#like having the words to explain some of how my brain works is great

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Do you want a Kiss?ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ ₊˚⊹

SUMMARY: sam has a little chocolate-dipped problem. 3.6k playlist!!!

WARNINGS: teen!sam winchester. high school au. characters are minors. fluff. just a small sweet treat from me to y'all. english is not my first language! enjoy<3

Sam has a problem. An adorable, caramel-scented, knitted-sweater-clad, huge problem.

Every day for the past few weeks, you have sneaked up on him—in the library, right after class, in the middle of the hallway, once even in the principal's office—and asked the same freaking question:

“Do you wanna kiss?”

Or at least that is what he heard the first time. 

You and Sam have been “friends” ever since you were paired up for an English project. He had seen you around before, but you never spoke up in class and kept mostly to yourself. Except when he caught you walking around with three other girls—just then, you would smile and joke around, standing in the background, embarrassed but giggly, as two of them broke into song out of nowhere.

So he didn’t expect you to participate much in the assignment. He assumed he would assign you your part, you’d do it by yourself, and that would be it.

The assignment had been easy—just a simple reflection project on The Iliad—and it would have been even easier if the rest of your classmates weren’t idiots.

Because, as it turns out, only you and Sam had actually read the book—the other three teens stared at you both dumbfoundedly when Sam tried to explain what each of them had to do.So obviously, you and Sam had ended up working on the stupid project by yourselves for a whole three days—in class and after school. It should’ve been tedious and exasperating, but Sam now mentally thanks his classmates for being illiterate. 

Because for three days, he got to discuss literature with a girl who was almost as much of a nerd as he was. You had so many interesting things to say—about Achilles and his character journey, about how heartbreaking his and Patroclus’ story is (you seem to swear they are romantically involved, and even Sam is almost convinced after hearing you talk about it for two hours), and you even go on a whole rant about Helen and why she deserved better.

Dean laughs and pities him when Sam tells him about it, but what he doesn’t know is that Sam might have just fallen in love. 

You got an A on the project, of course, and ever since then, you and Sam have worked on every assignment together—whether it’s supposed to be done in groups or not. You don’t actually hang out—you just chat in class and say hello when you walk past each other in the hallway, but nothing else.

That’s why, when you suddenly approach him one day in the cafeteria with a grin and your hand hidden behind your back, and ask him if he wants to kiss, his brain stops working.

He just stares at you, eyes wide and lips parted. All his intelligence leaks out of his ears and words escape him, so he just stands there like an idiot until you give him the sweetest giggle—the smell of hot chocolate and caramel filling his nose when you tilt your head to hide your smile, his breath hitching as you take a step closer—and hand him something.

In the middle of your extended palm, he notices some kind of foil-covered drop, and it takes him a minute to understand what it is.

A Kiss. One single Hershey's Kiss.

So now he knows that you’re actually asking, “Do you want a Kiss?”

But honestly, it doesn’t make it much better.

Because you take him by surprise every time, and every time he freezes and blushes and acts like the biggest fucking loser.

“Just kiss her, Sammy,” Dean suggests unhelpfully, once he catches on to the situation. “She’s so obviously flirting with you.”

“She’s not flirting with me, Dean. We barely know each other.”

“I swear to God, Sammy. Just grab her waist, pull her closer, and kiss her. You’ll thank me later.”

But Sam couldn’t just do that, because he isn’t Dean.

He doesn’t just kiss girls. He doesn’t give them that look-at-me-I’m-so-great grin, and they don’t fall at his feet like his brother’s do. He doesn’t walk up to the first pretty girl he sees and give her some cheap pick-up line that somehow ends up working because of his stupid charm. He doesn’t make out with a girl from every single town their dad takes them to. And he definitely is not about to start now.

Don’t get him wrong, Sam has been with some girls. He’s kissed a few chicks from the multiple schools he’s attended, and he had a girlfriend back when they stayed in Michigan for a whole month. He even dry-humped a girl he was supposed to be tutoring in History in his junior year. (Dean was pretty fucking proud about that one.)

But still, Sam is more… reserved. He isn’t shy (you couldn’t be when your dad has been forcing you to speak with locals and eyewitnesses before you even learned how to ride a bike), but he isn’t confident either. He is awkward, a little socially inept from so much time spent on the road, the boy with too much knowledge about ancient mythologies and Latin. Girls approach him because he is—in a way he still can’t understand—attractive, and he doesn’t usually turn them away, but he knows better than to give in to his heart’s desire for something else. Something different than his brother’s one-night stands, something gentle, something real.

Because Sam is the boy who gets straight A’s but no one puts them on the freezer. The boy who keeps people at arm’s length because “you can’t get attached to civilians, Sammy.” He’s the boy all the professors want to praise but whose guardians never show up for parent-teacher conferences. He’s the boy who one day simply disappears from school because his dad found a new hunt in a new town.

He’s the boy who’s pretty sure something isn’t right with him.

So when he sees you, sitting there in English class—your head buried in a book, your hair falling onto your face, the sleeves of your warm brown sweater too long, the shine in your eyes too bright—he doesn’t find it in himself to ruin it.

Instead, he sits next to you quietly, gives you a small nod in greeting, and tries to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

The teacher is talking about some assignment you will do to prepare for your next reading—Sam is looking forward to sitting in the library with you during lunch, browsing through the shelves and hearing you tell him about every book you’ve already read—when you turn to look at him.

He expects an invitation to work together, or some jab at the boy in the front row who keeps drawing dicks all over his desk, but then you lean in until your breath brushes his ear when you whisper,

“Do you want a Kiss?”

It still makes him jump, even after all this time. His cheeks flush, and his fists clench. He turns to face you with his best attempt at a glare—but it looks more like a pout—and immediately regrets it.

You’re close. Your shoulder brushes his, and your cheeks and eyelids are dusted maroon, your eyes sparkle with gold, and your breath still smells like the mocha frappe he knows you drink every morning, and you’re just so fucking warm.

Everything about you smells like coffee and books and just-baked cookies; and it tastes like cocoa and cinnamon and red velvet; and it feels like putting on your favorite cardigan and walking through mountains of orange leaves and snuggling under the covers during a rainy autumn morning.

God, what the hell is happening to him? He’s such a fucking loser.

Overwhelmed by the sweet glint in your eyes he will never get used to, his eyes move down to your hand hiding under the table. He grabs the Hershey’s Kiss with a huff, and bites back a smile at your giggle when he quickly rips the wrapper off and throws the chocolate in his mouth.

“If we miss any important instructions for the assignment, it’s your fault,” he whispers to you, eyes on the board like he’s trying not to alert the teacher but actually he’s just trying to keep his cheeks from flushing even more.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You roll your eyes, slowly unwrapping your own sweet treat. He wonders where the fuck you get so many of them. “If we miss anything, I’m sure Mrs. Keating will have no problem repeating herself for her favorite little student,” you murmur through the chocolate in your mouth, bumping your shoulder with his.

You love to tease him about your English teacher’s clear preference for him—in your opinion. Sam knows that she likes him, but he wouldn’t say he’s her favorite, even though she always praises his essays and has offered a recommendation letter more than once.

“Shut up and pay attention,” he mutters your name, and it leaves a syrupy tang on his tongue. But if he's being honest, he loves when you tease him. It shows him that you’re comfortable with him, no longer retreating to that shell you always seem to hide in when you’re alone, stuck with the rest of your classmates.

“Another Kiss?”

“Shhhhh.”

You end up, indeed, missing some important information. So Sam has to go ask Mrs. Keating about it and watches your amusement when she happily explains that they have to do a class presentation, sending him off with a sticker that says “Otterly amazing!” next to a cross-eyed otter who looks a little demonic.

You end up spending the whole afternoon in the school’s library. There are mountains of books around the table about the 1920s’ economic and historical context in America, along with a few books you recommended to Sam and he promised to check out. You end up reading out loud for him while he takes notes in his notebook, and he fights the urge to fall asleep to your voice that wraps around him like a fluffy blanket.

By the third time Sam yawns, you decide to go buy two coffees from the vending machine in the cafeteria. You put an alarming amount of sugar in yours, and grimace when Sam decides to take his black.

“That’s how my dad and brother drink it,” he explains in a voice he hopes is not as bitter as his drink. “So I just got used to it.”

Then you nod, giving him a look so kind he doesn’t know what to do with it, and you lean against him as you two lean back on the vending machine. Both of you are quiet for a moment, sipping your coffee and staring at the cafeteria tiles, before you sigh and take a step forward.

“Come on, we gotta at least collect all the information today. We can organize the presentation tomorrow in class.”

You grab his hand. Without even looking at him, you take his left hand in your right and start to pull him back to the library. Sam’s heart skips a beat, and he lets you drag him awkwardly for a few seconds before taking two long strides and falling right into your side. But even when you don’t have to pull him along, you don’t let go of his hand.

It stays wrapped around his—fingers not intertwined, but still warm and soft and perfect. And it stays there until you finally reach the table, when you let go of him and grab the book you were reading before the break. For the first time in his life, Sam hates books.

So you keep working until the janitor warns you that the school is about to close, and by then you have collected all the information you need. You walk out of the building, hands brushing but no longer grasped, and Sam feels something inside him ache at the prospect of leaving.

Because doing research with you is a hell of a lot better than going back to the moldy motel his family is staying at—where the shower only has cold water and there’s always someone moaning in the distance. It’s cold and stinky and lonely, and he desperately wants to stay with you, where it’s cozy and sweet and lovely.

He’s getting way too attached, Sam knows. He knows this is bad, and he will have to leave any day now. But fuck, it’s so easy to just look at you and your teddy bear–like gentleness and just… crave.

Because everything else in his life is painful, and ugly, and rough.

You turn to him, smiley and gorgeous. “Need a ride?” You point toward your car.

It’s one of the few still there, the parking lot almost empty at this hour. It makes it easy to spot the Impala parked on the opposite side—the car he grew up in. Sam can see Dean through the windshield, and his brother gives him a thumbs up and one of his goofy grins before making kissing gestures with his hands.

Before you can see his idiot older brother and Sam is forced to change identities and move countries, he looks back at you.

“Nah, my brother’s picking me up.”

You nod, chewing on your lower lip and looking like you’re about to say something else before deciding against it.

“So, see you tomorrow?” Sam is about to nod when you take a step forward and kiss his cheek, once again almost sending him into an early grave. “Get home safe, Sam.”

Before he can even attempt to blurt out anything, you turn around and rush toward your car, waving Dean goodbye through the windshield before you drive past him and away from the school.

“Not flirting, huh?”

Not even Dean’s incessant teasing or his dad’s grip on a whiskey bottle bother him that night, because all he can feel is your lips on his cheek and the small bundle of fire it set on his chest.

It isn’t like the fire he feels when hunting—angry and all-consuming, or the one he feels when he stares at one of his brother’s badly hidden adult magazines—prickly and wild. This one feels like sitting near the fireplace in the middle of winter—comforting and tender and oh god so fucking addictive.

Turns out you can’t organize the presentation in class the next day because there’s a gas leak from one of the chemistry labs. “Two dudes were ‘wrestling’ and they broke a freaking pipe. I swear to God they work hard to be this idiotic.” Sam has to agree, because now you don’t even have access to the library—and his brother would be busy helping their dad with the case all day, so he can’t pick him up.

“We still have to work on the presentation,” you sigh, twirling your hair with your fingers like you do when you’re deep in thought. It’s distracting, because it makes the caramel scent float all around you—and because you keep biting your lower lip while you do it.

“We can go to the public library,” Sam offers. He had been there to help look into the lore for this hunt, and the place is small and full of little kids running around during what was supposed to be “story time hours,” but it’d have to do.

“Yeah…” You turn to look at him, still chewing on your lip, eyes more nervous than he’s ever seen on you. He’s about to ask if everything is okay when—“We could go to my house.”

You need to stop doing that, or he’s seriously going to have a heart attack one day.

That’s how he ends up here, sitting on the couch in your living room while working on a presentation about the Roaring Twenties. It’s only you and Sam—both your parents at work, no siblings—and he’s trying to force himself to act as normal as possible.

But it’s hard when you bring him a homemade mocha frappe and throw a brown knitted blanket over both your laps before you get to work. When there’s soft piano music playing in the background, chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table, and you’re so fucking close.

Your thigh brushes his under the blanket, and it’s really hard to focus on speakeasies and the prohibition. You start to plan out who will present which part, and you tease him about asking Mrs. Keating for a jazz dance. He softly pushes you away until you’re giggling and falling onto his side for support.

“Stop! Stop! I’m about to fall off the couch!” No, you’re not. You’re not even near the edge—Sam would never push you that hard—but he stops all the same.

“She doesn’t even like me that much,” he argues, mourning the loss of your weight against him when you straighten up to roll your eyes at him.

“Please, you’re the only one she gives actual golden stars on your essays, and she’s always putting you up as an example of excellence.” You do a scarily good impression of the woman. “Not that I blame her, though, when you go up to her with those huge puppy eyes and fluffy hair and cutesy smile, and talk about symbolism and foreshadowing and archetypes. Anyone would be enamored.”

The words are supposed to be teasing, just another joke. But you murmur them so close to his face, looking up at him through your lashes, your thighs brushing once again. And they sound so genuine when you mention his eyes and smile and being enamored.

Sam stares down at you, cheeks flushing and brain short-circuiting. He blinks once, then twice, then…

“Do you want a K—hmph!”

This time, he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s a little awkward—just a dry, soft peck. But then you smile against him, and when he leans away, your cheeks are red and your eyes are extra shiny.

“Took you long enough, smart boy.”

He chuckles, head falling forward in embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry.”

You shake your head, tangling your fingers in his hair and forcing him to look back at you.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He has to kiss you again, if only just to hide the way his cheeks burn.

This time it’s better. You tilt your head and move your lips against his so sweetly, and you taste like chocolate and cinnamon when he licks inside your mouth, and your sweater is fluffy under his hands as he wraps them around your waist. You pull on his hair gently, and suddenly Sam has never felt cold in his life. All he knows is warmth and caramel and the fireplace on his chest, crackling and burning steadily.

“We both know what we have to do for the presentation,” you lean back from the kiss, and Sam can barely hear your words as he looks at your lips, puffy and shiny with his spit. “What do you say we watch a movie?”

He nods, so you turn on the living room TV and put on some rom-com with a side of murder mystery Sam’s never heard about—it’s mostly cowboy and action movies in the motel rooms, and even when his brother and his father leave him alone for days on end in some cabin, he watches sci-fi and what Dean calls his “nerdy shit.”

Neither of you end up actually watching the movie, instead making out under the knitted blanket right there on the couch. Sam cages you under his body and kisses the taste of mocha out of your mouth until a honk comes from outside.

You immediately break away, and Sam has to take a minute before he can function again.

It’s Dean, ready to pick him up and take him back to the motel. Sam tries to fix his hair and make sure his lips don’t look too bitten before he makes his way out the door, not in the mood to put up with any more teasing. He picks up his backpack from the floor and mutters a small goodbye before walking away.

He’s not sure what any of this means—if you just wanted to make out or if you feel the same way he does. And even if you do, he doesn’t know what to do with that. Because he isn’t supposed to get attached, but—

“Sam!”

He stops walking at the sound of your voice, wondering if he forgot one of his textbooks by accident. You run out of your house to meet him in the driveway, the orange light from inside making you look like an angel.

You stop right in front of him and extend your palm toward him.

“Your Kiss.”

He stares at the candy for about five seconds before meeting your eyes, and he notices the smudge of chocolate in the corner of your mouth. His shoulders relax, and a smile so tender he wouldn’t recognize it as his own if he saw it in a mirror takes over his face.

He takes the Kiss from your hand, but before he can retreat, you circle your fingers around his wrist and pull him closer, granting him one last slow, sugary kiss.

“Get home safe, smart boy,” you mutter against his lips, letting go of his hand. “Learn your lines for the presentation, and maybe I’ll take you to my room instead next time.”

“Next time” echoes through his head during the whole ride to the motel, drowning out Dean’s lewd jokes and the wind coming through the windows as they speed down the road.

Next time.

NOTES: writing about teen!dean got me thinking about teen!sam and i just couldn't stop myself from writing this. this is actually inspired by a little recurring bit me and my best friend have when we eat hershey's kisses, and i just thought it would be so cute to write a little fic about it. it was supposed to be super short but as always I can't stop fucking talking.

anyway, i missed my sweet boy so much. I love dean but i'm a sam girly at heart and i just wanted to write something cutesy for my doe-eyed love.

TAGS: @littlejackles @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @southernimpala @jays-bonnie-on-the-side<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[ohtobeleah]

Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 2of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it, but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guy's bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader. Ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 5.8k

Author Note: Welp, it's great this storyline is finally out of my brain. Please enjoy the hurt/comfort. This took longer than originally expected to finish, so im glad you stuck around for it.

Previous Chapter

At the end of the day, the experience of practising medicine bears little resemblance to the dream. Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good. 

He went into medicine for the rush, the high, for the ride. 

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. When he lies awake at night, he replays the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

And then, somehow, improbably and when you least expect it, the world rights itself again…

“She’s stable,” Two words that keep hope alive in Jack’s heart against all the odds. “For now, but it’s been touch and go, you know how it goes.” It was one of the ICU doctors who spoke to Jack like a colleague and not just another family member. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Jack replied. He stood firm with his arms crossed over his chest. “An infection?” He frowned, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that you had gotten worse before his very eyes. You were showing all the right signs of recovery. And then you coded…

The ICU, room one, bed one. Arguably, the most important room in the entire hospital. Reserved for critical patients on the brink. The touch and goes. 

“SSI’s just sprint.” Your primary physician spoke as he shrugged his shoulders, mimicking Jack’s stance and body language as the pair watched you with an intensity that would have made anyone uncomfortable. “I’m optimistic, she’s healthy, young,” Jack caught the way that word fell from his colleague’s mouth. It had always been a topic of conversation around the hospital. The age gap between the two of you. It was no secret that Jack was nineteen years your senior. 

“She thinks you’re an arrogant son of a bitch, you know?” Jack wasn’t shy about the way he said it. He wanted Adam to know what you thought of him, even if he played a helping hand in saving your life. Because in reality? Regardless f he was a great doctor, he was still a fucking prick or a thing. 

“All I’m saying is, she was healthy before she was injured, she’s strong, has good odds even given the current circumstances.” You occupied the space like a ghost haunting an old, decrepit house with a tragic story just for the history books. “When she wakes up, she can tell me to my face.” 

“I put in a transfer to work nights here for a while.” The ICU had its own rules and regulations around visitors. How many, what times, how long, ect ect. Jack wasn’t willing to play the game the way he was being told…He just wanted to be next to you. 

“That so?” Jack’s colleague, Adam, raised his eyebrows in a shocked expression. “You know, even if you’re on shift and she takes a turn, you can’t–” 

“I know, I know,” Jack sighed. He was sick of being told he couldn’t help you. It was killing him. He had all these skills, all this knowledge and ability…Yet it was all worth shit when it came to you. “If one more person tells me that.” 

“My little girl was in here a few months ago,” Adam explained, hoping to give Jack some comfort in the back seat he found himself in. “It’s hard to relinquish trust in others when it comes to our family members, at the end of the day, yes, she’s your wife,” Adam emphasised the wife part, just to remind Jack that you weren’t dead yet and that you were still very much his wife. “But I gotta tell you, brother, she’s the most important person in my case load, I won’t let you, or her, down,” Adam was firm. He was stern. “Work down here as long as you need to, but I got her, only reason she’s here is because that damn SSI just went sleeper agent until it was ready to erupt.” 

Jack acknowledged his colleague’s words with a tight-lipped nod before he made his way over to your bedside, pulling out the chair he’s spent hours in already. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Jack’s entire demeanour changed when he was with you; everyone saw it. Adam just watched on silently as Jack held your hand between his, whispering sweet nothings like prayers to a god he didn’t believe in. “It’s been too long, I need you here, I don’t know how to…” The pause, the weighted silence that filled the room. It was heavier than Jack expected. “I don’t know how to do this without you, I need you to wake up, I’m not asking, I’m not giving you anymore time here, stop being a stubborn–” 

“Woah–” Robby interrupted from the doorway. Jack didn’t even need to turn around to recognise his best friend’s voice. “I wouldn’t wanna wake up if you were talkin to me like that,” He faked insult with raised eyebrows and a small sigh. His hands held his stethoscope on either side as he walked in. Adam made his way out, there were far too many people in your room for his liking. “How’s my favourite drama queen doing today?” 

“She’s stable,” Jack relayed what Adam had told him. “For now.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Y/n,” Robby snickered to himself as he placed a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. “How are you, brother? Talk to me.” 

“It just feels like…” Jack sighed to himself as he tried to think of the perfect word to describe what he was feeling. All the emotions. All the built-up regret. The trauma. The sleepless nights and empty stomach. The constant nausea from worry. This wasn’t who he was. 

But it was the effect you had on him. He loved you more than he loved himself, and that was clear to everyone around Jack Abbot. 

“...Purgatory.” Jack settled on a word. A complete sentence. One word to describe all the pain, the heartbreak, the sorrow. 

Robby nodded with tight lips as he checked over your monitors. Again, all signs were pointing in the right direction. But he’d said the same thing before you coded. He was confident in you that you'd pull through with no further complications or deficits. He didn't venture down to the ICU often, not since Covid at least. But you were family. 

“I can't lose her.” 

“I don’t think she’s letting you off the hook that easily,” Robby chuckled softly. You were like a sister to him. An annoying extension of Jack Abbot himself. “Go home, get some rest, you have to start taking more care of yourself. I’ll sit with her for a while and call if anything changes.” 

“She coded when I took a shower, I'm not going anywhere,” Jack argued. His demeanour hardened within the blink of an eye. “I'll sit with her until my shift starts.” 

Robby knew it was pointless to argue, but it was six thirty in the fucking morning and it was too early to have a headache. So he conceded to Jack's stubborn desire to remain by your side. Robby knew if it were him in Jack's shoes, he’d be losing it too. 

“Fine, page me if you need something. Can I tell the crew you’re in the building so that if you’re needed?” 

“Always,” Jack replied. His intense gaze never left you. He was hoping if he made up uncomfortable enough that you’d wake up and tell him to fuck off. 

Much to his own dismay, you didn't. Instead of counting sheep like a normal person, Jack knew that the little sleep he’d get the next time his eyes closed, he’d be counting worst-case scenarios without you to calm his mind and ease his nerves. 

—--------------------------------------------

“Ignore him. He had a rough night and is having an ongoing existential crisis.” Robby teases, but not really. The statement is true. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon enough,” Jack replied. He’d had enough. Even a workaholic needs a break from time to time. All things considered, Jack was well overdue. “Jesus fucking christ, get me outta here.” He looked up to the heavens above, well, the fluorescent lights at least. 

“He doesn’t answer whenever I call,” You sighed as you came round the corner of the nurse’s station, deciding to plant yourself with a thud on the chair Jack was originally leaning over. “So if he answers, I know he’s playing fucking favorites.” 

“What’s up with you?” Jack frowned. He hadn’t seen you in what felt like hours. It probably had been hours, but the Emergency Room felt like an endless pit of disappear on its good days. Time was only relevant in the concept of saving lives, not society’s standards. 

“That arrogant son of a bitch from ICU was called down to consult, tried to hit me up for my number again.” You grumbled as you rummaged through all your pockets, emptying the bits and bobs you’d collected throughout your shift. “He knows we’re married, right?” You finally looked up to where Jack had been standing with his arms now crossed over his chest. 

“It’s probably the only thing known about me around here,” Jack replied as you let your head hang back, exposing your neck in a way that shouldn’t have made Jack’s heart race…but it did. You were his wife at the end of the day. And he was at the very core of it all…

Just a guy who loved his wife. 

“That’s what I’m saying!” You groaned. Jack watched as you cupped your face and let out an exaggerated sigh into your palms. “Men, I hope I never end up as one of his patients.” 

“You and me both, slugger, need me to have a chat with him?’ Jack asked with a genuine concern in his voice. “Just say the word and–” 

You panicked at the very thought, Jack could tell as you shot up and uncovered your face.

“No, thank you.” You smiled softly. “I don’t want someone going missing, or worse.” You gave Jack a look he recognised immediately. A few months ago, there had been an incident involving a scalpel, your husband and one of the male nurses from the renal ward. 

“I keep a knife in my pocket.” Jack joked, sending you a wink. But there was a small part of him that wasn’t joking. He’d kill whoever he had to if they were putting you in an awkward position. 

“I’m good, down boy.” Your smile was as infectious, the best kind of medicine. Jack smiled, nodding in agreement. 

He remembered his reason to keep coming back. Not that he truly ever forgot. The wedding band wrapped around his left ring finger was a permanent fixture. 

“Before we get too far away, everyone!” Robby’s voice sounded off in earshot of where Jack stood. He was getting closer. “I’d like to introduce you all to Y/n.” 

“Uh, hi?” You waved slightly, still sitting on the spinning chair you had crashed into before. Jack knew it was probably the first time you’d sat down all shift. 

“This is Dr. Jack Abbot,” Once again, Robby introduced his best friend, but this time to all the new residents. Not just Mel. “Y/n here is gonna be your best friend in the Pitt.”   

“Oh, for the love of—“ 

Jack smirked as he interrupted you, “He doesn’t call either.” He swore that if you had rolled your eyes any harder at him, you would have fallen over. 

“Treat her with respect and she’ll make your shift as smooth as possible,” Robby explained. He respected you way too much for him not to pass that onto his students. “Disrespect her? And you're automatically out of here, end of story.” 

“I thought Dana was the charge nurse?” Dr. Santos asked. Jack frowned slightly at her question. But she wasn’t wrong. It was just her delivery. 

“Yeah,” Robby caught the look on Jack’s face. “But she isn’t married to Dr. Abbot here, and there’s a reason he works nights.”

“He bites.” You teased quickly with a smirk at the new residents. Jack was quick to correct your statement. 

“I don’t bite.” It was like a drug to him. The banter. The flirtatious love that radiated off the two of you. Jack loved you with everything he was. “What is your problem?” 

Jack saw that you went to respond. He saw that look in your eye. That inappropriate look. That look that told him you were about to say something completely out of pocket. Something downright crude. But you didn’t get the chance to before Robby interrupted. 

“Point is!” Robby raised his eyebrows in the way someone would when they narrowly avoid an awkward moment. “She’s important to us, which means she’s important to you guys, and you guys have been warned,” He chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest and swayed his hips side to side casually. “If you’d like to push the boundaries, by all means, have at it, but Dr. Abbot here doesn’t do bullshit.” 

Jack nodded. He admired you with a pride like no other. You were nothing short of a superhero with everything that you did around here. “Our nurses, especially my one, know what they’re doing. Never hesitate to listen to them, especially?” Jack raised his eyebrows, waiting for the residents to finish his sentence. 

“This one,” Everyone croaked out nervously. 

“Well done.” Jack was satisfied. Soon enough, he was turning back to where you sat, now slumped into your chair a little further. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Sighing, you stood. “But seriously, don’t make my life miserable.” It was a tease…but Jack knew you were also quietly begging them not to make your life harder than it needed to be. Sometimes doctors had a tendency to forget just how important and valuable nurses are in the medical field. 

Robby ushered all his ducklings away. Every year, they came through all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tailed not knowing hell awaited them. Jask watched the group walk away until they were out of his peripheral vision. 

“Thank fuck this shift is over, lets get the fuck outta here.” Jack groaned as he tapped you on the shoulder. Giving you a small pep up to get up off the chair. You rose to your feet and met your husband’s gaze. 

There was nothing but mutual admiration in both your eyes. A love that ran deep. A fierce, unconditional understanding that this was it for both of you. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

—---------------------------------

Humans like to think that they’re rational beings. Humane. Conscientious. Civilised. Thoughtful. But when things fall apart, even just a little, it becomes clear. We’re no better than animals. 

We have opposable thumbs. We think. We walk erect. We speak. We dream. But deep down, we’re all still rooting around in the primordial ooze. Biting. Clawing. Scratching out an existence. 

In the cold, dark world, like the rest of the tree toads and sloths. 

“This is your third session. And you still haven’t said anything yet.” The man who sat across from Jack said as he placed his clipboard down. “Now, while I love the quiet time, um…” 

“I read a study that, uh, says that just the, you know, act of going to thearaly is beneficial, even if you don’t say anything. Even if you just sit.” Jack explained as he sat quietly across the small office from his therapist. 

His second therapist. This was work-mandated therapy. Twice a week. Jack wasn’t going to stop working, but he also wasn’t allowed to keep working if he didn’t speak to a professional. 

“So you thought you’d come here and just sit?” His name was Ben. Jack didn’t have a problem with Ben. It was just that Jack already had a pretty good therapist. And he wasn’t the kind of person who just went about telling anyone willing to listen about his problems. “That’s how you’re gonna solve your problems?” 

“I don’t have problems.” Jack didn’t hesitate to correct his work-ordered therapist. He just wanted to get back down to work. But it was Thursday night, which meant Jack Abbot had a forty-five-minute session of mandatory therapy to get through before he could begin his shift. 

“What brings you here?” Ben reiterated. He knew denial like the back of his hand. It's what he did best. Denying the inevitable. That's why he became a grievance guide. Someone to help people transition through death as easily as possible. 

“Look, I’m fine,” Jack sighed as he leaned forward so that his elbows could rest on his knees. He tossed the idea around in his head, the one about telling Ben he wasn’t really sleeping too well. “It’s just–I haven’t been sleeping an awful lot.” 

Ben raised an eyebrow. This was good. This was progress. This was clipboard-worthy. 

The truth of the matter was that Jack hadn't slept a decent amount since your accident. He was working doubles. Doing anything in his power to remain busy. Because if he stopped to think about you for just a second? He wanted to collapse. 

He wanted to die because living in a world without you was something straight out of a horror show. Jack had seen wartime practices. He'd experienced loss to the maximum degree. He never lost his cool in chaos. But you? 

You made him unravel in ways he couldn't begin to explain. Layer by layer, like an onion, you weaselled your way into every fibre of his being. 

“How long have you not been sleeping?” Ben asked casually. This was new. This was the most he had been able to get out of Dr. Abbot in days. He’d been assigned to him as a new patient under the banner of grievance counselling. 

Only Jack wasn’t aware of that as he spoke about his non-existent sleeping routine. 

“You know,” He shrugged. He wasn't about to say it either. “It’s been six weeks and I can’t sleep.” 

“Six weeks since what?” Ben didn’t mean to press too much, but he wanted Jack to keep opening up. It was small steps. But the first step needed to be Jack saying it. Saying why he was here. At grievance counselling. 

That you were dying. There was a high probability that you weren't going to wake up. That's why he was here. Jack had to know that, right? 

Sensing Jack’s hesitation to keep going, Ben interjected with something bordering on professionalism and out-of-scope practices. 

“Look, I work in this hospital. I try not to listen to gossip, but this is a very gossipy place.” Jack hated that his dude worked in the hospital too. Whatever happened to work-life balance? Not that he had a balance of any sort. But seeing a therapist in the hospital where your wife is in a coma, in which you also work, seems like a lot of sway for the work side. “So there are some things that I’ve heard–” 

“Y/n isn’t the reason I’m here.” Jack interrupted his therapist’s train of thought. You weren't the problem. You could never be a problem. 

“Then what brings you here?” Ben tried again, this time with more intent. He needed Jack to snap out of this delusion he found himself in, one where you were okay and he wasn’t having conversations with your care team about end-of-life care. 

“You know, I gotta go, I have to check in with my patients and see who’s next on the wheel of misfortune.” He didn’t really. But Jack would rather be anywhere else in the world than in this office, with this…guy. 

“Dr. Abbot, if you’d just–!” But it was too late. Jack was making distance down the hall. So much so that instead of ending up in the Emergency Department, he ended up at the double doors to the ICU. 

With his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, Jack Abbot stared long and hard at the closed, automatic doors. He knew you were right behind them, still off in whatever place you’d gone to that wasn’t here with him. 

Six weeks… 

It had been six agonisingly sleepless weeks of you in this stupid ward. The ICU ward. The ward they make you buzz in for every time. God he hated that shit. Because sometimes there wasn’t someone at the desk to buzz you. 

They stopped allowing Jack from using his credentials to gain access to the ICU when he wasn’t technically working. Another bullshit rule he hated. 

*Buzz*

“ICU, visiting hours are over.” There was no care in the time of voice that came through the speaker. Jack made a note of that. Whoever it was that greeted him, a family member just wanted to visit a loved one in need, needed a crash course in bedside manner. 

“It’s Dr. Abbot.” That was all Jack said into the small microphone on the wall. There was nothing else said on the other end either; the doors simply opened. 

But the bedside manner talk could wait. Everything else in the world could wait. Because once Jack was in the ICU, all that mattered was you. He thrived in emergencies. Jack Abbot was a soul who knew how to remain calm in storms. He knew how to problem-solve and control chaos. 

But it all crumbled when he saw you, his wife, still plugged up to every machine known to man with every bit of lifesaving intervention that could help keep you here with him. 

“I just sat in my third appointment this week without speaking,” Jack says to you like you’re listening to him. He believes it to some extent. “Ben, god, I hate that guy,” He sighs heavily as he sits beside you. Checking every monitor and every stat as he does. 

Normal. Everything’s fucking normal so why are you not waking up? Even the sedation had decreased. 

“What am I even doing here?” Jack frowns. He knows this isn't healthy. “You aren’t waking up, are you?” It’s a question that Jack wants to be wrong about. But he knows that after eight weeks, two before your SSI and six weeks with, your chances were dwindling.

“I miss you so much.” It’s a pained moment, a tight feeling inside his chest. Jack thinks maybe he’s having a heart attack. But it’s just his breaking in a way he’d never experienced before. “You have you, you know, wake up.” There are tears now. Jack swears he doesn’t remember when he started crying. Or when he reached out to move the hair from your face. Or when your hand was wrapped tightly in his. He missed the way you’d squeeze his hand back in times of troubleshooting. “Because all this talk of you maybe…not…is scaring me out of my mind.” 

There’s a little animal in all of us. And maybe that’s something to celebrate. Our animal instinct is what makes us seek comfort. Warmth. A pack to run with. 

We may feel caged. We may feel trapped. But still, as humans, we can all still find ways to feel free. We are each other's keepers. We are the guardians of our humanity. 

Even though there are beasts inside all of us, what sets us apart from animals is that we can think, feel, dream and love…and against all odds, against all instinct, we evolve. 

It was something Jack's actual therapist would tell him from time to time when things felt especially hard. But right now, after watching you slowly fade away from him over the course of eight weeks, Jack had started to believe he was maybe two weeks away from being sent to the pound. 

“I can't have you stuck here like this anymore, you gotta give me something to work with, sweetheart,” Jack begs. He doesn't want to make the call himself. And he also can't bring himself to give up. “You gotta pull through, you don't have a choice here, I'm telling you, and that's it.” 

It's a gentle squeeze that Jack doesn't register at first. 

“Yeah, you heard me, no excuses, no damn choice, wake up.” He speaks casually. His mind hasn't caught up to the sensation of your hand squeezing his back. “Woah—hang on, can you hear me?” 

Jack has never moved faster. He's on his feet in seconds. Standing over you with his pocket pen-light in your eyes, shining it directly at you while he holds your face ever so gently. 

“Sweetheart, it's me, can you follow the light?” You do, but only for a brief moment. “I need Dr. Stevenson NOW!” Jack bellows out as he relays what's happening. “She's waking up!” 

Your eyes are barely open, there's still a tube down your throat. But the hand in yours that's squeezing you back is Jack’s. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

And then, somehow, improbably and when you least expect it, the world rights itself again…

“I've got you,” sweetheart,” Jack cries while he holds your hand. He was afraid, as afraid as he was when he lost his leg, that if he let go, you'd never come back. “I'm right here.” 

——————————————-

The first time you could hear something, outside of the context, you needed to understand the topic of discussion, was  “We’ve done the best that we can given the circumstances.” Conversation with your husband. 

But now, without so much as an explanation. You were seeing Jack hovering over you. A bright flash of white light took over your vision for a few seconds. “Ah, angel of mine.” You thought to yourself as Jack's silhouette came back to the forefront of your vision. 

It felt like a dream at first. Nothing felt real or tangible. It was a space between life and death. A place where nothing could grow, age or learn. It was a space for the hopeful. The already dead. The ones who weren’t ready and the ones who were. 

“Purgatory,” You tried to speak but couldn’t. There was something in your throat that panicked you. 

“It's alright, Y/n, you were intubated, but we’re gonna take it out alright? Just a nice deep exhale for us, okay?” Words. They were all just a bunch of mumbled words. You couldn't tell where they were coming from or who they were coming from. 

But the second that tube was pulled from your throat, everything started to hurt. 

“Y/n? Are you with us, Earth side? Talk to us?”

“Feel,” You tried to speak through coughs and splatters. “Hurt.” 

It wasn't exactly what Jack wanted to hear as he watched everything unfold. His hand never left yours as people worked around him. They were all scared to tell him to leave. 

“You've been in a coma, you were attacked on shift a few weeks back and suffered a pretty nasty head trauma? Do you remember that?” The question was asked without much emotional range, maybe because everyone was focusing on getting you to a more comfortable place. Less tubes, fewer wires.

“Yes—” You tried to speak, but everything hurt. Your head felt like it was about to explode. 

“Do you remember anything afterwards?” 

“Jack?” You cracked out. It was barely audible. But he heard you loud and clear. Like you were singing sweet symphonies just for him. 

“I'm here,” He cooed gently with such a desire, it nearly took the limited breath out of your lungs. “I'm right here, shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine, sweetheart,” 

It was weird for everyone to see Jack with such a burning endearment for your well-being. No one in their right mind was about to tell that man to leave. Not when he'd been down here every day to some extent. Bossing people around. Brooding. Living in existential crisis mode. 

“Never thought I'd see the day!” Somewhat in the shuffle, someone had called Robby down. He was just getting ready to finish up his shift. But if his favourite person was about to grace him with the gift of consciousness, then he wasn't going anywhere. He was right where he needed and wanted to be. “Y/n, how's it feel to be with the living?” He smiled wildly. 

“Like—” It was a struggle. Everything hurt all at once. It was full-body dullness. An incomprehensible ache. “Arse.” 

Robby just smiled down at you. He was taking in the sight of you. Much like Jack was. Only his eyes conveyed a worry that Jack didn't express. He was worried about the possible deficits. 

"I bet,” Robby replied. “I won't sugarcoat it, you've been in the trenches, my friend, but one day at a time we’re gonna get you back on your feet.” 

“Stats are holding, BP is steady, she might be really tired for the next few days.” Dr. Adam Stevenson added. Jack knew all this. He was a seasoned pro in the art of addressing family members. But it still didn't make it easier to be on the receiving end. 

“Where am I?” You questioned softly. Your eyes were barely open. But Jack still had his hand in yours, and that's all that mattered to him. You were squeezing his hand. “What's—what's going on?” 

“You were hurt pretty bad,” Jack started. It was the way that he got as close to you as he possibly could that broke Robby the most. “You never gave up, though.” He continued through tear-stricken eyes. “And then you got sick, but you still never stopped fighting.” It was like Jack was proud of you, or at least that’s how he sounded. You couldn’t do anything but try and smile up at him. The muscles in your face hurt. Everything fucking hurt. 

“How,” You strained out, one word at a time. It felt like you’d just run a marathon. “Are, you?”

“Me?” Jack frowned as his eyes scanned every inch of you. “You have been fighting for your life for eight weeks, and you’re worried me how I am? Me?” When you simply nodded in response, that’s when Jack broke. He let himself cry. He sobbed like he’d been holding everything in. It was like Jack Abbot had taken his first breath in eight long, agonising weeks. “I thought I was gonna lose you.” 

“Hey,” Robby gestured with his chin at Dr. Stevenson, “Let’s give them some space, she’s stable.” He didn’t respond, but he left the room with Robby following right behind. They both stayed close by, unable to take their eyes off your monitors. 

“You were just…gone.” Jack cried as he laid his head next to your torso. Your hand was resting on his cheek, gently caressing his scruff-covered chin. “You just left, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get you back.” 

“Why would you lose me?” Jack barely caught it. He thought maybe you were just paying yourself some credit for making it out the other side. But as he looked up at you through teary eyes, he saw it. The split-second seizure. 

“Robby?” Jack called out as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head. It was only for a brief second, but it still happened. “She's having seizures.” 

“Page neuro, get someone down here,” Adam shouted as he stepped back into the room. Robby was hot on his tail. 

“Where am I?” You asked softly. It broke Jake's heart to see the confusion in your eyes. The pain. The hurt. “Jack?” 

“Where’d you go, sweetheart?” Jack cooed as he ran the pad of his thumb across your chin. “You're good, I've got you.” 

“She's probably experiencing some form of post-traumatic memory loss,” Robby suggested as he observed you. “I'd like to think it's not a permanent thing we’re looking at, but for now, I think we'll run some tests and wait and see what the next few hours bring.”

“We don’t have time to just sit around a fucking wait!” Jack finally cracked. Everyone had been waiting for it for weeks now. They knew he was walking a fine line between keeping his composure and fully losing it on the next person who said something remotely dumb. It was like a full-on out-of-body experience. Anger that knew no bounds. “Jesus fucking christ, am I losing my goddamn mind here? Or did she just forget everything that happened in the last ten minutes?” 

“Something to be expected,” Robby reminded the emergency physician who saw injuries, much like yours, every day. “It's something we prepared for, so it's something we can, hopefully, overcome.” 

“I remember you.” Was all you had to say for Jack to be back inside his own body. The anger had diminished to near nothing. It had been replaced by pure, unconditional love. “I also remember he doesn't answer.” You were just resting your eyes a little. Your eyelids felt like cement blinds. But you knew Jack was smiling. 

“Oh, he answered me today,” He sighed as he leaned in to kiss your cheeks as softly as he could. “Finally, someone up there got the call.” 

“No fucking way,” You mumbled back. Robby had pushed a small amount of pain relief to help keep you comfortable as Jack settled in. He wasn't working tonight. Or tomorrow night, or any other night until he knew you were truly okay. He just got you back. Like hell was he leaving your side. 

“I'd even deem this a miracle,” Robby added. “Besides, this guy's been public enemy number one since you coded in the Emergency Room, so it's nice to have you back to keep him from, you know,” He suggested what all three of you knew. 

“Who are you? Dr. Rabinovitch?” You sighed heavily as you settled. Still holding Jack's hand. He wasn't letting go. Neither were you. 

“Very funny,” Robby smirked, crossing his arms as he did so. “I'll leave the two of you here, but I'll be back with Neuro.” 

Jack never once took his eyes off you. His gaze was all-consuming. It was the eye contact he desperately craved. 

As you looked up at him, Jack's eyes again filled with tears. You were back. You were alive. You were here with him. 

“You've been everyone's issue while I've been gone?” You asked gently in your drug-induced lavender haze. “Haven't you, Abbot?” 

Jack smiled back at you. Counting his lucky stars. Jack knew you’d find out eventually. But he thought, why not give in to you a little? So, without much probing needed. Jack settled into his chair. He pulled up his cargo pants and undid the suction on his prosthetic leg. The titanium limb laid awkwardly on the floor beside him. But this was as comfortable as Jack Abbot was going to get. 

“You don't even know the half of it, sweetheart.” 

And with you by his side? He didn't mind it one little bit.

--------------------------------

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On, Chapter 4 Part 2

masterpost (note that Caroline is not necessarily the best narrator about DID/OSSD, she's just trying explain her experience as she see is [in this story])

“He didn’t,” Caroline gasped, careful not to spill her wine as she leaned forward.

As soon as Dick realized that Caroline didn’t normally get to share and see the world through Tim’s eyes, he had been a fountain of stories about the family. “He did. There was a green tint to his skin for weeks. Sure, the distraction worked, I was able to slip away, but at what cost?”

“You ask that as if Bruce had any dignity left to lose,” Caroline pointed out with a raised brow. “I’m not sure there was even any to lose by the first time that I met him.”

“Oh, no, god no,” Dick said. He leaned forward to snag another piece of the dragon roll. “The cost wasn’t Bruce’s dignity, it was the fact that the fountains have never been dyed green for Saint Patty’s day again! We lost a great tradition that day.”

“A very noble one,” Caroline said somberly.

“Verily,” Dick agreed. He polled the piece of sushi in his mouth and leaned back to drape himself over the couch. He really could lounge. “How long have you known Bruce?”

“You mean you’re trying to figure out how long I’ve been around,” Caroline said.

Dick shrugged, looking only slightly cowed. “Yeah. Is that rude? I don’t want to offend you, but I can’t say that I’m not curious.”

“You’re a Bat, of course you’re curious,” Caroline allowed. She took a piece of sushi too, so that she had some time to think. “I haven’t always been around, just because I simply can’t have. Or I don’t think that I could have, because I think Tim was the first, but I don’t know when I haven’t been around. I have some unclear, fuzzy memories from before, but my first clear memory was when I was there to front for Tim’s first Gala. He was so scared about it. He didn’t want to upset his parents.”

“They weren’t your parents too?”

“No, never,” Caroline said with a vicious sort of certainty. She glanced up and caught Dick’s sympathetic look and gave a wry smile. “Do you know how badly it would have been if the Drakes knew that I existed? Or Alvin once he did? We would have been shipped off to some asylum disguised as a boarding school and they would have tried to fry me out of Tim’s brain. No, I was just there to perform admirably at galas. That was my first mission.”

Dick face was twisted up in a thoughtful little frown as he stared up at the ceiling. Caroline felt privileged that she got to see this side of Dick. She knew that he didn’t like to seem unhappy around many people.

“Didn’t Bruce pick the name Caroline Hill?”

“He did,” Caroline said.

“But…” Dick waved in her direction.

Caroline shifted and folded her legs up to her side as she thought how to explain. “I didn’t have a name. I was simply… the Woman. I think that I’m based a lot on Janet, even though she would have hated that, but also the other woman that we saw at galas. Calm, efficient, and in control. Tim knew I was there, but not… that I was? Or how much I was. I might have not even known. But when I was needed for his mission to be Caroline Hill… I don’t know. I suppose it’s a little like when Pinocchio became a real boy. Suddenly I had a name and a real mission, one for the life Tim loves. It was transformative.”

“And you’ve been… growing? Is that an okay word?”

Caroline shrugged. She didn’t mind the word at least.

“You’ve been growing ever since.”

“I suppose so,” Caroline agreed. She took a sip of her wine. She wondered how much Tim would hate her for explaining this, but someone needed to know. “After this injury, Tim hasn’t really been himself. I think maybe because he doesn’t know who he is without Robin. In all of that thinking… I don’t know how to explain it really, but I guess that there was some more room made for me and Alvin. Alvin might not much want it but God, Dick, I love being alive.”

Dick smiled. “Does that mean you’ll be around more.”

“I have been the last few weeks at least. But I promise that I’m not trying to take over from Tim,” Caroline said in a rush as it occurred to her that Dick might be worried about it. “I’m just enjoying some time out and about and some, ah, mutual interests and—”

“Caroline, calm down,” Dick interrupted. “I’m not worried about that. Whatever works for you and Tim is all that matters. And, well, Alvin. I just thought that if you’re going to be around more, we should make sure you have some things of your own.”

Caroline blinked, surprised. “Like clothing?”

“Definitely like clothing,” Dick agreed, “but also foods you like and even decor. Like, Tim has a spare bedroom, right? We could make it up as yours or at least a space that’s more your tastes.”

“Oh.” Caroline swallowed back the threat of tears. She wasn’t going to cry, damn it. “I—yes, I’d like that.”

“Shopping trip!” Dick said. His wine splashed on the floor as he threw his arms up in the air. “Oh, oh! What about inviting some of the other girls on the shopping trip?”

Caroline covered her smile with a delicate hand. “You’re not a girl.”

“Bitch, I can rock a skirt,” Dick said as he struck a pose.

“Fine, you wear a skirt for it and you can invite the other girls,” Caroline said before she could second guess it. “But you have to explain me to them before it and make sure that they… that they won’t mind me.’

“They won’t,” Dick promised, “and deal.”

[channiesbakery]

doggy play date —

prompt / request — "that's not even your dog.”

pairing — reader + non idol!dokyeom

word count — 882

genre — fluff

you were a regular at the cafe seokmin worked at. he’s had a crush on you ever since you came in for the first time months ago.

today, he finally worked up the courage to ask you out. except he made a teeny tiny mistake of asking you out on a play date for your dogs instead of a date with just you.

another mistake? he doesn’t even own a dog.

“can i borrow latte?” seokmin asks soonyoung the minute he walks into his friend’s apartment. “my… dog?” soonyoung questions, unsure if he’d heard the question correctly.

“no, your cup of coffee. yes your dog!” seokmin exclaims sarcastically. “but why?” soonyoung furrows his eyebrows.

“i may or may not have set up a date with a girl i met at a cafe,” he starts to explain. “good for you man,” soonyoung grins, patting his shoulder.

“except it’s less of a date for us and more of a play date for our dogs,” seokmin finishes as soonyoung just stares at him blankly.

“so you set up a date for your nonexistent dog,” soonyoung repeats. “i know i sound insane–” seokmin starts. “I’m surprised you didn’t go buy a dog,” soonyoung says.

“can i borrow latte or not?” he sighs. “if it’ll help your love life,” soonyoung smirks a little. “but you owe me big time.” he adds.

a couple days later, you meet at the dog park, letting your dogs get acquainted while you and seokmin sat on the bench, starting to get to know each other.

you start talking about your dogs, asking him questions about latte: when he got her, why’d he choose the name latte, etc.

seokmin felt like he was sweating, trying to come up with lies to answer your questions. he felt bad for lying but he wanted to go out with you so bad that the only way he thought of bonding over you was your pets. well, your real pet and his borrowed dog.

the entire time you chatted, his brain was screaming “that’s not even your dog!!!” at him but he didn’t want to confess his stupid lie just yet.

“hey, a new cafe opened close by if you want to get a quick bite? i hear they have some dog friendly treats so our pups can have something too,” you suggest.

“that sounds like a great idea,” he agrees with a smile.

you walk to the cafe, both of your dogs walking ahead of you on their leashes. your hand brushes against his a few times and seokmin fights the urge to intertwine your fingers.

even after spending nearly two hours at the cafe, neither of you were ready to part just yet.

“you’ve got to be one of the most charming guys I’ve ever gone out with,” you laugh as you walk along the sidewalk, not really having a destination in mind.

“oh so this is a date? i thought this was just a play date for our dogs?” he teases. “you saying you don’t want this to be a date?” you gasp. “no i definitely like the idea of this being a date,” he smiles.

“so much that I’m not ready for it to end,” he admits. “well, we’re not too far from my place… how about a drink? i don’t think latte’s ready to say goodbye either,” you nod towards the two dogs walking ahead.

the dogs run off as soon as you take their leashes off in your apartment while you lead seokmin to your living room.

he takes a seat on your couch while you step into the kitchen to grab two beers.

your conversations continue naturally, your topics going all over the place. neither of you notice it but you keep moving closer to each other.

seokmin brushes a stray hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. his eyes glance down at your lips before you lean in, waiting for him to close the gap.

his lips move softly against yours, his hand cradling the back of your head to deepen the kiss. when he hears a bark from the other room, he suddenly remembers what led to his current position.

“okay i really need to confess something before this goes any further,” seokmin sighs, pulling away from your lips.

“uh oh. are you gonna tell me you’re a serial killer?” you tease. “okay it’s not that bad,” he chuckles. “so what’s the confession?” you hum.

“latte isn’t exactly… mine,” he says and you’re silent for a second. “oh my god, you kidnapped a dog? that might be worse than a serial killer,” you gasp.

“what? no! no, no! i didn’t kidnap her, I’m just borrowing her!” he quickly exclaims. “i’ve kinda had a crush on you for months and i fucked up when i asked you out only to make it a play date for our dogs,” he explains sheepishly.

“except you don’t have a dog, apparently,” you say, clearly amused with the situation. “i know, i know. i fucked up,” he sighs.

“it’s okay, i forgive you,” you hum, leaning in close again. “i kinda have a crush on you too. besides, you kidnapped a dog just to take me out on a date,” you tease, kissing him as he groans.

“i didn’t kidnap her!”

[joocomics]

scaredy cat

pairing: non-idol!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 1.9k words

✎… friends with benefits to lovers trope, sub!reader, pet names, fingering, overstimulation (f!rec), hickeys

( txt masterlist )

During the slow boring hours of work the other day you created a list with the pros and cons of possibly dating Yeonjun.

For a while now he’s been throwing you signals about getting serious (more often than not), so you thought it would be a good idea to look at this more thoroughly, and kill some time until your shift is finally over. Aware of the already strong feelings you have for him you grab a pen and start writing…

… funny and reliable

likes to cuddle but not clingy

great sense of fashion

(extremely) good at sex

has a super cool tv …

“Is this why you've been coming over more often these days?” Yeonjun returns into the living room with drinks in hand. After sitting down on the edge of the couch which he transforms into a comfy bed every time you're here, he turns to you with a raised brow. “To watch your disgusting movies on my new TV?”

“My disgusting movies are well written cinematic experiences that you're too big of a scaredy cat to recognize the full worth of.” You explain, crossing arms in front of your chest. “And they're even cooler on your TV, so to answer your question, yes.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes at you, but you can notice there’s a half-smile creeping up on his plump lips as he looks away with amusement.

“Actually,” you say almost through laughter which brings Yeonjun’s attention back to you, “recently I made a list with your good and bad qualities and your new TV made it.”

“That's not a quality.”

Now you’re the one who rolls eyes before glancing back at the screen.

“Just be grateful it's there to fill up space in the pros column.”

“So what are my bad qualities?” Yeonjun asks intrigued just when the main character of the horror film screams hysterically at the sight of yet another body, causing his heart to jump. He flinches at the sudden sound and instantly turns his back to the screen. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, who watches this kind of shit for fun?!”

You watch him scooting over and laugh at his attempts to avoid seeing the screen while doing so as the horrible scene unfolds on the large TV.

He positions next to you and now you're shoulder to shoulder.

“I still haven't gotten to them.”

“Don't waste your time,” he sighs, adjusting against the pillow, “I don't have any.”

“Don't be so sure about that.” You quickly respond, “I had to get back to work and then I forgot.”

“Because I don't have any.” He repeats after tittering. He finally dares to glance at the screen as it seems that the gory scene has passed.

“You get jealous pretty easily.” You state cautiously, wanting to shoot him a discreet look so bad, but you resist.

You also want to add, and pretty obviously, but you keep that detail for yourself as you remember how overprotective he was the other night at the birthday party you were invited to. It resulted into you getting asked the same question over and over again. Your friends were having a hard time believing you’re not dating.

Yeonjun remains silent for a moment as he tilts his head to see you. He leans in, just a little bit, to make your cheeks warm from the sudden closeness; to bring goosebumps across your skin from his mouth being close enough to your ear as he speaks through low voice.

“So it’s a bad thing that I don’t like sharing what’s mine?”

His gaze holds onto yours causing the fireworks into your stomach to ignite even harder. It’s like your heart stops for a second, and your brain as well, making the task to come up with a good answer on time challenging. It’s so obvious at this point that you’re taking too much time; too fumbled by the last word in his sentence. And especially by how much you like its presence there; how you’re already getting used to the sound of it in his voice.

Your lips part, not to speak, but to kiss him instead when another jumpscare makes him wince.

Too busy to hide his face into your chest, he only groans in despair, simultaneously pulling the blanket over your tangled bodies. One airy shit! slips from beneath it. The dramatic spine-chilling soundtrack overpowers the cussing, but you catch it nevertheless.

He sounds as if he's the one being tortured.

“Poor baby,” you tease him by cooing. “Is this too scary for you?”

He murmurs something about you shutting your mouth, but the anguish is making his frustrated words incoherent.

“How much left till the end?”

“Like an hour and a half,” you start running your fingertips through his dark hair as he adjusts even further into your arms. His head finds a comfortable spot onto your chest.

“I’ll just close my eyes for a little while…” his voice is slower than a moment ago, and you hum softly in agreement.

It’s almost like your familiar scent can lull him to sleep despite the scary movie playing in the background. He can feel his muscles loosen up, his mind relaxing with each peaceful breath you take.

Until the noise of a new jumpscare comes to frighten him again.

“I will add this in my cons list by the way.” You cackle.

Yeonjun’s brows furrow, but you can’t see his irritated eyes, because his face is hidden into your neck.

You can feel his warm breath caressing your skin once he speaks up.

“I know what will help me calm down.”

As the words slip lazily one by one from his lips, his hand slides down between your thighs. His fingertips feel the nice fabric of your little cotton shorts that seem too tight around your curves. They keep roaming around, rising your body temperature, until he guides them to your clothed clit, putting just enough pressure on it while his mouth nibbles on the skin of your neck.

“But… I want to finish the movie,” you whine softly before shutting your eyes at the thrill he’s causing you to feel kiss after kiss.

“You keep watching, baby.” His lips detach from your neck and curl up into a sinful smirk.

You centre your head again, watching him pull down your shorts as the screen behind him paints his silhouette in dark blue and purple hues, turning his features even more seductive.

Half of the fuzzy blanket is now almost on the ground as you keep your legs spread open. Yeonjun’s hand rubs in continuous circling motions that he synchronises with your breathing. Focusing entirely on your body helps him completely ignore the on going movie you keep watching with interest. He’s giving his full attention to your little squirming movements, to your rhythmical breathes, and to the erotic sounds that start escaping your mouth more frequently only to mix with the background noise in the room.

There are fresh bruises forming on your neck, but he continues to suck, making himself drool from how much he enjoys doing it. The only time he backs away is when he pushes two fingers inside you for the first time and he gets the urge to taste them, as it often happens when he’s pleasing you.

“Mmm, you always taste so good.” He humms after unwrapping his lips from his fingertips. His mouth has a red tint to it, glistening with moisture. “So fuckin’ wet for me, can you feel it?”

“Fuck, don’t stop—“ The only thing you’re able to say when he slips back into your arousal is to keep going. His fingers curl up perfectly, and aiming for the right spot they start thrusting in a steady pace causing your moans to shake. “Yeah, just like that... yeah—“

Yeonjun buries his face into the crook of your neck while starting to breathe more heavily too.

You keep closing and opening your heavy eyes at the screen where an intense moment is looming, filling the room with an intense instrumental music, but all he can register is the noises you keep losing control over. His hand flexes while increasing its speed in order to push you closer to the desired peak and it swiftly succeeds.

Your attention level drops and your head falls to one side with your eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“Sounds so pretty,” he comments at your ear as the wet lewd noise keeps erupting with the nonstop slamming of his palm against your slick folds. Just the way you like it. “You’re close, doll.”

His fingers, stuck between your pulsing walls, get squished tighter as the seconds pass by. He keeps up the quick and smooth pacing until your breaking point comes in, forcing it to turn sloppy and rigid.

“Fuck, there you go,” Yeonjun’s chuckle rings out with a husky tone, only adding to the ecstatic effects of your intense climax.

Your whole body squirms as Yeonjun lets his fingers, wet and sticky, rest still on your throbbing clit. The fluids slowly spill out of you, forming a dark spot on the couch as the sensation turns more light and mellow, but he doesn’t mind it.

You’re still regaining your normal breathing when his fingertips start skidding rapidly along your soaked folds. You whimper at the unexpected contact with your clit that’s now extra sensitive, causing intense reactions from your body at even the smallest touch.

As he doesn’t show any signs of slowing down you whine his name, but without being able to utter any other word.

“Give me one more, baby.” He whispers, effortlessly sliding his fingers up and down your slickness in an indescribable way; so fast, so determined to receive more from you. “C’mon, doll.”

You pant uncontrollably under his tireless touch. The dancing of his fingers keep up the same energy, making you clench as they create another burning knot of pleasure in your core. Once it bursts, you’re not able to stay still and Yeonjun tries his best to keep his hand on your puffy lips so he can rub till the second orgasm washes over you.

Your legs tremble when he enters you with the same eager fingers, curious to feel how wet you are. The pool of arousal welcomes him with ease, and he cannot help but start fantasising how good it would feel to have his cock deep inside you right now. He can give it to you, but making you cum multiple times like this is just as exciting.

He notices your eyes are half-closed while gazing down between your thighs.

“Keep watching, sweetheart.” He says softly, but with a slight hint of demand which makes you look up on the instant. “You don’t want to miss anything from the movie, that’s why you’re here, right?”

He glides slowly through your tight walls and you both sense how they keep throbbing against him from lust and sensitivity. You take a deep shaky breath, trying to concentrate on the story line, but it’s so hard when he’s in the middle of building up a new wave of rush while hiding in the crook of your neck. Running his tongue over his own love marks now and then.

You bite your lip at the realisation of how much is still left from the movie that is about to become the reason your brain is going to turn completely numb and your pussy sore by the end of this Halloween night.

But the thing you will always associate it with first, from this day forward, is you officially becoming his.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[corpscs]

you wanna be mad ⧗ yelena x new avenger f!reader

‎ ♡ ‎ masterlist ‎ ♡ ‎ one ‎ ♡ ‎ two ‎ ♡ ‎ three ‎ ♡ ‎ four

♡ ‎ minors and men dni , no use of y/n , wlw , enemies to lovers , amnesia trope , injury , angst , reader was an original avenger , yelena doesn’t understand how she feels , this was edited by my cat so ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes i will probably find them later , divider , images are from pinterest , russian is from google/reddit

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ word count: 2k ‎ ♡ ‎ suka - bitch

bones now playing ▶︎ mad - reneé rapp

“yelena, are we friends?”

yelena’s mouth dried as her heart hammered against her ribs. of course you were curious. did bucky even explain who she was or who her sister was?

her lips parted. the door opened.

bucky stood there. his eyes landed on yelena and his face flashed in confusion before putting on a smile.

“morning girls.” he greeted.

“hi bucky.” you smiled back. he was the only familiar face you had seen. you had sided with steve during the bombing and accords situation, so this bucky was very new to you. congressman barnes was very new to you.

“how’re you feeling?” he asked.

“like my brain is soup.” he reached over and took the tablet from your lap.

“no screens.” you sighed.

“i’m literally missing like a third of my life, and it’s not even the part your supposed to not remember.”

“you can ask questions for now.” he shrugged. your eyes turned to yelena. “anyone of us would be happy to play google for you.”

“you know what google is now.” you observed. yelena bit back a laugh.

“yeah, i know what google is.” he loaded the statement with sarcasm. “either way, ask questions. they’re good people.” bucky nodded. “who are meeting for debriefing in fifteen.”

yelena stood up, getting his gist.

“gets some rest, and no screens.” yelena followed him out the door with a small smile.

her expression when you had asked if you were friends was not great. surly you must have done something to deserve to not be a friend to her. you closed you eyes and tried not to think about it while drifting in and out of sleep for a the next few hours.

“i’m glad you’re alright.” a voice spoke waking you from your thoughts. a man with shaggy brown hair stood tucked half behind the door, shifting nervously on his feet. “i was scared.” he admitted looking at the floor.

“hi.” you remembered the photo of the team bucky had shown you, this must be bob. bucky gave you a flash run down of bob. former addict turned medical experiment that turned bulletproof and enveloped new york in a shadow of bad dreams from the sky. this bob was not the bob you had pictured in your head.

“bob?” he nodded with a little smile. “you can come in.” you told him as you sat up. he awkwardly shuffled in sideways, not touching the door and stood five steps from the bed.

“i’m sorry for scaring you, bob.” you smiled.

“do you need anything?” he asked.

you shook your head. “company maybe, you can sit if you like? bucky said we binge watch together.” he nodded with a smile scratching at his arm.

“we’re currently on season 5 of lost. but we’re probably gonna have to restart.” he joked. you laughed for the first time since you woke up.

“bucky also said you guys would be my google? yeah?” bob nodded enthusiastically. “mean i can tell you what i know and i can google the other stuff.” he blurted. he just wanted to help. you thought for a moment, eyes searching the air before locking onto bob.

“who won the game of thrones?”

for the next few hours, bob dutifully answered all your questions he could with a smile. despite you not knowing who he was, or how silly the question was, or having to over explain everything. bob was just happy to be helpful.

ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ

the team was in the gym after the debriefing. bucky didn’t like the energy and wanted everyone to work off some physical tension.

“she’s happy.” bob said. bucky and walker looked at him in the doorway. the nurses had kicked him out for a dressing change. bucky and walker were clearing up from their sparring match, bucky won all three rounds.

“she just forgot the hardest ten years of her life. i’d feel good too.” bucky turned his back to pack his things.

“it’s nice.”

“is her brain damage also nice, bobby?” walker asked slapping his shoulder he walked out.

“she say anything about what happened?” bucky asked. bob shook his head.

“field technicians have almost finished sorting the scene anyways. we should have some idea of why the building collapsed anyways.” he told bob. “thanks for sitting with her. i didn’t know her well back then, but, i can say ten years ago she was a very different gal.”

“she’s the same.” bob wore a serious expression. “it’s just on the outside.” bucky made an unreadable expression.

“i’m gonna go chack in. thanks again bob.”

on the other set of mats across the gym was where ava and yelena were he stepped up to them, his toes 2 inches from the mats’ edge.

“there you are, bob.” ava greeted as she phased out and back in avoiding yelena’s attack. she groaned in annoyance.

“stop that!”

“i was greeting bob.”

yelena paused, her breathing heavy. “hi bob.”jumping head first into the topic bob spoke up, “i was sitting with her.” yelena’s eyes shifted to the floor. “bucky said that we had to be her google.” he said toying with his sleeve.

“is that where you’ve been?” ava asked, he nodded. “well now that you’re here, you can play punching bag.” she phased out and back in clapping his shoulder before phasing back out of the room.

yelena muttered under her breath as ava literally ghosted them, “suka.”

“um she asked me a question i don’t know how to answer.” he said simply.

“oh yeah?” yelena asked. “she ask why walker’s shield looks like a taco, yet?”

“she asked me if you hated her.” yelena stalled, she dropped her shoulders. “i didn’t answer that one.” he rushed out. “um, uh obviously.”

yelena broke their eye contact as she walked off the mat towards her things. “i don’t.”

“oh.” bob seemed surprised. “you guys just always- so i thought- we all-”

“i do not hate her.” yelena looked over her shoulder at him to make sure he understood that before turning back to her things. “i never hated her. i,” her voice lost its confidence and she took another breath. “i am jealous of her.” she finished. the weight of finally saying those words to another living being lifted off her shoulders. bob was quiet.

“she was one of the avengers. and she got so much time with my sister.” yelena blinked tears away from her vision. she could feel his eyes on her back. “and when everyone blipped back. my sister was dead and i saw her again, alive,” she paused, not knowing the exact words she wanted to say. “i was upset.” she breathed in a shaky voice. “upset that so many avengers let natalia down. people that my sister cared so much for and they all just allowed her to go out and die.”

“did you ever talk to her?” yelena huffed out a laugh at his question.

“of course not, i know it was not her fault.” bob heard her sniffling before she turned to face him. “she never deserved the way i have treated her. besides she doesn’t even remember it now and i,” she took a shaky inhale as her bottom lip wobbled biting down on it. bob moved the small distance to wrap her in a hug.

“she’s being so nice to me.” yelena said quietly.

“she is nice.” bob said.

“she’s always such a bitch.”

“is she?” he raised an eyebrow.

bob only knew you as the girl who helped him make dinner, who rolled her eyes but was the first to help clean up a broken glass or dropped food, who wanders into the kitchen and starts the dirty dishes when someone is still cooking, who helped john with setting up visitations with his son. you were very nice, just very hardened. like yelena.

“no.” she sighed before admitting you were not a bitch. “i met her before i was blipped.” bob stayed quiet as yelena resumed packing up.

“she was good friend to my sister.”

“then why haven’t you guys talked about it?” she laughed and shook her head, grabbing her water bottle. “you’re more than welcome, but i burned that bridge too long ago to fix it.” yelena isn’t even sure how to go about apologizing for her behavior that you have no memory of

“i don’t think it’s too late, but i don’t think she should hear it from me.”

ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ

48 hour observation was up and the nurses and doctors were sure you were not going to stroke out, they released you. the tower was different. it’s felt like going into a different location of a grocery store that you usually don’t go to. it’s all the same but it’s all wrong.

all wrong because all your friends are dead. bucky had sat you in the living area while he made lunch, you weren’t sure where anyone else was. bob had mentioned that everyone was giving you space. they didn’t want to confuse you right away since you didn’t know who they were.

“here.” bucky handed you a plate. you thanked him. he cut the sandwich into six pieces knowing your jaw and lip were still sore. you had asked for the sandwich though, you were sick of hospital food. you were very thankful for the coffee and muffin yelena had dropped by. the same you mysteriously woke up to this morning before you were discharged.

down the hall you could hear loud arguing getting louder by the second. three voices, all talking over each other, one of them yelena. bucky looked at you seeing your pain tinted expression.

“this is normal.” he sighed.

as soon as the three stepped into the room bucky had them quiet with a simple glare. bob was following them. “inside voices while she’s in the room guys.”

they let out a chorus of sorrys. bucky had already explained who was who, but you don’t remember much of that conversation so bob went over it again briefly earlier.

“how are you feeling?” ava asked as bob sat down beside you.

“weird.” you answered honestly.

“yeah weird to see you be so giddy.” as soon as the words left john’s mouth everyone looked to him like he killed someone.

“oof, well that doesn’t sound good.” you looked at everyone.

“you just smile a lot.” john pushed out.

“oh?” you questioned. “smiling is bad now?”

“good job, walker.” yelena walked past him to the kitchenette.

“you can’t say shit.”

“guys.” bucky sighed.

“i did not say a word to her.”

“maybe you should.”

“why would i take advice from you?”

“because she-”

“she is in the room with you.” you spoke up. “and would like to be included in the conversation.” your head fully throbbed as you raised your voice. everyone stayed quiet. “am i like the grim reaper? or something?” you asked looking at the group. your eyes settled on ava, feeling like she would give you an honest response.

“me?” you nodded. “you’re just very smiley.” ava said slowly.

“i see.”

“it’s not a bad thing.” bucky followed her statement. “it’s just different.“

“does anyone have any words besides different and smile?” bucky ended the conversation before anyone could say anything more.

♡ PART 3

thank u for over 100 followers that’s a lot of people here. i also finished remaking that video i posted a few days agobfjdj

new one posted HERE

𓉸 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰 - 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𓉸

masterlist ♡, bones

[sugarushwriting]

cherry popper enhypen

🍒 jungwon x f reader

adult content featured | read at your own discretion

“are you sure this will work, jungwon?”

“it has to work.”

you bit your lip anxiously, deep in thought. in the end, you nodded your head. “okay, but we should set some rules.”

jungwon raised his eyebrow. “rules?”

“yes rules. one, no physical touching,”

“in order for this to work, i have to touch you.”

you shook your head, “no, there has to be a way around it,”

“well cherry, there isn’t,” jungwon argued, rolling his eyes with a huff. now he was regretting this deal.

“second, no feelings,”

“oh trust me, that won’t be hard whatsoever.” jungwon scoffed.

this time you rolled your eyes. “i won’t do your work, but i will help you.”

“fair enough, i guess.” he shrugged. you’d end up doing it anyway once you’d realize how busy he was with after school activities, clubs and his sports. plus his social life.

“great, what’s your address and i can stop by tonight and we can begin that paper of yours?”

jungwon wrote down the address of his shared house with his friends near campus on your planner.

“your ugly handwriting in my pretty planner, how dare you!”

“see you later, cherry.” jungwon smirked.

later that evening, you found yourself outside of jungwon’s house around 6. you knocked for a good five minutes before someone even opened the door.

a tall, brooding young man opened the door, with dark hair. he didn’t seem happy. “what do you want?” his voice was deep and it sent shivers through your body.

“um, oh, here to see, uh, jungwon?” you replied, playing with the string of your hoodie.

“is that a question or statement?” the boy laughed.

“ni-ki leave her alone. she’ll break out in hives.” you heard jungwon laugh.

“no i won’t!” you defended. jungwon acts like you can’t talk to the opposite sex.

the boy, ni-ki laughed, and walked away leaving you and jungwon. “let’s go up to my room.”

“your room? why not the living room?” you nearly squeaked.

“because i have 2 other roommates who are loud and will bother us. and i am more than sure they will bring company over.”

without additional argument you followed jungwon up the steps to his bedroom. his room being neat, shocked you.

he sat on the floor at the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to him, grabbing his laptop.

“where should we start?” jungwon asked, opening the word document.

you explained how you typically liked to start from the conclusion, then work on an introduction. after about an hour, you’ve helped jungwon with his paper, and he had over half of it completed.

“my brain cannot take it anymore.” he groaned, shutting his laptop. “i need food.” he stood up with a stretch, his shirt rising up showing off his toned stomach. he looked down to you, “want anything?”

your thoughts immediately turned to something inappropriate. you swallowed, “no i’m fine.” you smiled weakly.

jungwon nodded once and walked out his room leaving you alone to finally breathe. this is the longest you’ve been this close to jungwon since like elementary school.

you couldn’t believe it when he came up to you earlier wanting to make a deal. he would pretend to be your boyfriend if you help would agree to help him with his assignments.

why?

to make your bully leave you alone. even in university, bullies still existed which was ridiculous but was the sad truth. he was currently behind in some of his classes due to his busy schedule and needed the help.

you took the time to look around his room, to get a feel of the real jungwon. action figures, pictures of him and his family, his friends, certificates and awards, a karate award, other trophies.

“spying on me now, cherry?”

“huh?” you whirled around seeing jungwon holding a cherry pepsi. one of your favorite drinks. maybe he liked them too.

but he surprised you when he held it out for you. “for me?” you squealed, your voice betraying you. jungwon chuckled and nodded with a smile.

“of course, why else do you think i call you cherry? i’ve seen the way you will inhale anything cherry flavored.”

“are you making fun of me?”

“no, i find it cute how your eyes light up at anything cherry flavored.”

≽^•⩊•^≼

three weeks later, and things to seem have been going well. other than what happened yesterday. you've chosen to ignore it and not bring it up to jungwon, however, jungwon has noticed something off in you.

right now, you were reading peacefully while also at his soccer practice. nothing interesting really, he was the goalie, and although you did find him and his teammates eye candy, it's not like they would find much interest in you.

your chest burned and tears threatened to spill at the remembrance of the harsh words from yesterday.

"what's got that pout on your face, cherry?" his voice startled you out of your thoughts, and you shook your head.

"no--nothing." you huffed, looking back down to your book.

jungwon looked down to you, eyebrows coming together. "doesn't look like nothing. something has got you deep in thought."

"it's nothing jungwon, can we drop it?"

"is it something, or someone?"

you stood up from the bleachers, "i said drop it!" you used the back of your hand to wipe away a tear that came down, and quickly shut your book, rushing off.

jungwon wasn't going to let this go. he wanted to know who hurt you. within these three weeks, he became fond of you. very quickly he may add.

"cherry, wait up!" he chased after you. you walked quicker. you don't know where you were going, but you were trying to hide from jungwon before he could see you cry. but you wasn't that lucky. his legs were longer than yours.

"cherry, hold up!" he ran in front of you, stopping you in front of the locker rooms. "cherry, talk to me." jungwon sighed, tipping your chin up so you could look into his eyes.

you wanted to melt. in these weeks, you've also became fond of him. any rumors you've heard about him, were being debunked by his actual personality and words. he was kind, gentle, goofy and occasionally clumsy when he didn't mean to be.

"jungwon--," your voice broke and it ruined him. he pulled you into the women's locker room (which was completely empty and out of order as it was being prepared to be remodeled).

he pushed you against the door and locked it behind you. "tell me what happened. now." he demanded. "no bullshit."

so you told him what your bullies told you. how they cornered you and made remarks. how they claimed your relationship with jungwon was nothing but staged and fake. they never saw jungwon kiss you or touch you. how could that be a real relationship? they mocked how you'd never be in a relationship. not with jungwon, not with anyone, not even jake sim, the legend of the school who would sleep with almost any girl on campus would want to touch you.

you sniffed. "you were right, this was stupid. this was never going to work."

"i didn't say that, cherry." he sighed, and used his knuckle to graze your cheek. "in order for this to work, i have to touch you. not saying i have to grab your ass, or stick my hands down your pants."

your cheeks felt hot at the thought of him doing that. "jungwon,"

"we can take it slow, okay? small kisses to your forehead, cheek, neck. hugs from behind. playing with your hair. i can give you piggy back rides." he laughed.

"i never had a boyfriend, jungwon!" you bursted out.

"okay, and?" jungwon chuckled.

"jungwon, it means i'm inexperienced."

"i'm not asking to pop your cherry, cherry."

you slapped his shoulder. "jungwon, i'm inexperienced in all aspects."

"even hugging a guy?" jungwon asked dumbfounded and you nodded shameful.

"a kiss?"

you shook your head. "haven't even had my first kiss, jungwon." you signed, thankful to finally let out the reason you've been so adamant on not letting jungwon be so flirty and touchy with you.

jungwon's eyes darkened with desire. "can i change all of that, cherry? please."

"i mean, yeah with hugs, maybe innocent kisses,"

"no cherry," jungwon took in a deep breath, "i want your hugs, kisses, and more."

"oh, um, maybe, eventually,"

jungwon shook his head, "no, now please." jungwon begged.

the thought of your innocence being taken away by someone else? absolutely not.

"oh, uh, well, we can go to my place, or yours," you were trying your best to handle this news, and lets say, you weren't handling it well.

its not because you didn't want to, its because it was jungwon? NOW?

"no, cherry, now."

you snorted. "so gentleman of you." you crossed your arms, your arms brushing against his chest. you pushed him away. this was happening so fast, your heart beating out of your chest.

did you want to lose your virginity, all your onces in a soon to be remodeled women's locker room?

yes.

wouldn't this be a hot story for your other friends? wouldn't this be a hot story for your bullies? to make them shut up and tell them not only did you lose your virginity, but got railed by THE yang jungwon in a women's locker room?

"tell me what's going through that pretty head of yours, cherry." jungwon smiled, his thumb tracing down your cheek to your bottom lip.

for once, it wasn't the books you were reading, or the fictional men on your screen making you hot and bothered. it was a real man standing in front of you.

"i think i broke rule number two." you quietly said.

"i broke that rule the day i met you, cherry." jungwon's eyes burning with need, his thumb resting on your lip. he leaned in, tasting your lips for a sweet second before pulling back leaving you wanting more.

"i think i want to be railed by you." you spoke aloud before even thinking.

jungwon smiled with a chuckle. "i can do that cherry, just not today, okay? or at least, not the first round."

jungwon picked you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. your right hand went to the back of his blonde hair. your new found confidence pulled him into you, wanting his soft lips back onto yours.

oh mother heavens, was you really about to lose your virginity right now? in a women's locker room? with yang jungwon? your heart was beating so fast in your chest, adrenaline rushing your veins. not because you were going to regret this. but because you were so thrilled. excited.

jungwon carried you a little further back into the locker room, your back resting against a flat wall. his kisses traveled from your lips, your cheek, down your neck, his lips finding a weak spot once he heard a whine come from your lips.

meanwhile, two of his fingers busied themselves sneaking into the front of your shorts, softly tracing over the cotton of your underwear. "fuck, why couldn't you have worn a skirt." jungwon whispered into your neck, before attaching his lips once again.

"i don't own many skirts, jungwon." you leaned your head back, so he had easier access to your neck.

"we have to change that." jungwon sighed, nibbling on your neck, using his teeth, a bigger whine coming from your lips.

you felt him harden in his pants, and you're sure his fingers felt yourself becoming wetter at the moment.

you whimpered when his lips disconnected from your skin, and he slid his fingers from your shorts, and slid your body down from his.

before you could ask why, he removed his sweaty shirt and placed it on the ground. he nodded his head, signaling for you to lay down. with no questions, you put your book down (which you somehow still had a grip on) and sat slowly down on his shirt and he leaned down, his legs on either side of your knees.

his fingers went to the button of your shorts, and pulled those down along with your underwear in a quick, smooth, movement. no time to think, jungwon was quick with his movements. he laid in-between your legs, his mouth watering over your core, he places your thighs on each of his shoulders, ready for his next taste of you.

he dove in like a mad man, sucking, licking, biting, his fingers gripping your thighs to keep them in place. your hand went to grip the top of his blonde locks, back arching from the ground. you bit your bottom lip to keep from sounds getting too loud cause although no one would come in, people were still passing by.

you moved your head to one side, biting on your sleeve to contain any noise. you didn't believe a man's tongue would feel this good on you. and what felt even better was when jungwon added a finger slowly into your cunt. the wetness of you helped with the pain, his wide shoulders keeping your legs apart for him.

jungwon soon added a second, then a third finger to stretch you out. it started to sting, tears threatening to spill out. jungwon would check on you, but you would shake your head stating you were fine and for him to keep going. really by pushing his head back down, wanting his nose to rub back against your clit.

a weirdness felt at the pit of your stomach, and your legs began to shake. this seems much more intense than other orgasms you've given yourself. "jun, jungie, so close." you moaned you, eyes tightening.

"if i let you come, do you think you can come a second time when i fuck you cherry?" jungwon asked and you nodded.

"yes jungwon, promise." you groaned as jungwon's three fingers kept their pace, his hot breath on your core, thumb brushing your clit. soon you were coming apart on jungwon's fingers and tongue.

"can't wait to ruin you some more." jungwon whispered, your energy coming back from the first orgasm. he moved your legs off his shoulders, them slightly sore after he kept them apart for what seems like hours, but was only 5 or 6 minutes.

jungwon stood up to remove his practice shorts and boxers from his body, standing completely naked in front of you. entranced by his abs, and overall fit body, you removed your shirt and bra. jungwon smiled that you felt comfortable enough to remove the rest of your clothing.

jungwon leaned back down, to position himself, his tip at your entrance. "cherry, i don't have a condom, are you okay with that?"

you nodded. "yes. i, i know your reputation for being careful and clean. i trust you jungwon." you smiled, wrapping your arms arounds his broad shoulders. your hand and fingers spread in his hair, soothingly for him.

jungwon leaned down to kiss you, to distract you as he pushed himself into your tight cunt. you felt the sting, the thickness, your walls trying to acclimate this new feeling. you accidentally bit his lower lip, tugging it when you moved yourself away. jungwon rested his forehead against yours, eyes looking into yours, nose nudging yours once, a smile stretching against his face.

your face scrunched in uncomfortableness, but just for a moment. it soon went away after a while. "ever played with yourself?" jungwon asked trying to district your mind.

you nodded, "yeah, few times."

"who did you think of?"

"oh um, fictional characters, or my books,"

as your rambled, jungwon went balls deep, causing you to jolt, and your legs tightened around his waist. "shit, fuck!" you screamed then moaned.

"sorry cherry, you feel good," jungwon grumbled, kissing you deeply. you nodded into the kiss, and jungwon pulled back only to go balls deep once again.

your entire grip on him tightened. his waist, his broad shoulders, you walls gipped him tighter. "so much better than fictional characters and books." you whispered, but jungwon heard you with a smile.

jungwon sat up on his knees, leaning against his ankles, gripping your waist in his big hands, slightly sitting you up so the back of your thighs rested against his thighs. this new angle caused for you to reach your orgasm even quicker, especially when jungwon's thumb began rubbing circles on your clit, his other fingers teasing your nipples and playing with your neglected breasts.

"jungwon, close again, please," you began to beg, wanting the next release.

"i got you cherry, just focus on letting go for me."

and that you did. soon you were coming on jungwon, juices leaking in-between the both of you. you, not even aware of that possibility of how much could come out of you in your first release. jungwon's orgasm followed not long after, coming in you, but pulling out to finish spilling his come onto your cunt, the rest leaking out of you. jungwon instantly getting hard after getting soft seeing his come leaking out of you, mixed with your own.

“fuck can we do this again?” jungwon huffed, trying to catch his breath.

you laughed. “yeah, as long as we do it in front of the bullies.”

jungwon laughed this time. “how about we just send them a nice video instead?”

ᓚᘏᗢ

© work of sugarushwriting | do not repost as your own or translate

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[evolnoomym]

Good Neighbor 🚚

Neighbor!Joel Miller x F!OC

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: Moving into your own first apartment is not going well, that is until a charming man turns your entire day around.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 2k

Authors note: This is inspired by me moving into my own first apartment. I’ve ran into a neighbor that day but unfortunately he was not Joel Miller.💀

Still he kinda gave my brain a push to write this.

Shoutout to my absolute fantastic Wife @joelmillerisapunk and lovely Sun @sunshineispunk for beta-reading 😉🙏🏻

Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, Moon as always, kinda size-kink, implied age-gap, Joel is 36, flirting, old brother vibes, Tommy appearance, food, literally pepperoni pizza that never gets mentioned again, quick fuck, missionary, p in v, creampie, no protection(be smarter),

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Shoutout to @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙌🏻

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

As if moving alone wasn’t already stressful enough, you additionally had no time to prepare for any of these events and were chucked into a mess. You had struggled for weeks, trying not to recall what had occurred and hastily attempting to figure out a new living situation. Then, after all the hurdles, you had found this wonderful little two room apartment and now all that was left to do was the move of all your belongings.

Unfortunately, earlier today, all the volunteers- except for your older brother Mark,- were suddenly busy and unable to help. All that Mark could do, before being called into work for an emergency meeting himself, was to carry the heavy furniture from the storage room to the transporter.

What poses a serious problem currently is that you somehow have to get those humongous parts of the king sized bed, your wardrobe, desk and dressers up to the 5th floor. So far, only one box made it up there, and now you are pacing in front of the entryway furiously explaining all the drama to your best friend in a voice memo. Unbeknownst to you, a southern gentleman has been listening to your struggle and who would he be not to help a gal in need out.

Once you seemingly are done letting off steam, he makes himself known.

“ s’cuse me, miss,” you whip around to see who that deep voice belongs to “I’m your new neighbor from across, Joel Miller.” He points towards the door across from yours -oh fuck if that is your neighbor then you are screwed, he’s gorgeous- and next holds out one of his massive hands for you to shake. You do.

“Ahh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you Joel, I’m Moon.” You hope you don’t look too disheveled.

“Pretty name for a pretty woman,” he winks quickly “listen I don’t mean to be nosy but ya sounded like you could use some help?” He tilts his head in question.

“Yeah, everyone who promised to help had bailed out on me and now I’m all alone,” you sigh “but I couldn’t possibly expect you to help me. You probably have more important things to take care of?” You’d love to say yes immediately to his offer but don’t want to sound too overeager.

“No, there’s nothin’ on schedule today, besides my momma raised me right, so please let me help ya?” It sounds like a question but his face lets you know that there’s no talking him out of this.

“Okay,” you nod.

His face lights up as he has another great idea.

“Hold on, let me call my brother Tommy, he’ll be here in no time to help as well.” Joel’s hand is already on the move to grab his phone and call.

“Are you sure?” You force him to halt his plans.

“Yes, I’m sure. Besides, our momma would beat his ass if he’d say no to helping out.” He smirks and you have no arguments this time, you need all the help you can get.

So Joel makes the call and, indeed, Tommy shows up within 10 minutes.

You can tell he is the little brother just by how they greet each other. In brotherly fashion, Joel pulls Tommy in for a hug and then playfully pretends to put him in a headlock. You only think about how happy you’d be to have Joel put you in a headlock, those beefy biceps around your neck sound heavenly.

Tommy’s approaching figure pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Howdy little lady, name’s Tommy, heard you might need another pair of strong arms to help ya out?” He’s charming just like his brother.

“Tommy,” Joel’s tone is authoritative, a warning.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Tommy mumbles whilst his eyes are cast towards his shoes.

“Ohhhh, no, please don’t call me ma’am. I’d take the ‘little lady’ over that, any day.” You giggle, no one ever before called you that.

“To answer your question, yes, I do need some strong arms to help me out. Of course not without something in return,” you pause seeing how Tommy smirks and raises one brow at the double meaning “gosh, not that, get your mind out of the gutter.” You both erupt into heartfelt laughter.

Joel meanwhile realizes how easily you fit into their lives, he’s only known you for such a short period of time and yet it feels like way longer. He’s curious to figure out more of the finer details that make you unique.

Joel lets you two laugh it up for a moment before he directs the focus towards the transporter.

“Y’all ready to put some work in?”

In the end, the two hunks don’t let you do anything. They place all the boxes and movables where they should go with you directing them. In the living room, they place the tv on its designated cabinet and, with the couch having been bought off of the previous tenant, your living room was done for now. For the most part, the actual work went down in the bedroom. Joel and Tommy assembled your wardrobe, desk and dresser in lightning speed. All you did was going over to Joel’s place to get them each a beer and ordering some pepperoni pizza.

Tommy, of course, made a remark with a clear double meaning, “Thank you sweetheart, ya really know how to make a man happy.”

Joel smoothly responded to that. “Tommy, cool it, you’re barely a man. Stop flirtin’ with my neighbor. Ya have a girlfriend, who- funnily enough- is callin’ you right now.” While throwing his phone at him.

Tommy curses as he picks up and walks out of the room.

Joel addresses you next. “Sorry, he’s…well, just Tommy.”

You wave off his worry, “It’s fine.”

Tommy comes breezing in, “I gotta go, Maria needs to be picked up from her friend’s house. Hope y’all can deal with the rest.”

“Don’t worry. We got it, Tommy. Thank you again for the help.” You give him a hug, he says goodbye to his brother before you lead him out of the door, leaving you and Joel alone.

Putting the pieces of your bed together is the last thing you’ll have to do before enjoying the pizza. Although, as you spend more time alone with Joel, the urge of having a different kind of meal becomes stronger and stronger.

You clap your hands together as you waltz into the bedroom with Joel right on your heels. “We only have to put the bed together and then we can relax.” You say over your shoulder. Joel hums softly in agreement.

It takes about 10 minutes for the two of you to clip the bed frame into the bed boxes, place the mattress on top and lastly roll out the topper. Afterwards, you sit down on the edge of the bouncy mattress, leaning back on your hands, watching how Joel packs up his toolbox.

You had ogled him all day long. He’s undeniably your type- tall, strong, mid 30s and, above all a gentleman. Maybe even a bit too much. You flirted with him on more than one occasion, asking him if he’s taken, complimenting him on his looks. He stole your breath when he had lifted his shirt to wipe sweat off his temple, he exposed so much of the delicious curve that makes his belly. Happy trail leading to what you imagine must be paradise. You need to have him.

You get his attention by calling out to him.

“Joel?” He turns to you immediately.

You blink up at him, slowly, to look sexy and mysterious.

“You know,” you let your gaze drift down to his crotch, which is directly in front of you “as a thank you for being such a good and thorough neighbor you could test the bed with me?” You practically purr those words at him. But Joel is too much of a gentleman and still doesn’t take the hint.

“Darlin’ why would we need to do that? The mattress seemed pretty solid to me.” His friendly smile makes you want to punch him.

At this point you don’t know how much more clearer you’ll have to be. You had flirted with him all day, he even went along sometimes but then always returned to friendly chatter. You even question if you’re not pretty enough.

You had enough. “Joel,” you inhale and exhale dramatically to underline your frustration “I want to have sex with you, right fucking now, is that clear enough?”

He just stares at you for what feels like an eternity before slowly responding “Are you sure?”

Now you’re confused “What?”

“I mean you really wanna have sex with me?” As he’s pointing towards himself.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?” Does he really not know how incredibly hot he is?

“Am I not too old for ya? I’m sure there’s a line of guys jus’ waitin to meet ya.”

“I don’t care about your age and there’s no one waiting to meet me. I don’t exist to guys my age, all these immature boys that will play with my feelings don’t matter.”

“ s’okay, baby, say again what ya need me to do?” Finally.

“Fuck me, please.” Once you’d whispered those words, you wasted no time in rushing up to kiss him. You pull him down between your legs, on the mattress, until he’s completely draped over your body.

In between pecking your lips he muses “Ya really wanted this badly, huh?”

“Sure did, I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day.” You want him to know just how much you desired him.

You don’t want to wait any longer, your panties have been soaked since he had offered his help. You are more than ready.

Your hands wander to free his cock from those goddamn jeans. But you’re too occupied with slipping your tongue into his warm mouth to be successful.

Joel pulls away from you and leans back as he unbuttons his jeans. “Let me do it, you take off those leggings,” he watches you raise your hips to slide the tight fabric off and down each leg. You carelessly toss away the pair.

“Just pull my panties to the side, I need you inside of me right now,” you are grasping onto his arm, proving your point.

And Joel complies easily. Doing as you told him to, followed by his length sliding through your slick folds once he exposes your core.

“Ughh, don’t tease me, please Joel..” your voice turns into a collection of pathetic whiny moans.

“Shh, baby, gotta get him nice ‘n wet before I stuff your little pussy.”

You release a sigh of relief when he finally decides to prod at your gushing entrance with his tip. He halts.

“Ya got a condom, pretty girl?” You’ll never get enough of his sweet tang calling you all sorts of names.

You shake your head “No, but we won’t need one, I’m on the pill and clean.”

“Me too, but darlin’ are you 100% sure s’ what ya want?” He smiles softly, rubbing circles into your hip bone with his thumb.

“I am 100% sure,” and with that he breaches your tight opening, pushing his way into your warm walls.

“Oh my god, Joel it’s soo big, fuck..” This is what they mean when talking about getting your guts rearranged.

Joel is sucking marks into the delicate skin of your throat as a means to distract you from the stretch. “I know, ya are such a good girl, takin’ it so good.”

It doesn’t take much longer, only a few strokes, so you’re not even able to warn him, before your pussy erupts around his throbbing cock. You squeeze him so hard forcing his orgasm to hit him much faster than he would’ve wanted.

Joel catches his breath in the crux of your neck. The buzzing of the orgasm fizzling out, makes him realize that he didn’t even ask you if it would be okay to come inside.

“Fuck, baby, I came inside ya, ‘m sorry.” he brushes the apology out while lifting his head to look you in the eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m quite thankful for the lovely gift Mr.Miller,” you pull his face down to yours and press your lips to his.

“You’re a good neighbor, for sure.”

©️ evolnoomym 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

😚: @thundermartini @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @toxicanonymity @penvisions @604to647 @pinkypromisepascal @mountainsandmayhem @msjarvis @syd-djarin @burntheedges

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part seventeen: dream a little dream of me

word count: 1.6k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

sixteen | seventeen | eighteen

The second date should’ve felt more awkward. It didn’t.

Alex had picked a science museum of all places—not exactly romantic on paper, but the look on his face when he pointed out the replica Mars rover was too earnest to judge. He had this habit where his whole face would light up like a lightbulb the moment before he got excited about something, and Y/N had already learned to clock it like a warning siren.

“So, technically,” he was saying, hands jammed in his jacket pockets as they strolled past a massive display on deep-sea robotics, “the algorithms used for this submersible’s sensor mapping were adapted from AI software developed for self-driving cars.”

“Technically,” she echoed, teasing, “you should probably just work here.”

He looked sideways at her with a crooked grin. “I applied when I was sixteen. They didn’t take me.”

“They’re clearly still recovering from that mistake.”

He tried to play it off cool, but she caught the slight flush of his ears.

She liked him more than she expected to. Not in the way you decide to like someone—more like how you step outside one day and realize the air smells like rain and suddenly, you’re soft and open and all the windows are down. He was like that: unexpected and quiet and warm around the edges.

They made their way through the rest of the exhibits in no particular order, weaving between dwindling crowds of families and groups of students on field trips, neither of them in a hurry. He let her take her time at the forensic anthropology section, where she ran her fingers along the raised edges of a reconstructed skull, and she let him lose himself in the physics wing, where he explained, with ridiculous enthusiasm, why the double pendulum was so cool. It was there that the nickname Professor Albon was born.

At some point, he took her hand. It wasn’t a big deal. He just did it naturally, without hesitation, like it had already been a habit, and for a moment, that simple touch made her feel warm all over.

They ended the night sitting cross-legged on the floor of the museum café, long after it closed, surrounded by vending machine snacks and a half-solved crossword puzzle she’d found in her bag. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a dim glow over the abandoned chairs and tables, but neither of them seemed eager to move. They laughed about everything and nothing, the kind of laughing that came from being tired but happy, the kind that made her lean into his shoulder without thinking.

"Okay," Alex said, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against the page. "Eight-letter word for ‘illuminates or clarifies’?"

As she took a moment to think it over, Alex watched in his periphery as she counted off the letters of her word on her fingers. "’Explains’ fits," she mused, popping a purple skittle into her mouth.

"Hmm." He scribbled it in. "Not bad. Maybe I should keep you around."

"Yeah, yeah," she nudged his knee with hers, grinning. "You just like me for my crossword skills."

"Wrong. I like you for your crossword skills and your terrible puns."

“My puns are great, thank you very much.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

He liked her brain. She liked how funny he was. They made a good pair—two academically overworked people who laughed at obscure engineering memes and played footsie under café tables without meaning to. When they said goodbye that night, he kissed her like he was trying not to smile through it. Like maybe this could really be something.

It felt easy.

And in the days that followed, it stayed easy. He texted her every night.

alex: Made the Mars rover jealous. Can’t stop thinking about you.

Y/N: did you just say that unironically. because I might have to stop seeing you on principle.

alex: Too late, I’ve already added you to my will. You get the Lego Technic collection.

Y/N: wait nvm i’m back in

They made time. Even when they both shouldn’t have.

He’d bring her coffee before her class–something with cinnamon and oat milk in it. He’d scrawl dumb physics jokes on the lid just to make her roll her eyes. She started keeping his schedule in her head without meaning to. She knew which nights he had his advanced systems class and which ones he spent buried in the lab. He’d text her when his simulations crashed at 3AM. She’d send him memes about courtroom drama tropes in return.

He had an engineer’s sense of humor—dry, sneaky, often deeply specific. It took a while to catch on, but once she did, it felt like discovering hidden easter eggs in his sentences.

“You know,” he’d murmur as they lay back in the grass near campus, watching clouds roll over like they weren’t chilly out here in the autumn breeze, “you statistically reduce your lifespan by two minutes every time you eat instant ramen.”

“Cool. So I’ll be dying a noble, sodium-rich death then.”

He turned his head toward her, smiling with closed eyes. “Hmm, a martyr.”

“A hero.”

“Buried with your books and MSG packets.”

She shoved his shoulder. He let her.

On Thursdays, she’d sit outside his lab, cross-legged on the cold tile floor with flashcards in her lap, quizzing him on his presentation slides about failure analysis and impact resistance.

“Okay, explain to me like I’m five—what is a stress-strain curve and why should I care?”

“Because,” he’d say, crouching in front of her with a smirk, “it tells you how close something is to breaking.”

“And that’s relevant to your research…?”

He gave her a confused look, until it turned sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m… not entirely sure about that bit, actually.”

She started looking forward to the moments in between—the walks across campus, the shared bag of chips while sitting on the hood of her car, the ridiculous voice memos he sent when he was overtired and delirious.

They kissed in stairwells and library corners and once,perhaps ill-advisedly, on a park bench in the middle of a thunderstorm. The rain had soaked through their clothes, cold and unrelenting, but he had just looked at her and said, "I think we should be stupid about this," right before he leaned in. It was impulsive and dramatic and made her laugh until she had to cover her mouth, their faces inches apart. Her hair was soaked, his glasses fogged up, and they almost dropped his backpack in a puddle, but the moment stuck—sharp and golden and untouchable.

They talked about future dates like there’d be dozens of them—bookstores they wanted to browse together, a tiny Thai place he swore by, a stargazing night he promised would be “scientifically optimized for romance” depending on the cloud cover. She rolled her eyes at that one, but her heart still fluttered.

They were still in the sweet spot—the space between maybe and more, where everything felt bright and possible. 

It wasn’t perfect – but it was promising.

The third date was dinner—some hole-in-the-wall Thai place with flickering neon signage and laminated menus stained with old curry thumbprints. He’d gotten lost on the way and sent a flurry of frantic texts.

alex :) : I passed the restaurant. Twice. There’s a cat staring at me through a laundromat window. I think it’s judging me.

Y/N: be strong. you can beat the cat.

alex :) : Negative, Sargeant. It’s very confident.

He’d arrived breathless, slightly damp from a drizzle, and holding a single packet of Skittles “for your efforts,” he’d said solemnly. She called him an idiot. He looked delighted.

That night, they talked about things that didn’t matter—TV shows neither of them had finished, foods they pretended to like for the aesthetic, the sheer horror of Alex’s undergraduate group project from hell (“We had a guy who thought duct tape was a structural solution”). 

And then, slowly, they talked about the things that did matter.

Like how she used to want to be a journalist when she was little, because she thought it meant you got to ask as many questions as you wanted and never had to apologize.

Or how he still wasn’t sure what kind of engineer he wanted to be—just that he wanted to make things that didn’t break when people needed them most.

“You know,” he said, nudging his glass in slow circles across the table, “you’re not what I expected.”

Y/N looked up. “Is that a good thing or, like, a 'you’re secretly a serial killer' kind of a thing?”

He smiled. “It’s a good thing. Really, really good.”

By the fourth week, they had a rhythm. It wasn’t just dates anymore—it was Hey, want to walk home together? and I saved you the last chocolate chip muffin, but only because I like you more than I like muffins. But barely.

It was him reaching for her hand without thinking, her resting her head against his shoulder on the bus when she was too tired to hold it up.

It was a shared Spotify playlist for when studying is ur 13th reason.

It was early Saturday morning sun filtering into her apartment while they quietly read their own books, his socked foot nudging hers on the side of the couch almost every ten minutes.

It was good.

But between the sleepy smiles and the shared muffins and the texts that kept getting longer instead of shorter, the truth was that they both had dreams. Big ones. All-consuming ones.

And no matter how much you wanted something—or someone—there were only so many hours in the day.

a/n: one of my more favorite chapters! an unfortunate lack of lando though :/ what did you think of it?

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[sugardollcurse]

may i request any headcanons of the boys with an s/o who's a novelist (a paperback writerrrrr 📚📚)? like a professional, agatha christie / stephen king level of fame writer??

𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟

𐙚 note ; you’re feeding me gourmet with this one. I YEARN FOR THIS TO BE ME!! anyway here’s your big fat author/beatle brainrot platter xx

𓆩🕊️ john 𓆪

"You’re fucked in the head, love. Proper bent. It’s brilliant. No, I mean it!"

He reads everything you write.

Not always in the right order. Not always fully awake. Often drunk.

But he reads it and then won’t stop quoting you at breakfast like

“Y’wrote, ‘her mouth bloomed red as a crushed hibiscus.’ What the fuck’s a hibiscus?"

Calls your books “brain films.” Always pestering you to explain the weird bits, then getting mad when you do.

“Ugh no, don’t say it was metaphorical! It’s better when it’s fuckin’ spooky!”

Doodles potential book covers for you. Usually gruesome or obscene.

You’re like “this is a love story, John.”

He’s like “yeah, and love is fucked, so here’s a bleeding heart on fire.”

If someone ever disses your work in the press, he will threaten to mail them dogshit.

Did it once. He’s not proud, but he’s not sorry.

Tells people you’re smarter than him. Brags about it.

“They've got the brain, I’m just the dickhead with a guitar.”

He means it. Loves it.

𓆩🕊️ paul 𓆪

"Y’know, I told John... I told him, you've got that mad brain. Mad in a good way. Real twisty. It’s lovely, isn’t it?

He absolutely carries your books around with the title facing out like a proud mum with a school prize ribbon.

Always in his jacket pocket, signed of course, and he’s probably asked you to dedicate one to Paul, who gets to hear the saucy bits first.

Reads your work out loud to himself, dramatic voices and all. Adds his own little sound effects.

"BANG! And then she bloody caved his head in-oh, love, this bit’s ace.”

Calls you “me little paperback writer” constantly.

Never your name anymore. Even on the post-it notes he leaves on the kettle.

Will not shut up about you in interviews.

If you’re doing a signing, he will be there in sunglasses and a hat, pretending to be some rando fan, then causing a scene like,

“Oi! I shagged the author!”

Smug bastard.

Can’t stop smirking whenever he sees someone reading your book on the tube.

Has a whole catalogued mental list of all the weirdest places he’s caught someone flipping your pages.

𓆩🕊️ george 𓆪

"I think it’s dead great, y’know, that you do all that with words. All that twisty mind stuff.

Devours your work. Reads slowly, thoughtfully, with a pencil in hand like he’s going to take notes on every metaphor.

His copies are dog-eared, underlined, highlighted.

Brings your books to the studio. Not for clout, just to have you close.

Opens to a favourite passage when he’s stuck on a lyric.

Says your writing is like music.

“It’s got rhythm, y’know? I can hear it.”

Likes watching you work. Sits across the room and just stares at you for hours while you’re typing.

You’re like “can I help you?” and he’s just smiling, shaking his head. “You’re making a whole world in there.”

He’s quiet about his pride but fierce. If someone talks over you in a panel or interview, he’ll pull them aside later and say things.

Very softly. Very firmly. They don’t do it again.

Asks thoughtful questions. Wants to know where your ideas come from.

Begs to write the score if one of your novels gets adapted into a film.

Gets way too into it.

Ruffles your hair after you meet a deadline. Calls you “my little storyteller” when you’re half-asleep on his chest. Makes you feel mythical.

𓆩🕊️ ringo 𓆪

"I dunno how y’do it, love. I can barely write a postcard. And there you are makin’ murder mysteries with Latin quotes. Fuckin’ hell."

Ringo’s your biggest hype man.

Brings your books everywhere.

Bar. Plane. Dentist.

He reads slow but with real heart.

Laughs out loud when something’s funny.

Gasps when a character dies.

He’s just really dramatic about it, basically.

Asks if he’s ever gonna be in one. “Y’could kill me off! I’d like that. Poisoned by me own drumsticks. Classic.”

Keeps your headshot from the back of your book on the fridge.

Kissed the corner once and claimed it was a joke. It wasn’t.

Once tried to write a page of his own as a surprise. It was mostly swear words and a lot of spelling errors. You loved it anyway.

If you ever have a book tour, he comes to every event he can.

Front row.

Buys his own copy from the shop like a fanboy.

His favourite thing is when you read him drafts at night. Lies in bed, hands behind his head, eyes half-closed. “Tell me a story, love.”

Thinks you’re a genius. Like, genuinely.

Makes it sound like the highest compliment in the world.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels

[little-jana]

"Steady Hands"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, slight angst (hurt/comfort)

Words: 2k

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack, anxiety, use of Y/N, can be read as friend!Spencer

Summary: Spencer helps you through a panic attack.

a/n: requested by anon! If anyone is struggling please feel free to reach out to me! I have some great tips that help me through anxiety. Especially this breathing technique, it's great!

The world was too loud.

That was the first thing you registered as the panic set in. The distant hum of the café, the clatter of dishes, the muffled conversations—it all blended into a deafening roar that pressed against your skull. Your breathing had gone shallow, your heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to escape your chest.

You knew what was happening. You'd been here before. But that didn't make it any easier.

The walls felt like they were closing in, and no matter how much you tried to remind yourself that you were safe, that nothing bad was happening, your body refused to listen. Your hands trembled violently as you pressed them against the wooden table, your vision blurring at the edges.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"(Y/N)?"

Spencer.

You didn’t even realize he had arrived. His voice was soft but steady, pulling you out of the whirlwind just enough to register that he was crouching beside you.

You couldn’t speak. Your throat felt too tight, as if words would get caught like stones if you tried to force them out. Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging into your skin, trying to ground yourself.

Spencer noticed immediately.

His long fingers wrapped gently around your wrists, not pulling, just holding—an anchor in the storm. “Hey, it’s okay. Just focus on me,” he murmured, his voice deliberate and soothing. “You’re safe. You’re here.”

You swallowed hard, your breaths still coming too fast, too ragged.

“Can you match my breathing?” Spencer asked, demonstrating by inhaling slowly through his nose, then exhaling just as steadily. “In for four… one, two, three, four… hold for four… one, two, three, four… out for four.”

You tried to mimic him, but it felt impossible. Your lungs were fighting against you, refusing to obey.

“That’s okay,” Spencer assured you, his thumbs rubbing slow, reassuring circles against your wrists. “Try again. Just a little slower this time.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and followed his lead.

Inhale. One, two, three, four.

Hold. One, two, three, four.

Exhale. One, two, three, four.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.

“Good,” Spencer said, his voice full of quiet encouragement. “You’re doing great.”

Your fingers slowly uncurled. Your heartbeat, though still too fast, wasn’t quite as erratic. The trembling in your hands dulled to a faint shake.

Spencer didn’t let go.

He stayed there, crouched beside you in the middle of the café, shielding you from the rest of the world with nothing but his presence.

After a few more minutes, you finally opened your eyes. His face was close, warm brown eyes filled with nothing but concern and patience.

“There you are,” he said softly.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking away the residual panic. “…Sorry.”

Spencer frowned immediately. “No. Don’t apologize.” His tone was firm but kind. “This isn’t something you have to be sorry for.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I just… I hate when this happens. I should be able to control it.”

Spencer shook his head. “That’s not how panic attacks work.”

You expected him to let go now that you had calmed down, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted, moving to sit beside you in the booth, his hand resting lightly over yours. Not restraining, just offering warmth.

“Your brain is perceiving a threat, even if there isn’t one,” he explained gently. “It triggers the amygdala, which overrides the prefrontal cortex—the part responsible for rational thought. That’s why grounding exercises help. They re-engage the rational part of your brain.”

You huffed a tired laugh. “Always the professor, huh?”

Spencer smiled, small but genuine. “Only when I think it might help.”

You exhaled slowly, still feeling wrung out, but the worst of the storm had passed. “Thank you,” you murmured.

“Always,” he said without hesitation.

And you believed him.

[vbecker10]

Let Me Go

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Prince Loki has been declared king regent after the Allfather falls into the Odinsleep without any warning while Prince Thor remains banished on Midgard. The God of Mischief summons you to his chambers in order to dissolve your engagement despite your reassurance that you will stand by his side through whatever devastating lie his father revealed to him.

Warnings: No happy ending! Angst, Loki telling you he's a monster, reader feeling hurt, confused, devastated, Loki hurting reader (just a tiny bit)

A/N: Oh look... another fic that I wasn't supposed to be working on but couldn't get out of my brain! Why do I bother with a drafts list if I can't follow the stupid thing? Anyways... I hope you are all here to be emotionally devastated cause that is the goal. As I said in the warnings, this isn't going to have a happy ending but if I get enough comments about it, I might make an alternate happy ending version.

This of based off an idea I got from the Three Doors Down song, Let Me Go linked at the bottom. I liked the lyrics a lot and used them for some of the conversation between Y/N and Loki.

Good luck & don't hate me, I warned you! 💚

The door to the library opens and closes but you keep your eyes down, your attention solely on your book and not the heavy footsteps coming steadily towards you. You flip to the next page quickly, biting your lip as you tuck your legs under you on the small couch and hold the book closer.

"Lady Y/N," a familiar voice breaks through your focus and causes you to jump in surprise.

"Fandral, I apologize. I was so engrossed in my reading, I didn't hear you come in," you greet one of the warriors three as you stand, smoothing out the skirt of your floor length gown. Prince Thor's oldest friend he doesn't smile in return and you can't stop the anxiousness that fills you. "Is there news of Prince Thor from Midgard?" you ask hopefully, the older prince has been gone for nearly a month. Much longer than anyone had expected and any word of his return would have been welcome.

He shakes his head, his somber expression confirming your fear that something is terribly wrong on Asgard.

The sound of the doors opening again distracts you momentarily from the blonde warrior in front of you. You swallow hard when two Einherjar, the palace guards tasked with protecting the royal family, enter the large room and you look back to Fandral.

"Fandral..." you repeat his name quietly as your mind fills with dozens of dreadful scenarios including Prince Loki being injured somehow. He takes a deep breath as he prepares himself for the message he is about to deliver and you wait in silence. The book slips from your fingers, hitting the ground with a thud when you learn King Odin has unexpectedly fallen into the Odinsleep.

"The king regent has summoned you to his chambers," Fandral tells you after explaining that Asgard will now be ruled by the younger prince and you nod slowly. "The Einherjar will escort you."

Walking down the empty halls, you keep your head lowered and your hands clasped in front of you as you follow the two guards closely. The sounds of your footsteps and those belonging to the Einherjar echo through the marble hallway, adding to the tension you feel in your chest. The palace has never been so still. The high court and royal advisors wait in the great hall for an update from the queen on the king's health while the palace staff has been ordered to remain out of sight unless summoned.

I can't imagine how hard this must be for Loki, to have witnessed his father succumb to the Odinsleep alone must have been so shocking. My prince has such a heavy burden to carry, I hope I can take some of the weight off his shoulders, you think as you and your escorts continue towards your destination.

Thor should be here. Loki never wanted this, he never wanted to rule the kingdom. He only ever wanted to be seen by his father and brother, you sigh when you think back to your late night walk in the garden where Loki admitted that very thought to you. He had never voiced it to anyone before, he knew his brother would never understand and his father would see it as a sign of weakness. As hard as it was to hear how he truly felt, you cherished the knowledge that you gained his trust and swore never to betray it.

Your thoughts shift to your engagement with the prince as you follow the guards up the grand staircase. Your relationship with Loki has not been what you expected and you couldn't be more grateful to all the gods for their blessing. The marriage had only been arranged to advance your father's status at court but in the six months since it was announced, you and your betrothed grew closer and closer. A friendship blossomed easily as you had many similar interests but in recent weeks you realized you have fallen completely in love with your future husband. The thought of spending the rest of your life with Loki no longer fills you with dread and apprehension as it did prior to your meeting. You are beyond excited by the idea of being his wife, counting down the days to your wedding although you are still too nervous to reveal your true feelings to him. Maybe on our wedding night I'll finally have the courage to tell him I love him dearly, you hope.

You look up just as the door to Loki's chambers comes into view at the end of the hall. If you and Loki hadn't broken royal protocol almost every night for the last two months, this would have been your first time here but the guards don't need to know that you knew your way.

You couldn't help breaking protocol though, you slept better in his arms then you ever did in your own bed no matter how soft it was or how many pillows you had. Each time you slipped out of your room to sleep in his bed, he would kiss you gently as his arms held you close to his body. When your eyes would drift closed, he would whisper how many days left until your wedding as if he was as excited as you were for the day to arrive. You blush a little as the memory of last night fills your mind. 'Only seventeen more sunrises until you are mine for eternity,' he whispered, his lips barely touching your ear just before he placed several light kisses to your skin.

A loud series of knocks on the tall wooden door pulls you from your pleasant memory and back into your present state of worry and anxiousness. One of the guards stands next to the door that leads into Loki's chambers while the other announces your presence as it opens.

As soon as the door closes you run to Loki without uttering a single greeting, immediately forgetting all the formalities of court that have been drilled into you your entire life. You hug him tightly but his arms remain at his sides and you fear you've made a grave mistake. Just as you are about to let go, he lets out a heavy sigh and embraces you tightly. After a long moment Loki pulls back slightly, not enough to free himself from your arms but enough to look into your eyes. He lifts his hand to gently stroke your cheek and you force a smile despite your growing nerves. He looks down at you in silence as you search his face for any clue as to what he is thinking. He seems emotionless but his eyes reveal the pain and confusion he is trying to hide from you.

You know better than anyone on Asgard how delicate the relationship between Loki and his father is but you also know deep down Loki is desperate for the king's love and approval. Were they fighting before the king succumbed to the Odinsleep, the thought pushes into your mind suddenly and your heart aches. Is that why he is taking this drastic turn of events so terribly? Does he blame himself? How could he though, this isn't his fault. Rumors that the king has been putting off the Odinsleep have been heard throughout the palace for years. It was bound to happen this way, surely Loki must know that.

You're at a lose for words as you look up at your future husband. I'm sorry, I'm here for you, everything will be okay. These words don't feel as if they will be enough to take away the emotions he seems to be wrestling with as he looks at you silently. Instead of speaking, you press your lips to his and feel the smallest hint of relief as he kisses you back.

Suddenly Loki breaks the kiss and pulls away from your embrace, taking several steps away from you. His eyes fall to the floor between you, your heart feels heavy when he lifts his eyes to look at you. You mumble a quiet apology for the kiss, fidgeting with your fingers but the prince shakes his head slowly in response.

He takes a step towards you and stops almost as if he can't bring himself to be any closer to you. "My beautiful Y/N," he says quietly, the joy missing from his voice. "If you only knew... one more kiss could be the best thing," as if he knows you already miss the feeling of his lips on yours, "but one more lie could be the worst."

"Loki..." you take a deep breath to steady yourself, moving tentatively towards him but you freeze when he takes a large step back, "You are making me nervous." Your mind races as you try to understand if he is accusing you of a lie or if he has been lying to you. "What do you mean, one more lie?"

He doesn't answer and you can't stop yourself as you begin to close the distance between you and your fiance. "Loki, you know I've never lied to you, I would never. I don't understand," you tell him, thankful that he allows you to come close enough to reach out and take his hand.

"No, I know you haven't," he lifts his other hand to cup your cheek gently. A small smile flickers across his face before he lets his fingers fall from your skin but he still holds your hand. "My father-" he clears his throat and corrects himself which you find curious, "The king has lied to me my entire life but now that I know the truth I know what I must do."

You are almost too afraid to ask what he means but you push yourself the speak, "You know you can tell me anything. What did the king lie about? What do you think you need to do?"

"The truth would only destroy your image of me and I cannot bear the thought of you seeing me for what I really am," his words frighten you. "Y/N, in this world there's real and make believe and I have learned that none of this was real."

"This seems real to me," you insist, squeezing his hand and placing a soft kiss to his cheek, his skin feels unusually cool to your lips.

"It is not," he counters with no explanation then he pulls his hand free from yours. "You're not something I deserve."

"Don't say that," you tell him as you feel your heart starting to break open. A new fear you had never imagined surfaces. Loki is ending our engagement, he's ending us. Without even a second thought you let out the only secret you've ever kept from Loki, "I love you."

The words hang in the air between you and you worry at your bottom lip, desperate for him to say he loves you in return. Instead, he shakes his head as if he doesn't believe you, "You say you love me but you don't know who I am. Let me go before you learn the truth and fear me as you should."

"I could never be afraid of you," you feel a tear roll down your cheek and do nothing to stop it as you look into Loki's eyes. "I love you and I know you, Loki. I know you better than anyone on Asgard. You're my prince, my best friend, my future. Just give me a chance, talk to me please."

"What secret?" you follow him as he walks across his room and places his hands on his desk, his back to you. "Loki, please you've always been able to talk to me," you urge, your hand resting on his shoulder lightly to let him know you are here. Your breath catches in your throat when he turns to look at you and you back away, your body filling with terror as he predicted when his crimson eyes focus on you. There's only one race in the nine realms that has eyes which glow such a deep red and they are monsters.

His expression softens, as if seeing your pain and hearing your words has changed his heart but he looks away quickly. "You cannot know me Y/N because even I didn't know who I was until the king let his secret slip just before the Odinsleep took him."

"I don't understand-" you shake your head, trying to make sense of what is happening but your fear makes it hard to think rationally.

"Do you see it now?" he asks, his voice harsher than you've ever heard before when he sees how scared you are of him.

"Odin is not my father," Loki finally begins to explain the long held secret of the royal family. "He stole me from my home as an infant during the war on Jotunheim a thousand years ago."

"You're... you're a Jotun?" you ask, your voice shaking as he walks slowly closer to you and you can't help but take a step backwards. You've heard stories about the frost giants from Jotunheim, every child on Asgard had. They were a violent race who were to be feared. The king waged war on the ice planet to save the realm from their horrid plan to destroy the bifrost and turn Asgard into a frozen wasteland. How could the man I love with all my heart be a monster from the frost realm?

"I am," he nods then asks you a question in return. "Do you fear me?"

"I-" you open your mouth to answer him but your voice fails you when Loki's pale skin becomes a deep shade of blue. Intricately detailed ridges form along the exposed skin on his wrists and neck, traveling up his face. He stands in front of you in his Jotun form and you find it hard to breath.

"Do you still love me as you claimed to only moments ago?" he asks when you don't answer his first question.

Yes! your heart screams but your mouth remains tightly shut as your mind replays the dozens and dozens of horrific tales you've heard about frost giants as a child.

Loki senses your indecision and makes the choice for you, "You said you love me but you didn't truly know me. Now that you know the truth, you're terrified of me as you should be. I know what I am, I'm the monster mother's tell their children about to ensure they behave. I am not something you cannot love, now get out!"

"Loki, wait..." you shrink back when he yells, your feelings for him trying to win the fight over your deeply rooted fear. "Please, I just need a minute-"

"Let me go," he repeats what he told you earlier and you shake your head as tears roll down your cheeks. "You do not want me as I am now, you do not love me."

He reaches out and grabs your wrist, his fingers are icy cold on your skin as you struggle to pull yourself free. "Loki-" you plead as you twist your arm, failing to break his hold as he pulls you towards the doors. "You're hurting me!"

"That's what monsters do," he says in a cruel tone without looking at you as he pulls one of the doors open and forcefully pushes you into the hall. The two guards have left and you can't help but wish they were here not that you can be sure of who's side they would be on. Loki might be a Jotun, but he's still king regent of Asgard. You gasp in pain when you fall to the ground, his icy fingerprints remain on your skin as if you've been burned by the cold and your cradle your wrist as you look up at him.

"I loved you," you say softly between sobs.

"Loved," Loki repeats the word and you realize you used past tense without even thinking. Before you can open your mouth to correct yourself he says, "You are free from our arrangement. I'm letting you go." Just before he slams the doors shut, you see a flicker of pain in his glowing red eyes.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @multyunervisesuperfan @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @eleniblue @ash-muses @muddyorbsblr @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @wolfsmom1 @anukulee @sabspoetic @beaniemoon @peaches1958 @catsladen @michellewgrt @soulpiercing @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @lelliefant @crimson25 @jaidenhawke @lovingchoices14 @jennyggggrrr @itscomplicatedx @goblingirlsarah @witchylittlegrl @motherofmischief @tinytroublemaker @mischeif-maker

[haikyu-mp4]

Crooked bangs

word count; 1053 – f!reader

Not usually favouring sports, you’re in the journalism club to make use of your great eye for design and writing. After watching one of your school’s volleyball team’s official games last season, you took notice of the boring brochures they handed out with the players’ information. You hadn’t yet chosen what to do for your project this semester and decided to lend your talents to making a better representation of the team’s charms and talents. What you didn’t expect to get out of the project was a date.

You received permission from their coach and captain and set up some equipment to take your photos in a room adjacent to the gym during practice. Hopefully, you can encourage them all to pose confidently. In order to not disturb their whole practice, you ask one grade to join you at a time, starting with the first-years and ending with the third-years. Good luck!

You were nothing short of nervous as you got ready to photograph the tall volleyball players. The volleyball team was one of Shiratorizawa’s many great prides, and you had taken it upon yourself to create something that would represent them and their talents. However, you didn’t expect that some of the players would be even more nervous than you. While working with the first years, Goshiki was proving difficult as he kept turning away from the camera. The coach gave you limited time with his players so you started getting anxious, begging him to tell you what made him so camera shy.

“My bangs are a little crooked and I look stupid,” he mumbled. You hadn’t noticed before, but your eyes darted up to the hair on his forehead and you noticed it wasn’t quite as straight as usual.

“I can’t even see it! Don’t worry, Goshiki,” you tried to assure him, ignoring the other first-years giggling at their future ace acting like that. He didn’t seem convinced by your encouragement and the rest of the members you had at hand were no help, so you browsed your brain for an idea and left for where the rest of the team were training. Muttering encouragement for yourself this time under your breath, you walked over to the coach and asked him to borrow a specific player. He considered for a moment, but your respectful demeanour convinced him.

“Tendo! You’re excused. Follow her and make it quick,” the coach yelled, and the redhead was surprised, to say the least. Still, he strolled over to you and gestured for you to lead the way.

“I thought you were starting with the first-years?” he asked and you put a hand on his upper arm before leaning closer so you didn’t have to speak too loudly. Tendo took the hint and leaned down.

“Goshiki is refusing to take his pictures because of his hair. I’ve seen how you encourage him between games, please help me,” you explained, hoping he could hear how desperate you felt. Tendo stood back up to his full height and looked at your eyes for a second. It felt good to hear someone notice his efforts and talk to him so casually. Like he wasn’t scary. He hadn’t even talked to you before, but you seemed to have a good impression of him. He liked this feeling.

“I’ll try my best, boss,” he said simply with a wink. The two of you went back to the first-years and Tendo did his best to boost Goshiki’s confidence. Telling him how people would be looking at the awesome flyer after seeing his amazing line shots to find information about him, the next ace. His eyes found yours and you nodded.

“I can even write that on your profile if you want! The future ace sounds pretty impressive.”

And so the two of you got Goshiki to pose more confidently, cheering him on until Tendo had to go back and you could start with the second years.

When it was finally the third-years’ turn, you smiled a little brighter at the tall redhead. “Thank you for your help earlier, I appreciate it,” you said. The two of you seemed to be looking at each other like the others weren’t even there.

“No worries, are you happy with all the pictures so far?” he asked, not noticing the way Reon and Semi glanced at each other.

“Very, it’s fun showing off such a great team.” Your cheeks almost matched his hair with the way you felt when his eyes were on you.

“That’s good, saved the best for last of course. How do you want us?” he said as he finally broke out of the trance, rubbing his hands together.

“Give me a look that says undefeated champions, even though it’ll probably say it on the paper as well,” you giggled, trying not to be shy about your excitement.

The third-years had you laughing nonstop, energy high as you went from static Ushijima who really just had two poses to dynamic Tendo who made some funny faces for you. You got Reon to give you a handsome smirk and Semi had more than enough confidence and it showed. Overall, you couldn’t be happier.

“You guys better get back to practice, thank you so much,” you said, starting to pack up your stuff. As they were about to leave, Tendo doing so a bit hesitantly, you stopped them. “Wait! Ushijima, did you find someone?”

When explaining the concept to him and asking for his approval, you informed him that you would love it if someone spent some of their own time to make sure you had all the right information. The captain seemed to understand what you meant after a moment of thought. He pointed to Tendo, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Satori will meet you for lunch tomorrow,” he said before bowing and leaving. The others followed him, except for Tendo who gulped and stuck around. Is his best friend, the Ushiwaka, playing wingman?

“I’ll meet you by your classroom at lunch then,” you said cheerily. You could feel your little crush blossoming, charmed by how he made you laugh.

“TENDO SATORI!” the coach yelled, done with waiting for the lanky boy.

“I’ll see you then, Grandpa’s calling,” he joked and left you with a soft chuckle.

I can’t wait for tomorrow.

the Flyer Series ║ masterlist

/taglist: @cottonlemonade @dira333 @cosmiicdust @nagi-core

[urinarythreatinfection]

Is This Love?

Luffy x male reader. Angst(?) Slowburn still. 1703 words Part one, Part three, Part four

Desc: You confessed to Luffy and he tries to find out what it means to him.

You’ve started sleeping in the men’s quarter’s again. It was hard to get some sleep at first, but life at sea is tiring, especially with the occasional marine attack and random weather conditions. Your body will shut itself down eventually. Unfortunately, someone else isn’t having much luck tonight.

“Hnnnnnnnn..”

Rustle

“Hrrrmmmmmmm”

Rustle rustle

“Hnnnnngaahh!” Luffy sits up quickly, his arms in the air. “Can’t sleep.” A shoe is thrown at his head by Sanji. “Ow!”

“Then go outside instead of bringing us into it!” The chef barks while the rubber man rubs his head. He pouts while getting up, making his way out onto the deck.

“waaatchhhh… night watchh.. heheheh. As if I even need to. Who would even dare approach the ship of the GREAT Captain Us-”

“Usopp.” The sniper feels a hand on his shoulder.

“EEAAAAAAHHH!” He screams and bursts into tears, ready to plead for his life before realizing it’s just his friend. “Oh. Luffy.” He has a hand on his chest, quickly pretending nothing happened. “Why are you up?”

“Wh- What happened!? Did you scream!?” A large muscular human reindeer runs over. “Luffy?” Fwoosh, back to small.

“I scared a bird, that’s all. I already took care of it.” The captain tries to open his mouth but is quickly shushed by Usopp. “You couldn’t sleep, right? Why?”

“(Y/n) sleeps back in his bed now but he still doesn't talk like before.” Changing the subject works, why wouldn’t it.

“Like before?” The two crewmates ask.

“Yeah like, he doesn’t.. look at me, the same. Like it’s… different. Not as warm.” He wracks his brain to explain, making weird hand signals because he can’t translate his thoughts into words he knows properly.

“Loving? Caring? Like you’re the only thing that matters in this unforgiving world?” Usopp finishes and Luffy nods, similar enough. He hums while nodding, eyes closed with a hand on his chin.

“Seems like he fell out of love with you.” The sniper states after a bit of fake pondering for dramatic effect.

“Out of love?” Chopper and Luffy ask before Usopp nods.

“I mean, you rejected him, right? Even outed his feelings in front of all of us, sounds like he just moved on. Let the feelings fade out into the wind.” He explains while the doctor nods. Luffy’s brain goes empty-er as he lets how he feels translate into thoughts,

“I didn’t reject him” and out through his mouth. The two previously chatting teens stop.

“You didn’t?” They ask and Luffy shakes his head.

“I just called him weird, then he didn’t say anything else.”

…

Is that not a rejection?

“Is that not a rejection?” That’s what I said. Usopp furrows his brows, trying to see through his friend’s eyes. “Did you also stay silent?”

“I didn’t know what else to say.” The sniper hums, he would definitely start ugly sobbing if someone he was in love with did that to him.

“You could’ve said, ‘Thank you for your feelings, I do not feel the same way.’ If he continues then scold him.” Chopper says with a hoof on his chest. Very kind. “Or kick him off a mountain.” Two different parents taught him two different things.

“That could kill someone..” Usopp points out, slightly concerned. Chopper nods.

“If they survive they ask for your help and then you have a new customer/patient.” What did Dr. Kureha teach him? The long nosed man stares at Chopper in concern and shock before Luffy speaks.

“I don’t wanna do that.”

“Well yeah he’s still our friend, kicking him off a mountain is a bit mu-”

“I mean, I don’t wanna lie.” He clarifies and Usopp stares at his friend, lips jutted out still from being interrupted.

“Lie?” The small reindeer asks instead and the captain nods.

“I do have feelings for him. I just.” Luffy motions at his chest, “Just…” This is why he couldn’t sleep. “I don’t know what love like that is. Being in love. He’s in love with me and I love him but I don’t know what my love is if he feels like that.” Luffy feels platonic love easily, he feels joy and happy and angry all very easily. Even something like excitement from a woman’s chest he can feel via living through Usopp, but romantic love he doesn’t know a lick about feeling. Passion and smooching, hugging and holding hands, staring into each other's eyes. You could do that all with a friend, mostly, so what’s the actual difference? It’s not like lust is the difference either since people do stuff without loving each other all the time.

“Romantic love…” Hiriluk loved Drum Island and Dr. Kureha loved having fun. “Romantic love is having big antlers and sturdy fur.” Chopper reverts to what he learned when he was a wee baby. Luffy rubs his own head, no antlers. In response to his captain’s confusion, Usopp speaks confidently.

“It’s okay. They call me Captain of Love Usopp for a reason!” He strikes a pose and Chopper claps. “Love is like the warm sun on a snowy day, a ray of light peeking through storm clouds, an oasis in a desert. It’s the light at the end of a tunnel.” A lot of metaphors, but not a lot of actual explanation. It’s not doing much good, though Chopper at least seems into it. The rubber man isn’t as interested though, realizing this isn’t answering much of his questions. He looks down.

“I don’t want (Y/n) to be out of love with me if he’s like this because he doesn’t love me romantically anymore.” Luffy mumbles to himself, deciding to go to the restroom. Maybe that’ll help.

“Amorrr is- Luffy? Where’d he go?” Usopp looks around, realizing he’s gone. He looks down at Chopper, who’s expecting more. The sniper clears his throat and continues. “Love is like!” You get the point. Chopper doesn’t know about romantic love much, even as a reindeer. They don’t usually love romantically to mate, while both Hiriluk and Dr. Kureha were interested in their medical endeavors and danger. As for Usopp, he’d been on the same island all of his life always focusing on other things to ever truly register romantic love. His sick mother, her death, then trying to become a brave warrior of the sea. No parents to teach him either. His assumption was it would be figured out once on the ocean, being surrounded by lovers and admirers all the time. Neither of them can help Luffy, at least not in the way he needs.

So what does Luffy need? He doesn’t know, and neither do they. So he goes to the restroom.

“Love…” Luffy says while sitting on the toilet, not going or anything, just for thinking. “Loovvee. Loav.” Repeating it isn’t helping, “Louuvee, loaf.” though it is cheering him up. “Shi shi shi!” He laughs a bit, then stands up. This didn’t give any answers, but he won’t stress about it. Things will work out eventually. Luffy splashes water and soap on his hands, dries them off, then leaves the restroom. He goes back to the men’s quarters. Before going back to his own bed he stops by yours. “...” He crouches down and stares at you. “..luv.” A small mumble before flopping onto his mattress. His heart and mind feels clearer.

Meanwhile, your eyes open, what was that about?

_____________________

‘Why’d he just stare at me? Or maybe he wasn’t? My eyes weren’t open but I definitely felt his body heat and breath.’ You think to yourself as you poke at your food with a scowl, finally taking a bite out of it.

“Luffy’s gonna steal it if you don’t eat in time.” Nami tells you, pointing to your plate with her fork. On cue, the captain tries to reach for her food, hand smacked away before he could grab anything. No time for thinking during breakfast, but you’re on dish duty today. That should give you a chance to think.

“Hey.” A voice says behind you and you almost drop the plate you’re rinsing off. It’s Sanji. “So… about you and Luffy.” He starts, looking awkward. “You’re really in love with that id- with him?” He’d like to insult Luffy but feels it’s not the time.

“Way to bring it up again.” You grumble, placing the last dish to dry.

“Did he reject you?”

“Yeah, obviously. Don’t know what I expected to happen.” You don’t really feel like talking about it but he’s asking so you answer.

“Are you sure?” The chef asks and you look back at him, irritated.

“Hell you mean ‘are you sure?’ I’m pretty sure, dude.” Your eyes glare at him. “He called me weird and acts like I’m a specimen now.” Your sass makes Sanji frown back.

“I’m trying to help you, dumbass. Luffy’s not like other people. What you think might be a rejection can be something else entirely. He could say someone has a strong smell and consider it a compliment.” He lights a cigarette, annoyed at the attitude. “You could’ve read him wrong.” It’s a bittersweet thought that you just misunderstood.

“Even if I did misunderstand, so what? It’ll still mean a rejection, just in his own way.” You’re too stressed to talk about this. You were already trying to move on.

“He asked me about love yesterday.” Your eyes widen. “Usopp and Chopper said the same thing happened the day before.” Sanji says after taking a breath of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out the window. “That’s what I mean, but if you’re going to be a dick about it-” He leans into your face “-I don’t have to tell you anything.” He says mockingly.

‘Asshole.’ Though you were mean first, technically. Still, you really want to know the details. You clench your jaw, then speak. “I’m sorry for being an ass, tell me.”

“Huh? What’d you say? Tell you what?” He puts a cupped hand to his ear.

“Tell me more about what Luffy asked you.” He continues to stare at you until you sigh. “Please.” That gets a satisfied smirk out of him.

“Should’ve just said so.” You hold in your anger so he can continue. “What Luffy asked me…”

Cliffhanger wooaaaAAOoah. But still, theres another chappa. I already had a good portion of this one finished but the next one will prob take longer. Also my bad if this one was more comedic than you would like, all of my stuff ends up having a moment like that, plus moments with Usopp always tend to be unserious. I thought about not posting this immediately after it was done to space stuff out but.. nah. Not my style ig. Comment if you want, idk. Havent done slow burn in a long and by a while i mean years and also only like 2 or 3 times.

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