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bcksbarnes · 2 days ago

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time's never been on our side - chapter five

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky happen to meet by chance one night, and it feels like there is a spark between the two of you - but he has to leave. was this destiny? or cruel fate?

word count: 3K

read the: previous chapter

How do you miss someone you've barely spent any time with? Someone that up until a few days ago was basically a total stranger.

It was wrong. Forbidden, even.

You didn't think it'd hurt so much when Bucky left, you tried your best to mentally prepare yourself for the fact that it had to end. He had made it very obvious — this was short term.

Although neither of you were prepared for how abrupt the end would be.

When the door closed behind him on the way out of your apartment, all you could do was stare at the white paint in a state of disbelief. You missed him already, and that was truly unfair.

Instead of trying to distract yourself, or even talk yourself out of these feelings, you opt to lay on your bed and nuzzle your face into your pillow, mustering all your strength to not scream, or cry, or both. Your mind is plaguing you with thoughts about how cruel and unusual it was to be ripped apart so soon. It didn't make it hurt less, but a good spiral was what you really needed.

He texted you as soon as he was on the plane:

This is bullshit.

All you could manage to respond with was:

And it's not like Bucky was handling it much better either. He ignored both Steve and Sam's attempts to speak with him when he boarded, opting to read the briefing sheet rather than listen in on Steve's mission overview. Though it didn't help much because he kept reading the words over and over again — they wouldn't stick in his brain, all he could think about was you and what he was leaving behind.

Bucky loved what he did and more importantly he loved the people he did it with. Being able to save the world, to feel like he's accomplished something other than mass destruction was a win in his eyes, but he kept having this recurring feeling that maybe his time in this field had run its course.

He had spent all of his life fighting, running, hiding. The world always needed to be saved, maybe he didn't have to be the one saving it anymore. You reminded him that life didn't need to be loading guns and counting dead bodies, it could be more.

So much more.

"Steve's about to pop a vein," Sam says, snapping Bucky out of his thoughts as he takes a seat across from him, his elbows resting on his knees as he settles in. "You two need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Bucky mutters.

"I said this weeks ago when we were in Budapest. You can't continue being miserable because Steve wants to keep going."

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam."

There's a tiredness in his voice that lets the other man know he's serious, that right now he truly doesn't want to be bothered. He wants to stare out of the window of the plane, look at the clouds below him, and be angry at the world.

Was that too much to ask for?

"I know you don't, but you know I'm right," Sam says, receiving a look from Bucky that was less than kind. "Listen, maybe you don't want to talk about it now, and maybe Steve is refusing to come to terms with the fact that you're ready to start a new life, but just know that if you don’t talk — it won't end well. For either of you. You need to ask yourself if whoever you just left behind tonight is your path forward."

Bucky keeps his gaze towards the window, his jaw set as he could feel his pulse quicken, his metal hand curling into a fist as it rests on his knee. He watches in his peripheral vision as his friend stands and walks to the other side of the jet, leaving Bucky alone with his dark, depressing thoughts.

When the jet had finally lands in Lagos it was go-time. Bucky put on a brave face, as he normally did, and found Sam and Steve – ready to jump into action.

The mission was not as easy as everyone hoped it would be. It was a repetitive mess that led the team down too many twists and turns, and each day they inched further and further away from when it would end.

Three weeks turned into six, which was now looking more like eight.

What a fucking nightmare.

The only thing keeping either of you sane was the nights when Bucky finally got back to his hotel room, closing and locking the door for his privacy, and took his phone out to dial your number.

Tonight was especially hard on Bucky, they had somehow missed the signs of an ambush. Everyone on the team was badly hurt, he even took a few extra blows than what he was used to.

Not their greatest moment.

"Hello?" you rasp into the phone, immediately pulling Bucky out of his thoughts. He's startled by how tired you sound, and when he checks the time he understands why.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't realize it was so late."

"It's fine. Did you just get back?" you ask, a yawn leaving your lips slightly muffling your words.

"Yeah, it was a long day."

Bucky didn’t even bother to turn on the lights as he made his way towards his bed, his back hitting the mattress with a thud as he stared up at the ceiling. He tries to clear his mind of the sounds of gunshots and screams. As he’s grown older and further away from his days as the Winter Soldier it was easier to compartmentalize, but that didn't mean it didn't haunt him. So, he closes his eyes as he tries to picture your face instead, maybe then the bad thoughts will go away.

"You should go back to sleep," he insists, although deep down he doesn't mean it. Selfishly he wants you all to himself, despite how late it was. His stomach sinks at even the idea of hanging up.

"I'm fine," you reiterate, trying to hold back another yawn as you rub your eye with the palm of your hand. "I've been waiting all day to talk to you, what's missing a few hours of sleep anyway?"

"You're so stubborn."

"Oh, I can hang up if you really want me to."

"No," he responds, maybe a little too quickly. His hand moves under his shirt as he scratches his stomach gently. "Not yet."

Truthfully he wants to tell you he misses you, but the word is so profound and he's not even sure he's ever said it before. That scares him. What Bucky is unaware of is how the word is also on the tip of your tongue, just threatening to roll off at any moment.

An ocean apart, only connected by this nightly phone call, and neither of you could really say what you truly wanted.

"That's what I thought, Barnes."

You smile to yourself as you flip over onto your side, bringing your blanket up to your chin as you get cozy in the bed. Maybe one day Bucky could join you.

Maybe.

"What did you do today?" he asks. It's sincere in the way that he truly wants to know what you did, but part of him wants his mind to stop, your voice seems to be the only thing to bring him back down to Earth.

"I brought Alpine to the vet, then did some grocery shopping. Nothing really too exciting."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, routine check up. She hates when they do the exam so most of the time I was trying to wrangle her while she hissed at all the nurses."

Bucky lets out a scoff at the thought, his eyes finally opening once more. The once dark room was starting to let light in, the sun starting to peek through the horizon of the early mornings.

"She's feisty. I wonder where she learned that from."

"I'm not sure what you're implying," you say, innocently.

"Mm, I'm sure you don't."

"Watch it, Buck."

"There it is," he teases, switching his phone to press against his other ear. "I knew I wasn't making it up."

"Shut up." You bite down on your bottom lip, your heart beating rapidly in your chest at his teasing. You feel like you were a teenager with a stupid crush that wouldn't go away.

A long silence passes between the two of you, and your eyelids grow a bit heavy from the darkness of the night — you knew sleep would be in your future soon, but you weren’t ready to let this moment go just yet.

Bucky definitely wasn't.

"I wish you were here," he whispers into the phone, clutching on it so hard that he's sure it might break. "Or that I was there, either way."

"Me too," you nod, even if he can't see it. "When you get back we should go back to that restaurant we liked."

"Which one?"

"You know with that spaghetti dish we liked? The one you spilled your drink on yourself?"

Bucky chuckles at the memory. He remembers missing his mouth when he went to take a sip because he was mesmerized by the way you looked. There wasn't even a way for him to recover from it, he mumbled some curse words under his breath as he tried to clean up the giant stain that was on his shirt and not focus on your hands reaching over to help him.

"Yeah, that place," he responds. "Sounds good to me."

"When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure."

"Soon?"

"Soon," he promises.

Your heart leaps even as the exhaustion overcomes you, clutching your phone a bit tighter — unaware that Bucky had done the same on his end. Some more soft whispers are exchanged between the two of you before you end up falling asleep on the line. Bucky hears the sound of your soft, even breathing through the speaker and it fills him with warmth. He hesitates and wages an internal war before he finally ends the call and readies himself for bed, despite the sun rising in the distance.

The next morning, well afternoon, is rough for Bucky who is now lacking sleep and is desperately itching to get back home. He checks his phone immediately, a bad habit he's now picked up, and instead of finding a text from you sees a few missed calls from Steve.

Will be there in 20, just getting up.

He texts his friend before rolling out of bed to start another (he’s assuming) long day.

One shower, one disgustingly bitter cup of coffee and twenty minutes later Bucky finds Steve in a hotel room now make-shift control room a few floors above his own.

"Hey," Steve nods his chin in Bucky’s direction. He was the only person in the room, sitting down on a desk chair that seemed way too small for a man so large, it was jarring.

"Hey," Bucky nods back, closing the door to the room behind him. "What's up?"

"We'll be here for another two weeks," Steve responds without any hesitation, straightening up his back as he sits in the chair. "Sam got a lead on another base about 50 miles outside the city. The teams working on a way to get in, apparently our system hasn't been picking it up since they're using some advanced technology to try and hide it in plain sight."

Bucky stands a few feet in front of Steve, his arms crossed over his chest, his brows furrowing.

"Two more weeks? We've been here for a while, Steve, there's no way this should be taking this long."

"Unless you want a lot of innocent people to get hurt, Buck, we're not rushing this. Red Wing did a diagnostic scan of the facility and there's a lot of hostages, just like the one a few days ago. It's a pattern."

There's no response from Bucky as he averts his gaze for a moment, feeling the irritation rise in his chest. He knows this is the moment that Sam wanted for the two of them; Bucky to finally admit his feelings and tell Steve that he's at the end of his days.

All he can think of is the people inside the facility who are waiting for someone to save them — he could save them.

All he knows is guilt.

"Will that be a problem?" Steve challenges, standing up so the two are eye level. Tension filling the air that took Bucky by surprise, straightening his own posture.

"Listen, Steve…"

"What, Buck? You want to quit?"

"What? I didn't say that," he defends himself. "Can you let me speak?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks," he eyes Steve before taking a step back to create some distance between each other. There's so much going through Bucky's head at the moment he doesn't even know where to begin. "This has been a lot lately. We've been non-stop and it's been tiring. Taking some time off has made me … realize that maybe I'm not looking to do this forever."

Steve watches carefully, his jaw tightening as he listens, Bucky speaks again.

"I want a normal life."

"A normal life?" Steve scoffs in response. "Don't you think we all want that? We gave that up a long time ago, buddy."

"I know," Bucky snaps back through gritted teeth. "I'm fully aware of that."

"So you do want to quit, like I said."

"You make it sound like I have a choice."

"You do have a choice," Steve takes a step forward and minimizes the space that Bucky created. "You're either in, or you're out, Buck. There's no in between, there's no happy endings."

"What if I don't want to be ‘in’ anymore? I'm not quitting, I've done my time. I've done time that I should never even been sentenced to, a life that I didn't get to pick."

"Not all of us have a choice."

"You did," Bucky snaps back. "You wanted this. You knew when you took that serum it meant you were going from a scrawny kid from Brooklyn to a hero. I wanted to punch a few Nazi's and come home. Start a family. Meet someone. I didn't get to pick my life, someone else did for me."

"And what? You've found someone and suddenly you want to pick up the only life you know and throw it away? People are counting on you, they're counting on us."

"Don't pull that shit with me, Steve," Bucky raises his voice.

"Pull what? Your head out of your ass? Do you think I don't know that something's going on?" Steve raises his own back. "Who is it?"

Bucky feels like he should come clean, but a voice in the back of his mind is telling him that it'd be a bad idea. What were you and Bucky besides two friends who have only really spent a few weeks together? Would it even be worth mentioning to Steve? What if this blew up in his face? He couldn't tie this need to move on in his life back to you.

Not now, anyway.

"No one," Bucky says, keeping his expression neutral. "There's no one. I'm just tired."

"We're all tired, we all want to be done, but there's always something else. Something we can't run away from." Steve lifts his hand to clap Bucky's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze and shaking the man slightly. "We can't stop even if we want to."

And just like that it all came tumbling down.

Bucky would never be free from this life.

"I can give you some more time off after this mission, but we need you back here. I need you back here." Steve gives his shoulder another reassuring squeeze, though it does nothing to calm the unease in his stomach.

Bucky averts his gaze, trying his best to not let his emotions settle to the surface.

Not here, not now.

He gives Steve some vague mumbled response that he doesn't remember and the two pretend like the conversation never happened. Even if there's a giant knot in his stomach and his brain is a little hazed as Steve jumps right back into the tactical part of the mission, it never happened.

Sam and the rest of the crew join them a few minutes later, and before he knows it they are off on another night of looking for hostages and fights he didn’t want to be in. If his heart wasn't in it before, it definitely wasn't in it now. Two more weeks and he had a break again, that's what Steve had told him — he hoped he’d follow through on his promise.

"He means well," Sam says hours later as the two of them enter the elevator of the hotel. Sam takes the liberty of pressing the buttons of both of their floors. They are covered in blood — Bucky had failed to stop a grenade that had been fired at too close of a range, they were both lucky they were still alive. His mind was elsewhere tonight.

Bucky gulps and keeps his eyes averted, biting down on his tongue as he holds back what little dignity he has in that moment. He was only a few feet away from his room, and, more importantly, only a few seconds from calling you.

The elevator chimed and Bucky stepped out, tossing his head over his shoulder as he gave Sam one final look.

"He doesn't," he says, watching as the elevator doors shut, leaving him alone once again.

Bucky's feet carry him to his room, and soon he flops down on his bed as a part of his nightly routine, but this time when he reaches for his phone in his pocket his hands shake. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

It rings only once before you pick up.

"Hey," you say, it’s late but with the time difference and how long Bucky’s days were, it always was when he called.

"Hey," he whispers back, his head turning to the side as he stares at the wall, studying the patterns on the wallpaper.

"What's wrong?"

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, holding back emotions he tried never to reckon with: sadness, loneliness, wanting.

"I just needed to hear your voice."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #i know like 5 people read this story but im determined to update it

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quiteros · 3 hours ago

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actually begging on hand and knee for you to speak on the piss thing….

Cw: 18+, Nsfw, Dubious Consent, Female!Reader, Forced Kink? Piss/Wetting, Desperation, Pseudo-Incest, Infantilisation, Gege usage

Thank you Caleb nation for the go ahead, happy to be here truly 😼🫡🙏

Caleb and his all consuming obsession for Mc would not stop at the bathroom. Everything about you means something to him, everything about you is perfect to him.

Think it’s something he realises in his years living with Mc, when Mc wakes him up at night, terrified to use the bathroom alone, and forces him to hold her hand through the door as she goes.

Caleb’s standing there all groggy, mildly annoyed but of course unable to say no. He indulges you too much. He wakes tf up when he hears the sigh you let out. It’s soft and full of relief, and unfortunately goes straight to his dick. To be fair, most things you do goes straight to his dick, but this is new.

Caleb’s always known you better than you know yourself, and it becomes a bit of preoccupation of his to realise when you need to go. There’s subtleties that he knows he is so fucked up for noticing, the way your foot starts to tap, the gentle sway to distract your body and the sudden quietness you seem to now favour.

An awful part of him would probably encourage it. Under the guise of playing good gege, justifications of doing his brotherly duties, he’ll bring you glass after glass to keep you “hydrated.”

You’ve always been a bit ditzy around him, letting even the most basic of your needs become his responsibility. He feeds you, readies your baths, picks out your clothes and even does your skin care if you ask.

So Caleb knows you won’t have second thought towards all the drinks he brings you, all the top ups off your glass, the fruits he has cut up and ready. He enjoys watching you squirm before you even realise what you’re feeling, he enjoys the subtle rock of your body as you bladder begins to fill.

Also a truther of Caleb really wanting to see Mc wet herself.

It plays into the part of Caleb that loves when you rely on him, lives for it. The thought of you wetting yourself and coming to him for help does something despicable to his brain.

Pre-relationship!Caleb is quick to mask the part of him that revels in the teary, panicked, humiliated sight of you. He shifts into his role, cooing that it’s ok, telling you to go the bath, he’ll take care of your sheets. You don’t have to worry around him. You haven’t done anything wrong.

Colonel!Caleb has a much more indulgent approach, mocking you for the baby you’re being, saying your mess is only proof of how much you need him. How could you think to leave him, when you can’t even take care of yourself?

Established Relationship!Caleb is also equally perverse about it but a lot more playful. He’s puppy-like, keeping you on his lap, wrapped in his arms as you squirm. You probably tell him to fuck off a few times, trying to shove him away. He whines and you promise you’ll be back, you just have to— oh. He knows. Of course the bastard knows. He’s keeping you sat here because he wants you to piss yourself.

He gets shameless with you, the comfortability of knowing you his whole life paired with all the time wasted not being with you like this, he needs to be indulgent for once.

And though proud of the brave, strong hunter you’ve become, fully realised as your own person, he still misses the moments where you become dependent on him. Where you become cute, and pouty, and all his….

Also he fully has a scent kink, I would be a liar to pretend it doesn’t extend to piss

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yanfluffery · 9 hours ago

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Platonic Yan!Old man!Eijirou with Neighbor!Reader

Order placed by : 🪽 anon :]

Reader is written to be 18-20 years old

Thank you for this wonderful request! This was such a fun concept to write!! I do think something possessed me when writing this…

Only a couple of months ago a moving truck had entered the neighborhood. Parking in front of the house next to Eijirou, who had been watching curiously from his mailbox. It’s been a long while since he’s seen anyone new move into the area, his interest immediately piqued. His hand rested on the mailbox's handle as if forgetting why he was even there. Just watching as moving guys unloaded the truck, waiting to say hi to the new neighbor.

Then you came out from around the corner, carrying boxes that looked far too heavy with ease. His eyes focused on you as you walked towards the door. You were young, that much could be seen. He didn’t realize he was staring until you turned to wave at him. Flashing a bright, friendly smile as you quickly greeted him before walking inside. He couldn’t explain why it affected him so much. But he didn’t hesitate to return the gesture.

Even after he went back inside he was still watching you from the front window. Standing idly in his kitchen, just watching you haul your stuff inside. It didn’t take long until you were done and telling the moving crew thank you and goodbye. You were strong and polite, something he noted mentally about you, and something he admired as well. Now he was wondering how to formally introduce himself to you soon.

***

The day came sooner than he anticipated. Even in his retirement Eijirou still enjoyed working out. Though his body couldn’t manage his old routines anymore as he aged. He made the effort to get up in the morning for a quick run. As he was jogging past your house one morning you were walking out front at the exact time. Catching his eye once again, the temporary distraction caused him to stumble over his own feet.

Even though you watched him steady himself you still panicked. Having almost watched this old guy fall flat on the concrete. Quickly hopping down your steps you walked towards him and spoke. Concern etched on your face and voice. “You okay, sir?”

Eijirou turned to look down at you with a nod, a low laugh followed after. You were much shorter than he had expected. The genuine worry in your gaze made him hold back another laugh. Strong, polite, and caring, could you get any sweeter? Honestly it might just kill him. He turned to properly face you and answered your question.

“I’m alright, kid, don’t worry. And no need to call me sir, makes me feel old.” He vaguely mumbled that last part but you still caught it. Earning a giggle out of you, the sound of which made his heart flutter. Maybe you could get sweeter.

***

The months passed, and you two only grew closer. Forming a friendship as you saw it. Whenever you needed help with anything he’d be there. And in return you would come over and check up on him. It made him feel less alone, he didn’t realize how much he missed having someone around. Someone to look after and care for. And every time you left it made his chest ache. There’s definitely more to this than a neighborly bond.

That’s what he believed, that every time you came over it was more than you being kind. You just wanted an excuse to see him. But you didn’t need an excuse, he’s more than happy to have you over whenever. Maybe even full time. You’d even joke about how you basically live with him and to say he was opposed would be a lie.

Dragging the trash bag behind him into the night, Eijirou gave pause as he heard the muffled sounds of crying nearby. Turning his head to the source he immediately made out your figure in the dark. Sitting on your porch steps with your head in your hands. He almost dropped the bag when he saw your current state. Instead he set it down on the ground before walking towards you. His hand finding its way to your shoulder.

“Hey, kid, what’s the matter?” He tried to keep his usual playful tone yet the genuine worry seeped through. You looked like a wreck, you’re quiet muttering into your hands didn’t help much. But he stayed patient and waited for you to speak up. What you said next made his brows furrow and lips pursed.

“I… I got fired, and I just… don’t know what to do” You sobbed as you finally lifted your head up. You couldn’t believe it, moved out of your parents’ place not long ago and you were already having troubles. So much for being a responsible, young adult. “Cause, who knows how long until I find a job again—”

The warm embrace of Eijirou’s arms wrapping around you cuts off your overthinking ramblings. Burying your face in his chest as your tears continued and bled into the fabric of his shirt. The wheels turned in his head as the both of you sat silently for a moment. You were tired, the way you could barely keep your eyes open from, from all the crying. He breathed in before opening his mouth to speak.

“Oh, honey, why don’t you come over and I'll get you something to drink? We can talk more once you’ve calmed down.” The quiet hum of agreement was all he needed before he helped you to your feet. Leading you towards his house and letting you inside. Missing the faint click of the lock as he shut the door behind you both, closing you both in.

Maybe you could stay here with him.

#┈ • ୨ 🧁 {Requests}#┈ • ୨ 🍰 {Fics}#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #platonic yandere mha #platonic yandere x reader #platonic x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere writing #yandere neighbor #platonic yandere neighbor #platonic eijirou #platonic eijirou x reader #platonic yandere eijirou #yandere fanfiction #platonic yandere fic #male yandere #gn reader

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cleolinda · 2 years ago

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Since I just ordered two for my sister as a care package kind of gift—when I had my outpatient back surgery, the only things I took with me were my phone and an almond Hurraw lip balm. (Scroll down, all the products are on one page.) They are really, really good (and vegan, if that’s a plus for you). I’ve tried a ton of them over the last ten years and I always keep one in my pocket; absolute favorites are the vanilla bean and the cherry & lemon. Best texture I’ve ever seen (felt?) in a lip balm, only $4-5 USD.

#recommendations #holiday shopping #basically I just need something distracting to think about

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lorillee · 2 months ago

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honestly saejima brings such a perfect balance to the 3jima dynamic its incredible that daigo and majima survived as long as they did without him

#Sorry i started thinking about them driving. because like obviously saejima is the most responsible driver here #majima for sure gets crazy bad road rage and also I just dont think. he would be a safe or responsible driver. Just in general #and honestly theres a very significant chance daigo has never gotten his license just because hes never needed to. being a rich kid and all #but even if he did i know majima would backseat drive him like CRAZY and itd make him SO MAD #and so like obviously saejima is the designated driver in a situation where it was just the three of them.#additionally i think majima would be at least Less likely to backseat drive him. but if he really pissed saejima off that bad #theyd pull off to the side of the road and beat the snot out of each other over it. and then get back in the car and continue driving #but if it was daigo getting backseat driven i think he wouldnt want to pull off and have a fist fight over it #partially because thats Well really stupid and embarrassing but also because hes going to lose #so hed just get really irritated and distracted and then theyd start arguing and hed crash into something.#so basically what im getting at. Is i dont know how they survived without saejima. I really dont.#jimas

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pagesofkenna · 5 months ago

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what if i just completely threw out 60% of the existing plot concept for the novel i'm already writing the second draft of

#i literally gave myself a stress headache today just thinking about this lmao #writing is hard and i just want to have all the tricky parts figured out for me so i can just do the fun parts lmao #i've been writing at least 400 words a day for the last few weeks but its become increasingly obvious that im muddling around #doing nothing going nowhere because my plot outline doesnt exist and i need to figure out story beats #and now im like. maybe its going nowhere because i have everything arranged for the finale right from the beginning #and maybe i should spend the length of the book having the characters arrange things for the finale themselves #so basically now i'm just. messing everything up? to give my characters something to fix?#im doing this when i COULD be writing some completely different new shiny distracting idea :T

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watery-melon-baller · 1 year ago

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every time i do my physics homework I put on super Mario 64 dire dire docks theme (extended 30 minutes) in the hopes that eventually i can pavolv myself into immediately switching into physics mode whenever I hear the music. and also because its a bop

#it also isn't super distracting #like it's background music. it's chill #hngggg I cannot concentrate #like. Once I start thinking about toh and fic stuff my brain is like okay! Hyperfixation time #And refuses to slip out of hyperfixation mode for like. The rest of the day #it is so bad because I just can't focus and I can't think properly #I need all of my brainpower for this!!!#i have a shaky grasp on the topic #my main issue is just. puzzle solving it. figuring out how to apply said knowledge #and when I do a problem either it's just Way Too Simple and I'm Clearly missing something or I have No Clue Where To Even Begin #and either way I am incredibly unsure of my skills and my brain is just banging pots and pans screaming WRONG #I know that like. This part is just learning how to think that way and I can only get good with practice #but God is it Frustrating #especially since this is a summer class!! it's moving so quick!!#and I'm already behind because I didn't take general physics so I have to teach myself the concepts she assums we all know already!!#we haven't even gotten to the calc yet!! It's still basic algebra!!!#i like this class I just wish i could fucking Get It #i don't have friends I can ask for help and the tutoring center is okayish #hng #im just frustrated again. sigh #im probably getting all of these homework problems wrong #luckily she lets us do corrections and resubmit the work which like. Is very helpful #but I hate that I have to have my hand held through every fucking problem #lilac post

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naenaex0xx · 1 year ago

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I forgor...

#so many thoughts too little time to process them #ok checklist!! alert do not read! or read if you wana #ok so. 1. think about what to do/say to my mooties #i wanna get to know people better..? yes. i need confidence for that :')#2. these fireworks are annoying pls stop. :(#ah anyways. i... >.>#right. uhhh try make some music! i wanted to do something bosa nova.. i need to know the basics before i can do anything #the major problem with any of my songs is that theres no preset structure... i need that because it just becomes a mess #um. i got distracted #uh.. pls ignore. ill forget to do anything anyways #posts.nae

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marshadowstea · 3 months ago

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okay word vomit to end the day :3

dont read it, this is mine >:[

#bllleegh its gonna be a long one #shush this is my internet diary to embarrass myself and say everything that comes to mind because it never gets read anyway :3 #from the beginning i feel like i was always very very clear with how i felt. not as clear as now but yk still relatively #and again i never expected to become so attached and honestly #this is all my fault. i got too close and now i feel like this which i can 100% take responsibility for #but what i didnt make clear at all was how unworthy i felt of everythinf #every little message or piece of attention or even recognizing that i was there felt like a stab in the back #not in a bad way but in a ‘im getting my hopes up and its never attainable i need to stop but i cant’ way #so instead of dealing with that feeling i did the stupidest thing i couldve done and now im gonna continue to regret it #so every day since ive been wondering over and over what would’ve happened if i didnt make that decision #i thought if i forced myself away from that feeling that it would go away #so even though i wasnt happy i forced myself to do something i never wanted to do in the first place #and i hated every moment of it because all that was left was that feeling of you #one of the last things you said still kinda haunts me to this day #it was like being relieved that i wss entertaining someone else while you worried about me #that stung but you werent wrong #i wasnt there when i should have been not only bevause i was trying to get rid of feelings and because i was going through a bad time #but obviously i chose to run away and not confront my problems which is another regret #i didnt want to be weird by having feelings and i didnt want that to ruin everything. but i also didnt want to confide in you about what was #happening for fear of you seeing me different #then everything was quiet for months. i tried distracting myself and doing everything to stop thinking of you but obviously that didnt work #so now i was just stuck being unhappy without you knowing that you hate me #there was one week where it got so bad i couldnt even eat. i just had to speak to you again #so i did and now we’re here #i dont want to mess up again and i dont want to do more things i regret but i dont think im ever gonna win in this #i basically put all my cards down on the table face up and i still dont know what you have. its still a mystery to me why you were pissed #when i got that thing. and now the mystery is why we’re still even here #clearly you dont trust me and you dont love me and i dont think that this will ever change but idk why you want to keep me around #i’ll stick around forever and take whatever it is you give me but im genuinely confused.#if you dont trust me thennn why ? i’ll continue to keep making a fool of myself for you because its what i love doing

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yannawayne · 2 months ago

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If I can't have you baby, no one else in this world can!

SYNOPSIS: The Batboys & Cass at their most unhinged, most protective, and most devoted. TAGS: FEMALE Reader! Fluff! Jealousy! Fake Marriage, Mild possessive behavior, Mild innuendo / suggestive banter, Mentions of weapons/violence + Older! Of-Age! Damian NOTE: Don’t take the content or characterizations too seriously! It’s literally just a goofy, for-fun fic :ppp AO3: yenwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

જ⁀➴ RICHARD GRAYSON

“I hate these missions,” came Dick’s voice, petulant and immediate in your earpiece.

You didn’t pause. Instead, you stepped delicately around a marble column, your heels tapping rhythmically across the ballroom floor. Your dress shimmered with every movement, a slinky midnight blue number that hugged your form like it had been stitched by jealous gods. Your fingers grazed the low curve of your hip, pretending to adjust the fabric, when in reality you were activating the mic hidden beneath a faux diamond brooch.

“Nightwing,” you said calmly, smiling at a champagne server as they approached. You took a glass with a graceful nod, flipping your hair over your shoulder with casual elegance. “We’re at a gala. There are hors d'oeuvres and a string quartet. Try not to combust.”

“I am combusting,” he muttered, like he was personally being subjected to torture. “You’re pretending to be married to Barry Allen. That’s basically infidelity.”

“We fake-filed a fake tax return together like, five minutes ago,” you said dryly. “Relax.”

Dick huffed—huffed—and you could practically see him brooding on some rooftop, arms crossed like a bat-gargoyle. “I just think I, your actual husband, should be there.”

You let out a quiet sigh, walking toward the ornate staircase where Barry stood chatting up a senator. You could already see the knowing glint in his eye as he spotted you, lifting his glass like a man trying too hard to appear casual.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, smiling sweetly as you closed the distance. “You are literally in my ear. You’re more present than Barry is right now, and he's the one touching me.”

“What?!”

You glanced sideways at Barry. He shifted, his palm resting in the safe, polite territory of your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something to the senator. “Arm, Dick. It’s just an arm. We’re blending in. No need to send in the Batjet.”

“I swear to god if he tries the forehead kiss thing—”

You blinked. “What forehead kiss thing?”

“He does this thing,” Dick said, his voice a little breathless with outrage, “where he smiles all slow and soft and tilts his head, and he leans in like he’s gonna whisper something but instead he does this little forehead press like he’s in a rom-com. I hate it. That’s how he seduced Iris that one time!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh, shifting your weight subtly as you allowed Barry to guide you toward the center of the room. The music shifted into a softer waltz.

“Pretty sure they were already dating when that happened.”

“Not the point. I should be the one fake-forehead-kissing you at fancy galas.”

You stepped past an older couple slow-dancing near the fountain centerpiece and turned, giving Barry a small apologetic smile as you pretended to be distracted by something in your clutch.

“Would that make you feel better?” you whispered.

“Immeasurably.”

You were about to respond when you caught the faintest flicker of movement overhead. The security camera nearest you pivoted. Just slightly. Just enough.

Your smile vanished.

“Did you just hijack the camera feed to watch me?”

Silence.

“Dick.”

“…No?”

“Dick.”

“Camera’s just doing its job.”

“You are the camera.”

There was a beat of long, silent guilt on the line.

“It’s a security sweep,” he finally muttered, defensive. “Totally standard.”

You turned and stared directly up at the rotating lens, narrowing your eyes. “You’re pouting, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said, full pout in his voice.

You glared at the camera, already knowing the exact pout he was pulling behind the cowl. Barry chuckled beside you, still in his gala-husband role. You looped your arm through his and leaned in with a soft smile, playing along for the watching donors. Wealth glittered across the ballroom. Pearls, tuxedos, and dresses worth more than a small country’s GDP.

And then Dick dropped the line.

“You just had to wear that gown, didn’t you?”

Your eyebrows twitched.

“It’s a dress.”

“It’s a crime scene, actually.”

You nearly snorted champagne up your nose. “Are you okay? Do you need to go punch a mugger and walk it off?”

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “There are at least six guys pretending not to stare at you right now. One of them dropped a canapé. I watched it happen. I’m seconds from pulling the fire alarm.”

You hummed in amusement and tilted your head, letting the chandelier light catch the sheen of your lashes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You swirled the champagne in your glass, then took a slow, knowing sip, the bubbles tickling your lips as you smirked. “Are you gonna rappel in through the ceiling and punch Barry in the face mid-waltz?”

He didn’t answer immediately. And that was the worst part.

“…Maybe.”

You laughed under your breath, drawing curious eyes from across the floor. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever married.”

“I’m the only man you’ve ever married!”

“For now,” you teased.

Dead. Air.

You could feel it through the silence. The precise moment Dick’s jaw clenched, the way his hands probably curled into fists on some high-rise ledge. You almost felt sorry for the next criminal who looked at him funny.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, voice dropping into that dangerous purr he only used when he was 70% teasing and 30% ready to commit felony assault. “If Barry so much as breathes too close to you, I’m driving over there and disguising myself as a waiter just to strangle him with a linen napkin.”

You giggled again, covering it with the rim of your glass and a quick flutter of lashes.

“Relax. You’re still my real husband.”

“I should hope so. I signed that marriage license in blood.”

“You pricked your finger opening the envelope.”

“It still counts.”

જ⁀➴ JASON TODD

The dim light of the bookstore warmed the space, the faint scent of old paper mixing with the musky air of Gotham’s streets. It was the perfect Saturday afternoon. You and Jason had been to this little corner bookstore a few times, tucked away near the flat you shared, where no one bothered you, just the way you liked it.

Today, the place had a sale. And you were taking full advantage. Because, books.

You bent slightly, pulling another book off the shelf. Your fingers lingered on the spine, the title catching your eye, but your gaze drifted briefly to Jason beside you.

He was holding a stack of books you'd already picked up, his strong arms braced beneath the weight. His other hand was occupied, casually flipping through the pages of a suspense novel. His worn-out motorcycle helmet hung off his elbow, the strap digging into his skin like it always did when he wasn’t too concerned about making a spectacle of himself.

The sight of him in his usual attire, tight compression shirt, cargo pants, and those damn ratty boots, was almost enough to make you forget why you were even here. You couldn’t help it. Your husband, who exuded that rough, untamed charm that always made your heart skip a beat, even after everything.

You coughed, quickly pulling your focus back to the shelf, cheeks flushed. You weren’t here to ogle at him. You were here to buy books, to stock up for the upcoming winter nights in your cozy little flat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he noticed the way you’d momentarily gotten lost in thought.

“You okay there, doll?” His voice was low, but that teasing drawl was there, practically sending your internal warning system into overload.

You snapped back to the shelf, cheeks now officially flushed. “Fine. Just… you know, checking out some new releases. That’s all.”

Jason took a step closer, his hand reaching out to adjust the stack of books he was holding, brushing against your side. You could feel his eyes on you, that damn teasing look in them. He knew.

"Uh-huh," he muttered, clearly amused.

You shot him a glare. “Stop being so obvious.” You grabbed a couple more books, pretending they were the most interesting thing in the store, while mentally trying to avoid imagining how good he looked in those pants.

The moment passed, and you made your way to the counter. But, of course, Jason insisted on carrying all the books for you, despite them weighing next to nothing. Which, really, wasn’t a huge shock. The man could bench press a car if he felt like it.

The cashier, a young guy in his twenties, greeted you with a friendly smile as he began scanning your newest babies.

“Oh, you read The Cruel Prince?” the cashier suddenly asked, lifting the book from your pile with excitement. “I’ve been dying to meet someone else who loves it.”

You couldn’t help but grin, excited to talk about one of your favorites. “Yes! It’s amazing. I love Jude as a character. She’s so strong, and the plot twists? Wild.”

The cashier, clearly eager to engage, leaned in slightly, his elbows resting casually on the counter. “I know, right? I just finished The Wicked King,” he said with a boyish laugh.

“I’m almost done with The Queen of Nothing now.” His eyes flicked up, lingering a moment too long on your face. “You into high fantasy like this, or was it just a one-time thing? ‘Cause if you’re looking for recs… I’ve got a few I think you’d really love.”

You smiled, delighted by the conversation. “Oh, I’m always open to fantasy suggestions. I love character-driven stuff with sharp worldbuilding.”

Completely absorbed, you missed the way the cashier’s eyes dipped briefly down your frame before flicking back up to meet yours. "Lucky for me, you stopped by today.”

Jason, who had been standing just behind you, tensed. Subtly, he stepped closer, the warmth of his body brushing your back as he shifted the weight of the books in his arms. His free hand settled on your waist, low and firm.

It was casual, at least outwardly, but there was nothing casual about the way his fingers flexed slightly against your coat.

The cashier, oblivious or ignoring the shift in energy, handed you the receipt, gaze still lingering. “Seriously, though. A doll like you geeking out over The Cruel Prince? That’s rare. Real rare. Kinda makes a guy believe in fate.”

Jason’s voice cut through the moment, cold enough to make the air around you drop a few degrees. “Yeah,” he said, eyes locked onto the cashier’s now, unreadable but intense. “She’s one of a kind.”

The cashier blinked, clearly feeling the shift, but tried to laugh it off. “Right, of course. I’ll, uh, finish ringing this up.”

Jason didn’t move, didn’t blink. “You do that.”

A moment later, the books were bagged, and the cashier’s enthusiasm had visibly dimmed. He offered a half-hearted smile, handing you the bag. “Enjoy your books.”

Jason took it before you could, his hand brushing against yours as he did. “We will.”

You followed Jason out of the store, blinking at the sudden rush of cold Gotham air. You were about to say something when you caught the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes stayed forward.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jealous?”

He scoffed, but didn’t deny it. “Nah. Just making sure it’s clear. You’re mine.”

You slipped your arm through his. “Always.”

જ⁀➴ TIM DRAKE

“Hi, Timmy Junior,” you crooned, crouching low to the penthouse floor with a dramatic sweep of your coat as it slipped from your shoulders. Your fingers found the cat’s chin, scritching gently beneath the plush fur.

The feline let out a noise of pure bliss, an undignified grrrrrr-rup purr as he leaned his entire ridiculous body weight into your hand.

“You’re so spoiled,” you whispered like a secret, ruffling his ears. “Where’s your dad, huh? Inventing new molecules? Hacking the Pentagon again?”

You padded deeper into the apartment, your heels left by the door, your coat sliding neatly onto the rack with one smooth toss. The air inside was warm and low-lit, cast in that signature honey-gold glow Tim always adjusted for you when you worked late at the hospital. Cozy, inviting. The kind of lighting that lured you toward rest like gravity.

Your gaze landed on him instantly. Folded up on the couch in a soft Gotham U hoodie and well-worn sweatpants, socked feet tucked beneath him, glowing laptop balanced on his knees.

The blue light framed his face like a crime scene photograph. His fingers flew across the keys, precise, fast, controlled. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched just slightly, like whatever he was typing deserved war.

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you launched yourself forward like a sleepy jungle cat and collapsed into his lap, head-first, limbs folding as you burrowed in like you belonged there. Because you did.

Tim paused, but only for a second. Then one arm wrapped around your waist, locking you into place as his other hand resumed its furious typing like your sudden weight had simply activated some comforting subroutine. Like muscle memory. Like ritual.

“You’re late,” he murmured, finally meeting your eyes with that gentle, tired smile you’d always been weak for.

“Code blue,” you mumbled, curling tighter into his hoodie. “And two separate idiots who thought knife fights belonged in the ER lobby.”

He hummed low and familiar. “Gotham.”

You exhaled slowly, melting into him. The scent of him wrapped around you—green tea, clean soap, and ozone, like he hadn’t moved from this couch in hours. The safest smell in the world.

But something… tugged.

You felt it now. His body didn’t soften the way it usually did when you came home. His hold was there, but too controlled. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t kissed your forehead.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Tim’s lips parted like he wanted to deny it, but instead, he let out a breath that deflated his whole chest. “It’s nothing,” he said, almost too fast. “Just… internet drama. Dumb stuff.”

“About work?” you asked, brows raising.

“No,” he said after a beat, tone shifting. “About us.”

You stilled.

Tim blinked at you, then sighed. “You did an interview with Vicky Vale today?”

You blinked again, slower this time. “…Yesh,” you mumbled into his neck. “She was a nightmare in heels, but Bruce said something something ‘positive press,’ ‘curated coverage,’ PR speak, blah blah—”

“Right,” Tim cut in, nodding slowly. Too slowly. “And in that very public interview, broadcast to half of Gotham… you said Nightwing was your favorite vigilante.”

Silence.

You shifted.

“I stand by my words.”

He gasped in faux betrayal and grabbed your hand, holding it up like a piece of evidence. The diamond on your engagement ring caught the light dramatically.

“This is a literal rock,” he said, dead serious. “A shiny, cut-from-the-mountain, six-years-of-our-life-together rock. And that,” he gestured vaguely in the air, “is slander.”

You bit back a grin as he continued, spiraling.

“…Treason, even,” Tim added dramatically, eyes wide with mock hurt. “I should call Bruce. Or the League. Or Alfred. Someone’s has got to arrest you.”

You covered your mouth to stop the laugh threatening to bubble out. “You’re going to tattle on me to Alfred?”

“Damn right I am. He likes me best. He’ll understand.” He pointed a finger accusingly. “And you—you—are officially banned from Titans reruns, YouTube edits, and any content where Nightwing is in leather and doing that thing with his sticks.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “What thing with his sticks?”

Tim looked personally wounded. “You know what thing. The twirly thing! The one with the hip pivot.”

You smirked, throwing your arms around him like a blanket. “Hm. But you're still my favorite fiancé.”

He scowled into your hair. “Not good enough. I want it in writing. Signed affidavit. Notarized.”

“Fine,” you deadpanned. “I, under oath, declare Timothy Jackson Drake to have the second-best butt in Gotham.”

Tim pulled back sharply. “Second?!”

“Best fiancé,” you corrected with a squeal, kicking as he launched a tickle assault. “Best fiancé! Tim! Stop! I swear to—!”

He kept going, merciless and grinning, until you both dissolved into laughter and flailing limbs on the couch. Tim finally flopped beside you, chest heaving, arms still tangled around you.

You were still breathless, clutching your stomach, when he murmured:

“…Still should’ve been first-best butt.”

You reached over and kissed his nose. “You’re number one in my heart.”

“And in Alfred’s rankings.”

“Exactly.”

જ⁀➴ DAMIAN WAYNE

The wind bit at your exposed skin, Gotham’s chill cutting through every crack in your suit, making you shiver despite your best efforts to hide it. You tried to pull the oversized cape tighter around your shoulders, Damian’s cape, and flicked it dramatically, hoping for a bit of extra warmth. It made you feel a little ridiculous, but god, it was warm.

You glanced sideways at Damian, the stone wall of a man beside you, not even acknowledging the cold as he stared down at the street below, his jaw set and his posture as rigid as a statue.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m freezing my ass off in your oversized cape, and you’re standing there like a stone wall, making me look like a damsel in distress.”

Damian flicked a glance at you, his lips barely twitching into a smirk. "You do look ridiculous."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the cape again. It really did swallow you whole. You felt like an overgrown child in a giant’s cloak.

"Well, at least I’m warm," you muttered, "unlike some people."

“Tt. I’m fine, beloved,” he said, but there was a little something extra when he said beloved.

Something warm. Something intense. And despite the cold, your heart did a little leap.

Sexy stone statue, you grumbled to yourself. You were so not above it.

The night air crackled with tension for a moment before Damian broke the silence. “Something’s off. Stay close.”

You straightened, your body on high alert, instinctively leaning closer to him. You followed his gaze toward the flickering lights…A bank alarm.

The unmistakable shriek of Gotham’s most wanted sound—bank robbery.

“Trouble,” you said, giddy with the thrill.

“Indeed,” Damian replied, voice low and dangerous. Before you could respond, he vanished into the night, melting into the shadows.

“Show-off,” you muttered, launching a web and following him across the rooftops.

You landed beside him, crouched above a black van outside the bank. Thugs were unloading duffle bags—money and cologne, Gotham’s finest.

“Someone’s making a withdrawal,” you whispered.

“Then let’s make sure they don’t get too comfortable,” Damian muttered. With a single flick of his wrist, a Batarang flew out, slicing through the air and knocking one of the thieves out.

“Smooth,” you swooned, eyes wide with admiration. “Hey, this might be the best date night we’ve had all month.”

“Tch. I prefer less… crowded dates,” Damian shot back, already taking down another guy with a fluid motion that made it look effortless.

Fast. Precise. Unfairly hot.

You couldn’t help but grin, heart racing as you jumped into the action, doing a flip over one of the thieves to disarm him mid-air. You were all set to land on your feet, ready to keep up the momentum, when suddenly, a shadow slammed into you from nowhere.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, sending you crashing into the rooftop with a grunt.

Damian’s head snapped your way, eyes dark, hand flying to his blade. Ready to kill.

"Wait!" you said, breathless, as you pushed yourself up and caught sight of the person on top of you.

"Black Cat?" you breathed, disbelief flooding your chest.

She grinned down at you, that too-familiar cocky smile spreading across her face.

"Hey, Spider," she said, pressing a hand down on your shoulders, keeping you pinned, her fingers firm and possessive. "Long time no swing. You look… deliciously out of breath."

Your brain short-circuited. "Holy shit. What are you doing in Gotham?"

Before she could answer, a shadow dropped hard beside you. Damian. Radiating absolute fury in a tight, concentrated glare.

“Get. Off.”

Two words. Ice-cold.

Black Cat didn’t flinch. In fact, her grin widened.

"Ooooh," she said, drawing out the syllable like she’d just tasted something expensive. “You must be new. You gotta get in line, cutie. Spider’s got fans, you know.”

“I am not a fan,” Damian snapped. “I am her partner.”

You sat up. “Aw.”

Damian flushed.

“In combat,” he added stiffly.

You winced. “Less aw.”

Black Cat howled. “Oh, this is so much better than I hoped. You got yourself a territorial one, huh?” She leaned in close to Damian, eyes twinkling. “Tell me, do you bite?”

“I don’t bite,” Damian said coldly.

“Oh?” she said with a smirk. “Shame.”

“I maim.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Black Cat tsked, her hips swaying as she walked forward with that signature, cat-like confidence. “Relax, Bird Boy. Just saying hi to my favorite Spider.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Guys! Seriously? We are not doing this right now. We’re literally in the middle of a robbery!”

Black Cat flipped her hair over her shoulder, unfazed. “Handled it already, sweetheart. I snagged the bank’s security drive, webbed the goons to their getaway van, and took care of the heavy lifting before I jumped you. You’re welcome.”

“…You webbed—my web fluid?!” you gawked.

“Borrowed,” Black Cat said airily. “Don’t be stingy.”

“I made that with bio-polymers and blood, you kleptomaniac bat-licking menace—”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you can make another one of your web knick-knacks.”

Damian’s eyes flashed. “Those cartridges are proprietary.”

“Pro‑pri‑e‑tar‑y!” you echoed, stabbing a finger at her. “He means off-limits, you thieving furball!”

Black Cat rolled her shoulders, utterly unbothered. “I’ll return them. Hm… rented at a fair rate, of course. Maybe half a million an ounce?”

Damian growled low in his throat. “You—I'll—”

“Okay, okay, enough. Look. I’ll put them back before breakfast tomorrow, deal?” Black Cat offered, waggling her fingers like this was a brunch invitation and not felony-level theft.

You opened your mouth to protest because you absolutely did not agree to that, but it was too late. With a mock curtsy and a wicked glint in her eye, she vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing like a warning shot.

You turned back to Damian, who stood tense, blade still in hand, every muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“I should have let her fall off the building,” he muttered.

You snorted. “You would never.”

“I could have accidentally loosened her grip.” He sheathed his sword with more force than necessary. “No one touches you like that. No one pins you but me.”

Your brows shot up. “So you do want to pin me—”

“Strategically,” he snapped.

“Strategically?" you purred, arms wrapping round his shoulders. "That’s what we’re calling rooftop makeouts now?”

“I—Tt—focus.” But Damian's hands settled at your waist anyway, traitorously warm. “We need to debrief. Secure the scene. Call in the GCPD. Recheck the vault—”

“Oh, Dames…”

જ⁀➴ CASSANDRA CAIN

You were no better than a man.

You were definitely not supposed to be staring. Or, at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you tried to focus on the workout in front of you. But there was no way you could ignore Cassandra right now.

She was… perfect.

Her form was flawless as she moved through her calisthenics routine. Push-ups, pull-ups, even backflips! Nothing seemed to faze her. And here you were, struggling not to turn into a puddle of goo on the gym floor.

It wasn’t fair, honestly. How was one person allowed to be so hot? You were supposed to be stretching, but instead, you were completely fixated on your girlfriend, who was now hanging effortlessly from the pull-up bar.

She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, you were sitting here pretending to stretch, but your eyes couldn’t stop following her every move. How could you not? She was making calisthenics look like some kind of sexy ballet, and you were feeling some type of way about it.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard the guy who suddenly sidled up to you. You looked up, confused, to see him standing a little too close.

"Hey, uh…" He cleared his throat, clearly trying to sound casual. "I noticed you were watching your friend there… I could totally show you how to lift weights, you know. Maybe even you."

You blinked at him, trying to suppress a laugh. Your brain was still stuck on your friend? Was that supposed to be his pick-up line?

“Uh… really?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you glanced back at Cassandra, still breezing through her workout like she was in some kind of fitness commercial. You could barely keep your mouth from hanging open.

"Yeah!" He puffed out his chest like he was some kind of Greek god. "I can handle lifting your body weight, no problem."

You blinked again. "Oh??"

"Yeah," he said with a cocky grin. "I can totally do it."

You crossed your arms, trying not to burst into laughter. “Okay, then. Show me.”

The guy dropped to his knees in front of you and looked up, ready to lift you. You tried to brace yourself, but honestly, you weren’t sure what was going to happen. This was either going to be impressive or a disaster, and you were pretty sure it was going to be the latter.

He grunted. Nothing.

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he struggled. His face was turning red, sweat starting to drip from his forehead, and—yeah, this was as bad as you expected. He couldn’t even get you an inch off the floor.

“Need help with that?” you asked, barely able to hold back the giggle bubbling up.

“No—no, I’ve got it!” he snapped, lifting harder, but the effort only made him wobble like a newborn giraffe.

"Maybe next time, huh?" you said with a sigh, holding back your amusement.

Then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Cassandra appeared. You didn’t even see her coming. One second, the guy was still struggling with the whole “lifting you” thing, and the next, Cassandra was casually stepping between the two of you. She looked at him like he was a bug she couldn’t be bothered with, then lifted you effortlessly with one hand.

You froze.

One hand.

The guy’s face drained of color as Cassandra set you down like you were a stuffed animal she was tossing back on the shelf. She didn’t even glance at him as she flicked her hair back, returning to her workout like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, the guy? He was just standing there. Shocked. Maybe a little bit scared. His mouth was moving, but no words came out.

Could not have imagined a more embarrassing moment for him…

Turning to Cassandra, your grin only widened. “Baby… you just broke his soul.”

Cassandra didn’t even glance your way. She simply raised an eyebrow, then shot you a small smile as she signed, He should have known better.

As you were about to respond, the guy finally seemed to snap out of his daze. He stammered something about ‘his form’ and ‘next time’ before practically sprinting off, likely rethinking every choice he’d made that led him to this moment.

You chuckled under your breath, eyes flicking back to Cassandra. “Well, looks like you just ruined his chances of ever lifting a girl again.”

Cassandra shrugged, clearly unfazed, and went back to her pull-up bar. Not my problem.

As she started packing her things, she shot you a sly smirk. Let’s go home. I’ll give you a workout of your own.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “That… sounds promising.”

And just like that, the gym, the only thing on your mind now was what your workout would look like tonight.

Goopyness... This was very fun to write!

My requests are open! Please...Uwu

#batfamily x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #redhood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader #cassandra cain #cassandra wayne #cassandra cain x reader #batfamily #batman

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cupcakefactory · 8 days ago

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A plane fact to remember.

Summary: It started when he gave you a random plane fact, and ended with you a shivering mess in his arms as he bullied your cunt. Calebs random facts had always been a part of your life, but now, it was different.

Pairing: Plane Nerd Caleb x Reader

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, Mean caleb, a little dumbification, Improper use of evol, orgasm control, edging, cockwarming, light sub/dom vibes, writer doesn't know fuck all about planes so google is my co-writer, fem nicknames, use of pipsqueak

Calebs' Adjutant: @hiqhkey, @mikasaredscarf1 (tag list signup is at the end <3)

N/A: I just discovered this made it onto twitter so hello everyone from there!! Welcome to my small corner of the internet 🥹🩷

It had started innocently enough, leaning on the counter of Caleb's home in Skyhaven. He was making lemonade, chatting easily about your recent missions and his flights – you’d mentioned in passing that he never seemed to complain about turbulence, something that recently had made you nauseous on your long-haul flight. He’d raised an eyebrow at that

“Well, yeah, pips, it's easier to avoid it in a military or private jet. We don’t gotta follow the flight paths and can fly higher to avoid it. It ain’t much of an issue at 40,000ft.”

He laughed, but your eyes widened. It had been years since Caleb had spoken of his interests, his love for planes, and the weird facts he would spurt out. You still remember the first time he had told you planes could easily run on one engine – how that fact made your tiny mind explode. How could something as big as a plane still fly safely with only one engine?!

You missed it, and so, you told him that.

What you didn’t expect was to end up in his lap, his cock pushed between your pussys lips as he made you sit there. You weren’t allowed to move; you knew better than that - no matter how much friction you craved, you just had to take it. His cock felt amazing, it pushed against every nerve in the perfect way, as if just like its owner it knew all the best ways to pleasure you. His nails ran up and down your sides, head tilting with a teasing smirk.

“So plane facts then, let's make this fun, sweetheart. Your gonna sit here, all pretty on my cock and memorise everything I tell you.. if you get my questions right at the end.. ill let you cum. Okay?”

You nodded eagerly, not really thinking about what he was saying – it didn’t matter when he was inside you and not moving. Your mind was already fraying at the edges with pure need, a pure desire to feel him move, and if nodding would make that happen quicker than so be it. You only realised you may have fucked up when he leant back against the couch cushions, hands on your hips.

“Let's see.. Oh, I know. A commercial jet cruises at around 575 miles per hour – that's 75% the speed of light, pips!-“

He spoke quickly, hands slipping off your hips and flying around in the air as he spoke, making movements like a plane moving quickly. The way his eyes lit up and the smile that tugged on his lips were enough to distract you from your need for a moment.

“- it could cross the Atlantic Ocean in about 7 hours! That’s why I can get to Linkon and back so quickly.”

Always the tease, he knew what to say to fluster you and make you smile. He had made a habit of visiting you randomly, and now you knew why; it’s just because he could quickly. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice his hands moving again until they cupped your breasts, tugging on a nipple gently and making you gasp.

“Earth to pipsqueak, I haven’t finished yet. Keep listening.”

A quick nod and he was off again, yet this time, the glint in his eyes seemed more evil than playful.

“Let me tell you about the cockpit then.. You know, we don’t start planes with key fobs like you do cars. We gotta use the ignition control – basically a series of switches. They have 5 positions on them..”

His hands landed on your hips as he smirked

“First is off, like this, yeah?”

You felt him tug you left, dick finally moving – a sharp moan breaking free from your throat at the feeling.

“Then we have left.. and let's not forget right”

You were tugged right before you could recover, mouth falling open in another moan as he laughed cruelly.

“Both..”

He shifted you left and right quickly, pressing against every nerve perfectly. Your clit rubbed against him, leaving a sticky mess in its wake. Neither of you cared enough to stop, he kept shifting you until he spoke again

“and finally start.”

You felt the familiar tingling of his Evol, eyes widening as he lifted you up and down against his length. Sat back against the pillows with his arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face – you looked blissed out, too far gone from finally getting the stimulation you craved to hear him finish his facts. You whined when his Evol pulled you down sharply again – holding you in place.

“Okay then.. time for Caleb's quiz, sweet girl.”

Your eyes widened as he asked his questions, the first few you got right and he rewarded you. A finger on your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good but, just wasn’t enough, he was playing your body like a fiddle. Make you desperate for him and only him.

It was only when you started to mess up that things became.. mean.

“Nuhu, naughty pipsqueak. The temperature drops to negative fifty degrees Celsius not 30. Remember, it’s because the engine compresses air more effectively, burning less fuel.”

His fingers stopped moving as he spoke, eyes hardening. You felt tears threaten to spill as he stopped, the friction you so desperately needed gone – you had been so close. Your orgasm was just a little push away, and now it was torn from your grasp.

“Aww, sweet girl, no, don’t cry. I should have known Pipsqueak can’t answer my questions... always disappointing me.. What should I do about that?”

He changed positions, so you were against the couch, hips moving slowly as he pretended to think. The friction was nice, but not nearly enough, and he knew that. Knew you weren’t getting what you desperately needed, he kept this up for what felt like hours-

“I’ve got it, your gonna take my cock like a good girl and not cum until I say. That’s your punishment, now be good, don’t disappoint me again.”

You heard that warning in his voice, his colonel's tone slipping through as his hips sped up. You had bratted him up once and came without permission. It wasn’t worth it, the punishment that followed, where he denied you his cock for 6 weeks was near on agony. You couldn’t do that again, refused to go through it, so you bit your lip and held your need off.

Your cult clenched and unclenched as he moved, moans spilling from your mouth that was now permanently open. He was impressed, really. Your control had improved so much from the first time you had slept together. He kept thrusting until he was close, until his stomach clenched with need, leaning into your ear, he whispered one command.

“Cum”

You fell apart, crying out his name, tears falling down your cheeks as your release finally spilled from you. He wasn’t far apart, pulling you against his chest as he spilled inside. Neither of you said anything for a long while, his fingers just ran up and down your back, smiling.

“So proud of you.. so proud of you.. That’s my good girl. That’s Caleb’s good girl.”

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated <3

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blank-potato · 1 month ago

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need that

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror. Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him. He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?” You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Or You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, confessions, pining, yearning, all hours are yearning hours for reader

WC: 2.3K

A/N: Thank you @fire-joestar for this request and idea! I have another one for Bob with the same concept here. Hope you all enjoy it!

☆☆☆

You wanted John Walker so bad that it was becoming a problem. Friends weren’t supposed to be crazy in love with other friends, but here you were, heart racing every time he so much as looked your way.

It came to the point where he’d be standing still, and you’d just be absolutely losing your mind. The way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirts, it was enough to short-circuit your brain.

Like when he caught you staring and started talking to you about his guns, “This one is pretty good for close-quarters. Lightweight, easy trigger…”

You nod along and pretend to pay attention, but it’s hot the way he’d handle them, all casual and confident. The way his fingers curled around the grip, the intensity in his eyes when he explained the mechanics, you’d transform into a gun right now if you could, just for the chance to be held like that.

“You still with me?” John asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you that crooked half-smile that never failed to melt your brain.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, even though he’d lost you as soon as you saw the veins in his hand flex around the barrel. You’re not even sure what he’s talking about anymore. Tactical specs? Firing range? Who cares.

"Cool," he says, and goes right back to talking shop, completely unaware that you're about three seconds away from combusting.

It was an everyday occurrence. But during training, it was something else entirely. That’s when things really test your self-control.

Flipping you over like you weighed nothing during sparring sessions, he was strong and agile, all precision and power wrapped in that unfairly good-looking package. You found yourself on the mat more often than not, too distracted to fight properly.

Not to mention listening to him talk, helping direct you on how to angle your arms, how to keep your balance and improve your fighting stance. It was so distracting the way he’d give directions, voice low and focused.

“Right foot here, and I want you to put all your weight behind it when you punch,” he’d say, tapping the mat lightly where he wanted your foot to go.

“Alright,” you murmur, trying not to sound like you're dying inside, and you try again, not quite doing as he instructed. He observes you for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Can I?” he asks, hands hovering near your hips, asking for permission, like you wouldn’t let him do pretty much anything.

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

He moves your hips into place with a firm, steady grip that has no business being that gentle. “Now,” he continues, voice closer now, “shift forward and twist your hips, it has to be all one movement.”

He’d basically been manhandling you, guiding your arms, adjusting your hips until you were exactly where he wanted you. But still, he was gentle and patient, never getting frustrated, always calm, always in control.

And it was so unbelievably hot.

You could only imagine where else those firm instructions and steady hands would come in handy. The way he said, "twist your hips"? Yeah, you were already spiralling.

“I’ve lost you again,” John says, catching the faraway, glazed-over look on your face, one brow raised.

“No, no, I’m… I’m here,” you stammer, blinking hard and trying to pull yourself back into the moment, even though your brain had very much left the building five minutes ago. He smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And you’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

But you’re hopeless whether or not he’s interacting with you or not. Watching him work out in any capacity was a dangerous game. You were at risk of keeling over and dying on the spot every single time.

Watching him run on the treadmill, sweat glistening on his skin, shirt clinging to every sculpted line of muscle. Or when he boxed, the way his muscles rippled with every jab, every hook, every fluid, powerful movement. You were obsessed.

You put your head in your hands for a second, trying to cool down your spiralling thoughts, then looked back up at him.

He turned to you just then, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and asked, “Did you need something?”

“N-nope,” You stutter out as you walk backwards out of the room, bumping into multiple walls, your eyes not once leaving his shirtless body.

Though you liked the little things too.

He offers to drive you wherever you need to go, because, well, after a few incidents of reckless driving, your license had been suspended.

In your defence, it was a matter of life and death. Several times. But try explaining that you were being hunted by sword-wielding assassins and not getting laughed out of the room.

You climb into the passenger seat, trying not to feel awkward about it.

“Thanks…” You mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He glances over at you, mouth tugging into a faint smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, teasing just enough to make your chest flutter.

He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. The windows are down, wind in his hair, sun in his eyes. Then once you reach your destination, he does the thing.

The thing where he puts his arm around the back of your seat as he reverses, his jawline sharp in the golden wash of afternoon light, the clean, strong line of his neck exposed beneath the collar of his shirt.

You don’t know why it has you holding your breath, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual way he does it, like he’s done it a hundred times. Or the fact that he’s so in control and completely unaware of how stupidly attractive what he’s doing is.

You’re gawking, and you know you’re gawking, but you’re only human. Gawking was your speciality, and you’re always putting yourself in situations to do it.

Like when he’d be on cooking duty and you’d jump at the opportunity to be his unofficial sous-chef, just to be near him. You’re currently struggling with this godforsaken onion. Eyes watering, grip awkward, and the knife refusing to cooperate.

“I can do that for you,” John offers gently, taking the onion from your hands with that same ease he handled everything. “The blade’s dull, that’s why you’re having such a hard time…”

You nod, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you watch him grab the knife-sharpening rod. He starts working the blade against it with practised movements.

John Walker is an acts of service king; you noticed it early on. One time, you had barely even acknowledged that you were thirsty. There was no glass of water in front of you, you barely even sighed, but before you could even stand, John had quietly placed one in your hand without a word.

Or when you fell asleep on the couch, and felt the weight of a blanket being placed on top of you, the warm, familiar scent of his cologne letting you know it was him. You didn’t even have to open your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wake you.

Just made sure you were comfortable and tucked the blanket around your shoulders. He could be loud, commanding, the centre of attention when he needed to be, but moments like that reminded you of how soft he could be when no one was looking.

You snap out of the memory, focusing back on him as he now dices the onion with mechanical precision, the knife gliding like it was an extension of his hand.

“See? Easy when your tools actually work,” he says with a half-smile, glancing your way.

A few days later, you were searching for him to get some insight on a mission you’d all be heading out on later that day.

You try not to swoon. Or stare. Or let him see how completely ridiculous it is that someone chopping onions could look that good.

But honestly? It’s a losing battle.

“John?” you called out from outside his door, your knuckles tapping lightly.

“Come in!” he called back casually.

You step inside. His room was as clean and precise as you’d expect. Neatly made bed, organised, everything in its place. You glance around, not seeing him at first, but the moment you step into the bathroom, your soul threatens to leave your body.

You’d seen him shirtless often enough that you should be used to it by now, but nope. Especially not like this. The room was steamy from the shower, and he stood there with only a towel slung low around his hips, v-line in full view, chest gleaming slightly in the light.

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror.

Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?”

You blinked, realising you’d been staring.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, I… just came to ask about the mission.”

He turned slightly, not even trying to cover up. “Sure. Just give me a second to finish up. Unless you’re in a rush?”

You shook your head fast. “No rush. I can wait.”

So you stay there, doing your best to focus as he continues to shave.

You start going over the mission details to distract yourself, letting him know the objectives, listening to his responses, but it’s nearly impossible.

Thankfully, the next, next mission, you sat out with Bob, spending the day chilling and playing Mario Kart with him. It was easy and a perfect distraction from the John problem, as you started dubbing it. Until the rest of the team walked back in.

They looked rough. Bruised, dirty, clearly fresh off a firefight. John was at the front, jaw tight, a few shallow cuts on his arms and a particularly nasty one near his temple that definitely needed attention, yet he still somehow looked unfairly good.

You barely had time to blink before his eyes found yours. Then he was moving, across the room, straight to where you were still curled up on the couch.

Without a word, he jerked his head toward the hallway. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, glancing at the others like someone might tell you what the hell was happening, but no one seemed surprised. With a sigh, you stood and followed him down the hall to a quiet, empty corner. Why this was his number one priority after a mission was beyond you.

“We do?” you asked, arms crossing defensively.

“You’ve been looking at me weird for a while now,” he said, tone unreadable but eyes locked on yours.

You froze. “What?”

He stepped a little closer. “You have. In the kitchen. In the gym. In my car. You stare.”

Your mouth opened but closed just as fast. How on earth would you rebut any of his claims? You doubt you had been subtle in the slightest; if someone made a compilation of you staring at John, they’d have enough footage to make a movie.

“You’re imagining things,” you said, way too quickly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Am I?”

You step back, but your back hits the wall, the space between the two of you impossibly small.

“You like me, don’t you?”

Hearing that you’re sure it’s over for you. You stand there waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, but then his fingers are under your chin, tipping your head up gently.

“It’s okay if you do,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like me too.”

You let out a breathy laugh and swat at his chest playfully. “Asshole…”

He laughs with you, but soon his expression softens, the teasing giving way to something deeper.

“I like you too,” he says quietly.

The words hit like fireworks going off in your chest. You mean that?” You ask to which John answers genuinely, “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you…” You start, heart racing, “Do you want to show me how much you like me?” you ask, voice dropping, the boldness rising in your chest before you can second-guess it.

He smirks at you, then he pulls you in, his hands cupping your face like you’re something fragile and precious. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt as you hold onto his arms. Without them, you’d be a puddle on the floor. The kiss slowly deepens, becoming more passionate, more desperate. Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer like it’s instinct. He groans softly at the touch, one hand slipping from your cheek to your waist, then he slots his knee between your legs and…

“No, no, no. Not outside my room,” Yelena interrupts with a sigh, “Take that somewhere private.”

Alexei is grinning like a proud dad, arms folded, nodding approvingly. Bucky is concerned about how quickly you guys started making out against the wall.

Ava just throws up her hands in relief, muttering, “Finally,” under her breath, clearly thrilled that she no longer has to witness you making heart eyes at John during every single meal, briefing, and training session.

And Bob? Bob’s smiling, warm and supportive, genuinely happy for you both… though mildly overwhelmed, like he just walked into something he isn’t entirely sure how to exit.

John chuckles, slipping his hand into yours. “Well… you heard the lady.”

You groan into your hands, face burning.

Yelena’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. If you two are going to be gross again, do it behind a closed door.”

He pulls you towards his room, and the second you get inside, you shove him onto his bed, trying to peel his suit off.

“Eager, aren’t you?” John chuckles.

“Shut up.”

Masterlist

#john walker #thunderbolts #john walker x reader #x reader #fluff #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts x reader #gender neutral reader #implied smut #john walker fanfic #friends to lovers #thunderbolts*#the new avengers #new avengers #marvel fanfic #mcu fic #marvel fic

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poisonofthepaint · 2 months ago

Text

thinking of you

jack broke up with you because he said you needed someone younger. yet, he's still offended when he hears you're going on a date with someone else. you show up to his apartment to set the record straight.

cw: MDNI, make up sex to the max, pinv, no protection, kind of angsty but like not really, reader is independent and sort of snappy (for good reason), nipple sucking, pet names (angel, honey, sweetheart), not sure what else lmk if you see anything!

a/n: i wrote this off two beers so i'm gonna say i proofread it, but who knows...

wc: 2k

Jack didn't get pissed off. Sure, he would get mildly annoyed. He could snap. But he was never filled with unbridled rage. He could contain himself, calm himself down. He learned it in the military. He knew you couldn’t fight as well if you were angry, it clouded your judgement too much, you have to keep, at least a little bit, of a level head.

But tonight, Jack was pissed off. Robby had told him you had a date tonight. He told Jack over text, saying he, ‘figured he should know.” Jack couldn’t decide if he was thankful for the message or not.

That is what he said to you, when it ended. That you needed someone your own age. That you needed to get out there and act your age. It wasn’t good to work with someone and date them, act older than you need to. It was self-defense, he later realized. He was insecure about himself, and what he could or could not give you, so he ended it. He couldn’t believe you had listened to his incoherent ramblings. What he said made no sense, and he knew that now, but he also knew he had to take a step back and leave you the hell alone. He had fucked up, that was for sure. Begging for you back, when you had no reason to come back, would be even more fucked up.

He was regretting that mentality right now, all he wanted to do was call you. To tell you to come home. To come back to him. That guy didn’t know how to treat you, he didn’t know what you needed. He was only there to get in your pants. You were far too fucking intelligent for some immature douchebag. Jack knew what you needed, he was the only one who knew how to treat you right. He would give anything for you. This kid would not. Jack didn’t even need to know his name to know that.

Jack’s finger hovered over the call button on your contact. He tried to think of some emergency to get you to come see him instead of being on that date. But he couldn’t think of anything. There was no reason, fake or real, why you shouldn’t be on that date.

He sighs, puts down his phone, sits in his recliner. His cushy chair, one of the only things he has splurged on in his life, faces the window, which overlooks the city. The buildings sparkle at him. It’s around seven, usually he’d be at work by now, but it was his day off. He wishes it wasn’t, he wishes that he had something to distract him. He thinks about grabbing his go bag, thinks about changing into what he wears under his scrubs and telling Shen and Ellis to just leave him the hell alone and let him work. But, he hears you in the back of his head, telling him to slow down, telling him to wait a moment, to sit with what he’s thinking instead of shoving it down.

So that’s what he does. He sits. And he thinks. And he fucking prays to whoever is listening. That you’re safe. That you’re having an okay time. That maybe you’ll come back. Even though he’s a piece of shit. Even though he’s the one who told you to leave. You’re just following his orders, after all.

Three small, basically unhearable, knocks strike his door. He pushes off his chair with a sigh, thankful he didn’t take off his prosthetic yet. He figures it’s a neighbor, he lives by a lot of older women who tend to check up on him.

He opens the door with a force, but his eyes get heavy when he realizes it’s you standing there.

“Did he fucking hurt you?” Jack thunders.

“What? How do you even know where I was?”

“Answer me.”

“No, he didn’t hurt me. He just–”

“You’re scaring me a bit, sweetheart.”

You let out a long breath, Jack has both of his hands on your shoulders, giving you the eye exam of a lifetime.

“He didn’t hurt me, he’s just not you. He’s too, spritely. Too eager. I don’t know.”

Jack fights a smile, he bites the inside of his cheek. “No one is me.”

“Not the time to be fucking cocky, Jack. We need to seriously talk.”

The smile he was fighting fades from his face. He becomes pale, his heart is tachy.

“You fucked me up real good. You told me I was wrong about something that felt so right–” you say, crossing your arms and staring. You’ve entered the apartment at this point. You stand at the island in the kitchen.

He cuts you off. “I was wrong. I’m wrong. You’re what I need. I need you more than I need work, and I’ve never said that about anything.”

Jack swipes a hand over his face, crossing the room to come stand in front of you. “I was scared, I was being a fucking pussy. Worrying about what people would think, worrying about you.”

“I don’t need anyone to worry about me.” you state firmly.

“I know that. I know that. Please, give it another go with me. I won’t fuck it up. I won’t. I see what it’s like now. I see it. I hear it. Loud and clear.” he’s inches from your face, holding you at your hips.

You don’t move just yet. Your eyes scan his, you're used to his eye contact by now. You’re searching for any signs of lying, any signs of unseriousness, but there isn’t any. Jack gives you a sharp nod. His eyes are so sharp, you think that they could cut daggers into yours.

You swiftly nod back, just once. Up and down. And that’s all it takes.

Jack’s lips are on yours before you can inhale. All teeth and tongue, he wastes no time showing you how much he missed you. The grip at your hips tightens, and he pulls you closer to him, so that your hips grind against his. So that your stomach can feel his abs through the worn gray cotton t-shirt he has on. You try not to notice that it’s the shirt you would sleep in when you slept over, but you do. Because he’s a sentimental man, because he’s obviously been punishing himself with his memories of you.

He comes up for air and shakes his head at you. “Thank you.” he kisses you again.

“Thank me?” you query.

“Thank you for coming back. You know what I need.”

“You know what I need. I never had to fucking ask for anything. You just knew. Before I did.” you admit.

“You know me too. You know me better than anyone does, angel.”

You pull his face back to yours. Eager to feel his lips after a long five months.

He grabs your hips again, hoisting you up onto him. You wrap around his midsection. The friction from your jeans rubs you just right and you moan into Jack.

“Tell me more,” is all he says in response.

You groan. “I didn’t miss your old man jokes.”

“Yes you did, that’s why you’re here.”

He lays you back in the bed and doesn’t give you a chance to respond. The kisses become more fervent as he pushes the gym shorts off of himself. You make quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down, along with your underwear.

You and Jack didn’t need to talk it through any more. You were on the same page. You just understood it. You two could go hours without speaking, and still say a million words to each other.

It’s like at work, all you had to do was shoot him a look and he understood. When a patient wasn’t going to make it, when something suspicious was going on, when something hysterical was going on, but you couldn’t laugh. You didn’t need words to convey how you were feeling. And if your eyes weren’t going to tell him tonight, your cunt definitely was. You could feel yourself dripping onto his sheets.

“I don’t think I have any condoms. I–” Jack’s eyes dance around his minimalistic bedroom.

“I don’t care. I’m clean, you’re clean. Please, I need it.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He lines himself up, groans at the wet spot on the bed. And then he goes in. One long, deep, thrust. He bottoms out. You throw your head back onto the pillows before you’re reminded of his ‘thing’. Your eyes snap up at him and he grins. A cheshire smile. One that you couldn’t forget if you tried.

His cock curves inside you like you’re two puzzle pieces. You clench around him until he has to ask you to let up.

He sets his pace. Long, deep, hard. Jack wasn’t one to fuck fast. He needed to enjoy it. To soak it all in. To feel you, to remember every inch of your walls. He wanted to always remember each individual fuck. What sets them apart? How did you look when you came this time versus the other fifty times? He once told you he thought about starting a sex journal so he could become the best at getting you off.

Jack has about zero thoughts in his head that don’t surround around making you finish. He wants it like a prisoner wants an escape. He feels like he just saw his parole officer and they set him free, or put him on house arrest, he’s sure he’s not completely out of the dog house, but none of that matters to him now.

He’s inside you, and you’re making the noises he’s dreamt about every night since you left. “That’s it, pretty girl. That’s it.”

You clench again, hard. “I wanna– fuck– be on top.”

He doesn’t respond, just flips you over.

You straddle his waist and he pulls you in closer, sucking on your pert nipple. Jack guides your hips up and down before giving into what he really wants to do.

Instead of moving you, he holds you still, opting to drive his cock up into you. You hiss, make a noise between a groan and a squeal. You bury your head into his shoulder and it moves you impossibly closer to him.

He shifts so that one arm has a hold of your waist. The other comes between your two bodies, searching for your clit. He finds it, without looking, and rubs sharp circles that follow his pace on it. Your head flies back.

“Fuck I’m—”

“Yup, me too, honey. C’mon, let me have it. Let it all go.”

You gasp at the feeling. It rushes out of you almost as soon as you recognize the tight knot in your stomach. You can’t control your noises anymore, and neither can Jack.

He comes with you, burying his cock into your heat. He groans, over and over, and then pants.

You hum against him, resting your sweaty forehead against his. He moves so he can place a kiss on yours, a sweet one, to tell you you’re okay.

Neither of you make any effort to move, pleased to stay intertwined after being separated.

“What was his name?”

“Here come the questions. Can’t you let me enjoy this?”

“Never,” Jack quips. He shoots you a look, waiting for his answer.

“His name is Jack.”

His face turns pale, all jokes leave his brain, “You went on a date with someone who has my name?”

“I thought it would make the transition easier! I was hoping you wouldn’t ask!” you shake your head in shame.

“How old was he?”

“Oh my god. That I am not answering. It doesn’t matter. The whole time I just thought about you, and your bullshit excuses for ending it. Telling me I need someone younger, c’mon.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Forgotten. We’re here now. Just don’t ever fucking do it again. I hate working day shift.” your face lights up. “Is that how you found out? Did Robby say something to you?”

Your mouth falls open at Jack’s cackling.

“So old men gossip too, got it. This is fucked.”

Jack shakes his head at you, calms himself down. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here.”

“You don’t have to. I know.”

#jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot smut #jack abbot #jack abbot fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #jack ⋆⁺₊❅. ㅤ

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