#asking me if i was actually real or trying to make me seem like i wasnt real?? like as a joke??

[sweet-villain]

A Heart Dared To Be Broken~ Eddie Munson

Summary : You were just a bet to Eddie.

Angst

You leaned against the plaster wall of the school hallway, fingers tracing the fading band posters. Laughter rippled from the courtyard, but the words that pierced through sent a chill racing down your spine.

“Eddie’s just doing it for the bet, man.” Mike’s voice carried over the swelling noise.

Lucas chuckled, mocking disbelief. “No way. He wouldn’t—”

“Definitely would,” Mike interrupted. “Harrington dared him. Said he couldn’t score a date with you.”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting.

“What if he actually likes her?” Lucas asked, concern knitting his brow.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike replied. “It’s all for the glory of Harrington’s stupid dare. Can you see him getting serious?”

Your heartbeat quickened as their words spun around you. They didn’t know you listened; they thought their secrets were safe.

“No way,” Lucas muttered. “She’s… different.”

“Different?” Mike scoffed. “Eddie just wants to prove he can. It’s a game.”

Footsteps approached, laughter fading as they stepped away. You stepped back, breath caught in your throat.

Betrayed. The weight of their words stung sharper than any teen drama. Eddie leaned against the nearby locker, a grin plastered on his face, unaware of the storm swirling inside you.

" Good Morning, sweetheart" Eddie greets you. In that moment, his smile felt like a slice of sunshine, warm yet blinding. You forced an uneasy grin in return.

“Hey,” you managed, adjusting your grip on the strap of your backpack.

“Ready for the big history test?”

Eddie crossed his arms, feigning a relaxed posture, but the playful glint in his eyes hinted at mischief. “You mean the one where I’m gonna ace it and you’re gonna...”

Your laugh cut him off, more strainedthan amused. His eyes sparkled with a challenge, but a tightness coiled in your stomach.

“...struggle?” he finished, a teasing lilt in his voice. 

" You're so funny" you roll your eyes into your locker looking for books. You rummaged through your locker, the metal cool against your fingers. Textbooks jostled, their spines creaking, almost mocking your growing anxiety.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna study?” Eddie nudged your shoulder, laughter dancing in eyes.

" I have more important things to do" he stopped laughing. The weight of his gaze deepened, framing your unease in the air between you. You diverted your attention to the array of books, willing your heart to steady.

" Like what? Draw in your sketchbook? " Eddie tilted his head, an eyebrow arched in mock disbelief. 

“Just trying to find my study materials,” you replied, attempting nonchalance. You could almost hear the sarcasm in your own voice. Pain bloomed in your chest while Eddie observed you, amusement flickering as you struggled to maintain composure. 

“Right, your study materials.” He leaned in closer, his presence both electric and unsettling. “You mean the scribbles or the doodles of creatures that don't exist?”

Your determination to remain casual wavered. The pictures flashed in your mind, sketches of monsters that seemed more real than ever since you first picked up the pencil. 

“Creatures can exist,” you retorted, diverting your eyes back to the locker. “You just have to look closely.”

Eddie pushed off the locker, leaning back as if he intended to take the conversation in a new direction. “Alright, Picasso.” He smirked. “So if if I slide you a piece of paper, you’ll draw my portrait?” 

“Only if you promise to stop calling me Picasso,” you shot back, crossing your arms. Your heart raced, but you felt the urge to keep the banter alive.

For a moment forgetting you are just a bet to him. “Deal,” Eddie said, chuckling as he pushed a stray curl back from his forehead. “I’ll even throw in a classic Munson smile for your masterpiece.”

Inside your mind you were plotting your revenge on him. He wasn't about to make you a fool. Not anymore. 

The bell rang, a shrill cry echoing through the corridor. Students drifted past, laughter intertwining with chatter, but the noise felt distant. Your focus narrowed on Eddie’s grin, a mask painted over a reality you could no longer ignore.

“Guess we should get to class,” you said, forcing a lightness into your voice while the weight of his betrayal pressed down on you.

You slammed your locker making Eddie jump a bit hearing the slam. Eddie blinked, clearly startled by the sudden noise. A mix of confusion and concern flashed across his face, but the usual grin still lingered at the corners of his mouth.

“Whoa, easy there,” he said, backing off with raised hands as if trying to placate a wild animal. “Didn’t mean to disturb the masterpiece over here.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t just making fun of me,” you snapped back, but even you could hear the edge of humor in your voice. 

Eddie feigned innocence, placing a hand over his heart. “Me? I would never,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But if it makes you feel better, I could always pose like a stick figured warrior instead. Less pressure, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, edging toward a smile.

His playful banter hung in the air, an invisible thread connecting you, but the realization hardened the smile on your lips. Just a bet. Just a game. 

Eddie starts talking about his campagin last night but all you could think about is getting revenge on him. “You should’ve seen it,” Eddie continued, oblivious to the storm brewing within you. “Crawling through the yards, battling against the undead—Lucas got all dramatic about losing his sword, though it was just a stick he found in the woods. I swear, the guy needs a lesson in imagination,” Eddie chuckled, his animated gestures drawing you in despite your frustration. 

“Right, because sticks are the key to a successful campaign ” you replied, your voice laced with dry humor. 

Eddie threw his head back, laughter erupting from his lips. “Absolutely! You’d be surprised at the power of a well-placed stick.” He gestured grandly, illustrating the absurdity with wild swings of his arms, the laughter in his tone like a melody coaxing you to forget the turmoil churning within. 

You matched his enthusiasm with a tight smile, fighting to mask the bitterness. “If only

if only everything else were just as simple,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

Eddie’s laughter faltered, and he turned to you, genuine curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”The curiosity in his gaze pulled at any lingering threads of resentment, but you steeled yourself. "Nothing," you replied. You hated that your voice trembled, that you felt so vulnerable standing in front of him as he blinked, searching for something deeper behind your facade. 

“C’mon,” he pressed, his tone softening. “You can’t just drop a line like that and leave me hanging.” 

You took a breath, willing the flicker of unease to settle. Eddie’s concern felt like a chain wrapping tighter around you, holding you in place. 

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice barely held up in the chaos. 

Eddie studied you, his brow furrowing, genuine concern brewing behind his playful exterior. “Just be real for a second. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, caught between the urge to spill everything and the instinct to guard your heart.

You took a deep breathe, rolling your eyes as you kept to yourself heading into the classroom, with a confused Eddie behind falling in step. Inside the classroom, desks sprawled before you like a battlefield. Your mind swirled with chaos, fogging your thoughts while sunlight streamed through the dusty windows.

Eddie plopped onto his seat beside yours, the weight of his presence both familiar and hurtful. 

He leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, arms draping over the backrest. “So, what’s the plan? Are we gonna sit here in silence, or do I need to start cracking more jokes until you crack a smile?” 

You stared at the desk in deep thought not daring to look at him. You thought you meant something to him but he only wanted to please Harrington winning the stupid bet. You pressed your palms flat against the cool surface of the desk, grounding yourself in the midst of the storm swirling inside you. 

“Why do you care?” The words slipped out, sharper than intended.

Eddie turned to you, eyebrows raisedin surprise. “Why wouldn���t I care?”

You broke eye contact, your fingers picking nervously at the edge of your notebook. “You know,” you replied, each word heavy with unspoken tension, “people don’t usually care about stories that aren’t theirs. You just want the thrill, the chase. A bet.”

His expression shifted, confusion sweeping across his features like a shadow. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” You shot back, finally meeting his gaze

with a fire igniting in your chest. You leaned closer, the distance between you and Eddie shrinking but the gulf of understanding growing wider.

“C’mon, you think I’m some trophy for you to snag just because Steve put up a dare ?” The words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Eddie's mouth opened, then closed, like a fish out of water, searching for air, for a response. His eyes flickered with

" You think I didn't notice? You think I'm some stupid girl? You don't look at me the way you look at Chrissy over there." Eddie's face fell, disappointment etching its lines deeper. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Your voice broke slightly, turning your vulnerability into a question loaded with disbelief. “Why play me for a dare? You don't even know me!”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” Eddie leaned closer, the intensity in his gaze pinning you like a fluttering moth against the wall. “You think I don’t know you? We’ve been hanging out for weeks and I like you. You’re not just some dare to me.” His sincerity cut through the fog of disbelief that loomed over you.

“Weeks,” you repeated, scoffing. “A couple of jokey lunches and borrowed mixtapes don ’t mean anything when it’s built on a foundation of deceit.”

Eddie flinched, the wind knocked from his sails as your words landed hard between you.

" I mean look at this way, you just wanted to prove Harrington wrong. That's it." Eddie recoiled slightly as if you’d thrown an invisible dart. “You really think I’m that shallow?” His voice wavered, disbelief lacing his words. “You think it’s just about proving some point to Steve?”

“Your always trying to pick a fight or banter with him. You never considered someone else's feelings" Eddie’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your accusation visibly sinking in. “Seriously? You really think I’m the type to just chase a dare?” 

" You can tell Harrington you got me fooled, what a win for Eddie Munson" you clapped, rolling your eyes. His expression darkened, eyes narrowing like a storm brewing on the horizon. “You think I want to just be some mindless pawn in this stupid game? That’s not me!”

“Maybe not,” you shot back, your voice steadying with the anger spilling over. “But it sure looks like it when you let him call the shots.”

Eddie leaned forward, determination igniting his gaze. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture.”

" Oh? Poor Eddie Munson can't get his dick hard then, is that it?" His expression twisted, surprise morphing into something sharper. 

“Wow,” he said, voice low and steady. “That’s a new low, even for you.” Anger tinged his words, but confusion lingered beneath, like a storm.

" Cry me a river, Munson" Eddie's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with defiance. He exhaled slowly, controlling the fire flickering within. “You’re really painting me with a broad brush here, aren’t you? You don’t even know what I’m capable of.”

“Clearly not much,” you shot back, frustration bubbling over as the hum of classroom chatter faded into the background.

" You're not scary, Eddie. I don't care what your capable of, clearly you can't even get a date" Eddie’s nostrils flared, and the color drained from his face. His frustration morphed into hurt, but underneath the rawness simmered a fierce resolve. “Really? That’s how you see me?”

" Pathetic" Eddie’s eyes narrowed, a mix of hurt and simmering anger flickering within. You felt the air grow heavy, your words echoing like a bell tolling in an empty hall. 

“Pathetic?” His voice dropped an octave, his gaze sharpening like a blade. “You think you can just throw that around without consequences? I’m not some chump you can tear into just for kicks.”

" Oh look, Eddie Munson knows how to talk and use words" Eddie’s expression hardened, discomfort shifting into something more dangerous. “You’re right. I’m not just going to sit here and let you dismiss everything we’ve built. You think I’m trying to play you? I've seen the real you.”

That was a mistake, you're nothing but an asshole that doesn't even know what real feelings are to a woman. You're an idiot Eddie." Eddie inhaled sharply, the wind knocked out of his sails. The laughter from the hallway faded, leaving the classroom swathed in a heavy silence that rippled with tension. 

“Wow.” A rough laugh escaped his lips, but it held a pitiless edge. “So this is what it’s come to, huh? Just lobbing accusations because you found out I’m only a player in someone else’s game?”

" You keep trying to please the wrong people. Tell Harrington I said hello" You turned away, the words a shield against the crack in your resolve. As you gathered your things, a heavy silence bore down on you, thick as fog. Eddie’s presence lingered, a fierce energy that both annoyed and electrified.

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, furious at yourself for breaking under the weight of it all. Folding your arms over the books, you turned your back to him, determined to block out his gaze.

" Dustin was right, I should of never agreed to whatever this was. You broke my heart, congrats. You graduated from Heart Break school..." Eddie’s silence hit like a loaded gun, the air crackling with tension. The chatter from the classroom faded into a muffled hum, isolating the two of you in a bubble thick with unspoken words and heavy breaths. 

Wait,” Eddie said, his voice a low growl cutting through your storm of emotions. You didn’t turn around; fear of his gaze held you captive.

“Just… Let me,” he continued, desperation seeping into his tone.

You remained facing the window, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Outside, laughter danced through the mid-afternoon sun, a world away from the whirlwind inside you.

“Please,” he urged, voice softer, almost trembling. “Just listen to me for a second.”

You remained still, heart pounding. The aching silence stretched between you, a taut rope ready to snap.

“Please, just hear me out,” he pressed, the desperation threading through his voice like crackling electricity. You remained muted, feeling the weight of his gaze boring into your back.

It was wrong for me to listen to Harrington and take the bet, but I couldn't be around you becasue you make me nervous" He says.You turned, slowly. The intensity in his eyes surged with a mix of vulnerability and something deeply raw. 

“Make you nervous?” The disbelief dripped from your voice, thick as molasses. “So you thought a dare was the way to handle that? A bet on my feelings? You weren’t even trying to get to know me, just trying to entertain Steve.” 

Eddie’s jaw clenched, the frustration simmering just below the surface. “You have to understand, it ...was stupid. I’ll admit it. But I had my reasons.” His voice dropped, the bravado slipping away like sand through fingers.

You crossed your arms tighter over your chest, defensive, pushing back the urge to listen—a part of you still wanted to believe in his sincerity, in the sparks that had shot through your shared moments. 

“What reason could possibly justify treating someone's feelings like a game?” You shot back, your voice laced with disbelief.

Eddie hesitated, searching or words amidst the chaos in his mind. “I thought… maybe if I could make Steve eat his words, it’d all be worth it.” He took a deep breath, frustration and regret mingling in his gaze. “You were just too good at making me feel something more than I deserved".

Eddie’s confession hung suspended between you like the hum of electricity before a storm, sparking an array of emotions within. 

“More than you deserved?” You stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Is that really how you see yourself as?” 

Eddie flinched, unsure how to respond. The weight of your gaze bore down on him, and for a moment, silence enveloped you both like an electric shroud. 

“Yes.” His voice trembled, revealing a raw honesty that caught you off-guard. “I thought proving myself to Steve would somehow change that.” 

Eddie’s vulnerability flickered like a candle flame caught in a draft, wobbling between hope and despair.

" Harrington is something else, he will know what's coming. I'll give him a piece of mind" Eddie held your gaze, and the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes transformed into a spark of curiosity. “You think he’ll care?” 

" Not with my foot up his ass, he will be throwing up my shoe laces" Eddie's laugh, unexpectedly rich, broke through the tension. “Now that’s a visual I needed today,” he said, shaking his head, the pain easing momentarily. 

“Glad to entertain,” you shrugged, the ghost of a smile.

" I know where he lives and I know where he works, piece of cake" Eddie’s eyes lit up, a mischievous spark igniting within. “Now that’s the spirit! Maybe we should form a revenge committee or something.” The playful glint shifted the mood slightly, but shadows still clung to the edges.

" You're not off the hook Munson" “Not off the hook?” Eddie’s voice turned more serious, beneath the cocky grin. “You really think I don’t know I messed up here?” He leaned forward on his desk, intensity sharpening his gaze.

" You don't, Eddie. You really hurt me and right now I don't think it's best if we hanged out anymore." Eddie recoiled, as if you’d struck him. The playfulness vanished from his eyes, replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugged at your heart. “You can’t be serious. We had something real, didn’t we?”

" I was stupid to fall in love with you" The words hung between you, heavy with truth. Eddie's face paled, the spark of mischief fading, leaving the raw ache of reality in its wake. 

“Love?” he stammered, voice strained as though processing an overwhelming blow.

" It doesn't matter anymore" He stared at you, bewilderment etching deep lines across his forehead. “It matters to me. Everything with you has meant something deeper than just a dare.” 

" It really hurts. I fell with your brown eyes, the way you laughed, the way your dimples popped out. The way you said my name. The way your arms would feel around me. The way you held my hand and walked me to class. The way you played with my hair and shared lunch with. The way you explained your campaigns to me, the way you let me come to band practice. Eddie you've made me a fool." 

Eddie’s expression shifted, raw pain surfacing behind the layers of bravado. “I never wanted to make you feel like that,” he whispered, as if the weight of your words pressed down on his chest. “I swear.”

" And worst of all, I waited for you until you were ready to kiss me. You told me you needed time and I gave you it but now, you made me into a bet for your own joy" Eddie’s face turned impassive, as if your words carved him into stone. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I never wanted it to come to this—”

“You should have thought of that before playing games with my heart ” you shot back, the heat of your frustration hurling every syllable like a well-aimed arrow. “Words don’t mean anything when they’re just a cover for a stupid dare.” 

He stood up from his seat, stepping closer as his hand reached out to grab your shirt pulling you closer. His grip was firm, but his eyes held an urgency, a request for understanding that tangled with your own hurt. 

" I think... I love you too" His words hung in the air between you like a delicate thread, wavering in the tension of the moment. You searched his gaze, uncertainty swirling within you, battling against the urge to believe him.

“Don’t,” you said, voice low, you don't get to use those words like they are air you breathe." Eddie flinched, the gravity of your words landing like a strike. He stepped back, hands falling to his sides, frustration flickering across his features. “What do you want from me?” he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper.

" I want you to go fuck up Harrington first and then get it through your thick skull how you hurt me, how of an idiot you really are..." “Fine,” Eddie relented, the fire simmering behind his eyes, transformed into determination. “I’ll take down Harrington. But don't think that’s going to fix what’s between us.” 

“Nothing will fix this,” you replied sharply. " I'm really special, in my own way and you've lost that." Eddie studied you, frustration etching lines across his forehead. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

The air felt electric, charged with anger and hurt, a volatile concoction swirling around you. You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over with each heated heartbeat. 

"Seriously, Eddie?" You spat, a tremor weaving through your voice. "You still don’t get it? You’ve reduced me to some forgotten whim in your tangled game, and I refuse to let you rewrite my story for your own amusement.”

Eddie’s expression shifted, hurt mingling with anger. “You’re acting like I haven’t tried to show you who I am,” he said, voice rising slightly. “The stupid bet was just a misstep—a foolish attempt to prove a point...” He paused, words tumbling from his mouth like dominoes teetering on the edge. “But I wanted to be more than that. I liked the way you saw me.”

No you liked the attention I gave you" Eddie’s brow furrowed, shadows flickering across his face. “You think that’s all this is? It’s more than just a game for me.” 

“Then why the bet?” You crossed your arms, every word hardening even further into indifference. The classroom buzzed with life around you, students oblivious to the storm brewing in this corner. 

“I don’t know!” Eddie exploded, throwing his hands up in frustration. “It was stupid. I thought it would be easy, a way to impress Steve and prove a point. But then… you came along, and it all became so much more complicated.” 

“Complicated?” You scoffed, feeling the anger bubbling inside. “You turned my life into a circus act while smiling like a clown. I’m not this easy prize you showcase to win over your friends.”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mixture of frustration and desperation. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this,” he said, voice lowering, almost cracking. “You’re not just some prize. I never wanted to treat you like one.”

“Then why do it?” The words slipped past your lips, tinged with an urgency that resonated like a drumbeat in the charged silence. You felt the world around you blur into the background, focusing only on him—the boy with wild hair and a leather jacket, standing in stark contrast to the orderly classroom with its rows of desks and bulletin boards cluttered with reminders of school spirit.

His eyes, once playful and bold, now faltered under the weight of your gaze. “Because I hought I could impress him.” Eddie’s voice cracked like brittle glass, revealing the vulnerability beneath his bravado. “I thought it would be funny. It was all a mistake, and then—” 

“Then what?” You pressed, clenching your fists to keep from shaking. The edge in your voice sliced through the tension, a sharp demand for clarity.

“Then I realized,” he began, voice unsteady, “that I liked you. It was never just about the bet. I thought I could have fun, but it spiraled into something real. I didn’t want to hurt you—”

“Then I started to like you.” Crumbling under the weight of his admission, Eddie’s gaze fell, the bravado of moments.

" I thought you loved me?" you asked " Or was that a joke?"Eddie's mouth parted, surprise wiping the smirk from his lips. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, grappling with the weight of your question. “It’s not a joke,” he said, voice strained. “I really do"

" Then why play Harrington's game? To look cool?" Eddie’s brow furrowed, emotions swirling in his dark eyes like a brewing storm. “You think I wanted to? It just… happened. I got caught up in this web of trying to impress him, while something real started stirring between us.” His voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of his admission heavy in the space between you.

" But yet you're not doing anything to show me. Show me you love me." Eddie’s breath caught, caught in the swell of your words. “What more can I do? You think I don’t want to show you? I’ve been juggling everything—trying to prove myself to Steve, trying not to ruin this with you." He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling slightly as if trying to grasp the right words.

“Then stop trying to impress him,” you shot back, frustration surging within you. “Start caring about what’s right in front of you. Me.”

You stumbled through the classroom door before Eddie could reach for you, pushing past a group of students gathered by the lockers, oblivious to the storm brewing behind your eyes. You spotted Harrington leaning against his car, the sun glinting off his sunglasses like an unspoken challenge. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Steve called out, pushing himself off the car and approaching, his casual smile fading into confusion as he caught sight of your expression. 

A sharp crack echoed in the air, drowning out the laughter surrounding you. Steve stumbled back, hands shooting up to clutch his now-bloodied nose. Eyes wide, he blinked in stunned disbelief.

“What the hell was that for?” he shouted. " You've made a bet on me, with Munson!" Steve cradled his nose, confusion morphing into realization as he wiped away the blood. “Whoa, what—” His wide eyes darted between you and where Eddie hovered near the entrance, uncertainty shadowing his face. “You can’t just go around treating people like pawns in your little games, Harrington!” Your voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding.

Steve straightened, wincing as he wiped blood onto his sleeve. “What are you talking about?”

" You know exactly what you little shit!" Steve stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not escalate things here.”

“Not escalate?” You glared at him, fingers clenching into fists. “You orchestrated the whole thing! Shall I tell Nancy? Does she know? " “Hey, come on!” Steve protested, the confusion in his eyes shifting to defensiveness. “It was just a stupid bet! I didn't mean for it to blow up like this.” 

“Stupid bet? You’ve turned my feelings into a joke!” You retorted, the fire in your veins boiling over. Steve raised his hands defensively, taken aback. 

“Okay, okay, but it was just supposed to be a bit of fun, alright? I didn’t think it would actually go this far.” 

Rage surged through you, hot and unyielding. “Fun? You think making someone a trophy is fun? You turned me into a punchline.”

As you were about to swing again, Eddie grabs you and turns you around to face him as he stares into your eyes. Eddie’s grip on your arms felt grounding, a stark contrast to the swirling chaos inside. His eyes locked onto yours, raw with a mix of determination and something deeper. 

“Let me handle this,” he said, voice low and steady, yet somehow soothing amidst the whirlwind. 

“Eddie, no,” you protested, pulling your gaze away. The electricity in his eyes sparked a flicker of hope, but the anger roiling within you demanded attention. 

“Just… trust me ,” he urged, his voice steady as it wrapped around you like a protective shield. The intensity in his gaze pulled at the fraying edges of your resolve, urging you to let go of the anger, if only for a moment.

This time Eddie pushes Steve against his car, seething with anger.Eddie’s hands gripped Steve’s jacket, slamming him against the cold metal of the car. Steve’s eyes widened, the breath knocked from his lungs. “You ever think about how your little pranks can ruin someone’s life?” Eddie demanded, his breath hitching with the weight of pent-up fury.

“Eddie, chill!” Steve gasped, hands bracing against the car as he struggled to find his balance. Panic stirred in his eyes, disbelief mixing with realization as he stammered, “Look, man, it was supposed to be harmless! I didn't know she’d get all worked up over it.”

Eddie's grip tightened, his expression a tempest of anger and hurt. “Harmless? You think making her the butt of your joke is harmless?” he snarled, his voice low and fierce, each word slicing through the simmering tension. 

Steve stumbled over his words, desperation lacing his tone. “I didn’t think—”

" what's going on here? " Robin asks as she walks up to the car. The words hung in the air, a sudden distraction that sliced through the tension. Robin's presence arrived like a breath of fresh air, abrupt and disarming. She tilted her head, arms crossed, a look of bewilderment clouding her face.

" Why is his nose bleeding? Eddie what did you do?" She continued to ask. Eddie released Steve, who slid down the car with a gasp, cradling his nose as he winced. “It’s not what you think, Robin,” Eddie shot back, frustration lacing his voice. He turned to you, eyes still burning with a mix of anger and desperation. You could feel the weight of Robin’s gaze on you, a careful observer caught in the aftermath of something chaotic and unfiltered. 

“Okay, so what’s happening? Because I just saw a punch thrown and now I’m confused.” Robin stepped closer, concern etching into her features as she glanced between you, Eddie, and a dazed Harrington, who was struggling to regain his composure.

Eddie turned to Robin, catching his breath as he rubbed the back of his neck, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Your pal Harrington here decided to treat my girlfriend like a bet,” he said, venom thickening the final word.

“Steve made a bet,”

Robin blinked slowly, her confusion deepening as she processed the accusation. “A bet? On what?” 

Eddie turned his intensity on Steve, the fury still crackling in the air. “On her! He thought I wouldn’t be able to snag a date with her. Said it was a challenge.”

Robin’s mouth hung open, disbelief morphing into a frown. “A date? Are you serious? You're such a dingus!!” She shifted her gaze to Steve.

Steve winced, the gravity of her words sinking in like lead. “It was just a dumb dare, Robin. I thought it’d be funny!” He looked around, desperation spilling from his eyes.

“Funny?” Robin’s voice cut through the air, disbelief etched across her features. “You think betting on someone’s emotions is funny? You were supposed to be better than this, Harrington!”

“That’s enough!” Eddie barked, his hands slamming against the car, fists trembling at his sides. “You need to understand that this isn’t just a game. You don’t treat people as pawns in some ridiculous contest. You never know how it can affect them!”

Robin stepped forward , her jaw set with determination. “This isn’t just about jokes or bets, Steve. You’ve crossed a line. You have to take responsibility for your actions.” She shot a glare at him, her frustration palpable even in the shifting tension.

" I'm sorry" Steve says to you. " I was an idiot" He adds. “An idiot?” Your voice sharpens, the hurt leaking through your words. “You think that covers it?”

Steve fidgets with the collar of his shirt, avoiding your gaze. “I didn ’t mean for it to come out like that. It was just some stupid bet.”

“Stupid bet?” you shot back, eyebrows raised. “You treat people like that for fun?”

“Come on, it wasn’t supposed to be serious. We were just messing around,” Steve stammered, glancing toward the ground.

You think this is funny? You played with my feelings like they were a game, Steve.” 

The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the school parking lot. The fading light wrapped around you like a cold shroud.

“Listen,” he began, " how about free movies for a year?"Your laugh burst out, sharp and humorless. “Movies? You think I’m going to be swayed by popcorn and a flick?” 

" How about driving you to school every morning?" Eddie cuts Steve off, " No your not!"You turned your head, the noise drawing your attention.

How about you let me drive your car whenerver I want? How about you let me put a bet on you and see how you feel?" Steve looks in horror at you. “Do you even hear yourself right now?” Your voice drips with disbelief. 

“Look, I get it. I messed up,” he stammered, hands raised in a half-hearted defense. 

“ Or should I send Hargrove on you?" you asked.Steve’s eyes darted around, scanning for an escape. “Okay, that’s low. You know Hargrove...”

" I'm still here" Eddie says. Eddie leaned against the rusted side of Steve's car, tossing a crumpled soda can into the nearby wastebasket. “And I’d love to hear more about this bet.”

Steve groans, " how about you do the same thing to Nancy as Eddie did to me? Then you'll feel how I feel? Hmm?" you asked. " How about I call Nancy instead?" Eddie raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, you mean turn our sweet little Steve into the town’s biggest villain? I’d love front-row."

“Please don’t,” Steve whispered, his face flushing crimson.

Eddie chuckled, running a hand through his dark curls. “Relax, Harrington. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation of being the good guy."

Steve shot Eddie a glare, frustration radiating off him like heat from a fire. “It’s not a joke, Munson. You don’t get it.”

" Look I'm so sorry for making the bet with Eddie. It won't happen again" Steve says to you. You crossed your arms, the bite of his apology doing little to thaw the ice between you. “It’s too late for regrets, Steve. You can’t just wipe this away with an 'I’m sorry' and expect it to all be fine."

Your hand reaches for his keys. " You should walk home, I'll drive Robin home" you smirked. Steve’s eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. “Wait, what? You can’t just—”

“Watch me.” You turned your back on him, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders as you approached Robin.

Eddie is laughing as Steve glares while Robin high fives you. “Now that’s what I call a comeback,” Robin said, her grin wide as she fell in step beside you. 

You slid into the driver’s seat, your hands gripping the wheel, knuckles white. Robin hopped in, a bounce inher step as she settled into the passenger seat. “You know he’s going to sweat bullets all the way home, right?” 

“Good,” you replied, tapping the ignition.

"He's walking for the rest of the week" you tell her. Robin leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “You know this whole thing will blow over, right? You’re not really going to drive him crazy forever?” 

" Let see him use those legs first" you pulled down the window shoutign at Steve, " Is that even walking?" Steve stood there, mouth agape, hands thrown up in surrender. 

“Real mature!” he shouted, embarrassment deepening the blush on his cheeks. “You can’t just act like this forever!” 

" This is my game now, Harrington" Eddie is laughing clutching his stomach. " You're not off the hook, Munson." “Let’s not start acting like I’m the villain here,” Eddie shot back, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

" you look like your pissing your pants, Harrington!" you shouted as you pass him driving his car. “Very funny!” Steve called after you, hands balled into fists at his sides. 

You rode the car in step with Steve, smirking. " move those legs, or are you too slow now a days? Is being the babysitter gettign to you?" Steve tossed his hands up in frustration, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You think this is just a joke, don’t you?” His voice strained against the surge of humiliation.

" your fly is undone anyways" you laughed. Steve's cheeks flared crimson, hands darting to his zipper. “You’re unbelievable!” 

Eddie is driving behind the car, laughing watching it unfolds. 

" You need another leg, Harrington" you laughed watching as he stomped home. Steve growled ready to bang on his own car when you drove further making him chase the car. You pressed the accelerator, the tires screeching against the pavement as the distance between you and Steve widened. 

Behind you, Eddie’s laughter echoed, the sound infectious. 

“Look at him!” Eddie pointed, his voice rising above the roar. " Good luck getting home, Harrington!"

Steve flipped him off.

[audliminal]

It's just a game, right?

"I just don't see how sitting around is gonna do anything!" Dash argues, face to face with Sam.

"Well, if you have other ideas you're more than welcome to offer them, but we can't just take out the giw. They have more manpower than us, more equipment, and the new agents actually seem to be competent in fights! And we are a bunch of high school students!"

They are all, ostensibly in English Class right now, but even Mr. lancer has forgone the illusion of normal classwork. He assigns books and hands out reading assignments every week, but nobody really cares whether they get turned in or not. The city, after all, has a much bigger problem.

"I don't know! But sitting here-"

"He's not entirely wrong, the longer we wait the more likely they figure it out, just like we all did." As Valerie finishes speaking, the room temperature drops noticeably, and the kids all glance nervously over at Danny who's head hasn't moved from it's spot on his desk. He almost seems dead with how still he is. Beside him Tucker stares at his PDA, the only one who hasn't reacted to the temperature change.

"Should I even ask what you're messing with?" Sam asks, walking over while the others stare nervously at Danny.

"Actually, yeah." Tucker easily shifts so they can both see the webpage displayed on the handmade tech. "I got something through."

"I thought getting stuff through wasn't really the problem?"

"I mean, yeah, they're letting Everything Is Normal posts through, but this wasn't. That. I was, um, kind of fucking around with ciphers and shit? Not saying anything relevant, but just seeing whether they'd flag any old weird shit, you know? And um. I got a video out."

"Okay, but how does that help us?" Valerie asks.

"It helps because if they let a cipher through then means if I encode shit well enough, then it'll also get through."

"But if it's, like, that hard to figure out what it says, then won't it be useless on the outside?"

"The chances of it getting into the hands of someone who could crack it do seem, uh, improbable."

"Not if we stack the deck."

"Wes-"

"No, listen, I know you're all still mad at me, but like. If you can attract a community of codebreakers? Then eventually someone will crack the code on what you need them to!"

"If you have an idea then just fucking say it, Wes," Sam snaps.

"Make an ARG. We can even have like, the base level be completely United to anything real, just make up a story about, i dunno, space travel? And then bury the actual info beneath that. Eventually somebody will crack into the real stuff, and if it's popular enough by then, and the GIW tries to suppress it? That'll be even more suspicious-looking, and just make them dig harder."

"What the fuck is a ARG?" Dash asks, pulling his gaze away from their definitely-just-sleeping classmate.

"Augmented reality game. It's like an unfiction thing. Make a story but the story is interactive and people have to decode shit to figure out what's going on." Tucker glances over to Wes. "And actually not a bad idea. If we all work together, we could probably make something cool."

"You could treat it as a class-wide project." Mr. Lancer says, making everyone jump. "That way I can back you up if anyone starts asking questions."

"Make it about black holes," Danny says, finally pulling himself up from his desk. "We can base it in wormhole theory, and distract the GIW with all the theoretical science."

"What, so like we make videos that seem like they're being sent through a black hole?"

"Fuckin. Sure, why not? As if shit couldn't get any weirder around here."

"Star, please try to refrain from swearing in front of me. I know the situation is - difficult - but I am officially still your teacher."

"Sorry, Lancer."

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Your JJK Fav + Why I think You're Single

hi so i did a version of this on tiktok way back when but i feel like i didn't have as great of an understanding of these characters and their respective fans as i do now. please keep in mind that this is purely my OPINION!!!! (my correct opinion)(im kidding)

Gojo - This one's a little hard because there are subsections of Gojo stans. You have the bad bitches, the coolest of the cool Gojo meat riders and then you have (incoherent screeching). I'm gonna assume you are the former here.

Y'all really love the idea of a partner, not actually having one. I feel like y'all will have talking stages a plenty, but when it comes to the nitty gritty y'all are not riders. Not that you don't want to be, no no you'd love to find your person but at some point friends you gotta realize that your person is gonna come with an ick or two you might not like. Relationships are about compromise. Real people simply can't be hot, rich, talented, strong, and funny all at once!! You're getting three of those at best.

Geto - I feel a need to disclose here that I am a Geto girly. I feel like most of us are chill, if not a bit odd // willing to swing.

Babes,,,, and im gonna touch ur clit when I say this-- Real life relationships aren't supposed to have intense cycles of highs and lows. Thats,, thats the cycle of abuse friends. Genuine, healthy connections actually aren't supposed to make you feel like you wanna rip their chest open and crawl inside. I know, i know you can't get attached unless you feel insane about them- but we have to stop this.

Nanami - Again, I feel like Nanami girls have a wide umbrella, but generally I think Nanami stans are very nice people. Nanami, for the most part, is the safest healthiest choice.

Put down the fuckin calculators. I am contacting cafe astrology as we speak and having them ban your IP from accessing their domain anymore. No, put your wallet away, we are not PAYING a psychic to tell you your most recent crush is not your soulmate. Y'all are over-analyzers, over-thinkers, and have a list of requirements for a partner that is twelve miles long. Maybe just talk to people?? Hmm?? Make a connection??

Choso - Oh, Choso stans,,,, loves of my life. Y'all are cool. Like genuinely actually fucking cool. Kiss me.

Okay, so I actually need you guys to see red flags as what they are. No, he doesn't coincidentally have 13 insane exes that won't stay out of his DMs. He did something to all of them. No, its not cute and sweet that he has to call his mommy and tell her goodnight and goodmorning everyday with kissy noises. That man is 24. No, Dominoes pizza did not text him and ask if he was up at 2AM. ur too optimistic, baby. I love you. Get a grip.

Toji - I have knocked noggins with more Toji stans than I care to admit in this fandom, however the ones I do vibe with are SUPER cool. Again, I feel like Gojo/Toji stans have that same thing. Im gonna assume you're the cool variety.

I feel like a lot of your relationships start purely based on sexual/physical attraction, and then get explosive bc yall didn't actually like eachother, you just liked the way the other one looked. I can definitely see this leading to maybe not abusive, but definitely toxic situations. and the thing is i feel like toji stans actually would make a BOMB partner but yall will settle for shitty people because theyre hot and then end up locking yourself in the bathroom and going through their phone while they bang on the door and scream from the other side.

Sukuna - This is the one I have the least interaction with on the day to day. Y'all fascinate me. Just out here doing you. I feel like most Sukuna stans are actually probably some of the sanest of the bunch, they seem to just slide in, post their fan works and dip. I respect it.

You can't fix him. no, no, you can't. stop trying. he's already grown. you cannot raise him.

[noobsoconfusing]

‘domesticated dawg’.. domestic!hamzah

contains reader insert! and nsfw kinda at the end

- for his whole damn life, everything hamzah wanted was a home

- sure, he had one before, but to be honest, it was just a house. no meaning behind it other than his family living there with him.

- so when he eventually moved out, loneliness began hitting like a truck..

- he found himself alone. constantly trying to fit into everything mandy and martin did, but he understood his friends also wanted privacy

- although hamzah wished he could just live with his friends, everything seemed funner with them. mandy was nice, always sharing martin with him, letting him interrupt their conversations to add comments, making jokes about whatever and they even had a group chat!

- but still, that life was not his, it was martin’s. it was mandy’s. not hamzah’s.

- god, he so craved a relationship as beautiful as his friends. it made him so sad knowing that the only girl he pulled ever was in elementary school :(

- so when you stumbled upon his hectic life, he knew he was NOT letting u go. ever. never ever.

- and mother of god, you were just so so so perfect? how could you? like, for real, he asks himself everyday what the hell did he ever do to deserve such a beautiful human by his side

- as the relationship develops, he finds himself doing stuff he only dreamed about

- he enjoys every single little thing you guys do together, cherishes every moment with you, even when you’re not around he keeps your id picture in his wallet

- makes sure you don’t have to move a finger!!!

- dishes? he does em! the bed? he makes it! clean the cats litterbox? on it!

- sometimes you wake up to the faint smell of something burning, and you’ve gotten used to it by now it’s even comforting .

“sweetheart….” he’d whisper not to disturb your peaceful slumber, however the noisy rattling of the dishes and the blender going off earlier had you already awake.

“hmm?” you murmured slowly opening your eyes, his big eyes stared at you like a squished bug, it made you giggle how eager he was to serve breakfast in bed.

“you are never gonna believe what i just prepared!” he excitedly said.

you smiled, sometimes hamzah was like an excited toddler showing you everything he did or found.

“so like, last night i was on facebook and found this super cool french toast recipe and tried to make it today for you but uh… we didn’t have eggs… or bread.” he paused and you tilted your head. “so i also tried to make pancakes with water and the mix but uh.. you never really showed me how to lower the flame so uh, they’re bricks now…” he nervously scratched his head

he was so cute, or so you thought.

“it’s okay, hamzah, what did you make then?” you asked, invested heavily. he always managed to surprise you somehow.

quickly, he got up the bed where he was straddling you, and ran to the counter where he had left the plate.

“anyway, cereal!” he smiled so big waiting for your reaction of approval.

“wooooow! my favourite!” you smiled too.

“i know right!”

- hamzah tries SO hard to please you :(

- actually tries to spend every single hour of the day with you, due to his job he finds himself being at martin’s often, so he brings you with him each time!

- late night editing with him, where you two are just snuggled together under the covers, hamzah has his blue light glasses on, and you think, man, what a sight to see!

- hamzah actually thinks you guys are married..

- not to be intense or anything, but to him, being with you means for life. you guys are going serious. no escaping from this man now. no backing down now.

- you and the cats are his little family. he has found a home in you and is willing to keep it forever <3

- every moment with you counts to him.

- in the mornings you two brush your teeth together, sometimes he spits toothpaste on your hand to make you mad, which doesn’t really work because you do the same to him and then it all ends in a laughing fit

- HE HAS NO SENSE OF PRIVACY T_T

- you could be taking a shower and he’s right outside of the shower curtain taking a shit and talking about whatever was on his mind

- when you’re using the bathroom he would burst the door open to grab something he left inside, unapologetically look at you and smile innocently

- since your little house –apartment– is rather small, whenever you use the kitchen together he has to constantly guide you around in order to not bump into each other

- grabs your waist to prevent you from slipping if he spills milk or water..

- literally just an excuse to touch you, though.

- sometimes you’re cooking and he just sneaks behind you to give you a back hug. rests his chin on top of your head and stays there for a while

- needs you constantly ngl

- if there’s something wrong with the house, such as a leak or a burnt bulb, he would try his best to fix it himself to prove you he’s capable of everything

- usually ends badly and you have to call someone else to fix it but hey! he tried!

- since you both are not very extroverted, house dates are perfect.

- movie nights under the dim lights of the apartment that lead to make out sessions..

“h-hold…” you tried to say between sloppy kisses being planted on your neck. “hold on!” you laughed out loud when the hickey he was giving you tickled your collarbone.

“mhmm, why?” you could feel his warm breath as he murmured against your skin.

“movie…”

“rather do you, though.” he replied.

- ordering take out that just ends up on hamzah and you racing to see who can eat more

- he loves to see you wearing his clothes <3 like, it actually makes him physically happy and super fucking proud

- loves how his hoodies are undeniably big on you, and how his shirts falls down to your thighs, covering you up so perfectly. knowing you enjoy wearing his clothes just makes him realise how much you both need each other pretty much always

- hamzah has mentioned –to you– before his desire to actually grow your family a bit more, no more cats though, no dogs either. a baby, maybe. or two. three?

- and he was super blunt and serious about it, also. like he was being DEAD SERIOUS. he loves you, dude. this man is a family man.

“we are very serious, right?” he asked you out of the blue.

“yeah, of course.” you replied looking at his direction. the bed sheets covered his body so you could only see his face peeking out. it was funny.

“no but like, im super serious about you, about us… i love you a lot and i feel so deeply about you, is that alright? do you not feel weird about me? like, do you actually like me or…?” he rambled, and you knew how self conscious he could get sometimes ;(

“hamzah, i am so very serious about us too, i love being with you, why would you doubt that?” it made you sad, but you had to constantly reassure him.

he leaned in to kiss you, so soft and desperate at the same time, like he was trying not to break down.

“serious, right?” he asked again as he broke the kiss

“yeah, very serious, hamzah.”

a moment of silence. he played with your hair, then subtly touched your face in the dark, tracing your features.

“okay but speaking super fucking seriously, i wanna impregnate you and i wanna raise our children and live until we’re super fucking old, that alright?”

he deadpanned. and you never felt so loved, even if his ways were… odd. you knew he cared, and you did too!

“yeah. that alright.”

- morning sex hits hard w hamzah btw. so when you’re still tired and wanna be together you opt for this one as an excuse to get up until the evening

- this man needs you so much that he actually for real wants to merge your souls together

- but as he cannot do that yet, he settles for your bodies..

- sometimes when he’s working he just :( needs you and your warmth and your embrace and your presence and you you you you

- he’s obsessed with you to say the least

- yeah so cockwarming.. where he just begs for it, and you cant say no to that wet dog face :c though you know he wont even last a minute without moving cuz he’s needy like that.

- his hands are grasping at your waist for mercy, keeping you down and linked to his own body. he tries his best to keep still, though you wouldn’t mind if he actually started thrusting

- loves how warm you’re always :c it’s almost embarrassing how pathetic this man is for you

“mmm, im… oh, god! f-fuck, im sorry, can i…?” he whimpers, his eyes shut and his work long forgotten on the desk

and god, yeah. you need it too. he’s been inside for what felt like fucking hours. you were just as needy and desperate but didn’t wanna say anything :(

“yeah j-just…yeah..” you managed to say, your face buried in his neck, inhaling his cologne.

it was so damn intoxicating, you felt so drunk on him.

- big on aftercare. he wants to make you comfortable and loved, which yeah you feel like that around him. tho he also needs aftercare from you sometimes..

- hamzah thinks, you found him to save him. save him from his loneliness, his misfortune, everything. he is so glad that you exist and decide to share your existence with him.

- hamzah now doesn’t have to look for a home in other places. he doesn’t have to look out for love, for company somewhere else. he has you, you’re his home now. now and forever

- you’re a home that’s not taken. a home that’s not temporary. a home that waits for him everyday. a home that provides love and care. a home that he doesn’t feel he’s intruding..

- a home he doesn’t wanna run away from. not ever

>_<

down bad for this kinda hamzah bruv anyway hope some1 likes dis

[reidmania]

sharpest tool | s.reid

(chapter four, motion sickness)

'I hate you for what you did and I miss you like a little kid. i faked it every time but that's alright. i can hardly feel anything, i hardly feel anything at all, I have emotional motion sickness somebody roll the windows down, there are no words in the english language, i could scream to drown you out'

summary; you never had someone make you feel safe enough to open up, until spencer. now trying to cope with his sudden absence you learn to lean on your new found friendship with his coworker, penelope.

warnings; fem reader, mentions of bad relationships, ghosting, commitment issues, self doubt & overthinking, preettyy angsty idk guys, no comfort yet but there is some fluff, and theres penelope & reader friendship!! reader lowkey shit talks spencer but he deserves it. reader is embarrassed & upset. reader is lowkey really mean, but shes coping guys. i think this is my favourite chapter out of all of them.

2.3k words

taglist; @gghostwriter @lavonee @guiltyyassin @spencersinonlygf @criminalmindssworld @iknwreid @fortheloveofgubler @yokaimoon @sapphirecobalt-1 @eddiesdrummergf @livvyliv15 @lover-of-books-and-tea a @sebastiansstanswhore @bloodredrubyrose @sp3ncelle @nemobee777 @jencole214 @hazzarules

SERIES MASTERLIST

The lights are low, casting a soft, warm glow on the room, making it feel almost too cozy for the storm of emotions swirling inside of you. Penelope sits across from you on the other side of the coffee table, her vibrant personality seeming muted for once. She’s not wearing her usual bright colors, just a simple oversized shirt and pajama pants, the kind of clothes that scream comfort. It fits the night. It fits the conversation.

“You want to talk about it?” Penelope asks, voice gentle, but still full of that spark of energy that only she has. There’s no judgment there. Her eyes made you believe there never would be.

Your fingers tug absentmindedly at a loose thread on the hem of your sweatpants, the silence stretching between you like an invisible barrier. But it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Penelope doesn’t push. She doesn’t know you well enough to push. You’re not sure how to start, not sure how to talk about something you’re still struggling to process.

The night had consisted of making cookies, watching sickeningly sweet romance films you both gushed over — there were numerous times you had to stop your mind from drifting to Spencer, and when it did, you felt a sickening ache in your stomach. For the most part, besides those moments where the room fell quiet and your mind drifted, the night had been great.

“He just... stopped,” you whisper, voice barely audible, but Penelope catches it. Her eyes soften, and she leans forward slightly, offering silent encouragement for you to continue. "One day, Spencer was there, and the next... he wasn't. Theoretically of course..”

Spencer was different to anyone else you met, or at least he seemed that way. You thought he understood you. The way he listened, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you could breathe around him. No one had ever done that for you before. But then, when things had started getting real—when you both were on the verge of making it official—he disappeared. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was a commitment issue thing. Or if he really just had been playing with you the entire time.

“I don’t understand why,” you continue, the words tumbling out faster now, as if saying them out loud will make them make sense. “One day, we were close. He’d text me every morning. He’d ask how I was feeling, what I was doing. He made me feel… seen. Like he actually cared. And then, nothing. No calls, no messages. He just—”

“Ghosted you?” Penelope finishes for you, and the bluntness of the term hits you harder than you thought it would. You nod, feeling the sting of it all over again.

“He just disappeared,” you say, the words coming out harsh, jagged. You laugh bitterly, but there’s no humor in it. “Like I wasn’t even worth an explanation.”

Penelope’s hand reaches across the table, her fingers curling around yours in a comforting squeeze. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets you sit with the weight of your own pain. But her presence, her warmth, makes it feel a little less suffocating.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Spencer… he’s complicated. I don’t know why he did this to you, but I can tell you for sure, it’s not your fault. It never was.”

You close your eyes for a second, trying to swallow down the hurt, but it lingers there, a dull ache that refuses to fade. It’s not just about Spencer ghosting you; it’s about all the hope you had pinned on him. You thought he was different, thought he could be the person who made you feel safe in a way you had never felt before.

You couldn’t help the embarrassment you felt, all you had been thinking about for days was ‘how could i be so stupid.’ You had your guard up for a reason. You didn’t date for a reason, and the fact that you had let him let you forget that. You were so mad at yourself.

You missed Spencer more than you were willing to admit. Sleep evades you, and when it comes, it’s restless—haunted by the ghost of his touch. Your limbs grew weary, not from movement but from the effort of carrying the silence he left behind.

Your lips twitch into a bitter smile. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s on me. I was stupid for thinking it would be different.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Penelope says firmly, her voice suddenly fierce in a way that surprises you. “No. You were not stupid. You opened up because he made you feel like you could, and that’s on him, not you. He gave you the signals. He made the promises, and then he broke them. Spencer—he’s got his issues. He’s been through a lot, but that doesn’t excuse what he did to you. You deserved better.”

You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly as Penelope’s words sink in. It’s hard to believe that sometimes, that you deserved better. Spencer had made you feel like you could finally let your guard down, but in the end, it just made the hurt cut deeper. — Maybe thats all you’d ever deserve.

“He made me feel safe,” you admit, your voice breaking slightly. “Which i know sounds stupid— But— I don’t know.. I trusted him.”

“And then he took that away,” Penelope finishes, her voice softening again, filled with understanding. “It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to be angry. You opened up to him because you trusted him, and he didn’t treat that trust the way he should have.”

You nod, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. You hadn’t wanted to cry tonight. You hadn’t wanted to break down. But being here with Penelope, his friend, his co-worker, who was so sweet and so understanding, it’s harder to keep everything bottled up.

“I just don’t get it,” you say, voice shaking. “Why would he make me feel like I mattered, like we were something, and then just leave?”

Penelope sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Spencer’s not great at dealing with his emotions,” she explains gently. “He’s always in his head, analyzing things, trying to make sense of the world. But feelings aren’t always logical. And sometimes… sometimes he runs from things he can’t control.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Well, he sure ran fast.”

Penelope gives you a sad smile, squeezing your hand again. “I know it doesn’t make it easier, but sometimes people can care about you and still hurt you. It doesn’t mean what you had wasn’t real. It just means he is an idiot.”

You stare down at your hands, the weight of her words settling on your shoulders. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Spencer did care about you in his own way, but that didn’t change the fact that he left you when you needed him most. It didn’t change the fact that you were still trying to pick up the pieces of your heart while he was nowhere to be found.

“I mean, he’s so damn smart, right? So.. So smart, always figuring things out. But apparently, figuring out how to treat people isn’t part of his skill set.”

Penelope chuckles softly, though there’s no real humor in it. “Yeah, sometimes Spencer’s great at solving every problem except the ones that really matter.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you mutter, shaking your head. The frustration still courses through your veins, and you grip the fabric of your pants tightly, trying to channel it somewhere, anywhere. “I’m not going to sit around waiting for some half-assed explanation either. If he wanted to tell me why he bailed, he would have.”

She nodded her head. “He is dumb.” She said.

A laugh passed through your lips as you nodded quickly in agreement. “How is he so smart — and sweet yet such a fucking coward? I’m so pissed that he couldn’t even end things in person — that he didn’t even say anything.” You ran your hands down your face.

Penelope smiled. Maybe you were being mean in order to deflect from the hurt in your heart and the way your brain fizzled with an overwhelming ache for the comfort of Spencer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ask him about it?” She asked.

You were quick to shake your head. While you were desperate for an answer of what you could have possibly done — you weren’t desperate enough to go through his friends to get an answer. You refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing you cared so much. “No. No- Please don’t— Does he even know we have been talking?” Penelope was quick to shake her head with a grin.

“Nope! I haven’t said anything to him.. I sent a photo to JJ earlier of your bobble head collection, but I highly doubt she would’ve just shown Spencer?” She mumbled, shrugging her shoulders slightly. The words made you frown, yet glad. You didn’t care about Penelope sharing your silly bobble head collection, it was something you were very proud of.

“I don’t really care if he knows. Is it bad I hope he is really mad? Like I hope he is really really pissed off about it. Is that petty?” You tumbled out the questions as your mind swirled. You hoped he was mad because at least then in some way maybe you could believe he cared.

“Yes. Definitely petty.” Penelope nodded, a playful smile on her face. “But— If anyone has a right to be petty, it’s you.. You’re handing this better than I would. i’d want to egg his house.” She shrugged, the words made a string of laughter leave your lips.

“I really really do want to” You said honestly, “maybe then he would have to say something” It was silly, but it would lie to say the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. It was childish, and immature and so petty, but leaving someone with no explanation was also just as childish and immature so in your head, it evened out.

“I reckon he would start crying” Penelope giggled.

“God I hope so.” you huffed out, running your hands through your hair before a small smile made way onto your lips as you looked up at the blonde women. The last thing you expected was to get along so quickly with the girl. You had expected it to be awkward between the two of you, but it wasn’t. You two spent hours watching silly chick-flics and laughing, before this conversation even started.

“Thank you- by the way. For this” you mumbled, referring to her just being there. She didn’t have to. She didn’t know you, she didn’t owe you anything, she was Spencer’s friend, not yours.

Penelope grinned widely, “Don’t thank me. I love boy genius but he can be such a tool sometimes without even realising it. He fucked up and you need somebody, plus who else would make sugar cookies with me?” She teased.

You curled up by Penelope’s side, smiling at her gently. You really were grateful. “Speaking of sugar cookies, do you think we could frost them yet?”

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 of my new series! This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), imagining some sexy things

Word count: ~2.4k

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Mr. Presley sighs and turns from the window. Will the responsibility of this new life never end?

******

After two weeks in her new position, Annabelle has settled into a new normal at Graceland Manor. It's not one she particularly likes or enjoys, but it's a routine at least. She's finally learned what her responsibilities are and how to do all of them. She's also met everyone in the house and learned who is worth talking to and who isn't. The other maids are not. They're both young and experienced and spend most of their time making snide comments and whispering about her. The cook, Mrs. Hall, is her favorite person, so far. She has a warm, welcoming air about her that makes Annabelle feel at home even in the big house that has no other home-like feeling. She hasn't talked to her much, but she likes her best of all anyway. And the handsome footman that answered the door when she first arrived is the cook’s son. His name is Jimmy and he's been nothing but cordial, albeit maybe a little too friendly. Most everyone else is nice enough, but she doesn't have a real companion among the group.

One of Annabelle's jobs is tending the fires in every room each morning. This means she's up before dawn every day. She doesn't enjoy that part, but it's actually quite nice to move about the house while everyone else is still asleep. Her favorite room is the library, which doubles as Mr. Presley’s private study. She never has much time to spend in there, but she does take a few minutes occasionally to look around at the books, even glancing at his desk a couple of times. He's a mess. There are papers stacked and sticking out of piles everywhere. She's not sure why, but she finds this a little endearing, even if she has sworn to hate him.

About 3 weeks after her first day, Annabelle walks into the library purposefully, ready to light the fire and try to look at the books a little. She's startled when she realizes there is a candle burning and someone sitting at the desk. There's only one person it could possibly be, so she tries to back out of the room as quickly as she can, but she hits the doorframe and it makes a loud thud. He immediately turns and stands up and she gasps.

Mr. Presley has an imposing presence even when he's not angry, so he feels almost terrifying when he is. He glares at her and Annabelle is overwhelmed with the desire to melt into the carpet.

“Where have you been?! It's freezing in here.” She shakes her head and stumbles over her words.

“I-I I'm sorry-”

“There's no excuse.” His eyes are wild and red-rimmed like he's either been crying or hasn't slept or both and his hair looks like he's run his hand through it about a thousand times. Annabelle recognizes the look of distress and her fear turns to compassion.

“Did you… have you been in here all night?” She asks in a small voice. He's obviously disarmed by the fact that she hasn't just run away from him.

“What?”

“You look like… have you slept?” She chances a step towards him and his imposing presence seems to shrink a little.

“That is none of your business! Just light the fire and get out!” He spits at her and turns away. She walks over to the fire and tends to it quickly.

As she works at the fireplace, he turns back and watches her. There was a hint of something in her voice that he hasn't experienced from anyone other than the Mrs. Hall in a very long time. Could it have been kindness?

He softens a bit as he watches her at the fireplace. Her shoulders are delicate and graceful as she works and he has the thought again that she wasn't built for this kind of hard labor. He feels an insane desire to help her, to take the task of making the fire and do it for her, but that would be inappropriate on every level. Still, something about her makes him want to throw propriety out the window and care for her the way men do in stories about knights and ladies. He's lost in this reverie when she finishes and stands up, turning back to him.

Annabelle is shocked to find him watching her when she turns away from the fire. He moves quickly to look somewhere else, but for half a second she could've sworn his expression was gentle.

“Are you finished?” He hisses, not looking at her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Get out. Be earlier tomorrow.” His attempt to put her in the right place in his mind comes out as unnecessary coldness.

“Yes, sir.” Annabelle whispers and goes to walk from the room. But at the door, she pauses and turns back.

“You could tell me… why you haven't slept… if you wanted. No one would listen even if I tried to tell them your secrets.” For a second, he meets her eyes and the warmth he finds there soothes an ache he didn't even know he had. And then he remembers himself.

“OUT.” He tries to yell, but falters the tiniest bit. She nods and leaves the room.

Falling into the nearest chair, Mr. Presley sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's right that he hasn't slept. He's been holed up in the study trying to make sense of some documents since last night. Somewhere around 3am, the frustration had turned to grief and he cried for an hour or so. He was making his way back to frustration when she came in.

Why had he responded to her kindness with such cruelty? He knows the answer but isn't ready to face the reality of it.

******

In the next room, Annabelle sits in front of the fireplace crying quietly into her apron. She's so lonely and tired of the harshness with which she's treated here. There's not even anyone she could tell about her struggles. She's alone.

And why had she tried to connect with him? Not only is he a gentleman, he's her master, and not a very nice one at that. But something about him and his emotional state touched her and she felt compelled to offer herself in some way. And for no discernible reason whatsoever, his rejection hurts worst of all.

She starts to cry big, heaving sobs, knowing they're audible but no longer caring. Let them get rid of her. Maybe she could leave this miserable place and let Mr. Presley light his own fires.

******

On his way to bed, Mr. Presley hears the unmistakable sound of a woman crying coming from the drawing room. He walks quietly to the door and peeks through the crack.

The new maid.

His heart shatters when he hears the depth of her despair as she sobs. She's probably crying because he was so hateful. He lightly puts his fingertips on the door to push it open and go to her. Then he stops. It takes everything inside him to turn from the door and leave her there crying.

******

When Annabelle gets back downstairs, the kitchen is bustling with activity. Mr. Presley is entertaining later that evening, so Mrs. Hall is in a tizzy getting everything ready. Most days she does just fine by herself since she's only cooking for one man upstairs and the help downstairs, but when he entertains, she wishes she had some help. Annabelle wanders through despondently and perches on a bench.

“Love, don't you have something else to do?” Mrs. Hall asks, sweat running down the side of her face.

“Not really. I've done all my morning work already.” Annabelle kicks the floor with the toe of her shoe. She's still having to work to keep from crying.

“Get over here and help me, then. I'm assuming you know how to peel and chop.”

“Yes ma'am. I did all the cooking when I lived with my… my parents.” Her voice catches in her throat and Mrs. Hall stops and actually looks at her with her red little nose and tear-stained face.

“Love, what's got you upset?” Mrs. Hall asks as Annabelle washes her hands and takes some potatoes to peel.

“Nothing, ma'am.”

“Call me Gladys, dear.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“Oh, I could never.” Mrs. Hall laughs.

“Even Mr. Presley calls me Gladys sometimes.” Annabelle looks up at her in shock. That's far more interesting than her troubles.

“May I ask why?”

“Sure you can. I practically raised that boy. His mother passed trying to birth his twin and I had Daniel who was nearly the same age. Colonel Presley was lost for a good while after the mistress died and he paid very little attention to his son. The nanny they'd hired wasn't a very nice woman and Elvis- I mean Mr. Presley- used to spend most of his time hiding from her down here with me. He played with my boys and I taught him to cook and play the pianoforte. He's almost like a son to me, despite the difference in station.” Annabelle’s eyes widen with Mrs. Hall’s words. She tries to imagine a young Mr. Presley running through the kitchen, learning to cook and playing with servant boys. But more than the image of him as a child, it's the look that Mrs. Hall has when she talks about him that surprises her. It's a look of deep respect and love. She wonders how long it's been since Mrs. Hall has spoken with him. Maybe he has changed. “Now why don't you tell me what's got you so troubled.”

Annabelle looks down at the potato she's peeling and decides that she needs someone more than she needs to keep her own secrets.

“It's funny you mention Mr. Presley.”

“Why, love?” Annabelle sighs.

“He's the reason I was upset. Well, not the whole reason, but kind of the last thing I could handle. No one here has been very kind to me, him least of all.” Mrs. Hall nods and smiles.

“Hm. He likes you.” Annabelle looks at her with her face scrunched in shock.

“No, he does not. I assure you.”

“He likes you and he knows he shouldn't. He's trying to keep you at arm’s length.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“How do you know? Maybe he hates me?”

“If he hated you he wouldn't speak to you at all. I know my boy. He likes you.”

“No, I'm sure that's not it.” Annabelle continues peeling potatoes in silence, but her heart is pounding. Why does the prospect of Mr. Presley liking her make her knees weak?

******

That evening, Mr. Presley has several friends over for dinner. They eat and play cards and have cigars and brandy and recount their most recent adventures in London. His closest friend, Mr. Jasper Davies, asks what everyone else is wondering.

“When will you be married, then?” They're not eager to lose the company of their bachelor friend, but they know the expectation now that he's the master of a great house.

“I have no designs on marriage anytime soon.” Mr. Presley answers, knowing this won't be realistic for very long. He'll have to marry sooner rather than later. Still, he's never found any particular young lady of his station that he liked well enough to marry. There had been one girl, an actress, that he had loved quite a bit before he joined the army, but she was not a viable partner for him. None of the ladies of the county interested him and he found most of them to be rather one-dimensional and boring.

The conversation about marriage continues, but Mr. Presley has a hard time focusing. For some reason, the new maid enters his mind. He thinks about her slender white hands, too delicate for the work she does. And the way her uniform follows her curves down to her waist and then hides the rest. What he wouldn't give to be able to see her legs and feet unobstructed. He lets his imagination go even further and suddenly a picture of her naked and sprawled on his bed appears. His cock twitches in his pants and he has to adjust and clear his throat to bring himself back to reality. That's a thought he cannot have, especially not in present company.

Eventually, everyone retires to one of the many bedrooms in the house. Mr. Presley stops briefly in the library with the vague hope that the maid might be there. Of course she's not, but the brandy he's had makes his logic a little faulty. He makes it back to his bedroom where his valet undresses him and puts him in bed.

It's not long before he realizes he's staring at his fireplace, imagining the maid on her knees in front of it. This image is quickly replaced by an image of her on her knees in front of him. He curses himself for the inappropriate images in his head and the way his dick hardens at the thought of her, but he can't stop his hand from finding himself under his nightshirt. She's so pretty and kind and graceful and oh, God, he'd give anything to see her and feel her pressed up against him as they tumble naked together in the bedclothes.

He moans softly as his hand pumps his cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, his thumb sweeping over the tip to collect the beads of precum as they gather. His hips buck into his palm and he strokes himself harder and faster. He tries to focus again on the actress that he normally thought of when he did this, but he can't. There is only the maid. The maid with her hands on him, with her mouth on him, with her thighs on either side of his hips as she sinks down onto him, with her lips parted and eyes closed as she reaches the peak of ecstasy and cries out his name. With that, he whimpers as he cums all over his hand, his cock throbbing and pulsing and leaking until his release has fully washed over him. He lays in his bed sweating and trying to catch his breath. The picture of her in his mind is so clear. He opens his mouth to whisper, but nothing comes out.

He doesn't even know her name.

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I really don't think there's enough fics involving butt stuff with The Ghoul. He defo strikes me as the type who fingers your asshole while fucking you from behind just to watch you squirm. It's like a dominance thing for him when you've been disobedient, but you'll never admit how much you love being his submissive little slut. Are readers and writers just not into it? Or have I just been looking in the wrong places?

To comment: from what I've seen in the years I've been consuming and writing erotic fan content, stuff that involves anal does, in fact, seem to be weirdly polarizing (depending entirely on the writer and the audience you're publishing to, of course). I'm not entirely sure whether that's due to writers' own personal taste, audience preference, stigma...a combination of factors? It's definitely a phenomenon I've noticed. I also wonder if there isn't just a contingent of folks who have no experience with anal and therefore no interest in it.

Personally, I try to incorporate lots of different tastes and "moves" into my work, and I think the people that subscribe to this blog have come to expect that. Butt stuff is nowhere near the most potentially scarring thing I've exposed y'all to, and will continue to not be. :)

However, at the same time, when I feature actual anal sex in any of my stuff, I try to be at least somewhat tactful and depict is as a realistic sex act, which can be kind of a task sometimes when you're trying to be both erotic and not completely impossible. Poorly written anal scenes both aren't hot and kinda ruin the vibe of the entire work, in my opinion. I think there's a difference between "suspension of reality for sexual fantasy" and "spreading bad sex ed information through fiction". There's certainly a place for pain play/painal type stuff, but there's also a place for the complete opposite. It's a bit intimidating for me when I write it sometimes; maybe some others feel the same, so they don't write it as often compared to other things? Complete conjecture.

To answer your actual ask:

You're absolutely right. That motherfucker absolutely loves making you squirm by giving you pleasure in ways that gross you out. He sees a sliver of his old self in you, himself when he was new to this ghastly world, when he clung desperately to anything that would give him a sense of normalcy. In this, there's a sick thrill for him; he gets to be the one to show you how things really work, his sheltered little vaultie. The world out here is even meaner and more disgusting than you could ever imagine.

He'll prove it.

You aren't inexperienced, but pretty much all of the experience you do have is vanilla, very straightforward sex. Exploration on this topic isn't exactly at the forefront of your mind, either, what with how much of an adjustment period you're having to go through after leaving home for the first time in your life. The stress of it all is what initially drives you into his arms, seeking any form of real comfort you can find from the only companion you have.

The sex is a good stress reliever when he isn't springing things on you. He is rather good for such a hot-and-cold old prick, and he clearly knows it by his demeanor; the way he preens over your crumpled form after he makes you cum so hard you forget how to speak is infuriating. You like fucking him, but you can't let him know just how much. He'd be genuinely insufferable if he found out.

Whether it's your reserved reactions to his obvious smugness, or something else internal, you're unsure, but he quickly begins to push your buttons for bigger and bigger returns. Most of the tricks he pulls you enjoy the feeling of, but the way he watches you to gauge your reaction makes it feel like he's winning, somehow, and it doesn't sit right with you. Doubling down your efforts, you try your hardest to be unshakable.

Unfortunately, the first time he slides his tongue down to tease at your asshole while he's eating you out makes you fold completely.

"That's disgusting!" you huff, wriggling beneath him. Telling him to stop doesn't follow like you want it to; the words get caught in your throat as he pushes the tip of the wriggling muscle into you, his other hand playing softly with your clit as your aching pussy throbs.

"Had my tongue much worse places, believe me." he replies, his eyes burning up at you from between your legs. It's so embarrassing.

However, the next time he's helping you out, before you even realize it, your hips are moving in a pronounced arc, trying your best to will him to slide his tongue further down without having to suffer the indignity of asking for it, of him knowing he's gotten this over on you. It feels amazing and you refuse to beg. Fortunately, he doesn't make you...this time.

When he's finished with you, he doesn't immediately pull away, both of you lying together in a spent puddle of limbs for a breathless moment.

"It's still gross, you know." you say, flat and halfhearted in exhaustion.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." he grunts back, eyes rolling as he pulls himself into an upright sitting position. "I didn't see you whining when you were tryin' to crush my head with your thighs, princess."

"I can't help it! It tickles when you do that!" you argue, indignant and searing hot in the face.

"Oh yeah, kid. I bet it tickles real good. That why you came so hard?" he smirks, leaning back so he can right his clothing, his eyes never leaving yours. You pull yourself up and storm off to the other side of the room to redress, annoyed.

And yes, probably his favorite overall move is to sneak one of his fingers or his thumb into your ass while he fucks you from behind; the shock in your posture, in your voice, along with the tight, hot feeling of your little hole (holes) around him...it's probably for the best that he can't see your face, no matter how badly he wishes he could. He knows he'd cum instantly.

As for you, the feeling is infuriatingly electrifying, right on the line between pleasure and discomfort. His long, nimble digit isn't even all the way inside you, only sunk to just above the second knuckle, but he's quickly working it further and further in, the rest of his hand curling to cup the roundness of your cheek as he supports your hips. The stretch isn't too intrusive, but his skin is so rough in texture that it makes you squirm as he presses on, spit and your other body fluids the only lubrication you're given.

"Fuck, be careful!" you hiss. His only response is a harsh swat to your bare ass with his unoccupied hand, which draws a yelp from your parched throat as he yanks you back even more firmly by the leverage he now has. Your hands scramble for purchase across the sandy desert floor, unable to hold yourself up properly as he hammers away at you with an almost possessed vigor. Quickly, your head falls further down with the force of his movements, sending you sliding forward a few inches.

He doesn't like that.

"Don't fuckin' run from me." he growls, the hand that isn't spearing you wrapping quickly around your shoulder to yank you back again. His hips snap into yours viciously, the pace increasing as he loses his grip on whatever remaining self-control he has. Your battered cunt clenches hard around him at the feeling, at his words, and soon you're both howling out your release as he digs his nails into your thighs, rutting you so hard you fully face-plant into the ground. When it's over, he at least has the courtesy to make sure you didn't bump your head too hard. He does not, however, apologize for the massive bruise on your ass from where he struck you more than once. Typical.

Eventually, you allow him enough control to restrain you, which you know is almost certainly a mistake. However, by now you're addicted to the feeling he gives you when he takes over, when he pushes your boundaries and uses you to sate whatever passion burns inside him. Besides, he's protected and saved you enough times by now to have earned your trust, even if you know that he'll sometimes use it against you for devious reasons.

The rope he always carries doesn't hurt against your skin like you'd feared it would, but he's also quite delicate in how he secures your arms and legs, each limb immobilized and leaving you on your back, completely at his mercy. He spends forever teasing you, worshiping every part of you with his mouth and hands until you're begging, begging for release, begging for him to stretch you.

"It's alright. I'll take care of you." he promises, the tone he uses with you now so much softer than when you met. You feel relief at his words, ready to feel your aching cunt wrap around him, but he doesn't move to expose himself. Instead, he produces a small bottle of what you quickly discover is some sort of neutral oil, which he applies liberally. The feeling of the cool, thin substance running down your folds makes you shiver in the best way, but you're tense when his teasing fingers move from your clit, prodding at your taut ass.

Slowly, he works his middle finger inside you, the sensation more pleasant now that you've become accustomed to it. After a minute or two, he's moving it back and forth freely, adding another dribble of oil before setting the bottle aside, placing his free fingers on your clit. The way he rubs at you as he fucks you with his other hand makes your toes curl, and you get lost in the sensation until you feel his index finger start to prod at you, as well.

"You trust me?" he asks. Your eyes dropping closed, you nod silently.

He's incredibly gentle as he works the second finger in alongside the first, stretching you further than ever before and making your mouth fall open in a silent groan. He watches your face, your body language, closely, trying his best to stay calm and steady as he begins to move his hand once more, the other never stilling on your clit.

The sensation is incredibly overwhelming, a fullness you've never felt before, especially when he eventually adds a third finger. Your body is lit up with sensation and twitching eagerly the entire time, both wanting to pull off of his hand and to plunge yourself down further. When he leans down and seals his lips around your clit, you scream out an orgasm that leaves you trembling against your restraints, which he actually lets you out of before fucking you so hard you literally cannot stand immediately afterwards.

"You're so mean to me, you know. I don't want to like this stuff." you sigh, mostly joking.

"Don't worry, I'll have you begging for my cock in your ass soon." he promises, that wicked glint back in his eye that makes you nervous.

You hide your burning face in his throat as he chuckles at you, the sound of him lighting a cigarette snapping through the air, his other arm wrapped around your waist as you lean against him. Biting your tongue, you hold back the urge to snarkily respond to him.

You know he's right. It's only a matter of time.

[hermitw]

I've been thinking about this reblog of yours for months and I finally figured out how to respond to it.

I went and read No Longer Human by Junji Ito and it was a very upsetting thing to go through. I don't think I can read it again. However, I came out of it thinking that Gege was probably inspired by it.

When Yozo is first introduced, I noticed that Takaba's backstory was very similar. Feeling isolated from others, he decided to become a clown to gain acceptance from others. (Citations in Image Captions)

And later when Yozo was caught "cheating" (it's in quotes because those women are child rapists), I noticed that her face was really similar to the one Higuruma's client made when he felt betrayed by the trial outcome.

There's probably a lot more to say about how themes surrounding CSA and suicide in this work are echoed in JJK, but I'm not able to make the post myself. No Longer Human is too far out of my comfort zone in terms of graphic depiction to delve into it deeper.

But you seem strong enough to handle it, so... Idk maybe run with this some more.

Ohhh this is so interesting! I could definitely read No Longer Human again - tbh I read Junji Ito's version years ago. This year I listened to the audio book and bought a copy - but it's like, a draft in the author's handwriting (bc I thought it would help me study Japanese and if I had an English translation that I'd read it on repeat lmao). But you're real for that - I forget how disturbed people tend to be trying to read through it, I'm sorry that was rough.

I did go back to read the reblog and idk how relevant all that was - I've reread the manga since and felt like, oh I might have been misremembering some things like Uraume - idk if they actually had a freeze response in ch. 219, since they did tell Yorozu to back off though it took a minute - but it's also interesting how their CT deals with ice. Like to have a fight response, they freeze others? It's so interesting but I can't be sure whether it's there at all. (ik that yap II inspired some more coherent posts, like how it influenced Choso's self-image, etc., I linked but didn't tag you back then bc I felt Annoying especially w heavy topics but I can definitely go back and find them if you'd like.)

On a twin peaks note (without spoiling it), I feel like it inspired jjk to some extent - I've been feeling like the last chapter will end the way s2 did. Or at least - with the weird dreamy themes, "we are the dreamer who dreams and who lives inside the dream", etc...

But you're right - Yozo and the others' reactions resemble more jjk characters than I would think to connect. Takaba's jokes are truly a shield... And now I have an excuse to read Junji Ito's version again? Thank u so much (also isn't it funny how September 28 Uzumaki airs and September 30 jjk ends?).

I think gege gets inspired by the most tragic stories, I wonder how much of that is accurate but I can't always be convinced otherwise.... Especially when anime / manga series that he's confirmed as influences often deal with autonomy in ways that I couldn't handle (Evangelion, the night beyond the tricornered window).

By the way - ik we've mentioned elfen lied before, but in the first episode, you know that coffee mug? How it looks like jjk foreshadowing? Even has snail head Mahito - cut off-, the baseball, Panda, the worm (also cut off).... and later the newborn babies that look just like Yuuji...

I swear that elfen lied, Kagewani, and banana fish influenced jjk. It seems so obvious w those, maybe Vampire Princess Miyu as well.

Sorry for getting off topic - I've been looking into why Momotaro keeps coming up in jujutsu kaisen, and in the end it came back full circle to that damn coffee cup. Invest in a baseball team? A zoo? I'm going insane.

All this to say - rereading Junji Ito's version and seeing if I notice similarities between manga panels is so exciting. Gege even made a note that he asked for permission before drawing - I think it was the Uzumaki CT - So we know he's a big fan of Junji Ito. And it seems like there is a rly good chance No Longer Human inspired him as well (though I feel like characters with similar traumas having similar reactions is inevitable to some extent, if they're written in a believable way, it should be clearer when I'm reading both stories in the same format) based on the stories he has officially referenced.

[prettypinkporkchop]

Love u hunny❤️ love reading ur stories can I request one where Paul was ur bully in high school and u haven’t seen him since graduation where he made u cry then u see him at the grocery store and try to avoid him but he sees u and when u make eye contact he starts following u everywhere but of course u don’t forgive him to easy u make him work for it until he’s begging on his knees for u

I LOVE YOU TOO BABES! I GOTCHU!

Flashback:

You sit outside at the Cullen's house. Your party dress is soaked with beer because Paul poured it on you. You are crying, waiting for your parent to pick you up.

Paul tried to flirt with you, but to him, you turned out to be a prude. Now, he hates you. Your outfits are ugly. You're ugly, at least that's what he says.

His favorite things to do are taunt you. Fake flirt with you and laugh with his friends. He bumps into you and makes you fall on the floor.

One time, he bought you a drink from the vending machine, but he put mentos in it, so it exploded in your face.

Now:

You're holding the basket, looking at meats to cook. You feel eyes on the back of your head. It confuses you, so you turn and make eye contact with Paul Lahote.

Your heart speeds up, and you hold your breath. You quickly turn away and drop your basket. You're not even worried about anything else but leaving.

You run out, turning back to see Paul walking quickly. You speed up and get inside your car. You look back to see he stopped and is watching you.

--------

You open your door and slam it shut. You slide down, breathing really hard in panic. You start sobbing.

You thought moving further away from Forks would save you. You were so wrong.

You hear a knock on your door. You jump up up and answer the door.

Paul.

Paul.

Paul.

"I'm sorry. For everything." He says. You slam the door in his face.

You back away slowly. But you can hear him behind the door. "I need to talk to you. This is important." He says.

You ignore him completely. You walk away from your door and take a deep breath in and out. Suddenly, you feel the urge to actually let him speak. But, you're scared. But you two aren't teens anymore. Come on. Suck it up.

You step to the door and open it. Paul's face lights up. God, he looks so different. His hair is cut, and he's so... big.

"What do you have to say?" You lean on the door.

He looks over every detail of your face in awe of you. He coughs slightly and then shifts his feet. "I just want to say I regret the things I've said and done to you. They aren't right at all. I've changed, and I was really hoping I could make it up to you." He doesn't lose eye contact.

Your hands start to sweat. Is he for real right now? You have to gather all of the words you want to say. It takes a few minutes of staring at his face before it comes to you. "Paul, look. I appreciate whatever you're trying to do here, but you've hurt me. You've hurt me a lot. I still to this day feel like I'm nothing. And it's solely on you." You were surprised by how you stood up. You seemed so confident, but deep down, you wanted to curl in a ball and hide.

You notice a change in his face. He looks genuinely upset and guilty. His wipes over his face, and then his fingers hold his chin before falling next to his side. "I understand. I know. I'll do whatever I can to fix this." He says.

"Why do you want to? Why are you here?" You ask with attitude.

"Because, seeing you again, I realized something. I don't want you to hurt. You're not supposed to hurt around me or because of me."

You are confused as hell and don't understand what he means by that. He notices your confusion and then reaches out his hand for you to shake.

"I will tell you everything you need to know. But can you please give me a chance to start over with you." He begs.

You stare at his hand. He's so attractive. The way his veins and muscles look. Damn it, Lahote! Why now?

You shake your head and back away. "No. Not now." You shut the door.

You walk into your room and lay in your bed.

The next day, you wake up and check your phone. You have a message from an unsaved number.

Number: ayo, it's Quil. Remember me? Haha. Well, I was just wondering if this is still your number from school. If it is, hello! Can we talk about something?

Quil Ateara?! What?!

You haven't changed your number in years. This is a weird surprise. Quil was a good friend of yours. Along with Jacob, Embry, and Bella. You haven't spoken to any of them in YEARS.

You: Hey! Long time, friend. It's still me. What's up?

Quil: awesome! Well first off, how ya been?

You: I've been good. Moved out of the house when I turned 19. I have a good job. Life is peaceful. How are you?

Quil: well, a lot has changed. A looottttt. But it's okay! I heard you ran into Paul.

You: how do you know?

Quil: he told me. We are good friends now. Trust me, he's not the same guy he was back in school.

You: it was good talking to you. Lmk if you need anything.

You left it at that. What the hell?

You get out of bed and get ready for the day. You sit on your computer, doing check-ins for your job.

Your phone rings so you answer it. "Yup?" You ask.

"Hey, can you come into the office today? I have a side quest for you." Your coworker giggles. Oh gosh, Jessica. What does she need now?

"Well, I was supposed to work at home today. What do you need?" You ask.

"Girl, our boss is so flirting with me. I need backup. Should I ask him out?" She whispers.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Jess, he's like 50. And that's not even allowed!" You laugh.

"Please come in!" She begs.

The drama would be fucking hilarious to see. "Fine." You say.

You head out of the house and go to the office. You park in your usual parking spot. A truck you've never seen before pulls up next to you. You squint to see who it is. They get out of the truck and it's fucking PAUL.

"Paul, what are you doing here?" You sigh in annoyance.

"I just wanted to give this to you." He says, walking around the car to you. It's your favorite flower. Did he remember your presentation in biology?

"Oh, thank you. I've got to go inside." You take it from him and turn around to walk inside. You're smiling, enjoying the attention Paul is giving you.

He's always been attractive to you, but now, it's extra. You can tell he has changed. But, you're not ready to get over the past yet.

You go inside and head to Jessica's station. She's not there. You look over to see everyone huddled over at the boss' door, listening.

Oh yeah, she got fired.

----

You get home from the store and notice a note on your door. You grab it and read it.

"Y/n, I think you're a wonderful person. I'm sorry and I'll say it forever."

The note actually made your heart soften for him. But, you can't give in.

----

You're at work, typing away. It's been a terrible day. Since Jessica got fired, all of her jobs have been put on you. Things are piling up.

There's a knock on your station wall. You look up and see a coworker. "Jesus, you scared me." You sigh.

"Sorry! Someone sent you something." He places it on your desk.

It's a black box. You slowly open it. Inside is a handmade bracelet. It's so pretty. Then, there's a note.

"I'm sorry."

---

You get home and see that familiar truck pull in behind you. Paul quickly gets out and walks over to you.

"What now?" You ask. You notice he is shirtless. His abs are crazy and he has a tattoo on his shoulder.

"Look, i.. I need to tell you something." He seems scared.

You decide to let him speak.

"I actually don't want you to think I'm crazy. Do you want to come to a bonfire with me tonight?" He asks.

"Not really." You scoff.

"It's just me and the guys. It's at the rez. We just talk over the tribes legends. This is very important." He urges.

"Fine. But no funny business." You say sternly.

"Yes, ma'am. I promise." He says genuinely. "I'll pick you up in an hour or so whenever you're ready." He goes to walk to his truck.

"Hey, no. That's too much driving. Just come inside and wait for me to get ready." You say.

He stops and looks at you with surprise. He follows you inside and looks around the house. You point to the couch and then go into your room. You leave him alone in there while you get ready.

You step out and see him sitting on the couch, thinking. "Ready." You say.

He jumps out of his thoughts and smiles up at you. "You look stunning." He gushes.

You can't help but blush and look away. "Thanks. Can we go?"

-----

You sit at the fire listening to Billy Black talk. Paul has been following you around the place. Every step you take, he's right behind you. But you've met some awesome people! Plus, you rekindled with Jacob, Embry, and Quil.

"The wolf in us can sense what humans can't. We must be ready for what is to come. It doesn't stop here. The quiet is only for a moment. Hold onto your imprints, your family, and friends. We don't know what could happen." Billy warns.

You turn to look at Paul. You're so confused. HUH!

After that, you sit in Paul's truck, waiting for him to take you back home. He finally gets in the drivers seat and sighs. "It's all true." He said.

"What, you're a wolf? You cut your hair, got buff, and got a tattoo just like your friends?" You scoff.

"It's serious. Vampires and shifters are real. And you're my imprint." He looks at you.

Your chest is starting to hurt. What have you gotten yourself into?

You're staring at his beautiful face. You're just falling in love. You have to stay strong. "Take me home, please." You say.

You open the door, slam it shut, and head to your house. Meanwhile, behind you, there's a begging, Paul. "Please don't leave me like this. I'll do anything for you. You are my world. I want to show you that." He calls out.

You stop in your tracks and turn to him. Before you can speak, he falls to his knees. "Y/n, let me love you." You can see a tear shed.

A switch flips in you. "Paul, can you show me?"

He looks up at you. "My.. wolf?"

You nod your head in response. He reaches out his hand for you to grab. You hesitate, but slip your fingers under his thumb. His big and warm hands fill you up with butterflies. You can't help but stare at how your hand fits in his.

But he starts walking, bringing you to the backyard of your house. He stops and backs away from you. "Stay right there. Don't get too close. I'm going to take off some of my clothes. You can turn around or close your eyes."

You turn your heels and face the other way, looking at the trees. You hear cracking and growling. You turn around. On the ground is a pile of clothes and shoes. In front of you stands a dark gray wolf. It is huge! You look into the brown eyes, and instantly, you feel Paul. The wolf whimpers and lowers its head.

After that ordeal, you're sitting on your couch, listening to Paul explain everything. You watch as his lips move. You just want to kiss him now.

You're zoned out. You lean in, interrupting him, and kiss him. He's in shock but grabs the back of your head and kisses you back. God his lips. They're moving in sync with yours. You can't pull away. No, you can't. You want more. You start to move your body closer, about to straddle his lap but he stops you, grabbing your hips. He pulls away and chuckles.

"No, no. That's another time, beautiful." He smirks.

You blush deeply and bite your lip, staring at him. "It all makes sense." You whisper.

[brunchable]

𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐱

Part Five | Seven Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 7.5K Themes: Forbidden/Off-Limits Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Bucky finds out from Steve that Y/N is taken. Meanwhile, with her symptoms becoming a hindrance in her life, Y/N decides to visit her Doctor.

taggies: @astrelz @pattiemac1 @mrsevans90 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strepsils123

Y/N sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the bouquet of lilies in her lap. The flowers felt like a formality—something to soften the evening she wasn’t looking forward to.

Ethan sat beside her, his jaw clenched, hands resting on his thighs, his posture as stiff as ever. For all his calmness, she could sense he was bracing himself.

“Y/N,” Ethan’s voice broke the silence.

She blinked, her thoughts momentarily scattered, her gaze still fixed on the lilies. It took a second longer than usual to process what he had said. “Yeah?”

Ethan frowned, but he continued. “We need to talk before we go in,” he said, his tone more serious than usual. “I’ve been working on something—a real way out of this. But you need to hear me out.”

Y/N shifted slightly, feeling a twinge of discomfort at the edge of her thoughts. Had she already asked him something about this earlier? Her mind had been playing tricks on her lately, short gaps in memory that made conversations blur.

“Well?” she asked, trying to push through the fog.

Ethan exhaled slowly, collecting his thoughts. “You already know we can’t just break it off out of nowhere. You know how your father is. This isn’t just about us—it’s about public perception, about politics. The media is already watching his every move, and if we do this wrong, it’s going to backfire. For both of us.”

Y/N frowned, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon on the bouquet. She tried to focus on his words, but her thoughts slipped away like they were caught in some strange, sticky haze. She blinked hard, as if clearing her vision would clear her mind.

“You keep saying that. But what’s your actual plan, Ethan?”

“Okay, here’s what I’ve mapped out,” Ethan said, shifting slightly to face her more directly. “We can’t break it off right now—not with the event coming up. Your father is going to introduce you to the public for the first time, and we need to maintain a united front for that. There will be too many eyes on him, on us—actually. . . this plan might be crossing some dangerous territory but trust me.”

Y/N’s frustration simmered, but she let him continue.

Ethan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “After the event, we create a slow, controlled narrative. We start appearing together less in public. Gradually, we let it slip to key people that we’re focusing on our careers, that we’re ‘growing apart.’ It won’t be sudden. It’ll be gradual, subtle. The public will buy it because we’ll be feeding them a story that makes sense.”

He paused, gauging her reaction, but Y/N’s expression remained unreadable.

“So after the event,” she said slowly, “we pretend like everything’s fine for a little while longer? And what dangerous territory are you talking about?”

“Huh? Did I say that? Ignore that and just trust me,” Ethan replied, his tone firm but calculated. “It’s all going to work out, I'll tell you more during the event.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And what about the engagement itself? What do we say about that?”

“We make it seem amicable,” Ethan continued. “We’ll say it was a mutual decision to step back.”

Y/N sat back, her mind racing as she considered his words. “And what about my father?”

Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s the tricky part. Your father won’t like it—at all. But his is where the dangerous part comes in.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened on the bouquet as she considered his plan. “What dangerous part? You said it won’t be scandalous.”

“It won’t be on our part but this is necessary. If we’re strategic, we control the narrative. So what do you say?”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her mind spinning. Ethan’s plan was cold, calculated, but it made sense. He wasn’t asking her to be patient for nothing. He had thought it through—every angle, every move. Still, the idea of keeping up the façade for a while longer felt suffocating.

“We’re running out of time,” Ethan added quietly, as the car slowed in front of the White House gates.

Y/N stared out the window at the imposing building, the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to keep playing this game. But Ethan was right—this was bigger than them now.

She sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

Ethan gave her a tight smile. “I promise. Just a little longer.”

As the car pulled up to the entrance, Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her composure. Ethan offered his arm as they stepped out, the bouquet still clutched in her hands like a shield. She glanced at him, knowing they were about to walk into another performance. 

× × × × 

The Avengers were gathered on the terrace, enjoying a rare evening of relaxation. Tony manned the grill with exaggerated flair, flipping steaks while bantering with Clint, who was attempting to sneak food from the grill.

“Clint, if you steal one more piece of steak, I’m revoking your Avengers membership,” Tony warned, eyeing him as he flipped another steak on the grill.

Clint smirked, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But if you burn that one, I’m taking it.”

Clint grinned, pretending to hold up his hands in surrender. “I’m just quality-checking for you, Stark, in case you burn one. Consider it a service.”

“Please,” Tony said, waving his spatula, “I don’t burn anything. Ask anyone.”

Happy, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold statement, considering what happened with the burgers last summer.”

Natasha chuckled from her seat at the table. “Yeah, Tony, we all remember the ‘crispy’ burgers.”

Pepper walked out of the house, smiling as she set a basket of bread on the table. “I’m surprised you all still let him near a grill.”

“Hey!” Tony protested, “My grilling is top-notch.”

Peter, who was seated between Clint and Sam, leaned forward, grinning. “Well, I mean, if this doesn’t go well, there’s always takeout, right?”

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Tony said with a wink. “Now, everyone, prepare to be amazed.”

As the group continued to banter, passing around plates of appetizers, Thor raised his goblet of mead. “I must say, this meal is already fit for a king!” He took a long drink and slammed the goblet on the table, making Peter jump.

Bruce looked amused as he sipped his drink. “Thor, you’ve had three goblets already. Maybe slow down?”

“Slow down?” Thor laughed heartily. “Nonsense, Banner! This is a night for celebration!”

“Celebration for what, exactly?” Natasha asked, her eyebrow raised.

“Does a man need a reason to celebrate among friends?” Thor replied, grinning.

Sam chuckled. “You’re always celebrating, Thor.”

As the steaks were finally placed on the table, everyone dug in. Clint immediately went for the biggest piece, earning a glare from Tony.

“Steak thief,” Tony muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Clint smirked, cutting into his steak. “What? It’s a gift.”

Peter was devouring his food with enthusiasm, looking between the adults. “This is awesome! I mean, I usually just have pizza nights with May, so this is... cool.”

Happy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’ve gotta try the Stark steak, kid. Just don’t expect it to beat New York pizza.”

Tony shot Happy a look. “Hey, nothing beats Stark steak.”

“Not even pizza?” Peter asked, genuinely curious.

“Not even pizza,” Tony said with a smirk, winking at the kid.

As the group dug into the meal, Tony took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. “So, speaking of dinners... anyone get an invite to the Thaddeus Ross Spectacular coming up in a few weeks?”

Pepper rolled her eyes, giving Tony a light slap on the shoulder. “Tony...”

“What?” Tony shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s not every day a guy like Ross throws a party to show off his ‘secret family.’ You’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty intriguing.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Let me guess—you’re more interested in the political gossip than the actual event?”

“Oh, come on, Nat. You know me too well.” Tony winked before turning his attention to the rest of the table. “So? Who’s going? Everyone get an invite?”

Clint leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, got one. Not sure if I’m showing up, though.”

Sam snorted. “You? Miss a chance to rub shoulders with the political elite? Shocking.”

“Apparently, he’s been keeping his daughter hidden away, and now he’s ready for the grand reveal.” Tony chuckles.

“Why now?” Bruce asked, curious.

“Politics, probably,” Sam said, taking a sip of his drink. “Everything’s about appearances.”

Happy chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past Ross to use his family for a political boost.”

Pepper sighed, giving Tony a nudge. “Can we not gossip, please?”

“Just saying,” Tony grinned. “It’s not every day you get an invite to something like that. So, who’s going?”

Clint nodded. “Now that I know the context, I might.”

“Same,” Sam added. “Seems like a bit of a spectacle.”

Bruce shrugged. “I got one too. I don’t know if I want to go.”

Thor, who was already pouring himself another drink, chuckled. “I shall attend, if only to witness the drama.”

Peter looked confused. “Wait, Ross? Isn’t he the guy who—?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, cutting him off with a smile. “Same guy.”

“Okay, just making sure I’m keeping up.” Peter raised his hands. 

Bucky, who had been quietly eating, finally chimed in. “I got one. Haven’t decided either.”

Tony gave him a teasing look. “Oh, come on, Barnes. What’s not to like? A stuffy political event, full of pomp and circumstance. Your kind of crowd.”

“Yeah, sounds like a blast.” Bucky smirked, shaking his head.

Pepper turned to Steve, who had been unusually quiet. “What about you, Steve? Are you planning on going?”

Steve shrugged, pushing a piece of steak around his plate. “I got an invite... I just haven’t decided.”

Tony chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Rogers. You can’t pass this up. You’re curious, I can tell.”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Steve chuckles, “We'll see.”

The evening had grown quieter at Tony’s, the Avengers scattered around, finishing their drinks and chatting in smaller groups. Steve and Bucky stood near the terrace, leaning against the railing, a comfortable silence between them.

Steve glanced at his beer, swirling the liquid around. "I saw Y/N the other day... Thought I should try therapy too."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, letting out a small chuckle. “For what?”

Steve shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, you know, now that I’ve carried on my legacy to Sam. Not Captain America anymore. Gotta figure out what’s next.”

Bucky nodded, though his thoughts were already starting to drift. “Huh. I see.”

There was a pause before Steve added, almost too casually, “I didn’t know Y/N has a boyfriend.”

Bucky’s head snapped toward Steve, his stomach tightening at the mention of Y/N. He caught himself quickly, casually retreating into a more neutral posture, but the surprise had already flashed through him. 

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she was taken.”

Steve looked at Bucky, his curiosity piqued. “Really? You think so?”

Bucky shrugged, trying to keep his voice light, even though his thoughts were racing. Taken? He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Y/N could be with someone, and now the idea of her with another man—after she kissed him, twice—bothered him. What the hell was she doing kissing me if she had a boyfriend?

“She’s smart, successful,” Bucky said, keeping his tone nonchalant. “And let’s be honest, she’s pretty damn attractive. So, why would she be single?”

The words came out easily enough, but Bucky could feel the simmering frustration building in his chest. He had let himself get caught up in her—let her get under his skin—and now he was finding out she might have been playing him all along. Was I just a moment of curiosity for her? Some game to figure out who she kissed at that party?

Then it hit him—he once saw Y/N with a man in the café during one of their run-ins. Idiot!

Steve tilted his head, watching Bucky a bit too closely. “You say that like you know something.”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, his face a mask of indifference, even though his insides were twisting in knots. “I don’t know anything. I just wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve nodded slowly, “Huh. Guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Bucky stared out into the darkened sky, trying to push the thoughts away, but the bitterness clung to him. The realization settled like a stone in his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the anger flared again. Why the hell didn’t she just say something?

They stood in silence for a few moments, Steve sipping his drink, still turning over what Bucky had said. But for Bucky, the silence was filled with the echoes of those moments with Y/N—the kisses. Now, it all felt like it had been a game. And the worst part was, he couldn’t shake how much it bothered him.

× × × × 

Session 4

The room was quiet, the ticking of the clock the only sound cutting through Y/N's voice. Y/N sat across from him, clipboard in hand, her professional mask perfectly in place as she glanced down at her notes. 

She had been talking about progress, about making amends, but her words barely registered with Bucky. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in frustration and confusion. 

He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N with another man. Taken—that was the word that kept replaying in his mind. She was taken. He wasn’t mad that she had someone; he was mad that she kissed him like it meant something, only for him to find out she was with someone all along.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, simmering in silence, when Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Bucky, you seem very closed off today. Is there something on your mind?”

He blinked, refocusing on her. “No.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to him from her notes. “Are you sure? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Bucky let out a small, frustrated breath. Of course I’m quiet. How was he supposed to talk to her when she was hiding so much? When she had kissed him but still had another man? His fingers curled into his bicep a bit tighter, but he kept his voice leveled. 

“I’m fine.”

Y/N didn’t press, but the silence that followed felt suffocating. She looked down at her clipboard again, jotting something down, and the sight of it—her calm professionalism—only made his frustration boil higher.

He shifted in his seat, his body tense. He didn’t understand how she could sit there so collected, while his mind was racing. 

Y/N glanced up again, her tone gentle but probing. “Bucky, if there’s something bothering you, this is a safe space to talk about it.”

His jaw tightened. A safe space? That felt like a joke. He could spill his guts to her, tell her everything about his past, his pain, his guilt. But what about her? What was she hiding? What was she not telling him? The frustration simmered hotter.

He shifted in his seat again, trying to tamp down the anger rising in his chest. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. The silence, the tension—it was suffocating him. Finally, he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice sharper than he intended, “it’s funny.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. She set down her clipboard, giving him her full attention. 

“What do you mean?”

Bucky huffed out a breath, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You know everything about me. All my baggage, all the crap I’ve done. But I don’t know one damn thing about you.”

Y/N straightened, her professional mask slipping just slightly. “Bucky, this is a therapeutic setting. The focus is on you—”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky snapped, his frustration boiling over. “But how’s that fair? You’ve heard everything about me. You’ve seen every scar, every mistake I’ve made. And I don’t know anything about you. Not even something as basic as... if you’re—” He stopped short, biting down on the words he almost let slip, but it was too late.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, her voice still calm, though there was a crack in her usual detachment. “This is about helping you process what you’ve been through. It’s not about me.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Of course it’s not. Because why would it be? Why would I get to know the person who knows all my deepest, darkest secrets?”

Y/N held his gaze, her expression softening slightly, but she still kept that professional distance. “Bucky, if I’ve crossed a line—”

Bucky leaned forward, cutting her off, his voice low and sharp. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly, her mind clouded, the words slipping from her grasp. It was like she was reaching for a thought, but it stayed just out of reach, teasing her from the edges of her awareness. Her heart raced in frustration, not just at the argument but at this unsettling feeling that had been plaguing her for days.

“I... I wasn’t—” she stammered, blinking as she tried to focus on Bucky’s angry face, the lines of it somehow blurring together. It felt like the room tilted for a brief moment, but she quickly grounded herself, inhaling deeply to stay composed.

“You kissed me,” Bucky’s expression hardened, mistaking her hesitation for guilt. “Not once, but twice. And now, I found out you’ve been with someone this whole time?”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t respond right away.

Bucky shook his head, his tone bitter. “What was that? Some kind of test? You trying to figure out if I was the guy from that party? Well, guess what? I wasn’t. But you didn’t even give me a chance to say anything before you tried again.”

Y/N’s face softened, and she started to speak, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You know everything about me. Everything. But I don’t know anything about you. You sit there with that clipboard, all calm and collected, while I lay my soul bare. But what about you? What are you hiding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but the words seemed to falter. Bucky could see the cracks forming in her usually unshakable demeanor. She wasn’t used to being the one under the spotlight.

“It’s not fair, Y/N,” Bucky continued, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You’ve got this wall up, and I’m supposed to just keep spilling my guts to you while you stand there behind it, safe and protected.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. “Bucky...”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “I’ve told you everything. Every mistake, every regret, every damn thing that haunts me. And you? I don’t even know who you really are.”

Y/N’s hands tightened around the arms of her chair, her nails digging into the leather as she fought to stay present. His words cut through her, but the fog in her mind made it difficult to piece together a response. Why couldn’t she just think straight? The frustration bubbled up inside her, and her head throbbed as if under the weight of a thousand unsaid words.

Bucky watched her, waiting for something, anything, but the room remained heavy with unspoken words.

“I didn’t mean to—” she started, her voice shaking slightly, but she paused again, a sudden confusion taking over. Had she told him that already? Was she repeating herself? Bucky’s words echoed in her ears, and for a moment, everything felt disjointed, like pieces of a conversation out of sync. 

“You’ve never asked.” she added, her voice barely audible.

Bucky blinked, then let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound catching even him off guard. He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “That’s your answer? I never asked?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the clock, clearly trying to buy time. “It’s not what you think—”

Bucky scoffed, his laugh harder this time, sharper. “Oh, that’s rich. ‘It’s not what you think.’ What, you think this is just some misunderstanding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You’ve got a guy, right? And yet, you've kissed me. Twice. What am I supposed to think, Y/N? You make me feel like I’m the guy on the side, like I’m stealing someone else’s girl. I don’t do that.”

Y/N’s face flushed, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to respond, but she stayed silent, her eyes downcast.

The frustration had been simmering for days, ever since he’d found out she wasn’t single. And now, sitting here, watching her keep up that perfect, composed therapist façade, it was too much. 

He wasn’t just angry—he was insulted. He wasn’t the kind of man to step into someone else’s relationship, and the fact that he had kissed her without knowing she had someone was eating him up inside.

“You didn’t tell me,” Bucky said, his voice lower now, filled with barely restrained anger. “You didn’t tell me anything. And now, what? I’m supposed to just sit here and pretend it didn’t happen?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bucky, I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” Bucky cut her off, his tone harsh. “What were you trying to do? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you were playing games. And I’m not the kind of guy who does that. You put me in a position I didn’t ask for. You made me...”

He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from him. He felt trapped, like he’d been dragged into something he had no control over. The last thing he wanted was to be tangled up in someone else’s drama, especially when it came to relationships. He wasn’t the guy who crossed those lines.

Y/N looked up at him, her expression softer, but she still didn’t speak.

“You’ve got your life, your man. Fine. But don’t pull me into it.”

The sharp sound of the alarm ringing broke the tension, signaling the end of their session. Bucky glanced at the clock, then back at Y/N, the frustration still etched across his face. 

He let out a long, heavy sigh, standing up slowly. Without another word, he turned and made his way toward the door, his movements stiff, controlled. He paused for the briefest of moments, his hand resting on the doorknob, but he didn’t look back.

“You take care, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no warmth in his voice. 

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Y/N remained where she was, her eyes still fixed on the spot where he’d been sitting just moments before. Her throat tightened, and her vision blurred, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. She was stubborn, always had been, and she wasn’t about to break down now. Not after that.

× × × ×

Y/N’s heart raced as she navigated the city streets, her thoughts a whirlwind of worry and confusion. The familiar sounds of the bustling city seemed distant as she pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through the evening traffic. The day had dragged on longer than usual, her symptoms clouding her focus as she worked through meetings and paperwork. But now, with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her, she needed answers.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned off the ignition. Inhaling deeply, Y/N gathered her things and stepped out of the car, moving quickly through the entrance. The sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the private clinic always made her uneasy, but today, her unease stemmed from something far deeper.

The receptionist glanced up as she entered. “Miss Y/N,” she greeted with a soft smile. “Dr. Kim is expecting you. Please, go right in.”

Y/N nodded, unable to muster more than a polite smile as she made her way down the hall. Her chest tightened with each step until she finally reached the familiar door. Pausing for a moment, she exhaled slowly and knocked softly before opening it.

Dr. Kim looked up from his desk, his expression immediately softening as he saw her. 

“Y/N,” he greeted warmly, standing to meet her. “Come in, have a seat. What’s going on? You sounded urgent on the phone.”

Y/N sat down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The overwhelming need to explain everything spilled out of her, the words tumbling over one another as she tried to make sense of the chaos in her mind. 

“Dr. Kim, I—something’s wrong. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s been happening for weeks now. I keep getting these... these daydreams that feel so real. I’ll lose track of time, or I’ll end up in places and not remember how I got there. And my head... it’s like there’s this constant fog, like I can’t think clearly. I’ll forget things in the middle of a conversation. It’s—it’s scaring me.”

Dr. Kim’s brow furrowed as he listened, concern flickering in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his desk. “When did these symptoms start?”

“A few weeks ago,” Y/N admitted, her voice shaky. “I thought it was just stress at first—work, everything with my father, the engagement. But it’s getting worse. It’s like... like I’m losing control of my own mind.”

He nodded, his face calm but serious. “Have you experienced any physical symptoms? Headaches? Nausea?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. The headaches are getting more frequent, and they’re... different. Not like any I’ve had before. And I get this dizziness, like the room is spinning, but it’s only for a few seconds at a time.”

Dr. Kim sat back in his chair, deep in thought. “Y/N, I’m going to schedule an emergency scans for you—right now. I don’t want to wait on this. Your symptoms... we need to rule out any serious issues.”

Her stomach twisted at the word "serious," but she nodded, grateful that he was taking action.

“What scans?” You shook your, trying to blink off the incoming headache.

“CT, MRI, PET. I'll add a Blood analysis as well—you might want to cancel plans, if you've got one tonight or you can go home and we can arrange a time tomorrow for the results.” He gave her a choice.

“I can stay. I need to know what's going on.”

Dr. Kim stood up, motioning for her to follow him. The minutes that followed were a blur—hushed conversations with nurses, the hum of machines, and the cold, sterile air of each scanning room.

She lay still as the machine whirred around her, her mind racing despite the calm instructions from the technician. It felt like hours and hours had passed by the time she was finally back in Dr. Kim’s office, waiting for the results.

When Dr. Kim returned, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. He carried a file in his hands, his face somber.

“Y/N,” he began quietly, taking a seat across from her. “I need you to listen carefully.”

Her pulse quickened, her intertwined fingers tightening on eachother. “What is it?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the file before meeting her gaze. “The scans show something... concerning. You have a rare form of cancer called Cloud Cytoma.”

Y/N blinked, her mind reeling as the words hit her like a wave. 

“Cancer?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “How bad is it?”

Dr. Kim’s expression was gentle but unflinching. “Cloud Cytoma is an extremely rare type of cancer that affects the cranial nerves. It explains the symptoms you’ve been experiencing—memory loss, disorientation, even the vivid daydreams. The tumor is in the area of your brain that controls memory and perception.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. "How… How long?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dr. Kim weighed his words carefully but there was no easy way to break out bad news. “I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good. With treatment, we may be able to manage the symptoms for a little while, but... you likely have about six months, give or take.”

The words hit her like a tidal wave. Her breath caught in her throat as the world around her began to blur. 

“I can contact specialists around the globe, who study this form of cancer. I will do my utmost best to find another way. . . . .”

For a second, she wasn’t sure if she was still in the room. It felt like she was slipping into one of those disorienting daydreams again, the ones that felt too real but weren’t. Her vision wavered, and she instinctively pressed her hands against her temples, trying to anchor herself.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Dr. Kim’s voice cut through the fog, concern deepening in his tone.

Y/N opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to shake off the sensation that everything around her was crumbling. She took a deep breath, but the words "six months" echoed in her mind like a broken record, looping endlessly.

Six months. It was absurd. How could someone just say that so calmly? She had just come in here expecting to hear she needed rest, maybe a break from work, and instead, her entire world had been ripped out from under her in a matter of minutes.

She stared at Dr. Kim, trying to wrap her head around it, but the room still felt tilted. 

"Six months..." she whispered, shaking her head. "That’s... not enough time to even figure out how to respond to something like this."

Dr. Kim nodded sympathetically, his eyes steady on her. "I know it’s overwhelming. But we’ll focus on making you as comfortable as possible and explore every option available."

Y/N bit her lip, staring down at her hands, her mind spinning. This was her life now—six months left to live. Six months to figure out how to say goodbye to everything and everyone. The absurdity of it all clawed at her chest. It was so ridiculous, so horrifyingly unfair. Six months. The more she thought about it, the more surreal it felt.

And then, out of nowhere, a small, unexpected sound escaped her lips. A laugh. It was quiet at first, almost like a hiccup, but it bubbled up before she could stop it. Her shoulders shook with it, and before long, she was laughing—softly, incredulously, like she couldn’t quite believe the situation she was in.

Dr. Kim blinked in surprise. "Y/N?" he asked cautiously.

But Y/N couldn’t stop. The sheer insanity of being told she had six months to live, just like that, felt like some sort of twisted joke. She wiped at her eyes, half-laughing, half-crying, the sound mixing into something she didn’t even understand.

"Six months..." she gasped between laughs, shaking her head. "I barely know what I’m having for dinner tonight, and now I have to figure out how to live with six months left?"

Dr. Kim watched her with a mixture of sympathy and confusion, clearly not expecting this reaction.

She took a few deep breaths, her laughter finally subsiding, though the absurdity of it all still hung in the air. 

"Sorry," she muttered, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "It’s just... It’s kind of funny when you think about it. I mean, how does anyone process that? It’s so... random."

Dr. Kim’s expression softened, and after a moment, he allowed a small, understanding smile. "Everyone processes this kind of news differently," he said gently. "Sometimes, a little laughter helps. It’s your body’s way of coping with the shock."

Y/N nodded, still smiling through the haze of disbelief. “Yeah... maybe. But I can tell you one thing—this isn’t how I imagined my day ending.”

× × × ×

Y/N sat at the bar, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, trying to drown out the noise in her head. Probably not the best decision but with six months left? Why should she even care anymore?

When she took another sip of her drink, a sudden, sharp pain pierced through her temples. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake it off, but the disorienting fog that had plagued her for weeks started to settle in again. The world around her seemed to tilt for a moment, her breath catching as she tried to refocus.

She blinked hard, forcing herself to concentrate on the glass in her hand. Everything felt too bright, too loud, like the whole bar was closing in on her. 

A presence beside her jolted her out of the fog. A man she hadn’t seen before, clearly drunk, sidled up next to her with a lazy grin on his face.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning closer than necessary. Y/N tensed immediately, her skin crawling at the intrusion.

“Why’s a pretty thing like you sitting here all alone?”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she pushed down the panic, trying to stay present. She had to. “Not interested,” she said flatly, her voice sharper than intended. She lifted her glass, hoping he’d take the hint.

But he didn’t. The grin on his face widened, and he leaned even closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

Her grip on the glass tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears. The fog was still there, lurking at the edges of her awareness, but she forced herself to focus, forced herself to stay grounded. She wouldn’t let this escalate.

“I said, not interested,” she repeated, her voice icy.

The man’s smile faded slightly, his hand reaching out to brush over her arm. “Feisty, huh? I like a girl with some fire.”

Y/N jerked her arm away, her heart pounding in her chest. “Back off,” she snapped, louder this time, but the man’s hand moved to her thigh, his grip tightening just enough to send a wave of nausea through her.

Before she could react, a strong hand clamped down on the guy’s shoulder, yanking him backward with force.

“Let go of her,” a firm voice said, filled with authority.

Y/N’s eyes darted up to see Steve Rogers standing beside her, his expression hard as he pulled the man off her. The drunk stumbled backward, a look of anger flashing across his face.

“Who the hell are you?” the man growled, trying to stand up straighter.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his posture straight and unmistakably threatening. “Walk away.”

The man scoffed, rubbing his shoulder, clearly too drunk to realize who he was messing with.

“Nah, I’m good right here.” His eyes flicked back to Y/N, a disgusting smirk crossing his face. “She and I were just getting acquainted.”

Before he could say another word, Steve’s fist shot out, connecting with the guy’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man staggered back, crashing into the barstools before crumpling to the floor, clutching his jaw in pain.

The entire bar went silent, everyone turning to see what had just happened.

Steve stood tall, glaring down at the man on the floor. “I told you to walk away.”

The drunk groaned, still clutching his jaw as he scrambled to his feet, glaring at Steve but clearly outmatched.

“You’ll regret that,” he spat, stumbling toward the door, muttering curses under his breath as he left the bar.

Y/N sat there, still frozen in place, her heart racing. The sudden flare of pain in her head had passed, but the fog lingered, making everything feel slightly off-kilter. She had been ready to scream, to fight back, but Steve’s intervention had caught her off guard. Slowly, she released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Steve turned to her, his expression softening as their eyes met. “You alright?”

Y/N nodded, though her voice was shaky. “Yeah. I’m... fine.”

Steve studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her face, as if checking to make sure she was really okay. “You sure?”

Y/N let out a breath, finally allowing herself to relax. “Yeah. Thanks for... you know.”

“It’s nothing.” Steve gave her a small, reassuring smile. He motioned to the empty stool next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

Y/N hesitated, still shaken, but then nodded. “Go ahead.”

As Steve sat down beside her, the tension in the air began to dissipate, though Y/N’s thoughts were still a mess.

Steve glanced at her drink, then back at her. “Rough night?”

“You have no idea.” Y/N let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking her head. 

Steve’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”

Y/N stared at her drink, debating whether to unload everything or to keep it all bottled up, like she always did. She sighed, shaking her head. 

“It’s... complicated.”

“Life usually is.” Steve smiled faintly. 

Y/N took another sip of her drink, her thoughts still swirling, when Steve’s voice broke through the heavy silence again.

“You know,” Steve said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “it’s kind of funny.”

“What’s funny?” Y/N glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m sitting here, offering to listen to you, and you’re supposed to be my therapist.” Steve leaned against the counter, he gave her a playful look. 

“You know, therapists need therapists too?” Y/N couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her.

Steve grinned, clearly enjoying the lightening of the mood. “I guess I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a two-way session.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m off the clock, Steve. If you want therapy, you’ll have to book another session.”

Steve let out a low laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But it feels like I’m earning some points here. First catching you before you fell, now the bar rescue, and now some free therapy advice? You’re really getting the full Captain America experience tonight.”

“Is that what this is? The Captain America experience?” Y/N shook her head, her smile widening.

“Saving lives and giving pep talks, all in a day’s work.” Steve raised his glass in a mock toast.

Y/N’s laughter came more freely this time, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had been pressing down on her lifted just a little. She hadn’t realized how much she needed a moment like this—something light, something simple. No complications, no lies. Just a small break from the storm that was her life.

She glanced over at Steve, who was watching her with that same warm, gaze he always had. There was something about him—his presence, his calmness—that made her feel at ease. For a fleeting moment, she considered telling him everything. But the thought quickly passed. She couldn’t drag him into her mess.

“Thanks, Steve,” Y/N said softly, her voice sincere.

Steve shrugged, still smiling. “Anytime. I’m not just good at punching guys, you know.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re also good at therapy.” Y/N smirked, giving him a playful look.

Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking over to her empty glass. “Well, if you ever need more... Captain America therapy sessions, you know where to find me.”

Y/N nodded, her smile fading slightly as reality began to creep back in. The joke was lighthearted, but the weight of everything she was carrying started to settle in again. She felt the heaviness pressing down again, but before she could sink too deep into it, Steve leaned forward, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You know,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “there’s one thing I’ve always wondered.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Steve took a dramatic pause, glancing around the bar like he was about to share a state secret. Then, in a completely serious voice, he asked, “Do therapists actually read all those self-help books, or is that just for show?”

Y/N snorted, caught off guard by the absurdity of the question. She covered her mouth, trying to keep from laughing too loudly. “Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wondering?”

“Hey, it’s an important question. I mean, there are a lot of those books out there. The Art of Not Giving a Damn, How to Be Your Best You, 10 Steps to Inner Peace... Do you just have a whole library of them stashed somewhere?” Steve grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“Well, some of us don’t need a self-help book to be as annoyingly well-adjusted as you, Captain.” Y/N couldn’t hold back the laughter this time.

Steve held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Annoyingly well-adjusted? I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in weeks.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, alright. To answer your question—no, I don’t have a secret stash of self-help books. But now I feel like I should start collecting them, just to mess with people.”

“You should. Imagine the look on people’s faces when you recommend something like Finding Inner Zen for Dummies.”

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. “Yeah, that would go over real well with my clients.”

Steve leaned in a little closer, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “I bet Bucky would love that.”

Y/N’s laughter bubbled up again, the sound light and genuine. “Oh god, can you imagine? He’d walk out immediately.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “Absolutely. The moment you pulled out a book like that, he’d be gone. You’d have to chase him down with a copy of Anger Management 101.”

Y/N was laughing so hard now, her sides hurt. “Stop! I can’t breathe!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But only because I don’t want to be responsible for making my therapist pass out from laughing.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you, remember?”

Steve gave her a playful shrug. “Hey, you help me, I help you. That’s how this works, right?”

“I guess so. I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a comedy show, though.”

Steve crossed his arms, looking mock-offended. “Comedy show? I’ll have you know I’m much more than that. I’m also very good at giving bad advice and quoting old movies no one’s seen.”

“Oh, really? Now I’m intrigued. What’s the worst advice you’ve ever given?”

Steve pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm... worst advice? Oh, I know. I once told Tony that it was a good idea to let Peter drive the Quinjet.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “You did not!”

Steve grinned. “I’m kidding. I’d never let that happen. But Tony would.”

Y/N let out a relieved breath, still smiling. “I was about to say...”

The tension that had weighed her down all night seemed to disappear, replaced by the warmth of Steve’s humor. She wasn’t sure how he did it—how he could make her laugh so easily, even when her world felt like it was spinning out of control—but she was grateful.

Steve caught her eye again, his smile softening just a little. “Feeling better?”

Y/N nodded, the smile lingering on her lips. “Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good,” Steve said, his tone gentle now. “You deserve to feel better.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at his words, but before she could dwell on the emotion behind them, Steve leaned back and gave her a cheeky grin.

“Now, do I get a discount on my next therapy session for all the laughs I just provided?”

Y/N burst out laughing again, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. You’ll pay double for that, Captain.”

Steve raised his glass in mock surrender. “Fair enough. It was worth a shot.”

As Y/N's laughter filled the space between them, Steve's smile faltered for just a second. He caught himself watching her more closely than he should, noticing the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the small crinkles at the corners of her mouth. His heart ached—just a little—as he realized how much he wanted to be the one to make her feel like this all the time.

But he pushed the thought aside, burying it beneath the camaraderie and lightheartedness of the moment. He wasn’t sure when it had started—this subtle pull toward her—but he felt it more and more with each passing day. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not when her world was already complicated enough. Not when his own feelings were supposed to be under control.

Still, sitting beside her, hearing her laugh, he couldn't help the quiet longing that settled in his chest.

[ryllen]

alex who is good at heart & said  “good luck” when he rejected you after  “nah... I'm gonna ask someone else” on flower dance festival

and actually care about having friends,

that he has been acting friendly to u even at 0 hearts, in seek of new friend opportunity.

[moeblob]

New OCs

(briefly, humans and supernatural beings have to team up for building better relations with each other and all the supernaturals can shapeshift and take on human appearances but also have their 'original form'.)

OK so I was GOING to draw fanart today - I had a fun idea and everything! But health anxiety (and anti-anxiety meds) wore me out so I kinda .... slogged through OCs as a treat to me. I am going to go to the doctor tomorrow so HOPEFULLY it's all okay.

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)

[hecksupremechips]

Night shift or short attention span for the wip thing?

I’ll choose night shift basically Akihiko has this nightmare based on a real memory where he and Shinji got into a very heated fight that dissolved into like, chaos and angry beatings on Akihiko’s part and his nightmare is a warped version where he just keeps punching Shinji in a blind rage until there’s nothing left of him. He wakes up terrified and unsure of what’s happening and Shinji isn’t there BUT ITS OKAY HES FINE he’s just at work I think sadly unfortunately my man has to work a shitty convenience store job to make some money while trying to figure life out and he’s temporarily working night shifts so that’s why he’s gone and Aki does call him at work in the middle of the night for reassurance and asks if that incident really went down the way he remembers it (it didn’t). It’s kinda dark but has a nice ending at least

[everythingsinred]

controversial opinion of the year is that i dont think barbie was that great bc its message was all over the place and also they didnt realize they had made kens the women in their story so it just seemed bizarrely misogynistic to me

[caffeinatedopossum]

Events of last night:

Me: *crying*

My girlfriend: what's wrong?? :(

Me: *struggling to form words* intrusive thoughts are bad... I don't want to talk about them because then I'm scared that they're true and you might think I'm awful

My girlfriend: ah I actually get that. I have those a lot. It doesn't mean anything though, intrusive thoughts are just like dreams. Like the things you do in them aren't really things you want to do, it's just stuff your brain comes up with.