#some patients put the cute in acute
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Well-developed, well-nourished white male in no acute distress.
This is what she writes about me. Look, as your sponsor, I need you to write this down. All of it. Word for word. Don’t try to make sense of anything I say, just write. When you’re confused, keep writing. Tired, keep writing. Cravings, for God’s sake just keep writing. Because if it works for you, it might work for somebody else.
Now go back to that note.
She’s my primary care physician, the woman who's seen me since I outgrew a pediatrician. She sits there with her legs folded together in knobs and branches poking through bright blue doctor fabric, and a suspicious thickness around her belly. She's the same as any other anorexic physician who eats only something with oats she poured from a blender.
Write this down—this is how you should be eating.
If she’s your doctor, you don’t feel better after reading her notes. That's if you remember to find them in her office’s digital patient portal, where after every visit they’re posted on the other side of a forgotten login and a compromised password.
Write this down—read about yourself.
It will be midnight, lying in your bed with your phone glowing at your chest. Picture an otter on its back. Swiping through, passing content from one thumb to another like the screen is a stack of cash, except you're counting fifteen second clips of billionaire porn. Supercars. Island waterfalls. French-press coffee on private jets. Squats and deadlifts and protein powders beaming into your eyes from a girl with perfect pores and skin vacuum-sealed against her clavicle.
Every fifth swipe is an ad.
A reminder.
Refrigerated ship-to-home ingredients—remember to pack lunch.
Swipe up.
High-yield online savings—pay your credit card bill.
Swipe up.
Cable-knit sweaters on some Macedonian model—do laundry.
Swipe up.
Machine-surfaced cast iron—run the dishwasher.
Swipe up.
Anymore, this is why you read the portmanteau digitox. Pause your social media for a week, the usual prescription. Put down your phone and try to work on impulse control just to discover you haven’t eaten anything green, and you’re still in the same clothes with an overdue balance on your credit card.
Your grade school teachers tried to teach you the habit of using a spiral-bound calendar. Now all you need is phone streaming a river of social media as you fall asleep.
Swipe up.
Lying here in the dark and your life support is a lithium battery glued to a glowing rectangle.
Swipe up.
Grounding your bare feet in water without sunscreen on a hot day in the mountains—schedule your booster shot.
Swipe.
Wet coffee grounds into cute countertop compost bins—it’s Monday. The trash should be at the curb.
Swipe.
Robot vacuums for pile carpet—clean your floors. And when you see it, remember that your shitty old vacuum has a filter bag with a lifespan.
Swipe up. Swipe right.
Until you’re unconscious.
Wake up and your phone is down on the carpet, smeared with oily fingerprints in the shape of a cross.
Swipe.
This is content that wakes you up.
Swipe.
Content that keeps you alive.
Swipe.
You’ll watch the same shit again tomorrow.
Swipe.
Another night and your thumbs make streaks right and downward until you watch an ad for a metabolism diet that reminds you of poor appetite reminds you of weight loss reminds you of a balance scale and a stainless sink with a floor pedal. The gaunt doctor’s notes and your decade of symptoms are on the other side of a login somewhere behind all these crucifix-shaped smears.
Swipe.
Reading about yourself and why you aren’t going to die gets you through a few days. But you feel like the way she sits there with all her machines and her complete sentences perfectly typed into a keyboard are missing something. The way you might miss your own addiction. Like I did. I didn't know I was an addict until after my first meeting.
Write this down—find a meeting.
In recovery, you wake up to your phone but the real-life support is downstairs on the fridge: a full calendar, a dry erase board with dented corners you can grab when you're in the kitchen section of a savings store. It comes with battle scars just as much as you’d expect from colliding with errant wheels, the magnetic corners trying to grab onto every shopping cart that comes too close. Underpaid employees tire of wedging it back onto a shelf because for shoppers a blank calendar is too much commitment even at a discount, and it's too big and boring and cheap to steal. Not that anyone would care. It’s five rows, seven columns, a sequence of days that never change tattooed in cute cursive across the top.
In recovery, you see a blank calendar and it just means you haven't yet been told what to do. You put it on your fridge. Let it observe every moment of the day, every time you leave the house, or empty the trash, the dishwasher, like somehow it will learn your entire week, until you're awake the next morning and surprise, it's still blank. At midnight when you open the thick, insulated door and the cold light rips out into the dark kitchen, it's there, caught in the beam. It might as well be found in a searchlight, flattened against the side of some dumpster, hiding from its destiny: thirty-five squares of graffiti in vibrant dry-erase marker, instructions squeezed wherever they fit.
Eventually you’re just some kid who can't color inside the lines, smearing it with bright letters, thick from bent tips of markers always dropping and rolling under the refrigerator. When it’s finally numbered, you’ll need a quote-a-day paper pad showing the date in tall digits leaning off the page at you when you open the refrigerator for milk. This way every morning you have to interact with the calendar. Tear off the old sheet of digits for another and find the square it matches.
It says, twenty-two.
A new day.
A new set of instructions.
A new inspiration to forget.
Today’s italicized quotation will stick because this is Monday.
It says, chance favors the prepared mind. The corner of the date pad says Louis Pasteur. The reason you don’t get sick from the milk.
Before it was clung onto our kitchen monolith, my calendar began on my phone as a progress tracker. If you’re burdened with the twelve step curse of recovery, the meetings and your therapy will refer to this as a habit tracker. It’s how you’re supposed to visualize an accumulation of effort. How you’re supposed to feel normal when you look backward. Everyday is another responsibility you were never taught, but on Sunday at least you washed the bedding. You never see how much goes into a normal life until you’re doing none of it. Somebody has to tell you that you’re living in trash and the blanket over your laundry smells so much like air freshener it stinks.
Somebody has to tell you to get out of bed.
Buy a new toothbrush.
Open the windows.
Go to the interview.
Eat.
Put down your phone.
That today is your mother’s birthday.
Somebody has to save you. And then you owe her your life. You get married.
Swipe to thirteen years later, and recovery doesn’t matter. Try telling someone you just met that you've been clean for thirteen years. Nobody cares. Picture showing up to defend a decade-long dissertation of research to have your advisor say thanks, it no longer counts toward your grade. You can dry-clean your academic attire, like everyone else. She tosses it onto a stack of papers sunk into her carpet with its own footprint, a white pillar, the size of a trash can. Still, you want her to least read it. You want anybody to read it.
If you’re like me, what you want is somebody to start a pot of coffee after dinner and stare at you across the kitchen table while it gets hot. You want somebody to talk with all night until the sun comes back.
If you’re like me, you don’t stop talking. Somebody finally sits down and drops a nickel at your booth and they have to let the song play.
This is the jukebox full of fresh vinyl.
I didn't want to have to tell you any of this. Nobody else needs to know anything here.
This is the note accidentally left unlocked.
This is the essay that ends up shredded in the back of a mobile secure destruction truck.
This is the long form note written in couples' therapy to wrinkle up for a waste basket, never to be read.
This is the confession after the crime found scribbled in a notebook when all the neighbors say they never saw it coming. If they did, then there wouldn't be a vacant house ribboned with yellow tape and an overgrown lawn to explain to all the divorced pickleball women when they come over for cocktails.
What I'm trying to say is none of this matters anymore.
I haven’t done anything wrong. There hasn’t been a crime. I don’t have the time. There’s no space for it on my calendar. After work I’m showering and brushing my clothes with horsehair so the hard water doesn’t fade the blacks to grey on waistbands and seams. Then I’m reaching into the fridge and cooking dinner and the dry erase marker says I’m exchanging table decorations for the new season, spring. Outside in the dark I’ll use a flashlight and leaf blower to clear fallen seed pods out of potted plants. The kitchen drawer will be out of dish towels and it’ll be one in the morning before those will be ironed and folded.
Write this down—never landscape with sycamores.
If you’re like me, you’re too tired to do anything wrong.
It’s because I’ve been on step twelve for so long. That's how they pull you in, with their logos and websites and filtered headshots of mentors and their about-us sections, seining through the candidate swamp of deadbeats as wide as freeways across the city. The dozen secrets to success that can be yours if you act now, no signature required.
A fresh start. Anonymous.
You can learn all the reasons addiction is ruining your life and how much better you’ll be in recovery. By step one you’ll sleep better, they tell you. By step six you’ll be giving presentations at work, they tell you. What they don’t tell you is by step twelve you should be growing the pyramid. Sponsor the kid who bags your groceries. In recovery, his bagging will be a little sloppier. Eggs on the bottom, untrimmed carrot tops flowering like pampas grass from sacks of wrinkled paper. For eight hours of bagging, his eyes follow the backs of his hands. He never looks up. Because in recovery he feels like shit.
What they don’t tell you about recovery is a lot.
What they don't tell you is that after step twelve, there's nothing. It’s just more step twelve. More meetings. More relapses. Until you’re dead. After I turn out to be your sponsor, then after years of me and a therapist telling you what to do, one day you find yourself at the curb outside a meeting like they just signed you out of the hospital and stuck you in a wheelchair on the sidewalk.
Hospitals have to get rid of you.
It's for liability.
You're discharged, but until they get you to the curb, they're on the hook for your life. The administrators don’t care about a junkie until they need his bed for the next admission from a crowded emergency lobby. For a few days your entire world is one hundred square feet between four walls with a sealed window and a mechanical bedframe. You have your own bathroom. There’s a whiteboard showing names of physicians you never see. It’s a different sort of dry erase calendar with notes in three sections: Today. Tomorrow. Future.
In recovery, planning ahead feels like predicting the future.
To fix you, people in scrubs who aren’t nurses bring trays with pills in little cups of wax paper, made for ketchup. Every pill is constipating. That, and the immobility of lying in bed until your back aches. This is why there are wall stud-mounted steel handles around the toilet. You get microwaved meals, and hourly visits from exhausted nurses wearing too much concealer smeared over their bad skin.
You like it inside the sterile room, baseboards to ceiling in taupe, and a floor drain in the bathroom. You wish you could stay. But this is what real care feels like—being discarded, thrown back out onto the street.
Anymore, your friends are all stoned, you say this to the nice nurse that you want coming with you. To bring you little stacks of cups at home. She uses your face to unlock your phone and dials an emergency contact. She props you in a wheelchair still wrinkled in the seat from her last castaway. She starts pushing. What you don't know is that after twelve hours of babysitting a floor of invalids and texting her ex in the supply closet, she'll collapse at her apartment with shitty alcohol, neglect her kid, rub one out and fall asleep with the television. Her own pile of laundry stinks of air freshener. And after a week with that botched fantasy you'll want her pushing you out again, faster, you’ll kick your legs straight out when you see the double doors beneath the exit sign. You’re thinking all this and then the wheelchair's at the street, she sets the brakes, puts a hand on your back and bolts you upright. Right beside the trash bins.
Swipe to this blithering milksop balancing on the curb waiting for my emergency contact to show up with a fast food bag of burgers because that’s exactly how this whole thing happened.
Write this down—fast food is what started this.
I'll get to the beginning. What ended up being the beginning.
There's one thing the alcoholics, junkies, and sex addicts in recovery won't tell you in their propaganda. I hate to ruin the surprise: walk into a meeting, and this is the rest of your boring ass life that nobody will ever care about. It says it right there in the branding. Anonymous. There’s no background check. Nobody asks to see track marks, or a collapsed septum. All you have to do is show up and give a name. Every week it isn’t any different. It’s a United Methodist rec room that hosted a day camp of kids with sticky fingers making crafts before organizers got there at sunset to unfold a card table and plug in a coffee percolator, a big trophy passed between support groups. Except instead of a bright Stanley Cup this is a storm-tossed aluminum bombshell that means your quiet gathering of church sponsorship has made it. Men's groups. Yard sales. Slow-read Bible study. Blood drives. Tonight it's with a room full of enablers. Because at some point they all relapse. That's why they keep coming back. Two dozen strangers who all share the same passion means the best networking opportunity junkies can get.
Swipe to a room full of cravings triggered by one of these caffeine dispensers looking like it was pulled from the basement of some parish.
Write this down—you’ll have meetings on Tuesdays. No matter what. This is what they call them.
No matter what, you make time for it.
No matter what, you attend.
No matter what, someone from last week is missing.
For me, recovery is never more than arms' length away. Even now, on my nightstand, where instead of an orange bottle of pills with a label showing the name of a hospice patient I'll never meet, there's a wallet as thick as an Uno deck and right next to it is a small leather journal with a checklist of everything I have to do not to sink. A calendar of instructions to-go. It's the same journal I've used since step four.
At first, the steps feel good. After your first meeting you might as well be twelve years old, and wide awake the night before a vacation. You’re going somewhere new. For a few days you walk upright with great posture. See yourself in the mirror of a department store where you’re trying on new shirts and you realize you have shoulders. It's a proud moment when you can check step one off your list. The first three go pretty fast and then you get stuck on step four. The moral inventory. All the lies, betrayals, and cheating, all the people you've hurt and jobs you've lost. You have to open a note on your phone and start typing. A rap sheet of all your sins, synced with cloud storage. That way every dumbass moment of your life is right there beneath your passcode.
I'm always writing things down. Journaling. Calendaring. Staying clean means keeping busy, having something to look forward to, always wanting to see tomorrow. It's when tomorrow doesn't matter that you give in. Find your local NA schedule and poke your head through the wrong door at the community center for that room full of liars calling itself a No-Matter-What meeting and tell me if it looks like any of them care about tomorrow.
Before relapse, most of them get lost in responsibility piling up at home. Picture Sisyphus. There's no reward for your work. When you stop feeling perfect for zero effort—that's addiction—daily routines are labor. In recovery, suddenly it all matters. Nobody wants another day of it. So you offload it from your brain, suspend your decision-making ability. Turn yourself into an implement. If you don't have to remember what to do next, then while you're at the sink soaking the sweat stains out of your new shirts, you're free to daydream about eventually sleeping in again. Because there's always more.
There's the alarm clock to wake you.
There's a duvet to fold.
There's clothing to launder.
There are dishes to wash.
Carpets to vacuum.
Now go back to your thirty-five squares and start writing—
Blow the leaves.
Put gas in the car.
Pack a lunch box.
Buy groceries.
Pay the utilities.
Today it's all on the calendar and the dry erase bleeds together in a way your brain can't decipher. No square is big enough. Cram all this in between five, eight-hour minimum wage workdays crutched by black coffee and chewing gum and next time you're washing shirts you'll daydream about not waking up.
After enough of step twelve, addicts in recovery suffer an increased chance of relapse, a brief glimpse at being high and productive. The meetings will call this functional addiction, the sustained twilight before once again losing your footing, being fired, and going broke. Keep going to meetings, and therapy, and tell yourself to keep trying but eventually everyone gives up running to the sunset, the sinking reminder that you can do everything right and still fail. You need structure. Somebody has to tell you what to do. There's a blank calendar to fill.
Swipe to when you bring home the dented thing, still wearing its torn shrink-wrap. At first, you won’t unwrap it. Thinking two weeks out might as well be next year. Nobody can see that far ahead. You put these thirty-five blank squares on the fridge and walk away. You’ll start writing tomorrow. Today, grab a sheet of paper and fold a single crease, forming two pages that will tell you what to do. Make a checklist for right now. After a week, replace this with a notebook so you can flip back to yesterday’s completed list, then another one from seven pages ago, or sixty pages ago.
Like everything else, at first a list makes you feel good. You write down everything you have to do and draw a little empty square next to it where you can scratch a check mark. What the meetings and therapy won’t call this is the Dunning-Kruger effect. We won’t tell you to overestimate your own success as you check off all the to-dos for which nobody else needs reminders.
We won’t tell you, but this is what happens. With every box, give yourself a gold star.
Write this down.
Brush your teeth—check.
Make coffee—check.
Turn off the coffee pot—check.
Remember your wallet—check.
Close the garage door—check.
Finally, you're getting somewhere. Every day, it's the same list, telling you what to do. The same set of successes. Because before, you were barely able to find the door out of the house in the morning.
By the end, every box is inked and you get to see just how much filled your day. Everything in your life becomes an item on a list. A direction. Something to achieve. You get to see the set of instructions for your life.
Everything becomes a step. One step closer to the completed pages of your boring life and knowing that tomorrow you have to start at the top of the same stupid blank page with a new list. Then another the next day. Then next week. And the month after that. Until you're dead.
Like normal people.
It's been a long time since you felt normal.
Everyday you're charging upright into a rough surf of surprises heaving themselves against you. Look back at your little piece of paper. It'll tell you where to go next. Plan out every minute from the moment you make coffee in the morning until you’re home and you step into the garage after a shower to grab the electric leaf blower and surprise, it’s dead.
Write this down—plug in leaf blower.
It needs to be cabled to a heavy charger that gets hot and smells like ozone. The one-hour charge is just enough time for the clocks in your house to be suddenly louder. The carpet is more matted than it was yesterday. In the walls, all the plumbing squeaks with hard water and suddenly it’s caked inside the mesh aerators of every faucet.
Write this down—polish the hardwood.
Electric mop the high-traffic carpets.
Soak the stainless faucets in vinegar.
From the size of my list, our house looks like Xanadu.
Find another achievement. Check another box. Until one day in the middle of it all you're on a ladder in your bedroom replacing a smoke alarm with a ten-year battery and you realize you'll be up on this ladder maybe five more times before you're dead.
One day when you’re off work you get back to the calendar and pair it with the date pad of quotes. It feels smooth, the unused dry-erase surface. To make progress, you have to fill it. Thirty-five blank squares.
For monthly maintenance, pick a square.
For laundry, pick five squares.
Bedding, pick two squares.
Clean the oven.
Then the bathrooms.
Vacuum.
After a few months the neat printing is full of abbreviated instructions, and you can't see any outlines between the white blocks. Each day dissolves into the next. In the morning you see it when you get to the fridge for milk and tear open the next quotation.
Louis Pasteur’s quotation.
What I’m prepared for is running out of ink, and dry erase markers.
What I’m trying to say is—let’s hope this works. Recovery is what got me into this whole mess. Recovery, and hamburgers.
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Christmas fic preview; hospital fic
Can’t you see I’m burning, burning
‘Doctor’s Christmas party; Friday night. They say it’s the best party of the year; wild, terrible music of course, as far as I recall.’ Mike the Chef squinted upwards, where, following his gaze Aaron could see the leak in the ward kitchen ceiling, below it on the ground a bucket intended for sterilizing equipment, now redeployed and a third full of grey water that Mike jokingly referred to as ‘the gravy’. ‘Y’all coming, right?’ he added now.
‘I dunno,’ Aaron shrugged. ‘I’m not exactly in the mood for parties these days.’
‘Oh, you mean your uncle. How is he?’
‘Improving, the doctor says.’
‘Well then, that’s settled it: - He’s better - you deserve to let your hair down for a change; and it’s Christmas! You’re on shift that day and so am I; we can change into our glad rags and go together. I’ll get Colin’s doggie day care to stay over. And think about it; you could score; I imagine he’s coming!’
Mike raised his rather thick eyebrows meaningfully, which, Aaron conceded, were one of his best features if you were into his type, which, thankfully, he wasn’t.
They both peered down the long corridor of the acute cardiac ward where Aaron had just delivered a new patient from A&E and was taking an empty bed back when he’d been stopped by Mike as he passed the kitchen.
The ward charge nurse had just erected a Christmas tree with rather garish rainbow tinsel, but beyond that they could see the huddle of consultant, cardiographers, junior doctors and the ward nurses doing the rounds.
The ‘he’ Mike had referred to wasn’t there; well, course he wouldn’t be, why would he be in a cardiac ward? - Dr Alex Mason, Aaron’s so-called crush, was a pediatrician and would logically hang out in the children’s ward. Just once he’d seen him here, treating a teenager with endocarditis, which was when Mike had noticed him looking, and decided to crystallize what had been a casual appreciation into a thing.
Aaron had objected, but that had only encouraged Mike further, so he’d decided the best strategy was to stay silent until Mike got bored of it.
Not that Dr. Alex wasn’t amiably attractive; he was tall, he had nice hair, but what difference did it make? Paddy had said as much when he’d told them about the new job.
‘So, does this mean you’ll be bringing home some cute doctor for Christmas? Well, not doctor, probably more likely a nurse; not that you don’t deserve a doctor… nurses are nice though, doctors are a bit… What… what…what I mean is you’ll have a big pool to meet someone new in. I mean; not swimming pool, hospitals don’t have pools. Or at least only for sports injuries and you don’t have a sports injury thanks god….’
‘Shut up, Paddy,’ his Mum had said.
She’d turned back to Aaron. ‘Well done getting a new job, love, and we’d be more than happy to set another place at the table for Christmas lunch. It’s been a while since you got back from France; time to put yourself out there and maybe meet someone special.’
Well, he’d got the message: Doctors were out of his league, even his family thought so.
‘See you around,’ Aaron said now to Mike the chef. He placed both hands on the head rail of the empty bed he was pushing and put his shoulder into it. It was a narrow squeeze outside the kitchen with the trolleys of cutlery and condiments taking up space.
Ahead of him the door to the ward popped open.
A blond junior doctor swept in, twisting as he replaced his name tag - which he’d presumably used to swipe himself through the ward entrance - into the badge holder at the belt loop of his deliciously tight trousers.
Realizing his path was blocked, the junior doctor stopped, hands on hips. His fair lashes blinked over crystal eyes and his freckled lips tightened.
Aaron stood calmly. He wouldn’t reverse, not for anyone, thanks. Well, not for a junior doctor who was obviously late.
The blond flicked up his index finger and pointed at the kitchen trolley,
‘It’s pure logic, if you have the capacity,’ he said. ‘Just move it and I can come past.’
Aaron arched his eyebrows, but it was Mike who grabbed the trolley and yanked it round the bend into the kitchen and out of the way.
The junior doctor stepped through the gap turning sideways as he passed Aaron. The fabric of his shirt stretched in horizontal creases over his chest, and for a moment Aaron imagined he could see right through it. He looked up; their eyes met and held. He caught a whiff of luxurious shower gel with a hint of masculine sweat.
And then the doctor turned again and next thing he was down the corridor, joining the others on their rounds as Mike and he watched. They saw him make a quick apology to the consultant who briefly looked out of sorts before replacing his glasses and looking at some notes.
‘Now there’s a doctor I could get behind. Did you see that tush? I’ll call you junior; you can call me daddy,’ Mike murmured. ‘Gay?’ They saw the blonde lean over and whisper something to a female cardiographer who smiled back. ‘Not gay. What a loss to mankind. Still a chef can dream.’
Aaron reflected that Mike wasn’t really a chef; he might have been one in some previous existence but here he was merely a food service assistant, but everyone allowed him to be known as Mike the Chef in some sort of medieval nomenclature. But he let it go. At this rate he was going to be late. And he didn’t want to be out of work by Christmas, he shuddered imaging his Mum’s shattered dreams.
He placed his hands on the bed rails again, ready to leave, then turned a last time to glance over his shoulder; as if sensing it, the blond doctor looked up.
There was a thud from inside the kitchen.
‘Oh no! I kicked the bucket; the gravy bucket!’ Mike said. ‘Friday night! Christmas party! Now there’s a new incentive to attend,’ he added.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Aaron said, and finally wheeled the bed out into the main corridor of the hospital back towards A&E.
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Run Run Run - Seoul Town Road (Part 3)
A zombie apocalypse breaks out and you’re stuck on a plane with none other than…BTS! Oh, you thought because you were an Army that would help you survive? Girl think again.
OT7 BTS Zombie Apocalypse AU / BTS member x reader slow burn
Ready for a roadtrip with the boys?! How much could go wrong? We’re starting to get really angsty now, but there’s some fun stuff too! Enjoy! <3
Warnings: death, monsters, blood, fighting, killing, gory details, angst, kissing
Word Count: 10.7k
---
“Who knows, maybe every single zombie movie in existence had it wrong.” Yoongi laughs, proving to be your favorite again. “If you guys are headed to Seoul, then I’ll go too.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
You sit atop the guard tower with Jimin, it’s the last time you’ll ever do this. It’s a bittersweet feeling once you realise this. You had begun looking forward to your night shifts, where time seemed to slow down to a crawl, the hours stretching, as far across as the starry sky. It was a needed change from the nights you spent moving forward alone.
It was somehow easier talking to the former idols in the dead of night, one-on-one, half asleep, prying intimate details about each other's lives as an excuse to stay alert. You became closer to each of them in this way. The quiet respite, the company they offered, the calmness of the night, you really didn’t want it to end. But tomorrow morning you'll leave this place for good, headed for Seoul.
“Yeah, shoot.” You roll your shoulders, licking your lips, the skin still cut and healing from Minho’s hit.
“Did you really kiss Minho first?” When you raise your eyebrow at him, Jimin quickly adds, “It doesn’t make what he did to you right at all!” He puts his hands out, shaking them frantically, his worried expression too cute for you to be angry at him.
“But why did you kiss him?” Jimin sat next to you, patiently waiting for your answer.
You snort, “I don’t know, I guess I found him attractive? In a last-available-man-on-earth sort of way?” you sigh, staring down at the tree line, too embarrassed to look at Jimin.
Jimin nods. “He’s your type-”
“No way!” you balk at him. “I was just...lonely...” You swallow down the anxious tension growing in the back of your throat, bravely adding, “You’re my type.”
You instantly regret saying that, you’re not brave, you’re an idiot. “I-I mean, the type of p-person I would like, would be someone like you, not you!” You stare far off into the distance, ignoring the silence from your guard partner. The night’s quiet stillness now felt taunting rather than soothing.
Jimin laughs softly, prompting you to glance over at him. You’re acutely aware of the warmth on your arm from Jimin’s proximity to you, the way he leans his body towards you.
“If I am your type, why didn’t you kiss me instead?” he doesn’t look at you when he asks the question and it makes you wonder why he keeps pressing the matter.
“I-What? I...don’t understand.”
“Why him out of all of us?” Jimin turns his body to you, running a hand through his unwashed hair. You can tell he is struggling with the words, as if he wanted to say more.
“All of you, w-what? I t-thought he was my only option.” You didn’t try to make your answer sound defensive on purpose, but you couldn’t help the prickly pitch in your tone.
“Your only option?” he repeats, laughing. “What made you think that?”
You scoff, ‘Everything.’ “You call me Noona. You don’t even know how old I am!”
“You refuse-”
“And you all treat me like I’m just another one of the guys, the last time we were at the lake you all started undressing right in front of me!”
“I-It was just our shirts, we go shirtless all the time!”
“Yeah, you do!” Your face feels hot thinking about it, how does Jimin not see how that might affect you? “Sometimes I think you forget I’m a woman, you know.”
“That’s not true!” Jimin stares at you incredulously. “We know you’re a - we like that you’re...”
“Uh huh the last time Jin joked that I was Jungkook’s girlfriend he looked at me like he had just been electrocuted.”
“But you threw him off you and yelled ‘gross’-”
“I d-did not!”
“Doesn’t ‘ew’ mean disgusting in English?”
“I said ‘ugh,’ he was heavy! He shouldn’t have tried to save me from falling,” you huff, “And that’s not the point!”
“What is the point?”
“You’re all just...I don’t know! You’re-” you look over to Jimin again, staring at his handsome and soft features. Even if it felt like lifetimes ago, you can easily picture him just the way he was before, bleached hair, makeup, expensive performance outfit instead of tattered clothes, a mirage of his past life sitting next to you instead, “-very out of my league.”
Jimin shakes his head. He wanted to correct you, but he didn’t know how to tell you that they had dealt with so much loss that every member had been scared to get too close to you. That they made a deal amongst themselves not to complicate things, to leave it up to you if you wanted more, but you never asked for more, you never asked for anything from them. You were so independent and guarded, a mystery none of them could solve.
“That’s not true. You have - what did you call it? ‘options’...” Jimin studies your weary eyes, contemplating upon the brief moment of weakness he witnessed, it was very unlike you. So he decides to be brave instead.
Jimin leans in closer to you, head moving towards yours. You jerk away from him. Only slightly. Only enough to keep your lips from touching.
The logical part of your brain is telling you that Jimin is only reacting this way because you’re the last woman for miles who doesn’t want to chomp on his brains, that this would never happen under any normal circumstance, that you’d never have a chance if it weren’t for the world literally ending-
The illogical part of your brain says to kiss him. Not because he is someone you used to idolize, but after everything you’ve been through...the chaos at the airport, the brutal reality you fought against during supply runs, the laughs during group dinners, the guard nights like tonight where you talked like old friends, you realize, Jimin is a good man. And you want to kiss him too.
So fuck it, you’re touch starved and needy and the way Jimin is looking at you has your ego soaring through the roof.
You lean into him before he has a chance to question your hesitation. He slowly presses his lips on yours, his lips so soft and smooth and better than you could have ever imagined. And oh, you did imagine. You however didn’t factor in your busted lip-
“Ow!” you wince.
“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t-”
“I didn’t say stop!” You shift your body, kissing him again, adamant to keep his attention.
You’ve built up so many walls and you just wanted one small victory, to just feel a connection with someone again, to have a lifeline in the dark ocean of uncertainty you have been wading in for so long. In that moment you hope it's Jimin who reaches you finally.
Jimin deepens the kiss and your lips move against his own despite the pain, despite your insecurities telling you he’s only kissing you now because you’re the last available woman left here, it’s okay...The pain of Jimin’s lips pressed tightly against your own is added to the list of things that makes you feel alive.
Your heart races, goosebumps bloom in the places Jimin runs his hands along, and your body feels ignited against his warmth. You take the opportunity to run your fingers through his hair, pull him closer and let the pain turn into pleasure, listening to his soft sighs against your lips. It’s been so long...
Over a year at least since you’ve kissed someone like this. You’re pent up, that’s for sure, and by the way Jimin eagerly pulls you closer to him, moving you into his lap, legs straddling his strong thighs, breathlessly kissing you as neither of you are willing to pull away from each other, you’re sure he’s just as needy as you. Your breath hitches, rolling your hips down purposefully onto his lap, so he can-
“Shift change - Oh shit!” Taehyung yelps, almost falling off the ladder.
Your soul leaves your body.
You jump away from Jimin like a scared cat, so far you almost fall backward off the platform. Jimin looks at Taehyung with a mixture of shock and anger as you scramble onto your feet, practically yanking Taehyung’s whole body onto the platform and out of your way, leaving before you have to face either man.
You jump down, falling backward into Yoongi, who came to relieve Jimin. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” You’re totally not fine, “I’m great,” You were great, now you feel like throwing up, “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” You’re being suspicious, get it together! “Don’t answer that, I-I’m fine, I'm fine,” you say trying to calm yourself down.
Yoongi holds your shoulders to steady you. Yoongi's hands are still on your arms as you ramble, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin absentmindedly. Jimin’s words run through your mind, ‘...options,’ and you panic, turning on your heel, leaving a confused Yoongi behind.
You feel like running away. Instead you run back inside, not willing to lose the opportunity to sleep in a bed for the last time. Your humiliation could just not compete with down feathers, not in this economy!
---
You slip under the covers and settle into bed with Jungkook and Hoseok, resting on Hoseok's side.
You’re used to the members pulling you closer into them by now, if only for body warmth on cold nights without heat. But now...now you can’t help but feel paralyzed by Hoseok’s closeness. You bury your face in your hands, your lips still vibrating from Jimin’s touch.
“What's wrong, did something happen?” Hoseok murmurs groggily against your stiff body and you grunt out a no. “Rest. Tomorrow is the big day,” he says, yawning and holding you gently.
How can you sleep now, when all you’re thinking about is your kiss with Jimin and Hoseok’s warmth against you? Has Hoseok always drummed his fingers against your side? When he sighs, nose against your neck, you see all the potential ‘options’ in your mind. How would Hoseok react if you turned your body around? If you pressed your face into his chest, ran your lips across his collar bone? Left soft kisses up his neck? Would he kiss you back? Would he touch you? Would he-
Oh shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen...
The fear of lurking zombies pale in comparison to the fear coursing through you right now, because in this very moment, you realize you’re starting to develop very inconvenient ‘optional’ feelings for certain members of BTS!
---
Despite that asshole Dev’s pleading, you and the group ready yourselves for the trip ahead. You didn’t need to do much, you already had everything you ever needed consolidated into your backpack. As it turned out, decluttering your life became super easy in the post apocalyptic era.
Kangho did give you a tiny collection of cooking tools to take with you. The old man had refused the group’s offer of joining the road trip, unable to leave the home that held so many memories for him, unable to leave the graves of his late wife and two deceased daughters.
You didn’t know if by choosing to stay behind, he was being smarter than all of you or choosing a death sentence, but you hoped he would be safe here, relatively hidden away from zombies. You really hoped the best for that old man, that he’d live the rest of his life out in peace. Unlike the other man staying behind, the bodyguard, who you hoped would be eaten alive by fire ants, if not zombies.
“Are they okay?” you ask Namjoon who secures the last of the supplies to the hood of the car. You noticed Taehyung and Hoseok missing, the pair solemnly standing in silence in front of headstones off in the distance.
“Yeah,” he says softly, “They are just saying goodbye. Kangho told you he had a daughter?” You nod. “She and Taehyung were close...” You caught the hidden meaning of his words.
“Was Hoseok, um, close to the other daughter?”
Namjoon shakes his head, “We buried our staff out there too, we thought it was wrong to leave them-” Namjoon swallows hard at the memories, “There was a stylist, she and Hoseok had been err close, as well.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been so difficult to lose them. I can’t imagine,” you whisper, trying to keep your emotions from surfacing.
“It was...I’m just happy my brothers survived. We’re still seven, even after all of this,” he smiles weakly.
You offer him a small smile in return, “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t really have anything here to lose,” pointing to yourself, “foreigner.”
His fingers find yours. “You’ll find your family.”
You hum, silencing your doubts. “You’ll find the rest of your family too,” Squeezing his hand tighter, you add, “But first, let's get you all to Seoul. Then we’ll work on getting me out of Seoul, yeah?”
Minho scoffs, walking up to the both of you, eyeing the place where your hands meet, displeasure evident. “I’ll give you one last chance,” he addresses Namjoon only, “let me go with you, you’ve never been without my help and you’re going to need it.” You resist the urge to tell him off. He had a point. He is the biggest and strongest one here, and he was loyal, even if he was a giant ass.
“We’re not stopping you from going to Seoul, but you’re not traveling with us,” Namjoon says, demeanor harsh and unforgiving.
Minho heaves a sigh, now looking directly at you. “If your precious idols die, it will be all your fault.”
Namjoon pulls you away before Minho can say anything more. “You should be more worried about yourself, Minho,” you yell. “It’s not so easy to survive on your own, I would know!”
You stare at Namjoon’s fingers tightly wound around yours and back at his face, anger evident, and you can’t help but feel guilt bubbling in the pit of your stomach.
You pass by Jimin, and the way Jimin watches silently as his leader drags you along, eyes searching yours for answers, hurt apparent because you’ve been ignoring him all day; the way he looks at you has your guilt magnifying tenfold. You hate to admit it, but Minho was only parroting what you already felt deep down inside. Minho was right.
---
“What now?!” Namjoon looks irate, running towards the rest of the group. You run behind him, watching the scuffle of men, bodies tangled and hands pulling others apart.
“He’s trying to take the keys!” Jungkook yells.
“You didn’t find this car, Minho!”
“Yeah, the person who did is dead!”
“Ugh, has he always been this annoying?” you ask yourself.
The members dogpile on the bodyguard.
“You can’t do this to me! After everything we’ve been through! A couple months with this bitch-”
“ENOUGH!” Everyone turns to look at the elderly man, axe in his hands. “Enough, I said. Stop!”
Everyone stops fighting, slumping down after Kangho’s scolding.
“If we can’t stop ourselves from tearing each other apart, what will those monsters have left to do, eh?”
Minho grunts, shaking off the others, walking past Namjoon. “The next time we meet, you’ll regret it.” You watch the exchange, unable to stop the gnawing sense of deja vu at his words.
“Something is off about you, I’ll prove it.” he whispers lowly at you. You frown, letting Minho shove you out of the way without retaliation. It didn’t feel good to watch him walk away like a wounded dog, because you’re reminded of the wounds you endured. You bite your tongue watching as he goes, he’s still a giant ass.
Now if you all would kindly get off my property,” the old man yells.
You laugh and think, ‘Good for him.’
---
With one final goodbye to Kangho, you’re all ready. “We are definitely not all going to fit in that tiny car,” you sigh.
Namjoon hesitates and then asks, “Can I, um, ride the bike then?”
You chew on your lip. You know you’ve been pretty mean to him regarding your bicycle, always shooing Namjoon away when you noticed him admiring it, refusing him bluntly every time he asked to use it.
It was petty, you knew it, but your bicycle had been your escape from the hell of the airport, something that could have been avoided if they just let you ride with them in the first place! It still made you angry, so you didn’t want to give Namjoon the satisfaction, the kindness he hadn’t extended to you on that day.
But now after everything, after watching the exchange between Minho and Namjoon...for now at least, you’ll let it go.
You nod. “If I can ride with you,” you add, “I will kill any zombies that come close to us,” so he doesn’t get any wrong ideas.
His face lights up, smiling brightly at you. You don’t think you’ve seen the leader so happy since arriving. You try to ignore the elation blossoming in the pit of your stomach watching Namjoon’s excitement.
He cycles in circles around you like a happy child. “You better not break anything,” you mutter under your breath, crossing your arms, so he’ll never know the happiness he caused to flutter inside of you.
Namjoon takes off with you on the handlebars, you steady yourself by leaning back against his wide chest. The two of you were the lead. Hoseok steers the car behind you, the small four-door is cramped with seven men. Hoseok, Jungkook and Jin in the front, and Yoongi, Jimin, that asshole Dev, and Taehyung in the back. The group did not go for your idea of throwing Dev in the trunk.
You wanted to leave during the night, but traveling in such a large group would have made it impossible. However, you can’t help but smile at how freeing it feels to travel during the day, the sun feels nice, the wind feels nice, Joon’s comforting presence feels nice. Listening to Namjoon hum a song out of happiness behind you has you full of positivity for once, and you think, it’s going to be a good day...
But are there any good days when zombies are around?
---
“Tired?”
“Not at all.” Namjoon leans over, pressing closer to you as he picks up his pace.
“Hey, don’t push yourself!” You smile, and then you come across a road block.
With zombies everywhere.
The bike screeches to a halt as the monsters notice your approach.
“I know this is going to sound crazy, but keep biking.”
“What?!”
“Just do it.” You pull out a knife from your back pocket. “Bike straight towards them, Joon.” You can hear the car come to a slow stop behind you. “They’re slower in the sun, look at them. I can kill them, I used to do this at night, and they were faster then. We can’t always run away if we want to make it to Seoul. Every zombie we leave behind can and will follow us.” You plead with him to believe you. You can hear him take a sharp inhale, chest heaving against your back.
“Okay.”
Joon bikes straight for them, and you do what you’ve learned to do, you survive.
---
The group leaves the car to move the crashed vehicles out of the way while you use water and a rag to wash the gore from your skin. You walk over to Namjoon who sits on the ground, face covered in blood and shaken. Crouching down in front of him, “You’re a fast learner,” you say softly, wiping off the blood from his cheek. He hands you your knife. Half way through your fight you had jumped off the bike, giving him an extra knife to protect himself. ‘Are you okay?”
He nods, “Yeah, that was just a lot,” he swallows, “of killing.”
You exhale, sitting next to him. “Yeah, well I can’t tell you it will get any easier,” you mutter, going back to cleaning yourself.
Dev comes up to the pair of you. “I’m sorry, y/n, for what happened at the airport! I’m so sorry, I hope you can forgive me. You know after getting to know you these past weeks, I would never ever betray you like that again, I consider you one of my friends, you know that right?” he grovels out of fear for what he just witnessed.
‘Ugh calm down, what do you think I’m going to do, you weirdo?!”
“Dev, just go away.” Namjoon mutters, prompting you to turn your head, unable to hide your smile as Dev stumbles away stuttering out apologies.
“Still wanna ride the bike? I can do it alone-”
“You think I’m going to give up so easily?” He cracks his knuckles, stretching out his sore body. “I finally got you to let me ride it!”
You laugh, using the rag to wipe off the blood staining his neck. “Okay, but don’t get too comfortable! You break it, you buy it, and you cannot afford my price, that’s my baby.”
Namjoon grips your wrist before you can pull away. He stares at you, eyes sorrowful, “I’m sorry...you had to go through that before, and alone...I’m sorry.”
You have flashbacks of the airport. Rooms filled with bodies, corridors of horrors, swarms of rotting flesh for days. You shake the grotesque memories away, pulling Namjoon to his feet. “Let’s help them so we can keep moving. Nowadays, the real monsters out there aren’t the ones that want to eat your brains.”
---
You raid a gas station while the two oldest members siphon gas from one of the pumps.
“I found a flashlight!”
“Any batteries?”
“Any soju?”
You look for lipstick, your tube was running out. You pout when you only find lip balm, but grab it anyways. “Nice bat,” you tell Jungkook.
“I found it! I can use it to help you fight-”
“Oh, look what I found!” you say, pulling an unopened bottle of kombucha from your pack, “You like this stuff, right? Does it go bad?”
“I don’t think so,” he says, pocketing the drink. “Thank you, y/n.” Jungkook pulls you into a hug. “What you did earlier, that was amazing. You were like, Rambo!”
You laugh against his chest, “I like to think I’m cuter than Rambo.”
“You are!” his hand finds your cheek, holding you softly. “I didn’t mean it like that, you’re a very cute WOMAN version of Rambo. No, you’re like Blackwidow! Not a man. I don’t think you’re a man at all, I-”
“Err have you been talking to Jimin?” you narrow your eyes at the flustered singer, pulling his hand from your face. He tells you a very unconvincing no. “Uh huh. Well come on then, Negan.”
“Who?”
“Really?! And mine is so much more accurate!” You laugh, pulling Jungkook along. He takes the opportunity to drape his arm around you, pulling you closer. You laugh together exiting the gas station, unaware of the tension the two of you were walking into.
---
In front of the gas station, another car sat parked. Two groups stand hesitant and silent, the rest of BTS and a group of strangers you’ve never seen before.
You hear one of the strangers whisper to another, and you’re sure you heard her whisper the word, ‘Bangtan.’
Namjoon is the first to speak, bowing, “Hello, we’re just passing through,” he starts hesitantly, “We’re not looking for any trouble.”
“We have a farm! It’s getting dark soon, you could stay there with us!” one of the strangers speaks up.
Silence fills the air again. You look over at the group of strangers, there are three women and three men. Two of the men look around your age and one looks much older, the same can be said for the women.
Could they be a family? There are really no similarities between them, however family in present circumstances are bonded by a different kind of blood, forged from trauma and shared struggles. They look like a family, you conclude.
The strange group is rough around the edges, tattered clothes, hair in tangles, and when the older man speaks he has an accent. “It’s true, we do have a farm,” he says hesitantly, eyeing one of the younger women who spoke first. “We have fresh vegetables, we could trade you? And you could stay the night in exchange for supplies?”
You keep quiet. You don’t trust them. But you also recognize you have issues trusting anyone. So when Namjoon turns to you and asks in English, “What do you think?” you stare back at him incredulously, at a loss for words.
“What do you think?”
“We need to find a home to stay in before night time,” Yoongi adds.
“I knew it, I knew you spoke English well!”
“Focus, we also need fresh food,” Yoongi mumbles.
“So, yes?” Seokjin asks.
You turn to Namjoon, “It’s your decision, Leader,” and you add, “If anything goes wrong, we do outnumber them.”
Namjoon nods. Looks like you’ll have a place to stay tonight!
Unfortunately, they never made it to the farm.
---
“Hey, psst, is that BTS?” One of the girls looks at you, wide eyed and brimming with excitement.
“Yes! What are the odds, huh?” you whisper.
“Really?! Is that seriously Jeon Jungkook…with a bat.” She sways on her feet, in awe, hiding her blush with her hands.
“I know, right? He likes to be referred to as Negan now.”
“Oooh,” she gasps, “Really?” You nod furiously.
“Who are you?” she studies your foreign features and demeanor, “A, um, translator?”
“Yeah, let’s go with that. My name is y/n, what’s your name?”
Her words are cut short by a piercing scream inside the gas station, by then it was too late to make friends.
---
As the other group were looking for supplies in the gas station, one of the young men opened the door to the back room, and in that back room stood a man whom never clocked out from his last shift.
The worker, body decaying, growling at his first new customer in months, takes a large bite from the young man’s neck. He shrieks for help as the worker takes his lunch break.
If there were a hierarchy of zombie kind, newly turned zombies are the worst kind. Newly turned zombies are the fastest and most blood thirsty. They run instead of amble, they screech and growl and foam at the mouth at a chance to feed. Their muscles haven’t had a chance to atrophy, their eyes are still sharp, their teeth haven’t rotted yet and fallen out. If someone were to encounter a human just turned zombie, your advice would always be to run!
“RUN!”
“Get in the car!”
“Where’s Hobi?!”
You hear screaming inside the gas station. You turn to Jungkook and ask, “Still got that bat?!”
Jungkook swings it over his shoulder, catching the end of the bat with his other hand. “Let’s go!”
Inside the gas station Hoseok knocks a shelf into one of the zombies, pulling the crying woman along with him.
You and Jungkook run into the gas station, followed closely by Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Jimin, and Taehyung. All of them willing to fight for their friend.
“Hoseok!”
“Misun!” The older woman yells. The other young man rushes forward with a long shovel, beating what was once the old man, now a snarling monster. Jungkook aims his bat for the slower zombie worker, taking off his head.
Another scream echoes from outside. No, why her! Why couldn't it have been Dev?! You watch through the glass as your fellow Army friend cradles her leg, a large chunk missing from her calf. She’s already turning, hopping towards Dev with newfound purpose.
“Hey! Over here!” You bang on the glass, making as much noise as you can to draw the zombies away from Hoseok and Misun and ugh, Dev.
“Jungkook! Over here!” Taehyung gestures for the bat and Jungkook rolls it over to his bandmate.
Taehyung spins the bat in the air impressively before hitting the zombie man in the chest, but the zombie quickly animates to his feet. Taehyung hits him again, with a loud crack of bones, aimed perfectly at his jaw. You launch yourself at at the undead man, aiming for the hole in his mouth. Yoongi pulls you to your feet while the others escape outside, taking care of the last zombie.
Misun won't stop crying, and when you finally catch your breath you see why. On Misun’s arm is a large bite print, swollen and turning purple. Dammit! Where the fuck is Dev?
The older woman hugs her close, wailing. You try to pull her away but she refuses. You don’t know what to do, you didn’t know them, but you felt her pain so viscerally it hurt too much to watch.
You look around at the group, the men look on horrified. It could have been you, crying over one of them, no, that wasn’t an option for you. That’s why you can’t kiss Jimin again. Wait, wasn’t there one more stranger? Who had bitten the girl outside?
It happened so fast...
Before you could turn your head fully, Yoongi shoves you to the ground, pushing you far away. You hit the dirt so hard, your head bounces and the wind is knocked out of you. Disoriented, your vision blurs and when you can finally focus you see Yoongi on the ground next to you yelling. The man who swung the shovel, now a zombie, lying on top of him, snarling, growling, mouth opening wide!
Watching as he fights for his life you want to scream, or cry, or do anything other than lay there feeling the weight of the world crush you to the ground. Your surroundings moved at the pace of quicksand and yet you were still too slow to react, eternity in a few moments, your fear compounding upon itself as you watched your worst nightmare unfold.
And then a bat is swung and the zombie is gone by the time you can twist your body around and find footing again.
You scramble to his side, searching Yoongi’s body for the tell tale mark of death. Yoongi winces, “I’m alright.”
Even in that moment of relief, your stomach turns and your heart bleeds and you fall onto him crying. He was so close to dying, and you couldn’t save him, it should have been you!
“I’m okay,” he whispers, holding your shaking shoulders. And then you hear more growling, turning your head to see Misun slowly turning in the older woman’s crying embrace.
You can’t witness anymore. You’ve had enough. You wipe your tears away and stand up and go to the pair. Using all your strength to separate the women, you drag the older woman away by her hair. You don’t hold back as you stab Misun through the eye, ending the gas station nightmare.
---
You ran then. You must have looked horrible in those moments, like a monster as well. Yoongi almost died because of you. You couldn’t face those truths any longer, so you ran.
You ran until you felt grass, and then you fell to your knees and cried, pulling the blades out with your fists, letting the smell of the earth overtake the copper smell covering you. You cry and cry, until you hear footsteps coming close.
You turn around and see the man who caused you to lose your composure, and where you laid on the edge of grief quickly shifted into anger.
Min Yoongi annoyingly stands over you, his big annoying feet at your head, his concerned face looking down at you annoyingly. And when he crouches down and lays a hand on your shoulder soothingly, you annoyingly start crying again.
You throw the clump of dirt clenched in your fist at him. “Hey! Why are you so upset? I’m fine!” How can you explain it to him, when you don’t even fully understand what you’re going through yourself.
“Never do that again!” you scream through sobs. “Never risk your life like that for me. Promise me right now!”
“Answer my question first, would you have done the same for me?!” But you can’t answer him, you can’t speak, all you can do is cry into his chest.
“Y/n...” He holds you close. “We’re all in this together.”
“No,” you cry bitterly, “We were never in this together.”
You can’t stand the thought of him in danger trying to protect you again, but you can’t stand the thought of leaving him either. Minho’s words echo cynically in your head. You feel selfish falling into Yoongi’s embrace.
Yoongi exhales, “Will you ever forgive us for that? Do I have to save you a hundred times before you have faith in us again?” he says, mistaking your doubts.
“I don’t want you to save me. I don't want to be the reason you die, Yoongi. I can’t - I’ve already forgiven you, but I’ll never forgive you if you die!” You bury your head into his chest, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. He tenses, feeling shy from your words and your tenderness, wordlessly embracing you tighter.
Should you trust him? Should you tell him the truth?
Jimin runs over to you, falling by your side. “Jimin! I-” you cry harder as Jimin shushes you, holding both Yoongi and you in a tight embrace. You feel the others’ embrace surrounding you, warm bodies piled on your back, a welcoming change.
“Alright alright, you’re all going to crush us!” Yoongi yells annoyed.
You walk together back to the car guarded by Dev, at a conveniently safe distance from the fight, you notice. Of course he's perfectly fine.
“Where's the old lady?” You ask. You wanted to apologize to her.
“I gave her directions to Kangho’s house. I figured now they could use each other’s company.” Taehyung says. “She’s his type, trust me,” he winks. You vaguely remember a family photo sitting in the corner of his kitchen, a beautiful wife and two daughters smiling next to a younger Kangho. Now that you think about it, the old woman did hold a vague resemblance to his wife.
“So, where are we going to sleep?” Jungkook whines.
“Did she give you a location on the farm?”
Taehyung smiles, “She did.”
The farm was small, but had enough greens and potatoes to feed a small army. It was very tempting to stay there, but you only took what you needed and left in the morning.
---
“...I don't see no open cars, no open bars. It's not bad, I'm all alone on this road. The hearts of people are floating like an island. The night that might never come, walk and roll across the horizon to the vanishing point that we chose.”
You wait, leaning against Namjoon’s shoulder. “You’re a better singer than me, keep going.”
“Aww c’mon! And that’s not true at all! If you are sad...c’mon!” you whine.
“Let's go ride a bicycle.”
“YEAH!”
“Let's leave the wind beneath our four feet. Oh, let's ride a bicycle with arms opened freely,” Namjoon sings softly, playfully cycling to the left and right, voice deep and soothing in your ear.
“NANANANANANAA-”
You and Namjoon notice the car slow and an argument escalating inside the vehicle. Namjoon slows his pace as well, moving towards the driver’s window.
“Joon, let’s stop there!” You see Seokjin point at the next exit, marked ‘ALPACA WORLD.’
The group begins bickering again.
“Is there some place important you need to be right now? Are we late for a meeting?” he argues against the group’s protests.
You gasp. HOW CAN YOU SAY NO TO ALPACAS? “He’s got a point.”
“We need to stay on route to Seoul,” Namjoon's deep voice is heard behind you.
“It is on route, that sign doesn't say, 'Alpaca World, three exits back to where you came from,' it's the next exit!” Seokjin argues.
“We also need to rest. We've been lucky, but sleeping alongside the road is too dangerous. The park might have some food too!” You turn your body to the best of your ability, startling Namjoon as the bike sways, looking back to him pleadingly. “Also, how can you resist alpacas? They’re so cute,” you pout.
“We can’t just survive, we should live a little too. Let me pet an alpaca before I die!” Seokjin yells.
“I also would like to pet an alpaca before death,” you have the eldest’s back on this one.
Namjoon sighs defeatedly. No one wants to challenge Seokjin, and with you on board too...“Fine.”
---
You and the group walk through the abandoned park. The entrance is hauntingly beautiful. Nature didn’t waste any time overtaking the human-made facility. Unattended shrubbery and vine snaked around plastic and wood, the last imprints of human life became hidden, covered in green. The park was left dirtied and forgotten like the rest of humanity. Yet, the serene scene felt hopeful, in a way, in only a year's time nature was healing from the destruction civilization caused.
“Can we talk?” Jimin walks beside you.
“Of course, what about?” you try to act unaware of his intentions, like you don't know exactly what he wants to talk about.
He sighs, “You know what…”
“I do?”
Jimin stares at you, eyebrows arching. “You’ve been ignoring me ever since it happened,” Jimin says dejectedly.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you sigh. “I’m sorry, I was just worried, I would try to, um, do it again.”
Jimin laughs, pulling on your shoulder to stop you from walking any further. “Wait, so you want to kiss me?”
“I thought - I thought that was obvious?” you tilt your head in his direction.
“I thought you regretted it!”
You huff, heading towards the pasture. “I do regret it. I shouldn’t have done it, but in my defense the moon was shining on you and your lips looked very kissable,” you smirk. You turn around, facing him, tone more serious, “I think it’s better if we remain friends, it’s too dangerous right now.”
Jimin steps closer to you, his chest brushing against your shoulder, “Shouldn’t we be living life without regrets? I don’t want to just be friends with you.”
You were surprised by his bluntness, so you offer him your candid opinion as well. “You’re only saying that because I’m the only woman around.”
Jimin sighs, fingers carding through his hair while he thinks. Then he flicks you on the head.
“Ow, what the fuck, Jimin!”
“I can’t believe I have feelings for someone so stupid.”
“You have feelings for what? Wait, I’m not stupid!”
“Yeah, you’re stupid,” he says, taking the opportunity to flick you on the head again. Jimin’s affection sure hurts. You hit him in the shoulder, rubbing your forehead.
“You’re the stupid one,” you mutter. “You think you have feelings for me. I’m telling you it’s because I am the only person left to have feelings for.”
“I can have feelings for a man too. I am not settling for you, if that’s what you think.”
“Oh, well, good point,” you massage your head slowly, nursing the sting on your skin. “Well maybe I just don’t have feelings for you then.”
“Yeah?” He stares as you shift awkwardly, challenging your words. Jimin stands so closely you can feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest. Oh no, that means he can feel your pounding heartbeat too. “Do you normally kiss a person you have no feelings for like that?” He dips his head lower, teasingly breathing out against your lips. You could so easily move your head closer, experience how good he tastes again. It was so quiet you could hear his short breaths of air against the rustle of the breeze through the trees and your escalating heart rate, daring you to move.
“There! Look! I knew it! Right there!” The eldest member rushes past you excitedly and you and Jimin's stalemate ends for now as you both follow along.
In the distance, like a tiny cumulus cloud from heaven trotting down the pasture, is the fluffiest alpaca you’ve ever seen!
It trots right in front of Seokjin. If only you had your phone, and it worked, you would have taken a video of this moment and replayed it for the rest of your life. The way Seokjin gently touches the alpaca's fluff, the older idol accidentally bumping into the alpaca, causing the animal to startle, causing Seokjin to really startle, flinching and yelling in fright, startling the alpaca even more. The cute pair managing to terrify one another within an instant of meeting.
“It’s so cute!” Hoseok says, poking the alpaca's giant fur coat. It is cute, you want, no, need to pet it.
“We should eat it,” Yoongi says. WHAT.
He looks at your horrified expression. “I’m just saying, that would feed us for a while, probably easy to catch too. Look at it!” The alpaca is currently trying to eat the hem of Taehyung's jacket.
You all stare at each other in defeaning silence, and then back at the happy alpaca.
No nope ande nada no no! There was no way you were going to murder a cute fluffy alpaca, you’ll stick to canned foods.
"You're going to kill him after I just named him?!" you cry.
"That was your first mistake, you never give them a name," Yoongi chastises.
"Well too late, Alcast P is here to stay."
Yoongi narrows his eyes at you, "You just made that up right now to spite me." Obviously, but you’re not backing down.
"Nah, you can't see how swaggy that alpaca looks? Alcast P is a survivor."
“Can’t we catch another animal? I saw some rabbits in the field,” Taehyung says.
“Why do all our killing choices have to be so cute?!” you cry. “I’m gonna go raid the gift shop.”
---
You sigh, fingertips running along the dusty wood table. What you’d give for a cold coffee. Or a pastry! One with cheese and fruit, glazed and shiny and sweet. Or whip cream, caramel drizzle, you’d take even a plain old ice cube at this point.
“Hey.”
“Oh hey,” you’re pulled from out of your fantasy coffee date, back to the empty shop, accumulating dust and heat thick in the air.
“Hey, Jimin,” you say, turning around. “Come here,” you move his hair out of his eyes, “Why is there grass in your hair?”
“Tae and Jungkook tackled me.”
“What?! Why would they do that? Are you sure you didn’t just fall down?” you laugh.
“They found a ball that wasn’t too deflated, we’re playing a game in one of the fields.”
“Why aren’t you with them?”
“I wanted to be with you.”
“I thought we were going to forget-”
“I don’t want to forget.”
You sigh and you take a seat, “Sit down…please?” gesturing to the empty chair across from yours. He obliges you, sitting quietly. You reach across the table and hold his hands in yours. “You probably didn’t get to go on a lot of coffee dates as an idol.”
“No, not really. I bought out a whole restaurant once...I only did it once, it was so stressful, ” he laughs.
“I’m jealous! You know what I never got to try? Omakase…wonder how many sushi chefs made it.”
“It’s okay, nothing beats good barbecue,” he smiles, playing with your fingers.
“I never got to try it,” you shrug your shoulders, sighing wistfully. “The closest I had was a worker's leftovers in one of the employee fridges at the airport.”
“Maybe once we’re in Seoul, we’ll find some.”
“I hope so! Maybe your parents can make us some good food?”
Jimin nods, fingers tightening around yours. “You believe they will actually be alive?” he says softly, words filled with doubt.
You pause in thought, “Why wouldn’t they be? They have a ton more resources in Seoul than you guys did in Yangyang and you all made it, didn't you?”
“Part of me doesn’t want to go back there,” Jimin struggles, “If I find them as monsters, I don’t think I could handle it,” he confesses. “I think it's why we stayed so long at Kangho’s, we were all too scared to face the truth. And now we’re risking our lives again, and it could all be for nothing. I don’t know, is all this worth it? Maybe we’re better off trying to make new lives here in the country.” Jimin lowers his head, resting his forehead atop your intertwined fingers. You can feel his limbs shaking.
You sigh. “You know I hoped for a long time that what was happening here to me was an isolated incident, that my family and friends were safe outside of Korea. But you know if that were the case, we’d probably all be dead right now? Probably nuked to hell,” you scoff bitterly. “If other countrys were able to reach us, wouldn’t they have done it by now, if not only to save themselves from our nightmare?” You continue, “I’ve, um, accepted that the chance to see my home, m-my family, again is long gone...but you still have a chance, Jimin, however small it is. We can get you home-”
“And if I come home, and everyone I love is dead, and I have to kill them again?” he chokes out.
“You won’t have to do that, I promise,” you whisper.
“This is not worth it, it’s not.” He shakes his head, unraveling. “We almost died at the gas station.”
You felt yourself unraveling with him. “Fuck...if it wasn’t for me, you would still be at Kangho’s. I’m sorry Jimin, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
Jimin lifts his head at that, “What? No, it’s not!” he argues. “We all unanimously agreed to leave in the end. I guess, like you, I’ve just accepted I’ll never see them again. The family I have now is what’s important to me, and I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t lose them, you’ve made it this far.” ‘And I’ll make sure you make it to Seoul, I won’t let any of you down.’
“And you, y/n, I don’t want to lose you.”
You scoff, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me! This date took a really bad turn, by the way.”
“Maybe you’re right not to like me,” he laughs softly, “It’s a selfish reason why I want to have you for myself. When we met again, that day, I felt like my old self. You just make everything better. You make this bearable, in your own aggravating way,” he smirks.
“You’re aggravating.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Okay, now you’re just saying what I want to hear. It won’t work.”
“Beautiful and so stupid.”
“And now you’re describing yourself,” you sigh.
You and Jimin never let go of each other’s hand during the whole conversation, so Jimin now used his hold on you to his advantage. “Is that so?” He yanks you closer, pulling you over the table.
“Ya! Oof.” Jimin pulls you over his shoulder. “Jimin! Wait! Ahh!” Jimin threw you, that’s right, threw you, to the ground. You fully expected to crack your skull, but you ended up on a pile of fluffy stuffed alpacas. You pull one from underneath you, the cute stuffed toy stares back at you with its big black bead eyes. It’s not as cute as the official RJ merch, but it gets an A+ for realism. Jimin stands over your Alpaca covered body laughing. “Have you always been this evil?!”
“Yes,” he crosses his arms. You throw the stuffed alpaca at his face, and he has the audacity to catch it in mid air. Ugh, evil and hot, the worst combination.
---
“I’m glad we came, thanks for convincing Joon.”
You giggle quietly, “Me too, but I can't take the credit, he was just too afraid to go against his big bro,” you whisper.
“No, you definitely have him wrapped around your finger,” Seokjin teases.
“Shh, go to sleep Jin,” Jungkook mumbles from the other side of Seokjin.
You all were sleeping outside tonight, in one of the alpaca pens, using the fencing to keep things out instead of in. The stuffed alpaca toys actually made pretty comfy pillows.
“Y/n?” Jin whispers your name, and you open your eyes, turning to his side.
“I’m happy you ended up with us after all.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m happy too, traitor.”
“Sor-” You put your pointer to his lips. Not wanting to hear him at first, but the soft skin of his mouth makes you realize your intimate gesture, leaving you flustered. “Don’t start that again or I’ll request dancing from you next.”
“I’d be happy to give you a lap dance.”
“Don’t tempt me,” You kept your voice to barely a whisper not wanting to wake the others. Not realizing Jungkook was fully awake on the other side of Jin.
“Are you tempted?”
“Hmm..” You look up to the sky, “Just curious to see what moves you got,” you whisper.
“Well, I owe you, I'll be here whenever you want to come collect,” he whispers back.
“What if I asked for an apology kiss instead?” you teased.
“Now you’re tempting me, my brothers will get jealous.”
You snort. “Go to sleep, World Wide Handsome.” Lying on the end the row, you scoot closer to Seokjin, shutting your eyes. He places an arm gently over you and you try to steady your breathing.
“You're still awake,” Seokjin whispers after a short time. “I can tell, because you usually snore,” he jokes.
You open your eyes, ready to protest, but you see how close his face is to yours. He looks tired after running around trying to pet the remaining alpacas you found together, but Seokjin looks content. His hair is long and pulled into a bun like Jungkook's now. His brows are thicker now too, his skin unfairly bright and smooth without makeup, he really is one of the most handsome men you've ever met. So close to him, you can't help but be enamored by his looks.
“What do you want now?” you mumble.
“Jimin told us you think we don't see you as a woman?” he confesses, confused why you'd come to such conclusion.
“Why are you guys talking about me when I'm not around?!” you hiss, covering your face with your hands. Seokjin takes the opportunity to pull you closer into his embrace. You freeze, momentarily forgetting how to breath.
“Also, I would like to make it known that I am single.” He doesn't answer your question. “And ready to mingle.” You can't help but shake with concealed laughter.
“No way, impossible, you single?” you whisper against his broad chest, “With that face, I don't believe it.”
He pulled you closer, enjoying your inviting warmth. Jin didn't want to ruin the moment. He made peace with the fact that his girlfriend in Seoul had probably moved on, if she had even made it out alive at all. He had spent months grieving his lost love, but now his heavy heart felt lighter listening to your soft laughter.
“You know you're cute when you're not taking down hordes of zombies.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, “I'm always cute. Especially when taking down hordes of zombies.”
“You are,” he hums. “But if you don't start breathing normally you're going to pass out,” Seokjin snuggles closer to you, satisfied, sleepy.
“Then go to sleep already.” You keep yourself hidden in his embrace, processing his words. In his own lighthearted way, Seokjin had thrown you another lifeline. Seokjin has you rethinking everything now.
---
You’ve come to an impasse.
Specifically, a tunnel through the mountains. Long and dark, who knows how many zombies are hidden inside.
You can hear them. You wonder if it’s just your imagination, sick and twisted visions from your past nightmares or if the tunnel really amplifies what lurks in the shadows, soft faint growls echoing from within the darkness.
You grimace at the thought of what awaits your group ahead. There is no way to tell how long the tunnel runs, and no way around without abandoning the car.
“I’ll go first.” Namjoon holds your shoulder, ‘hell no’ written all over his face. “Listen, I am the best at killing them. You know that.”
“Jungkook and I will go with you.”
“Over my zombified dead body.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Namjoon grumbles.
You roll your eyes, “Trust me, it’s not gonna happen.”
“What if we lure them out?” Yoongi offers.
Namjoon thinks it over, “No, It’s going to take too long, the sun is already headed back down, and then we’ll have even bigger problems.”
“We could barrel through them with our car?” Jungkook says.
“We have no idea what else is inside. If we aren’t careful we could crash into something and then we’ll be swarmed,” Jimin argues.
A large growl emits from inside the darkness, making Hoseok, that asshole Dev, and Seokjin flinch away. You clasp your hands together with a plan, “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to go first, give me five minutes! Just five, and then you follow me in. We can clear the tunnel. Deal?”
No deal, none of them agree with you. “Just trust me please?” you whine, swinging a leg over your bike.
Jungkook stands in your path, arms holding your handlebars tightly. “We’re not sacrificing you! What kind of men would that make us?!”
“I’m not trying to bruise your ego, but I’m really the best at killing them!” you argue.
“I don’t care about that, I care about you!” he yells.
“We will all go together, that’s how it should be,” Yoongi says, moving closer to the tunnel.
You grip his arm, pulling him back. “No! No-” you’re two seconds from pulling your hair out. You shake your head, you wouldn’t let Minho be proven right. “Let me go first at least, please!” you beg Namjoon. “Look, you want me to trust you, but you won’t trust me!”
“I’m faster than her!” Jungkook argues.
“So?! How many times have you gone into a dark room swarming with zombies, huh Jungkook? Zero, right? I know what I’m doing!”
On the other end, Jimin is pleading with Namjoon to not let you go.
“I'll go with you, y/n. I can’t let you go in there alone,” Namjoon says.
No, you have to do it alone, you'll worry too much about him if he goes with you. “Five minutes. Then follow?” you plead, “Do I have to get on my knees and beg you?” You stare at the group resolutely, struggling to speak the uncomfortable thoughts you’re holding within. “If anything happens to you, I can’t have your blood on my hands.”
“And how am I supposed to live? No, my hands are already covered in red, too many people have died for me, not you, I need you,” Namjoon says, eyes glassy.
Your chest tightens, pierced by his words. No, you need him to live. Yoongi almost dying had you too close to the edge. You’re not as strong as you thought, you’re a porcelain egg ready to crack, unwilling to be put back together if you do, and this argument has gone on for entirely too long, you think, no more wasting time.
You have to make Namjoon understand.
You grab his hand and pull him away, past the car, far away from the group and stand in front of him so his large back covers you from the rest of the men. With his hand still in yours you place his palm on your heart. You take a deep breath and then you drag it down.
“W-What are you doing?”
“Just wait,” you’re insistent, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one sees, gripping his wrist tighter, you move his hand again, his fingertips trailing underneath the hem of your shirt.
“Y/n?!”
But you don’t stop, you have to make him understand, moving his fingers over your skin slowly. “Let me protect you?” you ask again. His eyes widen, staring at you, limbs frozen and led by your movements.
---
They’re angry at Namjoon. They’ll get over it, you think.
“Take this.” Taehyung gives you the ball they were playing with earlier, rope wrapped around the globe. And a lighter. You admire the makeshift weapon. Flaming ball of death? Sure why not.
The ball rolls, lighting a path. The group watches as glimpses of bone and flesh illuminate, sluggishly swaying around the small globe of fire. You stand in the entrance trying to calm your racing heart. It’s not like you wanted to go in there, you hated this part.
“It’s not too late to ask for help,” Jimin whispers solemnly, red eyes pleading with you.
You turn around, looking at the dejected men. “I will have help, won’t I?” You give them a weak smile, holding your palm up to them, five fingers splayed out, and then place your thumb down, turning swiftly following the fiery light.
---
They were much much slower, thankfully, from months without anything to feed on. You didn’t want to leave any bodies able to catch the men behind you, but there was so many, and no light at the end of the tunnel.
You moved through the darkness, using the lighter sparingly. Click. Clouded eyes and decaying faces. Blood splattering as you swung your knife around you. Click. Feet dragging along the pavement, roaring off in the distance, they were searching for you. Click. Bodies coming closer, you move back and forth gouging out eyes, ending their purgatory. Click. Loud growls, bones breaking under movement, looking to find food. Click.
You set fire to one, a human torch, and move through the crowd as fast as you can. It was exhausting. You were afraid, you couldn’t kill them all.
Their bodies block the exit as they swarm your bike. You run. You crouch and hide and attack when you can. They screech and hiss, their horrible noises echoing throughout the tunnel and it feels like you’ll never reach the end.
Five minutes have passed long ago and you hoped you made a sufficient path. You hear distant yelling in the back and luminescent from flashlights. So you yell, earning the attention of the rest of the zombies and run and run, your knife slicing anything close, your body moving on instinct, so tired you drop when you finally make it out to the other side.
You fall to the ground, sun in your eyes, zombies snarling over you. Aiming for an eye you finish off one, another zombie appears in his place, heavy body pressing closer to your face.
Then, when you’re about to give up, a bat swings from the left. Jungkook pulls you up, but your legs cannot hold you up any longer.
“Took you long enough,” you wheeze, tired, skin caked in blood. You’re at least ninety-five percent sure none of it is yours. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll go through it again.”
“I don't care what Joon says, I'm going to tie you up if you try to move again. We can handle the rest, okay?! We’re not helpless, y/n.”
You nod, falling back on the ground. Jungkook lifts you in his arms. You just needed to rest a bit, then you’ll go back in with him-
You felt something wet on your neck, and your clothes being pulled away from your shoulder. You immediately reach for what is touching you. Hoseok yelps. “What are you doing?” you groan.
“Cleaning off the blood.” You’re in the back seat of the car with Jungkook and Hoseok. “I thought zombies were scary, flaming zombies, definitely worse,” He adds with a soft smile. The other men surround the car. You’re relieved they all made it, even Dev. Did you have a concussion? You groan, trying to stretch your sore joints.
“You’re not doing that again,” Namjoon declares from the window.
“Did it work?” you grunt.
“Barely,” Jungkook mumbles, playing with your hair. The way he looks now, bruised and clothes torn, reminds you of the idol you helped at the airport, who helped you, until he betrayed you. You close your eyes, but the sounds of the dead roar back to life in your consciousness. Fuck, you wished you could just go back to sleep.
“Why aren’t we moving?” you ask.
“We have a problem,” Namjoon sighs.
“Was someone hurt?!” you struggle to move, but Jungkook holds you still, pulling you close to him. Namjoon opens the door, helping you to your feet, pointing far into the distance.
Eyes casting down the road, you could see a…tunnel. Ugh.
---
You created a system. You used what you could find in the abandoned cars and set it on fire. The light created openings. You still made sure to go in first, drawing them along so the men could sneak in behind them. Everyone was working together this time, everyone was getting better at fighting them off.
You came upon tunnel after tunnel, until the sun finally set. The darkness pulled the zombies out of the tunnels. It thinned the crowd inside, but had you and the men hiding, inside the car, stacked inside like tetris pieces.
You had an idea. “I need air,” you declare, sandwiched against Namjoon and Seokjin, searching for a door handle, skirting dangerously close to body parts.
Namjoon stops your movement, gripping your wrist in warning.
You yank your other arm up, grabbing Namjoon's chin, turning him to the window. “Look,” you raise your eyebrows, “construction poles.”
“We need to rest, we've been fighting all day, how are you not exhausted, woman?” You couldn’t deny him, your limbs ached, food and water in limited supply, your head pounded from sleep deprivation, but how could you rest with the undead circling your location like buzzards?
“There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to sleep like this,” Jimin complains, crouched in a ball on the floor between the front seat and backseat, Taehyung’s body lying awkwardly above him.
“What if we go out in pairs so the others can rest?” you offer. “But I get paired first!” The men groan at your unwavering enthusiasm.
---
You’re truly drained. There were just too many of them and only nine of you. You stand on the hood of the car with Jungkook, using the poles you found to spear any creature that comes close to the car with your friends inside.
“I was supposed to have an office job, spear throwing was definitely not one of the qualifications,” you whine.
Jungkook grunts, pulling his spear out from another skull. “I could never work inside an office, but A/C sounds amazing right about now.”
“You have no idea!” You hear Jin’s muffled yell from inside the car.
“Well I don’t know about you, but I wish I had one of those nice office chairs, with the back support.” You place your foot on your capture, your spear irritatingly caught on something inside of him, you don’t want to think too much about the logistics, swiftly kicking him off your pole.
“Our studio chairs were the best,” he grunts.
“Well, I'm going there first then. I better get a tour of the Golden Closet after all this,” you huff.
Then in the distance, you see a series of headlights light up the road, blinding you and the others.
Fuck. It’s definitely not zombies driving those vehicles.
---
Just some team building exercises in the form of killing zombies NBD. So many zombies and we haven’t even gotten to Seoul, oh no. More characters, are they good or bad? >:D Don't forget to vote on my member poll linked in my masterlist or comment to give a lifeline to your favorite member <3.
#bts au#bts zombie au#bts apocalypse au#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#jungkook x reader#seokjin x reader#jimin x reader#namjoon x reader#yoongi x reader#taehyung x reader#hoseok x reader#ot7 x reader#jungkook fanfic#jimin fanfic#namjoon fanfic#yoongi fanfic#bts idol au#bts crack#bts horror au#bts slow burn#bts x reader#bts angst
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hello hello!! may i request mika and hokuto confessing to their crush please? thank you! :D
i LOVE confessing hcs they r So Cute!! also i have finder girl stuck in my head but only the part leading up to the spp so i think i have to appease hokke now or something..... /j i hope you enjoy! ♡
❧ hokuto and mika confessing to their crush
content warnings: none
❧ for all hokuto's experience as an idol—all of his exposure to love songs, and romcoms, and romances on film and on stage alike—he's... really quite stumped on how to confess to you. there's a part of him that wants to just man up and do it, but another part of him that thinks, what if it ruins his friendship with you?
❧ so, aside from the fact that it likely took him a while to realise he had a crush to begin with, expect hokuto to be a little... spacey, for a while, while he thinks things over. trying to properly sort out his feelings, and sort out how he's going to go about confessing... he's rather inexperienced with all of this, so please be patient with him—he's not trying to ignore you or anything!
❧ but despite all his (not so) thorough planning, hokuto decides on something simple, instead. he'll text you to come backstage after his next live, take you to to a little corner that's a bit quieter, and wipe his almost clammy hands off on the front of his pants. he'll say your name, then, "i hope this isn't...weird, but i think i have a crush on you."
❧ unlike hokuto, mika is acutely aware of his own feeling for quite some time—each stuttering breath, and each quickened pulse, and each word left to die in his throat. all of these on their own already fluster him to no end, but the thought of actually confessing? ah, he can't take it! more than anything mika knows how much he likes you, and more than anything he also knows how much he wants to do things right for you—so it's more than a little pressuring, suffice it to say.
❧ he'll likely ask arashi for help, all things considered, something as simple as naru-chan, what do i do?! and she's already texting him ideas she thinks would be cute. and doable. that's the important part. mika...really wants it to be heartfelt, so he really puts a lot if thought into it—was there anything you've had your eye on lately? maybe he could buy it for you. or maybe he could sew you something instead, even if he might not be great at it... it's the thought that counts, right?
❧ his actual confession would've happened when you two were walking home together. even with his own (rather intense) feelings towards you, mika almost finds himself losing track of time when he talks with you, and it's only when he realises that you're almost at your stop that he remembers the gift he got you sitting in his schoolbag. "ah, wait," he'll say, digging around for it. "it's not much, but i—i really, really like you, ya know!"
#ensemble stars#enstars#ensemble stars x reader#enstars x reader#hokuto hidaka x reader#mika kagehira x reader#bee.writes#anon
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Lost
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Warnings: mentions of cancer, death, cussing
A/N: hello! i’d like to put a disclaimer that i am not in any way knowledgeable of the medical field and all of the terminology and information used in this fic was found through research! happy reading <3
anon requested: hiiiii !! can i request like an angst into fluff natxfem!reader one shot where the reader has a really bad day and takes it out on nat and hurts her feelings and so they go to bed angry. but the reader realizes their mistake and the next morning just wakes her up by showering her with love and then takes the whole day to do cute little date things with her? like making her favorite meal or like dancing in the kitchen to their favorite song late at night or just super fluffy things? if not, that’s okay!! have a good day <3
Summary: The heavy weight of her profession gets to Y/N and she takes her anger out on her loving girlfriend; Natasha Romanoff.
Word Count: 3K | navigation
please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3
Becoming a doctor was no easy feat.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Once high school is completed, one must receive your bachelor’s degree before taking the MCAT exam and applying to medical school. After four years of medical school, you must endure a year as an intern before being promoted to a resident.
Depending on what specialty one has selected, residency can span from three to seven years. Fellowships follow after but are typically an optional course that provides extra training.
Yes, there are a lot of necessary steps to take in order to set foot into the medical world, but somehow, the years of foreplay could never compare to being a full-fledged physician; and you knew this all too well.
You are a pediatric oncologist and your job was to diagnose and provide treatment to children and teenagers who had cancer. You specialized in hematology; the treatment of blood disorders.
You were the head of pediatric oncology in a Manhattan hospital. You dealt with a lot of patients, but a two-year-old little girl named Sarah was secretly your favorite.
Despite being diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, Sarah’s positivity and playful personality never faltered.
Even if she didn’t understand the circumstances because of her young age, you knew she was suffering. Regardless of it all, every session you had with her was endearing.
You met with the child once a week to administer chemotherapy. Her enthusiasm never failed to have you awestruck. Most of your patients were exhausted from the treatments, but not Sarah.
She was a hyper child who would attempt to sing Frozen songs, performing as you tried to fight a smile from taking over your features. She had a stuffed Olaf doll that she brought with her to every visit and it was heartwarming to see her hug the doll close to her chest.
Sarah would even bring you drawings every week that you would keep in your locker. You’d admire each and every one of the drawings, even if you couldn’t really tell what they were.
You’d grown fond of the little girl in the past two months you had been treating her. You were also relatively close to her parents, who were probably the kindest people you’ve ever encountered. It made sense that Sarah was the ball of sunshine she was, she obviously got it from her parents.
Most times, parents were on edge and extremely short-tempered. If parents saw you often, that meant that their child was diagnosed with some form of cancer. Understandably, they would be rather hostile whilst interacting with you, but you never took their behavior personally.
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If you were in their shoes, you were positive that you wouldn’t be very friendly either.
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You had grown fond of the beaming child. You were aware that growing emotionally attached to patients was unprofessional, but how could you not?
You adored children and for that very reason, you had chosen a specialty that allowed you to help kids as much as medicine would allow. You always had a soft spot for kids and you found joy in helping them as best as you possibly could.
Sarah had a very good chance at pulling through. With consistent treatment and her young age, her survival rate was around 68%. Those were considerably good odds in these circumstances. Not to mention, the chemotherapy seemed to be paying off. At the rate she was improving, she was predicted to be out of the woods soon enough.
However, the child had developed a bacterial infection. Since she had been receiving chemotherapy, the treatment had damaged her white blood cells which are responsible for fighting off infections.
All you could do was provide antibiotics to try and fight off the infection. You had monitored her for some time in hopes of seeing any sign of improvement, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Her immune system was extremely vulnerable and there wasn’t any way to reverse the damage.
Your heart was torn to pieces when you delivered the news to her parents. They broke down in the hallway outside of Sarah’s room as you informed them of Sarah’s rapidly shortened life expectancy. It was only a matter of time before the young child would pass and honestly, this was what you hated most about your job.
You hated that you couldn’t help every single patient. You hated how cruel the world could be to take away an innocent child from their loving parents.
You allowed her parents to spend time by her bedside. They laid on either side of her bed, clinging onto her for dear life. What broke you the most was the paleness of Sarah’s once glowing skin. Her smile was still present but didn’t quite reach her eyes like it used to.
Her parents quietly sang ‘Love Is An Open Door’ to Sarah. You felt your heart clench in a bittersweet way as you silently watched. Normally, Sarah wouldn’t hesitate to join in, but her lack of breath prevented her from doing so. All she could do was close her eyes and lightly nod her head along to their voices.
Sarah passed hours later and it was an extremely somber experience. Hearing the cries of parents who lost their children wasn’t easy and it never would be. Your job had its pros and cons, and this was the biggest negative.
You fought back your own tears as you exited the room, giving the two mourning parents some privacy after you recorded Sarah’s time of death. You found the nearest restroom and allowed the tears to fall down your face.
A pure soul had been ripped away from the world, never having the chance to experience the great things life had to offer.
•❅──────────────── ⧗ ────────────────❅•
4 Hours Later
You trudged into your loft, immediately taking off your coat and hanging it up before tossing your keys on the small table by the front door.
Your girlfriend, Natasha, had heard your arrival and quickly exited the bedroom to greet you, a wide smile on her face. However, her smile fell when she noticed your defeated state.
Your shoulders were slumped as you slouched slightly and your eyes were dripping with sadness.
“Honey? What’s wrong?” Natasha approached you while you stood frozen in front of the door. Her hands came up to cup your cheeks as she stared at you in concern, her eyes scanning over your features.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
“I lost Sarah.”
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Natasha’s eyes widened and her heart sunk at your words. She was aware of how much you adored the two-year-old. Once a week, you would rave about the child and how adorable she was at the dinner table. You would go on and on about how Sarah would sing to you, draw pictures for you, and bring along stickers to place onto your coat.
The redhead loved how happy you looked whenever you spoke about any of your patients, but most especially Sarah. It brought Natasha some joy of her own to see you speak animatedly about Sarah; your happiness was her happiness.
So, the news hurt her almost as much as it hurt her. She knew how much you loved Sarah, despite never saying it straight out.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I know how much you cared about her. Are you okay?” Natasha’s voice was oozing with sympathy. You couldn’t help but feel irritated by her question.
You tore her hands off of your cheeks and walked past her and into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water as the redhead watched you intently.
“Am I okay? I’m fine! It’s not like I lost an extremely young patient today or anything. What kind of stupid fucking question is that, Natasha?” You took a sip of cold water to try and calm yourself damn, but your attempt was futile.
The redhead made her way into the kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the island as you took another sip of water, eyes burning a hole into her head over the rim of the glass.
“I know, that was a dumb question. I just want to help you, Y/N/N.” Natasha remained calm and patient as she spoke to you. She was no stranger to the loss of a person she desperately tried to save and knew all too well the sadness and anger that accompanied the tragedy. She was an Avenger, after all.
“I don’t want your help and I don’t need you!” You slammed your cup onto the counter as you raised your voice. Honestly, it was surprising that you hadn’t shattered the glass with the amount of force you exerted.
Natasha felt an ache in her chest as you yelled at her. She knew that you weren’t in the right state of mind and didn’t take it personally, but that didn’t make your words hurt any less.
“You save entire cities and I can’t even save a single fucking person!” You were turning red at this point, tears of frustration streaming down your face. The redhead hated seeing you cry, but she knew better than to approach you at this moment.
“Babe, you save so many pe-” Natasha’s tried to speak, but you quickly interjected.
“If you’re going to try and spew some philosophical bullshit to me right now, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear another god damn word from your mouth.”
The redhead looked down defeatedly. She had never seen you so upset, let alone direct your frustrations towards her. Her eyes fell down to the marble counter between you both before looking up at you. You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath.
Without another word, Natasha retreated back to the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her. You watched her until she was out of your view and let out a sigh. Your hands gripped the edges of the kitchen island, supporting your weight as you shut your eyes.
You brought a hand up to your face and pinched the bridge of your nose. After a few minutes, you made your way into the living room, chucking off your shoes before collapsing onto the couch. You didn’t feel like interacting with Natasha anymore tonight, knowing that you most likely wouldn’t be able to control your temper.
You were just so fed up with the painful losses you had to endure from your profession.
You knew that being a doctor was more dark clouds and thunder, than sunshine and rainbows, but you just wished that for once, the weather forecast would work in your favor.
The emotional day had finally caught up to you. Your body relaxed as you sunk further into the couch, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to a much-needed slumber.
Unbeknownst to you, Natasha was still awake. She laid flat on her back and stared up at the ceiling in thought. She was mad at you, as much as she didn’t want to be. Natasha had gone through the same thing and never lost her cool with you as you had with her.
The redhead calmed down slowly, turning on her side and facing the empty space beside her which you normally occupied. She reached one arm out, her skin colliding with cool sheets, already missing the warmth of your body.
Natasha hated sleeping without you by her side, She didn’t feel complete when you weren’t steadily sleeping next to her, your arms wrapped around her body. However, she hoped that things would improve in the morning.
And with that thought in mind, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, clutching the sheets firmly in her hand.
•❅──────────────── ⧗ ────────────────❅•
The Next Morning
You awoke to a blinding light, the morning sun shining through the windows and landing directly onto your face. You let out a groan and slowly sat up, stretching out your limbs with a groan. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, you were aching everywhere.
You sat there for a moment as the events of the day before caught up to you. Not only had you lost Sarah, but you upset Natasha. You immediately felt guilty as you recalled the harsh words you spat at her in a fit of rage. You felt like a complete asshole, and rightfully so.
You quickly stood up and entered the kitchen, retrieving some bacon from the freezer and eggs from the refrigerator. You grabbed two separate pans and washed your hands, making sure to get the coffee pot running before you began cooking.
Your girlfriend absolutely loved bacon, eggs, and coffee. She described the combinations as a ‘party in her mouth.’ So, this was going to be an ‘i’m sorry for being a bitch last night’ apology breakfast.
You got started on the meal and by the time you finished up and had the stove off, Natasha stalked out of the bedroom slowly. She eyed you carefully as she approached, you sent a soft smile her way.
“You made breakfast,” Natasha spoke and you shyly nodded your head. You moved away from the stove and rounded the counter. The redhead stood in her spot as you wrapped your arms around her waist, her arms reflexively going around your neck.
“I was an asshole last night.” You stated and your girlfriend nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, you were a total pain in the ass, the absolute worst.” You rolled your eyes at Natasha’s teasing tone.
“I’m sorry for how I behaved. I was just so upset about… Sarah. I didn’t mean to take it out on you and I can’t even begin to tell you how bad I feel for yelling at you when all you wanted to do was help me.”
Your voice was full of emotion, your eyes boring into her emerald irises as you poured your heart into every syllable you uttered. Natasha smile gently at you, her fingers lightly tugging on the baby hairs on the nape of your neck.
“It’s okay. I know you weren’t mad at me.” You let out a sigh of relief as the redhead stared at you softly. She let out a small chuckle at your dramatics before continuing.
‘I understand how you feel. The team and I, we try our very best to save as many civilians as we can, but sometimes it’s completely out of our control. It’s the exact same situation.”
One of Natasha’s hands found its way to your cheek, gently cupping the skin as you leaned into her touch. You were listening intently to her every word, mesmerized by the calming rasp of her voice.
“Don’t dwell on what you couldn’t do, but give yourself some credit for everything you did do. I may not know what happened, but what I do know is that you tried everything you could, no?”
Natasha questioned you and you nodded your head. “I gave her antibiotics to fight the infection, but it was too severe.” The redhead rubbed her thumb against your cheek.
“All that matters is that you did your best and that’s all anyone could ever ask for.” Natasha ended her little speech as she placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. You couldn’t help but smile, an overwhelming feeling of happiness taking over.
“Thank you. I love you and your… what was it?” You furrowed your eyebrows in concentration before your face lit up. Natasha raised an eyebrow at you. “Philosophical bullshit. That was the words.” The Russian let out a laugh, shaking her head from side to side at your antics.
“Seriously though, I’m so grateful for you. You’re so amazing to me even when I don’t deserve it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Natasha’s laughter died down as your tone turned serious. Your eyes were so full of love and adoration as you stared into her eyes deeply.
“Well, let’s hope you never have to find out.” Natasha smiled once more and you couldn’t resist pressing your lips against her plump ones. Your mouths moved in tandem at a slow pace, enjoying the rawness and love that accompanied each movement.
You broke the kiss when air became an issue. Nat’s eyes fluttered open as you wiggled your eyebrows at her playfully.
“So, are you ready for some breakfast? Maybe after we eat, we can go on top of a rooftop and I’ll serenade you with a rendition of ‘Sorry’ by Justin Bieber.”
Natasha’s head flew back as she laughed uncontrollably at your words. “What? Do you not like the Biebs? If you want, I could play ‘Baby Come Back’ by Player from a boombox and hold it over my head, instead.” The redhead continued to laugh profusely and you soon joined in. Your arms tightened around her waist as your giggles subsided.
“I think cuddling on the couch and watching the Kardashians eating ridiculously large bowls of salad will do.” You nodded your head in agreement but didn’t make a move to release Natasha from your grip. She didn’t let go either.
The two of you just stood there, basking in each other’s embrace, a comfortable silence falling over you both.
Natasha never failed to say the right things to pull you out of the dark abyss that was your mind. She was completely right, as always. There would always be bad days, patients who were progressing one day and deteriorating the next.
However, there were also good days, and you shouldn’t allow the bad to overshadow all the good you’ve done. Like with Natasha, she wasn’t always the superhero she is today. She took her dark past and turned it into a bright future.
Nat didn’t let her bad days define her and neither should you.
Of course, you would always remember every single patient you had lost, but now, you would take the pain and turn it into motivation; motivation to improve yourself, not only in your professional life but in your personal life as well.
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You would do right by the ones you’ve lost and the one who stuck by your side; Natasha Romanoff.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────
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Razor with a fem teacher darling.
Some sweet lil cute lady in Mondstadt that teaches little kids. Older than our boy, maybe 30s, just old enough to be very maternal (and so that she’ll never see it coming of course). Conscripted by the knights to quit her day job and take on the task of teaching the wolf boy how to adapt to human society, how to speak and interact with others. They find that a normal approach overwhelms and confuses him, so they think your way of doing things would be best for someone... on his intellectual and social level.
They let him stay with her several hours a day and practice talking and teaching him things like the most basic words that he may need to know how to read, how to sign his name, basic addition/subtraction etc... He is like a kid in some ways, namely naivete and maturity, so you kinda deal with him as if he was, almost infantile, like giving him little mantras and poems they teach kids on how to remember basic manners/politeness, giving him stickers and other little trinket-y rewards for correct answers, which he cherishes quite a bit.
And he starts coming more and more often, doesn't want to leave, even stays sometimes overnight, and you let him, because you're glad he wants to learn about human life, so you let him sleep on your couch (although he often ends up just curling up on the floor anyway).
He becomes addicted to praise. Since you once taught little kids, you're used to that whole overenthusiasm people give kids, the "wow! Good job! I'm so proud!" And you give that to him too, because you wanna encourage him after all, and you figure he will only understand if you exaggerate the enthusiasm. He gets hooked on that and is constantly trying to earn your praise and approval, will do things and show them to you as he sits there expectantly, waiting for you to say he did good. Dips his head down expectantly, since you normally pet him on the head. Beaming smile and bright, wide eyes.
As such, the way you view him becomes... soft. Dangerously so, not that you’re aware of that aspect of it yet, but in your mind, he’s like a sweet kid, even ironically a bit puppy-like. He’s so sweet, you tell the knights when giving a report on your progress. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
And then he gets more... comfortable. As all people do in all kinds of relationships, they become less guarded, less careful, less afraid to be open and honest and allow their true self to come out.
You’re forced to become aware of the ways in which he is very much not a kid. Namely physically. One time you told him you had to go for the night and you'd see him tomorrow, but he kept saying you couldn't go yet, he just wants five more minutes! But you sigh and say no, you really have to go, and he huffs and pouts and grabs you by the arm and pins you down. Not yet. Just a few more minutes, he says. You genuinely fear for a moment that he’s about to unintentionally snap your arm, he grips so tightly. You pull, but he doesn’t even budge, you’re not certain that he even processes that you’re struggling, even though you use your full strength. You give a forced, scared smile and ask, hey, remember what we learned about selfishness? And how it's bad? How we can’t force other people do what we want? He hangs his head and says sorry, but seems sad about letting you go. The bruise he leaves lasts over a week. From that point forward, you’re acutely aware of the physical strength he possesses. But still, he didn’t mean to hurt you, he just didn’t understand, you think. He’s still so sweet. He just needs some time.
He likes your attention. That is, he likes to have it. He does not like your attention being given to other things and people. It took you a while to figure out why people would always look so uncomfortable and leave mid-conversation when he was in the room, you couldn’t see how he glared and scowled at people while standing behind you. Once you realize it, you don’t get mad, because it’s not his fault, right? You tell yourself to be patient, just like with the kids. You just have to explain that it’s important to be nice to people. Treat others the way you want to be treated, you say. And how would he want to be treated? Nicely, right? So be nice in the future, ok? He nods, but you get the sense it didn’t really sink in.
And for one thing, you learn he’s, well, appropriately curious about human... love. Relationships. Sex. Very, very curious, and very eager to ask questions. He actually understands and is familiar with quite a bit, you discover (he’s probably witnessed more sex than you have, really), he just doesn’t really know the words, and substitutes as best as he can before you teach him the right words for his... unique terminology, which he uses when describing the things he would like to learn the words for: The thing humans do where they hit each other with their mouths. When the girl-wolf is growing a baby inside and her stomach gets big. The thing mates do together. The white stuff the boy-wolves make, that comes out of their... thing, whatever the word is, tell him that word too, please. Not just wolves, he makes that white stuff too, he clarifies, because he has one of those things, just in case you didn’t know. You... handle it as maturely as you can. You tell him that yes, you’re aware he does, in fact, have one.
But you figure that curiosity is appropriate, he’s a sexually functioning adult, of course he’s curious. He’s fascinated by the female anatomy diagram in the textbook you manage to find in the library, looks at it quite a bit, and, despite your embarrassment, you figure you have a responsibility to make sure he understands. It’s not like it’s wrong, just awkward, so you willingly read the text when asked. Combined with the previous conversation, you soon realize a lesson in... appropriateness is probably needed. That is, since he’s started asking if you have those things too. Does it really look like that? Do those things really have milk in them? Can he feel them? The part of the book that shows the humans mating, why do they do it like that, facing each other? Do they ever do it the way wolves do? Have you done it before? You... have to tell him that he can’t go around asking other people questions like that. It’s not appropriate, you explain, and your job is to help him understand what is and isn’t appropriate. He doesn’t seem to grasp why he can’t ask things like that, seems hurt, like he thinks you just don’t want to, so you have to explain that it’s just... a human social thing.
You soon realize maybe you didn’t explain it well enough. When he keeps staring at your chest, you have to remind him it’s rude. And we don’t want to be rude, right? But he keeps asking why? Why is it bad? He doesn’t understand. When he has a very obvious raging hard-on and just sits there letting it visibly poke at the fabric, you awkwardly chime in that he might want to, uh, cover that up. But he tilts his head because he doesn’t understand why.
It’s only the beginning of such appropriateness conversations. Once when you’re working on something, he wants to show you the work he did, he practiced writing some of those important words. But you tell him to hang on just a minute, I’m working on something important. He doesn’t like that, so he shoves your work off the desk and sends it crashing to the floor. There, now you don’t have to look at all that stuff and can focus on him instead, see? Isn’t his writing good? Aren’t you going to say he did good? He doesn’t understand why you seem upset, but you, having developed an incredible patience in years of working with kids, keep your cool and explain why that’s not nice and why we have to learn to be patient, ok? But you reassure him it is good, put the cute sticker on his paper, and that’s all that matters, he seems happy. You feel like he didn’t hear the important part.
In fact, you were so impressed by the progress in his speaking and intellectual skills that you were a bit blinded to the fact that he’s showing a... concerning lack of understanding some of the more practical social lessons you’ve been teaching.
You swear you’ve said a hundred times now that you can’t just pick up things you want and take them, but he keeps doing it. You had to apologize profusely more times than you can count so the knights didn’t arrest him for theft, but you feel like they’re starting to get tired of the he doesn’t understand excuse.
And you’ve talked about being nice before, you swear, you’ve read several children’s books on the importance of niceness over and over, complete with pictures, and he seemed to like them. And he is sweet, precious even. ...To you. He just needs to work on applying those skills to everyone else, you always tell the superiors. To stop... scowling at people. To stop clinging to you, shyly hiding behind you like a child to their mother whenever someone new comes along. To stop ignoring when other people are trying to talk to him, and to stop interrupting other people who are talking to you when he decides that he wants you to be done with your current conversation and focus on him instead.
And most importantly, you tell them you need to work with him on the little... selfishness problem he seems to have. Stubbornness, rather. He does not like the word no. He huffs and pouts like a kid, getting sad and sulky. Nor does he react well to being denied anything, and especially not being reprimanded in any way. He sulks quite a bit whenever you get frustrated at him. And he doesn’t exactly... listen. Sometimes he’ll heed your “no,” and sometimes he... does what he wants anyway. You almost get the sense that he thinks that listening to you is optional. As sweet as he is, you become increasingly aware that he very much likes it when things go his way, and can become rather pouty when he can’t get his way.
It makes sense, you reason with yourself. Do what is necessary to obtain what you want. If you can’t get what you want, use force. Those are the laws of the wild, of survival in the animal world, are they not? He’s just... adjusting. He’s not used to such complex social constructs. Give him time.
He has to learn things can’t always go his way, especially since soon, you’ll have to return to your normal job, and he’ll be left to his own devices. They ruled that he’s improved enough that you’re no longer needed.
You do worry about that a bit. You worry how he’ll manage, and fear he’ll just go back to being a recluse in the woods, since the one thing he didn’t ever make much improvement on was forming bonds and socializing... well, with anyone besides you. You always tried to make him feel like he had a place he was loved and appreciated -- the same you do with the kids.
You always sensed a sort of lonesomeness in the boy. At one point you began to more carefully curate the books you would find to read aloud to him, being sure to leave the ones that featured families in the “don’t read” pile. He would get a sad look on his face and stare wistfully at pages whenever the story contained a mother or a family in any way. Sometimes you would find him flipping through old books at the pictures, looking out the window at children roaming the streets with their parents, and you couldn’t help but wonder how often he thought about what he could have had, if at all, and you wonder if he ever wished he could have had normalcy. You try to be something of a mother figure he never had -- loving, supportive. It’s the least you can do, right? You’ve done plenty of things that you sensed could backfire, but certainly that kindness would not come to be something you’d regret.
And you expected him to react badly to the news that your time together would be ending, but not this badly. You reassure him it’s ok, you’ll visit him all the time! He can come visit you when school isn’t in session! He still seems upset, even tearful. Why can’t you stay with him?
You choose your words carefully. He tends to hear what he wants to hear, rather than what you actually say, so you try your best to be clear. So there’s no confusion... so that he can’t twist your words.
It’s not your decision to make, it’s the board’s.
It’s their fault. They’re keeping her away.
He can visit you any time you’re not busy.
(y/n) will be too busy to play. Too busy with other people.
But you have to go to work, it’s your primary responsibility.
They’re more important than her than me.
He eventually gets quiet, sulks as he does. You sigh and hope he’ll be able to accept it.
... You get the strangest feeling of... premonition as you wrap up for the day. Like something bad is going to happen. You turn to him and remind him that... remember, doing bad things will get you in trouble, right? Hurting people and stuff like that... is illegal in Mondstadt, remember?
He actually becomes very alert at those words, like he’s having a realization. That’s good, you think, he gets it.
The realization was actually the... implication of the words “in Mondstadt.” It’s illegal and wrong... in Mondstadt. He’s not the brightest person in the world, but that gives him an idea. In his mind, Mondstadt isn't the whole region, it's just the city. So outside of the city... If he gets you outside of the city, then, it'll be ok to do anything he wants right? Yes, that makes a lot of sense to him.
So as your days together draw to a close, he asks for one more thing. He visited you so much. Can you come visit him, just once? He wants to show you his home. It'll be fun, you think, you'd genuinely like that. So you smile and agree. You have no reason not to.
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offer up your heart! || tomura shigaraki.
* pairing: tomura shigaraki x reader (gender neutral!)
* genre: fluff !! (does prose count?)
* words: 1, 142
* warnings: a bit of insecure shigaraki, so many metaphors
* original request: AAAA IM SO SCARED! i didn’t see any list of specific stuff you don’t accept, so could i request a shigaraki x reader fluff where he’s lowkey obsessed and holds off telling her he loves her? i’m just looking for cute shigaraki stuff bc everything is only smut-
* a/n: so the inspiration for this fic also inspired me to pick up the snk manga, once again, and finish it. sasageyo, what a moving song you are. i know most translations say it means "devote your heart," but "offer up" sounds more eloquent for this scenario. it was truly a pleasure to write for shigaraki! i hope you enjoy this. @toishi is the best for proofreading this.
love is a fickle thing for tomura shigaraki, a slippery word that budges from the back of his throat and holds his heart so tenderly he fears it might break. it's love that has him so apprehensive to what he considers the "normal world," where love is laced in the very core of humanity, polishing words he hears while walking in public and glazing every action and gesture of those around him. everywhere he wanders, love is nonchalantly offered from human to human, as if it is not the most vulnerable part of them that clasps the entirety of their existence as a human so. love is not something tomura can think of himself offering up anytime soon - no, no, it leaves him too vulnerable and weak.
but then again, love has never been something you asked of tomura, has it? you've never asked for more than what he gave, finding comfort in your shared silences and his feeble attempts at affection. you've never asked him to do more than what he's comfortable doing; you don't want his heart on a platter offered up to you in a dazzling spectacle. you know his heart is yours already. if it's for you, he thinks he can be a hero of some sort.
it's a funny thought, seizing his stomach and twisting it, leaving him queasy. him, a hero when he destroys everything he touches? you put these naive thoughts into his head, sentiments unfelt for over a decade by him. he can't even complain, a fool in love. he, perhaps the good guy in your fairytale, even when he's terrified to touch you most days - terrified of a fuck-up, to lose everything and you with one wrong move. he's so- so apprehensive, even after a year, because everytime he closes his eyes he can see his dog, his sister - you. he wants to hold your hand but he can't even do that - what sort of lover was he, unable to properly love? he's afraid that one day he'll mess up and his euphoric rome will come crumbling down, scattering at his feet so that all he sees in front of him is a vast plane of dust and mirages of what once was. he doesn't want your hand to be all he has left of you. he cusses himself, because why is this his life?
but you're patient and you hold him with those gentle hands of yours, brushing the hair out of his tired eyes. you say it's okay, as if you can read his intrusive thoughts and push them out with the hands of your words. one day, he'll tell you.
one day, he'll verbalize the bubbling feelings within him, even though he doesn't need to. he loves you, every morning and every evening and every moment in between. he loves you in every waking moment so much that it consumes his being as a whole until he cannot recognize himself, and all he sees in his reflection is you.
somedays he'd stare at his hands, at his fingertips - delicate and lithe, yet capable of so, so much atrocious destruction. he'd run a line along the miniscule ridges of his fingerprints, tracing the patterns that created the life he has today. in his endeavors they were useful, but he'd always cuss them out. he never wanted this. he swears again under his breath as he drags his nail across the pad of his finger.
one day you caught him doing this, looking so loathesomely at his hands, at its power. you hesitantly show him gloves, only if he wants. they're black and all the fingers save the pinkie are missing. you tell him that this way, all five of his fingers won't be touching something at once.
like this, looking into your nervous eyes, tomura thinks he knows what love is. he thinks he knows of the mysterious matter making up his heart and clouding his senses, and he tells you he loves the gloves. they're just substitute words for the true message, but you know them. i love you too, you say.
he tries the gloves and it takes a while for him to get used to them. they work, of course, and now his pinkie won't have to feel so lonely anymore. the first thing he holds is an apple, with all five of his fingers, rather than an awkward position leaving his pinkie stuck out. the bottom of it's comfortably in his palm, half of the sensation obscured by the soft fabric, and his fingers wrap around the shiny, red flesh of the fruit. the stem grazes the side of his pointer finger, and he's acutely aware of the bumps and curves his hand wraps around. he memorizes the weight of the apple against his pinkie and its stable solidness with his whole hand around it. and for seconds, for minutes - it stays like that, as if time never passed. it stays in his hand, uncrumbling, and-hm
"tomura, love? why are you staring so intensely at an apple?" you walk into the living room, sitting next to him on the couch.
he immediately abandons the apple, setting it in the fruit bowl on the table. he looks at you, this time, and outstretches a slow, hesitant hand towards you. your eyes fixate on it, mesmerized by the action. there's a light shimmering behind your irises. for a split second, tomura thinks that he'd hate to be the one to knock out that light, then his hand is reeling back. before his arm can settle at its typical position by his side, your hand reaches for his wrist. you have a tender grip on his wrist as you bring it back up to your face, leaning your cheek to his cold hand.
you appear to revel in the sensation, and tomura doesn't know whether his heart tumbles or somersaults. has he abandoned you for so long? it tugs at his heart strings, but your reassuring smile plays a melodious tune with them. he traces the features of your face with his thumb, from the bridge of your nose to its tip, brushing your lips and following your cheekbone up. you rest your hand on top of his, keeping his in place, and close your eyes. happiness dances on your relaxed features, a graceful waltz captivating his attention.
though he doesn't say it, he knows it. he knows of the promise he's made himself and he almost utters it. your love feels tangible, soft and resolute in his hand. it's a blanket he once feared that he can now wholeheartedly embrace. he plants a careful, gentle kiss on your cheek - he loves you, he's sure, unconditionally and fearlessly. his heart may not be on a platter, but he trusts it in your hands.
#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x you#bnha x reader#shigaraki fluff#bnha fluff#shigaraki tomura#bnha x gender neutral reader#luna's writing
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reckless!zira x healer!ivy au
based off of my original characters + story! feel free to request more au's with my wonderful babies (oc's)
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Ivy screeched with surprise as an unconscious girl was brought into her clinic, lying still on the improvised cot. The girl hurried around the room, tying back her bright red hair as she gathered everything necessary to heal the injured girl.
The others left the room and Ivy sat down on her work stool, setting down everything on the table next to the bed where her patient had been put. Sucking in a nervous breath as her heart raced, Ivy slowly brought a single stalk of Fireroot to the girl's nose, sitting back as her patient's eyes flew open.
The now-awake girl tried to sit up in her panic, but fell back onto the bed with a sharp groan of pain, instinctively wrapping a protective arm around her injured abdomen.
Ivy sprung to her feet, hastily feeling around the girl's abdomen in search of the wound. When her practiced fingers pressed against one particular spot, the dark-haired girl cried out in pain again, gritting her teeth to stop from making another agonized sound.
"Easy, easy," she soothed, taking a nervous moment to look the girl in the eyes. "Can I remove your shirt to access your wound better?"
The girl had the audacity to smirk, mischievous delight sparkling in her dark brown eyes. "Normally, I'd expect to be taken out to dinner before undressing in front of someone, but you're gorgeous and I don't want to bleed out so... yes, you may."
The healer couldn't help but laugh and she missed the way her patient's facade gave way to a small smile as well, too caught up in her own mirth.
"I'm Zira, by the way," the girl whispered past a clenched jaw, trying to stop herself from hissing at the stinging sensation Ivy's healing salve was creating on the giant gash.
Ivy simply nodded, turning over the soft and regal syllables in her head. "How did you get this injury... Zira?" There was no need for an introduction. Ivy's talents were famous across the lands.
The injured girl hoped desperately that Ivy's hands were too far away from her heart to hear the way it skipped a beat when the name was said so softly, so tenderly. "I had too much fun on one of my... trips."
There was no way Zira would allow herself to admit to this angel of a girl that she stole for fun. No way that she'd reveal how she'd truly gotten the nasty gash along her side; exhaustion and dueling three guards at a time were not a good mix.
Irises the color of the enchanted forest's leaves met that of the rich earth's sparkling soil. "Be careful, okay."
Taking a deep breath as the magic flowed through her body, Ivy touched her fingers to the cleaned wound, watching as the skin began to close itself up.
Zira eased herself to a sitting position, wincing slightly as she felt the pull against the newly-healed skin. The second the girls met gazes again, she became acutely aware of the current situation. Trying to be subtle about it, she started to wrap an arm to shield her exposed stomach, uncomfortable with exposing her skin in such a way.
An experienced healer, Ivy noticed the action right away and quickly grabbed a blanket from one of her many drawers. A tentative smile curving her soft lips, she handed her patient the soft thing.
Gratefully, Zira wrapped herself in it and began to get up but fell back again, whimpering quietly as her tender muscles were hit with a wave of agony.
Ivy guided Zira back onto the bed, lying her down with a fond grin. "Stay still for a while. We don't want you getting hurt again."
Zira rolled her eyes- affectionately. “I’d give you a kiss of thanks, but I can’t exactly move right now.”
Ivy giggled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Zira’s forehead. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with some healing herbs soup.”
Zira finally allowed herself to smile fully as the cute healer with her fiery red hair and gentle hands disappeared from the clinic room into her house.
-end
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Character: Shouto Todoroki
Long distance isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Your boyfriend, Shouto, goes overseas on a special mission in America. Back home, you try to take advantage of the distance with a couple of pictures.
Warnings: 18+, phone sex
Word count: 4k
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Shouto watched with somber eyes as you packed the last remaining suitcase into the trunk of the car, back still turned against him so he couldn't see your tears. Bakugou and Izuku insisted on driving to the airport together, taking into consideration that they were all traveling overseas to the same destination. The night before, you were being a stubborn brat, not liking the idea of sending Shouto off at the crack of dawn. He showered you with affection afterward, his body never leaving your touch. Making love didn't cross both of your minds. It would've hurt in the after glow knowing the distance that'll be between you for the months to come. The two of you decided to just lay lifelessly in each other's arms, limbs interlocking, fingers carefully tracing skin, and hearts beating in unison. Moments like that is what truly captured the relationship as a whole.
With your back still turned, Shouto saunters over and wraps his arms around your torso, along with his head resting on top of yours. You hummed at his subtle touch. Eyes drawn to a close, you ruffled his split colored hair, already imagining the smile forming on his stern face. It was always a miracle when you manage to witness Shouto genuinely smile without forcing it.
You turned on your heel and reposition Shouto's hands on your hips. "Call me as soon as you touch down in America. Okay?" you didn't care at how needy you sounded, anything involving Shouto and hero work gave you anxiety.
The arm holding onto your hip soon reached the bottom of your chin, tilting it slightly so your eyes can formally meet. His dark irises became glossy as you stared harder, trying to capture every feature before he leaves in case within those months you forgot what he looks like. Even though you had a separate album on your phone filled to the brim with selfies and funny pictures of him, mostly taking up your storage space.
"I promise sweetheart. Remember, this will be the shortest 6 months you'll endure. I'll be home quicker than you can say All Might," he said, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. The action made you blush and giddy, referring back to the ways he'd make you feel during U.A.
Subconsciously, you both lean in against each other, waiting patiently for who's making the next move. Your lips hovered over his, unsure if he wants to kiss goodbye or stay wrapped in your arms. A minute has gone by and you two stayed cemented in the same position. Fuck it, you thought. Who cares if it'll make you miss each other more. You harshly grabbed his face and leaned forward, preparing your lips to come into contact. But the loud beep emitting from the car made you both jump out of each other's grasp, knocking you backwards onto the cold surface.
Bakugou's head popped out comically from one of the windows, eyes gleaming with rage.
"Oi! Hurry up you dumbasses! We were supposed to leave 5 minutes ago!" he hollered, spit spraying out from this mouth.
You overheard Izuku, who was in the passengers seat, trying to calm down the explosive blonde. A pair of calloused hands slipped behind the back of your neck, crashing your lips to mount another. There's no hunger in the kiss. No teeth or tongue battling it out. Just pure passion burning within the languish kiss. Feeling satisfied, Shouto released himself from your mouth, leaving you breathlessly staring back at him in awe. With one last romantic gesture, your boyfriend rubbed the outer part of your cheek and pinched it between his fingers, smiling at your reddened reaction and shuffled towards the side door of the car.
"I love you y/n," was all he said before sliding the door shut.
You mumbled the exact sentiment as the car revved up and maneuvered out of your driveway. Shortly after wiping away some dried up tears, the car soon disappears from your line of vision, leaving you all alone on the driveway.
“All Might...” you whisper to no one in particular.
-
About 3 months into the trial of long distance, you were already experiencing the symptoms of postpartum-boyfriend-syndrome. Constantly crying yourself to sleep? Check. Going through his Instagram to make sure he didn’t delete any of your pictures together? Check. Texting him every hour on any given day to see how fast he’d respond? Check. Also, the inevitable weight gain from stress eating? Double check.
A couple of your friends noticed the sudden mood change when Shouto arrived in America that first initial month of separation. Momo for example, confronted you in the locker room at the agency one day, spewing about how you almost got yourself decapitated by a villain when your guard was down.
“I’m sorry Momo. My mind has been in the gutter lately. Shouto hasn’t texted me all day since this morning. I’m just worried this whole long distance thing is going to ruin our relationship,” you admitted , wincing at how incredibly clingy you sounded.
Momo began undressing herself, her lips caught between her teeth, clearly taking in what you said. Once she shimmied our from her hero costume, a devilish smirk rested upon her face.
“If you feel like your relationship is going grey, maybe try to spice things up a little. Ya know? Use the distance to your advantage.”
Your hands stopped themselves from unzipping your tight suit. “Hah? What do you mean by that?”
Momo chuckled, amused by how innocent you were acting.
“Come on, you know what I mean y/n,” she slipped on her everyday attire and closed the locker. “You know what they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.” With that she gave you a wink and left the room.
A picture huh?
Across from you was a massive mirror. Each end reaching the edge of the room, everything being showcased, including you. Sometimes you’d walk in catching a few of the prohero girls taking selfies. They all had one thing in common, confidence. Something you had before Shouto’s departure. It felt as if someone used an ice pick to cut away the very little self esteem you had left, leaving you with barely anything to offer anymore. You couldn’t help to compare yourself to the proheros Shouto has been working alongside with since being in America. American girls were a different breed. Everyone over there looks exactly the same but different somehow. You tried not to think too much as you resumed on unzipping your hero costume. Today you wore a plain black bra set underneath. You hardly put on anything skimpy or sexy since you’re practically on patrol everyday, resorting to your trusty sport bras.
You caught a quick glimpse of yourself in the horizontal mirror, gaping at the added fat in your chest area. All thanks to the weight gain, your boobs looked delicious in the bra. The lower half of your body was nothing to ignore either. Your ass filled up the small undergarments, cheeks teasingly spilling out.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
Momo’s words enticed you enough to grab your cellphone from the pocket of your duffel bag. Work hours was over for everyone in the building, so you weren’t worried about someone walking in on this compromising state.
You tried to mimic the poses you witnessed from the times you watched the girls do it. One hand on the hip, the other behind your head, along with angling your ass to the side. The pose was uncomfortable. How did they manage to hold this stance for longer than ten seconds? You took some pictures anyway, ignoring how awkward you presented yourself in the mirror.
Each picture you swiped through didn’t meet the criteria. Were these even good enough to send off to Shouto? He loves you no matter what, he reminded you everyday in fact, but your stomach dropped of the thought of him being revolted at these images. You quickly deleted all of the them and sighed in defeat. One more try.
Dropping down to your knees, you held the camera above your head, showing off every part of your body. You spread your legs a couple of inches, your cloth slit on full display. To add even more, you leaned forward a little bit to have your boobs almost spilling out from your tight bra. Through the camera lens, the top part of your nipples were visible. Surly Shouto wasn’t dense to not notice.
Your mouth was agape as you stared at the pictures you recently took. This person in the frame didn’t look anything like you. If you were to show this to Momo she’d be a proud mother.
Without hesitation, you sent a couple of the pictures to Shouto, leaving a cute little message at the bottom once they finally delivered.
Missing you extra today :) xoxo
You didn’t wait for his reply and started packing up everything in your area. Hopefully Shouto won’t be angry at your sudden bluntness, but he left you no choice. An acute noise came from your duffle bag. The blood rushing through your veins suddenly became very cold. It must be a message from Shoto, it has to be. You waited till you arrived safely home to check what he responded with. To your dismay, it was a reminder for next weeks meeting. You shuffled out from your car and headed straight to your shared apartment, a pout currently prominent on your face due to the failed mission.
On the other side, Shouto sat stoic in a plush chair listening attentively to one of the leaders reporting about the current mission. Next to him was a grouchy looking Bakugou, who was currently falling in and out of sleep in his seat. By no surprise Izuku was the only one in the group wide awake and full of energy. The trio has been traveling across the nation helping out with smaller hero agencies in hopes for there to be a stronger allegiance between the USA and Japan. So far it’s been excruciatingly draining on not just their bodies but minds as well. All Shoto wants is to feel the familiar warmth of your body pressed against his. His touch starving tendencies wandered into his personal life when Bakugou caught him snuggling the hotel pillows one night, mumbling your name over and over again. Pathetic as it is, he misses you so much. Although, he wouldn’t admit that out loud, he tried to keep you updated on everything that’s been happening. He has a hard time expressing his feelings, especially when it comes to you. So when he felt his bottom pocket vibrate, he half expected it to be a goodnight message from you, since you’re a couple of hours ahead of him. Nothing prepared him for the promiscuous photo you shared of yourself plastered on his screen, looking back at him with dilated eyes and flushed cheeks.
Blood rushed to the lower region of his pants as he pinched the screen to get a better inspection of you. He thought you looked absolutely beautiful in this vulnerable state, not to mention how your body perfectly clings to his favorite pair of underwear, every curve and beauty mark showcasing before him. Below the plethora of lewdness, a short message from you was attached.
Missing you a extra today :) xoxo
Stifling a groan, he began to type out a reply, stumbling on his words even in text. Before he could press send, someone slapped Shouto’s shoulder and dragged him to his feet.
“Come on half cold bastard the meeting is over. We’re free to go,” Bakugou grumbled as he pushes Shouto out of the cramped room, having Midoriya to follow suit. Bakugou shifted his gaze to Shouto’s phone, gazing at the gross nickname for you on the screen. Shouto angles his phone away from Bakugou’s peripheral vision, praying that he didn’t see your half naked body.
Shouto stuffed his cellular device into his back pocket again, awaiting for the right moment to text you back. Knowing the dynamic of the relationship, his silence is nothing out of the ordinary, so maybe you weren’t thinking too much into this.
Hours later and still no reply from Shouto. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, you figured he probably hasn’t seen it yet, but the “read at ___” has your heart twisting in a knot. You knew he was a couple of hours behind, but would it take for him to at least send a well thought out compliment. Maybe he’s in the midst of an intense battle? Or worse, hooking up with one of the American colleagues. No, Shoto isn’t like that. Being unfaithful is uncharacteristically unlike Shouto. You mentally slap yourself for painting your loyal boyfriend in a different light, all because of some stupid pictures.
Clearing your mind from anymore self sabotage, you did your nightly routine to get ready for bed. As you tucked yourself in, the bright light from your phone flashed, indicating a notification. Everyone in your contact list has already gone to sleep. Everyone excluding Shouto. Frantically, you reached over to grab the phone, swiping across the screen to view his message. The following text shot daggers through your chest.
Call me now
No mention of the photos you sent hours ago. It took him this long just to conjure up a cryptic message. Although, you were curious to see what he'll say to you once he picks up. You pressed the phone icon on his profile and waited, the ringing making you sweat with anticipation. He answered on the third ring.
There was an uncommon silence hanging in the air. On the other end of the call, you can hear the faint acute breathing coming from your boyfriend. You laid frozen in bed, cowardly holding in your breath to prevent any noise.
Shouto broke the silence and said, "I'm sorry for not texting you all day. There was an immediate emergency that lasted longer than we expected."
You nodded your head, but then caught yourself after realizing he can't see your movement over the phone, and let out a grunt instead.
"So..."
"So?" It came out more aggressive than you wanted it to be, but the constant cat and mouse game of today set you over.
"Are you mad at me?" He asked.
No. Not in a million years could you ever be angry at him. Yes, sometimes there's things he did that you wish he'd do better, like expressing himself instead of sheltering back in his shell. Or the way how you envied the relationships your coworkers had, their partners showing them off like it was second nature. Not once did Shouto verbally express his sexual desires. As selfish as it is, you wanted to explore more with him than just regular mundane vanilla sex. Sadly you knew his response was probably going to be lackluster. But no, you weren't mad, just jealous.
"I'm not mad Shouto. Just...very disappointed in you."
In the background, the definite click of a lock from a door rattled your ears. He's in his hotel room, you thought.
"Is this about what happened earlier today?" he started, dragging his tired feet to the hotel bed. "You know, the pictures-"
"Right, the only pictures I put any effort into just for them to be completely ignored by my own boyfriend."
The line went silent again. Even though he isn't here, if he was, he'd be glaring at you with his intense stare, those bi-colored eyes never wavering away from yours.
"You really want to know how I truly felt about those pictures you sent?" His voice dropped a lower octave, sounding as though he dipped himself in pure molasses. Rich as it is, his sudden change of tone aroused you, sending an involuntary wave of pleasure through your body, tipping to the peak of your sex. The only time you heard him sound like this was either when he's livid to the core or about to completely wreck your shit. Both would coincide with each other on special occasions.
He didn't give you enough time to answer, figuring you were too stubborn to reply, and voiced his inner thoughts.
"The fact that you even think I didn't appreciate the photo's is quite silly sweetheart. In fact," you can hear the clanking of metal on the other end. "It makes me sad that I'm not there to worship every inch of that body. Was that your plan all along? To get me worked up by how much I miss your touch?" Shouto struggled removing his pants, the tent forming beneath them restricting him to smoothly slip them off.
You tried to keep your excitement down by squeezing your legs together, almost to the point where they crossed. Soon your breathing became sporadic. Just picturing Shouto touching himself while you both were on call gave you an adrenaline rush. Knowing you couldn't touch him but just yourself intensified your arousal even more. Slowly, you dragged a lazy finger from your sternum to the area around your belly button, tracing small circles on the skin.
"What would you have done to me if you caught me in that moment? Taking those pictures," your sultry tone boomed through his speakers, almost taken back by your approach.
Shouto raised his hips and shimmed out from his tight work pants and started palming himself through his briefs. "Sweetheart, id do nothing but ravish you. Taking my sweet time with you....fuck...I miss you so much," he couldn't hold back the whine he trapped in his throat as soon as his finger swiped over his clothed slit. The sound alone triggered a warm sensation spreading down below, already feeling the wetness coating your panties. By now, Shouto’s fingers would be disappearing inside of you, scissoring and messaging your velvety walls till you broke out screaming, but you had to make do and resort to playfully teasing yourself.
"Ngh...I miss you too...S-Shoto."
"Are you touching yourself love?"
Both of you were far too gone in arousal, there was no point in holding back your sexual pleas.
"Y-Yes, but I wish it was your fingers instead."
Hearing those words coming from your lips encouraged him to shove his entire hand down his boxers, gripping the base of his cock with ease. A small gasp left his lips feeling the crisp, cold air of the hotel room hit his exposed member. He shifted his hand vertically, giving light tugs to it before pumping it vigorously. The sensation strained him to close his eyes, seeing nothing but you doing the work for him. Late nights in the various hotel rooms consisted of him getting off to memories of all the intimate moments you two shared together. Of course it was lonely, but he never resorted to surfing the internet of lewd videos of random girls. They just weren't you. But tonight, he could finally relieve himself to the sweet ambiance of your moans. And he definitely wasn't going to regret it in the morning like usual.
"Listen to me, go faster for me baby," Shouto instructed, "Imagine it's me touching you."
Your cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, fully coaxing your face in heat. You followed through and dipped your fingers into your sex, feeling the warm texture of your walls petting them. All those months without any sexual relief built up so much tension that the tightness within you restricted from anymore movements. After a few strokes, you loosen and manage to reach in far enough to the peak of your knuckles.
Meanwhile, Shouto's hand never grew tired at the tedious strokes, pre cum dripping till it reached his inner thighs. Your name kept spewing out from his throat like a mantra, like you were the only thing he prayed for at night. Despite his lack of moaning, he grunted with each pump, the built up causing him to breathe heavy as well. Generously, he held the phone close enough for you to hear the continuous slapping of skin, along with the combination of wetness. You didn't restrain yourself from moaning though. Every whimper, moan, and groan reverberated across his empty hotel room.
"You wanna know something?" He tried to keep his breathing at a normal pace, but he hastily kept pumping at quick speed. "Everytime I go to one of those dull meetings, I can't help but to imagine you riding me in front of everyone...ngh!"
The confession elicited a moan from you, along with your legs shaking due to the stimulation. Your head flew back and hit the pile of pillows, mouth agape as you added in another finger.
"I miss the feeling of being inside you. So...fucking...bad,” he was beginning to lose his voice , sounding as though he was in constant pain. Poor boy.
"I never took you as being so up front Shouto, what happened?" You challenged him through the phone.
"I guess you really don't know me baby," Shouto shot up from the bed and bent over, not once removing his hand from his member. "Fuck fuck fuck...I can't wait till I come home, so I can finally taste you."
The coil within you was beginning to snap. Snaking your fingers underneath your shirt, you started flicking your thumb over one of your perked nipples, still immersed into the idea that he's actually the one touching you instead. Toes curling and arms bunching up the sheets, you knew you were about to climax. Just by hearing his speech pattern, you can conclude he was close as well.
"I'm about- I'm about to cum S-Shouto!" You pathetically whine.
"Cum with me baby. I've been holding off for you."
Even during intense moments like this, Shouto's gentleman persona didn't fade away over the course the relationship. With the knowledge you have now, knowing he's been on the verge of relief, you pumped your fingers in sheer brutality, never once missing the g-stop. Throwing his head back, Shouto was now on his knees pleading for mercy from the pleasurable pain shooting up through his member. He let out an exasperated whine.
"Now baby, cum for me."
Then you felt it, the knotted tension within you disappearing. Everything around you looked white, like someone snuck in and painted your room a different color. You can faintly hear Shouto orgasming on the other end of the phone as you calm down from yours. He's heard you climax many times before, but hearing your angelic screams over the speaker made him cum harder.
A few minutes later and you two were now recuperating from the intoxicating session, harsh breathing overlapping each other. It felt like years later when he detached his hand, now coated in his own fluids and cramped up. You loosened yourself and removed the two fingers finally. They glistened with your fluid as well, giving off the impression it was just sweat.
"Y/N? Are you still there?" Shouto's voice alerted you awake, almost forgetting you didn't manifest him to finish you off. You grab the phone after cleaning your drenched fingers and propped it on the pillow next to your shoulder.
"Wow that was-."
"Amazing?" He finishes.
"Took the words right out of my mouth."
He mischievously chuckled, "I know. I heard it loud and clear a minute ago."
You audibly groan loud enough for him to hear while snatching the nearest pillow to smother yourself with.
"So, are you planning on sending any more pictures like that during these last 3 months?"
His innocent inquiry made you break out into a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Those pictures sprouted a future of appraisal from your boyfriend, who you thought would never voice his inner thoughts till the day he dies. You two also found a secretive kink to phone sex as you continue to explore with him during these periods of loneliness. Once he arrives home, he assures none of that is just a “phase” as you two kept venturing beyond to sext each other during important events.
A picture really is worth a thousand words.
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(Truthfully, honestly, this is possibly the worst thing I wrote but someone asked for a cute little passionate session with Shoto specifically. I hope you enjoyed (?)
#mha imagines#mha#boku no hero academia#shoto todoroki#mha shoto#shoto x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#todoroki x y/n#shoto x y/n#shoto todoroki smut#shoto smut#mha smut#mha x reader#shoto todoroki imagine#shouto headcanons#shouto x reader#shouto todoroki#shouto x y/n#shouto smut#shouto todoroki x reader#shouto todoroki smut#shouto todoroki x you
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FULL REVIEWS: “Understanding Willow”
Damn this episode was hyped up. Everyone was looking forward to this. Everyone wanted to know how this was going to go down. I did too and when we got it we were not disappointed.
However it did prove why I don’t participate in fan theories because we’re all usually wrong all the time. So I say just shut up and be patient. But enough of why I’m not invited to discussions. Lets get it on!
We start the cold open with a Skara sighting! I still think her design is cute. She inviting her friends to her fifteenth birthday party. Neat. We see a bit of Amity’s dynamic with the two. Boscha is actively mean to Willow and Luz while the other two seem more neutral.
“It’s fun because it’s stupid.” This was hilariously adorable.
This was adorably hilarious.
Again we get another quick shot of how Boscha and her group pick on Willow. Skara doesn’t actively join but she does laugh at Willow which does suck. And we know Amity used to put down Willow too. My lumity loving heart is guessing that she’s stopped because of Luz’s influence but it’s just a guess. Still not cool that she doesn’t stop Boscha but that’s for another episode.
That must be an odd sensation.
We cut to photo memory class(?) and it’s big brain time again. What track would this be in? What purpose would this serve? Who would need to pull out memories with tweezers? If this process could permanently damage a person why would you let teenagers do it to other teenagers? It’s a madhouse I tells ya. A madhouse.
Anyway.
So Willow was always a cutie.
Luz notices the Amity memory, but Willow asks her to drop it and leave it alone. Which she doesn’t do. It’s another character flaw of Luz that we’re going to see more of. She always has good intentions but she tends to overstep her bounds. It’s (to me) another form of being innocently insensitive, a common character flaw in characters like Luz.
Amity notices the memory too when she passes by the room. She wants to put their previous friendship behind them and does the reasonable thing of setting the memory on fire. Which sets all the memories on fire because of course it does. It’s fire! Dammit Amity, I thought you were the smart one.
“I’ve connected the dots.” “You haven’t connected shit.” “I’ve connected them.”
We start the B-plot with Gus. Apparently after being kicked out of the Human Appreciation Society, he’s been looking for another club to join and is trying the school paper. He has to interview someone to get in but can’t decide on who.
Is it hot in here or am I just dying?
Willow starts freaking out and getting all sweaty and everyone (you included) figures out why immediately.
And there it is.
So Willow is going to to bye-bye for good unless they do something. So Luz takes everyone to the smartest person she knows because it’s clearly not Amity right now.
It’s a good thing you went to Eda and not a teacher or Willow’s parents.
So Eda explains that they can recover Willow’s mind before all the memories are permanently destroyed by physically sending someone in there to recover and repair the memories.
“Be still my fantasy loving heart!”
I agree with Luz. I love the journey to the center of the mind trope. But Eda believes in the buddy system so someone has to go with her and since we need Gus for the B-plot, it’s Amity.
Luz and Amity enter Willow’s mind and it takes a quick second to organize itself to a form that they can perceive because it’s the mind. That’s kind what it does. It likes to organize things to recognize patterns and because magic.
Luz and Amity start fixing the memories. Apparently, Willow and Amity were really good friends when they were little and even Amity feels bad about almost getting rid of them. But there’s one memory that Amity doesn’t want Luz to see.
Meanwhile in the B-plot, Gus is still trying to find someone to interview. Eda suggests herself because she’s Eda, and King demands attention. They don’t care about Gus’s whatever; they just like attention.
Back in Willow’s mind, Luz and Amity are going a good job repairing the memories but something is undoing all their work. We get a cute moment between Luz and Amity that I want to talk about more when I do my lumity analysis after I finish the reviews.
BTW, I’m going to do a lumity analysis.
They discover that the monster undoing all their work wasn’t actually that one fire Digimon whose name escapes me, but was actually the Inner Willow. The Inner Willow reveals that Willow actually resents Amity for ending their friendship and letting her new friends pick on her for years.
Now she has the opportunity to let out all her anger and hate like The Emperor’s dialogue in a STAR WARS movie. I know I’ve made that joke before but it still applies.
Inner Willow plays back the memory of when Amity ended their friendship. We know they said that Amity did it because Willow was bad at magic but the acutal memory is a little off. Amity reveals why as well as the truth on why she really ended her friendship with Willow.
Amity’s parents never liked Willow because she wasn’t from an elite witch family. Of course Amity didn’t care. She was a little kid and kids don’t care about stuff like that. Amity’s parents say that she can have one of the friends that they picked out for her. (So Amity’s parents don’t even see Skara and Boscha as people either, huh?) Turns out they were brats even back then too. I guess Skara mellowed out over time. When Amity refuses, her parents promise that they’ll use their influence to make sure that Willow can’t get into Hexside.
This a threat but I always wondered why it was a threat. The best guesses are that Amity and Willow wouldn’t be able to see each other at all, Willow wanted to go to Hexside, Hexside is one of the better schools on The Boiling Isles, Hexside was the closest school to Willow’s house and going somewhere else would be too much of a pain in the ass. Whatever the case, the threat worked and Amity broke off their friendship in her birthday. Amity’s, not Willow’s. Pronouns.
Amity can’t undo the years of pain she’s put on Willow, but she can promise to make things better from now on. Amity apologizes and promises that she will try to stop Boscha and her gang from picking on her. Egg on her face, huh?
Hayden Christensen is going to show up next. I can feel it.
Luz and Amity repair the memories and leave Willow’s mind. In a very mature twist for a Disney show, Willow admits she can’t forgive Amity yet. There were literal years of pain between them. But it’s a start. And the episode ends with Gus interviewing Hooty and that goes exactly the way you think it would. Hoot.
FINAL SCORE: 5 - Loved it.
This episode was everything people wanted and more. The drama, the depth, the heart all came across strong here. Not a major turning point for the plot (because I know some people who dismiss every episode that isn’t about the main plot as filler. BTW fuck you guys), but this was a major turning point for the characters. Luz may be the main character of the show, but the main characters of the episode were Willow and Amity.
If I had to find any faults it’s that I didn’t think the B-plot was that great. I don’t think Gus is very funny yet. Especially when you put him next to two comedic powerhouses like King and Eda. Other than that, this was a mind blowing episode. And it’s not even the first one!
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aaaa are you still taking the sickfic requests?? maybe "don't speak" with choro as the sickie pls?
SickFic Prompts / ACCEPTING!
Don’t Speak - (character) has a horribly sore throat and is reduced to barely talking while they load up on hot drinks and soup to recover.
yesssss always!!! I had so much fun with this, it hit me right in the Honey Nut Feelios and I hope it does the same for u, sunshine 😩
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After still feeling like total crap for several days while his brothers were almost completely recovered from the cold they’d all caught, Choromatsu finally breaks down and goes to the doctor.
He doesn’t really want to. Being sick is something they all hate, and continuing to suffer after everyone else felt better is just astronomically unfair. Sometimes he thinks he can will himself back to health if only he sleeps and takes medicine and does everything a sick person is supposed to do.
The others prod at him to get checked out, though, considering the fact that lately every time he’s tried to speak, it’s set off a cough and is painful even to those just listening.
When he comes back home with a pharmacy bag and an informational sheet proclaiming that he’s been diagnosed with laryngitis, it explains a lot.
He has little choice but to hand the sheet over to Osomatsu as Karamatsu comes over to help remove his scarf and coat and walk him over to the kotatsu. The eldest of them doesn’t necessarily know best all the time, but usually when one of them is sick or hurt with more than a cold or a tiny scrape, Osomatsu often slides into big brother mode and shows a surprising amount of maturity.
For once, Choromatsu is actually glad his oldest brother is taking charge of the situation.
“Okaaaay, guys,” he calls as Choromatsu settles in at the table. “So this thing says Choromatsu has… acute laryngitis. The doctor thinks it’s because he had a cold, I guess, since it says ‘viral cause’. Huh.”
Everyone else is already seated around the kotatsu since it’s the middle of winter and freezing. Jyushimatsu’s arm shoots up right away. “Oh! What’s laryngitis? That’s a funny word. Are we gonna get it too?”
Choromatsu opens his mouth to try and explain, like usual. Instead, he manages to get out a weak, “Probably not,” before he starts to cough.
“Hey,” Osomatsu pouts as Karamatsu pats the third eldest on the back, “this thing says you’re not supposed to talk if you can help it, Fappymatsu. So, y’know… shut up.”
What he gets in return for his efforts is an unimpressed glare.
Osomatsu grins, running a finger under his nose before looking back at the information sheet. “Well, I’m not wrong! Okay, so… the cold was contagious, but it says the actual laryngitis isn’t. It’s just some kind of throat thing that happened because of the cold. So it might happen for the rest of us, but I doubt it since we’re all feeling better already. Choromatsu just has bad luck, I guess.”
Karamatsu hums in thought and continues to rub his brother’s back. “Hmph, we’re probably safe then. Which means we just have to focus on taking care of our dear brother. How do we do that?”
Choromatsu holds the bag from the pharmacy up, allowing Ichimatsu to snatch it and dump the contents out on the table. He points toward the things he picked up at the doctor’s recommendation ― over-the-counter painkillers, lozenges, a throat spray, and cough syrup. There’s other stuff mixed in too, like tissues and a jar of yuzu-cha and a magazine. Though he could have lived without everyone seeing that, it’s not a huge deal.
Osomatsu waves the paper before picking through everything on the table. “Well, it says they don’t have any kind of prescription to give him. No antibiotics since it’s viral. Looks like it says the cough medicines and painkillers might help. ‘Home remedies may also provide temporary relief’… like tea and soup, huh? So we should probably try to keep the bastard hydrated with warm stuff.”
Karamatsu gets to his feet, grabbing the jar of yuzu-cha on his way. “In that case, why don’t I go mix up some of this for you right now? After being out in the cold air, your throat could probably use something warm. Want me to add a little honey?”
Choromatsu nods eagerly, mouthing, “Yes, please.”
Karamatsu’s face brightens at being useful, and he gives an exaggerated pose before heading into the kitchen. “What a good patient! Your big brother will be back with something soothing before you know it!”
“Hold on,” Totty comments as he scoots the lozenges, spray, and syrup toward him, “did you get all this stuff to take for your throat?”
His eyes scan over the labels, then roll back in his head when he’s finished. “Ah, Choromatsu-nii-san! You can’t take all of these at the same time. See, look. They all say ‘do not use with other medications containing’ ― uh ― well ― w-well, I can’t pronounce the word, but it’s the same one! They must all contain this ingredient, so you can’t take them all in the same day.”
Ichimatsu makes a gesture for Totty to hand them over, then nods after reading them. “Yeah, he’s right. If you take all these in the same day, even if you use each one like the directions say, you’ll be basically overdosing on this shit. Your mouth’ll go numb. Be drooling all over the place and maybe having trouble breathing.”
All the medicine is plucked from his hands by Osomatsu. “Okay, so we’ll rotate ‘em, and I’ll take care of giving it to you whenever you need medicine. Y’know, so that fever doesn’t fry your brain and make you forget which one you’re taking for the day. Which one do you wanna use today?”
Choromatsu lets out a soft groan which only serves to irritate his throat further. He could seriously just kick his own ass for not checking that before he bought all of those. The only excuse he has is that he’s in a lot of pain and not thinking like he normally does. He points to the spray, thinking maybe it’ll feel kind of like sour spray candy; once it gets sprayed on, it melts and lingers for a minute, which might be a nice quality in a medicine for sore throats.
“Alright, open up.” Osomatsu tears off the plastic packaging. “Totty, Ichimatsu, did either of you see how many times I’m supposed to spray this?”
“Two sprays every two hours as needed. But it’s only supposed to stay for fifteen seconds, then he has to spit it out. He’s not supposed to swallow it or it might give him a stomachache. Totty, you wanna go get an empty cup for him to spit in and a glass of water to wash the taste out of his mouth afterwards?”
“What?? Why can’t you do it? Your legs aren’t broken!”
“Yeah, but I’m busy.”
“Are you kidding me? Doing what?!”
Ichimatsu shuffles himself closer to Choromatsu and puts an arm around his big brother. “I’m his emotional support Ichimatsu.”
Choromatsu chuckles a bit, though it turns into coughing pretty quickly.
“Oh, my God. Now you know why you’re not first in my brother rankings, right?” Totty grumbles, but gets up anyway. “Fiiiiine, I’ll be right back.”
The idea of an emotional support anything is nice, though, so Choromatsu leans into the contact, resting his head on Ichimatsu’s shoulder. As it is, the fourth eldest is almost like a cat, warm and cuddly when he feels like it.
His fever must be getting to him, because he could even swear he hears Ichimatsu purring.
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The next three days in the Matsuno household are, predictably, a little wild.
Although Choromatsu sleeps on the couch in the other room so that his coughing doesn’t wake his brothers, it’s pretty much all for naught. At least one of them ends up missing him in the night and coming to camp out with him anyway; he just counts his lucky stars that when he needs them most, they show themselves to be pretty great brothers.
He also practically lives on soup and tea. Mom and the others try to switch it up a little, because otherwise eating and drinking the same things every day would drive him nuts. Plain miso and zosui were fine for the first day, but after he could breathe through his nose and smell things again, they started offering him other stuff.
Honestly, shogayu and negi-miso-yu have never tasted so good. Now that he can taste the yuzu-cha, too, and Karamatsu prepares some for him at least once in the afternoon, it’s like a small slice of heaven. He’s pretty sure Karamatsu can tell how grateful he is even without words, if the stupidly proud look on his older brother’s face whenever Choromatsu drinks it is any indication.
His throat still hurts like hell for a while. It’s difficult to speak, so Osomatsu, in his infinite wisdom, has relegated his brother to using a mini dry erase board and marker if he needs to say anything. That doesn’t mean Choromatsu doesn’t try to talk. He does his best not to if he doesn’t absolutely need to, however, since he wants to be rid of this thing more than anyone.
Thankfully, everyone is apparently using this as an excuse to treat him nicely. He gets to sit in front of the TV watching Nyaa-chan concerts almost nonstop, while nestling in against his emotional support Ichimatsu. Karamatsu in particular keeps checking every twenty minutes or so to see if there’s anything he can get for his little brother, and whatever Choromatsu asks for, he gets. Hell, at one point he’s craving ice cream, even though milky things aren’t a good idea for someone who’s coughing, and Karamatsu comes back with a melon ice pop, which is almost as good.
Totty even manages to do something nice while typing away on his phone. He says he’s got Choromatsu a date. With a girl. Who likes pop idols. Who’s really excited to meet him as soon as he’s better. He says he texted her a picture of Choromatsu and she thinks he’s really cute. It’s perhaps a good thing that he can’t say much right now, because he’s sure he’d scream loud enough to lose his voice a second time.
Jyushimatsu even sits there on Choromatsu’s other side, and reads magazine articles to him whenever they’re not watching TV. Of course, he doesn’t read the dirty articles… well, he doesn’t read those out loud after the first time he tried and everybody ended up crying with laughter. They all joked that even when he was sick that would be Choromatsu’s main priority, and for once, he laughed along with them despite the fact that it made him cough.
The one who surprises him the most is Osomatsu. Maybe that shouldn’t actually be a surprise, though. He fills the role of diligent oldest brother with a lot more ease than one might expect; he breaks out the thermometer every few hours to make sure Choromatsu’s fever isn’t getting higher, he keeps track of which medicines Choromatsu is supposed to take and when, he helps Mom cook things that will help Choromatsu feel better, and if he’s not doing any of that other stuff, he’s positioned with Choromatsu sitting on his lap, with Ichimatsu and Jyushimatsu on either side, running his fingers through his little brother’s hair. It almost feels like the way things were when they were all kids.
Choromatsu is easily tired out when he’s sick, and he’s 99.99999% sure that it’s Osomatsu who carries him to bed every night when he inevitably falls asleep.
Despite the fact that he gives them a lot of shit, and none of them are perfect people, he knows he’s got some pretty amazing brothers.
Today he’s feeling nearly back to his old self, and his throat is less sore than it’s been in over a week. He knows it’s partially thanks to rest and partially thanks to how well his family has been taking care of him. Despite that he’s starting to recover, the others are still treating him much the same as they have been. Tea whenever he wants it ― as well as Karamatsu shoving it in his direction, urging him to drink with that pathetic puppy dog face of his, even when he doesn’t quite want it ― and lots of head pats and the TV turned to whatever he’s in the mood for.
He’s not quite as tired as he’s been lately, so it would be all too effortless to just take advantage of all this. Instead, his thoughts have just kept turning to how grateful he is to have so many people he can count on.
There’s some small part of him that has to admit he can be just as bad as they all are sometimes. He can be selfish and rude and lazy. But when one of his brothers is sick or hurt, he knows he steps up to the plate to try and take care of them. To know that they’re all willing to do the same for him when he’s the one in need makes him happier than he thinks he’s been in a long time.
He’s still got the dumb little whiteboard Osomatsu gave him, because his voice isn’t back to normal just yet. For a moment, he scribbles on it, then he holds it up for Osomatsu who’s sitting behind him. “Hey, Oso,” he speaks up in a quiet, breathy, raspy voice.
“Uh…! Hey, dumbass, you’re not supposed to be talking yet,” Osomatsu laughs, then lifts his head to look at the board. “… Huh? Choromatsu… hey…”
He laughs in a way that makes it sound like he’s about to cry, then takes the board and waves it to get everyone else’s attention. “Hey, guys! Haha… look! Look at this shit!”
Four other pairs of eyes turn in their direction. Practically as soon as everyone has processed what Choromatsu has written, he’s buried in a pile of brothers. He gets arms put around him, and kisses on his forehead, and everyone nuzzling against his face. They’re all laughing in that same way Osomatsu did…
… Well, until they all start actually crying. Including Choromatsu himself.
The whiteboard falls to the ground, mostly forgotten, but the words written on it hanging over the sextuplets like a rainbow.
Thanks for everything. I love you guys. 💚
#Osomatsu san#whump#Choromatsu#Osomatsu#Karamatsu#Ichimatsu#Jyushimatsu#Totty#illness#laryngitis#caretaking#UGHHHHH THEY'RE ALL SUCH GOOD BOYS DAMMIT#I'm crying into my tea I love them so much look at them aLL AGGRESSIVELY TAKING CARE OF ONE OF THEIR OWN
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Brats // Jeongchan
💌 Info: Stray Kids Bang Chan x Stray Kids I.N x female!reader smut
💕 Includes: Threesome, dom!chan x sub!jeongin+reader, DDLG/B (daddy dom little girl/boy), spanking, degradation, handcuffs, pussy/cock worship, begging, orgasm denial, vibrator play, other stuff idk a lot, okay???
✏️ Word Count: ~3k
"I'm home!" Chan barked from the entrance of the apartment, patiently awaiting the appearance of his two partners. He hung his coat up, set down his belongings, and still, no sign of them. At this point, Chan was getting a bit angry. He woke up late, work had been stressful, and the last thing he needed was Jeongin and Y/n to be acting out of line.
While Chan made his way to the spare room that acted as the "playroom", he heard light moans and wet noises coming from inside. His blood was boiling, and the veins in his arms stood at attention. He put his ear up to the playroom door attempting to be as quiet as possible. Just as he expected, feminine and masculine mewls were coming from his boyfriend and girlfriend.
Inside the playroom, Jeongin and you were... busy. Y/n had her hand wrapped around Jeongin's member while Jeongin's fingers played with her clit. They were letting out the sweetest moans, but they knew they were breaking Chan's rules; his rules would be hard to forget since they were written on a poster on the wall of the playroom.
"Jeongin, please hurry up!" Your moans got louder as you bucked into your youngest boyfriend's hand. "I think daddy's gonna be home soon!"
"I-I'm close too, Y/n, ah-, so k-keep going." He threw his head back in pleasure, hardly able to speak. The mixed sounds of pleasure coming from the playroom made Chan transition from his usual, soft self to the hard dom that Jeongin and Y/n feared.
The door to the playroom flies open, and they immediately remove their hands from each other while Chan stands in the doorway clenching his fists. Your heart drops, and Jeongin starts to panic. He attempts to slip his cock back into his shorts, but it's too late. Daddy was pissed.
"Breaking rules while I was at work, huh?" Chan stomps towards the two, taking off his belt and whipping it into his hands. "So, who wants to be punished first?"
"We're sorry, Daddy! We really are!" You beg for forgiveness, but Chan had his mind made. He always hated being disobeyed, but he loved to punish. Chan sits down on a wooden chair and pats his lap while making eye contact with you. You look back at Jeongin before laying face-down on Chan's lap.
"Count for me, princess," Chan coos as he pulls your skirt down to your knees. He harshly smacks your bare ass with his belt, earning a yelp from you.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
Jeongin's watching with watering eyes glued to your ass, and he notices Chan's evil smirk as he bruises your ass. The entire time he watched, he knew he was next, and the idea of getting punished made him harder than he was before.
Without realizing it, Jeongin's hand presses against his clothed member to give him the smallest bit of stimulation. His shorts get tighter and his hand moves up and down his length, and the entire time, he was imagining his hand was yours. Before long, a gentle groan escape's Jeongin's throat, which commands the attention of Chan.
"Eighteen."
"Wait, babygirl, did you hear that?" Chan plays it up, putting his hand to his ear. "Was that a needy little boy begging for punishment I heard?"
Chan lets you off his lap, you rubbing your ass for relief, and walks towards Jeongin. He kneels in front of the younger and runs his finger up the bulge in Jeongin's pants. Jeongin hisses and his body shakes. The sensation of just a finger feels amazing, and all that's on Jeongin's mind is cumming.
"Please punish me, daddy. I've been bad. I deserve it." Jeongin's head hangs low, and Chan hums in response. His hand takes hold of Jeongin's wrist and pulls him to his feet, shocking the younger. You neatly sit on the floor and wait your turn while Chan throws Jeongin onto the king-sized bed.
"Y/n, get me some toys. I want to play with you two." His words are kind, but you can tell by the dark aura in his eyes that he only has the filthiest intentions. Jeongin lays back on the pillows and spread his legs. While you get a vibrator, blindfold, handcuffs, and ball gag from the drawer, Chan undresses Jeongin until he's fully nude, awaiting anyone's touch. "Thank you, my good girl."
"Yes daddy. Anything for you."
"Now sit on his face."
"W-what?"
"Did I stutter?" Chan's very demanding, and his voice is deeper than you've ever heard. You quickly remove your clothes while being watched by the two boys. You look up to Chan with sparkling eyes before getting onto the bed and positioning your heat over Jeongin's face. "Don't move you two. I'm not done yet."
Chan moves around the bed and fills your mouth with the ball gag. He moves your hands behind your back and handcuffs your wrists. You could already feel the marks being made in the skin of your wrists, and your jaw ached after seconds of the gag being in your mouth. Drool dripped from your mouth while Chan covered Jeongin's eyes with the blindfold. Worst of all, Chan kept the vibrator in his hand, and that scared you the most.
"Jeongin, how much do you love Y/n's pussy?" Chan teased Jeongin's twitching cock with his fingers, giving him the gentlest of touches.
"I love her pussy so much!" Hearing Jeongin's words made you blush, but you couldn't say anything back. You were gagged. "I love how wet she gets, and her pussy is so pretty and sweet. Please let me taste her, daddy."
"Hm, desperate. How cute." Chan chuckled, but all that left you and Jeongin were exhausted pants and groans. "Taste her, pretty boy. One lick is all you get."
Jeongin's tongue paints a rough stripe down your sopping core, and you lean forward, hardly able to hold yourself up on your knees. Your clit was begging to be played with, and Chan loved to see how desperate you both got. Your struggled moans sounded like music to his sadist ears. The wetness from your core drips down onto Jeongin's face, and his cock twitches from the idea of him ruining you without Chan's permission.
The younger male sneaks in another taste of your pussy, and the older is not impressed. Chan grabs Jeongin's cock and squeezes it at the base, the head of his cock becoming red as precum leaks out. Chan hums and bites his lip, hardly able to form words from the pain he's experiencing while his hard cock presses against his tight jeans.
"Such a bad boy today, Jeonginie. What happened to my sweet boy?" Chan leans down and takes Jeongin's cock in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip. Jeongin bucks his hips into his mouth and begs for more. "Calm down. Bad boys don't get to cum."
Chan wipes his mouth and gets back up after successfully edging Jeongin right to his limit. You're still positioned over Jeongin, watching your boyfriends pleasure each other in the most sinful way. The ball gag prevents you from saying anything, but you have the urge to beg Chan to let you cum for being such a good girl.
"Babygirl, come down here." You inch your way down the bed on your knees, and Jeongin feels your heat leave his tongue's reach. With a groan, Chan removes your ball gag as you had been hoping. Your jaw hangs open when Chan's hand begins to play with your clit with the vibrator on it's weakest setting. Moans leave your mouth as Chan grits his teeth, his member getting continuously harder and harder. "You're a good girl, right?"
"Yes, I'm your good girl." The words leave your lips as whimpers, hardly even audible, and Chan eats up every bit. Chan removes the vibrator from your heat, but the toy down on the bed, and slowly unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down with his boxers and allowing his cock to spring out. Your mouth waters at the sight of his angry, red cock, begging to be tasted. Your oral fixation has never been so acute. You wanted nothing more than to taste Chan's cock; it's all you could think about. The poor boy laying behind you couldn't even see what you were so obsessed with. "Please let me taste you, daddy."
"Give me a second. Jeongin," Chan barks down to the other boy, "take your blindfold off. I want you to see this." At Chan's command, Jeongin eagerly whisper a light yes daddy as he throws his blindfold off and sits up to see you take Chan's cock in your hand and gently stroke him before gracing him with your tongue. The taste of his precum makes you even thirstier than you were before.
Chan takes your hair in his hand and guides you on his cock, thrusting into your mouth just enough to tease the back of your throat and make you gag. Your mouth fills with spit as you taste his member like you'd been wanting to. You look up at Chan, his mouth agape and eyes half-shut, and you love making your daddy come undone in your mouth. Your mouth traces every vein in his pulsing length as Jeongin watches from behind. The younger boy licks his lips, wishing it was him getting face fucked by Chan.
"You like daddy's cock, huh, princess?" You nod while Chan's cock is still in your mouth, and Chan's eyes get darker as he gazes down at you. He rips his cock out of your mouth, a line of drool breaking when he gets too far away. You pant, but your mouth feels empty. You want more. Your head is fogged by the endless need for Chan's cock. "Tell me how much you love my cock."
You attempt to compose yourself to answer his question, but with his twitching member inches away from your quivering lips, all you can do is whimper and beg a light please. Jeongin watches, his eyes practically bulging out of his head, while Chan chuckles down at your desperate display of neediness.
"Words, princess. Words."
"Mmm daddy," you force out as a moan, "your cock is so good. Let me suck you dry, please."
"Beg more or else it's Jeongin's turn."
Jeongin's ears perk up at the sound of his name, and he flashes Chan his puppy eyes. For a moment, Chan considers turning to the other boy and letting him have his fun, but he wants to give you the chance.
"Please fuck my dirty little whore mouth, daddy. I'll be good for you, I promise. I love your cock so much, sir." Your mind is blank, and the words leave your mouth as if they're second-nature. Chan rubs his tip against your lips, coating them in precum and your spit from before. You groan from the sensation, but you know if you were to open your mouth, he would punish you. As much as he loved the sir you tagged onto the end, his eyes fluttered to Jeongin, eagerly awaiting instruction.
"Well, brats don't get what they want, do they, baby?" Chan pulls his cock away from your face, and you almost cry at the loss of sensation on your mouth. "Show me what you and Jeongin were doing before I walked in, huh? Let me see you break the rules."
"Bu-"
"Daddy's orders. You're not trying to protest against daddy, are you?"
You lay back onto the bed, and Jeongin lays next to you. His hand finds your needy clit again, making circles around the sensitive bud, as you place your hand loosely around his cock and begin stroking up and down at the perfect pace. The sound of your high-pitched moans mixed with the equally high-pitched moans of Jeongin make Chan stroke himself while watching you two. Chan's eyes are fixated on his two little brats pleasuring each other as if he isn't even there.
The knot in your stomach gets tight, and you feel or orgasm approaching even quicker when Jeongin slips a finger in your tight hole. Your grip on his cock gets tighter, and your strokes get more aggressive. He bucks his hips into your hand, and Jeongin shamelessly cums onto your hand, his release watery and light. His pathetic whines echo through the room, and his hand goes limp on your cunt. Your orgasm escapes you, and you feel yourself back at square one until you open your eyes and see Chan's hand intensely jerking off, his eyes meeting yours.
"Did I say you could cum, babyboy?" Jeongin's body fills with fear and Chan removes his hand from his own cock and grabs Jeongin's limp wrist, pulling him up into a sitting position. Their faces are hardly inches away from each other, and you hear Chan whisper to Jeongin, "Did you deserve to cum?"
Chan's demenor is serious, and you can tell he's pissed by the bulging veins in his arms. Jeongin pleads for Chan to let go, but his grip on Jeongin's wrist stays tight.
"No, daddy, no, I shouldn't have came, I'm sorry!"
"Too late for sorries, Jeongin." Chan throws Jeongin back, his head coming into contact with the pillow. Your worried expression meet's Chan's dark eyes, and you gulp out of terror for what he's about to do to you. "You didn't even let Y/n cum."
Chan hovers over you on the bed, his cock drifting near your core, and your breathing stops when his lips collide with yours. You melt into the kiss, allowing Chan to do whatever he pleases with your body. He rubs his member through your folds, paying special attention to your clit.
"So wet, babygirl. All for me, right?" You nod frantically, and Chan smirks at you. He eyes your body, gaze lingering on your chest, and you feel yourself get wetter just from that. "You're such a good girl."
He doesn't seem angry anymore, but you can tell he still has the hard dom inside him from moments ago. He pushes his tip against your cunt, just hard enough to make you whimper, but not hard enough to slide his cock in. You push against him, and you feel yourself stretch when he finally enters you. The lewdest moan escapes your lips when he bottoms out inside you.
Chan leans down, his chest pushing against yours, and whispers every so faintly into your ear, "I'm gonna ruin you, princess." His deep voice makes you clamp your eyes shut and dig your nails into his back. Your hands glide onto his shoulders as he leans back up and vigorously pounds into you, never letting you catch your breath. His cock fills you perfectly, and you feel every indentation of his length rub against your walls.
Chan points behind him to the vibrator, and Jeongin jumps up to get it for his master. Without taking the vibrator out of Jeongin's hand, he motions to your clit, and Jeongin immediately gets the hint. He turns the vibrator on to it's highest setting and presses it against your aching clit, earning a pleasureful scream from you. Every nerve on your body is standing on edge, and your orgasm catches up to you.
"Cum on my cock, my good little girl." Chan's grip on your waist is powerful, and you're eager to follow his instructions. Jeongin presses the vibrator into you even more, occasionally moving the tip in circles around your bud. The sensations from both boys push you over the edge, and oceans of pleasure crash over your shaking body. You spasm around Chan's cock, and he has to slow down so he doesn't cover your pussy in his cum. "Yes, baby, just like that."
He speeds back up once your orgasm is over, and the overstimulation is too much for you to handle... almost. Jeongin removes the vibrator from your clit and begins sucking on your nipples, but you assume Chan had commanded him to do so while your eyes were shut. His tongue works wonders, but Chan's cock feels too good to be true.
Although this isn't your first time with either boy, every time Chan decides to bless you by fucking you until you see stars, it feels like a new experience. The twitching of Chan's cock gets erratic, and his thrusts become sloppy.
"Cum inside me, daddy." Your pleas are needy, and his orgasm gets even closer with every word he hears leave your mouth. "Cum inside your slutty little princess."
Jeongin's stroking himself, also close to the edge, as beads of sweat trickle down Chan's forehead. He's working so hard to keep composure, but your naughty cry and tight cunt compel him to shoot his load inside you. He holds himself deep inside you while he curses from the intensity of his release. You feel his cum fill you up, and when he pulls out, his release drips out of your sopping heat.
"Shower time?" Chan catches his breath, and Jeongin excitedly jumps off the bed and readies the shower. You can't walk, but Chan already knows that without you saying a word. He gathers his self-control and picks you up, carrying you into the bathroom and sitting you on the corner ledge of the shower.
"Jeongin, be a good boy and clean up our girlfriend, please." Chan adds shampoo to his wetted hair as Jeongin applies soap to a washrag and cleanses your body, starting from your legs and going up to your shoulders. When he makes sure Chan isn't looking, he licks the cum out of your pussy, and you giggle from the gesture.
"I love you, Y/n." Jeongin whispers just loud enough for you to hear over the pattering of the shower water.
"I love you too, Jeongin. I love you both so much." You raise your voice in the second sentence, making sure Chan heard you this time. You all share a fair amount of I love yous and compliments, but the overall mood is calm.
"I love you both very much," Chan turns around to face you and Jeongin, "just please stop breaking my rules."
"Yes, daddy!" You say in unison with Jeongin, although you know damn well that you were both bluffing.
this was a request from an “anon” on wattpad :) ty for reading!
#stray kids#skz#stray kids fanfic#stray kids fan fiction#skz fanfic#skz fan fiction#stray kids smut#skz smut#kpop smut#kpop fan fiction#kpop fanfic#kpop#skz chan#stray kids chan#skz bang chan#stray kids bang chan#skz jeongin#skz i.n#stray kids jeongin#stray kids i.n#skz jeongchan#stray kids jeongchan#jeongchan#staysmutblr#ur-net
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House Calls:
A/N: I’m in no way a doctor or even a med student, I just used google and went off my own experiences with fevers...so yeah lol. I’m screaming at how cute Soft!Tommy is though like I think I’m dead. RIP to me and my ovaries.
Trigger Warnings: Angst, FLUFF. Some flirty shit at the end.
Word Count: 1,640
Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader
Request: “Could you perhaps write a one-shot Tommy x reader and the reader would work as a doctor and one day she would be called to treat John or Charlie (doesn’t matter) and she would be able to cure them and Thomas would be very grateful for it. I think that might be very cute but if you don’t like the idea it’s okay!! 😃😃”
Requested by: Anon
Summary: Y/N is summoned to Thomas Shelby’s house to help cure his ailing son, not knowing she’d catch the eye of the usually cold-hearted gang leader.
Part 1 | Part 2
Around 5am a rough, rattling cough came from the depths of Charlie’s lungs, startling him awake and causing him to cry between ragged breaths. His frail screaming pierced the air, sending Tommy shooting out of bed, grabbing his gun from his nightstand, and darting straight to his sons room. He panicked internally, while flinging the door open for any signs of danger, only to be met with Charlies cries and outstretched hands.
Tommy took a deep breath and sighed, scooping him up and taking a seat in the rocking chair near his crib. As he fought sleep, he looked at the pale blue ceiling of his sons room, listening to Charlie’s ragged breaths. With a furrowed brow, he lifted him up, bringing his forehead to his lips, confirming his suspicions of a fever. The poor thing was flushed red in the face, a light sheen of sweat developing on his skin as his hot tears soaked his face.
“Shhh...it’s okay. Daddy’s got ya. We’re going to call a doctor okay?” He said, trying to gently coo to calm Charlie down. He was whining and fussy and showing no signs of the fever breaking anytime soon.
Tommy gently got up with him and brought him to his bedroom, sitting him on what would’ve been Grace’s side of the bed, and lied down next to him whilst he dialed the doctors office.
A nice voice on the end of the line answered. “This is Dr. Y/L/N with the Birmingham Women and Children’s Clinic. How may I help you?” She asked.
“Hello Dr. Y/L/N, this is Thomas Shelby. I’m calling about my son. He has a cough, ragged breathing, and a fever that seems really high. Are you able to make house calls?” He asked, watching as Charlie played with a horse-shaped toy.
“Yes of course Mr. Shelby. I’ll just need an address and I’ll be over in about 30 minutes.” She said.
Tommy told her the address and any other details she needed to know. And before he could hang up, her voice sounded again, calming Tommy as the sun rose through the window.
“Don’t worry Mr. Shelby, I’ll have him better in no time. But just for a precaution, get a cold rag and put it on the back of his neck to help with the fever.”
“Alright, I will. Thank you.” He said before hanging up.
“Well Charlie, looks like we’re going to have a visitor alright? She’s going to take good care of ya.” He said as Charlie now laid against his chest, whining quietly. Tommy gently put him on the pillow and went to get a cloth, running it under cold water, and putting it over the back of his neck.
“There ya go, my sweet boy.” He said kissing the top of his head. He whined a bit as the cold cloth touched his neck, protesting the feeling as Tommy watched sleepily over him. It was around 5:30 in the morning when they finally heard the doorbell and a swift knock on the door.
Tommy picked up Charlie, and went to the door allowing the nurse to step in.
“Thank you for coming so early in the morning. I’m surprised anyone’s working this early.” He said, his voice still a bit groggy.
“Of course! I was working the graveyard shift so I’m always the doctor on call at this time. Now this must be Charlie...Hello sweetheart. My name is Y/N.” You said, smiling and in a much more lively tone than Tommy.
“Charlie do you want to show Y/N to your room?” He asked. Charlie looked up at you and smiled slightly, his rosy cheeks alarming you a bit.
“Lead the way you two, I’ll be right behind ya.” You said, nervously walking down the hall and up the stairs, reveling at the grandiosity of the house. You knew the Shelby’s after caring for many of the families wives and children, but this was the first time you’ve encountered the infamous Thomas Shelby. His current state was much less alarming than you thought it was going to be. You expected a ruthless leader answering the door, with a razor-blade cap on and wielding a gun, but instead he was a blue-eyed slim faced man, with a loose fitting shirt and pants on, and an adorable baby boy living seemingly alone in this huge mansion.
“Here we are, where would you like me to put him?” He asked you. You looked around the blue-toned room, your eyes catching a portrait of a blonde haired, beautiful woman in a frame near his crib that you assumed to be his late mother, as it was similar to the one in the stairwell.
“His crib is fine.” You said, sitting your work bag down and putting your gloves on and putting your stethoscope around your neck.
“If you don’t mind I’d like to stay, he doesn’t like when I leave...” He said, taking a seat in the rocking chair.
“That’s completely fine, Mr. Shelby. I’ll try to make this quick so you don’t fall asleep.” You said smirking. He smiled and watched on as you did your work.
“Alright I’m going to take this and listen to your heart okay? Big breaths for me, like this.” You said, breathing in a big breath and blowing out.
He did his best to copy you and sat surprisingly still as the stethoscope gently made its way around his chest and back.
“His heart sounds great, but his breathing is a bit rough. His lungs sound like they’re inflamed a little bit.” You said looking over at Tommy who was eyeing you intently, causing you to blush a bit as he nodded for you to continue.
“Okay sweetie let’s take your temperature shall we?” You say before reaching in your bag to get a thermometer.
“Can you say “Ahh” for me Charlie?” You asked, smiling at him. He opened his mouth just enough for you to examine his throat before raising his arm up to place the thermometer under his arm.
“We’re going to play a game okay? You’re going to hold that under your arm and I’m going to hold this under mine until it’s ready alright?” You said, grabbing a pencil from your bag and placing it under yours, getting him to copy you. You were able to get a reading not too long after, taking the pencil from under your arm and clapping as you removed the thermometer from under his.
“Now I know you won’t like me for a moment, but I’m going to shine this at your eyes for a second okay? Look at me.” You said guiding his eyes with your finger as you examined them.
“Great job sweetheart!” You said leaning down to him and giving him a high-five. You turned to Tommy who was smiling at your all’s little interaction.
“It’s 101.5...that’s a bit high especially for a toddler, and so from the look and sound of it, I’m going to say he has acute bronchitis.”
His face turned a bit serious as he took in what you said. Your smile faded slightly as you took in his change of emotion.
“Will you be able to prescribe his anything?” He asked, concern lacing his face and his voice.
“Of course Mr. Shelby. I’m going to prescribe him some cough syrup that will help with the cough and everything, and I recommend cold compresses every few hours to help with the fever or a cold bath if you find it increasing.” You said writing out a note for the prescription.
“Alright, thank you again. I hate to keep you away from your work, but I’d probably be panicking right now if it weren't for you Dr. Y/L/N.”
“It’s no problem at all, especially when my patients are as well behaved as little Charlie.” You said, smiling at him and then at Tommy. You felt his gaze on you as you gathered your things and as you made your way to the door.
“Oh and Mr. Shelby, you can call me Y/N. I’d be happy to help you again if need be.”
“Thank you Y/N. And you can call me Tommy. I know it may not be the right time, but I’d love to pay repay ya in some way, not just with money...” He said lingering by the door to Charlie’s room. You stopped and looked at him, taking a moment to think about what he said.
“What kind of repayment were you thinking Mr. Sh-I mean Tommy?” You asked, catching yourself calling him that out of habit.
“I was thinking maybe going for a drink sometime, when you’re free of course.” He said. You blushed and took a long look at him.
“I’d love that actually...I’ll ring you this Friday when I’m free.” You said.
“Then it’s a date.” He said smiling slightly before turning back to Charlie.
You walked out, hearing the birds singing as you drove off and back to the remaining hours of your long shift, excitedly looking forward to the end of the week.
Later that morning, Thomas called the shop, telling Polly all that went on and decided to take the day off to better help monitor him, but before she could say anything else he spoke.
“Oh and cancel anything for Friday of this week.” He said.
“Why...? Thomas is it serious?” She asked concerned.
“No Poll. The lovely doctor prescribed him some medicine. I’m...actually going to be meeting with her that day...”
“My god you’ve asked out the doctor?” She asked.
“I did. But I know she’s not like the others Poll, you’ll see.” He said before hanging up.
After Grace’s death, he didn’t know when he’d want to take up dating again, but dating takes risks, and risks were something that Thomas Shelby could never shy away from.
Tag List:
@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @cai-neki, @peakyxtommy
#katiesanons#katiesrequests#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagines#peaky blinders oneshots#peaky blinders fanfic#thomas shelby#thomas shelby x y/n#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby x female reader#dad!tom#ASDFGHJKL NOW I WANT KIDS OH NO#I'm crying why'd this turn out kinda good? I'm not okay soft tommy can really have it all#soft!tommy#katiesWIPlist
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Read on Ao3
Day 8: Adroit
And again some more modern a - I swear I am also going to write something else this month - eventually 😅
Emet/Reader
When Hades shows up the following evening, he holds to boxes of steaming Thai food in his hands, insisting that if you are already staying late, you should do so with a somewhat decent dinner. And it’s definitely more than decent. Not to mention the company is delightful. You talk about this and that, not even looking at the time as you tell him how you are slowly making your new apartment habitable. Hades meanwhile regales you with some more anecdotes of his friend upstairs and his never-ending quest to get him to work less. Over an hour has passed until you finally get around to talking about anything work-related.
“So, what kind of name is ‘Emet-Selch’ actually?” you ask the question that has been repeatedly on your mind.
In front of you, Hades coughs, needing a moment to not choke on his food before he looks at you with a question written all over his face.
“Pardon me?” he murmurs. “What?”
“The boss,” you point out. “I’ve wondered about that; it sounds like a strange name, don’t you think?”
“It’s more akin to a title, actually,” he says after clearing his throat, and that information makes you perk up.
“It is? Oh, kinda like a stage name?” you wonder. “That makes sense; I guess he is an artist, after all.” With a frown, you add, “So what’s his real name then?”
Across from you, Hades lets out a laugh. “I am sure you can easily find that out by employing twenty seconds of your time into a search engine, my dear.”
You shake your head vehemently.
“I am not going to google my boss; what if I find out something I really didn’t wanna know?”
He looks at you across the rim of his glasses like you lost your mind.
“And how is this any different?” Hades asks with a raised brow. “You don’t know what kind of stories I could tell you, after all.”
“Yeah, but then it would be your fault for blabbing and not mine for snooping,” you claim, nodding gravely to underline your point.
“That… is not how it works,” Hades mumbles before he goes back to his food with a shake of his head. “Seriously, you have not looked up the company you’ve come to work for even once?”
You had not. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it, but ultimately, you had decided against it, and so you give him a shrug.
“It has a splendid reputation, everyone in my class wanted a job here, and I didn’t see the point,” you say before grabbing another bite. “I guess I just like to make my own impressions?”
“An admirable attitude,” Hades murmurs with another shake of his head. “If, perhaps, prone to complications.”
“Huh?” At his muttered afterthought, you look up, but he just waves it aside.
“Ah, don’t mind me.”
You finish your dinner with some more not work-related talk, and before he leaves to get some more work done himself, you give him the small folder you prepared with your proposed changes. He assures you that he will forward them once again as he wishes you a good night and a relaxing weekend.
You have both, but you are almost tempted to go to work on a Sunday for having nothing better to do. You could finally unpack the rest of your things, get your apartment into a state that is actually comfortable to live in, but you’re still not feeling like it. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s not necessarily the work itself you miss and wanna sit around at the company for. Out of all the people you have met over the past week, you definitely like Hades the most. He is kind, thoughtful, unobtrusive, and he listens to your complaints as well as talks to you whenever you both seem to have a little time. And sometimes… Sometimes you notice his eyes sparkle when he looks at you, and it is not only a welcome sight; it is one that sends little jolts of excitement through you each time you catch him. It doesn’t even matter that you have basically just met the man or that he seems to be a good few years older than you - you would like nothing more than to get to know him better.
A feeling that only grows on Monday when you go through your inbox, and an email from your boss already contains some parts of your proposed changes, together with a small thank you note for your very skillfuly adjustments. Hades didn’t waste any time relaying your thoughts, it seems, and you smile to yourself before you decide to visit the coffee cart downstairs and get him something as a thank you. You have no idea what he likes, except for coffee, of course, but the elderly lady behind the counter knows her customers, and a little while later, you are on your way up to his floor, carrying glazed donuts with you. You wouldn’t have suspected him of having a sweet tooth, but the coffee cart lady insisted that those were his favorite.
When you exit the elevator, you look around. You have no idea where his office is precisely, only the floor it’s on. You’ll simply have to ask the next person you see to point you in the right direction.
It turns out to be unnecessary, as you round a corner and practically run into the man himself.
“Persephone,” he greets you with a confused look, holding your shoulders steady to keep you from stumbling. “What are you doing here?”
The way he seems so surprised but at the same time genuinely happy to see you makes you smile. He looks a little different, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that, for once, he is not wearing glasses.
“Looking for you,” you say, holding up the bag with the baked goods to show him. “I brought a thank you for playing messenger for me.”
He looks a bit confused, but as he sees what’s in your hand, his eyes light up.
“Are those donuts?”
“You really do have a sweet tooth,” you laugh as you nod. “So, I was wond-”
You stop talking in surprise as his hands around your shoulders tighten, and he pulls you further around the corner all of a sudden, looking past you with a slight frown.
“What are you doing?” you mumble, unsure just how to react when Hades motions you to be quiet.
“Shhh, I think I saw Hythlodaeus,” he whispers, and now he has you thoroughly confused.
“Your friend?” you murmur back as you wonder about the sudden secrecy.
“He is trying to rope me into something, and I am avoiding him,” he explains quietly, shifting you just a little so he can peek around the corner. “Oh no,” he murmurs. “He’s heading straight this way. Get in there.”
He nudges you through the door right next to you into an empty office. Everything goes fast, and before you know it, you find yourself on the inside, slightly wedged between the office door and Hades, who quietly snaps the lock shut.
You look at him questioningly, trying to make sense of all this when he puts a finger over his lips, indicating you not to make a sound.
A second later, you nearly flinch when someone knocks sharply at the door.
“Hades, are you in there?” an impatient voice asks, and in front of you, Hades mouths the word ‘Hyth’ in a quiet explanation.
“You can’t avoid me forever, you know?” the voice comes again. “This fundraiser is happening, you are going, and if you want to look approachable for once, you’re bringing someone.!”
You have to swallow down a giggle as you realize what it is he is trying to avoid. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t seem like the very outgoing type.
“Come on,” comes Hyth’s voice again through the door. “You could ask that cute singing girl from downstairs you’ve been mooning over to come with you; it will be fun!”
Hades winces slightly in front of you, and your eyes widen at those last words as a sudden feeling of giddiness has your stomach jump. With the way Hades looks at you almost apologetically by now, there is little chance his friend means anyone else, and the thought is nothing if not exciting.
“I’ll just be back…” the voice from outside claims before you can hear the sound of someone walking away.
For a moment, you stay quiet, almost unwilling to say something. The slight tension in the air is far too precious, after all. But at the same time, you are not the calmest or most patient person, after all.
“Cute singing girl from downstairs?” you comment with a raised eyebrow, and for a moment, Hades has a sheepish look on his face.
“Well…” he starts, but before he can say anything more, you give him a playful wink.
“You know, I think I’ve heard of her,” you say with a knowing look. “Rumor has it she has been slightly mooning herself about some upstairs guy. So…” you trail off for a moment, grinning at him. “If you ask her, she might actually say yes.”
Something between you shifts as the sheepish look from earlier is completely gone from his face now, replaced by something decidedly different. Unveiled interest is in his eyes as a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Is that so?” Hades murmurs in a low voice, and you are suddenly acutely aware of just how close he is.
His arm against the door, he half cages you in, and with the way he is so much taller than you are, he is practically filling out your whole view. He gives you a long look, and then his other hand rises, and your stomach flutters as his fingers graze your cheek, gently brushing over your skin as he draws a strand of hair out of your face. He tugs it behind your ear, fingertips ghosting over your neck in the process, and you swallow heavily as you look up into his golden eyes that are, for once, not behind a pair of glasses. He is so close all of a sudden, and you lick your suddenly dry lips, very aware of the way his eyes follow the motion. You barely dare to breathe as you wonder if the intense way he looks at you means he is going to kiss you when his smile slightly widens.
“Good to know,” he finally says, letting his hand fall away but still keeping close.
“Are you going to ask?” you wonder with bated breath, and there is a twinkle in those warm eyes as he gives you a slight nod.
“Eventually,” Hades says, still smiling before he finally takes a step back. “But Hyth is not going to let this rest,” he adds with a frown at the door. “I’ll leave to go look for him, and you can sneak out of here a few minutes later.”
The assumption that you would somehow need to sneak out has you furrow your brow in confusion.
“Sneak out?” you ask. “Why would I need to do that?”
“You really don’t want to get people talking,” Hades says with a sigh. “Everyone on this floor is a horrible gossip; you have no idea what you’d set yourself up for if you just walked out of here.”
It doesn’t lessen your confusion at all as you wonder just why anyone would even care if you walked out of a random office with him, but before you can point that out, his hands run over your upper arms, and he nudges you to look at him.
“Persephone, I’m going to come by your office tonight, and I’m going to ask you to go to a fundraiser with me,” Hades says in a surprisingly serious voice. There is a slightly crooked half-smile on his face as he looks down at you with clear anticipation, and you smile back at him at that.
“I look forward to it,” you say with a genuine smile, but Hades doesn’t seem to be done.
“In the meantime, please do me one favor, and google this company,” he murmurs, and just like that, your confusion is back, and you scrunch your nose. “Trust me, my dear,” he insists, “You really want to know some things before you decide to say yes!”
That is not ominous at all, you think, but with a final smile, he lets go of you, unlocks the door, and is gone faster than you can process. A bit forlorn, you look at the bag still in your hand before, for the first time after being dragged in here, you look around the room. It’s the most spacious office you have ever seen. There are shelves willed with folders on one side, a couch, and a sitting area on the other, but at the center, behind a large desk, it’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that catch your eyes the most. The view from up here is so breathtaking that it takes you a few more moments to notice that some impressive things are hanging at the far wall. Honors, prizes, and rather prestigious awards. All made out to…
Emet-Selch.
You nearly let the bag of food slip from your grasp as you realize in whose office you stand, where Hades had dragged you in to. For a few seconds, you think you both can count yourself lucky that it was empty when you notice something else. There is a pair of glasses lying on the desk before you, glasses that look very familiar. You have stared at them quite a few times over the last week, after all. You realize that Hades’ colleague had straight-up assumed he was in here when knocking at the door, and behind the desk, the windows show a clear view of the nearby park as things suddenly click, and you are not sure if you are mortified, very confused or maybe even slightly angry. All you know as you put the bag from the coffee cart down on his desk for him to find later is that the first thing you will do when getting back to your office is heed his advice and look some things up. And tonight, when he shows up at your office, you will make him give you some answers.
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So a general rundown of what happened:
They did what's called a Meckel's scan which checks for Meckel's diverticulum which is a bit of stomach, acid producing tissue in a random place in the intestines. That looked suspicious but when they ended up doing the 3d scan it looks like just artifact. Possibly I moved just a bit and the machine for mad.
They did blood tests which included lactate (normal within a day) and CRP (14 mg/L, then 18, then 20, then a day or two gap, then 31), and a C1 Esterase Inhibitor which was double the upper limit. Not sure entirely what that means for me/the doctors weren't sure.
They sent away some specialized tests for porphyria and a few others I think which have an 11 day turnaround. I'll get those results sometime next week.
They weren't overly dismissive of my issue (except one asshole who kept cutting me off mid sentence when I tried to explain my symptoms which, to any aspiring medical professionals, never do that. It's rude, you miss vital information sometimes, it makes your patient feel like you aren't listening to what the problem is, and it makes the patient lose confidence in how closely you are actually paying attention to their care.) And there was talk of doing a colonoscopy but they want to wait for things to settle down a bit and do it as an outpatient just in case this is just an acute gastroenteritis worsening a pre existing issue.
So the diagnosis is non existent but possibly:
Inflammatory bowel disease
Chronic pancreatitis
Something else?
The doctor who discharged me today was nice. She actually sat down and talked and listened. A+ she said we might never figure it out and she needs to be realistic about how much she can do (I get flare ups now and then so it's sort of chronic but way worse this past year and past couple months). Realistic with herself and with me. She sounded genuinely sorry that she couldn't figure it out this time but also told me if this is something new, sometimes it can take a bit for the diagnosis to be clear. I appreciate her honesty.
Anyways, onto the little stories.
One of the nurses who put in my iv (she's a nurse who pretty much just does ultrasound guided nursing procedures like IVs) was from Scotland. I was so sure she was going to be like "Naw, I'm from Wales" or some nonsense. But nope, bang on. Took a bit to pin down the accent in my mind. Not enough lilt to be Irish, not deep enough vowels to be Welsh, not long enough vowels to be English. So we chatted about BBC shows. She also liked Call the Midwife but stopped watching after season 3 but I was like it sucks for like half a season and then it picks back up. And she said she likes Shetland, which is fabulous. We also talked a bit of smack about the nurse who tried to put in an IV on the underside of my wrist and got mad when I flinched and she missed it. She had hit a nerve and damn that hurts and your whole hand goes numb and like lightning up your hand. And then the nurse who hit a nerve had the absolute audacity to bitch about me to another nurse directly out front of my door where I could hear them. Good nurse and I agreed that like it's fine to complain about a patient but like not where they can hear you? Like go gossip at the nursing station or the med room, not just outside the patient's room. Good nurse asked if I called them out on it and I didn't. It felt so awkward. Good nurse was like "I totally would have"
A nurse called me cute and said I have a cute face! I was squinting because of the pain and she made me laugh which hurt a bit but she had this "wow that's gorgeous" look when I laughed which was very good for the ego lul.
While I was gone, Sam slept with Chris and hung out with Chris exclusively until Sunday at which point Chris went to his parents to do his taxes. Then Sam switched to Dallas. Dallas told me Sam is a very polite bedmate. He said the first night Sam pawed at his shoulder and did the disgruntled huff. He said he was about to get up and let him out but the moment Dallas lifted the blankets, Sam dove under them. So that was a mystery solved. And then in the morning Sam will sit and grumble and paw occasionally so that he can be let out. It's this little "excuse me... Hate to be a bother sir/ma'am but I would like to go outside now please if that isn't too much trouble"
Sam begged for his other salmon roll and Chris gave in but Sam didn't chew it even a little bit. He just buried it all over the house. One day he brought it in to Dallas's room and buried it in the blankets on his bed. Dallas said he went to sleep and this was before Sam swapped sleeping partners and laid down on the salmon roll. He put it out in the living room for Sam to have in the morning.
And finally, I saved the cutest for last. Sam brought his sweater over to Chris deliberately. Chris held it up and Sam basically put it on himself and would run any time someone would try to take it off. I think that is so cute and such an excellent step in knowing if he wants clothes on or off. Currently I just ask him but if he can indicate the clothes he wants to wear and when he really wants them off? That's massive.
#dogblr#dog#samwise#aht#american hairless terrier#terrier#rat terrier#rattie#sam#human health#human medicine#medical#human medical#health#medicine#stories
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Hi Ana, it’s 🦷!! I’m back and I really pushed myself to work super hard on writing about gum disease this weekend so I could enjoy the newest chapter of Greedy and I loved it!! I absolutely adored seeing our favorite smiley duo kick some serious butt together! As promised, here’s Mr. Min’s smile analysis (congratulations to him on being promoted to co-bias 🥰):
Face shape and profile 🧑🏻: so I would say compared to Hoseok, Yoongi definitely has a rounder facial profile. If you look at his face divided into 1/3rds, his middle 1/3 is slightly larger than his top and bottom 1/3, which is probably to make room for those adorable dumpling cheeks!! Make no mistake, while Yoongi may be cute and round from the front, his profile is deadly!! Perfectly convex and that jawline could cut glass 🤯 (I’m picturing silver haired Yoongi in his mic drop bandana in full profile view 🥵)
Nose, lips, and chin👃🏽👄🗣: Yoongi’s nasolabial angle (angle between the base of the nose and top lip) is more acute than Hoseok’s, and he also has a less defined philtrum (the little columnar grooves that sit above your upper lip). Never fear, this is probably the reason why he has an adorable gummy smile, as his muscles want to lift his upper lip nice and high to show off those gums! His lips seem nice and competent, indicating good muscular support! Unlike Hoseok, I think Yoongi in profile view has a very defined chin, probably due to his defined labiomental groove (the groove lying underneath the lower lip and above the chin)! (We can make labiomental groove Yoongi’s sexy facial feature of choice) 😉
Smile and tooth analysis 🦷: probably my fave feature of his!! So I would say Yoongi’s smile line follows what we call a reverse smile or gull-wing arc, meaning it is the inverse shape of his lower lip!! While gull-wings may be considered less aesthetic, I find it fitting how this amazingly lyrical man has a smile shaped like the wings of bird 😊 The technical term for a gummy smile is known as excessive gingival display!! Yoongi’s gums being on display could be considered unattractive by orthodontists and plastic surgeons, but as the proud owner if a gummy smile myself, he rocks it and manages to make it look soooo good! A couple of his teeth are in crossbite in the back and there is some negative space when he smiles, but I’m going to chalk it up to the fact that when this man smiles, he smiles wide enough to wrap around Earth 4528 times (not an accurate measurement, just a scientific 😅approximation). The negative space and the teeth coming together the way they do makes his smile so wide and warm and full of joy, and I appreciate that about him (again, biased because my smile is kind of the same)! My final comment would just be that I think Yoongi has seriously pretty teeth. Like they’re actually gorgeous (to echo Tae’s thoughts on his Suga hyung). Typically males will have very square teeth with sharp lines, but Yoongi has really feminine teeth. They’re soft and rounded around the edges, which gives his smile a really youthful looking appearance. His teeth are so delicate, much like his other facial features that lend to his face just being Angelic 😇 When I’ve talked to my patients who’ve lost all their teeth and are looking into choosing teeth for a denture, a majority of them go with Yoongi’s tooth shape, regardless of their gender identity!
TL;DR: Min Yoongi has a face which defies the laws of science!! A lot of his features vary from the norm, but he still manages to put them all together and make them look hot while simultaneously melting our hearts with his gorgeous smile 😍 He’s living proof that there’s beauty to be found in imperfections because when all paired together, they can still create a perfectly amazing human being
I hope you liked this analysis as much as Hobi’s and I can’t wait for the next chapter of Greedy (even though I’m sad to see the story end 🥺)!!
Here’s to hoping you have many reasons to smile today,
🦷 anon
my sweet, beautiful, brainy 🦷 anon!
you covered so much ground in this ask and i love learning from you. let me take it step by step.
congratulations to him on being promoted to co-bias 🥰
girl, i had to stop fighting nature. i gave up and gave in 🤣
Make no mistake, while Yoongi may be cute and round from the front, his profile is deadly!! Perfectly convex and that jawline could cut glass 🤯
oh i love that you pointed this out because we get two different kinds of serves from yoongi. i love the sweet roundness of his face that we see sometimes but then we get that serious, angular side profile and oooooooof
We can make labiomental groove Yoongi’s sexy facial feature of choice) 😉
today’s sexy phrase i learned from you is “labiomental groove” and YES i will throw this into casual conversation at dinner parties as soon as people start having dinner parties again
I find it fitting how this amazingly lyrical man has a smile shaped like the wings of bird 😊
help, i’m misty
My final comment would just be that I think Yoongi has seriously pretty teeth. Like they’re actually gorgeous (to echo Tae’s thoughts on his Suga hyung). Typically males will have very square teeth with sharp lines, but Yoongi has really feminine teeth. They’re soft and rounded around the edges, which gives his smile a really youthful looking appearance. His teeth are so delicate, much like his other facial features that lend to his face just being Angelic 😇
yes! all of this! hard agree 🦷 anon.
and i seriously love that you showed this to your professor like honestly how cute. and your professor liked it? gah that’s so cute, too.
keep killing those tests and essays, babe.
you are going to very very far in this field!
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