#as long as it makes you happy! as long as you're doing better

[thescarletfang]

SPINNING OUT [part one]

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!freader

Summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. When you're hit by a drunk driver, you're taken to PTMC, and what was supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning.

Word count: ~4.7k

Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot but it just works better in 3 parts! This is part one - the other two parts are outlined! First time really writing a multi-chapter fic, eeeep.

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+, MDNI

Warnings: Angst, fluff, car accident, therapist reader, widower Jack, dead wife mentioned!, no smut in this part but eventual smut. Eventual happy ending. Slight age gap (reader is 38, Jack is 49). If I missed anything, let me know!

NOW

It starts again because of an accident. 

You’re driving home from work and you’re the kind of bone-deep tired that settles inside of you like lead. Your chest feels heavy and your shoulders ache. You grip the steering wheel, blinking bleary eyes to try and stay focused on the road. 

You dream of home. Stepping out of your heels. A glass of pinot noir in your favorite long-stemmed glass. You dream of putting the day behind you; of closing the tab on all the clients you saw today. All the words you offered them, and the space you held between your body and theirs; your mind is tired. It is fulfilled, yes - as it always is. You know being a therapist is your calling, and you’ve never been more grateful for work than you are at this particular time in your life. 

But you’re…exhausted. 

You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night. Likely in the before. Before your home was cold and lonely. Before everything felt so fucking hard. Before you slept alone in your bed and only brewed one cup of coffee and only made enough food for you.

You just want to rest. 

More than that? You’d like to hide. Your brain is all static and fuzz. It’s flipping its channels at a rapid pace and you’ve lost the remote. You think about the Xanax you have at home and think maybe tonight is the night you take one. 

You just crave peace. 

Everything changes in the span of a breath.

There is the screeching of metal-on-metal, your driver’s side door crunching in on itself. Your neck feels like it snaps. Your airbag deploys and then all you can feel is pain.

It hurts. Everything hurts. 

You feel like you can no longer breathe. You try breathing, you try opening your eyes but everything feels blurred, like you’ve taken your fingers and smeared the paint that makes up your vision. 

You cannot see. You cannot feel anything other than a burning pain that goes from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. 

You think you might be dead. You think of him, for just a moment. 

You do not know how much time passes.

In the ambulance, through the fog and haze of it all, as you lie on the gurney with your head, neck and limbs secure, you beg them to take you to a different hospital, anywhere but the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center because if you go there you’ll see him and you just fucking can’t. 

They ignore your pleas and they tell you to hang on. They tell you a drunk driver slammed into you and t-boned your car. You can barely process anything they are telling you and you feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness. 

A nap. A nap would be so good right now.

They ask you to keep your eyes open but you screw them up tight. It’s too bright in the ambulance and you don’t recognize these voices. 

You can’t see him. Not like this. Not after everything. 

You’re fading, feeling yourself pulled under the current of a dark blankness and then the gurney is being taken out of the back of the ambulance. You keep thinking not like this, not like this, like it’s a broken record in your head and you’re desperate to get to the next track.

You understand that your gurney is moving quickly and you know, despite really being aware, that they’ve taken you to PTMC. The doors slide open and there’s so much noise but your ears are buzzing and ringing. 

Everything feels far away. 

You catch snippets of dialogue in the trauma bay. “Unidentified 38-year-old female. MVA. Somewhat responsive. Severe blood loss. Possible lung puncture, difficulty breathing.” 

Then Robby’s face is above you and his brown eyes grow wide, rounding at the ages as he sees it’s you. 

“Fuck,” he bites out, harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” and then he barks an order at someone else and you manage to grab his sleeve. He turns back to you. 

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and raspy as he wheels you quickly into the trauma bay. “Just fucking hang on, okay?”

“Don’t tell him,” you rasp. “Robby, please, don’t—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath but it feels like you’re drowning. Blood splatters out of your lips. “Don’t tell Jack—”

A heartbroken look flickers across Robby’s face but then you gasp and you can’t finish your sentence because everything goes black. 

* * * 

Jack rolls his shoulders, shutting his locker and heading into the ED. Fuck, what he’d give for a quiet night and the ability to get through this shift without feeling like he’s white-knuckling life. It’s bad enough he had a fucking panic attack on the way in here. He’s been having those more and more often, despite being on his daily dose of an SSRI. His therapist tells him he needs to take a break, to finally cash in on all his accrued time off but he just grinds his jaw and says no. 

Work is good. When he works, he can focus on anything but the absolute trainwreck that is his life. 

When he works, he can stop thinking about you. 

It’s a lie, of course, but Jack’s always been good at lying to himself. 

He sees you in everything he does. Misses you with an ache that feels like a stone on his chest. On the really rough nights, where he feels like he’s barely treading water, he gets closer to the edge of the roof than he ever has. 

Jack shakes his head, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, holding on to the ends of it like it’s a tether that can keep him sane.

One moment at a time, his therapist told him. One shift at a time. One second, every single day, at a time. 

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. Losing himself in his work is enough, if only for tonight. 

Jack knows something is wrong the minute he steps into the ED.

Robby is rushing in through the trauma bay, rolling a gurney and barking orders at Shen and Ellis. He looks up and locks eyes with Jack. 

“Get him out of here,” Robby yells to Dana, who has just thrown on her jean jacket to head home. Dana’s eyes go wide and as the gurney rolls past her, she looks at whoever is on it and pales. She beelines for Jack. 

Jack’s heart thuds painfully against his sternum. He picks up his pace, gently brushing past Dana and making his way to Robby.

“It’s my shift, dunno why I’d need to get out of here,” he says calmly to Robby, trying to remain in control but he already knows who’s on that gurney. He already knows because the universe fucking hates him. 

It isn’t enough that you left him three months ago and the last three months have been a living hell every single day. It isn’t enough that it was his fault you left, that he’d pushed you to the end of your rope by pulling away, by shutting down, by letting those voices in the dark consume him. It isn’t enough that he continually put his work before you because work is the only thing to make him feel worthy of anything, and he regrets it, will regret letting you slip through his fingers every single day for the rest of his fucking life. 

It isn’t enough that you’re the love of his life and he’s such a stupid fucking old man, forever convinced he never deserved you in the first place. Self-sabotage has been his best friend a long time, lurking over his shoulder and shadowing every move he’s ever made.

It isn’t enough he’s been through this once before. He’s not even officially fucking fifty-years-old and he’s already lost a wife and he’s about to lose another. Jack Abbot doesn’t get second chances.

Jack Abbot reaps the fucking karma that he sows. 

“Dana, get him out of here!” Robby yells again, rolling you into T-1. 

“C’mon, honey,” Dana tries. “You don’t wanna see this.”

But it’s too late. Jack’s quick on his feet, even with the prosthetic, and he sees you lying there, unconscious, blood-matted hair and it’s dripping from your mouth and he can’t believe that this is happening, that this is real, that it is happening to him again.

Robby steps to him at the door of the room. “You can’t be in here.”

There’s a sharp ringing in Jacks’ ears, high-pitched and drowning everything out. His voice is gravely and broken. A desperate plea rather with no real bite. “Like fuck I can’t, man. Get out of the way—”

“Jack, I mean it, brother.” Robby blocks him again, his nostrils flaring. “Get out.”

“That’s my fucking wife!” The words silence the ED, cutting through the chaos sharply. Ellis and Shen look up, shock over their faces. They’ve never heard their attending lose his cool like this. Jack is the calm one. While Robby is the attending who is more inclined to raise his voice, Jack never falters. Residents and students and the nursing staff follow him blindly because they know he never loses his cool.

Well, he’s losing it now.

Dana puts a hand on her chest like it hurts. 

Robby’s cold facade slips for a second and for a moment he’s just Jack’s friend, his brother, and the pain is written in his face, a pain mirroring Jack’s own. 

Jack’s breathing heavily, his voice cracking on the last word because it’s true, you’re still his wife.

He can’t lose you. Not when everything is so wrong. 

* * * 

BEFORE

It’s Robby who sets the two of you up in the first place.

Robby went to high school with your older brother. While back then, you were the baby sister always trying to play with the big boys (literally, you were two and Robby and your brother were 17), the two of you reconnected when you became a licensed therapist and moved into the city. Despite being fifteen years your senior, Robby became a good friend. 

The two of you tried dating – briefly – but after a few dates, you realized you were much better off as friends. It always felt forced, too platonic, and you were honestly relieved when you both confessed that the romance wasn’t there. 

“I just can’t kiss someone who I knew when they were a toddler,” Robby told you bashfully, face beet red, after you’d both pulled away from a rather lackluster kiss. You hadn’t even been offended; you’d just laughed and called him an old pervert.

He’s been a best friend ever since.

You’re grabbing a coffee with Robby before his shift and your first client of the day when you finish complaining about your latest string of bad dates. 

“He venmo requested me when I got home.”

Robby chokes on his sip of coffee. “No.” 

You laugh, nodding and playing with the plastic lid of your cup. “Yes! You know what? It’s on me for agreeing to go out with a guy who still lives in his mom’s basement. I am grown enough to admit that that’s on me.” 

“Jesus,” Robby mutters. “What a dick.” 

“I think I’m done. I’m too old.” You know you’re being dramatic, but it’s so easy to bitch to Robby. “You’d think being a therapist I’d be able to spot emotionally intelligent men, but I can’t. Can’t even find someone who’s in therapy himself.” 

Robby snorts into his coffee and rubs his jaw. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ old maid.” He pauses, lifts an eyebrow. “I know a guy in therapy.”

You purse your lips, studying Robby as you sit at the little cafe table in the coffee shop. “Oh yeah? He an ER doctor too?”

Robby smirks. “Yeah, he is.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I can’t do that again.”

Robby laughs, holds a hand to his heart like you’ve wounded him. “Ouch. Was it that bad?” 

You grin, bumping his coffee cup with your own. “Yes, it was that bad. Even if we–yanno, had actually been into each other in a real way, your schedule is atrocious. ER doctors are walking zombies. I can’t date another one!”

Robby studies you in that quiet way of his that makes you feel like he’s seeing through whatever bullshit you’re spouting. 

“His name’s Jack Abbot. He’s an attending on the night shift. He’s in his 40s, was a medic in the army.” Robby pauses. “He’s a good man.”

You take a moment and absorb the information. “Is he even looking to date?”

Robby grins, draining the last of his coffee. “When he meets you, yeah, I think he will be.”

* * * 

Falling in love with Jack Abbot starts out slow and then happens all at once. 

You meet for the first time at a little bar around the corner from your apartment. You’re nervous. If you were being honest, you didn’t think Robby’s colleague would be interested in a blind date. But you’d gotten a text from an unknown number that read, “Hey, this is Jack Abbot, Robby’s better half. Would it be okay if I called you? Not a great texter.” 

He’d called a minute after you said that was fine and the deep gravel of his voice had warmed you down to your toes. Robby had shown you a picture of him, the two of them at some hospital fundraiser gala a year or two back, and yeah, he was fucking handsome. Thick, gray curls. Broad shoulders. Crooked smile. 

Apparently, he hadn’t been opposed to whatever picture Robby had shown him of you, because you found yourself talking on the phone with Dr. Jack Abbot for over two hours that first phone call. The conversation flowed easily, winding between work and family and it began to sketch the shape of you to each other. 

It’d been natural. Scarily so, if you were honest with yourself. 

You’re still nervous to meet him in person. That phone call was a few nights ago, and your hands tremble a little as you open the door to the bar. You run your hands down the fabric of your little dress – a casual, first date number that makes you feel sexy and like yourself all at once – as you walk into the bar. Your eyes scan for a moment. 

Your heart is thumping. 

This feels weighted in a way that other first dates haven’t. This person is in Robby’s orbit, which automatically makes you trust him. 

Your eyes meet across the room and it feels like a little lock sliding into place. You’re taken aback by the feeling.

He’s standing at the corner of the bar, casually leaning against it, hands in his pockets and Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous. The salt-and-pepper curls look even better than in the picture you saw, and your fingers itch to run through them. He’s in nice jeans, a black sweater, expensive as fuck looking Nikes, and he’s…well, he’s staring at you in a way that nearly makes you stumble mid-step. 

“Hi,” you breathe when you’re in front of him. Jack’s smile is a little crooked and it’s so charming you feel flustered.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice sounds just like it did on the phone: warm and raspy. “It’s really nice to meet you—uh, in person.” Oh my god, he’s so cute. He seems nervous and oddly, it sets you at ease.

You smile at him and fiddle with the strap of your purse. “It’s also nice to meet you in person.” Jesus, you sound like a robot. 

But Jack grins again and it makes him look boyish. 

“I’ll be honest,” Jack tells you, and he steps a little closer. His scent wafts over to you - like clean, fresh soap - and it’s very nice. “I uh…I haven’t been set up in awhile. I’m a little rusty.” 

You laugh. “Rusty’s okay with me.” You pause. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement, do you?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Tell me you’re joking. The bar’s that low?”

You purse your lips. “In the ground.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving breath and shakes his head. He rubs the back of his neck. “I promise I don’t live in my ma’s basement.” 

You grin and he grins back crookedly and it’s so nice. He asks you what you’re drinking and after you both have your choice in hand - a pinot noir for you, a whisky on the rocks for him - you find a little table. The bar is one of your favorites, a charming little place with low lighting and a relaxed crowd. 

You’re once again surprised by how natural it all feels. You pick up right where you left off on the phone, and you’re grateful that Jack seems to enjoy talking. You’ve been on plenty of dates with men who can’t carry a conversation or seem physically incapable of asking you a single question about yourself, so this? 

This is just…lovely. 

The candlelight dances across Jack’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the gray stubble. You…simply cannot stop looking at him. And he cannot seem to stop looking at you; you may not know him well yet, but an hour in his presence and you realize this man loves eye contact. He’s unafraid to hold it, and it keeps you grounded and in your body in a way that is calming to your anxiety. 

You find out Jack grew up just outside of Pittsburgh, that he’s a born and raised Steelers fan. You learn more about his time as a combat medic (you’d touched on it on the phone). You learn that he prefers the night shift, that it calms and quiets his mind. You learn that he’s been seeing his current therapist for two years after his previous one retired. You learn that he’s the oldest of four kids and has three younger sisters. A bunch of nieces and nephews that he — adorably — shows you on his phone. 

He learns that you’re prone to anxiety attacks. That you’ve wanted to be a therapist since high school. You tell him about your friendship with Robby and he laughs when you tell him about your ill-fated attempt at dating. He learns that you want to travel more, dream of going back to Sorrento, Italy and sipping limoncello while the briny sea breeze of the marina plays across your face. He learns about your family, and how much you love them. 

A lull in the conversation as you sip your wine and he studies you. You blush, looking into your glass.

“What?” you ask out of the side of your mouth. When you look back up at him, you notice he has a dimple in his cheeks when he grins. 

“I just didn’t think it’d be like this,” is what he says. Your heart thrums once, twice, a thudding in your chest.

“Like what?”

He doesn’t blink when he stares at you. “Easy.”

You smile at him and he lets out a breath like that smile is what he’s been waiting for. 

“I uh, I should tell you,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been married before. My wife passed ten years ago.” His jaw clenches once, twice. “I never know how to uh, bring it up.” He clears his throat. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. “Thank you for telling me,” you say softly, genuinely. And you mean it. 

He looks at you then like he’s a little surprised. “You didn’t say, ‘sorry for your loss.’”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. Do you want me to?”

His cheeks dimple when he gives you a small, gentle smile. “Fuck no. I’m just…everyone says ‘sorry for your loss.’” 

“It is an unthinkable thing to lose a partner, a thing that forever changes your entire chemistry as a human being,” you tell him. “And I hate that it happened to you. And I’m very thankful that you told me.” 

Jack taps his thumb against his whisky glass, and seems to study the melting ice within it. “She’s—she was the best person I ever met. She made me better. I think about her all the time.” He adds roughly, “I hope she’s proud’a me.” 

You resist the urge to take this man’s hand in your own. Your fingers itch for it, but you don’t want to assume he’s okay with that, especially during such a vulnerable moment. You sit in his words for a moment, letting them rest between you. 

“I’m so glad you had her. That you still have her, in a lot of ways, I’m sure.”

He nods and doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he lets out a breath and when he looks up at you, his eyes glisten a bit. 

“This what it’s like dating a therapist? You always say the right thing?”

You bark out a laugh because you can’t help it. “God, if I always said the right thing, I’d be a shitty therapist. I tend to believe you learn by failing and fucking up.” Your cheeks warm as he continues to look at you. “And this isn’t dating. This is our first date.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow. “Oh? First and last?”

You bite your lip and his eyes track the motion. He swallows. “That what you want? First and last?”

“Hell no,” he says immediately, voice so sure that it warms your entire body. The glisten in his eyes has given way to a brightness and you think, I like this.

I like you.

“Good,” you tell him, draining the last of your wine. “Me either.”

* * * 

You get tacos from the taco truck around the corner, and in between bites of carne asada and tinga de pollo, Jack tells you about work at PTMC.

“I like the teaching aspect of it,” he tells you after taking a sip of his water. You sit at a little folding table in the parking lot where the truck is set up. “I didn’t think I’d like that part, but as cheesy as it sounds, I think it’s part of what I’m meant to do.”

You’re smiling as you say, “I see why you and Robby are friends.” 

Jack barks out a short laugh. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

You swallow the last bite of your taco, lick the salsa from your fingertips. Jack’s eyes linger on the movement and you feel a buzz in your blood. 

“You both can’t help but lead. It’s in your DNA.” You pause. “It’s how I know you’re a good doctor and I just met you.”

“Hey now,” Jack says, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You keep talkin’ like that and my ego’s gonna get too big to fit through the trauma bay.”

You grin and he grins back and you feel silly and light and…happy. 

“I wanna see you again,” Jack tells you. It’s so straightforward that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

“You’re seeing me right now,” you say to deflect from the nerves you’re feeling. 

Jack shrugs. 

“Not enough,” he says and you think you might actually swoon. “I like schedules. You wanna see me again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. I’m off in three days and I wanna make you dinner at my place. Would that be okay?”

You try to contain your excitement, to play it cool. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“I thought you were rusty at the whole dating thing,” you tell him. His eyes flash with something you want to name as mischief. 

Jack rubs his scruffy jaw. He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. “You make me wanna be good at it.”

You think your smile may be so bright that it outshines the streetlight above. 

“Dinner at your place in three days sounds perfect.” 

* * * 

There’s an energy between you that wasn’t there earlier in the night as Jack walks you home. You can feel it. It’s heavy and pulsing and it makes you feel untethered in a way that is intoxicating. 

Your hands brush as you walk down the quiet, dark street. Shoulders swaying into each other. You can feel the heat of Jack’s body, how close he’s walking. You clock that he’s walking on the outside of the sidewalk, that his eyes scan your surroundings, like he’s making sure he’s aware of everything going on.

The two of you don’t speak much as you walk, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s…anticipatory. It feels like you’re on the precipice of something and whatever happens in the next few minutes will determine something very important. 

You reach your duplex, a sweet little place with night-blooming jasmine bushes that have been there since you moved in several years ago. You stop at the gate and turn to him. He stops walking, hands in his pockets as his eyes hold yours. 

You both don’t say anything for a moment. You just look at each other and it’s comforting to know that you can exist with this man, just as you are. 

“This is me,” you say after a moment and it makes laughter bubble out of both of you. He grins boyishly, the apples of his cheeks pushing upward. A chorus of cute cute cute chants in your brain.

“Yeah, I figured,” he teases. “Unless you’re in the habit of just stopping in front of random people’s houses.”

“You don’t know me,” you tease back. 

Jack steps closer to you and you look up at him. He’s not really tall but he’s taller than you and his entire presence is so broad and commanding that you feel swept into it. 

“Hopin’ to change that, though.” His voice has a husk to it. “If you’ll let me.”

You take in a breath as he studies you like he’s trying to memorize your face. 

“Yeah, Abbot,” you say, your own voice soft. “I’ll let you.”

He huffs out a breath, hazel eyes clear. “Yeah?” 

His right hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek for a tender moment. You nod as he leans down. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, right before his lips meet yours. 

It’s the best first kiss you’ve ever had. 

Light at first, both of you learning one another’s mouths. Jack’s other hand comes to your face and he’s cradling your head like it’s something precious, like it’s something to be cherished. You step closer to him, your own hands fisting the front of his sweater and pulling him closer. 

When your tongue traces his bottom lip, Jack groans and it lights you up from your scalp to your toes. 

He opens his mouth immediately, his tongue licking into you and you’re on fire. 

You’re in your thirties and you’re making out with this man with a mop of silver curls and it’s so heady that you feel like you’re floating. You feel like you’re a teenager again, sneaking kisses before the porch light comes on and you’re found out. 

You don’t know how much time passes, just that when you both break apart you’re equally short of breath. You’re seconds from inviting him up to your place which is not your typical first date move but that’s simply because nobody’s been worth it before. He grins down at you, lips kiss-bitten, face flushed, and plays with a loose strand of hair framing your face. He rubs it between his fingers, then tucks it behind your ear. 

“Three days. My place. Dinner,” he says, voice husky and wrecked and you smile up at him, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. 

“Can’t wait.”

Later that night, when you’re in bed about to drift off, you get a text from Robby, asking how the date had gone. You respond with a simple thumbs up, knowing it’ll piss him off. He returns your text with ????????? and you snort. You put him out of your misery with your response: It was wonderful. He is wonderful. Seeing him in a few days. Robby sends back a thumbs up in retaliation, which in return makes you annoyed and then you engage in a battle of emojis (middle finger, gun, skull, etc.) until your phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Jack Abbot: Had an amazing time tonight and can’t wait to see you again. Sweet dreams.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you think maybe—just maybe—this is the start of a real good thing.

There’s no way you can know that in four years you’ll be separated from Jack and fighting for your life in a cold, dark hospital room.

[lost-and-cursed]

Idk. You can't never know quite for sure. The older are you, the longer you are in specific friendship it's easier to figure out. It's easier with other neurodivergent people, but ultimately:

— you shouldn't be the one chasing friendship for the long period of time. You can initiate contact, invite someone somewhere. But if they're constantly postponing ('because of the work'), canceling, not inviting you back — they're, at best, your pal and, at worst, tolerating you.

— Look for genuine enthusiasm in people. Someone who enjoys your rants, asks additional questions. Someone who seems to be happy that you asked to join, not just okay with it. (Though sometimes it can evolve gradually overtime from acquaintance to friend)

Watch out for 'yeah, okay I guess', 'you joining wouldn't hurt' and similar noncommittal answers that not so much express enthusiastic consent agreement, but just not neccesarily minding you being there. (Again it's fine to acquire some social contacts, but that's not friendship starter)

Watch out for generalised invites — 'everyone's welcome' and even seemingly enthusiastic 'you should totally go, there's gonna be everybody'. It won't hurt to have some buddies that can be established in such events, but again that's not sign that they like you

— As someone else advised, shared interests is a good basis for friendship, just like regular meetings for shared purpose. Most people, who would seek you out one on one after club or whatever, would be actually interested in you and what have to say. (At the very least on topic of shared interests and you can build it up from there)

— People shouldn't be laughing at you. It's fine-ish if it happens like once in 10 meetings, though, I imagine it still wouldn't be comfortable for you due to previous trauma. People will say 'Oh you should be able to laugh at yourself'. No, you shouldn't.

If you find yourself with group of acquaintances and they start laughing and you don't understand why. Ask them to explain. If they wave you off, ask afterwards whoever you consider to be the most trustworthy in the group. If they refuse to elaborate or are shifty about that, that's red flag. And so is regular exclusion from the group jokes.

If you know they're laughing at you, ask them to stop. Say 'hey, i hate people laughing at me. can you please stop?' (or it upsets me instead of hate).

Outright refusal is red flag. Dodgy answers and platitudes aka 'Well it's just joke", "We laugh at everyone", "Sorry it's just was too funny" is unfortunately beige flag. Neurotypics just be doing this shit. (Though the smaller the group, the more responsive they should be. If there's like three of you second step is more applicable) If they apologize and say something along the lines of 'Sorry we really shouldn't have laughed' or 'we'll try to be better in the future ' that's green-ish flag.

It's important to try to communicate it as early as possible once you're included in the group. But what's indicative is patterns. Do they continue? (If they do try second step or run) Do they laugh the same way at majority of group members? (That's good actually, because that means this is group dynamic. You might still not feel comfortable in such group, but they aren't out to get you).

If they continue, but you do actually like some of the members. Pick someone you trust the most and say something along the lines of 'Hey, I was afraid to speak up with the group, but I was kinda bullied a lot in high school, so laughter really hurts. Do you think (you could help speak with *group leader*/there's someone in the group who could make *initiators* stop). It makes you somewhat vulnerable to them, but if they aren't outright dick at worst they dismiss your concerns (then you ask them to not speak about that to others) and do nothing. If you have trouble differentiate whether someone is a dick, it's risky and I would try to convey the 'trusted person' the sake message, but in more veiled way. 'Remember the *situation*. I still don't quite get why they laughed, but it really hurted. And it hurted even more that noone seemed to care. Do you think it would make sense to speak to them about it or it's just me problem?'

— The most of the previous point is damage control and attempt to navigate gray dynamics, which brings as to this point.

Pick small-group or singular-friend over large group dynamics. If you're unsure about big group (over 4 friends) you might be better off leaving.

Unfortunately, if you lack social awareness it's almost impossible to affect in meaningful ways large group dynamic. The behaviour of people in big groups tends to lean on more unruly (or even cruel) and less conscious (or even sympathetic). They are not evil, but they sorta guess what's acceptable amount of sympathy, tact, and any other traits is. Usually they base it around leader traits or perceived average, but occasionally you find yourself in situation where every member of the group is more sane separately than together.

So if you want to stay in the bigger friend group you need as much allies as you can get inside it. People who you're talking to outside of group on the personal level that can shield you from some neurotypical backlash, protect you interests and help you affect group dynamics in more favourable way.

But that's kinda tall order, so I personally prefer (and recommend people who are insecure) to rely on one to one contact for meaningful friend connections.

— I kinda spoke terribly a lot on the topic of friends already, but, in short, you should be comfortable with them. You should be able to ask them questions and have them actually answered. Yeah, even if you ask why were you angry with me yesterday. You shouldn't be judged or mocked for your interests. They should support your ideas and interests. You should just vibe.

It's not 100% guarantee that you'll get it on first try or that you'll be best friends, but most people who meet the criteria will value you, if maybe not always to the degree you would like them to.

— About earning respect. Being competent in valued topic. Valued topic can vary from group to group. For book club it's books, for nerds it can be dnd, for dudes in general sports or computer games, for gals it might be fashion or specific series. Figure out what's the dominant interests in the group that you wish to join are. Learn at least basics and some people won't even mind teaching you, but if you know a lot you will be respected more

— Addition that noone asked for, but important to remember about neurotypicals.

They operate on fae rules. They have a lot of very rigid rules about social interactions that they will not tell you about, but will bend them to their wishes in the ways you won't be able to comprehend.

They're not malicious about it. They don't even know that rules exist, they just affect them like gravity, like the only thing that makes sense.

So they can be polite and cruel, because they know that polite is good, but they never learnt why.

Some people were given more comprehensive list of guidelines that they follow more consciously and they are a lot more pleasant to be around.

Most people mocking you for existing are frankly just too stupid to recognise that being weird isn't a choice. It doesn't excuse them, but it helps conceptualise cruelty that comes from stupidity and their own lacking.

— About not being weird... Advising people on masking is always unpleasant business. Because masking is a burden. It's a piece of heavy armour that will never quite fit, will chafe, is heavy on maintenance and won't ever protect you completely. And yet a lot of neurodivergents find it necessary sooner or later.

Frankly my first advice would be to seek other neurodivergents, queers and outcasts who will be more likely to accept you as you're. You still might need to figure out how best apply yourself to social skills, but it won't be quite as big burden.

There's no general advice on masking. You'll need to find out 'what's wrong with you' (nothing, but society certainly has opinions on that). You can just go for diagnostical criteria for your neurodivergence and remember specific times and examples when it applied and ruined the experience for you. And then you'll need to figure out counter for it. Most often the counter is A System.

A System is the set of rules and if thens that make sure that you're in the clear with neurotypicals in certain situations at least 90% of time. (It might be something like 'if everyone laughs laugh, even if you don't understand' or 'If they say 'it's up to you' if they were angry I apologise, if they weren't I say 'its fine either way')

General principles of the system is sorta like dnd. Some of your stats are low, and others are high. You need to figure out how to resolve problems linked with your low stats by your high stats or avoid them all together.

And since one of the low stats is intuitive speaking, you compensate it by preparation, by walking yourself through scenarios and trying to come up with universal cheatsheet of answers

I also included some common types of complaints neurotypicals make about neurodivergent behaviour to maybe help you figure out the general direction of how to approach it.

It's under cut, because while I wanted to include at least some direct examples, I felt honestly gross elaborating. Because complaints are 'I kinda hate you for existing' and advice is remarkably vague and unhelpful. It's figure out how to bend yourself over and backwards to fit the mold.

Because masking is always grounded in cruelty, in fundamental idea that you're not enough and dominating ideas of behaviour are correct. You are and they're not.

I am proud of y'all for living and trying and being yourself. I know that sooner or later your found the friends that appreciate you for you. Sending love and hugs💛

About those ridiculous types of complaints

Annoying. It can be talking too much, having vocal stims, having trouble to perceive social boundaries, being active to the point of overshadowing others, speaking out of turn or without regard of how much you speak, asking questions (And ironically being intense or unfitting)

Unfortunately main masking strategy is usually to shut up as much as you can and watch people a lot. Depending on specific problem you can read up on it, but generally you need A system and creating alphabet of signs that things go wrong and the person reacts weirdly. In my experience a lot of figuring that out is connected with finding how much od your personality people find acceptable and how to backpedal really fast and apologise at drop of hat.

Intense. It's usually Why do you care so much? and Why are you so focused on the thing. The common complaint is lack of moderation, both in speech and behaviour. Unwillingness to backdown, lack of social awareness when you cross from maybe acceptable to Definitely Not, using strong language or lack of cushioning down your speech, can be just speaking too much on the topic. Might be linked to purely behavioural stuff like staring, fast or loud speech, crying etc

Main masking strategy is to figure out how to look chill when you aren't and pace out your response. Figure out acceptable amounts of talking and reacting. Having designated friends to vent about blatant unfairness of that all.

Uncooperative/Unfitting. When people have problems with you being not in the line with social norms at all. Refusing to show respect to people who don't deserve it, not laughing when everyone laughs, not following unspoken rules or spoken that are stupid, not being interested in common interests, not responding to the social interactions in expected manner. Essentially being perceived either as entirely incapable of being part of the group, or actively sabotaging social norms and group dynamics.

Main masking strategy... is studying and learning as much social rules and expectations as you can, fulfilling at least third of them.

Uncanny valley. Usually behaviour 'problems'. Your behaviour might not even be disruptive, people just don't fucking like it. Sometimes neurotypicals look at neurodivergent people and see something alien. The cadence of voice, of trying to hard or not enough, too stilted movement, inappropriate resting pose and bunch of other bullshit.

Main masking strategy is studying people's habits irl or in the non-parody movies to figure out how 'normal' behaviour looks and try to replicate it. Practicing smiling or what not, maybe even watching footage of yourself

The single person tells me to delete the addendum and I will. I hope it's helpful or illustrative or something. But I am not expert on everything and while my personal coping mechanism is studying every single social context imaginable. There just isn't much to advise in general terms.

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[hyuckmov]

himbo hyuck — finals season

2.8k smut & fluff (slight mommy kink, like...desperate needy hyuck stuff idk. power dynamics. fingering, creampie, handjob...the works) a/n: you ask, i deliver. himbo hyuck is back!!! for new readers, himbo hyuck is part of a 2 parter i did which you can check out here and here!

you have to admit, your boyfriend is a lot better at making things special than you are. he's done thorough research, he's asked friends for advice, he's driven for hours to buy you things you've mentioned off-handedly, he's painstakingly learnt recipes, he's made you breakfast in bed, he's done it all. and the best part is he's always happier just to see you happy, all the effort melting away when he gets to see you smile.

actually, he quite literally forgets about it.

"what do you mean, babe?"

you blink. "you went back to my family home, learnt how to make my favorite childhood dish, and brought it for me in a lunchbox for me to have between exams? don't you remember?" pause. "huh... oh yeah." another pause. "heh...you kissed me in front of everyone in your class. i remember that part."

exasperated, you place a hand on his shoulder. "you don't remember waking up at 3am to drive? you were so exhausted when you reached you couldn't see straight."

he waves off your words haphazardly with his free hand, the other already coming to rest on yours. "baby, you were kissing me. of course i couldn't see straight."

it's things like this that made you want to do something really special to celebrate the end of his exams. something that'll really get to him — his puffy lips widening into that pretty 'o' he makes, his eyes lighting up. he's been studying really hard — staying up late at night, getting you to quiz him whenever you have a bit of spare time. you catch him mumbling to himself when he's holding you before bed — hands absentmindedly tracing words down your back, pouty lips brushing against your neck, taking breaks to pepper kisses on your skin.

you clear your schedule on the day of his last exam: waiting eagerly for him to get home. his favorite meal warm on the stove, his favorite drinks stocked up in the fridge, and perhaps the thing you know he'll love the most — a pretty, lacey, babydoll lingerie set underneath a shirt of his you knew he loved to see you wear. it wasn't a complicated piece — you knew he didn't like bothering too much with straps and garters, it was all too confusing for him. he liked to see what was his, maybe a pretty ribbon at most, because he always seemed to skip right to the heat of it anyway — desperate and needy for you in a clumsy, endearing, and searingly hot way.

"fuck, baby..."

the door barely has a chance to close behind him before he's pouncing upon you on the couch. giddy, you take him in your arms — smelling the comforting sweet scent of his perfume, feeling his soft curls in your hands. he's burrowing himself into you, face in your chest, soft groans radiating from his chest as he settles himself in. at first, you think he's noticed the surprise already — the way his hands are shifting around your waist, brushing over your bare thighs. but his hands keep on roaming, never really settling, and you see that he's just caressing you the way he normally does after long days away — mapping, as if checking with himself that you're finally here.

"you're done, baby," you whisper, giving him a light squeeze. you say it in the tone you know he likes, and you can see the way his body melts, nodding, his face sinking further into your tummy. "how did it go?"

"not too bad," he breathes, stilling slightly. "i think. i...i'm really scared. there was this one question..."

"we don't have to discuss it now," you reassure him, and a hand across his shoulderblades instantly eases his nerves, and he resumes his touching again.

"hold me for a bit?" now it's his turn to whisper. "please. i really need..."

"hey..." you lift his head, making eye contact with him properly for the first time since he's come home. he's so tired, you can see it in his face, his lips tugged downwards in a frown that honestly looks foreign on him. he blinks slowly up at you, eyes still full of love and warmth, looking at you like you were his whole world. "haechan, are you okay?"

his lips part. "i...i miss you so much."

you don't want to ruin the moment, don't want to ask too many questions. just bring your hand to the back of his head, guiding it back to your chest. his eyelids flutter shut, and he practically whimpers, an achy, needy sound from the back of his throat as you feel his weight sink into you completely. it's quiet for awhile, just the two of you breathing in tandem. you're not sure what you can do, not sure what happened, how you can be there for him.

after awhile, he clears his throat. "i'm going to take a shower, then i'll be right back," he mumbles, leaning in for a kiss. he tastes like cherries, his tongue gentle against yours, hands caressing your cheek bones as he deepens the kiss. it's so comforting, that you're in a bit of a daze when he pulls away, his cheeks flushed, looking almost shy.

"haechan," you say, slowly. "are you sure you're alright?"

he nods. biting his lip, he hesitates for a moment, before leaning in to kiss you again.

"i just... you usually help me with all my studying, and i...when i was in the exam..." he breathes out, slowly. "i kept thinking about your voice. i was imagining you next to me, talking me through it. and i just..." he tilts his head, a hand now gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "i just love you so much, honey. i couldn't have done it without you," he whispers. "i want...i just really wanted to make you proud."

"oh, haechan—" you sit up too, throwing your arms around him. now it's your turn to tackle him to the couch, and your weight on him makes the smile return to his face. your lip feels a bit wobbly, as you look down at him, the face you love so much. "i'm always proud of you. i'm so proud of you. i love you so much too."

his grin is so bright it could light up the sun.

"yeah?"

you lean down to kiss him — and his hands roam your thighs, scrunching up your shirt, haphazardly skimming bare skin. your hands are all over his chest, brushing his neck, and his back arches, baring his neck to you, and you're sliding lower down his body, and his breathing starts to get heavy...

and then, you feel a finger hook just slightly onto the side of your lace panties.

"baby...?" he stills.

"haechan?"

"what's this?" clumsy, practically shaky hands lift up your shirt, and he inhales sharply. the shirt drops back over your thighs. "oh fuck. oh fuck, fuck, fuck..."

"language," you murmur, teasingly, shaking your head. your silly, lovable, sex-crazed, boyfriend. you can't help it — your ego swells.

"f-uck," he practically groans. now his hands are on his face, clutching at his hair. "baby. baby..."

"what's wrong?" you can't help it — you start to laugh a little, taking off the shirt. haechan's now clutching his chest.

"is this for me?"

you roll your eyes. "no. was waiting for someone else to come home."

haechan lets out a wounded sound, the kind a confused puppy would make.

"i'm kidding, i'm kidding." your fingers brush over the furrow in his brow. "of course it's for you."

he still looks skeptical. talk about trust issues — you feel guilty for playing with him so much when he's horny, but you really can't help it. it's just too fun, and deep down, you know he likes the torment.

"see?" you take his hands from where they lie on his chest, guiding them around your waist, such that they trace the lace over your chest. haechan looks fucked out already, eyes glazed over, his tongue heavy in his mouth. his hips shift, and you can feel how hard he is, pressing against you. "your favorite color," you murmur, hips starting to slowly grind against his. "reward for a rough week, baby boy."

he chokes out a moan. "how... how did you..."

"heard you the other day in the shower, baby." you tilt your head. "what have i told you about watching porn?"

he shakes his head. "was watching us." he's blushing furiously. "that...that one time."

"we could do it again if you'd like?"

he nods vigorously, hands shaking as they cross over to the ribbon in the center of your chest, tugging, the fabric coming loose around you, until it falls apart and you're bare for him, except for your panties still snug around your waist.

"m-mommy looks so good," he murmurs. "please...i..."

you lean forward, and he groans appreciatively, hands crossing over to your back to bring your chest closer to his face, latching onto your nipples eagerly. you keep your hips moving, as his push up against yours eagerly, getting more and more excited as his hands roam your back and chest.

"need it inside," he pants. "please. hurts."

playing into it, you pull down his pants, freeing his dick from his pants. he's just the right size, thick and heavy, blushy tip leaking all over your palm. he whimpers when you move away, crawling down his body as you position your lips over his tip.

"where does it hurt?" you ask, playing dumb. actually, you channel him a little, hands caressing his hips, his thighs. he's shaking, he's so pent up, tears gathering on his waterline. "where does it hurt, baby?"

his hand reaches out, grabbing at his base, squeezing hard, trying not to cum too soon.

"there?" you ask, letting his hand fall away limply as yours replaces his, wrapping your hand around him.

he shakes his head. "up," he whimpers.

you slide your hand up, making sure to apply pressure right below the tip. "here?"

"haaah, fuck," he shakes his head. then nods. then shakes his head again. "just...please..."

your palm glides over the tip, gathering the slick pre-cum as you start to stroke him, twisting your palm slightly. his head is thrown back, mouth ajar as he moans and whimpers into the still living room. his hips jump when he feels your tongue dig into his slit, licking up and down his dick casually.

but both of you know that rather than your mouth, its you that haechan really wants. you and your pleasure are the most important to him, so it only takes a beat before he's grabbing you, saying your real name, breaking out of it momentarily.

"baby, baby. sit back. please. i need you. i need to be inside you."

pulling off him with a slick pop, you smile, settling backwards as he sits up in a daze, crawling over you. tugging your panties off, he kisses them reverently, never breaking eye contact with you, before placing them delicately on the coffee table.

"i love these baby," he says. "i really do. thank you so much."

you're starting to feel a bit shy. worst time for it really, when he's grabbing you by the thighs and practically folding you in half, baring you to him. "it's just panties," you say, softly.

"it's never just panties, baby," he breathes. "you never stop trying for me. i..." he looks down, the pads of his fingers brushing over your clit, his other hand instinctively coming to steady your hips, knowing your body well enough to predict the way you'd move. "it means more to me than i'll ever be able to express. you have no idea...i...even i have no idea." he's now playing with your puffy clit, distractedly, two long fingers dipping into your slit, working you open and ready for him. "i...i love coming home to you. i love having you love me...even if you wore nothing every night, i'd still be getting a fuckin' hard-on just lying in bed with you. wait fuck, i said that wrong..."

his fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes your insides feel like jelly. your grab onto his arm, and he nods absentmindedly. still thinking about his spiel. "i meant...even if you wore...like...the oldest most un-sexy pair of pajamas. wait...okay...everything you wear is fucking hot, i don't know what i'm saying..."

"baby, baby-" you pant. "i'm so close."

he blinks. "oh fuck, yeah." he starts to move his fingers in and out of your hole, rubbing your clit firmly with his thumb. "cum for me? hm?" you're at the mercy of his hands, looking up at him: his hair falling over his face, chest heaving, eyes looking at you with that perfect balance of love and lust, skin gleaming. and just like that you're cumming, feeling yourself suck in his fingers, watching the way his heart-shaped lips fall open at the feeling of you milking him.

he leans down, palms touching your face, making sure to bend his fingers outward so as to not dirty your skin, kissing you sweetly, pressing you deeper into the couch. you know you're leaking all over the place, and you can feel his heavy, hard, length against your thigh.

"inside," you mumble, spreading open your legs a little more, letting him rut against your core. "please."

"mhm. i got you, baby..." lining himself up, he pushes in slwoly, and you can feel the familiar, warm stretch of him filling you up. you feel full as he pushes into you, can feel the twitch of him inside you as he bottoms out, arms holding you as he suckles bruises onto your neck. you touch his shoulders, and he murmurs to make sure you're okay before starting to snap his hips, slowly grinding into you before picking up the pace. both your pleasures blur, he's spilling moans into your open mouth, and you roll your hips into his. his fingers find your clit again, and now he's barely pulling out before thrusting back into you, the thick head of his dick pressing insistently into you.

"you're...fuck...so warm...so tight, baby. fuck. i must not do this enough."

"it's been awhile," you concede.

"yeah?"

"yeah," you breathe, deciding to give in to a little neediness, just for fun. "been needing it haechan. been needing you for so long now."

"i...why don't i do this every day..."

"you're tired, baby."

"don't worry about that sweetheart, i'll work on it." he doesn't miss a beat. "if i..." he pants. "if you ever need me, and i turn you down, fucking use me. just p-push me back and use me because i'm clearly not in my right mind to be rejecting you, to be rejecting this sweet pussy, fuck-"

"firstly, i'm n-not going to do that," you laugh, breathlessly, as he whines out protests. "secondly, it's all yours, haechan. it's all yours."

"yeah," he groans. "all mine."

neither of you last long after that. a graze of his lips, a bit of pressure on your clit, and you're cumming again from the stimulation, squeezing tight around his length, and you feel well and truly impaled on him in that moment as you pulse around him. you can feel yourself suck him in even deeper, can feel the way his thrusts falter. he cums inside you shortly after, warm spurts of cum filling you up. it's more than usual, considering it's been awhile since the two of you fucked, and he rocks his hips into yours the whole time, small whimpers escaping his throat, little professions of love getting stuck in other groans and swears.

the apartment is quiet again, and you realise how loud the both of you were before. haechan rolls you around so you're on top again, pulling out to watch the cream drip from you, two rough fingers pushing against your puffy lips, spreading it around messily as his bites his lip, and you can tell he's already thinking of his next scenario, saving it in his memory.

"sensitive," you mumble, only half-disapprovingly. truth is, you don't even care, because of the way he looks up at you after, beaming, sheepishly whispering out an apology.

he grabs the panties from the coffee table, holding them up to the light. his other hand never leaves your back, soothing you, making sure you're alright. "i'm getting these framed, along with my grades."

you shake your head. "uh...we're not doing that."

"what about in the bedroom?"

pause. "i'll think about it."

"best day of my life," he breathes. "finished my exam with the help of my beautiful girlfriend,"

"all you, babe."

"your voice in my head, so to me it was you. came home to the most beautiful girl in the world...lying on the couch... in my clothes... wearing my favorite color..." he lists, dreamily.

"most beautiful girl in the world also made you your favorite dinner by the way," you add, nodding towards the kitchen. "and there's your favorite beer and soju in the fridge."

a beat. "y/n," he says, slowly and seriously. "don't fight me on this, but i'm going to make you cum three more times tonight."

himbo hyuck is part of a 2 parter i did which you can check out here and here

[noliniodeaes]

Sylus x f reader

🍓: I'm not a writer and english is not my mother tongue. Writing tips are welcome though. Not proofread

Genre: light angst

"I've found my soulmate" He anounces with a gentle smile and you can't help but feel like he is mocking you. Right, he's happy. Why wouldn't he be.

You knew it'll happen sooner or later and yet; you take a shaky breath. You did this to yourself. He isn't the one to blame for your sad predicament

"I know"

His smile falters, his eyebrows raising in surpise.

"You did? How?"

"I just... always knew"

I just hoped...

"And you didn't tell me? Why?" He doesn't look so dazed anymore. He looks confused and almost as if... hurt.

Which makes you feel a little better for ruining his mood. You think you are a bad person. Can't you just be happy for him?

... Can't he just be upset for you?

Show some empathy, damn it.

" I didn't know how. It's not as if... Let's say it was your destiny to find out on your own."

I don't owe you an answer.

Or maybe you do. You're not sure. You weren't prepared. Despite knowing this from the start you still weren't. Maybe if you had a little more time, at least one more day, you would be ready. It's a lie.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. The happy dazed expression is gone from his face. Finally.

"I understand you had your reasons,"

Do you now? Do you really?

You want to get out. This conversation feels like it has been going on for 17 business days. It's awkward. It's sad. It's infuriating. It's... just please let's get this over with.

"It's late. I'm going to bed"

You don't look at his face. You can still his eyes on you though.

You sleep in the guest room that night. The room is chilly and quiet. Weird.

You don't sleep much. Instead you pack your things.

You feel like you risking your life opening the door to the master bedroom, but Sylus isn't there. Still, you don't waste your time. You grab what you deem necessery and slip out of the room. Then out of the mansion. You don't look back. You can't.

He decided to give you time, but his patience ran out pretty quickly. Just one peek. Just to make sure you're okay.

He was pretty sure you went into that guestroom. He checked another one. He checked all of them. He tasked Luke and Kieran with searching every room , every crook and cranny.

He already knew you weren't in the mansion.

What is that? Do you want him to go get you? Do you want to play a game?

No, it's not that. It's just that for some reason you're taking the news not how he expected you to. You need time and space. To process your emotions. He's going to respect that. He's still going to make sure you're safe though.

Mephisto searches for a week. Sylus stays patient. He appreas patient.

Turns out you didn't even bother to hide. He wasted time searching more secluded areas.

He finds you just going about your day. He doesn't expect you to look so drained. You have dark circles under you eyes, your complection changed. He feels lost, among other things.

Why? Do you hate him? Does this... Disgust you? Scare you? If so, why did you stay with him?

Everything was going great between you two.

Wasn't it?

He starts to doubt himself and your relationship. Should he reach out or should he erase himself from your life? Is it really such a burden for you? Is it unbearable?

Even if he's going to leave you alone he needs closure first.

For the last week and a couple days he's been overwhelmed with emotions he though he long forgotten how to feel. Fear, doubt, sadness. Anxiety was gnawing at his ribcage.

So he stood before the door to your appartment. A shabby one, he couldn't not notice.

Five knocks. Two slow and three fast. A code.

"What do you want" Your voice is muffled by the closed door.

"To talk"

"About what? It's over. Leave me alone."

Oh. Now that's interesting.

"Let me come in."

You open the door, looking like a poor stray kitten — messy and tired.

He fights the urge to comfort you, to pull you into a hug and whisper words of reassurance.

"What is this about?"

"What is what about?"

You tilt your head. Cute.

"Your escape. You saying it's over. Why? Tell me a reason. After that I'll leave and you'll never hear of me again."

You doubt that. It's hard not to hear about him. His presence, his whole existance is just way too loud.

"You found your soulmate. You don't need me anymore, so I'm... stepping down."

"Just like that? So you're ending things by... Making an escape at night? I didn't take you for a coward."

"I am a coward.And I just didn't have the strenght to talk to you, to look at you."

"What's so scary about being soulmates?"

"Being abandoned by the person you love is scary"

"Then why did you abandon me?"

You finally look at him. He is disheveled and visibly exhausted, looking like he aged a decade in a week. It's heartwrenching sight, really.

"I... I don't understand."

You finally manage to get the words out.

"Why did you abandon me?"

He repeats the question as if it would make it make sense that way.

"I- I didn't!.. I mean I did, but you- you abandoned me first!"

"How- what?"

"By finding your soulmate! I know you will leave me for them eventually so why waste time, staying with me?!"

There is a pause, silence charged with emotions while the two of you just look at each other. You - with accusation, panting from getting worked up and he - with confusion, holding his breath from shock.

And then - then he has the audacity to break into a laughter.

He holds his stomach, bending over, shaking. He only stops as he sees your hurt expression, your lower lip trembling as you frown.

In a blink of an eye he pulls you into his arms. He cooes soft nothings as he strokes your hair.

"Kitten... Sweetie, I'm not leaving you. You are my soulmate"

[jinjoohaa]

Hiromi Higuruma x reader!

CW: NSFW, oral , light degradation, praise, lying for attention, possessive behavior, rough sex, cockwarming, teasing, mild power dynamics. 18+ only.

“What are you doing,” he murmured, voice hoarse from disuse.

You were curled beside him, tracing light patterns across his face with your finger—forehead, cheekbone… then his nose.

He wrinkled it slightly under your touch, brows drawing together in amusement.

You smiled sleepily. “Your nose looks cute when you’re annoyed.”

Hiromi sighed with a soft chuckle and leaned closer, brushing his knuckle gently over the slope of your own. “You always stare at it like you’re memorizing it.”

“I am,” you said. “What if you die in court tomorrow and I never see your nose again?”

His smile faded, just slightly. “That’s not funny.”

You kissed his jaw to ease the frown you caused, dragging your lips lazily along the stubble dusting it. “Then don’t die.”

He didn’t answer at first. He turned to you instead—fully now, elbow bent, palm cradling the side of your face.

“You’re a strange woman,” he said softly, thumb brushing the hollow beneath your eye. “But if touching my nose makes you happy, I don’t mind.”

It was the kind of thing he did often—understate how much you mattered, how much space you occupied in his quiet, aching world. But you always heard it. Even in the half-smiles and half-asleep grunts.

So you smiled again. Kissed the pad of his thumb. “You love it.”

His eyes twitched shut, just for a second.

Then you leaned forward and whispered something into the shell of his ear.

Something that made him open his eyes again.

Made him freeze.

You said, “Someone asked me out today. At the cafe.”

A long beat.

You could feel the tension coil in his spine before his voice broke the stillness—calm, neutral, too calm:

"What did you say?"

"That I'll think about it."

“You’re lying.”

You giggled against his collarbone. “Am I?”

He blinked slow. Dark eyes focused squarely on yours.

“You know this is wrong,” he said quietly. “So why are you still smiling?”

Your stomach flipped. Shit. That wasn’t his teasing voice.

Before you could respond, Hiromi shifted—rolled his weight over you and pinned you beneath him in one smooth, deliberate motion. His thigh pressed between your legs, and you gasped as your hips instinctively arched into him.

His hand cupped your chin.

“Tell me the truth,” he said again, voice lower now. “Did you touch someone else?”

You swallowed. “...No.”

He studied you for a moment longer.

Then leaned down to kiss you—deep, firm, the kind of kiss that stripped oxygen right out of your lungs.

When he pulled back, he was smirking.

“You lie like a brat.”

You barely had time to process it before he hooked a hand under your thigh, spreading you open easily. His fingers ghosted up the inner skin there, rough and slow.

“You wanted me to get like this, didn’t you?” he muttered, voice raspier now. “Wanted me to lose my temper a little?”

You nodded, breath catching. “Yes…”

“Then say it,” he ordered. “Say you were lying. Admit it.”

You whined softly, thighs twitching as his fingers brushed just beneath your panties. “I was lying…”

“Good girl.”

And then his mouth was on you—dragging the panties to the side, tongue teasing, deliberate and slow. You gasped as he licked a slow stripe up your folds, not even bothering to warm you up too much. He knew your body better than anyone ever could. Better than you knew yourself.

You gripped the sheets, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth worked methodically, tongue lapping and teasing your clit until your legs shook.

“Hiromi—” you whimpered, hips grinding against his face, “too much—”

He didn’t stop. If anything, the grip on your thighs tightened, his lips sucking harder at your sweet spot. He growled low, voice thick with want.

“You wanted this. And you're gonna take it.”

He only stopped when your entire body trembled, crying out his name in sweet, strangled moans.

He pulled back just enough to kiss your inner thigh.

“Still smiling now?”

You glared weakly. “Fuck you.”

Hiromi smirked as he sat up, fingers wrapping around his cock, hard and flushed with how worked up he was from having his mouth on you.

“That’s the plan.”

He lined himself up and slid in slow, inch by thick inch, eyes watching your every twitch, every stutter of breath.

You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist as he pushed deeper—hitting that perfect spot only he knew, only he had ever touched.

It wasn’t fast. He wasn’t like that. Hiromi fucked you with purpose—hips rolling steady, deep, unrelenting. Each thrust dragging a moan out of you that had him biting down on your shoulder just to keep quiet.

“So wet from one little lie,” he murmured against your ear. “Pathetic.”

Your walls clenched hard around him at the words.

And he felt it.

“Oh?” he chuckled breathlessly. “You like when I talk to you like that?”

You nodded desperately, tears in your lashes now from how full he made you feel.

“Don’t stop…”

He didn’t.

He kept going until your back arched and your nails left red crescents on his shoulders.

Until you gasped that you couldn’t take anymore.

Until he filled you—groaning into your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, breath uneven.

And even then, he didn’t leave your body.

He just stayed there—inside, warm, holding you.

“Next time you lie…” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, “...I’ll tie you down and make sure you can’t even move.”

You smiled again, heart pounding.

“I look forward to it.”

Okay so, this was an ask—and I’ll be real with y’all, I don’t know Hiromi like that 😭 I usually need to vibe spiritually with a character before I can write them properly. But the requester was persistent, so I gave it a shot. If it flops, blame the legal system, not me 💅 BUT I tried, so enjoy the crumbs.

[animeomegas]

Omega!Haku x Alpha!Reader - My Alpha

Congratulations to Haku, the winner of the second poll! It has been ages since that poll, but a lot happened in my life lmao I've been wanting to write some streamer!AU for a while though, so I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: It was equal parts flattering and embarrassing that you had apparently been named hottest alpha streamer by some weird, trashy gossip magazine. Your mate had his own thoughts on the matter, too.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: None that I can think of, other than the fact that I didn't proof read this :D

"'How does it feel to officially be the hottest streamer?'" you read out from your chat, already feeling heat rush to your face. "Ugh, chat, seriously, so fast? That stupid listicle was bullshit by the way, there are so many alpha streamers hotter than me."

Nooo, you're super hot

True, but ur up there

I was most surprised by second place lol did he pay for that position?

one time my oma walked in while i was watching the stream and asked if i was chatting with a friend... i wish ☠️

You laughed awkwardly. It was still so weird to have parasocial relationships like this. Most of your friends had already filled the bullying quota when they'd found the article listing you as the number one 'hottest and most eligible' alpha streamer, but you would prefer bullying over people agreeing. It was so embarrassing!

"'What is your type then? For no particular reason 👀'," you read out this time, rolling your eyes. "That is privileged information! I'm a delicate alpha, you know, I can't go around letting such things slip. Think of my reputation!"

i bet ur into some weird shit lmaooo

I could see you with a super cute omega, like the type to give you cavities, just my opinion

oh no but how can i build my whole new personality in order to make you love me if i don't know what you like??? /hj

Speed dating stream pls!!

are you even single?

You looked at the last question and just answered with a wink and a finger to your lips. You and Haku had been together for over three years at this point, but he was still a secret. You hadn't wanted him to get any unwanted attention, nor have his career impacted by popping up on stream, and he seemed to agree.

Haku had actually just recently decided to quit his job now that you were making enough from streaming to support both of you, and was spending time tending to the house and working on projects. He had taken to full time domesticity with effortless enthusiasm, but he hadn't mentioned anything about his stance on popping up on stream having changed, so you continued on as you had been for years, happy to follow his lead.

You turned back to your chat to find a flood of thirsty messages.

i hope ur single because then i have a chance loooool

No way an omega hasn't mated you yet, you're so perfect!

i don't even know if you're mated but u deserve better regardless lol

anyone else notice how they always wear high collared clothes? 🤔

if you do have a mate i bet they aren't good or pretty enough for you, i swear

You were about to send a message to your mods to get some of the more toxic viewers timed out for a bit, when the click of the door to your office made you jump.

Was that Haku?! You startled and quickly muted your mic and pulled off your headphones. The door was behind your monitor and cameras, so no one could see him, but that didn't mean there wouldn't somehow be a reflection or rumours spawned by the sound of his voice. Didn't he know you were live?!

Sure enough, Haku glided into the room, long, brown hair loose and floating behind him, the strands brushing over the uncovered shoulder as the oversized t-shirt he was wearing fell off at one side. He was also wearing a little touch of make up, only noticeable because you knew his face better than you knew your own. Make up? But he was staying in all day, wasn't he?

You almost forgot that you were on stream for a moment until you stood up and the chair behind made a noise against the floorboards.

"I'm on stream right now," you said quickly shooting him a grin. "I'll be done in a few hours, okay?"

Haku only tilted his head and smiled, holding up a plate with a couple of savoury pastries on it.

"I made lunch." His voice was light as airy, but there was an undercurrent that made you pause. "I thought I could bring it in."

"Thank you, baby, I'm on stream right now though." You were blocking most of the camera and the microphone was off, but you were sure they could all tell that you were talking to someone, and there would be a barrage of questions as to who, especially just after the conversation you'd been having.

"I don't mind popping in to say hello," he said, that gentle smile still on his face. "Just for a second."

You blinked, mouth moving around nothing for a moment. He wanted to pop up on stream? It took a second to comprehend what he was dropping on you so suddenly, but you managed to boot up your brain with a slightly flustered smile.

"Oh! Yes, um, of course, if you want to." Haku started moving to your desk, putting your plate on the side. "Are you sure, darling, I don't want to open a door that can't be closed, you know?"

You sat back down, glancing at your chat briefly. Haku was still out of frame, but you could see him looking also.

Everything okay???

who're they talking to 👀👀

if that's their mate i bet our favourite streamer is way out of their league lol

Haku's eyes hardened.

"I'm sure."

"Okay, okay, right, I guess we're doing this!" You took a deep breath and turned the microphone back on. You were just going to play this cool, like it was no big deal. "Sorry guys! Funny timing actually, seeing as we were just talking about this, but my mate actually came in to bring me lunch! And he's the best cook ever, aren't I lucky?"

You lifted up the plate of mushroom tartlets towards the camera, careful to keep any from sliding off.

"He wanted to say hi, so you guys better be nice to him, okay?" You tried to keep your voice light and playful, but still serious enough that your mods would know what to do about anyone who said anything cruel.

Haku, understanding your introduction, poked his head into frame and gave a little wave, bashfully tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You expected him to crouch beside you, but instead he gracefully slid straight onto your lap and leant his head against yours. One of your hands settled on his waist automatically.

"It's lovely to be formally introduced to you all. My name is Haku." A sweet smile pulled at his lips. "I've lurked in the chat before and you all seem so... friendly."

The chat went wild, moving so fast you could barely comprehend it.

UM????

Did they just summon a god live on stream???

👀👀👀ahhhhhhh

He is so pretty wtf

my self esteem is dead now lol i'm suing for damages

what is his name what is his name what is his name pls pls pls

is this a prank?

this reminds me of that meme about dating so far out of your league it makes it look like your partner is doing charity work lol

Your eyes narrowed on that last one. They didn't have to point it out so abruptly.

"That was mean," you pouted. "But admittedly true, Haku is well out of my league."

Haku giggled and the speed of the chat only increased.

wtf wtf wtf

he's laughing it's so pretty i feel like crying suddenly???

how did you two meet?

pretty boy pretty boy

this is literally the hottest omega i've ever seen

it feels like he's looking at me i'm embarrassed 😍😖

"Nonsense," Haku said, softly tucking his hair behind his ear. His shirt slipped a little more off his shoulder and you hurried to put it back. "I'm the lucky one here."

Your heart warmed, almost enough to drown out the immediately disagreeing of your chat.

Um lol

lies and slander

they wish!!

"Wha- you guys are supposed to be on my side, y'know?"

You immediately received about a hundred messaged along the lines of "not anymore".

Haku laughed again, kissing you on the cheek and silencing your complaints.

"I won't hijack your stream any longer." He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours for a second. Even after so many years, he took your breath away like no one else. "It's been fun though... It was lovely meeting you all. Don't hog my alpha too much though, okay?"

yes sir

whatever you say 🥴

if you get lonely you can have me as well!

How long have you been dating? Are you married?

nooooo don't go, haku stream when????

Haku stood, leaving your lap cold and empty. For a moment, he leant back down, lips to your ear but certainly speaking loud enough to be picked up by the microphone.

"Eat your food," he whispered. "I made it with love, after all."

Haku reached out with a finger and ran it around the side of your face. You could feel yourself getting warm. You were probably staring at him like a fool and everyone could see, but you couldn't find the power to stop.

With that, he left the view of the camera and exiting the room, but not before giving you a wink right as the door shut behind him. His scent lingered all around you, soft and alluring, and oh so tempting.

You swallowed harshly. You really didn't want to stream anymore. Thankfully the camera was waist up.

Chat wasn't showing any signs of slowly down.

if you don't eat his food and tell us how it tastes i will literally riot

did you sell your soul for him??

does he have any siblings?? cousins?? any dynamic or gender is fine, asking for a friend

their face lol honestly i don't blame them

🥴i thought I was watching a stream today not meeting an angel

couples onlyfans when? i'd pay for it

dude i'd pay so much for it i'd be homeless

You took a deep breath and pasted a smile back on your face.

"Alright, alright, that's enough everyone, don't be creepy! Let's get back into it."

[thetrasha]

Hey there, Tasha! My name is Asher! I love your blog! I was wondering if you could do a “his love” headcanon for Sabo, Ace and Law from one piece please? Thank you for your time!

Hello Asher, you're my first ask!! So glad to have you around and thank you so much for showing interest in the first place. I hope you like this one (✿◠‿◠) [Disclaimer: I'm in the middle of Dressrosa right now, so I don't know Sabo that well yet. But I tried my best to do him justice based on the flashbacks and the bits of info🫡]

His Love Is...

feat. SABO, ACE and LAW

SABO

…authentic.

Sabo is someone who’s had to grow up quick, standing up for what he believes in from a young age. He challenges the status quo and is a rebel through and through, someone who yearns for a better world, true justice and lasting peace. He is intelligent, loyal to a fault and never backs down from a fight – if anything, he’s likely to seek it out, just to please the perfectionist pacifist in him. He was meant to be someone who lives a life of luxury and excess, but he deliberately chose to become a notorious criminal to give a voice to those who’d been long silenced. In fact, he’d rather not live at all than sit idly by and watch the oppressed struggle. Sabo has a strong moral compass and an even stronger sense of justice, which makes him highly protective. He may seem aloof at first because he doesn’t open up quite as easily, but you’ve somehow wormed your way inside his heart and now you wouldn’t budge. On some days, when being with you has become such a huge part of who he is, which he is eternally grateful for, he remembers a time without you and it is rather bleak, in his opinion. You stimulate him in ways that make him yearn for you all the time… especially when he’s busy. You engage in conversation with him, you are steadfast in your own beliefs and wouldn’t trade your own principles for anything in the world, while, at the same time, you’re so… real. You have your flaws, but you’re perfect for him. After all, you cope with his darkest thoughts and tell him that he’s your love, too, don’t you? You’re his other half, his better half… his stronger half. Whenever the world is too much to handle, when times get rough, when he questions why he does all of this in the first place, well,… he sees you appear in his mind like a vision. Sabo wants to create a future you’d be proud to live in, no matter how hard it’s going to be.

You deserve to be liberated.

ACE

…forever.

Ace never expected to end up in a relationship; he really wasn’t looking for one! He’s way too tortured and self-critical to believe that anybody could ever love him when he doesn’t love himself either. He is a good soul, friendly with everyone and charismatic enough to keep any conversation flowing, but he certainly doesn’t consider everyone a friend. Showing vulnerability and revealing who he really is has become a great factor of shame for him, for he’s had a lifetime of mockery, disbelief, fear and ridicule behind him – his biological father may be gone, but the stain of his legacy remains a point of great frustration for Ace. He doesn’t like talking about that part of his past, but he… he really likes you. So he talks about his brothers, about Dadan, how he was a bit of a gremlin – he projects a childhood filled with happiness and adventure. He wants to get closer to you, but doesn’t trust himself to not scare you away with the depths of his despair. You’ve seen glimpses of it and cared for him during those times, it was blissful… but he was certain that he was taking advantage of your kindness, that has to be it! You just… you saw someone worth of your affection when in reality Ace thought he was just deceiving you. Naturally though, you tell him about your childhood in return, and he listened to it all. The good bits, the bad ones, and those that made your eyes water. That broke him, Ace immediately knew that he had to be honest with you, out of respect for your sincerity and the sanctity of your friendship. You cried for him that night, just because he’d already shed too many tears throughout the years to properly express himself… and he knew that he had found his soulmate. Not because you listened to him and reacted neutrally, but solely because you saw worth in someone who had already abandoned himself and dedicated his life to his crew. That promise still stands, but now he wants to see the world with you, he wants to make you smile and watch as you thrive. You’ll forever be shielded from harm and maybe – just maybe – he’ll feel content just being who he is when you’re with him. You gave him yet another purpose, now he’s actively trying to get better… your belief is his greatest source of inspiration.

You deserve to be treasured.

LAW

���omnipresent.

You deserve to be here.

People silently judge him when he passes by. A cold, ruthless pirate whose cruelty knows no limit. His abilities, as impressive as they may be, scare people. They steer absolutely clear of his path… and his attitude doesn’t help. Law doesn’t trust people easily, harbouring deep thoughts about conspiracy and death deep within him. His life has been hard, but he thinks that he’s doing fine. He’d rather be laser-focused on his goal than get distracted and become sloppy. But… you are a distraction. He knows he isn’t exactly light-hearted, but you are one of the few people – aside from some fellow crew mates that know him well enough to have the guts to tease him – to not look at him with apprehension. Your eyes sparkle around him, and you walk by his side with your head held high. It may not seem like you are a couple, because he isn’t exactly the most affectionate, but his deep critical thinking and intelligence absolutely make him one of the most romantic people out there, even if it’s subtle. Yes, it is not obvious, but whenever it concerns you, every actions drips with love. It’s ubiquitous, always there and it’s like a secret code between you two – A connection so deep that not even disapproving glances could sever the tie that keeps you together. You cared enough to understand him, unravel his mind with him as your guide. Every aspect, none of it was too taboo or too unsettling. You’re intelligent enough to not make excuses for his mistakes, but when times are rough, you’re there to tell him that it is okay and that it is always going to be okay. And… he believes you. With anybody else, he’d shoo them away and work on more back-up plans, but he believes in your judgement… because you’ve never judged him. You’re the only one he trusts with his heart and dreams. Besides, having you near eases most of his worries. And in privacy, you have all of him – the man who distrusts the world and the man who wishes to give you the world. And in those moments, you see someone deeply hurt, in need of love and someone so light and free… rumours would never believe the version of Law you knew by heart.

[girlfromflor]

alpha!kyle has been a current thought in my head, so i wrote about him coming back home after a long mission.

it's his fourth day home since his last mission ended.

kyle has you tucked close to him, under the covers inside the big nest you made for yourselves. he's still smells a bit like tiredness, the exhaustion from the battlefield clinging to his muscles but it's almost imperceptible now.

your sweet, honey-like scent mingles with his and into the fabric enveloping you. there's a low, constant purr rumbling in your chest, scratching an itch on kyle’s mind that he waited so long to get rid of.

he's home. safe and sound with his omega so close to him, happy and purring at his presence. the notion makes his own chest vibrate with a purr as an answer, the growl of it making clear how his alpha scrapes the edges of his consciousness.

it's probably early in the morning, kyle doesn't look for his watch nor his phone, instead just basking in the dim, morning light seeping through the window – which is opened only a bit, the cold wind from outside making the fabric of the curtain swing ever-so-slightly.

despite the breeze, he's warm where he lays with you. the heavy weight of faux fur fabric working well on keeping your naked bodies' warmth secured inside the blanket fort you call a nest. you've been naked ever since he came home – his clothes smelling like blood and gunpowder, alpha stressed and tired, growling grumpily at the thought of fabrics keeping your skins from touching each other.

you haven't fucked nor have you indulged in any type of sexual activity, it didn't felt quite right yet. instead he just stripped off his clothes, dragging you around the house so you both can, in this very order: get cleaned up in a quick shower, eat something light and settle on the big nest you have in the corner of the living room, napping on the cushions that cover the floor inside it.

he knows you're awake and you're aware he's too, but none of you say a word. it's peaceful like this. the calm, quiet atmosphere working the remaining of his stress away, giving you time to fully push away the sleepy haze that has been pulling at you, until you move from his arms to stare up at his beautiful face.

his eyes are closed, eyelids shut very lightly. his lips pressed to one another, but they part as soon as he takes in your shifting scent – which is reacting to his relaxed, laid back expression –, nose twitching to take it in better. he grumbles, one hand brushing down your side to hold your hip as the other runs its fingers to your hair.

his eyes are sharp and lidded when he opens them to stare at you, making a shiver run down your spine. you've never been so close to having him bared to his soul in front of you, alpha so present it makes his scent almost fresh out of the woods. it brings your omega from where she was resting far inside your mind, her claws scratching softly around your head, urging you to sleep so she can step in.

it's been like this for four days. it's always rough for him, coming down from mission-mode, but this time kyle's inner alpha seems ready to fight for control, begging for your omega to comfort him at all costs. you both allowed it to happen the first day – and the second –, having to hold back on it by the morning of the third day. you couldn’t risk going feral together, not without someone to watch over you two.

kyle seems to read you mind, your bond doing most of the talking as you bask in the silence, the room quiet except for the – now almost inaudible – purr coming from deep within your chests. his voice is low and hoarse when he speaks, a groan following as he cleans his throat and tries again.

"could ask john to come over, honey..." he mumbles on his thick accent, holding you while he watches your reaction. "he could watch us next time, mhm? he's a good alpha, he'd take care of us..."

"mhm..." your hum of agreement is barely an answer, the grunt coming from him making it clear that he wants you to elaborate. "if you trust him, than it's fine by me, love."

kyle hums then, pleased with your answer. his adorable omega, relying on him whilst taking care of his once exhausted body, helping him work through the tiredness and out of the alert mode he had to depend on so much over the last few weeks – giving him enough support so he could recover from weeks of soldier-like routine on a hostile environment in only a couple of days.

he truly does love you a lot and maybe it's time he shows it to you, rewarding you for been so good to him.

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `still here, still waiting, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: you've finally broken up with your ex. whilst you're venting to sam about it, you realise it's been him all along. word count: 1,059 pairing: sam winchester x reader prompt: "you're still waiting for me?" you can find the prompt list here! cred to @promptsbytaurie for the idea!

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The beer in your hand is warm by the time you realise you’ve stopped drinking it.

Sam is sitting across from you whilst you’re venting about your breakup — pacing in the library in one of your oldest yet comfiest sweatshirts. Sam sits with one leg crossed over the other, a beer bottle also sitting comfortably in his hand. You turn around and he’s watching you like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“Sorry. I’m rambling.” You stop mid-sentence. Sam smiles faintly at you. “It’s okay. You can ramble all you want.”

You smile back at him, sinking onto the couch next to him. “I just feel stupid. Like, how did I not see it sooner? God. Maybe I am stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he says, his voice quieter. Softer. “Sometimes it’s easier to see the good in people than it is the bad. It’s easier that way than to admit they’re not what you need.”

After he said that, something settled in your brain. He’s right. The constant battle with yourself in your head has silenced. Sam’s not wrong, but is he just saying it to be kind?

“You always see the good in people, Sam.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I do. But I also see the truth. And you deserved better.”

Your heart twists. He’s always been kind to you, and in this moment, you start to wonder what else you’ve been too blind to see.

“You think?”

“I know you did, Y/N.”

You study him, the way his fingers curl nervously against his jeans, he shifts a little awkwardly, that shy, gentle smile sticking to his face.

Sam had been watching from the sidelines, all these months. He never said a word or crossed a line — he just kept being your friend. He always cared, more than what he let on. You’d notice, but always put it down to Sam just being… Sam. There were moments where it almost slipped, where he caught himself smiling at you for a little too long, or when you lean your head on his shoulder a little too easily. He always pulled away before it could mean something more, because you weren’t his to hope for. Not yet.

As you sit there, watching the way his thumb moves in small, absent circles over his knee, it hits you. Sam’s always been patient and quiet. He’s the one who stayed through every high and low, stayed through each sensitive moment, every time you needed a shoulder to lean on, he was there.

He always has been.

Suddenly, every memory looks different. Every laugh, every late-night conversation, it all comes into focus.

“Sam…” you say slowly, concern clouding your eyes as Sam looks at you gently. “Yeah?” He asks, running a hand through his hair. You sigh deeply, afraid of the answer he’s about to give you.

“You’re still waiting for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

His brows furrow. “Sorry? What for?”

“For not seeing it sooner. For not seeing you sooner.”

His demeanour changes slightly, freezing into place. “You’ve been there for me through everything. Always so kind and patient. You’ve never asked for anything in return and I hate that I didn’t see it.”

He’s quiet. His eyes just glaze over you as you figure out what to say next. “I gave my time and my heart to someone else when you were right there the whole time.”

He turns to face you, leaning his arm against the top of the sofa. “Look at me.”

You do.

“There’s nothing to regret. If this is what it took for you to see me, then I’d do it all over again.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you take his hand in yours, tangling your fingers together, squeezing his hand tight.

Sam carries on. “I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me. I didn’t want to make you feel guilty.”

“I don’t feel guilty, I just—” You pause, your heart pounding. “I think I always felt it somewhere. I just wasn’t ready to see it.”

He sits there, his eyes soft and open, as if he’s telling you it’s up to you to decide. He’ll always be there, whether you want him to be or not.

You reach out, inviting him for a hug. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his strong arms around your back, and yours over his shoulders.

All you can do is breathe him in. Because in this moment, you feel like you’re where you need to be.

With him. With Sam.

[threegoldfish]

Honestly, Steven doesn't see himself demanding anything anytime soon - he's just way too polite for that, too gentle, too kind-hearted to not say please and hope for the best, admit defeat whenever someone denies him something. But he... listens, and nods, and does not argue against it in any way; Harrow means well with him, after all, and to know that he doesn't need to say please - can be open about his needs, about what would make him feel better - certainly is relieving to him, very much so.

So, when the doctor stands, Steven shuffles away from under the blanket as well and slips off the mattress, onto his own two feet. He finds his loafers sitting there, on the ground, so he puts them on and then straightens a bit, feeling the urge to smooth out some wrinkles from his shirt--- which is, uh, an entirely unnecessary thing to do, given the fact that it is absolutely ruined; He wonders if, whoever's doing the laundry for the psych ward, will ever be able to remove those stains... or if this shirt is going straight into the trash instead...

---He's already missing the softness of that blue blanket. Maybe he can get himself a similar one in a store somewhere...

Clearing his throat, he watches Harrow, once he himself is somewhat situated - taking in the sight of the man looking the way he does, moving in a certain way so as to handle his bad leg; Steven didn't put too much attention on it before, but now he does, and he wonders... feels for this man, assumes the other must be in a great deal of pain... Whatever had happened to him caused long-lasting side-effects, yet Harrow is here and doing his job so efficiently, not caring about himself too much when his patients call for him.

It's admirable. Steven swallows, thoughtful, once again.

So is the fact that the doctor mentions breakfast - seems to think back to that one time where they had sat together and chatted along. That... oh, yeah, that actually makes Steven feel a bit sheepish there, again, and he smiles a little, clears his throat, begins to fumble around with the sleeves of his dirty shirt as they start to move... away from the bed, away from that window, toward the door of the infirmary.

No one has ever said something like this to him before. That... he is making people feel comfortable, apparently.

"...People usually say the opposite." A shrug, voice quiet, accompanied by a self-deprecating chuckle. "Most find me annoying, or... weird, because I tend to say things during moments where they're... uh, not appreciated. Has happened a lot. I ... tend to not know how to do the whole socializing-thing. So... I'm basically dropping bricks all the time."

A second one of those self-deprecating chuckles follows, a bit more high-pitched than the last, and Steven clears his throat again, glances over at Harrow, a little shy. "So, I'm... quite happy that it seems to work for us! I think you're really kind, and... the things you say, all of them make me feel so much better, and... help me to understand. Not all doctors do that, you know? Many.. don't really care. But you? You care a lot. Maybe a bit too much?" Another smile, more honest.

Arthur couldn’t help it, letting out a soft laugh. It was barely more than a gentle exhale, a breath through his nose as he ducked his head in a good-natured nod. He did look rushed, he knew. The shirt was sitting on him weird, his pants were bothering him, his socks felt uneven - his hair was terrible. Nothing that a good half an hour wouldn’t fix, but still; he did look more of a mess than usual. 

“You caught me,” he agreed. “I was asleep. But I’d do it again, no questions asked - I mean it, I’m glad you called me.” 

He stretched his legs out in front of himself, just enough to give his bad leg a moment to prepare for standing up. He’d need to take his medication, too - it’d only take an hour or so to kick in, but he was rapidly growing antsy without it. 

“And listen,” he continued. “You don’t need to worry about asking for stuff like that, you don’t even have to say ‘please’ - if you want to go back to your room, then you can. No reasoning needed. Anything you want, you tell me, and we’ll do it - any time you’re uncomfortable, or any time you just want something. I’ll do my best to make it happen, I promise.” 

He tested his leg once, just straightening and bending it before standing up to his full height. He relied on his cane a bit heavier than normal, but didn’t complain; this had felt like a good talk. A productive one, for a dozen reasons; if he could get Marc and Steven to start communicating… well. They might even discover that they're the same person all on their own. 

“You can go back to your room and get cleaned up, absolutely. I’ll walk you there, myself - you don’t have to stay in here any longer than you want to.” Not with her - no, he’d be having a word. Forcing his patient into a damned panic attack - thinking about it, if Steven was his patient, that would be the sort of thing he’d be working to try and repair. Teaching him to state what he wanted, rather than requesting it; teaching him to not care about what other people thought, if it put his own emotions at risk. 

He couldn’t get the nurse fired, he knew that. But hopefully he’d be able to make a good enough argument that he could her talked to, for it; or at least got her written up in some way. 

“I’ll get myself cleaned up, too,” he continued. “And I’ll check in on you, just to make sure you're alright - maybe we could meet again for breakfast again, one day. I really enjoyed our last talk. You’ve got a way of making people feel comfortable, you know. I mean that, I’m not just saying it.” 

[thezombieprostitute]

Misplaced

Summary: The son of a new patient isn't a fan of you.

Warnings: Caretake stress, End-of-life (Palliative) care. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Based on a dream I had.

You park your car in the driveway of Mrs. Odinson's house and wince. The other car belongs to her younger son, Loki. The man always snipes insults at you when Frigga can't hear. You're not looking forward to this.

At least Frigga is a delight. She seems to have accepted what's happening. She even talks about joining her husband with a happy tone to her voice. Her older son never holds back his tears but also seems to be accepting that she's dying.

Loki, however, treats it like it's your fault Frigga is passing.

He's not the worst you've ever had to deal with. You've been yelled at by cousins and long-lost kids for not treating their dying relative as if they're fully healthy and capable of making a complete comeback. But Loki's snipes certainly feel the sharpest. It's like he knows your every insecurity when he strikes.

Still, you're not doing this job for him. You're here to make sure Frigga isn't in a lot of pain. That she's not suffering.

When you walk into her room, Loki glares at you. For once, Frigga catches it.

"Loki, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, mother," he quickly assures, eyes softening as he looks at her.

"You looked at my poor nurse as if she was a demon," she insists.

"It's nothing," he reiterates before storming out.

Frigga looks at you, "I'm so sorry for my son."

"It's okay," you nod. "Not everyone processes their grief in a healthy way."

She chuckles, "if only you knew!"

"He must love you very much to hate me so."

"Oh?"

"I'm a reminder that he's going to lose you," you shrug. "The fact that he's so hostile towards me, indicates he's severely pained at the thought of losing you. You must be very dear to him."

"Thank you for seeing the best in him," she smiles. "Not many can."

After the appointment, you head out to your car but hesitate when you see Loki pacing by his own vehicle.

"She's ready for visitors again," you inform him as you look for a way to walk past him.

He stops pacing. "I heard what you told her about me. Your insight into why I'm acting the way I am."

"Would you have preferred I kept my mouth shut?"

"...yes and no," he admits. "Mainly because you're not wrong."

"You're not the only one who's ever been mean to me for such reasons."

"It doesn't excuse my behavior," he shakes his head. "I...I apologize for my...immaturity. I will try to do better going forward."

"I appreciate that," you smile. "Now go and spend some more time with your lovely mother. She enjoys when you read to her."

His eyes soften, he looks like he wants to cry. "Thank you."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darkficsyouneveraskedfor; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly

[strwberri-milk]

Hey Berri! i've been a silent reader for some time and I just love your work! 💕

Could I please request a reader, with Rafayel Zayne and Sylus who struggles with hair loss due to stress and anxiety. And constantly cuts their hair out of frustration because they think they're not pretty enough. And constantly having to pick up stray hairs from their clothes/floor. How would they react/support them?

Have a wonderful day, you beautiful human! ❤️

- Z

i think theyd all be quite similar bc i like to think they all comfort you in similar manners?? just w their own special touch

He'll try and help reduce your stress if he can. He can understand that you're in a difficult situation and that you're struggling with not just stress from your life, but also difficult in navigating your own body as it works against you.

Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier do tend to be more solution oriented. He'll present things you can do or see if there's a way to help mitigate your hair loss. If that's not feasible, he'll just do things to control your environment and try to lessen your stress in hopes that it makes things better.

Caleb and Rafayel are just a touch more emotional. He'll definitely be able to produce solutions for you but his method of comforting you tends to be lots of kisses and hugs. Additionally, he'll always tell you that you can vent at him whenever you're feeling upset.

He'll offer himself up to you emotionally basically whenever you need him. He loves you and he wants you to know that no matter what, he's going to be here for you. He doesn't mind having to help clean up after you and honestly, I see all of these men (minus Rafayel who will start cleaning up a little more often) already having some sort of weekly cleaning routine and doing general upkeep when they can so it's not even like you're doing anything that's going go severely change his routine much.

He also always makes sure to make positive comments about your hair. He doesn't ever mind the length and, depending on who you are, suggest shaving it if he thinks that might be an option you might be interested in taking. He'll reassure you that he doesn't care if you have a shaved head and as long as you're happy, he's happy and he genuinely means it.

[eru-vande]

Zutter || Kwon Jiyong x Reader

Summary: Jiyong's old friends visits him while he's being held cuffed in the cellar of his boss' rival's company

word count: 2,5k

warning: smut (hand job), knife play, low-key sub/dom interaction

A/N: inspired mostly by the MV, my first time trying to write sub/dom dynamic i'm not sure if it worked out lmao you tell me (no seriously, you tell me)

A/N 2: i'm rusty now i'm sorry i haven't written in 3 months... :(

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The blood was dripping to the ground, painting the dirty cemented floor of the cellar bright red under Jiyong’s feet. He would’ve told how many hours he had already spent there if the room had any windows, but the pain in his wrists were screaming it was way too long. His hair was damp, his lips chipped and broken, nose bleeding, he quite didn’t feel the fingers on his hands already and his shoulders became numb. 

Deep down inside? He was enjoying it. Everything, except his friend being knocked out and dragged into another room.

Jiyong knew this cellar. He knew it from his old days. And not a single person that was forced to pay this room a visit had a great life afterwards. Not after being hung by your wrists on the wall for hours, not after being beaten up until you feel it with your bones that the next punch would end everything for you. And not after they left you bleeding out for hours just to come back and beat you up again, trying to get the information out of you. Or just for fun.

But somehow, being the one hung on the wall, being the one who’s got beaten up, he was waiting for something with his heart beating a cheerful beat. As if he knew that something special was coming his way.

And something indeed came.

In the silence of the cellar Jiyong’s ears noticed a sound. A light clicking of heels on the ladder, the leather coat dragging on the floor, a still, cold laughter when the clicking of the heels stopped a few meters away from him.

“Who am I looking at? Kwon Jiyong himself…” 

Your voice ringed through the silence, rewarding you with a sly smile from Jiyong, who lifted his head just slightly enough to look at you.  

“And what are we doing here? Finally missing your old friends?” You took a step closer, wrapped your fingers around his chin and lifted Jiyong's head higher, squeezing his chin uncomfortably. “Bullshit, right? You were so happy to ditch us, suddenly getting so fucking upstanding…” your face shivered with disgust as you let go of Jiyong's face. “Betrayed us for good, and now what? Wanted to steal from us? Not so morally good again?” 

You wiped the blood on your fingers off with a piece of cloth, cleaning every inch of your fingers precisely as if his blood alone disgusted you.

Jiyong tried to laugh, but instead only a gnarly wheeze left his mouth. 

“You're doing better than your friend anyway.”

His eyes darted at you. “Where… is he?” 

“You know where, don't you? He'll be dealt with.” 

The coldness of your tone would send shivers down anyone's spine, but not Jiyong's. He got used to it long ago, years ago when you both were only starting to work with each other. 

Jiyong tried to move his hands, adjusting to the pain in his joints. 

“Why did you come?” his voice was barely audible, blood still dripping down his chin from his broken lip. “Why you?”

“Came to mess with you.” Looking him over, you moved his legs with yours so he wouldn't reach the floor, making him whimper from a sudden tug on his wrists. “You really thought you could just come and steal from us? Did it take you so little time to forget everything about this place?” 

Jiyong greened, laughing, his laughter mixed with silent wheezing. “No, I came to see you, Y/N. Missed your childish insolence.”

You haven't seen him for two years. You forget how unbearable he was, and how he used to annoy you being so damn hot when he was bleeding, his smile sly yet so captivating. 

“Did your friend come to see me too? So cute.”

“He came to take what you've stolen from our boss.”

Your razor sharp laughter ringed in his ears. “You think it's so easy to just take what you want from us?”

“Well, it was easy enough to take you back in the days.”

You huffed at him chuckling, placing your hands on his shoulders and pressing them down to make him cry out from the pain in his joints. “Don't fuck with me, Jiyong, you're not in the right position for that right now.”

“I'm always in the right position to fuck you.”

This brat. Even when cuffed, still toying with you. But it would be a lie to say his raspy voice didn't make you curl your toes. You did come there to mess with him, though, so maybe it's the right time to start. 

“I just know what you want most from me, you haven’t changed…” you said, coming up even closer to Jiyong, bending over right to his face. Too close but too far away. Your breath teasing his broken skin, you eyes piercing his with undeniable desire to fuck him up while he can’t do anything to you. Your leg pushing his crotch to the wall, giving him as much friction as you possibly could.

The challenge was accepted. He let his head hang loose, pressing his forehead to yours as he chuckled. “Try me.”

You pressed your palms flat to his chest, sliding them down until you felt the belt on his pants. 

“You’re gonna punish me by fucking me, seriously?” Jiyong’s voice resonated off the four walls, disappointment mixed with curiosity. “You can do better, Y/N.”

You smiled, tugging the belt out and throwing it away on the damp floor. One sharp glance into his eyes when you fingers undone his pants and let them fall loose to the ground made Jiyong weak in the knees. “Who told you i’m gonna fuck you?”

Jiyong was still smiling at you, but you saw a quick shiver of his lips as he drew the air in. “If you’re not, then you’re doing a weird thing going for my dick.”

The next thing he felt was your nails sliding up and down his dick —  the touch almost unnoticeable, the pressure was barely there, but his dick was twitching with every little touch of yours, getting harder.

“We all know what’s the purpose of fucking, right?” Your voice laced his ears like honey, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this whole performance won’t end well for him. 

The outrageously smug smile that has been plastered on his face this whole time went blank as he watched you getting down on your knees, without any intentions to break eye contact. From all those years you knew it turns him on.

Your fingers were still running up and down Jiyong’s dick when you leveled with it. Your eyes plastered to his face detecting a twitching of his muscles, his Adam's apple going up and down slowly as he struggled with gulping, as you breathed out way too close to his sensitive tip. Your warm breath coated his head as he whimpered silently, trying to back off with zero success. 

You let one of your hands go up under his shirt tracing light circles on the skin of his stomach, feeling his abs tensing under your touch as you kept on blowing the warm air on his tip.

“You always liked to play games, yeah? With me…” A heavy grant escaped his lips. Jiyong’s mind couldn’t understand how to react to everything that was happening to his body: the excruciating pain in his arms that was driving him crazy for the last few hours, you, playing the touch game on his dick and stomach. The pain versus the pleasure. His mind was too busy going insane to detect your movement, but the coldness he suddenly felt on his abs sent him back to reality.

“Now, game’s mine, Jiyong.” You twisted a knife, the sharp point of it dancing on Jiyong’s skin, sending hundreds goosebumps running all around his body. “I like to see you like this. Helpless, but… what if?..”

And you dropped the knife lower, you slid the point of it down his shaft to his head, careless, not looking at it to be sure you won’t actually hurt him, but yet again checking his reaction. The way his chest heaved as he drew in a breath when he felt the knife touching his dick almost made you lose your sanity. He couldn’t realise if it was because of pleasure or out of realisation that you could chop off his dick, but he yelped, swirling around and trying to get away from the knife.

“You just have to ask me nicely, there’s no need to act like this, Jiyong.” You grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, trying to stop him from swirling. “Didn’t you want to play?’

Jiyong shrugged, sucking in air. “Y/N get the fucking knife away!..” He tried to scream but his voice cracked when he felt the wave of muscle tension going through his body as you pressed the cold blade of the knife to the hot flesh of his tip. “fuck…”

“Just accept that you like it.” Your little laughter filled the room mixed with Jiyong’s babbling and cursing as you started rubbing the blade on his tip. “Well…” Suddenly the rubbing felt easier and smoother and as you curiously checked the blade you chuckled, teasingly. “I already see that you quite like it, Mr Kwon.”

The blade was wet with his pre-cum. A few seconds later, Jiyong’s whole body spasmed and he bucked his hips forward, his body trying its best to find some needed friction, but you were fast enough to back off.

You hissed, stopping him midaction by pressing a hand to his hip and pressing it back. “Oh, no-no, Jiyong, you won’t get it. Only if you beg, maybe then I’ll think about it.”

You stood up carelessly, putting the knife in the pocket of your coat, and lifted Jiyong’s head just slightly by just barely tapping his chin. “Good boy.”

Your hand went up to mess with his damp hair, tangling your fingers in between his strands, you tugged on it, making Jiyong tilt his head back. His mouth fell open and you didn’t waste an opportunity. You launched on him aggressively, almost making him choke out of surprise. 

Jiyong didn’t back off, not that it was possible anyway, but he savoured your kiss as you were giving it to him. Passionate, wet, bloody from you biting his lips. You put your other hand back to his crotch, rubbing and tugging on his dick, playing lightly with the sensitive skin, eliciting the groan of pain from all the feelings out of his mouth. Your fingers were drawing light circles on his tip, coating itself in his wet sticky precum. 

“You want it bad…” You lulled, bringing your fingers to your mouth and licking the liquid off them, watching Jiyong visibly shake as the disappointment decorated his face.

Damn, the view turned you on. His head hanging loose between his cuffed to the wall arms, his chest muscles so tense you wanted to bite it, his dick dripping from your touch and body twitching in desperation. 

“Just say ‘Please’...”

He looked at you, something in his stare was animalistic and desperate, when his lips parted slightly he breathed out. “Please…”

His chest heaved a little when he felt your light touch on his dick. It was just a play for you, you only were teasing him, but it gave you so much power over the man that had all that power over you all those years. The way he toyed with you, making you feel so damn wanted and desirable, you could do anything he asked you to. And then he left. Without saying a word, he just left. 

You were rubbing his tip until you felt Jiyong breathing slowered and his muscles tensed. You won’t give it to him just like that.

“Y/N, s-stop, just…”

“Just what?” You pressed your fingertip to his dripping head again, drawing a low moan from Jiyong’s mouth. “Just say it, baby, it’s not that hard. I said it plenty of times to you.”

Jiyong gulped his pride down, the desire to stop this teasing and just cum was excruciating, it was tickling his skin painfully, swirling his stomach and curling his numb fingers. He wanted it. He needed it. But it was so hard to even mutter these words.

Jiyong heard you chuckle, watching him battling with himself for so long. “Okay, you can hang here. I’ll go visit your friend.” You took a few steps backwards, tapping your chin with your fingers. “What was his name again? TOP? Tabi? Whatever…” 

You almost turned around when the silence was interrupted with a breathy whimper.

“Y/N…” You looked at Jiyong, he was visibly waging war within himself. “Please… I…” he bit his lips in disgust, but the twitching in his stomach made him continue speaking, leaving all the male pride behind. “I beg you.”

“Damn? where is my camera? I should’ve captured this for future generations… mr. Kwon Jiyong begging me to let him cum.

You came closer to him, wrapped your fingers roughly around his chin and squeezed it tightly. “Okay, I'll let you.” You kissed him loosely, biting into his lower lip and tugging it away until you felt a drop of blood on your teeth.

You grabbed his dick again, firmly and started tugging on it in a quick rhythm, rubbing your thumb against his tip. The movements sent a wave of arousal up Jiyong’s body, his chest started heaving and dropping hectically, his stomach tying into a knot, as he panted heavily.

“P-please, tighter…”

He groaned on the way you tighten your grip around his shaft way too hard. “You think you can boss me around?” Hearing him groaning and squealing, you might have wanted to squeeze the living soul out of his dick, but with a few more rubs of your thumb against his wet tip, his whole body spasmed and he mellowed, coating your palm in his semen.

“Are you good now?” You wiped your palm on his shirt, slapping his cheek with another hand. “Now, it’s time to pay a visit to your friend. I didn’t come here exclusively to see you. Too much honor.”

You turned around on your heels, and walked away to the door, a smug smile shining on your face. “Maybe I’ll come visit you again if your friend bores me.”

When your hand was reaching the door handle, you heard Jiyong laughing. It took you a split second to turn around and dart a sharp look at him only to see him standing free on his feet, his hands uncuffed.

“So you could’ve stopped it anytime?” That man made you crazy again, putting a wicked smile on your face. “You’re really a sick weirdo, Kwon Jiyong. See you!”

The door closed on the other side of the room, locked.

Jiyong left standing there, in an empty cellar all alone. Why didn’t he stop you? Didn’t overpower you? At the end, he only toyed with you again.

On the other side of the door you’ve been thinking on how to recoup.

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Open ending i'm guessing it's a part 2 coming......

Event tag list: writers: @namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @breakmeoff @makeitworse

readers: @seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @burningheartdetective @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 + personal tags! (comment to be added)

my tag list: @loveesiren @infinetlyforgotten @sevendaysummer

[theotherrookie]

"Cyclists are fizzy drinks." That made a lot of sense, actually. The information was dutifully filed away and gave Erica something else to think about while they continued with their looting. Catching a speeding cyclist would be a nice challenge.

That could be one way to test another one of her new tricks...

"Carthage didn't want us to be anything like what we are now. So you're both correct." Willow replied, "And I'm glad you were able to break away from that situation as I am that my own brothers were able to upgrade from being fugitives and partners in crime to being a happy family."

"Willow's brothers are nice!" Erica chimed in, "They're also Rook's bosses over here but way older than ours."

That made her wonder whether there were more Russells, Travis and maybe Simons out there. Though she made sure to keep her thoughts to herself. The brothers had their fair share of the esoteric already.

"Yeah, we don't know where they have been." Erica agreed, before offering Travis the key, "I can't drive. You can have it."

While she could have done without the noise of glass shattering, it was music to Lucien's ears. Fragments of Five's attack still disturbed his dreams, but perhaps they would cease now.

Lucien nodded. "Yes. Although, this would be even better if we could get our hands on that chair he was seemingly so fond of."

Rook would have loved setting it on fire, at least.

Erica grinned, then reached to take one of the tactical masks. "I'll keep one for target practice. You know, I'll put it on a mannequin, maybe add a clown nose so it looks more like Five before I flushed him. Something like that."

Rook let out another sigh. She was exhausted more than in a physical way, but she had to speak her mind there.

"I guess it has to do with all the things I got told growing up. A part of me thinks there's really something wrong with me and that I'm going to screw up." And for that, she only had to thank Rick. "I know it's not true, but it's hard to shut up that kinda thing. I haven't been doing it for that long."

She was making an effort to think positive and listen to whoever insisted she was good enough. It just took a while to get used to and she was also trying to come to terms with some changes her magic had prompted.

Someday she would open up about why she resented her wings so much, but for now Rook was content simply stealing another quick hug. The fluff of her mantel muffled her voice.

"I'm not the best at showing it but it means a lot to hear that. I didn't get to hear this kind of thing a lot."

Almost not at all, all things considered. Her failed father had always been stingy with compliments.

Rook then let go. "Well, I better get to the arson now..."

Veronica was glad to see they seemed to agreed on how to best treat Frosty. More than anything, she was glad all talk about petty pranks had stopped when it became clear a couple of bandaids and an energy drink wouldn't be enough to send the young mage on his way. The ghost lady could think of many reasons why he wouldn't be welcome home and too many of them could be the consequence of Five's direct interference.

In any case, the spray bottle wasn't necessary anymore, thus was stored back in her bag.

"Five's abilities are almost entirely new to me as well. While this isn't as severe as what he has used on Lucien, I feel we may be able to solve this by adapting one of your recipes again."

If it ain't broke and such. Veronica watched Antonio at work now that she finally had the chance to do so. It was fascinating but being a literal wandering soul, she made sure not to get lost in that swirling abyss.

Frosty would have done so as well if he hadn't reacted too slowly. The truth was he hardly needed to be persuaded to go back to sleep. Though now he too hoped it wouldn't be as bad of a time as earlier.

Veronica carefully checked his pulse, then nodded approvingly. "Very well. Let's take him to Erika. He can safely rest in the pocket while we go have a nice night out in the city."

"Variety is good!" And Erica appreciated that she was being humored. Most people started questioning her logic and that was very much not the point.

"I have noticed that mistakes are sometimes necessary in order to learn." Willow replied, "I almost lost my brothers once and that served as a reminder that family can't simply be cast aside until your earliest convenience, or managed like another company asset."

It used to be easier to do so when it was still just the five of them. But even with the facility and the children to look after, they still tried to make time to be together even for just a meal.

The shadows were dispelled once the crane was gone, leaving Erica free to have a closer look at the scattered belongings in case there was something unsafe to handle. It turned out her hunch was right

"...Oh no." She raised her hands, motioning to keep a safe distance. "Don't touch these tools! There's Ratchet's smell on them."

It was only fair everybody would know. Erica then shoved some notes aside and snatched a car key off the table. Now they could steal Five's car in a funnier way than feeding it to the void.

Willow quietly retrieved a box to store the books they were taking. They were going to the same place as the car, but half of the entertainment for Rook was digging into the pile for anything of interest. Presentation did indeed matter.

Lucien gladly drew his baseball bat and joined Russell. He aimed for a row of vials still waiting to be filled, then took a moment to savor the feeling.

"I know he will buy another one, but this feels great."

He almost felt like he could breath a little better.

Rook made to climb off Bill's back once they reached the roof, moving carefully so her spikes would not ruin his outfit. She took a moment to check their surroundings, before looking back at him.

"It's not much. I just..." She let out a tired sigh, "I've always been worried of losing control and hurting those around me and it's been hard to even look at Five. He's all those things and he likes it. He made it too real."

Rook trailed off as the memories of her time under Five's influence threatened to resurface.

"...But at the same time, it made me feel better." she then added, "Because I know what went wrong with him and know what to watch out for and I... just needed to say it out loud. I might still not be nice to myself in the future, but I feel a bit better for now."

She didn't dare adding that she felt a bit bad for Five as well, not after everything he had done. For now, a promise that she would try not resenting herself for being what she was as much would suffice.

Veronica was glad to see Frosty wasn't trying to fight back as they tended to him. He didn't do as much as flinch when he was sprayed and raise a hand to shield his face. That alone was a struggle in his current state. The best he could hope for was to pass out and not have to endure for as long as he could whatever they were really planning for him.

"Well, a cup of my special tea is in order, but we should wait a few more hours for that. His abilities have been tampered with enough, we would risk causing permanent damage." Veronica replied, "The best we can do right now is tending to his physical injuries."

Toxins aside, Frosty was going to feel very sore from the beating he took before going berserk.

"For now, though, sleep is the best medicine for him. Would you mind tending to that, Antonio? Erika told me that's a specialty of yours."

[liquidglassblog]

I was going to post art but wrote a story instead 😭😭

❗️TW: JUNO INCIDENT

Heart took his place at the kitchen table, it had been set for three. Mind sat across from him, with Soul to his right.

Dinner had been cooked by Soul personally, some pasta with sauce. The colourful pointed hat on Mind's head crowned him the birthday boy, making it obvious who the meal was catered to.

Heart narrowed his eyes. Just the sight of his opposite half being happy irked him. After all Mind did to him, after all he didn't do for him. For Soul, for Whole, for himself...

In Heart's opinion, he was the worst thing to ever happen to this- this place they found themselves in. Yet Soul still sat around, and made him sit around, to celebrate him. This unfeeling monster.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He was tired of listening to Mind and Soul talk when they should be doing... something. Anything but this! They should be Whole! Not this! He was sick of pretending this was normal.

"Can we hurry this up?" Heart butted in mid conversation. Mind would've liked to just skip over it, act like Heart hadn't spoken, but Soul acknowledged Heart's words. "'Just a little conversation." He said soothingly. Mind watched as Soul ate his dinner, not resuming the the conversation they'd been mid way through.

"Thanks a lot, Heart." Mind said a bit bitterly, casting his gaze to Heart. "Way to ruin the mood." He felt like he was just saying the silent part out loud. It was just one day out 365, could he really not even give him that?

"I just want to go to bed." Heart didn't really, he just wanted to back out of this brewing argument. Regret flourished in the pit of his chest, maybe his previous comment and thinking had been rash-

"Then go to bed, if it stops you from being so irritable. We're certainly not stopping you."

"Mind." Soul extended a hand to rest on Mind's shoulder, to hopefully calm things down, but as usual the clash carried on.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said, I'm just tired." Heart muttered, resting his forehead on his hand. His voice was quiet but firm.

"Oh, quit the bullshit. You're aren't really tired, are you? Just-... Just bitter, I suppose. Jealous, even." Mind accused. "God forbid I have one day for me-!"

Heart's patience wore thin, "But it never is just one day, is it? Every day is always the same with you! Me, me, me, me, me! 'We should do it my way, it's better this way, you're doing it wrong, you're why we split!'" He punctuated his sentence with a slam of his hand, rattling the dishes.

Soul watched on, sick to the back teeth already. Sick and tired. Exhausted. He could agree on Heart with one thing, every day was always the same, albeit with both of them. Fighting day in, day out. He'd hoped that today they'd at least keep it civil, but apparently even that was too much to hope for.

"Typical. Just typical. Always the helpless victim, aren't you?" Mind spat back, "Well fine! If that's how you see things, then fine. I am right. There, is that what you wanted to hear? Will that be the smoking gun to your argument? I AM right! I'm right about you doing everything wrong! I'm right about things being better my way! I'm right about you being the reason we're even here in the first place!"

There was a tense silence after Mind's tirade. Soul had long since mentally checked out from this argument, they all blended together after the 100th. Heart was silently seething, though.

Tears of anger gathered at the rims of his purple eyes. He rose from his seat abruptly. He pointed his right finger at Mind, his other hand braced against the table.

"I hate you!" He yelled.

"I hate you so, so much!" Electricity seemed to come to a stand still.

"I hate everything about you!" The space around his hand flickered and warped. Soul's eyes narrowed at the energy gathering. It was... familiar.

"I hate what you've done to Soul!" The distortion grew more shapely. A gun tearing itself into existence, into Heart's hand.

"I hate what you've done to Whole!" The gun was taking on colour now, sleek and purple, more purple than seemed possible.

"I hate what you've done to me!" The hammer drew back with a click, without Heart laying his thumb on it.

"I wish you never existed, Mind! I wish you'd die!" There was click, then a crack in the air. Mind's neck spurted more blood than Soul thought possible. The bullet had done more damage than Soul thought possible either, for something so tiny. It carried a concentrated hit of all Heart's sorrow, despair, and hate.

A deep blue spurted all over the table, dripping down the front of Mind's shirt. He garbled and wobbled on his seat the hit the floor with a resounding thud.

Soul was horrified, he felt his heart pound and mind race. He didn't know what to do, he could hardly believe this was real. Maybe he'd fallen asleep, maybe he'd catch hold of reality and bring himself back to present. But this was present.

"Oh my God- What is wrong with you!?" Soul screamed as soon as he found the words. With fumbling hands he got to floor beside Mind and tried to contain the bleeding. He'd worked so many crazy things before, was one more miracle too much to ask for?

Heart stood stiffly, watching Soul try fix the mess he'd caused. He felt sick to his stomach. He'd done that. He'd killed Mind. Heart tossed the gun away like it burned, he couldn't bear the weight of it in his hands any longer. He backed away from the table with wide eyes.

All he could see was the pain in Mind's dimming gaze. All he could hear was the gargling from Mind's wound.

The tears that had gathered in his eyes fell fast and hard, fat droplets rolling down his cheeks as he cried. "I didn't-"

Soul was too busy to listen to Heart's defence. His gloves grew thick and wet with blood within seconds of clasping at Mind's neck. More troubling still, the bleeding was ebbing. He hoped that it was a sign of success, and not what he thought it was...

———

Heart turned over in the deep, moist, earthy grave he found himself in. He couldn't tell if this was mercy or purgatory. Having to live with his actions.

It'd been just over three months now, he guessed. The guilt only worsened with time, growing heavier and heavier on his chest. Some nights it felt like he could hardly breath, sobbing until his retched.

In the beginning of it, Soul had brought him food twice a day, breakfast and dinner, but those meals were becoming scarce. He'd taken to eating the mushrooms that grew just within his reach. They were tough and chewy, bitter tasting, but provided more relief than one. Satisfying his appetite and temporarily freeing him from the Hell that was reality.

Heart's feathered ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, one of Soul's rare visits.

He watched the shadow creep over the pit and already he could tell something was wrong. It had no horns. Then the face came into view.

It made Heart's whole world turn on his head, Mind.

It was enough to make Heart think he really was losing it. Maybe he'd taken a mushroom and didn't remember, maybe he was asleep. But no. Mind really was standing there. Living, breathing, and speaking.

Heart's conscience warred between joy and disappointment. He felt awful there was ever even a conflict in his mind to begin with. He should be overjoyed, really. But it made him feel as though he'd been down there for nothing. Forced him to confront what he'd done. He could see it right in Mind's neck, an odd implant or chocker letting him talk.

"I-" Heart felt choked up, tears swelling in his eyes, "I'm sorry, Mind. I'm so sorry..." He blubbered, staring up at his opposite.

Mind looked as disinterested as he could, but he'd come seeking... something. Closure? Revenge? An answer? He couldn't quite think of the words he'd revised on his walk to the grave. How could you, Heart? How could you do that? The words just felt lame, looking Heart in the eyes now.

"Why?" The word tumbled out of his mouth, finally.

Heart didn't know what to tell him aside from sorry.

[sirfrogsworth]

What did I do while suffering from an ear infection all last week?

I argued with a Trump supporting boomer @mtnman451.

Why?

My ear discomfort was so ever-present that I couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two. I was hopelessly bored. So I decided to see how long this guy would continue responding due to always needing to have the last word.

I almost gave up at one point.

He nearly tired me out.

But then he pulled me back in.

We started arguing about the kind of gun used in my dad's favorite movie, Quigley Down Under.

Just to be clear, I am posting this for one person. I am using my large platform to publicly show that someone on the internet was wrong. It will not make the world a better place. It is probably not great for my mental health. But sometimes you just gotta embrace the petty.

If you have no interest in a stupid internet argument, feel free to ignore this. But I really really needed to be correct about this. And I am letting my pettiness take the wheel and digging in to vent my frustrations about people who cannot ever be wrong on the internet.

Here is a little of the argument...

mtnman451 You know it's funny. You think you're so smart and are all happy about you're supposed "Gotcha Moment. Have you ever seen the movie "Quigley Down Under?" The lead character only uses a Sharp's rifle during the movie and the major antagonist gives him crap because Quigley doesn't seem to know how to use a Colt Revolver. I believe the exact thing Quigley says to the antagonist when asked about it is "Well Sir, I never had much use for one." At the end of the movie when Quigley takes out 3 men in a fair gunfight including the antagonist, Quigley walks up to him as he's on the ground, dying and looking shocked that he had just gotten shot and says "I said I never had much use for one. I never said I didn't know how to use it."

sirfrogsworth Quigley was actually my dad's favorite movie. I enjoyed it very much as well. But I'm afraid you are not shooting with the Shiloh Sharps or the Colt 1860 Army.

You are firing a toy cap gun, friend. All noise and no bullets.

You are angry, incoherent, and neither your arguments nor your insults make any sense.

mtnman451 you need to take another look at that movie because the Australians in "Quigley" weren't armed with 1860 Colt Army Revolvers. 1860 Colt Army Revolvers were .44 caliber and the revolvers used by The Australians were of a smaller caliber. If you knew your guns, you'd know that.

sirfrogsworth Elliot Marston (played by Alan Rickman) carried a .44 caliber Colt 1860 Army. He even refers to it as the "Army revolver" invented by "Col. Colt." He then places his identical "backup revolver" in Quigley's belt before the final duel.

I actually have an interest in antique guns and have always wanted to collect non-working replicas but never had the money. So I'm pretty sure I know the guns in my dad's favorite movie.

You are free to check the Internet Movie Firearms Database to verify.

mtnman451 Go back and watch the movie. He's not packing a .44. you want to see what a .44 looks like? Here you go.

sirfrogsworth Do you enjoy people making you look stupid?

Here is the photo you just shared overlaid on a still of Rickman's gun in the movie. It's the same fucking gun, dude.

mtnman451 Yes, it's exactly like this one. A .36 Caliber Colt.

sirfrogsworth The 1860 Army uses the same frame as the .36 caliber Navy model. In the movie he clearly says, "Are you familiar with the Army revolver, Mr. Quigley?" The film takes place around 1860 and he says it is a "recent invention of Colonel Colt."

mtnman451 hm. Same frame you say? No Shit sirfroggysgoneacourting. It's a wonder why those who don't know what they're talking about mistake the two, isn't it? Do you or your Dad own any black powder weapons? I do. Ever held the two in your hands? Seen them side by side? I have. Ever fired any black powder weapons? I have. I've fired more guns of every type from muzzle loading rifles, single action percussion cap pistols to semi automatic pistols and Class 3 Federally regulated firearms. Have you? It's possible but I highly doubt it.

sirfrogsworth So… you can't be wrong, can you? Like it is physically impossible. You just double and triple down and quadruple down?

If you can show any kind of evidence aside from "I know guns" then I'd be happy to reconsider. But it has to be actual evidence and not "I WAS PLAYING WITH GUNS BEFORE YOU WERE IN DiAPERS!"

I know you are super good at shooting things but I am super good at research. Either play in my sandbox and PROVE your claim or fuck off.

mtnman451 Oh I could be wrong but I'm not. Now while Tom Selleck served in The US Military and throughout his Film and TV career handled many different and powerful weapons like a .44 colt, if you recall he used The Remington Army .44 in "The Shadow Riders" where he played a Union Cavalry Officer to "Magnum P.I. where he used an ACP, that's the .45 Automatic Colt Pistol, btw. I don't think a bunch of British and Australian Actors such as the ones in "Quigley Down Under would have had as much experience handling pistols of that size as they pack a pretty Damn Big Kick. a .36 Caliber Colt would be much more manageable in the hands of a neophyte.

sirfrogsworth So, none of that is evidence. That is pure speculation. Your entire argument is that Alan Rickman wasn't man enough to fire a blank firing prop gun? That's silly. And does not prove anything at all.

Do you not understand what evidence is?

My evidence is the character said it was an Army. And online sources have verified it as the Army.

You just have vibes.

Even the Internet Movie Firearms Database thinks you are wrong. And they do solid research.

mtnman451 If you were so good at research, why didn't you just go here in the first place?

sirfrogsworth I TOLD YOU TO CHECK THAT SITE. That's where I learned about the gun years ago. In my very first reply I said, "You are free to check the Internet Movie Firearms Database to verify."

mtnman451 And yet the guy that's "Super Good" at research never posted it.

And now, some "Super Good" research...

I found the definitive difference between the .44 Colt Army and .36 Colt Navy revolvers.

Here is the cylinder of the .36 caliber Colt 1861 Navy that Mr. Mountain Man claimed was used in the movie.

Here is the cylinder of the .44 caliber Colt 1860 Army that I claimed was in the movie.

Please draw your attention to that seam in the cylinder. This was to account for the larger bullets.

Here is a scene from the movie where Alan Rickman's character is firing the revolver.

I've always wanted to do this...

I think of all the times I was correct, this is the most correct I have ever been.

Also, while the show's canon claimed Magnum P.I. used a .45 ACP Colt 1911, they had trouble finding blanks for it, so the prop gun was a 9mm.

I guess Tom Selleck didn't have to handle that really big kick after all.

Will Mr. Mountain Man 451 finally admit he was wrong and apologize for his overconfident firearms claims?

I eagerly await him changing the subject and never admitting his error.

Because it is the Trump way.

If you are wrong about something... no you aren't.

Just be louder and wronger until everyone gives up.