#Yellow for Dispatch

[frangipani-wanderlust]

How To Call 911

So most of my followers know now that I started working last May as a 911 dispatcher. Super proud of myself. And now that I am starting (very much still starting) to settle in a bit, I want to offer some tips on how to call 911. So, hold on to your hats.

(no-color version if the yellow text isn't rendering on your screen correctly)

When in doubt, call 911. Don't take this as me encouraging you to jump at shadows. Your neighbors' loud party is not an emergency, google the local non-emergency line and call that. Neither is the dry cleaning not giving you your clothes (I actually got this call on our 911 line). Nor is the fact that you saw a fox inside city limits (also something a real human called 911 about). But if you see a situation unfolding and you think "this seems dangerous, maybe this is 911-worthy" then it's 911-worthy. Don't hesitate. Call.

If you call 911 and you are freaking out, that's okay. If you're in a crisis, you may not remember a single tip I'm about to give you. We are trained for that, we can handle it, just do the best you can. It's not the end of the world to have a hysterical or frightened caller, and these are tips, not rules.

Location, location, location. We can't send you help if we have nowhere to send it to. Ideally, know the address. Failing that, know the name of a business or a church or an intersection. It is not cheating if you read this off a sign. There isn't a set of invisible rules that says you have to have your exact GPS coordinates memorized. Be prepared to describe the location somehow. That way, if our connection drops and that's all you can tell me, I can still send some police out to come find out what's going on and they can ask for medics or firefighters or whatever if needed. But we absolutely must know where to send assistance, it is the first thing we're going to ask.

Location again, but with a twist. The first thing our office says for emergencies is, "911, what is the address of the emergency?" If a building is on fire, tell us where the fire is. If your neighbors are being robbed at gunpoint across the street, give us their address. If you witnessed a car accident, tell us where the accident happened. The location of the emergency isn't necessarily the location where you are. Don't send police and fire to your office building if the wreck is on the freeway.

Answer the questions that you are asked. If the calltaker asks "Is the patient breathing?" don't start in about the seizure they just had (if they aren't breathing, the seizure they just had is not the biggest problem). If the calltaker asks, "Which way did the man you saw go when they ran?" don't tell them about how they broke down your door (if they are running away, knowing they broke your door down does not help the police know which direction to start looking). The particular question you are asked is being asked for a reason, and that reason is not frivolous but in an emergency, we aren't going to stop and explain everything.

Do not launch into a speech. If you're asked a yes/no question, yes or no is all the answer you should give. Your impulse will be to explain the yes or the no because more information is better than not enough, but overexplaining is its own problem. Now, we are hired for good typist skills, and are encouraged to get better and faster, but infodumping means things can get missed. The calltaker is going to have some information they're going to ask for by protocol and probably the option to drill down on some of it if clarification is needed. If you spend five paragraphs explaining your last answer, it delays getting other pertinent information.

Do not launch into a speech, part the second. You don't call 911 for things that happened last week, or even yesterday. Tell me the emergency that is happening right now. Ideally in one sentence. If someone is having a medical issue, and you call 911 about it, when the calltaker asks exactly what happened, do not tell them about how the patient had a surgery 5-and-a-half weeks ago. You called 911. What is the emergency that is happening right now. Don't be telling me about their surgery when the problem you called about is a broken leg. Yes, the surgery may have led to generalized loss of balance that has yet to return which caused the patient to fall which caused them to break their leg. Understood. But you didn't call because of all of that. You called because of the broken leg. Apply this principle to all emergencies.

Don't launch into a speech, part the third. When asked a specific and direct question, do not give an explanation instead of an answer. If the calltaker asks you "Is the weird person on the side of the road actually in the lanes of traffic?" do not explain to them how it's a very narrow roadway (see parenthesis for the story here). Aside from the fact that we're not asking these questions to be funny (see part the second), there's also the fact that now you are coming over as suspicious as hell. If I asked "how did that person on Facebook know what this supposedly missing kid is wearing and where he's going to be at 3:00 today?" and you say "well Facebook is a good way to spread information" I am now extremely suspicious of you.

(Also an actual call I have taken. The man was a totally ordinary guy out for a walk to the store, but this blue collar man walked through a Rich Person Neighborhood™ and according to Lady Catherine De Bourgh on the phone with me, that merited a call to the police. When I asked her if he was actually in the lanes of traffic [traffic hazard call type] versus not [suspicious person call type, on a technicality but technically...], she tried explaining three times that the road was narrow before she finally got the message that I was not going to stop asking until she told me the actual answer and answered "Well, I suppose so, yes." At this point, because she'd been so reluctant to answer me, I no longer believed the man actually was in the lanes of traffic and to this day believe that she lied to try and manipulate the police into a stronger-level response than was actually warranted. Because determining whether she was lying for sure is beyond the scope of my job, I put down what she said, but I didn't believe then and still don't believe now, that she told the truth. The totally ordinary and probably very nice guy was not arrested or hassled at all and was instead given a courtesy ride to the store.)

Be prepared to describe relevant people, maybe including yourself, and that includes race. If you have an asthma attack at a football game, the medics need to know how to find you in a crowd. If you are a black woman, that's gonna rule out everyone who isn't that. If you are a black woman wearing a yellow shirt, blue jeans, and a blue bandana over your hair, that excludes nearly everybody and when the medics arrive, they'll know exactly who to look for. Most of the time, someone's race isn't relevant information. When describing someone to emergency services, it absolutely is and it is not racist to accurately describe the relevant person or people.

There are more tips in the world, and I may come back to this post and add them as they occur to me. In the meantime, please enjoy this short treatise on how to call 911.

#actual 911 #emergency services #tricks and tips #resources #how to call 911 #yellow color chosen because dispatchers are gold #no seriously #emergency services have star trek style color coding #and dispatchers are gold #lol

[filmap]

The French Dispatch Wes Anderson. 2021

Cafe 19 Rue Laferrière, 16000 Angoulême, France See in map

See in imdb

#wes anderson #the french dispatch #angoulême #yellow #cafe #france #movie #cinema #film #location #google maps #street view #2021

[ursahlee]

💛💛💛 Happy Easter! 💛💛💛

#the french Dispatch #benicio del toro #yellow

[madame-mongoose]

Thinking about the little yellow jacket that landed on my arm today. I made a friend :')

#sooo many yellow jackets and other wasps at work #i love them #so so so cute #watched a hornet sit and clean his paws in dispatch a few weeks ago #it was so cuteee #i love wasps #monnie rambles

[backthebluek9]

Thank you to the dispatchers I've been on the phone with whether it was b/c of someone acting crazy and coming towards me or mental health.. they stayed on the phone the entire time and were so helpful!! Thank you to all dispatchers

#dispatch #thin yellow line #back the blue #law enforcement #police #police lives matter #thin blue line #back the blue k9 #cops #k9 lives matter #blue lives matter

[probablyjustamagpie]

this is an appreciation post for painted yellow lines by dispatch. go listen to it

#magpie chirps #Dispatch #painted yellow lines #something about it is SOOO apealing to me #maybe a little bit because i know it’s inspired by the same places I’ve been

[rongzhi]

A bit about Chuanqingren, one of the unofficial ethnic groups in China.

English added by me :)

Full video transcript below the cut:

Simply because these people are so rare, on cellphones and computers, there is no option to choose them. There’s no way to input them as an option.

As a result, often times when they go out, they will be questioned over having a fake ID. They’re not Miao, nor are they Han. And they’re certainly not any of the other 56 ethnic groups. In the 90s, they were designated as an unrecognised ethnic group (official designation). Their group is classified as Other. According to Ming Dynasty historical records, in earlier times, they were called “tu ren” (dirt people), “Li minzi” (～descendants of villagers), and also “xianmin”(羡） or “xianmin”（县） (~county people). Because their traditional clothing tends to be qing* colored (*may describe blue, green, or black), they’ve since been known as “chuanqing ren” (qing-wearing people). Early on, in the 1980s, there was already the write-in option of “qing group”. The first generation of resident IDs have “qingzu” printed on them.

Later, after many years of ethnic group discernment work, it was concluded that for the time being, they did not conform to China’s independent ethnic group determination standards. Therefore, they became recognised as “Chuanqingren”. Chuanqingren are mostly found in the northwest regions of Guizhou province. They use mandrills as their totem and their clothing tends to be qing. The qing color in question is a rather deep blue, one that near black.

There ware several explanations for the origins of Chuanqing people. One saying is that they are indigenous people of Guizhou. Another, more common explanation is that in the early Ming Dynasty, Yunnan’s king of Liang rebelled and Zhu Yuanzhang (Hongwu Emperor) dispatched 300k forces to consolidate the south. Then from south of the Changjiang, many immigrated to Guizhou and settled.

Historically it’s known as “transfer from the north, filling the south”, and Chuanqingren are simply the later generations of these soldiers and officers and immigrants to the south.

Now then the question comes: why are they only Chuanqing “people”, and not qing “ethnic group” or Chuanqing “ethnic group”?

Firstly, each ethnic group in our country has its own cultural/civilisation origins. For example, the Han ethnic group are the descendants of the Yellow Emperor and Flame Emperors. Therefore, they are also called “Yan Huang Zisun”(descendants of the Flame and Yellow Emperor).

Take for example the Miao ethnic group as well: The origins of the Miao ethnic group is that Chiyou led them in the alliance of the 9 Li tribes.

But Chuanqingren can’t find their origins. Most still simply say that they are a branch of the Han ethnic group. None of their special folk styles and customs have been completely preserved, including their language, which fewer and fewer of them are able to speak. Their clothing is even less common, which has led many to think that the clothing of the Tunpu people (another Han branch) of Anshun are that of Chuanqing people. As a result, many have taken Tunpu people as Chuanqing people.

In China, there are a lot of unique communities not within the 56 [official] ethnic groups. For example, the Mosuo people, the Kemu people, the Xia’erba people, the A’ke people, the Deng people, and more. The so-called “unrecognised” ethnic groups aren’t to say that their group’s identity can’t be distinguished. Rather, it’s that they still don’t meet our country’s criteria for judging independent ethnic groups. So, it’s only in order to reflect and affirm these unique communities that they are incorporated under the "not yet recognised” ethnic group.

In the multi-ethnic household of China, no matter which ethnic group, we all have a common name, and that is ”zhonghua minzu” (the people/nation of China). Do you identify with that? (Do you agree?)

#douyin #video #tiktok #少数民族

[hello-eden]

Missing

Tim was missing

Tim has been missing for over 5 months now. This wouldn't be a usual concern for them if he had said he was going. After the whole going off the rails searching for Bruce when everyone thought he was dead and ending up blowing up League of assassin bases thing, Everyone decided it was best that there was a check-in. Gotham Vigilantes used the same system for the missions as the Justice League but after everything went on they decided to make their own.

They had a log on the bat computer for longer missions so people know where they're going. The check-in is usually once every 2 weeks if it's a deep cover Mission with trackers on at all times, but there has been nothing from Tim. 

Everyone didn't really notice at first Tim left at a very busy time. Tim texted regularly in the first week and kept up with everything that was going on, that most of them thought he was still in Gotham. When everyone noticed he wasn't there they thought it was just a regular mission, but when Babs needed him to double check something on a case file and realized he wasn't on the roster for no contact missions she started to get worried. Apparently the last time anyone had seen him was when he was in the bat cave for a drug screening after a very bad scarecrow attack. His trackers were offline. All of his emergency buttons and trackers were sending a signal even if it was not trackable.

The most worrying part was the silence. usually they would hear some whisper if they'd been captured or God forbid if he was dead but there was nothing. Everyone tried to use every contact that they could think of but no one could find anything.

until now 

Every single tracker on Tim lit up like a Christmas tree. It took barely a minute for everyone to start dispatching themselves to find him. Jason and Cass were the ones that were chosen to go. Tim ended up in an abandoned Laboratory. Everything they could find on the building in the paperwork was said to be abandoned just before building was finished. the second they saw the building in person you could tell that was wrong. it was definitely abandoned now but it looked like the people left in a rush. the people working there probably left a day or two ago. The dust barely just started to form.

When they looked on the trackers he looked to be in the basement level. As they walked through the building it was like every floor looked like it had been copy and pasted. Every room had white walls so it was easy to see the splatters of blood in the hallway leading to the room they were looking for. They were very concerned. The blood had specs of green that seemed to be luminescent even though the blood was dried. they feared for the worst.

Jason opened the door and looked inside with Cass not far behind.  The room had white walls like the rest of the building but instead of the normal White/ yellow headlights from the rest of the rooms they were bright Blue. There was blood just like the hallway even down to the luminescing green specs.  The room had two chairs on the side farthest from the door and a bed in the furthest corner. Tim was laying on the bed and looked to be staring at the ceiling. He had made no move to interact with them even as they got closer.

 “Replacement” Jason whispered to Tim once he was by the bed. When Tim didn't respond he grabbed his rest to feel a pulse.

Even though it looked like he was breathing it could be his mind playing a trick on him. Jason needed to feel his pulse.

Jason felt the pulse, it was slow but it was there. Jason looked over to Cass and said ”he's alive all right”.  Relief very clearly in his tone. Cass's shoulders relaxed only a little after hearing that.

They looked him over trying to figure out why he wasn't responding. His heartbeat was slow like he was asleep but Tim was a light sleeper unless he was knocked out or drugged he usually woke up the second someone touched him. he didn't look to be hooked up to any machinery and the place had been abandoned for at least the day before they arrived. he wasn't even wearing his vigilante outfit, he was in civilians clothes.

Once they realized they were getting nowhere with this they looked around the room as it was becoming clear they couldn't wake him up nor was he an immediate Danger.  They decided to look  around only the rooms near the one that Tim was contained in to make sure that there weren't other people there as that floor seemed to be a containment unit. Jason decided to look in the other rooms while the Cass stayed in Tim's in case he woke up.  As Jason left to search, he looked around the room. she ended up finding Tim's bag underneath the bed pushed to the furthest corner away from the door. Cass sat down on the floor with her back leaning on the side of the chair.  She searched through the bag.  The more she looked through the more confused she got.

She couldn't find Tim's phone neither civilian nor hero. She couldn't find his laptop but she did find a tablet that she knew Tim hadn't had before. she would question if this was Tim's bag if not for the wallet and ID she found in the front pocket. She found small things like a package of tissues, a water bottle, chapstick and some of Stephanie's hair ties. Cass could tell that they were Stephanie's due to the fact they were all purple.

She found a hidden Pocket as she was looking through the lining of the bag. It looked to be a syringe filled with glowing green liquid. The same green that seems to be in the blood from the hallway. In the same pocket there seems to be a folded file with medical scans stuffed in between. As Cass went through the bag there was one question that had been on her mind since the beginning.

 Why was Tim here?

#dc x dp #danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #batfam #batfamily #please add on #will i finish it? who knows #do i have plot? yes #will i explain the plot? no #i what see what people think the plot is

[rvdispatch]

HEADLINES FROM MAY 9-21, 2022

MAY 9 - Rewind Comeback with Reveal

MAY 12 - Kaleidoscope : Yellow Comeback with My First and Last

MAY 16 - Violetta Comeback with Jungle

MAY 20 - Heart2Heart Comeback with Leo

#dispatch news #dispatch rewind #about: rewind #about: scope yellow #about: kaleidoscope #about: violetta #about: h2h

[seiwas]

two-part something (shouto x reader)

wc: 1.3k

contains: christmas, holiday parties, santa, mid-20's pro-hero!shouto x assistant!reader

a/n: just a lil writing exercise on shouto! first time writing him hehe

shouto’s late to his agency’s holiday party tonight. 

he breathes out, warmth floating as white puffs from his lips. the heating system on his office floor has been turned off, subtext directed solely to him: whoever’s here today, at this time, shouldn’t be.

his fingers move deftly around his waist, routinary—utility belt unbuckling as he reaches his desk. 

the venue for tonight is on one of the lower floors—a function room where briefings and press conferences are normally held. the number of attendees has grown compared to last year’s, sidekicks doubling and staff tripling; expected, given the agency’s projected growth next quarter. 

this is the agency’s third move since humble days in a rented studio unit (one shouto stubbornly and adamantly paid for fully, on his own), but one thing’s invariably stayed the same—

shouto’s office has always existed in its own space, whether tucked in a corner or spread out over an entire floor.

and wherever that space is, so are you. 

he settles in his seat, leather creaking as he twists to stretch his back. it’s been a long night, being dispatched earlier for an emergency downtown. his hand reaches for the folder on his desk, fingers swiping to release the yellow paper clip on the far left corner—evidence of your presence. 

since being hired as his assistant five years ago, you’ve devised a system for shouto that he now deems essential to keeping his entire agency afloat. his own urgency for paperwork hinges on the color of your paper clips (blue for next month, green for next week, yellow for tomorrow, and red for now).  

he should listen to you; the details of this evening’s take-down can be set aside for tomorrow—tomorrow, when everyone’s allowed to clock-in midday for the sake of tonight’s festivities. knowing you though, you’ll still show up early, if only to go over his desk, ensuring to swap that yellow paper clip for red. 

if he finishes this now, you won’t need to ensure anything; in all the years you’ve been his first and only assistant–a perfect match for how much of a workaholic he is–you might actually opt to sleep in for once. 

besides, it’s more productive if he gets it over with; crimes and mishaps never take breaks to party, after all—even during the holidays. 

that’s what he’ll tell you, at least. 

the party’s more for everyone else than him, anyway. 

he clicks his pen, letting out another puff of warm air as he spreads the document in front of him: 

page 1: basic information. identification details, time markers, a summary of the take-down. 

page 2: breakdown of events. scene-by-scene, additional comments, a two-beat knock on his door. 

then comes your voice, soft, unsure—

“sir?” 

—before you step inside, heels clicking against the natural stone finish of his office floor. 

he looks up, wide-eyed, piercing gray and blue. 

your gaze flits to the papers in front of him, eyebrows scrunching before you sigh. there’s an all-too-familiar smile on your face, a quiet chuckle brought about by how characteristic it is of him to be in this situation right now. 

“sir, that report is tagged yellow.” 

he shifts, looking at your paper clip; without a word, the leather of his seat crinkles again. it’s like this with shouto sometimes, you’ve come to learn: a non-response is a response on its own.

when his eyes meet yours, you shiver. 

goosebumps litter the sides of your arms, the decision to forego your blazer leaving yourself exposed to the chill of tonight’s office air. you try to hide it, but some things are impossible to keep from shouto. 

of course he notices your jaw quivering. 

“are you cold?” he stands up immediately, already moving halfway out from behind his desk.

“i’m okay, sir,” you stop him just as quickly, hands motioning for him to stay where he is.

two beats of silence find him tilting his head, gaze as intense as it’s always been pointed towards you. 

“shouto.”

“pardon, sir?” you step closer, leaning forward. 

“call me shouto.” 

the red fabric in your hand almost slips from your hold. 

this isn’t the first time shouto’s insisted on you using his name—he offered it up the moment he hired you, and the day you searched store after store for his thrifted leather chair during the agency’s second move; he’s suggested it plenty over the years, a casual reminder that it’s no big deal—if the world can call him shouto, so should you. 

pro-hero shouto, top three in the charts. 

pro-hero shouto, late to his agency’s holiday party because of paperwork—his tendency to be a workaholic. 

pro-hero shouto, asking you to call him shouto, but not in the way the world does. 

his eyes don’t leave yours as you blink, swallowing down your feelings (inappropriate, you tell yourself). 

“shouto.” you repeat. 

he nods slightly, a small, imperceptible lift to the corners of his lips. there’s an awkward pause as he looks down to the papers on his desk then up at you again.

“the party,” you clear your throat, smoothing out the fabric between your fingers, “you’re running late to your own party, si–shouto.” 

he tilts his head again, confused, “is this party not for everyone else?” 

you blink—he’s got you there. 

“i guess that’s true,” you sigh, chuckling. a pause, “that report is still yellow, though.” 

blue and gray land on white, bond papers spread out on his desk. he could argue with you, but where has that ever gotten him? you’ve kept him in check for years—it’s how he’s managed to stay on top of things. 

he looks down at his jumpsuit, the same shade of blue since he was 15. not much has changed with the design of his hero suit, just an overall sleeker design fit to match his age. the utility belt still exists, albeit more compact and less clunky; a similar modification was done to the straps that run down the sides of his chest. 

if anything, the biggest change is how the suit has molded around him—shoulders more defined, arms large enough for the fabric to cling onto it. shouto’s build has always been lean, but the areas of defined muscle stick out more evidently now that he’s older, much taller and wider.  

“i don’t have a costume.” he pouts.

you grin, stepping closer to his desk, hips digging into the edge. the red santa hat unfurls from your hands as you wave it in front of him—a perfect match to the shades of his hair. 

he blinks before you catch it, the slight curve of his lips as he leans forward, dipping his head low enough for you to reach the top of it. you tiptoe just a bit when you open up the hat to place it over his head.

you’re gentle with your touch, fingers running through the strands of his hair lightly; you tuck them neatly underneath the fluffy white rim of the santa hat. 

(it’s warmer near him, you notice—his quirk regulating a circumference of heat around himself that extends to you right now, you know. but you’re confident you’d still feel your own version of it–on your cheeks, down your neck–even if he weren’t). 

the hat sits perfectly atop his head, much like anything else that’s on him. when you lean back, moving away to take a better look, you notice it—

midnight blue, the backdrop on shouto’s floor-to-ceiling windows, littered with speckles of white—the first snowfall, and one you stand in awe of.

—gasping at the sight. 

you’re still so near when your eyes light up, zeroing in on the view behind him. you can’t help it, that smile on your face, bright and pretty, he thinks; it’s a short moment, but he feels it, a two-part ‘ba-dump’ that resounds in his heartbeat. 

a/n: they thrift the chair bc it's real leather so buying a new one is just no-no + he texts natsuo otw home after the party that he feels a bit funny! (it's just his feelings 😭)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#shouto x reader #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #mha x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha #shotorus.workbook #sho

[fanaticsnail]

The Apprentice - Part 1

Hello everyone! I would like to dedicate this one-shot to the TikTok account of Steven John Ward, the bottle of Tempranillo I consumed with my husband, brother and sister in law - and my love for wine 😁

(EDIT: this is no longer a one-shot, it's a series! Thank you Mihawk brain rot!)

Word Count: 3,957

Warnings: aggression, male aggressor (it's Mihawk), enemies (if you squint) to lovers.

Masterlist here!

Displeased was the expression worn upon the meticulously maintained facial hair belonging to the great-sword wielding the warlord of the sea. A half-drunk wine glass hang limply laced between his index and middle finger as he watched you heave in gulps of air as sweat glistened your brow. Lips hanging agape as you continued to focus your breathing, Dracule Mihawk began to tap his index finger against the crystal goblet, swishing the crimson liquid within the vessel.

His brows creased in the middle of his face as his lips began to curl in a snarl at the righthand corner of his mouth. Yellow eyes continuing to focus on your form as you panted; releasing a growl of utter discomfort as you caught your breath.

“Stop playing and finish already,” Mihawk barked at you, prompting you to snap your gaze to his immediately. He sat back in the chair, bringing the glass chalice to his lips and down the remainder of the bitter liquid.

“You sound like a bitch in heat,” he uttered, loud enough for you to hear and snarl at his comment, “so unladylike.”

“What would you have me do, my lord?” you spat breathily at him, halting your aggravated motions, “Would you care to take over? This is not as easy as you seem to make it look.”

Choosing to ignore your taunt, he growled; “just kill the stupid oaf already.”

This is how it was with you both. You doing all of the work to dispatch the easy contracts while Mihawk critiqued your every movement. At the bequest of your uncle, a prominent member within the World Government; you were thrust into the care and guidance of Dracule Mihawk to train as his apprentice. You originally began your training as his squire before advancing quickly to the title of ‘Apprentice’ as you demonstrated a vast improvement under the disciplinary practice thrust upon you.

“You no longer want him alive and unharmed?” you asked, narrowing your eyes and focussing on your opponent. He was of a larger build, towering over your smaller form.

After managing to cut through his underlings with ease, dispatching them with no more than a shriek being uttered between them; Mihawk relayed to you that they were under direct orders to take this particular Captain alive to the meeting of the World Government: for what reason, you were unsure of.

“Not if he’s giving you this much trouble, no,” Mihawk confirmed in a completely disinterested tone as he reached his arm forward to collect another wine bottle from beneath the chair he was resting upon.

You rolled your eyes at his comment before hardening your stance, your opponent baring his teeth at you in an upturned snarl. You halted your movements as Mihawk relayed another command.

“Watch your noises this time,” he glowered in warning, moving his eyes back to watch your body as it engaged in battle, “no apprentice of mine will mewl like a whore while engaging in swordplay.”

Halting a growl from erupting within your mouth, you chose to clench your teeth and gulp-back the sound in response as you sprang into action. You brandished your well-balanced sword to meet the blade of the Captain in front of you.

You ducked and wove your way around him, dancing while flurrying your blows against the calves of his tree-trunk legs, turning to slash his thighs as you circled him. Your opponent dropped to his knees with a groan. You sliced a gash atop the hand clasping his sword between his fist, prompting him to drop the blade to his side with a loud clang.

He looked down in shame, defeat brought to him at the hands of a woman; and only an apprentice at that.

“Now wasn’t that so much better than groaning like a cat presenting its rear to-,” Mihawk began, only halting as your sword slashed the throat of the fallen captain in front of you, toppling his head clean from his shoulders in one swell swoop.

“I care not for your lewd taunts, my lord,” you spat, using the shirt that clung to the headless torso of your former opponent to clean your blade before sheathing it within its scabbard. You turned to face him, your expression of one trying to conceal exhaustion to the best of your abilities.

“You may not care for them,” he said while wabbling the corked bottle of wine towards you, “but they be the comparison drawn by your unrestrained vocalisations.”

This prompted you to scowl as you made your way over to him. You retrieved your corkscrew from your hilt and brandished it in your hand to open it to reveal the toggles and screw. Snatching the bottle from his outstretched hand, you growled under your breath while twisting the screw against the wooden cork to pop it from the neck of the wine bottle.

He clicked his tongue in discipline; “what did I say about the noise?”

You drew in a deep breath through your nose and held it, your body quivering in rage slightly at the shoulders.

“I am no longer engaging in swordplay, my lord,” you offered in explanation through your clenched teeth.

You anchored the leaver of the corkscrew against the neck of the bottle and fisted the hilt, pulling the cork from the bottle in a well-practiced movement. Without a word spoken, you gracefully poured a large glass of wine into his awaiting chalice that he continued to balance between his index and middle fingers.

He hummed in response, bringing the rouge liquid in his crystal glass up and inhaled it to take in the robust bouquet. He scrunched his nose in partial disgust, staring at the liquid and swirling it to oxidise the liquid slightly.

“Pinot Noir,” he growled in dislike. You had a smirk pull at the corner of your mouth as you quirked your left eyebrow up at him.

“You drink it, apprentice,” he ordered you, all but thrusting the goblet into your hands in disgust.

You rolled your eyes and collected the glass from his hands, accidentally grazing your hand against his as you did. You brought the liquid to your nose and inhaled slightly.

“Red clay soil, by the smell of it,” you quirked your head to the side while swirling the liquid in the glass and again raising the liquid to your nose, “and a malolactic ferment too.”

You took a sip from the liquid and chirped a whistling trill through your lips as you rolled it over your tongue. You swallowed the red liquid, tasting the subtle umami earthiness and the dark cherry notes on the pallet. You shook your head and offered the glass back to him, to which he slightly pouted like a child.

The only time you had ever seen any other emotion besides a resting taunt, sinister smirk or a frown in displeasure was at the notion of a good or, in this case bad, wine experience.

He would often have the two of you make detours from port to port, engaging in wine tastings throughout the many vineyards the corners of the world had to offer while completing contracts. He taught you many things about wine, and some things you learnt on your own while accompanying him in draining bottle after bottle, rare vintage after rare vintage.

You learnt his taste, and he learnt yours; the only affection ever shared between you was when you both engaged in educating your pallet through taking a journey exploring different sparkling’s, whites, rose, reds and fortified’s. You again prompted for him to wordlessly take the glass from you, which he crossed his arms and turned to face away from you.

“Oh, come now,” you shook your head and wiggled the glass again in front of him, “you’ll actually like this one.”

“I don’t do Pinot Noir,” he spat to you briefly before turning away more.

“I know you don’t really care for it,” you crouched down to bring yourself at his eye level, him again turning his body to face yours with a scowl resting on it while eyeing the glass in your hand, “but this one is actually quite nice. Fuller body, a little earthy. Tastes like they left it to mature on the vine a little longer than usual.”

He reluctantly snatched back the glass from your hand and grimaced again before bringing it to his lips and swirling the liquid around his mouth. At this, a slight quirk of his brows upwards indicated he was genuinely surprised at the flavour within the glass.

“I suppose this Pinot Noir is not as bad as most,” he uttered through a narrow and arrogant gaze. You rolled your eyes at his comment before retrieving a hessian bag from beneath his chair and making to collect the decapitated head from your fallen opponent.

“What is the World Government going to say when we tell them we failed to bring him back alive?” you asked him, stuffing the head of the captain within the bag and tying a tight knot with the drawstring fully strung back into the hemline of the opening.

“When you failed, you mean,” Mihawk corrected you, bringing his lips again to the crystal glass with a smirk.

“Under your command, my lord,” you narrowed your eyes at him as you flung the bag over your shoulder.

“That is not how it will look to the higher ups,” he again smirked with a wide, taunting smile.

At that final comment, you lost it. Every built up bit of tension between you as he corrected you with his horrible, condescending tone that you loathed hearing. Every comparison he made as lewd evaluation to animals or intimate inuendo finally swelled and burst within you. His stupid smirk, his ever-watching yellow eyes that seemed to relish in your discomfort, his masculine features beneath his tailored facial hair; you hated him. Fully and unrestrainedly hated him.

Reactionary, your eyes darkened and hardened in your resolve. After this job was completed: you were going to resign from your apprenticeship under Dracule Mihawk.

You made your way to the small, coffin-shaped vessel he utilised in his shorter journeys as you continued in your completion of the final job you told yourself you would complete for the warlord you served. You offered one-worded responses to his questions, made no effort to engage in conversations with him, nor sent a single gaze his way that was unwarranted.

“If you think your surliness will bring any favours your way with the World Government,” Mihawk drawled out with a smirk, “you would be surely mistaken, apprentice.”

“Soon to be ex-apprentice,” you added within your own mind with a sharp nod.

“Your silence is almost refreshing,” he continued to taunt you.

“And you will have more silence to enjoy once I leave you,” you replayed within your mind, but offered no verbal reaction to his jab.

The sea bore no resistance as you docked the small vessel at the World Government Headquarters, slinging the hessian bag over your left shoulder and walked ahead of your soon to be former trainer. You held a heavy stride and squared your shoulders back; keeping your eyes forward to not make any kind of contact with the yellow eyes you had come to loathe.

Mihawk offered no conversation to you as you entered the large building and ascended to the appropriate office to present your latest contract in less than desirable condition.

You turned to look out the bay windows, noting the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. You took in the last time you assured yourself you would witness the departure of the rays under the command of one of the warlords of the sea.

The interaction went exactly as expected: you presented the decapitated head of the Captain you were ordered to bring in unscathed, were formally reprimanded by the member of staff who commissioned the contract of you, Mihawk offered no disclosure of his direct orders to assassinate the Captain, and you were left feeling like a child chastised for accidentally spilling a cup of water over a fine rug.

You hung your head still as you exited the World Government office, not in shame but rather to focus the words you were drafting to notate your acquiescence under the traineeship Mihawk.

“Shall we make to the vineyard?” the man currently occupying your thoughts spoke up, “I hear they have a Carmenere that’s of particularly fine make.”

You made no movement to confirm your desires to join him for a beverage, instead turning to an empty external table adjacent to a bakery and pulled some parchment from your satchel and began your draft your words upon the page.

“What are you doing?” Mihawk quirked his head, his expression maintaining annoyance at the halt of your journey.

Again, you offered no verbal response. You etched your intentions into the page with a steady hand and slightly more excessive force than absolutely necessary and signed your full formal title at the lower righthand corner of the page; also capitalising your name as to offer no misrepresentation of your intentions.

You turned to face him and thrust the parchment into his bare chest, his hands coming to catch the paper as you brought your hands back to rest at your sides.

“What is this, apprentice?” he shook his head, waving the paper with his right hand; only slight annoyance placed within his yellow eyes.

“This,” you inhaled and exhaled slowly to steady yourself, “is a written notice of my intentions to break myself from your apprenticeship.”

You stepped backwards and narrowed your eyes at him, adding: “consider this my formal resignation, effective immediately.”

Shock appeared on the warlord’s face, his eyes widening being the only indication as such. He stepped forward, the paper still within the grasp of his right hand.

He looked down at the page, turning it to look at the words you eloquently wrote; including a written description of the many reasons you chose to leave his apprenticeship. He shook his head as he read the words before thrusting the paper back into your arms.

“Resignation request denied,” he offered with a small smirk before turning away from you, “now come. I’m sure they have a dark Syrah-Rose they left on leas-.”

“You cannot deny my resignation,” you growled, hastening your step to bring yourself to walk in toe with him, “it is not a request.”

“As it turns out, I can,” Mihawk smirked, “and I will continue to do so anytime you attempt to break from your training. Your apprenticeship with me is not something you can simply just walk away from.”

At that comment, you halted your pace and simply turned around.

You scoffed a small laugh at the thought that apparently you can do so: simply just walk away.

And you made it all the way back into town until your movements were halted at an alleyway entrance behind the service quarters of a tavern by a firm grip upon your upper right arm. You turned your head and immediately made eye contact with the bright yellow eyes of the man you absolutely detested being in the presence of.

You attempted to shrug off his grasp, only for him to hold you in place. His expression was something you had not seen grace his face in a long time. Anger. Pure, unadulterated and unrestrained anger.

Tugging roughly at your arm, you felt him grasp you firmer and pull him into you. Your left hand reacted by raising it in an attempt to slap the expression right off of his face; your lips tugging in a snarl-expression: baring your teeth at him. He effortlessly caught your wrist and restrained it before twirling you to press your body, face first, into the polished cobblestone of the tavern wall. He used a single hand to restrain your wrists as the other hand wove its way within your hair and pulled your head to slack back into him.

You cried out your protestation at being rendered immobile by the swordsman.

“You cannot simply walk away,” he pressed his lips into your jaw as he spoke, pulling your hair and dragging his lips upwards towards your ear, “not from me.”

You struggled against his grip, kicking your right leg back to make contact with his shin; only to find it met with air and nothing else, as he dodged.

“Accept my resignation,” you growled at him.

“Never,” Mihawk snarled into your ear before pressing his lips roughly against the bone of your jaw; an action you did not foresee him committing with you.

Mihawk did have flings from port to port, often leaving you in a tavern or with training exercises for you to complete in his absence, to occupy your attention as he sheathed his sword with many a person of colour and creed.

He trailed his rough assault down your neck, lips connecting a line to the back of your neck of where he held his firm grip on your hair.

“Then I will run,” you gasped, prompting him to firmly turn your head with the grip on your hair to gaze into your face.

“And I will pursue you,” he narrowed his eyes, “and you will be punished for your insubordination.”

Your brows creased in rage as your gaze flittered between the two of his yellow irises. He released you from his hold on you with a rough shove, anger upon his own face; not quite comprehending himself the prior intimate connection he brought to your neck and jaw. You shoved him in return, pressing the palms of your hands against his exposed pectorals below his small hanging blade around his neck.

“I loathe you,” you snarled at him. He caught your wrists and held your hands against his chest, leaning into your touch.

Both pairs of your eyes narrowed, baring your unbridled hatred for one another within your expression.

“I couldn’t care less,” he said, leaning in his face towards your own and continuing to tower his body over yours in an attempt of intimidation.

Instinctively, you brought your lips upon his in a fit of passion in the hopes he could feel tangibly how much hatred you had for him. He returned your ministrations with fervour, opening his jaw and rotating his head to intertwine his tongue against your own expertly. You wove your hands around his neck, enjoying the feeling of the silken and well-tended moustache against your lips as he continued to press fierce kiss after kiss against your lips.

He wove his arms around your back and you felt a complete shift in his prior expression. He held you softly within his hands and ghosted his fingertips above your soft skin. His prior almost violent kisses morphed into a deep passionate embrace; him retracting his tongue from behind your lips and slowly and intimately pressed drawn out kisses against your lips.

Shock overcame your face as your brain finally caught up with what your body was doing: your hatred for your boss morphed into pure adoration and affection as you held him against you. You rose your right hand to rest against his left jaw as you felt his manicured facial hair beneath your fingertips. You whimpered lightly into his lips as he held you more firmly against himself, soothing circles; moulding your body beneath his fingers.

You pulled your face away from his own with a snapping motion, as you leant away from his face remaining held within his arms. His deep frown still adorning his face but this time expressing a whisper of sorrow behind his yellow eyes.

“I hate you,” you whispered, caressing his cheek underneath your right hand. He unwrapped his own right hand and softly raked his fingertips within your hair apologetically.

“And I detest you,” he whispered in response, training his right hand down between your shoulder blades and interlocking his fingertips at the small of your back.

Moving your lips upward, you placed a small kiss at the corner of his mouth; feeling the tickle of his facial hair against your chin and upper lip.

“Let me resign,” you uttered lovingly against his skin before pulling your face away from his.

For the first time in the years you had been travelling beside the great Dracule Mihawk, his gaze softened and a small smile was brought over his lips. A smile, not a smirk, it being the first time you had ever seen the beauty before you.

“No,” he chuckled, pressing his forehead against your own and closing his eyes, prompting you to do the same. He inhaled deeply as you remained held within his arms.

You trailed your arms down to the bare flesh of his torso and gently caressed his skin beneath your hands and kept your gaze watching the ministrations you were committing.

“Then beg for me to remain at your side,” you smirked with a quirk of your brow, looking back into his eyes and noticing his prior warm smile was replaced with a taunting smirk of his own.

“I don’t beg, darling,” he narrowed his eyes, glaring at you.

You sighed and trailed your hands down his red shirt sleeves and caught his wrists at their place laced behind you, and gently broke them from their spot embracing you. His brows knit together in curiosity at your actions, but relented his grasp on you. You began to turn from him and make your way into town once again.

“I will, however,” he uttered, reaching his hand to gently catch your upper arm and soothe over it with his thumb, “negotiate.”

You smiled and allowed yourself to be brought back to be in front of him. You nodded for him to relay his terms to you.

“I will continue to master you in your craft as a sword-wielder, and expert your skills as sommelier,” he smirked, “and I will relent my lewd taunts, slightly.”

You allowed a chuckle to make its way into your throat as his smirk continued to grow.

“I will accept your turns,” you paused, witnessing an ever so slight sigh of relief to leave his lips, “under the condition you try at least one Pinot Noir at the next vineyard.”

“I accept,” he answered almost immediately, prompting you to wince at the speed of his acceptance.

You laughed a little and broke from his grip, extending your right hand in a gesture to meet his to solidify your words. In response, he took yours within his and brought it up to his face.

“Do you withdraw your resignation?” he asked you, breathing his warm breath into your knuckles.

“I do, my lord,” you gasped. His smirk drew upwards as he pressed his lips against your knuckles and closed his eyes. You felt this action be more intimate than the flurry of kisses and grasps he threw at you earlier, feeling for the first time a blush rise to your cheeks.

“Then we have an accord,” he whispered against your knuckle before pulling your right hand to rest within the crook of his left elbow.

“Now,” he said, leading you back into the direction of the village rather than the town centre you were headed towards, “onto the Carmenere.”

“Pinot first,” you scolded him, prompting him to hiss a light growl through his teeth.

“Fine,” he spat, “Pinot first.”

You brought your head to rest comfortably against his left shoulder blade as he escorted you down the main road toward the village, basking in the fine scenery that fell before you. You almost was sure you felt him press a chaste kiss atop the crown of your head, prompting another blush to rise from your cheeks in reaction.

Part 2

#mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #x reader #opla #one piece #one piece live action #opla fic #one piece live adaptation

[jagibee]

Call Me Luna

(Stray Kids x Reader)

Chapter 8

5,994 Words

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter as an apology for taking so long but also bc it was originally supposed to be two chapters and I just couldn’t find a good split point😭, and I did change the story title bc I got bored with Stray Pack but this is the same story and plot, and I’m sorry but my taglist is at its limit (which I didn’t even know existed?) so if I didn’t tag you on this post, it will be on the reblog!

Also, Happy Birthday to the love of my life who isn’t in this chapter nearly enough, but will be in the next chapter. Bang Chan, you have brought me a light and inspiration that I haven’t felt in a very long time and even if you have no idea who I am, you will always be the one for me🖤

Also

Nobody:

Me with the foreshadowing in this chap:

Let’s get started!

TW: references to sex, mentions of spanking (not necessarily sexual but could be interpreted that way)

…

You all settled down so that they could get through recording. Felix was sandwiched between you and Hyunjin, just as a small precaution in order to prevent any more growling. On your other side was Jisung and Seungmin sat on Hyunjin’s other side, providing extra padding against alphas. Chan and Changbin were both at the sound table and Minho was currently being recorded, so you didn’t have to worry much about them getting too close anyway, at least, not at this exact moment. Jeongin himself was settled at Felix’s feet like a trusty guard dog.

You, Chan, and Felix had all taken off your scent blockers as well, which helped to calm Innie down.

Minho was the last one recording, so everyone was a bit subdued. Changbin had paced around a bit while being sure to keep enough space between him and Jeongin. When the youngest alpha had recorded, everyone in the room held their collective breath, but he seemed to be doing fine.

Next to you, Jisung had leaned down so he was laying down on the couch with his feet splayed out in front of him, body posture indicating that he was zoning out, but one look at his eyes told you that he was paying rapt attention to what was happening in the recording box and at the table.

On your other side, Felix leaned his head against you and pulled out his phone instead of watching the older boys.

He pulled up Twitter and started scrolling through. You wanted to give him some privacy, but curiosity got the best of you. It’s not like he’s actively turning his phone away, you told yourself.

Once the word ‘caretaker’ caught your eye, you gave up the pretense and shifted even closer. The movement caused Felix to notice and he tilted his phone so you could see it more easily. “They’re sort of all over the place with the caretaker news.” He told you, deep voice soft as he tried to not interrupt the others. “Some people are really supportive of it but of course there are some people who think that either caretakers are sasaengs who manipulated the system so that you could be close to us, or that you’re going to steal our attention away from our fans.”

“Both of those statements are true, also, did I forget to mention I’m a spy from Dispatch meant to expose your secrets?”

Felix giggled and you let your eyes scan over the comments.

Maybe if y’all stanned TXT this wouldn’t have happened🤷‍♀️

tell this random weirdo to stay away from my lixie!!!!!!!

YALL IVE CONNECTED THE DOTS THE CARETAKER IS THE ONE IN FELIX’S BUBBLE POST

Reading over the last one, you bumped your shoulder lightly against Felix. “What exactly did your bubble post say?”

He frowned. “It just said ‘lunch with a new friend’ with a yellow heart emoji. It’s kind of impressive that they did actually connect the dots.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Well, at least people probably won’t recognize me out on the street just from my hand.”

Felix smiled and went back to scrolling, giggling at a semi-professional debate about what Lee Know would give up for the rest of his life between pudding or butt hunting.

Said pudding lover and butt hunter then finished recording, striding out of the recording box as Chan spun his chair to face the rest of the room. Changbin rolled his own chair across the floor until it stopped in front of Minho, who grabbed it and spun it so he could sit in Changbin’s lap. Changbin squeaked in surprise but didn’t make any signs of protest when Minho brought the younger’s arms to wrap around his waist.

“Alright,” Chan began, “I think it’s pretty much a free day from here on. I know Jisung has a vocal lesson and Hyune wants to talk to Y/N, but other than that, I’ll be in the studio and Minho is going to be going over choreography so if anyone wants to join either of us, feel free.”

“But not too free, I need a break from you degenerates sometimes.” Minho retorted from where his head lay against Changbin’s shoulder.

You missed what Chan said in response as you leaned across the back of the couch behind Felix to consult Hyunjin. “You wanted to talk to me?”

His wide eyes met yours then quickly moved to Felix’s hair as Hyunjin started twirling it nervously between his fingers. “Yeah. Chan-hyung said we should talk about my h-heat. Especially since it comes so quick after Felix’s that we might not have enough time between our heats to properly talk.”

You could hear the other members join Chan and Minho’s discussion, but your focus remained on Hyunjin. “That’s a good idea,” you murmured, “But you don’t want Chan or another member to sit in with us?”

He shook his head, glancing back at you and biting his lip. You didn’t want to push him when he was so clearly nervous so you nodded and turned back to the others.

Right next to you, Jisung was declaring that “this group is not a democracy, hyung”.

“Sungie, you are the one person in this room that has a strict schedule today.”

“Don’t you start with me, Kim Seungmin-”

“Okay, okay!” Chan raised his hands. “I think that’s enough. So, Han will go to his lesson, Jinnie and Y/N will talk, Seungmin and Felix will come to the studio with me, and Bin and Iyen will go with Lino to the dance studio. Wait.” He paused and turned to you. “Is it okay to have Innie with the two members he’ll be aggressive towards?”

You considered it for a moment. “I think it should be fine. It might actually be better, hypothetically, since Innie won’t have to deal with either of them getting too close to Felix, so I think he’ll actually be less aggressive.”

“If my aegi-alpha gets too aggressive, I’ll just give him a good spanking.”

Chan turned to Minho and stared at him, narrowing his eyes while his knuckles turned white from his grip on his chair arms.

Instead of retracting his statement or apologizing for it, Minho simply basked in the attention, leaning back against Changbin and crossing his arms with a smirk on his face.

You glanced at Jeongin to see his reaction, but he was a bit preoccupied with Felix’s fingers running through his hair. Innie’s eyes were shut as he leaned his head back in between Felix’s knees.

You felt like you were intruding on a special moment, so you looked up and your gaze met Chan’s. He had a soft smile as he glanced from you to the two boys.

He blinked as if coming out of a trance and cleared his throat. “So, everyone know where they’re going?”

“Wait, hyung!” Jisung’s hand shot up in the air like he was a student eager to be called on. “I know you told us that we can be comfortable around Y/N-noona, but exactly how comfortable is that? Like, is it the same level as we are with our managers, or our makeup noonas or what?”

Chan smiled at him and swiveled his chair to face him more directly. “Since Y/N’s job actually involves a little more… familiarity with our group, especially when it comes to our emotional and physical health, I figured that we could be a little more open with her. She knows about our relationship and everything. The company did ridiculously thorough background checks and she’s signed several NDAs, so we can be as honest with her as we want.”

Han scooted forwards until he was barely on the couch and gestured with his hand for Chan to come closer. When Chan rolled his chair over, Jisung leaned to whisper in his ear. Whatever he said caused Chan to giggle. “Yes, we can kiss in front of her.”

“Oh.” Jisung blinked twice. “Well, in that case…” He grabbed Chan’s collar, pulled him close, and planted an obnoxious, cartoon-level, lip-smacking kiss right on the alpha’s lips.

Chan sputtered and his ears burned as he pulled away. “I meant- why did- you didn’t have to kiss me now!”

“Nope.” Jisung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand theatrically. “But I enjoyed it.”

…

Once everyone had reapplied their scent blockers and straightened themselves up, you followed Hyunjin out of the recording room.

Instead of going to the small meeting room like you did with Chan and Felix, Hyunjin led you in the opposite direction you had come from.

He fidgeted with his hands as he walked you rode down the elevator. First, they fiddled with his jacket buttons, then his rings, then tapped against his thighs.

It was obvious he was nervous, but you didn’t want to make him even more so by pointing it out.

The two of you made your way into a room and you realized that it was the same small dance studio you had met Hyunjin in.

He stopped in the middle of the room and frowned at the wooden crates you had all sat on last time. “I guess we could move them so we sit across from each other, that seems the most professional,” he murmured while rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb.

Your mind blanked for a second before you refocused. “Well, this doesn’t have to be super professional. No one is grading you,” you joked. “Here, we can even chill on the floor if you want.” You brought some cushions from a stack in the corner of the room and brought them to the middle of the crates.

Hyunjin smiled at you and adjusted one of the cushions before sitting down on it.

You placed your own cushion on the ground across from him and pulled one of the crates over so you could use it as a back rest.

You sank down and Hyunjin smiled at you politely. “Where should we start, noona?”

You pulled your bag over and pulled out the file on him and his bandmates. Handing it over, you told him, “What Felix and I started with was going over the information the company gave me so that you know what I know and you can tell me if there’s anything wrong or anything big that the company doesn’t know or didn’t share with me. I don’t want to be overly nosy or creepy or anything, but as a caretaker, it’s important that I know things that relate to both your physical and mental health. Also, client confidentiality applies in my job, so I couldn’t tell your company anything even if I wanted to, unless it involves you hurting yourself or others.”

Hyunjin blinked at you wide-eyed, the file bending slightly in his tight grip. Then, his eyes narrowed and his lips pouted slightly.

You felt your own fists clenching around the straps of your bag at the sight, but you collected yourself when he started to speak.

“I thought you were hired by the company. Doesn’t that make them your client?”

Your smile widened at him. “What a smart question!” At this, you could see the corners of his mouth flicker up. “The company is my employer, but they hired me to be a caretaker for you, not for the company. If I had to be a caretaker for everyone in this entire company, I would scream.” You raised your eyebrows playfully. “Could you imagine if I went up to JYP and asked him to tell me about his sex life?” You shuddered theatrically.

Hyunjin let out a startled exhale which quickly morphed into full-on cackling. He threw his head back and clapped, leaning backwards and almost falling over which only caused him to laugh harder. You giggled along with him, relieved that the slight tension was dissolving.

Once you two managed to mostly calm down, he looked at you with his hand hovering in front of his mouth. “Oh my god. “‘“Oh my god”’”. Eugh!” He scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out in disgust, which just set off another round of laughter for both of you.

You took some deep breaths and noticed Hyunjin doing the same. You both smiled at each other and he ducked his head as he went to pick up the file he had dropped when he started clapping.

He flipped through it and got to the page with his information. As his eyes scanned the page, his smile slowly faded.

“Not particularly possessive of my nests? The only reason I’m not possessive is because they’re my pack! My m- my band! They’re always welcome in my nests! I may not be as protective as Felix but it’s not like I would let just anyone in!”

Noticing his distress, but most notably, the lack of a distressed scent, you realized that you both still had your scent blockers on. You took yours off and allowed your calming scent to sweep the room. It wouldn’t be as potent to Hyunjin while he had his own scent blockers on, but you hoped he could sense it nonetheless.

You didn’t want to touch him without his consent, so you gently pushed the file down, away from where it covered his face, gaining his attention and making it easier for him to see you.

You smiled at him. “Hey, Hyunjin. You want to take a deep breath for me?”

He blinked at you twice before nodding and inhaling. He held it for a second before his cheeks puffed out as he exhaled.

“Good job! Now, I know that you’re probably upset since the company is making these assumptions about you based on limited information. I would be, too. But, since you aren’t exactly inviting your managers into your nests, does it really matter what they think about you?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he considered it. After a minute, he shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t matter. And the ones whose opinions you do care about know that you keep the nest open to them because you trust them and love them. I promise you, they don’t think any lesser of you because of the way you keep your nests.”

Hyunjin’s tense eyes softened around the edges. “I guess… that makes sense.”

Your voice took on a more teasing tone. “Do you not believe me? I could call Chan right now, and I’m certain that he would march on down from his studio just to tell you how wonderful your nests are. And I’m certain that your other packmates would be right behind him.”

Hyunjin smiled shyly as he traced a shape on the ground that vaguely resembled a heart. “Yeah, they would.”

You tapped on the file still in his other hand. “Now that that’s settled, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Hyunjin put the file down on the floor and rested his hands on top of it, like he was trying to press it into the ground. He turned his head to look at the wall of mirrors next to you and you could see him swallow. His eyes flickered back to meet yours and you could see the pure vulnerability in them. “Since you’ve been so upfront and honest with all of us, I figure I should return the favor. I… In Korea, male omegas- or, just, omegas in general, I guess, are sort of taught to hide their heats? Or, not hide them exactly, but it’s not something you really talk about? Not even with other omegas. We’re pretty much taught that heats are signs of weakness or that they’re gross to talk about, so you sort of pretend that they don’t exist, even when we would get a week off of school or work.”

He paused to look down at his hands and you waited while he took a second.

“When Felix first came over, obviously there were a lot of cultural differences between Australia and Korea. He would casually mention how he was nervous about spending his heats here. Channie-hyung and Minho-hyung helped him the most, not just because they’re the oldest, but because Chan could sympathize with the change in culture and Minho… had a lot of omegan friends back in Gimpo when he was growing up. Even when Felix got used to spending his heats here, he still never really stopped talking about them. Of course he didn’t say anything when we went out in public or anything like that, but he never tried to hide it around us.” Hyunjin’s mouth curled up at the corners. “There was this one time when we were in the dressing room and he was complaining about his pre-heat cramps loud enough for all of the staff to hear. Changbinnie-hyung’s face was so red,” he snickered.

Suddenly, his face sobered up. “I really wish I had been there for him more. As the other omega in our pack, it should have been me, but at that moment, I just felt… all I felt was shame. Shame for him, for letting other people know that he had heats, shame for me, for being the other omega and being afraid that people would think that I would talk about my heat in the same way, shame for the poor staff members who had to listen to that,” Hyunjin took a deep breath. “But then, one of the coordi-noonas came up and recommended a good painkiller brand, and one of our managers told Felix that they could buy some ice cream on the way home, and I… I was so amazed. Talking about anything related to heats was supposed to be this horrible, embarrassing thing, but instead, Felix just got sympathy and support.”

Hyunjin looked back up at you and stared deep into your eyes. “I know that I don’t like to talk about my heats, even after seeing that and being with Felix all this time, but I know that you’re here to help me and my pack, so I’m going to do my best to not be ashamed anymore.”

You took Hyunjin’s hands in yours. “Thank you so much for telling me. I really-”

You were suddenly interrupted by his stomach doing its best impression of a whale song. His eyes widened before he hid his face in his hands. “Talk about embarrassing and shameful. I guess we forgot to eat lunch.”

You cackled and stroked his shoulder in what you hoped was a soothing way. “Well,” you giggled, “should we get some now? I’m pretty hungry, too, now that you mention it.”

Hyunjin’s hands slid from his face as he looked back up at you. “Hmm. I’m kind of craving something sweet.” He turned until he was lying on the floor with his face turned towards the ceiling.

As you scooted over to lay down beside him, he sat up and stared at you with his eyes lit up. “I have a genius idea! Have you tried any good Korean snacks since you moved here, noona?”

You thought back to everything that happened since you got off the plane. “Uh… not really? There were some chips or something in the hotel room but I didn’t want to spend the company money on ridiculous stuff like that.”

Hyunjin waved his hand dismissively. “Even if you did eat them, it wouldn’t really count. Expensive places always overcharge for mediocre things.” He set his hand back on the floor and turned back to you. “Do you know what this means?”

“That I need to order more of my own snacks from home before I run out?”

“No!” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of mirth in them. “Well, yes, noona, you should definitely do that. And order some for us to try. But we should raid the vending machine and have a taste testing! I even stole Binnie-hyung’s credit card this morning, so we can use that!”

You giggled at his enthusiasm for both having a taste testing and using his member’s money to pay for it. “I’m up for it if you are, but if Changbin finds out, I’m pinning everything on you. He’ll probably go easy on you, anyway.”

Hyunjin shrugged, his expression somewhere between fond and smug. “Yeah, he’ll definitely go easy on me. Especially when I tell him our pretty noona coerced me into it. He’ll understand. How am I supposed to say no to that? Anyway, we could also get some snacks to drop off at the dance studio after we’re done with our taste test, I’m sure that Changbin-hyung and Innie would be glad for a snack break.”

“I- okay.” You stuttered, trying not to fixate on the phrase “our pretty noona”. “Let’s do a taste testing. Lead the way to the vending machines.”

After reapplying your scent blocker, you both made your way down two flights of stairs and down a long hallway before you came to the vending machine. Hyunjin explained that there was one closer to the room you were in, but that this one had better snacks.

You stopped in front of the vending machine, a little surprised at how high tech it looked. You were more used to ones with sticky buttons that refused to take your dollars more often than not and that you would occasionally have to shake to free your snack. This one had a whole mini snack elevator.

“Let’s see, Innie likes these cheesy crackers, Changbin-hyung will cry if he finds out we used his credit card and didn’t get him anything, so let’s get him the barbecue chips, and this is Lino-hyung’s favorite pudding…”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you watched Hyunjin mutter to himself about his bandmates’ snack preferences. “You’re so considerate of your packmates,” you told him.

He blinked at you in surprise, like he had forgotten you were standing there with him. “Ah, well, it’s really more of a survival tactic. I have had one too many pudding lectures from hyung, so if I show up with the wrong one, who knows what he’ll do to me?”

Back in the studio, you spread your bounty around the two of you, like you were preparing for hibernation. The three snacks for the boys in the other dance studio were carefully set off to the side, so that neither of you would mistakenly eat them.

“So,” you started, “I know the nest thing sort of threw you off, but is there anything else you think I should know before your heat? It can be anything, things you like to avoid, your favorite things to nest with, things you like to eat,” you asked, shaking the bag of chips you were currently eating from. They were a bit different than what you were used to, but still pretty good.

Hyunjin hummed around a ring-shaped gummy. “Well, I like to do laundry before my heats and then get my members to scent my stuff. I just feel a bit icky when I’m not sure when the last time I washed something was. Felix likes to bake during his preheat, which is sort of perfect because I eat more than usual during my preheat, so I can just eat whatever he made and put in the fridge. But I don’t like eating during my actual heat. As for the stuff in my nest… I have this scarf that Seungminnie bought for me once when we visited Paris. And Lino-hyung gave me a scrunchie that he drew a bunch of Jureumis on that I like to wear on my wrist. Also, Jisungie got me a dumpling plushie that also has a hot water bag inside. I have some other things from the members, too, but those are the first things that come to mind. Most of the other stuff is pillows and blankets. Felix likes fluffier blankets in his nest, but I like the smoother, silkier ones. And I love having my members in my nests with me. Also, I have at least three fans going on at the same time because I hate how hot I get. I do react a bit… dramatically when my members accidentally move something in my nest, which sort of confuses me a bit because that really only happens during my heats.”

You quickly brought out your notebook and pen and scribbled down all the information Hyunjin had given you. As you wrote semi-legibly, you did your best to talk to him at the same time.

“Well, that’s definitely a heat-brain thing. Do you only feel anger or annoyance at your pack when they move your nest around or is it something else, too?”

Hyunjin stopped chewing and set down the bag of candy. “I guess… it does hurt a bit. At first. And then I growl or nip them or something like that.” He shrugged dismissively.

“And that hurt, could it be that your anger is sort of a way to get around it or cover it up?”

He looked up to meet your gaze and squeezed the plastic package so it crinkled. “That… it could definitely be that, I suppose. I think… my brain is sort of telling me that my packmates are changing my nest because they don’t like the way I arranged it.”

You nodded and set down your notebook. “Well, I know that no matter what I say, during your heat, your omega is still likely going to react like that because you don’t have the same level of brain processing power as you do when you aren’t in heat, but maybe, hopefully, you’ll feel less guilty about it afterwards. Hyunjin, you know that your members love your nests. They don’t want to move it or change it, and from what they’ve told me, they always try to move carefully so that they don’t offend you. They also understand that you’re protective of your nests and that you react, as you put it, dramatically. They know that that can be a risk to stepping into your nest, but I am sure that it’s worth it to them. Even if they get nipped or growled at, they made the choice to enter your nest and they obviously think that it was worth it if they come back again and again.”

Hyunjin watched you with wide eyes before his face broke out into a soft smile. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Plus, Lino-hyung bites the others enough that they should be able to deal with me if I bite them once or twice during my heat, even if I bite them a bit harder than he does.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and leaned backwards until he was lying down. “I can’t believe I’m in a relationship with those losers.”

You smiled at him, glad that he could go from serious topics to more light-hearted ones. You grabbed another candy bag and a question formed in your brain.

“What exactly does the company know about your relationship?” You asked, tearing open the packet, this one with cartoon purple lizards advertising how “de-liz-cious” the gummies were.

Hyunjin hummed, popping a chocolate-covered cracker into his mouth. Once he chewed and swallowed it, he passed the bag to you.

“The company knows that we help each other through our heats and ruts, that’s why they had you sign a bunch of NDAs,” he told you, “but they don’t exactly know about the actual relationship between us. They know Hannie and Lino-hyung go out together, but they don’t know they’re actually going out together. They know Binnie-hyung flirts with me, but they don’t know that I flirt back when the cameras are off. They know that Chan-hyung and Felix sleep together a lot but they don’t know that they sleep together a lot.” He paused. “And I mean a lot. Honestly, most of the time, sleeping seems to be the last thing on their minds. Horny losers.” He shook his head fondly before refocusing. “The company tells us to play things up for the camera a bit for fan service, but what they don’t know is that we’re actually toning it down.” He finished with a smirk.

You grinned. “Wow. So they don’t know you’re in a relationship at all?”

“Nope. Just our families and some of our friends know. And now you, noona.” Hyunjin rolled over and stretched his arms out. “I guess we are pretty affectionate towards each other around our staff, but I think the whole 8-members thing actually throws them off. Poly packs aren’t as common as they used to be, so it probably hasn’t even occurred to them. They likely assume that some of us are together, just in couples, but they’ve never asked us outright, I think they’re fine with acting ignorant as long as we don’t let them or the public know anything.”

You had collected all of the empty snack bags and were about to throw them away while Hyunjin stretched his arms above his head. “So, is there anything else you want to tell me? I feel like we covered a lot, but just let me know if there’s something else.”

Hyunjin had moved on to stretching his back but paused to smile at you and shake his head. “No, I think we talked about everything we needed to, noona.”

“Okay.” You collected your notebook and bag before shoving the extra snacks in there as well. “Do you think now is a good time to interrupt the dance practice?”

Hyunjin stood up gracefully and sighed. “It’s always a good time to interrupt dance practice. I think Changbin-hyung and Innie will be eternally grateful to you.”

“Not you?” You questioned. “You picked out the snacks and it was your idea.”

He waved his hand dismissively as you made your way out of the dance studio and into the elevator. “They’ll be grateful for about five minutes until they conveniently forget it. Or they’ll ask me why I didn’t come and save them earlier.”

The elevator ride was silent, but much more comfortable than when the two of you had been in the same elevator earlier. You stepped out into the hallway, following Hyunjin until he came to a door on the right.

He peeked in through the window and smiled before gently opening the door.

The song and dance they were doing weren’t as intense as some of their other tracks and routines, it was a B-side they recorded earlier that day, and were still dancing to the guide version, but you could see that they were putting in the exact same amount of effort, no matter what the tempo or sound quality was. Their moves were soft, almost floaty, but they were still very deliberate and precise.

You saw Minho’s eyes glance at you and Hyunjin in the mirror from where he was at the front of the formation, but he gave no other acknowledgment of your presence.

I.N and Changbin also noticed you, but they were less smooth about it. Changbin faltered in his movements and Innie fell behind rhythm.

“Yah, finish up the song, brats. Then we can take a break.”

At Lee Know’s words, the other two seemed to come alive, dancing with more energy than before. The song wasn’t much longer, and their positioning for the ending pose almost made you laugh out loud. Of course, the dance was meant to be for eight members, and there were quite a few missing, so there was Minho and Innie posed together on one side of the studio and Changbin all alone on the other side. Evidently Hyunjin shared the same thoughts as you, but didn’t keep quiet about laughing, even as you two clapped politely.

“Oh, my Binnie-hyung, are you lonely over there?” Hyunjin teased.

Changbin unfroze from his pose to flop down on the wood floor, all splayed out and breathing heavily, but focused on Hyunjin. In a high-pitched voice, he called out, “Yah, Hyunjin, I’m always lonely when I’m away from you!” He wriggled on the floor in a way that you guessed was supposed to be cute, but his obvious lack of energy made it seem more like a fish flopping around on land.

Hyunjin giggled and walked over to Changbin, squatting and grabbing the alpha’s outstretched hand as he murmured something you couldn’t hear.

Innie had flopped down as well, almost mirroring Changbin as he took deep breaths. Minho had walked over to turn the music off, and then sat on the couch with a water bottle.

Seeing that he was mostly okay, you turned back to I.N. “Hey, little alpha. Do you want me to bring you your water bottle?”

Jeongin let out a loud groan that echoed around the studio. “Oh my gosh, noona, you are seriously my new favorite person. Yes, please. It’s the green one.”

You walked over to the wooden counter and retrieved the green water bottle. You spotted a blue and pink water bottle next to it and, deducing that it was Changbin’s, you handed it to Hyunjin to give it to Changbin before you headed back over to I.N.

You squatted next to him just as a loud groan pierced the air. “Y/N! You are welcome to stay with our group for the rest of our lives! I’m going to produce a song about you and sing it at every single concert and award show!”

You smirked at Changbin’s words as Innie thanked you for his water. “Just for brining you your water bottle? At least wait until you see what Hyunjin and I brought in my bag for you.”

Changbin sat up like he was possessed. “What do you have?”

You walked over to your bag and unzipped it, pulling out the barbecue chips Hyunjin had picked out. You tossed them over to Changbin, whose eyes widened as he caught them and read the label. “Yah, Y/N, how did you know I liked these?”

You shrugged as you made your way over to Minho, pudding in hand. “A certain omega packmate of yours might have told me. It was actually his idea, so make sure to thank him.”

Hyunjin had fully sat down next to Changbin, but now, Changbin tackled him onto his back and wriggled the two of them around like happy earthworms.

Minho smiled and thanked you as you handed him the pudding before peeling it open and lying down on the couch. You weren’t entirely sure how safe it was to eat the pudding like that, but he seemed confident in his abilities, like he had done this before, so you left him to it and walked over to Jeongin with the cheese crackers in hand.

Innie had been staring at the other two members, his expression one of disgust, but you could see the fondness sparkling in his eyes. “Gross,” he stated, as Changbin started kissing all over Hyunjin’s face.

“Hopefully, you’ll find this a little less gross,” you told him as you handed him the crackers.

His eyes lit up as he took the packet from you. “Thanks, noona.”

You zipped up your bag and threw it to the other side of the room. “You should be thanking Hyunjin, he picked them out for you.”

Jeongin frowned as he ripped open the snack package. “I don’t need to thank him. If anything, this is what I deserve as compensation for dealing with him.” His eyes wrinkled with his smile as he stuffed a cracker in his mouth. “Oh, thank you, noona! I’ve been extra hungry all day for some reason.”

You smiled and were about to respond when you were interrupted by Hyunjin flopping down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. “Yes, thank you, noona. I’m really glad that you’re our caretaker. We haven’t known you for long, but I can tell that we’re going to love you.”

…

Sorry for any mistakes, I edited this and posted it in my college’s parking lot😭

Taglist:

(Bold means I can’t tag you, sorry for the inconvenience!)

@eastleighsblog

@detectivedoodle

@niaalove

@scarletrosesposts

@royal-shinigami

@peachbokkie

@yuhjoeyuh

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[the-californicationist]

Revocation

MDNI/18+

Had a prompt from my darling bestie @gemmahale who asked about the 141 and how they might react when you revoked your consent for whatever reason. So, I thought I would do one of these little stacky-stacks for the first time to try it out. Don't be mean to me! This is my first time doing this Tumblr list thing. Idek what it's called.

GAZ

Gaz loves to fuck you with a slow, steady beat. His go-to is keeping you wedged tightly underneath him in a prone position so his length can enjoy the thickness of your ass and thighs. But, all it takes is a sudden sharp breath from you and he pauses, stopping his long rod right where it sits to wait and listen for your protests. "Babe? Everything alright?" He slowly slides out of you the rest of the way, your plump lips kissing the tip of his cockhead gently as he leaves you. Curling himself beside you, he'd be so soft and sure to check on your body and your feelings before letting you get back up to speed. Gaz would pet a huge hand down your back, rubbing your skin and making certain you knew he was there to help you feel good.

SOAP

Soap was adamant about having a light system. He would lean next to your ear and ask you to check in with him. "How are you, bonnie? Still green?" And if you said green, he would sigh, keeping up his pace, grunting with enthusiastic pleasure. If you said yellow, he would pause and wait, since you usually elaborated, and he would change whatever tune he needed to for you. Slower? He could fuck you achingly slow. Making sure you felt every inch of his delicious upward curve, and that lusciously thick head of his. If you said red, though, he would go full hands off and turn into aftercare mode real quick. Water, towels, juice, blankets at the ready, eager to give you what you needed to feel like yourself again.

GHOST

Ghost never lets it get to yellow. Never. He couldn't. Every single moment he's watching you like a hawk, noticing your pleasure, listening for your moans to deepen or to lower just enough to tell him you're close to coming. If you move into a position you don't like, he can feel your tension ripple across his cock, and he fixes it immediately, knowing when your breathing quickens or slows how far along you are to riding another wave of pleasure. You're so reactive, and he loves it. He gets off on knowing just the slightest pressure will send you over the edge. And when you come, it is like a maestro at the crest of his symphony, every note in exactly the place where he wants it, feeling you flutter and pulse around him in a perfect little harmony.

Except for that one time when there was a moth. Then, he was immediately on moth duty, full stop and fully naked. But, he was more than happy to cuddle with you after it was safely dispatched.

PRICE

The thing about Price is that he never fuckin' shuts up. The whole time he's kissing you, licking you, biting you. He's talking to you. The whole damn time.

"Yeah, love? You like that?"

"Want more, yeah? Fuck yeah, I'll give you more."

"Tha's it, love. Tha's my good girl. Come for me, just like that. Make those noises, love."

"You alright, love? Need a moment? Let me hold you. C'mere."

"Fuck, you are feeling so good. So pretty. Tell me how I feel, baby. Go on, tell me."

And so the whole time he fucks you, you are gasping in breaths, telling Price everything he wants to know. He wants to know how it feels, how it sounds, if its warm, if its hard, if you can feel the way he throbs inside of you when he comes. He wants every single juicy detail, and he pulls it from you with his hungry coaxing.

So, when you got a leg cramp, he talked you through it, pulling his fat cock from you with a long, wet pop, helping you get into a better position before he applied pressure to the spot, working out your muscle, easing your pain, talking you through the whole thing...

"Tha's it, good girl. Such a good fuckin' girl. Doin' so good for me..."

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty headcanons #captain john price #john soap mactavish #ghost simon riley #kyle gaz garrick #fic prompt #stacky stack

[backthebluek9]

#back the blue #law enforcement #police #police lives matter #thin blue line #back the blue k9 #cops #k9 lives matter #blue lives matter #thin red line #thin silver line #thin orange line #thin yellow line #thin green line #military #ems #dispatch #firefighters #first responders #wallpaper #tumblr #democrats #politicians #government

[amateurduhhh]

What About Me | Harvey x Reader

Summary: A story about how Pelican Town's bus revamp sends Harvy into a world of worry with the farmer.

Content warnings: injury

It was a calm evening in Pelican Town. Closing time was nearing, but Harvey always stood by for any emergencies that may need to be addressed. That was part of the glory that came with living above his practice.

"Okay, Dr. Harvey, I just clocked out, I'm gonna head home now!" Maru declared.

"Alrighty, see you!"

He leaned back in a desk chair, filing paperwork and checking inventory. In a quiet town like Pelican Town, it was relatively uncommon for anyone to need something when he wasn't open. Occasionally, the farmer would pass out in the middle of god-knows-where and that horizon would only be expanded by the new bus repair that was somehow managed.

Harvey didn't mind helping you out. In fact, he found it amusing at first. He understood it may have been hard to fully understand the body's limits with the work experience of an office worker. It was just something to scoff and roll his eyes at. What a silly farmer, he thought. 

That is until it became more frequent. It took a copious amount of begging and guidance to improve your habits. Harvey even informed you of the purple mushrooms, starfruit, magma caps and nutritious meals that might keep you in good shape while monsters tear at your flesh. As a result of your constant accidents, he made sure to keep his elixirs extra stocked. He only hoped that the distance from the Calico Desert and Ginger Island from Stardew Valley would encourage you to be safer.

A shrill ring from his phone blared next to him. He sighed and picked up the receiver, holding it to the side of his face. Regretfully, Harvey never even glanced at the number who called. Never did he expect it to be dispatch, calling in about an emergency trauma situation.

"Emergency? How bad is it?" Harvey stood up, and scrambled through the building to prepare for the patient. "Uh- y-yeah, bring ‘em in... I have the supplies."

He prepared an operation room as fast as he could. 

The emergency door burst open, and two people propelled a bright yellow stretcher to his operation room. The person was unconscious and blood sprouted out of their arm in sync with their heartbeat. "Patient was found in the Skull Cavern mines of Calico Desert. Patient is hypotensive and we can't find a pulse. We believe they suffered blunt force trauma to the chest. We recorded several medial lacerations on their left arm. There is atrial hemorrhaging–"

"I can see that!" He said. Harvey, examined the patient, his eyes catching sight of the face, causing his stomach to lurch and anger to set in his chest. In his residency, he was always good at handling the sight of blood, broken bones, and organs. It was never an issue. Until they had come from you. It wasn't something he could prepare for. The sight had caused a rock to form in his stomach.

"What the hell," he breathed out in white-hot rage. Harvey was fuming. "Why hadn't you put a tourniquet on their arm yet!"

"Doctor," the paramedic's voice was worried. "Patient's heart rhythm..!"

Harvey's eyes widened at the monitor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was no other option than to remain calm.

"Sinus Tachycardia. Shit, the hemothroax is making her heart tamponade. Get me an eighteen gauge needle, I need to get the fluid out of their chest, ASAP."

"I'll prep the EGC first!" A paramedic offered.

"I don't have time for an ECG, dammit!" Harvey snapped. The paramedics scrambled at his outlash for his request.

He felt his nerves explode and knew it was for the worst. Panic made his hands sweat and slick underneath the latex gloves he wore. There was a great tightening in his chest like a furnace of hellfire every time his eyes dared glimpse at yours.

The paramedics prepared the entry site and handed Harvey a large needle. Now he knew he had to get it together. He drew in a sharp, deep breath. To calm his nerves he thought it was good you were unconscious to spare you the image of the largest needle you'd ever seen plunge into your chest.

The thin needle glided through to your flesh, without any navigation Harvey bore the task with nothing but intuition, until the needle penetrated the pericardium. Behind him, one Paramedic had their back turned, unable to watch this infinite medical wager. A true test of a gut feeling.

Sweat slid down Harvey's forehead when he felt the needle had found the pericardium. He steadily lifted the syringe, the paramedic watching it fill with blood while Harvey had his eyes on the heart monitor. A great flood gate of stress opened and deposited his mind to see your heart rhythm steady.

After the surgery, and the departure of the paramedics, Harvey remained slumped against the hospital wall. It took a while for him to work up the energy to be upset. First, he was thankful, second, he was angry. He decided to wait until you woke up to be angry.

Days passed since the surgery.

As of now, he stood weakly beside your bed, he had a tight grip on your hand. His brownish locks swept messily over his eyes, dangling like vines in front of his glasses that slid down his nose. He was no longer wearing his white lab coat and the sleeves of his button down were rolled up, his necktie was nowhere to be seen.

After shock exhaustion hit him hard– something he experience a lot during his career but even harder since it was you on the operating table.

Harvey began coming up with random grievances, many of them being very valid. Like why is there no medical center near a very dangerous mine, let alone a desert. And why must you always venture alone? Especially without telling anyone? Why didn't you think things through before going down there?

A soft groaning sound came from your mostly motionless form. All except your eyelids remained still. A sudden wave of fatigue and a bone chilling pain all over made it almost impossible to move without wanting to die.

"Har... vey...?" you muttered, slightly craning your head to the side. He was just in the corner of your vision. His flustered face in all of its glory.

Harvey's physician instincts kicked in and began checking your vitals as well as asking you questions. "Do you know what day it is?"

"'s it the seventh of sp...ring?" you recalled.

"Where do you live?"

"Stardew Valley."

"Do you know my name?"

"Harvey."

"Now last question," said Harvey, a little irritated. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

It took you a moment to reply. The question didn't quite sound like it had an answer. You opened your mouth to answer but nothing came out.

"What?" you said, tensing up a little.

"I've lost count of how many times I've asked you to please be careful." His tone was desperate and distraught. You didn't pick up on the sincerity of his voice, being too involved in the pain in your side.

As soon as you realized what this was about, all the tension in your shoulders deflated. You rolled your eyes and sighed. "Come on Harvey. I'm going to be okay."

"You don't know that," he stressed. There was a hot anger in his tone that sent tendrils of worry down your spine. "So stop acting like your skin is made of platinum. You don’t even realize it, but you may just be the luckiest person in the Ferngill Republic! This isn't the first time you came into my clinic an inch away from death and every goddamn time... I don't know if you're going to make it."

You frowned. "Now... wait a minute..." Everytime this happened you saw the way Harvey's jaw locked, waiting for you to go home from his emergency surgery so he could break down over the fact he'd have to do it again.

He felt like his soul was becoming too big for his body, like a shaken Joja Cola threatening to burst. All he could do was tremble with desperation and anger. "You can't go back to Skull Cavern... and don’t think I don’t know about your little ventures into the Ginger Island volcano, hell, even the local mines-- you’ve lost your fucking mind-- you can't--."

You felt indignant. "That isn't your call Harvey." Even in your most vulnerable state, you stood your ground. It made sense to Harvey why you always ventured out into danger. "I can't believe you would even suggest that... that's so... selfish!"

"Maybe it is," he argued.

"What about my job, I make money by doing this! What about me leaving Joja Corporation to be here? The community center, too. Didn't get fixed without a few broken bones. What about that?"

The Joja Cola inside Harvey had finally exploded. A loud thud shook the bedside table and Harvey was standing, fuming. Tears cascaded like waterfalls down his eyes, ignited with fire and determination. His voice was broken and sounded like a scratched CD. 

"What about me!" He gestured to himself with intensity. “What about me! Oh, it’s just one crisis after another and it doesn’t seem like a crisis to you, but every time I see you on that goddamn gurney I feel like my world is coming to an end! Dammit, if you come in again, and I can’t save...” he choked on his words. “I thought you were going to die, don’t you get it?”  

You clenched your jaw, your face radiated heat. Harvey had scanned your eyes, as if he was frantically searching for something. He must have seen something because seconds after, he looked away, rubbing his eyes from underneath his glasses. 

“Would you save me again? If I ignored this little debacle between us. And as soon I could get back up on my feet, and I go back into the mines, come in with a hole in my chest, the size of your hand. Would you save me, if you knew you could? Or… or even if you knew you couldn’t?”

He winced, his moustache wrinkling on his lip. His head bobbed, nonetheless. “You’re so cruel, you know that.” he said, looking at you like you asked what color the sky was. “You have this terrifying grip on me and I don’t think you realize it. I would rather not think of anything like that... you dying. Yet you force me. Not just now, but every time I see you rolling into this hospital. If you died, if you were on my operation table, my emergency room, and you flatlined... I doubt I could bring myself to hold a scalpel again. I am so deeply in love with you. I'd save you a billion times in a billion different lives. Again and again and again, I would save you in a box, with a fox, here or there, or anywhere. I am saving you now, and you’re oblivious. The most potent medicine I can administer for the madness within you is my own goddamn pleading.”

"I'm tired of this," you confessed. There was long a silence of him examining you. There was dark reddish-purple bruising around your face and various large ones dotting the lengths of your appendages. Old bruises that hadn't yet healed reopened and fading lacerations from being handled by Void Spirits throbbed around your wrists. "You're right. I... need a break from the mines. I haven't let myself heal."

Harvey looked caught off guard. He froze, eyes glued to your pathetic, ragged form. Hooked up to countless monitors and machines. 

"I can't keep getting hurt like this. I... I try to act like it's no big deal but... I haven't been sleeping, it's so scary. I need stone and ore and money to expand my farm. I've gotten so caught up in boosting my efficiency I've completely turned into who I was when I worked for Joja."

Harvey was silent for a good moment. He took your hand. "(Y/N)," he spoke tenderly, his throat raw and shakey. "You live comfortably enough to take a medical leave from work. Doctor's orders, you understand?"

You frowned. Farming was your passion. But he was right, and the break might raise the prices of your crops if they become higher in demand. You took a deep breath, barely managing a nod. "I'll be awfully bored and lonely if I'm not working." You complained.

"Don't worry." Harvey managed a gentle smile. "I'll make my visits frequent."

"And long."

Harvey smiled. "One day, they'll be permanent."

#fanfiction #stardew farmer #harvey stardew valley #sdv harvey #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley x reader

[fluentmoviequoter]

Truth Serum

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: While searching for an abducted child, you and Tim are abducted and injected with truth serum.

Warnings: fluff, angst, child abduction, drugging, Tim and reader make out while working

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “We got an anonymous tip about the AMBER alert. The caller said a car matching the alert description was parked outside the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena.”

“We’re responding,” Tim replies. “Why the arena?” he asks you.

“It wouldn’t be very busy this time of day. Stay low there until there’s a crowd tonight and disappear with them,” you hypothesize. “Or something happened, and they had to stop.”

Tim nods as he turns on the shop’s lights. He doesn’t want to alert the abductor that the police are coming, but he needs to get there fast. Once you find the car, you’re a step closer to recovering the kidnapped child. The AMBER alert is several hours old, and the longer it takes, the more your chances of finding the child healthy and alive diminish.

“Take the next left,” you tell Tim. “If we can get in the back way, they shouldn’t see us coming.”

Tim takes your advice without argument, which surprises you. Calls with kids are some of the hardest, but when you know one’s in danger, everything changes. Part of what makes Tim such a good cop is his ability to separate his emotions, but the moment you got the AMBER alert notification, he tightened his grip on the wheel and told dispatch to let you and him patrol for the car.

“There it is,” Tim murmurs as he stops behind a partial wall in the parking lot.

The silver sedan you’ve spent the morning hunting for waits in a parking spot as if it’s just a normal day. You can’t see signs of anyone in the car, and Tim opens his door quietly and steps out. As you open your door, you notice something under the sedan less than 100 yards from you.

“Tim, it’s a trap,” you say quickly.

He turns toward you and gestures for you to get back in the car, but the car explodes, and you’re slung back against the shop before you take another step. You reach toward Tim where he lays behind you, but a booted foot kicks your hand away.

“Time to serve and protect,” the man standing above you says.

He drops a wet rag on your face, and you lose consciousness before you realize it’s not water.

 “Hey, c’mon,” Tim whispers.

He jostles your wrist with his fingertips as he demands you talk to him. When you realize that he’s asking for a response, you squeeze your eyes closed and grunt. Tim takes it as enough of a sign that you’re still alive and stops talking.

“Where are we?” you ask, blinking slowly. “Are you tied up?”

“Welcome back,” Tim murmurs grumpily. “You don’t handle chloroform very well.”

“My bad,” you reply sarcastically. “Have they been back?”

“No.”

“How mad are you?”

Tim makes a sound that you take as a sign to stop talking. For someone so eager to hear your voice a moment ago, your questions changed his mind quickly. Behind you, metal scrapes as a door opens. You hear heavy footsteps and assume that it’s the man who knocked you out.

“Glad to see you’re both feeling better. Need those minds as sharp and clear as we can get them,” he says. “I’m George.”

“And I’m the man in yellow,” you reply under your breath.

“Cute,” George murmurs. “You’re just here to help. If you found the car, you know about the kid.”

“The kid you abducted?” Tim asks.

“Details, details… Either you start telling me what you know, or I beat it out of your friend here.”

Tim’s fingers press against your wrist as he flexes beneath his restraints. George laughs, and you turn your neck painfully in an attempt to see him.

“You’ll get a turn,” George promises when he notices your movement. “If neither of you is feeling talkative, perhaps you need some courage.”

George walks around Tim, and you track him as he stops before you. He’s larger than he seemed in the parking lot. As he smiles down at you, you relax. If he thinks you’re intimidated, he has you where he wants you.

“Do you want to tell me anything?” George asks.

“Your right boot is scuffed,” you answer. “Little saddle soap would buff it right out.”

George clenches his jaw as he reaches into his pocket. He withdraws a syringe, and your eyes widen as you push back against the chair you’re tied to. His smile grows as he reaches for your forearm.

“Don’t,” you demand. “Don’t touch me.”

Tim moves behind you, but there’s nothing he can do to help.

“Don’t worry, Officer Bradford,” George calls. “You’ll get a turn too.”

George slides the needle under your skin and looks directly into your eyes as he depresses the syringe. He pulls the used needle out and tosses it into the corner of the room. After he pats your arm, he returns to Tim’s side.

“What was that? What is it?” you demand, pulling against your restraints.

A bead of blood appears on the surface of the skin. Tim is likely being injected too, but you need to know what George is pumping into you.

“Back up,” Tim growls from behind you.

“Gladly,” George answers. “To answer your question, sodium thiopental. Enjoy the next few minutes of control.”

As the door slams behind George, you exclaim, “Truth serum?”

“It doesn’t work,” Tim says.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But this idiot doesn’t know that.”

“And you want to pretend it does?” Tim questions. “For what?”

“He gets fed up and tells us what he knows… I hope.”

Tim hums and his fingers press against your skin. “Let’s try it.”

“Hello again,” George says as he returns.

“Hi,” you blurt out.

“So glad to hear some excitement. We’ll start easy. Why are you here?”

“Because we’re cops and someone said the AMBER alert car was here,” Tim answers.

“Oh, so grumpy does speak,” George muses happily. “In that case...”

George grabs the side of your chair and spins it quickly. You’re beside Tim now; his arm is pressed to yours and you can look at him without straining. The plan is working already.

“Glad you’re okay,” Tim tells you.

“Not the truth we’re looking for,” George interrupts. “Tell me, what do the police think?”

“Lots of things,” you answer. “You-“ you interrupt yourself off with a giggle – “you have to be more specific.”

“Where do they think the kid is?” George clarifies.

“With the bad guy,” Tim says. “The guy who drives the silver sedan… Did you steal it?”

“Do they have a name, a face? Who is the suspect?” George is getting agitated, exactly as you hoped.

“A face...” you repeat. You look toward Tim and say, “You… you have the prettiest face ever. I want to marry you.”

Tim takes the confession in stride, likely assuming that you’re still playing I’m high on sodium thiopental.

“You’re the best partner I’ve ever had,” Tim replies, leaning toward you.

“Listen!” George demands. He places his hand over your jaw to direct your face toward his. “Where is the kid?”

“The kid?” you ask, your voice distorted by his grip on your face.

“Mmhmm. Where did they take him?”

George releases your face, and you stretch your jaw out as you turn toward Tim.

“Kids… Tim, I want to have your babies. You’d have pretty babies. And smart babies.”

Tim nods along, but there’s a faraway look in his eyes that you don’t recognize. He’s either playing up the truth serum bit, or something else is happening. George slaps the side of your face before he storms out of the room. You smile at Tim, despite the deepening hand print covering your jaw.

“Pretty and smart babies?” Tim asks.

“You weren’t giving me anything to work with,” you point out with a shrug.

“I like listening.”

“Well, it is truth serum,” you murmur.

When George returns, he shoves a picture in your face.

“My son, where did they take him?” he demands.

“Son?” you and Tim ask together.

“Oh!” you exclaim when you see the picture. “George, listen, we can help. But you have to let us go.”

“Why would I do that? You people are the reason he’s gone!”

“George,” you repeat softly. “We know that the man who reported his abduction is really his stepfather, and half of the LAPD is looking for your son, but we don’t know where he is yet.”

“He never would’ve disappeared if you hadn’t taken him away from me!”

“Then let me help,” you implore.

George stares at you for a few seconds before he nods. He cuts your restraints and steps back as you stand. You pull Tim’s handcuffs from his belt as you move, just in case.

“Let’s go,” he commands.

You shake your head and point to Tim. “Both of us.”

“No,” George answers. “Help me and I’ll let you come back to get him later. We’re going.”

George grabs your arm and shoves you harshly toward the door. You could fight back, but without Tim to back you up, it would go poorly fast.

“Tim, I’ll be back,” you promise.

“Be careful,” he mouths silently.

You nod and hold his eyes until the door closes. As you follow George through the underground tunnel, you watch him closely.

“Dad!” someone yells deeper in the tunnel.

“George,” you say lowly. “What did you do?”

“He’s my son!” George bellows.

He turns toward you with your gun aimed at your chest. You raise your hands and maintain eye contact with him.

“This doesn’t end well for you,” you tell him. “What was the goal?”

“His stepdad is looking for him,” George explains. “I can’t lose my son again.”

“So… what?”

“You would bring him here, lure that monster here, and I would save my son!”

“George, it doesn’t work like that. You kill his stepdad, you injure me or my partner, and you go to prison. So that little boy in there still loses you. You’re stuck, George.”

“No!” he yells. “No, I have the gun and my son.”

“And when you have to run? You drag him with you?”

“I- we-“

“You didn’t think that far?” you guess. “You don’t get out of this, George. Not like this.”

“Dad!” his son yells again.

“He needs you right now. If you let me go, surrender, and return that little boy to his mother-“

“The court takes him again.”

“But you still get to see him. What’s better, George? Taking him from everything he loves or seeing him when it’s good for him?”

The gun falters in George’s hand, and when he begins to lower it, you surge forward. As your shoulder collides with his chest, you pull your gun from his grip. It fires into the tunnel as you wrestle George to the ground. The moment you push him to the concrete and secure your cuffs on him, George begins crying.

“Save the tears for your court date,” you respond. “Where’s my radio? My phone?”

George shakes his head, and you sigh in exasperation. You pull his shoulders to help him into a seated position against the concrete wall.

“Stay here,” you demand. George nods vehemently, and you ask, “Where’s your son?”

“Third door on the left,” he answers through sniffles.

You walk to the third door and open it carefully. The little boy runs to you and hugs your legs as he rambles about how his father took him from his mom’s house and won’t tell him anything.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you assure him. “Here, can you hold my handcuffs? I need someone to keep them ready until I come back.”

He nods and accepts the handcuffs. As he sits on the thin mattress behind him and toys with the mechanical lock, you return to the main tunnel. George doesn’t speak as you pass him, nor when you take the knife from his side.

You open the door to the room where Tim is waiting and step inside. He looks up quickly and blows out a large breath. His jaw tightens quickly, and you notice blood running down his left hand.

“George is in cuffs outside,” you say. You squat before Tim and begin cutting his restraints. “And his son is fine. Babysitting your cuffs at the moment.”

You set the knife aside and focus on gently freeing Tim's bloodied wrist, oblivious to how he watches you. His skin has been scraped raw from tugging against the rope to get out and get to you. He heard the gunshot and assumed the worst, then you came in like nothing happened.

The moment Tim is free, you stand and offer a hand to him. Tim knocks your hand out of the way as he stands. You begin to ask him if he’s okay, but his hands rise to your shoulders, his thumbs against the pillar of your neck. Before you finish the question, Tim presses himself closer to you and kisses you. You blink in surprise but melt into his affection quickly. As you slide your arms over his shoulder and move with Tim, you wonder how much of his action is adrenaline and if there’s anything in this that he means.

“Officer?” George’s son calls down the tunnel.

You step back and Tim drops his hands to your waist.

“That was…” you begin.

“Truth serum,” Tim finishes. “Let’s go.”

He brushes past you, trailing his right hand over your waist. Outside, he leads George out as you carry his son back into the sunlight. The young boy clings to you, and you comfort him as Tim uses the radio in the shop to alert dispatch and request backup.

“Where’s our stuff?” Tim asks George as he shoves him against the dented back door.

“Threw it in here,” George mumbles against the glass.

“He may be a kidnapper, but he’s no thief,” you murmur.

“You see those dents?” Tim asks lowly, so George’s son doesn’t hear. “Those were made when you tried to kill two cops. All of this for a little boy you’re never going to see again.”

George begins crying again, and Tim rolls his eyes as he looks away. Tim may be good at hiding his emotions on the job, but you know better than anyone that he still feels them and feels them deeply.

The first of many patrol cars pulls into the parking lot, and you nod at Tim before you’re pulled away in the hectic moments that follow your heroic recovery.

You knock on the door once, then pull your hands behind your back. Part of you expects that the door will remain closed, but Kojo barks as Tim opens the door.

“Hi,” you greet, rocking back on your heels. “I- uh- I just wanted to thank you for everything today.”

“Come in,” Tim invites.

You walk past him, remembering what it felt like to have his hands on you and his lips against yours. As you turn back to Tim, he steps into your space.

“Was any of it true?” he asks.

“It’s called truth serum for a reason,” you whisper.

Tim fails to hide his smile as he says, “Then you think I have a pretty face?”

“The prettiest ever,” you agree.

“And you want to have my babies.”

“I’m pretty sure I said I wanted to get married first,” you point out happily.

Tim’s hands raise toward your face, but he stops when he sees the bruise along your jaw. You catch his left arm and kiss his bandage, the injury underneath caused by concern for you.

“I was going to say I love you,” you murmur. “But I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“It’s truth serum. I wanted to believe it all,” Tim answers.

“Then kiss me again,” you request softly.

Tim does exactly as you ask, takes your face gently between his hands, and kisses you. It’s just as shocking and enlivening as the first time, and you smile against his lips because it was true. It was all true.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x you #the rookie #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #hanna writes✯