by the fact that he’s one of the most handsome men you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You clear your throat, offering him a shy smile. “Nice to meet you,” you manage to squeak out, keeping your voice steady.

Wooyoung laughs amusedly beside you, but Yunho just crinkles his eyes in understanding. He gestures to the now empty spot beside you on the booth. “Mind if I sit?”

You clear your throat, smiling affirmatively and sitting with him, scooting over to give him room. Wooyoung playfully nudges your arm with his elbow, and you simply flash him a playful eye roll. All the while, Hongjoong watches from across the table with fond eyes, and while you feel them on you, you consciously avoid them for the sake of your pounding heart. Instead, you focus on the quickly settling party.

The members are all sitting close together around the table, joking casually and bumping shoulders. They’re all remarkably close, you notice, leaning against each other or draping arms over each other's shoulders. You’re surprised at how casual everyone seems for a work dinner, but you actually find the group dynamic reassuring. Hyerin has settled next to Ara-nim, interlocking arms with her and seeming more at ease and playful than you’ve ever seen her. Noting the light blush dusting your historically tough friend’s cheeks, you make a mental note to ask her about their relationship on a later date. Dohyun-nim, Ateez’s main manager, stays relaxed with the members, laying an arm around Hongjoong and ordering some meats to start off the table. The only outlier among the group is Yoon Sohee-nim, who remains stiff with a perfectly straight posture and an unreadable expression. Her eyes are trained on you from where she sits on the other end of the table, and unlike the warm feeling you got from the Captain’s, her eyes cut through you as cold as ice.

You shift uncomfortably under her stare, another shiver shooting up your bare legs. You run your hands over your goosebump-riddled thighs, but give up when you find your fingers just as cold.

In hopes of keeping your mind off of your discomfort, you glance to your left over at Wooyoung, discreetly trying to decipher his dynamic with the built man he’s clinging onto—San-ssi. They’re practically on top of each other, interlocking hands and so close their thighs are overlapping. Wooyoung giggles at one of San’s comments you can’t quite decipher, and leans forward to kiss his cheek. …Are they dating? You’ll have to ask Hyerin about it later.

The sensation of fabric draping over your thighs brings you back to the present, and you glance down in confusion before following the responsible large hands up to the man to your right. “You should’ve said something if you were cold.” He whispers, and you realize it's his coat that he’s tucking around your legs, still warm from his body heat. You meet his gaze again with wide eyes, unable to mask your surprise.

“Oh my- You didn’t have to! Are you sure?”

He shakes his head definitively. “No, I’m wearing a sweater under this anyway.” You try to refute, but he’s quick to stop you. “Please. I’d feel worse knowing my hoobae was uncomfortable all night.”

Touched by his thoughtfulness, a genuine smile graces your expression. In the midst of bustling conversations and nerve-wracking introductions, it’s the most relaxed smile you’ve given since arriving. “Thank you, Yunho-ssi.”

He returns a shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck and silently offering a nod in return. You almost think you see his ears turn pink, but with the dim atmosphere of the room, it could easily be a trick of the light.

You don’t have time to dwell on the sudden bashfulness of the man beside you, as Wooyoung is quick to grab your attention again.

“Y/N, you should tell us all a little bit about yourself!” He calls out, and conversations around the table die down. Feeling everybody’s eyes on you, you feel your heart quicken, suppressing your discomfort with a swallow.

You let out a slow breath to calm your nerves, giving the room a shy smile. “Ah, I suppose I should. Uhm…” You meet Jongho’s eyes, and he doesn’t hesitate to give you an encouraging nod. “Well, my name’s Y/N, and I moved to Korea about eight months ago. I’m still trying to learn Korean, so forgive me if I’m difficult to understand.” There’s a collective shaking of heads from around the table, and you bow your head gratefully. After that, you’re stuck, unsure of what else to say.

Hyerin, noticing your nerves, speaks up. “How’d you get into makeup, Y/N?”

Ah, right. Hyerin-Unnie to the rescue.

“Oh, apologies! Well, I grew up loving to draw. I’ve always been the artistic type, so ever since I was young I would find crafty things to do to pass the time. Doodling, painting, sewing… you name it. I may not have been a spectacular student, but art was the only thing that mattered to me. My first love.” You smile to yourself, reminiscing. “When I became a teenager, I started doing my own makeup. It was one of the only forms of art I hadn’t tried yet, and I loved it. While I mostly just followed tutorials and made up random designs in my bedroom every night, I still loved it, and I got pretty good at doing it on myself after a while. When I moved to Korea, it was still just a hobby to me, something I just did for fun. I found them really pretty, so I experimented with Korean makeup styles, found what I liked, and integrated it into my own style.” You gesture to your face as a simple demonstration.

“One day I went to the market near my apartment, not bothering to take of my makeup since I went for a more natural style earlier that day. That’s when I bumped into Hyerin-unnie.” You smile and look over at her. “And the rest is history.”

Yeosang, who had been relatively quiet throughout the evening thus far, clears his throat. “Can we see your art?”

Your smile falters for a moment with the tightening in your stomach, but you’re quick to recover. You mentally curse out your thundering heart and force yourself to sound peppy. “Sorry, I don’t have any on me at the moment. Another time.”

Yeosang shrugs, seeming only slightly disappointed.

Wooyoung tilts his head at you, but thankfully Seonghwa interrupts him before he can question you.

“It makes sense that you’re an artist,” the elegant man remarks. “It explains why you have such good style.”

You give a shy laugh, shaking your head humbly. “As do you. I’ve wanted to compliment you on your outfit since you got here.” You reply honestly. Conversations around the table have resumed, so you feel more comfortable now that you aren’t put on the spot.

He chuckles, his smile a beautiful sight. You can’t help but stare, purely out of admiration. “Ah, thank you! But seriously, I really do like your outfit. Where’d you get your jewelry from, I would love to get a pair of similar earrings.”

You let out a breathy laugh, bashful. “Ah, sorry, but I actually made these myself earlier today. I’m happy to hear that you like them though—I’d be glad to make you a pair!”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise, leaning forward to try to see them better from his position on the other side of Yunho. “You made these?”

Yunho turns his head as well, and you feel your cheeks warm up when he gently tucks your hair back, wanting to get a clearer view.

The two of them both let out a long, drawn out exclamation of surprise, and Seonghwa compliments you again in genuine appreciation.

“Phew, I’m glad you like it. Honestly, I was worried the outfit wouldn’t come together. I didn’t have much time to finish up the skirt, but I think the length turned out oka-“

”Wait, you made the skirt too?” Seonghwa exclaims, his voice a bit louder.

You pause and shift uncomfortably at the attention, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said anything in the first place. You never were very good at showing other people your art.

“Ah.. yeah. Honestly, I had to make the whole outfit from whatever I could find at the thrift store earlier today, since I couldn’t find anything appropriate to wear for tonight.” You glance around. “Though I’m glad to learn that everyone is a bit more casual than I anticipated. Next time I won’t stress so much.”

Yunho lets out a low whistle of appreciation, and you feel warm from both sets of eyes skimming over your body, even if you know it’s just to observe your clothes.

“Are you sure you’re a makeup artist and not a stylist?” Seonghwa teases lightheartedly, drawing a surprised sound from your lips while you defensively shake your head.

Yunho smiles at your expression, finding it endearing. He casually leans closer so you can hear him better, his voice friendly. “Seonghwa-hyung is really into fashion," he explains. “You should ask him about it sometime, I’m sure he’d love to exchange ideas.”

You flash him a grateful grin, still a bit tentative but gradually feeling the tension in your shoulders dissipate.

From the sparkle in his eyes, you get the suspicion that he notices. “We’re the same age, right? Shall we drop the honorifics?” He suddenly requests, his voice smooth like honey.

You nod comfortably, your sweet expression sending warmth to his cheeks. “Thank you for your kindness, Yunho-yah.”

——————

By the time drinks come around, you’ve eaten your fill of countless different kinds of grilled meats. You aren’t sure why, but the members kept putting meat on your plate without you asking, simply saying they didn’t want your plate to be empty. San even airplane-fed you some pork from his own chopsticks, and while you were confused, you happily accepted, not the type to deny good food. Too absorbed in the yummy meal, you missed the admiring eyes from everyone at the table, not even hearing their coos and the chorus of “cute”s anytime your cheeks were full.

Now you’re leaning comfortably against the back of the booth while you fondly watch Jongho and Mingi bicker back and forth across the table. Hongjoong sighs and shakes his head in disappointment, and you can’t help but giggle when he pleads with his eyes to Seonghwa for the pretty man to put an end to it. Tipsy on a few shots of soju, Seonghwa simply sends him a silly wink and pours himself another.

You still haven’t finished a single beer, nursing the same bottle with small sips as you converse casually with Wooyoung and San to your left. The two of them really do bounce off of each other well. San is half way through telling you about a story from the Ateez dorms, already pretty tipsy, when Jongho clears his throat, raising his voice for the table to hear.

“I think it’s about time for a drinking game, yeah?”

Ateez’s maknae, you’ve learned, is an excellent drinker. An alcoholic, Wooyoung had jokingly dubbed him, watching him crack open his third beer of the night. You, on the other hand, hate getting drunk; you haven’t told this to your puppy-like coworkers, of course, but the idea of a drinking game makes your stomach tighten for the second time this evening. So, in spite of yourself, you agree, earning a cheer from around the table.

You take a quick trip to the restroom, returning to find soju shots lined up around each person’s place at the table. Now wearing Yunho’s coat around your shoulders, he glances at you from across the table, but quickly looks away to avoid your eyes. Before you get the chance to ask him about it, Jongho calls you over to sit beside him. Since the table order shuffled around, you squeeze between Jongho and Hongjoong, thanking the younger man when he slides an empty shot glass over to you.

“Okay, everyone’s here?”

The members all grunt affirmatively, and the captain smiles. “Okay—what should we play?”

A few different names are thrown around, and you swallow, leaning over to whisper to Hongjoong. “Oppa? I don’t know any of these games..”

His eyes widen just slightly. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t even think about that!” He admits, laughing awkwardly. He hums thoughtfully.

Sensing the opportunity, you clear your throat. “Ah, I’ll just watch you guys, don’t worry about it!”

Surprisingly, Mingi, who you haven’t even spoken with yet, pouts. “We would be happy to teach you an easy one~”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to drink too much anyways, I have work tomorrow.”

Mingi nearly argues, too tipsy to pick up on your cues, but Seonghwa is quick to hush him. “No, we’ll just play a game between the rest of us. If our Y/N doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t have to play.”

You exhale a breath of relief, smiling gratefully over at the older man.

San, bright red and drunk off his ass, pouts. “Aww, that’s no fair! You guys made me drink~” He whines, clumsily leaning onto Mingi.

You sigh. The poor guy had been peer pressured a little bit, it seems… though the first couple of shots were completely his own doing. Decidedly, you suddenly reach for an opened bottle of soju, pouring yourself a shot and tossing it back. Hyerin lets out a surprised squeak, and a few of the members cheer.

Yup. Definitely just men.

You cough, managing to choke it down. “There,” you rasp out, throat burning. “Compensation.”

Hyerin looks like she’s having a crisis, staring at you with genuine shock while Ara laughs next to her, patting her back. Jongho is laughing so hard you think he might piss himself, a sound you haven’t heard before but one you happen to find quite pleasant. You can’t help but grin, proud.

“Alright, Y/N-ah proved herself well,” Hongjoong laughs, hitting your back supportively while you cough on the scratchiness in your throat.

“Cute,” Yunho whispers, suddenly sliding you another full shot. “One more and I’ll accept your compensation.”

You shoot him a look of betrayal before glancing nervously down at the shot. While you managed to gather up the courage to take one shot, the thought of another makes your heart quicken.

If you get drunk, you could turn into him.

Bile rises up in the back of your throat, and you’re quick to swallow it back down.

What if you end up like him?

You snap out of your thoughts as Jongho nonchalantly slides the shot towards himself before tipping his head back and downing it, not saying a word. ��Yah, be nice.” He scolds, his voice completely unaffected by the burn of alcohol.

“Pfft, what a tank,” somebody teases, but nobody protests his gentlemanly gesture.

You can only blink at him with wide doe eyes, completely caught off guard and undoubtedly relieved. He just casually shoots you a quick close-lipped smile before turning back to the table and starting up a chant, presumably the start of a drinking game.

——————

Korean drinking games are really fun, you’ve decided. You’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching everybody, even the stiff-postured Yoon Sohee, slowly unwind with each shot of alcohol, the sounds of giggling increasing every round of whatever game they’re playing.

Now it’s getting later, roughly 21:00, and while the managers all decided to opt out of the game (along with San, though the poor guy was forcibly removed from the game for his own sake), the members are all still competing. Your stomach happily digesting the good food and your mind buzzing from alcohol, you’ve quietly brought our knees to your chest, curled up in the booth with Yunho’s jacket draped back over your legs.

Jongho lets out a particularly loud shout of defeat, and you jump from the noise. Suddenly brought back to where you are, you glance around at everyone around the table—how members double over in unrestrained laughter and shouts of victory or defeat; how Hyerin is asleep next to Ara, who is somehow seemingly sober despite drinking more than most of the boys; how Dohyun-nim is smiling fondly at the sight of his boys having fun; how San is cuddling comfortably with Yeosang, who subtly plays with his hair to keep him calm.

But amidst the warmth, you also can’t help but notice everything else—the sharp clink of glasses on the table; how the booth sticks uncomfortably to your bare thighs whenever you try to shift in your seat; the air conditioning trained directly onto you, occasionally blowing your hair into your lipgloss; Yoon Sohee’s eyes unwavering as they bare into you from her seat with the other managers, unreadable. Even the giggles and playful banter between the members, the same ones which had been warming your chest all evening, suddenly feel too loud.

You jump yet again when Jongho rests a firm hand on your shoulder, flinching from the unexpected contact.

“Ah, sorry Y/N-ssi,” he whispers, dropping his hand back down to his lap. “Are you alright?”

You shake your head at his apology, plastering on a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a little hot in here…I think I’m gonna go step out to get some fresh air.”

He nods, not calling you out on the fact that you’re literally right under the air conditioning and obviously using Yunho’s coat for warmth. “Okay. Do you want me to come with you?”

He’s too precious. “That’s alright, Jongho-yah,” you reassure him, not even realizing you switched to informal speaking. “I’ll be right back.”

He nods, letting you out of the booth and gesturing toward the back door to the secluded patio. “Let me know if you need anything, Noona.”

——————

The chill of the winter night cuts through you like a knife, and you welcome the feeling, taking a deep inhale of the fresh air. You take a seat on the edge of the downward staircase, taking in the view of the city lights. You push your hair back out of your face, failing to suppress your frustration when it disobediently falls back down. You groan, unnecessarily peeved.

God, Y/N. You really are stupid.

It’s the second time today you’ve thought that very thing, and you sigh bitterly, deciding it must be true.

You squeeze your eyes shut, curling up forward into yourself and clinging onto the thick borrowed coat. You run your fingers over the fabric, breathing deeply to steady your poor heart.

You don’t move at the soft thumps of footsteps approaching. Nor do you sit up when a tall, warm presence settles beside you on the top step, letting out a short hum to tell you that he’s there.

“…Hey, Yunho-yah.”

“Hey.”

You finally sit up, your expression failing to hide your tiredness. “…Sorry for leaving you guys without saying anything. I just got a bit warm.”

He shakes his head, his eyes understanding. “No need to be sorry. It’s understandable to get overwhelmed—we’re a chaotic bunch.”

Your gaze flicks between his warm eyes and easy smile, surprised he could read you so easily. You swallow and glance down, eyes landing on his coat. “Oh—I should probably return this, huh?”

He laughs quietly. “We’ll be working together for a long time, so return it another day.” You part your lips to protest, but he shakes his head. “No. Right now you need it more than I do. Keep it.”

You’re temporarily stunned, but hesitantly nod, hugging it to your chest again. “Thank you.” He simply hums, and the two of you fall into a temporary silence.

After a moment, he glances back over at you, eyes training on the way you’re hugging the jacket instead of using it to cover your shivering legs. “Y/N-ah, why…” He stops himself. “Are you cold?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah. But I really like the feeling of this jacket.” His eyes flick to your fingers, which are slowly stroking the soft, tactile fabric.

He nods slowly, thinking to himself. He isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol buzzing through his system that’s making him bold or his quiet concern overturning his logic, but he lowers his voice to a quiet murmur. “Hm… then would you let me warm your legs a little bit?”

You tilt your head at him, and he rubs his hands together, warming them in silent explanation. You can’t stop your cheeks from flushing, stumbling over your words. “Y-you would do that?”

He nods, his face innocent and genuine, though not overbearingly so. Experimentally, he lowers his hand to rest on your knee, slow as if petting a scared puppy. It’s exactly what you needed, though, as you don’t flinch at the touch, relaxing at how predictable he is. He watches you closely for any signs of discomfort, and, sensing none, he begins rubbing slow patterns up and down your thigh, careful to keep his placement respectful. You shiver pleasantly at the warmth, closing your eyes and releasing a content sigh.

If you were to look over at him, you would’ve seen the pink blush staining his own cheeks, gentle eyes darting around to look anywhere but you.

The silence lingers, but it’s not uncomfortable—just the kind that lingers between two people who don’t feel the need to fill it. The warmth of Yunho’s hand, the muffled laughter through the door, the pleasing texture of the coat held tight to your chest—it’s enough to bring you back to where you are.

But then he exhales, slow and soft. “We should probably head back soon. I think they’re wrapping up.”

You nod, pouting when he removes his hand and stands up, instead reaching it out to you to help you up. You take it gratefully, groaning from your achy knees.

He chuckles. “You okay now, saseum?”

You nod, smiling warmly up at him. “Yeah, much better.” You pause. “Saseum?”

His neck, warm from alcohol, gets impossibly redder. “Ah, sorry. I must be drunk.” He laughs. “That’s what Jongho-yah has been calling you—he said you look like an amsaseum."

You don’t know what the word means—a new one to add to your vocabulary—but you nod your head anyway. “Thank you for your company, Yunho-yah.” You flash a pretty, wobbly smile up to him. “You’re very sweet.”

He swallows, too flustered to dwell on it as he starts walking you back to the glowing door. “Anytime.”

——————

As Yunho suspected, the dinner wrapped up pretty quickly after you returned. Too tired to stay, you wished them all well, thanked them for the dinner, and left before them.

Now halfway through your walk home, you thank the universe that you weren’t forced to drink a lot—that would’ve made this trek way more difficult. Between general tiredness, the sleepiness that comes par for the course with pleasant tipsiness, the dimly lit streets, and the icy chill of the night air, you don’t think the added handicap of drunkenness would be a good sign.

Wrapped in Yunho’s coat, (which you’ve noticed now that you’re away from alcohol, smells like a pleasant combination of spices from whatever cologne he must wear), you hurry home, paranoid from the darkness and too cold to savor the walk. It only takes you ten minutes to get back inside your apartment, kicking off your shoes and shrugging off the comically oversized jacket, hanging it by the door.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to hop in the shower, take off your makeup, brush your teeth, and plop onto the bed in fresh pajamas (which is really just a baggy t-shirt, because who the hell can afford pajamas?). It’s only then when the events of the night hit you.

Despite your little moment towards the end of the night, you had a fantastic couple of hours. You ate good food, talked and laughed with a bunch of ridiculously good-looking men, exchanged numbers with a few of your new coworkers (most of which also happen to fall under the category of ridiculously good-looking men), and all the while managed to stay mostly sober.

Even during your little break outside, it wasn’t all too bad. It could’ve been, of course—most of the time, your episodes of overwhelmedness last much longer and leave you much worse off—but this time you had Yunho there with you.

Yunho.

You turn your head, finally able to let out a little squeal. Is he even real? Tall, handsome, AND one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met?

And is he fucking insane? Who in their right mind lends their jacket and sensually rubs their hands over a girl's thighs knowing they look like THAT? How could a girl NOT panic?

You huff into your pillow. It’s been a while since a man has been able to make you feel like a teenager with a crush.

Saseum.

Oh right, that word.

You roll over onto your side and open your phone, pulling up your translating app. “Damn my language skills…” you sigh, trying to type it in with your poor knowledge of Korean characters.

‘사슴’

Reading the translation once again, your ears turn red.

‘Deer.’

——————

EXTRA—

The quiet rush of the road is the loudest sound in Dohyun-nim’s car, half of the Ateez members whispering amongst themselves in the backseat, the other four hitching a ride with Ara-nim. Hongjoong sits in the passenger seat, busy doing something on his phone. Meanwhile, Yunho and Wooyoung sit in the back with a passed-out San, who sleeps with his mouth agape between the two. It’s quiet for a while, all of the most riled-up members of the evening exiled to the ‘loud car’—until Yunho, a little drunk, breaks the silence.

“I really like her.”

Hongjoong chokes suddenly, whipping his head around to look at him with shock. Wooyoung shakes his head.

“No, no, Joongie-hyung. Don’t act like you weren’t also crushing over her after you first met.”

Hongjoong immediately shuts his mouth, effectively silenced. He turns back around in his seat.

Wooyoung giggles proudly, turning his attention back to the big puppy of a man next to him. “I like her too. She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

“She is.” He pauses. “You should’ve seen the way she smiled at me.”

UYT Taglist: @obsessed-withthe-stressed @psychosupernatural @ateezswonderland @herpoetryprincess @nkryuki @thuyting @rosegracewood09 @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @queenofdumbfuckery @bokkarismeow @vtyb23 @soso59love-blog @mira-inlove @lover-ofallthingspretty

This Fic belongs to @frflyavenue and nobody else—please do not steal this work or any other works by this author <3

Chapter 4: In progress