#how are we supposed to just. move on from this

[seventeendeer]

as a fat person who's always clamoring for more interesting fat characters in media, I honestly think one of my all-time favorite depictions of a fat character is Jumba from the original Lilo and Stitch - both visually and personality wise

from a design perspective, even though he's an alien, he has so many little anatomy quirks that make him a more believable fat character than many fat human designs in other media. I love the realistic sag and layering of the fat on his arms, the lack of neck definition, the rim of chub around his face and upper back, the way his back is rounded. his clothes pull taut and pinch in anatomically accurate places (e.g. shoulders are firmer = smoother outlines, the sides and back are squishier = bumpier outlines).

and he's stylized so well! all these great details boiled down to some simple shapes and pen strokes. IMO the Lilo and Stitch art style is extremely appealing - it's warm and clean and visually pleasing, but every character is super unique. Jumba isn't supposed to be pretty, but even though he's a very large, very fat, bald older guy who spends most of the movie in crop tops, the way he's stylized and staged makes it clear the audience is supposed to find him interesting to look at, and variably intimidating/cool/powerful/capable. he's often funny, but the physical aspect of his comedy is derived from being so hefty the other characters struggle to prevent him from barreling ahead and doing whatever he wants; being fat makes him come off more in control of the funny situations he gets into, not less. also, because the art style is what it is, a lot of his character acting also just makes him look kind of cute ... though that's universal across the cast

I also really like the fact that his size clearly gives him both realistic advantages and realistic disadvantages. along with having a stronger sense of agency in the comedic scenes, his size in combination with his impulsivity also makes him a more intimidating antagonist. you never know what he's going to do, and his size makes it difficult for other characters to stop him when he's made up his mind. at the same time, it seems to take him longer to catch his breath, he sometimes grunts when moving around a lot to imply it takes more effort, and he clearly struggled to find clothes that fit him when putting together his disguise. I think it's awesome that the character's size impacts how he interacts with the world so much, and again, in relatable ways

and personality wise, it is ALWAYS great to see fat characters portrayed as intelligent - not only is Jumba an accomplished scientist, he's also crafty and witty! a few quiet scenes imply a philosophical side, as he ponders on Stitch's existence and feelings as a living weapon. with Stitch explicitly being made in his own image to an extent, I'd argue there's even room to interpret some of the things he says about Stitch being hints to how he sees himself; we never learn much about Jumba's past, but it's clear he's a social misfit and strongly defiant. I don't think it's a stretch to assume some of what he said to Stitch about being a monster who can never belong anywhere was intended to read as projection (which makes it all the more heartwarming when both of them find a place to belong on Earth)

it's also a nice twist that toward the end, Jumba is the one who is unexpectedly compassionate toward Nani, while Pleakley tries to urge him to ignore her. again alluding to a level of emotional depth and intelligence that is often missing from even well-intentioned depictions of fat people. his character isn't even fully explored, and yet he's one of the most dynamic and interesting supporting characters in a movie full of fantastic characters. the audience is expected to find him fascinating and even sort of mysterious, and he is!

the sequels and spinoffs were more merchandise-driven franchise fluff for kids than the artsy direction of the original movie, but even so, I remember Jumba went on to become Lilo's lovable, amoral uncle figure, which I also thought was so fun as a kid. I love that they committed to the fact that he was more caring and compassionate than he seemed. not only was he a cool evil mad scientist character, but he was also eventually ... a friend ...

and he was even gay

[poisonofthepaint]

why are you up here?

a story told through cigarettes and suicidal tendencies. you and jack spend the time trying to talk each other down from the roof, until the fourth of july, when neither of you can get up there.

cw: widower!jack, reader has a dead best friend, jack calls reader kid, age gap, kissing, probably not accurate information on how the military works, that's really it but this is probably the most emotional thing i've written in a while lol so beware. uhhh also cigarette smoking, duh. Also. not really proofread so i'm sorry

wc: 4.6k

The first time you meet Abbot on the roof, it’s you who’s on the ledge. It’s the first chilly day of the year. Mid-September, the scorching summer finally seems to come to a halt. Your legs dangle off the building, your back is pressed against the concrete floor. Your stethoscope hangs above your head on the bar that’s supposed to prevent situations like this. The door opens and closes. You close your eyes and listen to his steady gait walk towards you. The sound echoes off the concrete. 

“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack, kid.” You don’t answer him, or look at him. Your hand reaches up and lightly bats the medical instrument. You watch it swing back and forth. “Why are you up here?”

“I don’t know, my attending always comes up here, figured I’d see what all the rave is about.” 

He scoffs at you, “Right, I usually do it at the end of my shift though. You’re on hour two. And I’ve never once laid down. I mean, really, this is strange.”

“I’m tired.” You state plainly, still not moving, except for the hand that’s batting at the rope.

“Okay, you’ve gotta stand up, it’s scaring me.”

“I don’t know if I care.” 

You’ve never been this nonchalant; this detached. That’s how Abbot knows something is wrong. Yes, you lost a patient, but he’s never seen it hit you so hard that you had to come up to the roof about it. He doesn’t know what to make of it. He thinks back, and tries to figure out why it would affect you this badly, but then he realizes, he actually doesn’t know anything about you. Sure, he knows where you went to medical school, and he knows that you’re funny, and you dislike bedside manner. You love stabilizing gunshot victims, your favorite restaurant is a Mexican joint that will give you a free margarita after you’ve had your second. He knows you have a shitty ex that wrote a rap song about you. And he knows you can calm an irrational patient down in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t know anything about your past. Before medical school is a mystery to him. 

He says your name in a gentle tone, you finally glance at him. “Listen, we can talk if you want. You know I’ll listen. Or, we can sit up here, in dead silence, but you have to come back from the ledge.”

You oblige, with a huge sigh, and scoot yourself back behind the bar. You still sit, but upright now. You feel like an animal locked in a cage.

“You know you did everything, right?”

“It was the same.” You say, “It was the same as Molly.”

Abbot nods, like he knows. He’s scared you’ll run if he asks for more information, but from your few words he can gather enough.

“I brought Molly to an ED just like this. They did everything they could too. But the wound was too severe. She was too out of it. She wasn’t a good student, hell, neither was I. But she had a fucking future, you know? Like, she deserved to at least try. But that fucking asshole ruined it all.”

He thinks back to that patient. Her dark hair, mangled. The deep cut on the side of her body, abdomen slashed. Abbot thinks about the girl’s blue eyes, how they went back and forth between the back of her head and staring directly at the light. 

“Molly was in a car with some guy she was seeing. She liked him, he gave her all the shit for free, but one night, he got really high, and he and Molly were driving around for fun. But he went into a tree, and he died on impact. Molly had a stab wound from the windshield glass. She was scared of getting arrested, so she called me. I had to pull her out of the car, and by the time I got there, she was too out of it to fight about going to the hospital.”

Abbot soaks in your words, prepares himself for what you’re going to say next. He never stops staring at you. He still stands, hands in his pockets. He focuses on the top of your head. He notes how you shake it lightly every time you say Molly’s name. Like even the mere acknowledgment of it brings up images. He knows how it feels, he has a few names like that.

“I parked in the ambulance bay, and ran her inside. I held her hand while she bled out on the table.”

You take a deep breath and look back at him, wondering if you’re just talking to yourself. Abbot pulls something out of his pocket, a pack of Marlboro blacks. You scoff, and he smiles when he sees a smirk come to your face. 

“You smoke old man cigarettes.”

“Sorry, I don’t have your princess ones.”

You take the cigarette and the lighter from him, flicking it a few times before it finally lights. You take a deep inhale, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

“They had stabilized the wound, at least a little bit, but then they started their neuro tests. No eye reaction to cold water. Pupils blown. She was fucking braindead. They said she must’ve hit her head when the car crashed. She didn’t have any family. She was an aged out foster kid. I was her emergency contact. I had to choose. I had to tell them to pull the plug— to stop. I know no one could’ve saved her, or made her not get in that car. But I still hate it.” You take another deep pull of the stick, the wind blows, and the smoke burns your eyes. 

You stand now, still smoking. You take another drag before offering it to Abbot. He takes it from your hand, taking his own pull. You note how he holds it, held between pointer and thumb, other fingers floating above it. 

He nods his head, “I’ve got a few Molly’s. A few cases that hit too close. I wish I had something I could say.”

You know he’s right. There’s nothing to say.

 “It just fucking sucks, man. Like, really bad.” you voice.

Abbot lets out a chuckle, “Yeah, it does.”

There’s no changing her death. There’s no changing that there will be more Molly’s. This you know.

“My first day back to work after my wife died, I got a patient that looked like her, or maybe I was projecting on the first woman with red hair I saw come in.” You glance at him, you didn’t even know he was a widower. You must have started after it happened. 

“It took Robby and Dana to talk me down from here. Honestly, I was mostly scared shitless that Dana was gonna kill me for making her walk up twelve flights of stairs.” He shakes his head, and locks eyes with you, offering you the cigarette back. You take it gladly, quickly putting it back between your lips. 

“It doesn’t get any easier, but you realize that they don’t want you to join them, wherever they are. Molly wants you here, and I’m sure she knows that you did all you could for her. And you did all you could for that girl in there.”

You nod along to what he’s saying, and stub the cigarette out on the bottom of your shoe. 

“You ready to get back to it? I know it won’t go away, but I’ll deal with the girl’s family, okay? Sit this one out. You can take the foot fungus in central fifteen.”

You laugh, a loud one, and Abbot thinks to himself, finally, there’s that noise I’ve been waiting to hear. 

“Fuck you, and your foot fungus.”

He ticks his head towards the door, and you head in behind him. 

The next time you’re led to the roof, it’s snowing. A cold day in February, the month that drags forever. This time, Jack stands at the ledge, no coat, no gloves. Just standing. You’re thankful he at least wore a long sleeve under his scrub shirt today.

“You need your hands to work in the ED.” you say, plainly. 

It was only a few months back that he was talking you down, and since then, you’ve grown closer together. Sure, you two were always friends. But after telling him about Molly, it was like something shifted. You loved to mess around with him when you could. And he seemed to really take a liking to you after your stint. He always dragged you onto cases with him, ignoring the efforts of Shen to be the one to teach you something. It was nice, it felt like having a friend, even if you only saw each other in the hospital. 

“Why are you up here?” Jack asks, not turning around.

“I brought you a present. But, you can only have it if you put on these gloves.”

Jack turns half-heartedly, and you wave a pack of cigarettes in front of him, like it’s a toy.

“You call yellow American Spirits a present?”

You scoff, “Fine, I’ll smoke one. Asshole.”

And you do. You take one out of the pack, and light it, taking a deep drag. “I’m sorry that she had red hair.” you say softly.

It’s the only detail you knew about his wife. The only thing he dared to share with you about her.

The woman you spent the last hour coding had bright red hair that laid on the table like a cruel joke. It was all spread out, and it looked brushed, even though she had been in the ED, awaiting an ICU bed for three days. She had liver failure, and it had finally given out. Even when you were operating on her, everyone in the room knew that the only thing that would fix her would be a new liver, but you still tried; she didn’t have a DNR. 

Jack reaches a hand back from the ledge, asking for the lit cigarette.

“Gloves,” you say.

“No,” he replies firmly.

“Well,” you sigh, “I tried.” you say, handing him the lit cigarette.

You walk closer to the ledge. Of course, he’s in front of the bar, looking around. You don’t pressure him to talk, just stand with him patiently, like he did for you.

“My wife, Camille, died at home, in bed with me. I woke up one day, and she was just gone. Couldn’t get her up. They said her heart just stopped beating. Sudden cardiac arrest. Her hair was laid out just like that patient’s. I did CPR for twenty minutes straight. They had to pull me off her.”

You swallow and it’s thick. The cold temperature makes your nose run. He offers you the cigarette back.

“No, keep it.” you reach back in your pocket, fetching your own. 

“Camille was the best. I met her right before I enlisted. I had done two years of college, and it just wasn’t really for me. I was studying sports medicine, and I hated it. An enlister talked me into it, told me that I could do real medicine on the field, and I liked that idea. I’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

You nod, the storyline connecting in your head. 

“Camille wrote me letters every week, called me on the phone whenever I could talk. I loved her so much, I proposed in a letter, and we got married after I was done with basic.”

“Damn, surprised you didn’t scare her away.” Jack scoffs and shakes his head at you. It was normal for you two to make offhanded, dry jokes at each other. He knows you mean no harm.

“She stayed with me through it all. Through the war, and the trauma, and the fucking amputation. She took care of me when I didn’t want her to. When I begged her to leave me so she could have a normal life, and not be stuck with some guy who has to wear a prosthetic. But she loved me, and, man, I loved the shit out of her.”

He took a drag of the cigarette, and shook his head at the sirens coming down the street. He finally turns the way you’re standing. You have your one arm crossed, tucked into the warmth of your side. The other hand holds the cigarette steady by your mouth. You can feel the snow melting in your hair, and you know you’ll be a bit damp when you go back in. 

He finally locks eyes with you, “And then, when everything seemed normal, I had gotten into a good place here, she worked from home, so I got to spend the days with her. She just died. Just like that. In bed, with her hair sprawled out on the pillow.”

You nod, like you understand the ache of losing a spouse, even though you don’t. Camille was probably like fifteen Molly’s for him, you realize. 

“I would ask you to come back from the ledge, but after that, man, I don’t know.” 

Jack laughs again, and you smile at him, brightly, thinking maybe your shining smile will convince him to come with you. 

“I was told once, though, that they would want me here, doing what I do best.” Jack looks down, a rare break of eye contact from him. “Jack, Camille would want you here. She would want you to stay saving people. She doesn’t want you to meet her again, not yet.”

“Yeah, I know.” He says, still looking at the ground. “Someone told me though, that it still fucking sucks.”

You laugh, and he peers at you through his eyelashes. Finally, he swoops under the bars, coming to where you're standing. The cigarettes are long abandoned on the ground, snow covering them softly. 

“Thank you,” Jack says, and you’re a bit taken aback.

Usually, he would end something like this with a joke, but he seems like he actually seems grateful, and that scares you even more. You wonder if today was the day he might’ve done it. And you thank God that you stood in the gas station line to buy a fresh pack yesterday. 

“Sure, whenever.” You say, looking up at him, squinting a bit in the snow.  “You know, I think Myrna was saying something about needing to use the bathroom, if you want something easy.”

He scoffs at you, and lets out a small chuckle, “There is nothing easy about that woman.”

You lead him back inside, and you have to admit, you’re proud that you can join the club of people who have successfully talked Abbot off the roof.

The next time you both ache to head to the roof, you’re unable to. A scorching hot Fourth of July. No wind, no clouds. The waiting room is filled with people who've been waiting since their 1:00PM barbecues, and the clock has just struck 10:00. Abbot has seen three patients with red hair code. You’ve had three car crashes caused by drugs, and two patients die that looked a little bit like Molly. To say the day was already going bad was an understatement. 

You two kept sneaking looks at each other all night. Abbot’s eyes, usually hard and cold, would meet yours with a softness, like he knew what you needed, but also knew he couldn’t provide it. It was way too busy to let you sneak off for a break. This also meant he couldn’t, which led to him being a bit more snappy with the staff.

Jack wasn’t ever mean. Sure, he was firm, and he handed orders out like he was still running a combat zone, but you knew he meant no harm by it. Tonight, though, Jack was a little bit mean. He had snapped at Ellis after the first redhead coded, basically screaming, “Dammit, Ellis! How many times do I have to tell you that I need to assess every patient!”

He also yelled at Shen about his tendency for bathroom breaks, telling him that no grown man should have that small of a bladder, and that he should seriously get it checked out. Basically, Jack was about two hours away from being summoned to HR. 

You had stopped caring after the first Molly-look alike died on your table. You had been silent, avoiding eye contact with all the staff, except Jack. you wanted to tell him to stop screaming, because it wasn’t helping anything, and you knew he’d regret it, but you also felt like it wasn’t your place. You wanted to scream too. If you had the seniority to do it, you probably would be snapping at everyone.

You knew that the Fourth was already a really bad day for Jack. he didn’t enjoy his service being paraded around by people who didn’t understand, he didn’t find the day as celebratory as everyone else seemed to. This was the first time he had worked it in a few years. And of course, he was rewarded by his dead wife haunting him all night long.

Finally, you find a moment to sneak away, having maxed out at five patients, all waiting for labs. You sneak into the break room, sitting in a flimsy plastic chair and throwing your hands on top of your head, suddenly aware of how hot it is in the ED. Since the department was kept so cold, it never really got hot, but it was way hotter than usual, maybe even at 70 degrees, you guessed.

You sit there like that, with your eyes closed, ignoring the chatter outside of the room, and it’s a nice feeling. The tears start to prick behind your eyelids, and you know if they start, you won’t stop, so you quickly think of something else, something happy. The first face to come to mind is Jack, which shocks you.

You think about the case he took with you about a week ago. A young boy, with a broken arm, who couldn’t seem to stop spilling sensitive information about his parents’ marriage to the both of you. He had been brought in by his kindergarten teacher, and she seemed equally humiliated.

While Jack set his broken bone, the kid babbled on. “Yeah, so, my mommy said that she doesn’t really like the man like that but my daddy seems to think she really likes him. My mommy and the man even have photos together on my mommy’s phone.” The kid says, all in one breath.

“Well, mommies can have friends.” Jack had said, trying not to get himself in trouble.

“Yeah, but, mommies and their friends don’t usually have S-E-X! At least, that’s what my daddy says. Wait, what is S-E-X?”

Jack jumped up from where he was sitting, “Dr., why don’t you get that propofol going?”

You gave him a quick salute and grabbed the medicine from the nurse, trying your hardest not to giggle at the awkwardness of the situation. 

You feel a little bit better after recalling the memory, a small smile finds its way to your face.

The door creaks open and your eyes open at the noise, it’s Jack standing there, with a grim look on his face.

“Sorry, getting back out, I was waiting on labs.”

“S’fine,” He grumbles, coming to sit next to you.

“So, how are–”

“Don’t,”

You nod your head, and slowly get up from the chair you were sitting in. To your surprise, he puts a hand on your arm, and shoots you a look. You sit back down with him, but don’t dare to look over at his face again. You want to break the ice, but you’re not sure if it’s the right time. You want to just let him wallow, you want to wallow too. You want to smoke a million cigarettes on the roof with him, and not say a single word, because you both just know. That’s how you want to spend the rest of the night.

“You shouldn’t yell at people who don’t know why you’re upset.” you say.

“Maybe they shouldn’t do dumb shit then.” he huffs, a hand wiping over his face.

“They’re not being that dumb, they’re being the usual dumb.”

“So, what, I should only yell at you because you know why I’m upset?”

“You shouldn’t yell at anyone. But, sure, if you need to, yeah, I’ll take it.” 

“Hell no. You just want to be punished because you’ve had Molly’s tonight.” 

It was still terrifying how well he could read you. He knew that you wanted to be blamed; that you wanted to be told you could’ve done something different, even though you knew it wasn’t true. 

“I’m not gonna yell at you, kid. I know you’re itching to get up there as much as me. I yell at those two buffoons because I know after today they won’t think anything of it. You’ll think about it if I yell at you.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not just your boss, like I am to them.”

You swallow hard, because now Jack has said what has gone unsaid for almost a year. That you were more than coworkers. You had never let it run away from you. You never, ever, met outside work. But contained in the walls of PTMC was charged energy that wasn’t appropriate for a boss and his subordinate.

“Jack, I can’t even begin to think about that right now.”

He nods slowly, like he knows he just dropped a bomb when he shouldn’t have. You finally look over at him to meet his hazel eyes that have been boring into your head since the moment he sat down. You give him a small, shaky smile, and stand up.

“I have to go check on patients.”

He nods again; says nothing, lets you leave the room. You close the door behind you and shake your head, trying to get the situation to leave you alone. 

After midnight, it finally starts to quiet a little bit. Way less traumas, a lot more normal stuff, meaning you were finally able to thin the herd of the waiting room a bit. King and Langdon weren’t on until 5:00 but they snuck in early, around 3:00, which gave you a bit of slack. You try your hardest not to notice that Mel is obviously wearing Langdon’s shirt, but it’s difficult not to. She shoots you a glance, like she knows you know, and you give her a shrug and then a thumbs up. Mel blushes and hurries away, like she doesn’t want to be seen. 

Finally, at 3:30, you make your way up to the roof. All twelve flights, you try to save your tears for the heights, but can’t seem to. When you open the door, you know that your eyes are already red. It doesn’t shock you that Jack is already up there, standing over the bar.

He glances back when the door closes, “I would ask why you’re up here, but I guess I already know.”

You join him over the metal railing, standing right next to him. There’s still no breeze outside, and it’s achingly hot for 3AM. “Yeah, real fucked up night, huh?” you laugh— a lot. To the point that your stomach hurts. And so does he, he slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side, for a quick hug.

You pull a pack out from your pocket, Marlboro reds this time.

“Trying something new?”

“I’m trying to compromise.”

He nods and takes one from you, pulling out his black lighter, that’s so dinged up it looks like he’s had it since the war, by the way. You honestly don’t know what he does to get it so dirty. He hands it over to you, and you light yours, deeply inhaling the first pull.

You two stand there like that for a while, smoking in silence. He doesn’t take his arm off of your shoulder. It’s a nice comfort; the physical affection after a shitty day. 

“I can’t believe we still have three more hours.”

He hums, “Should be easier now that King and Frank are here.”

“You know they’re sleeping together, right?”

“Oh, yeah, big time. It’s way funnier to let them think they’re being subtle though.”

You laugh, and choke on the smoke that was halfway into your lungs. 

“About what I said earlier, if you don’t feel the same, I get it. I know I’m pretty messed up, and a lot older. I understand.” 

“No, I do feel the same. I do. And your age doesn’t deter me. I’m pretty messed up too, if you couldn’t tell. It won’t be easy, which is what I’m worried about. I feel like they always say love should be easy. That it just happens. Which I guess it did.”

“Yeah, it did.”

“I just feel like I’m always fighting. I’m always fighting to do the right thing for myself. It’s like survivor’s guilt, I guess. If everyone I couldn’t save doesn’t get to be happy, why should I? Why should I live a good life, and not suffer?”

“Don’t let yourself go there, don’t. Hey–” Jack grabs your face with his hands and turns you towards him. “What’d I tell you, huh? She’d want you to be happy.”

“Are you gonna let yourself be happy? Are you gonna make everyone else’s shifts bad because a woman comes in with red hair?”

“I’m going to let myself be happy for you. I’ve talked to my therapist about it, he thinks I’m ready, he thinks it’d be good. He thinks you’re good for me.”

He lets his hands relax to your shoulders, so he’s holding you gently. “It’s so scary,” you mumble, close to tears again, “It’s so scary to be happy.”

“We have to, though. We have to.” Jack nods his head at you until you start nodding too. Until he thinks you’ve understood him. 

His eyes break away from yours to look down at your lips. He runs his thumb over them, and you let him. You feel like your heart has dropped to your stomach. You forget where you are until a firework goes off in the background, startling you both.

“Jesus, who is still doing fireworks?”

“Probably someone who’s gonna come in with an injury in fifteen minutes.”

He hums again, and ducks under the railing, pulling you with him. 

“Before they do, I need to do this.”

As the second firework makes a loud pop in the sky, Jack leans in, his lips finally touching yours. The kiss is soft, like he’s still scared. His hand cradles your face, and his thumb brushes soft strokes on your cheekbone. The fireworks continue in the background, popping and sprinkling down. You feel like they’re going off in your chest. You push yourself impossibly closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He’s steady, rock solid, for the first time since Molly died, you feel like you have somewhere to toss the burden, at least for this minute. You throw the ache off the roof, and let yourself be close to someone again.

The all familiar sound of sirens pulls you two apart. You smile up at him, and he smiles back, no teeth, of course, but a small grin. You know he knows how you’re feeling. You know he feels the same. And, God, it feels good to know.

“Back to it?”

You sigh, “Three more hours.” 

Jack’s hand is steady on your lower back the whole twelve flights down.

[jkwrites-m]

Begin Again

Bonus Chapter - Another Time

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: soulmates, past life, smut, fluff

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: In a life gifted by second chances, love becomes gentler, deeper, and destined to grow.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, fluff, emotional confessions/vows, pregnancy, soft, crying, healing, labor (not graphic), cursing, mentions of death, breastfeeding, wedding, explicit: kissing, cuddling, couch sex, missionary, soft doggy, oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple smut scenes, fingering, breast play, body worship, jk loves titties 😭

A/N: so someone asked for a bonus chapter (sequel??) and i wanted to make sure i hit everything 🫶

ANOTHER TIME ♡ LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

═══════

y/n’s pov:

Five months felt like a lifetime.

And no time at all.

There was something surreal about planning a wedding with someone who already felt like my husband. I knew what it was like to lose him. I knew what it was like to grieve a future we were supposed to have.

So maybe that’s why I wasn’t the bride who lost her mind over calligraphy or napkin textures.

All I wanted was a quiet place, a soft dress, and him waiting for me at the end of the aisle.

Still… someone had to plan the damn thing.

“I swear if you don’t pick a venue this week, I’m gonna marry him myself,” Nayeon teased, flipping through Pinterest photos beside me on the couch.

“I already offered,” Taehyung called from the kitchen. “Jungkook turned me down. Tragic, really.”

“Let it go, Tae,” Jimin said flatly.

I laughed and leaned my head on Nayeon’s shoulder, sipping from my iced lavender tea. “I have a venue. It’s just… more of a place than a venue.”

Nayeon raised an eyebrow. “Okay, mysterious.”

“The cove,” I said softly. “Where he proposed. Where we went that day, before anything bad began.”

The room went still for a moment.

Then Nayeon smiled- not her usual cheeky grin, but something gentler. “That’s perfect.”

═══════

Later that night, after everyone left and Jungkook was curled into my side in bed, I scrolled through dresses on my phone- not big, sparkly ones. Just soft shapes. Linen. Silk. Flowy silhouettes.

“Do you want to be surprised?” I asked, voice low in the dark.

“About what?” he murmured, half-asleep.

“What I’ll wear.”

“I already know you’ll be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled into his chest. “That’s not an answer.”

“Then yes. Surprise me,” he whispered, kissing my hair. “But I hope you wear bare feet. You’re always prettiest when you’re grounded.”

My heart thudded.

I nodded into his skin and whispered, “Okay.”

═══════

Three days later, I booked the permits for the beach. We’d marry there in mid October-  when the sky turned amber early and the air was still warm enough to hold us.

I flew my parents and Riley in from home, just like I’d always dreamed- quiet arrival, tearful hugs, long overdue introductions. They loved Jungkook instantly. Of course they did. He made coffee for my dad and cried when my mom told him he was already family.

I didn’t need a huge wedding.

I had him.

And he was already everything.

═══════

The night before I went dress shopping alone, I couldn’t sleep.

I watched the moonlight trace the shape of his collarbone and thought: This man watched me die, screaming my name when he couldn’t move. And now he gets to watch me live.

How do you prepare vows for someone like that?

How do you pick a dress when you already feel like a bride just from lying next to him?

I didn’t know.

But I knew I didn’t want a crowd.

I wanted air and waves and salt in my hair. I wanted sand beneath my toes and my heart in his hands. I wanted something soft. Something that felt like the opposite of survival- something that felt like beginning.

So when I walked into the boutique the next day, I skipped the racks of satin and sparkle and went straight to the corner with the linen, the chiffon, the long trailing skirts that whispered more than they shouted.

It took thirty minutes.

I found it without even trying: a sleeveless ivory gown that gathered at my waist and fell in gentle ripples to the floor. No beading. No corset. Just the feeling of wind and water and warmth stitched into fabric.

I twirled once in front of the mirror.

And in my mind, I could already see him.

Smiling.

Waiting.

═══════

Later that night, Jungkook helped me hang twinkle lights across our little balcony. We were sitting on a blanket beneath them, sipping chilled wine, barefoot and tired, but happy.

I leaned against his shoulder, twirling the ring on my finger.

“Five months,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said. “Feels close and far at the same time.”

“You nervous?”

“Only about not crying like a baby when I see you walking toward me.”

“You cried when I bought soy milk last week.”

“It was organic. I got overwhelmed.”

I snorted and elbowed him gently.

He turned and kissed my temple.

“You’re really marrying me, huh?” he said, voice softer.

“I already did,” I replied. “In every version of us. This one’s just for keeps.”

═══════

jungkook’s pov:

I’d rewritten the first line six times.

I stared at the page, ink smudged at the edge from where my palm kept dragging over it. The notebook sat open in front of me on the coffee table, untouched for almost twenty minutes. My pen rested against the back of my knuckles, unmoving. Useless.

I couldn’t find the words.

It wasn’t that I didn’t feel them.

It’s that I felt them too much.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Not just the woman in our house who wore my hoodie to bed and kissed me behind half-open refrigerator doors- I saw all of her.

I saw the version of her that fell asleep beside me in a backyard under the stars when we were kids.

I saw the one who said my name while bleeding out onto the floor.

I saw the one who didn’t recognize me when I begged her to remember.

And I saw her now.

Softer. Whole. Full of light again.

How do you put that into vows?

How do you write a promise when you’ve already broken it once- not by choice, but by fate?

I scribbled down a sentence and scratched it out before the ink dried.

Then I put my head in my hands and exhaled hard through my nose.

I didn’t cry.

Not yet.

═══════

The apartment was quiet. Y/N had gone out with Nayeon for a final wedding errand- something about ankle bracelets and sea glass placeholders and I’d stayed home, pretending I was going to be productive.

Instead, I was just sitting here.

Surrounded by silence.

And trying not to fall apart.

I walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and stared out the window for a few minutes.

How many times had I imagined this day?

Too many.

But I never imagined the part where I had to condense lifetimes into a speech. To find a way to say, “I’ve loved you in every version of this story, and this is the one I want to keep.”

I leaned on the counter and said it aloud, just to try it out.

It echoed strangely. Almost too quiet.

Eventually, I sat down again.

Turned the page.

Took a breath.

And started writing from the place that hurt.

“I thought love was something you waited for, but you taught me it’s something you fight for.”

Then the next.

“I’ve met you more times than I can count. I’ve held you, lost you, chased you, and almost given up on you. But in every version of time, every cracked mirror of the life we never got to finish- I still loved you.”

The pen moved faster now.

“You didn’t remember me when we began again. But I remembered you. And I loved you enough to find you anyway.”

I could feel it-  that pull behind my eyes. The one that always came before tears.

But I didn’t stop.

“I won’t ask you to promise forever, because we’ve already had too many to count. But I’ll promise you this: I will love you in this life- in the boring hours, in the loud fights, in the quiet mornings. I will love you when your hair turns silver and your hands are lined with time. I will love you when we forget what day it is. I will love you when we remember.”

I stared at the last line for a long time.

And then I whispered into the quiet:

“I never got to say it when you died.”

A beat.

“But I’ll say it now and every day after.”

I closed the notebook and sat in the silence.

Heart full. Hands trembling.

Finally ready.

═══════

y/n’s pov:

The sky opened soft for us that day.

There were no clouds. No gusts of wind to tangle my hair or pull at the veil I decided not to wear. Just the kind of golden light that made everything look like it had been kissed by memory.

I stood barefoot in the sand, holding my dress in one hand so it wouldn’t drag in the tide. My heart beat in my throat- steady, certain, not from nerves… but from wonder.

This is happening.

The man who once felt like a dream was waiting just beyond the driftwood arch we built ourselves. He was laughing quietly with Taehyung, who was fixing his tie, while Nayeon flitted around me, making sure my curls weren’t falling too flat and that my bouquet of dried wildflowers was still in one piece.

My mom sniffled into a tissue from a few feet away. My dad had cried the second I stepped out of the car.

But I didn’t feel overwhelmed.

I felt ready.

Like every moment before this had been training for this one.

And now the world was holding its breath with me.

═══════

The walk down the “aisle” - really just a worn path of smoothed stones and flower petals- felt slow in the best way. Time didn’t speed up. No music rushed me along.

I walked.

And Jungkook waited.

He stood at the edge of the ocean, barefoot too, hair a little messy, wearing a light tan suit with the sleeves rolled up and his heart written all over his face.

When our eyes met, I felt the air shift.

Like even the sea had remembered us.

“You’re stunning,” he whispered when I reached him.

“You look like a dream,” I whispered back.

We both laughed softly, holding hands as the sun dipped just enough to set the water glowing.

The ceremony was short.

Taehyung officiated, because of course he did. He made jokes that had us both smiling through tears and then gave us the quiet space to say the things that mattered.

Jungkook’s hands were shaking as he pulled the paper from his pocket.

He looked at me- then folded it shut.

“I don’t need this,” he said, voice thick. “I just need to look at you.”

I cried before he even started.

His voice broke more than once, but his words were whole. Every vow, every promise, carried the weight of everything we’d survived. He promised to love me in this life, not just the ones we lost. He promised to stay. To laugh. To listen. To be mine.

I wanted to kiss him before it was even my turn.

And when it was my turn, I spoke every word clearly:

“You were in my dreams before I ever knew your name. In shadows of memories that didn’t belong to this life. In feelings I couldn’t explain- until you said my name like you’d already said it a thousand times.

And you had.

We’ve lived so many lives, Jungkook. We’ve loved through so much pain. And even when I didn’t remember… I still felt you. Even when I screamed at you to leave… my heart was begging you to stay.

You are not my beginning. 

You are not my end.

You are my constant.

In every version of me, I love you. And in this one, the one where I get to wake up beside you, where we don’t die before the happy part, I vow to keep choosing you. Every day. Every version.

I vow to fight for us even when it’s not romantic. To laugh with you when life gets heavy. To remind you who you are when you forget. And to hold your hand through every ordinary miracle we’re lucky enough to live.

Jungkook, you were worth every lifetime it took to find you.

And I promise- in this life, I’m not going anywhere.”

When they said “You may now kiss the bride,” we didn’t hesitate.

The kiss wasn’t perfect.

It was messy and salty and full of tears.

But it was real.

And it was ours.

═══════

jungkook’s pov:

I used to think peace was a destination.

Something you found after running long enough. Surviving enough.

But lying here in this sun-drenched bed beside her- sand still in my hair, the faint scent of coconut oil on her skin- I realized it was never about getting to something.

It was about getting back to her.

She was peace.

Y/N’s back rose and fell with each slow breath, her arm draped across my stomach. Her cheek pressed against my chest like it was home. The light curtain in the little villa we rented fluttered in the wind, casting moving shadows across the room.

We hadn’t spoken much since last night.

We didn’t have to.

After the wedding, after the laughter, after the tear-streaked toasts and barefoot dancing in the sand, we slipped away. Into this quiet.

A private cove just outside the island village. No tourists. No noise. Just water, wind, and each other.

And the occasional gecko that stared at me from the ceiling.

But even he was chill.

I turned my head to look at her.

Y/N was still half-asleep, her lips parted just slightly, hair tangled across her cheek. My thumb brushed over her knuckles, and she stirred, murmuring something soft I couldn’t make out.

“I didn’t know I could be this happy,” I whispered, not sure if I was talking to myself or her or the stars.

Because it was true.

There was a time when happiness felt like a dangerous thing to want. Like every time I reached for it, the world would slap it out of my hands.

But not now.

Now I was married to the girl who used to visit my dreams when I was too young to understand why my heart hurt.

And she was real.

So was the gold band on my finger.

So was this bed.

So was this life.

═══════

Later that morning, we sat on the edge of a private dock that reached into the shallows. Our legs dangled in the water, toes occasionally brushing, and we passed a piece of pineapple back and forth like it was treasure.

Y/N was in a white bikini and sunglasses that slid down her nose. She had a towel wrapped around her waist and sea spray tangled in her hair.

“I still don’t believe yesterday was real,” she said, biting into the fruit. “Did we actually do that?”

“We did,” I said, grinning. “You cried first, by the way.”

“Barely.”

“Three minutes into my vows.”

“That’s because you started with ‘I thought love was something you waited for, but you taught me it’s something you fight for.’ What am I, made of stone?”

I laughed. “I just call it like I see it.”

She leaned over and kissed my cheek, slow and soft.

And even though we’d kissed a thousand times by now, this one still burned sweet.

We spent the afternoon under a palm tree.

No phones. No plans.

She read from a dog-eared novel. I wrote little phrases in a journal I kept secret- future lyrics, letters, things I didn’t know how to say out loud yet.

She dozed off beside me, head on my shoulder.

And I… just watched her.

There was a moment, sometime between sunset and dinner, when I looked at her over a candlelit table and something clicked.

A feeling I hadn’t expected yet.

She was laughing about something dumb (probably the way I almost tripped over a crab) and I looked at her, and this thought echoed through me like a heartbeat:

I want to have a family with her.

Not just a wedding.

Not just a home.

A future.

Tiny hands. Little socks on a laundry line. A child with her smile and my wild heart.

It wasn’t something we’d talked about yet.

But I knew, in that second, that it lived in me now. That quiet wanting.

Not from pressure.

Not from fear.

But from love.

So much love it had to grow somewhere.

That night, she curled into me under the thin sheets and whispered, “This is my favorite version of us.”

I kissed her forehead.

And smiled in the dark.

Because mine was still coming.

═══════

Peace has a sound.

I didn’t know that until now.

It sounds like her slow, sleepy breathing against my chest. The rhythm of the tide outside our villa. The crinkle of linen sheets when she shifts slightly in her sleep.

It sounds like home.

The air in the room is warm. Not hot-  just sun-soaked and still. Her leg is tangled over mine, bare skin brushing bare skin, and I trace slow circles on her back while the ceiling fan spins above us.

This wasn’t a fairytale.

This was real. Intimate. Quiet. The beginning of forever.

I kiss her shoulder gently, and she stirs with a soft hum.

“You’re awake?” she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

Her words pull me from the trance I’ve been in, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. I’ve been lying here for what feels like hours, just studying her, memorizing the way the morning light spills across her skin.

“Mmhmm,” I nod against her skin, “watching you breathe.”

She laughs quietly, blinking slowly up at me. “Creep.”

“Handsome creep,” I correct, rolling her gently onto her back. 

Her hair spills across the pillow, a cascade against the white sheets. Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer, and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest. It’s steady, calm, like she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

“You’re definitely winning Husband of the Year.” she teases, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.

I dip my head and kiss her collarbone. “Starting strong.”

The kiss turns into two. Then three. Then lower.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, and her breath catches when I take my time. I let my lips graze the swell of her breast, the curve of her ribs, the soft dip of her stomach.

I’m slow. Intentional.

We have all night. All week. All our lives.

But I want this one. This moment. 

Right now.

I glance up at her, and her eyes are already on me- wide, glassy, trusting.

“I love you,” I whisper, voice catching in my throat.

She brushes a thumb across my cheek. “Then show me.”

Her skin is soft beneath my palms, familiar yet sacred. Every touch feels like a prayer, every kiss a promise. I move between her legs deliberately slow, like I’ve waited lifetimes for this- because I have. 

Her breath hitches as I press my lips to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, my hands resting gently on her hips. I can feel her trembling, just slightly, and it sends a jolt of desire straight through me.

I take my time, letting my lips graze her, my tongue tease her, my breath ghost across her most intimate places. She tastes like heaven, like home, like everything I’ve ever wanted. 

I’m living for this, for the way her body arches off the bed, for the way her fingers dig into my shoulders, for the way her voice breaks when she moans my name.

"Jungkook… please…" she pants, her legs falling open wider, inviting me in.

I don’t rush. I savor. I worship. My tongue circles, flicks, plunges, every movement deliberate, every sensation amplified. Her body tightens beneath me, her muscles coiling like a spring, and then she shatters. Her cry is soft, broken, beautiful, and I drink it in, holding her through the waves of her release.

When she finally goes limp, I kiss my way back up her body, my heart pounding in my chest. Her eyes are closed, her chest heaving, and I can’t help but smile. 

"You’re perfect," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her lips.

She opens her eyes, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "No, you."

I laugh, my hands roaming over her body, mapping every curve, every dip. I line myself up between her legs, my throbbing cock pressing against her entrance. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, and I slide into her slowly, savoring the way she feels around me- tight, warm, perfect.

"I love you," I whisper, my voice hoarse as I begin to move. 

Each thrust is slow, deliberate, like we have all the time in the world. Her walls clench around me, and I can feel her breath quicken, her nails digging into my back.

"I love you too," she pants, her head falling back as I hit a spot deep inside her.

I flip her onto her stomach, her body flush against the bed. She moans as I enter her again, the angle deeper, more intense. 

I wrap an arm around her waist, holding her close as I thrust into her, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the room, a rhythm that’s both primal and tender.

"Jungkook…" she whimpers, her voice breaking as her body begins to tighten around me again.

"Cum with me," I groan, my voice thick with need. "Let go, baby."

Her walls clench, her body trembling as she cries out, her release sending me over the edge. I follow her, my orgasm crashing into me like a wave, my name on her lips as we cum together.

We don’t move.

Our skin is still damp with sweat, hearts pounding in rhythm. I lay half on top of her, my face buried in her neck, her fingers trailing slowly through my hair.

When I finally shift to lie beside her again, she curls into my chest, wrapping her leg around mine.

“I’ve never felt like that before,” she murmurs.

“I don’t think I ever will again,” I say.

She hums. “Then we’ll just keep getting close.”

I smile into her hair.

And say the truth I’ve been carrying since the wedding.

“I want to have a family with you.”

She stiffens slightly- not from fear, but surprise.

I pull back to look at her. “Not now. Not even soon. I just… I want that. With you. One day.”

Her eyes fill slowly, her fingers still resting over my heart.

“I do too,” she whispers. “I want our love to grow into something new.”

I pull her back into my arms and hold her tighter.

Because that’s exactly what we are.

Something ancient, blooming into something brand new.

═══════

y/n’s pov:

Three days after coming home from our honeymoon, I finally unpacked the last suitcase and declared the war against laundry a draw.

The house was quiet, sun filtering through the sheer curtains, and the smell of ocean salt had faded from our skin. Replaced now with detergent and candle wax and whatever fresh start smelled like.

I had just curled up on the couch with my throw blanket and a cup of tea when I heard the front door open.

“Babe?” Jungkook’s voice called.

“In here,” I replied, not moving.

Then came the sound.

Scratching.

Scuffling.

Snorting?

My brow furrowed. “Are you okay- ”

And then he walked into the living room.

With a puppy.

A Doberman puppy.

I blinked.

The dog blinked.

It sneezed.

“Is that…?” I asked slowly, lowering my mug.

He grinned. That sheepish, boyish, I-know-I’m-cute grin that made it hard to stay mad at him for more than thirty seconds.

“Sooo,” he said, scooping the puppy into his arms, “this is Bam.”

I stared.

Bam wagged its little tail and licked Jungkook’s chin.

“You got a dog,” I said.

“I rescued a dog.”

“You didn’t ask me to rescue a dog.”

“I meant to. But then I saw his face. Look at his little eyebrows- look at them! He looks worried. Like a tiny accountant.”

I stared at the puppy.

He did look concerned. And weirdly loyal.

And his ears were floppy. And he had giant paws. And a shiny little nose.

God damn it.

I tried to stay annoyed.

“You brought a Doberman into our house like it was a plant,” I said.

“I brought a family member into our house,” he countered.

“Do you even know how to train one?”

“I watched three YouTube videos and bought him a tiny bed. I’m basically a certified dog dad.”

I sighed and stood up, hands on my hips.

Bam wiggled in his arms and whined softly, then turned to stare at me like I was the one being difficult.

 me hold him,” I said, resigned.

Jungkook beamed and gently handed him over.

The puppy nestled into my chest like he’d been born to do it.

I closed my eyes. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

He wrapped his arms around both of us from behind, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You love him too.”

I looked down at the dopey little dog in my arms.

“Welcome home, Bam,” I whispered.

═══════

I blamed it on the sushi.

Three days of nausea? Probably bad salmon.

Then I blamed it on my work schedule.

Exhaustion? I’d been pulling late nights editing a campaign.

Then, for about forty-eight hours, I convinced myself I had a stomach flu, despite having zero other symptoms and being perfectly fine as long as I didn’t look directly at scrambled eggs.

It wasn’t until I was brushing my teeth one morning and snapped at Jungkook for breathing too loudly that I paused mid-rinse, stared at myself in the mirror, and said:

“Oh, shit.”

I was late.

Not like “a couple hours” late.

Like “a week and some change” late.

At first, I didn’t panic.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub, phone in hand, Googling a mix of unhinged and hopeful phrases:

“how late is too late to not be late”

“pregnancy vs food poisoning signs”

“can stress delay period for 15 days”

I glanced at the drawer under the sink.

We’d joked about this before.

But suddenly it didn’t feel funny.

It felt real.

I didn’t tell Jungkook right away.

Not because I didn’t want to. But because I needed a second to process the fact that my body - the one that had died, reset, remembered, forgotten - might now be creating life.

It was… overwhelming.

But also quietly beautiful.

Like maybe the universe wasn’t done with our story yet.

═══════

I took the test on a random Tuesday.

Bam watched me from the hallway like a worried toddler. He whined once when I walked into the bathroom and whimpered again when I shut the door.

“You’re so dramatic,” I whispered to him.

Inside, I opened the box. Peeing on a stick wasn’t glamorous, but neither was being bent over a toilet at 6am praying for death, so whatever.

Three minutes.

I stared at the counter.

Three minutes felt longer than all our past lives combined.

When the timer went off, I turned the test over slowly.

And there it was.

Two lines.

Clear. Pink. Real.

I blinked. Laughed. Cried.

Then opened the door and sank to the floor while Bam licked my face and Jungkook called from the other room, “Everything okay in there?”

I sniffled. “Yeah.”

Totally fine.

Absolutely.

Completely.

Pregnant.

═══════

I didn’t tell him right away.

I waited until later that night, after dinner. He was standing at the sink, washing dishes with his sleeves rolled up, humming something low and rhythmic - probably one of the songs he was writing when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Bam laid at his feet like a knight guarding his king.

I stood in the doorway, holding the test behind my back, heart hammering like it hadn’t since the day I remembered him.

“Jungkook,” I said softly.

He glanced over his shoulder, smile ready. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need to tell you something.”

He paused. Wiped his hands on a towel and turned to face me fully.

“You’re not dying, are you?” he said quickly, half-joking, half-serious- like a man who’s lived enough lives to ask.

“No,” I said, breath shaking. “But I think… we’re beginning something.”

His eyes narrowed, confused.

So I stepped forward and handed him the test.

He looked at it.

Then looked at me.

Then back at it.

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

I watched the color drain from his face and then come flooding back in like a sunrise.

“You’re…” he whispered.

I nodded, biting my bottom lip.

He looked at the test again like maybe it would change.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” I said, laughing and crying all at once.

He stepped toward me slowly, cautiously, like I might shatter if he moved too fast.

Then he wrapped me in the gentlest hug he’d ever given me. Both hands sliding across my back, lips pressed to the top of my head, heartbeat pounding against my cheek.

“You’re pregnant,” he whispered, like he was still trying to convince himself it was real.

I nodded into his chest. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

His arms tightened.

And then he sank- all the way to the kitchen floor, dragging me with him into his lap, his face buried in my neck.

I felt his shoulders shaking.

Tears.

So I just held him, stroking the back of his head, our bodies curled up in the warmth of the moment.

After a long pause, he pulled back just enough to look at me.

“You’re really okay?”

“I’m okay,” I promised. “I think I’m still processing. But it feels… right.”

He smiled, eyes glassy.

Then, through a thick whisper: “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

He kissed me.

And I swear I felt the baby flutter even then- not physically, not really- but something inside me shifted.

Like they already knew their dad loved them.

═══════

jungkook’s pov:

I’d heard music all my life.

Rhythms, melodies, the hum of sound stitched into memory. I’d fallen asleep to her laugh, woken up to the hush of waves, written whole songs inspired by the way her voice cracked when she cried.

But nothing - nothing - prepared me for the sound of our baby’s heartbeat.

It came like thunder in a forest. Fast, fluttery, fierce.

I didn’t expect that.

I didn’t expect them to sound so alive.

Y/N laid on the table beside me, her shirt rolled up, hand in mine. She was nervous, I could feel it in the way her thumb rubbed small circles against my palm but she smiled through it. Always trying to keep me steady.

lower belly, pressing gently. Then-

whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh

I forgot how to breathe.

“Is that- ” I asked, eyes wide, voice cracking.

The tech smiled. “That’s your baby.”

Tears flooded my eyes instantly. I didn’t even try to stop them.

Because that sound?

That was ours.

That was life.

═══════

We walked out of the clinic in silence, fingers laced.

Y/N squeezed my hand when we reached the car. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said.

She knew I was lying.

I kissed her forehead before helping her into the passenger seat, and we rode home without much conversation. The hum of the engine filled in the quiet between us, but she never let go of my hand.

When we got back, I walked her inside, helped her out of her shoes, and made sure she was comfortable on the couch. Bam curled up immediately beside her, like he could sense she needed something to anchor her.

“I’ll be right back,” I mumbled, brushing hair from her face.

She looked up at me- no questions, just trust. She nodded softly, resting her hand over her belly.

She always knew when to let me breathe.

═══════

I sat in the car alone for a few minutes after. 

Hands on the steering wheel.

The silence after that heartbeat felt… loud.

And my heart was racing again but not in the good way.

I’d promised myself this life would be different. That this time, I’d get to keep everything. That the tragedy was behind us.

But fear doesn’t listen to vows.

Fear has its own heartbeat.

And mine was pounding.

═══════

I pulled into a small park and called Taehyung.

He answered on the second ring.

“What’s up, bro?”

“Are you busy?”

“Not really. Why? You sound… weird.”

“I just…” I swallowed hard. “Can I come by?”

═══════

We sat on Taehyung’s back porch with two beers neither of us touched.

I stared at my hands.

“She’s twelve weeks,” I said. “We heard the heartbeat today.”

Taehyung smiled. “That’s incredible.”

“It is,” I said. “It’s… everything.”

A beat.

“But?”

“I’m scared, man.”

He looked at me carefully. “Of what?”

“Of losing it.”

My voice cracked.

I kept going anyway.

“Of getting too comfortable. Of thinking this life is ours and waking up in another one. Of making promises I can’t keep.”

Taehyung didn’t speak right away.

Then he leaned forward and said, “You’re not in that timeline anymore.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I looked at him.

He softened. “Look, I’ve seen you crawl through hell to find her. I watched you fall apart when she didn’t remember. I saw the way you didn’t stop even when it felt impossible.”

He paused.

“So yeah, maybe the fear never fully goes away. But you? You’re not the man who lost everything anymore. You’re the man who built everything back.”

I swallowed hard.

“You’re allowed to be happy, Jungkook.”

I nodded slowly, eyes burning.

“And,” he added, “you’re gonna be a great dad.”

═══════

That night, I came home to find Y/N on the couch, one hand cradling her small, growing bump, the other petting Bam, who’d refused to leave her side all evening.

She looked up and smiled.

“You okay now?”

I crossed the room and knelt in front of her.

Placed both hands on her belly.

And kissed it gently.

“I heard our baby today,” I whispered.

She ran her fingers through my hair.

“I know.”

I looked up at her.

���I’m scared,” I admitted. “But I’m more in love than I’ve ever been.”

“I know that too.”

And then, with everything I had in me, I whispered:

“I’ll protect you both. Always.”

═══════

y/n’s pov: 

It started with paint swatches.

Then Pinterest boards. Then mood lighting. Then something Jungkook called “highly dangerous nesting mode” when I dragged him to a vintage furniture market at seven in the morning.

But it was never really about the crib or the color of the walls.

It was about making space for someone we hadn’t met yet, someone who was already turning our world into something quieter, softer, deeper.

The nursery had once been our spare room, home to Bam’s ridiculous collection of toys and random boxes we still hadn’t unpacked since moving in.

Now it was becoming the room.

The place we’d rock them to sleep.

Read them bedtime stories.

Whisper to them: you’re safe here.

═══════

I sat in the middle of the room one afternoon, belly huge, surrounded by folded onesies and little socks the size of my thumb, holding a pen above a blank page.

I wasn’t writing a list.

I was writing a letter.

I don’t know why. I just… needed to talk to them. Even if they couldn’t hear me yet.

Dear Baby, You don’t have a name yet. Not officially. But in my dreams, you’re already real. In my body, you already exist. In your father’s eyes, you are already loved. You are the first thing we’ve created together. The first piece of our story that belongs only to this life. You were born from lifetimes of love, from dreams and storms and soul-bonded memories. From tears, and healing, and holding on when everything said let go. We don’t know who you’ll be yet. But we know one thing: You are already ours. And we’ve waited forever to meet you. Love, Mom

A knock at the door pulled me from the letter.

Nayeon walked in, holding iced lavender tea and a bag of bakery cookies.

“You’re crying and writing again?” she teased, already setting everything down and plopping onto the rug beside me.

“Every time I fold baby socks, I get overwhelmed,” I admitted.

She grabbed a pair, holding them in the air. “I mean, this is criminally cute.”

I smiled, grateful.

She leaned her head on my shoulder.

“You scared?”

I nodded. “More than I thought I’d be.”

“It’s okay to be,” she said quietly. “Doesn’t mean you’re not ready.”

“I know.” I looked at her. “How do I… keep who I am, once I become someone’s mom?”

She looked at me for a long time.

Then said: “You don’t lose who you are. You expand it.”

I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

We sat together, sipping tea, surrounded by baby things and love and light.

And I knew this room wasn’t just a nursery.

It was the heart of our home, waiting to beat.

═══════

jungkook’s pov:

The storm rolled in around 2AM.

It started slow- a low rumble in the sky, a flicker of light in the distance. I thought it was just spring being dramatic. I didn’t even sit up in bed.

But then Y/N’s hand clutched mine under the covers, tight and trembling.

I turned toward her, bleary-eyed.

“You okay?” I whispered.

She didn’t say anything right away.

Then, very softly: “I think it’s time.”

I sat up so fast I nearly flipped off the mattress. “Time time?”

She nodded, wincing through another wave of pressure.

Lightning flashed outside the window.

Bam barked once and then went completely still.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Okay. We’re good. We trained for this. You’re good. We’re good.”

“I think my water broke.”

I looked down at the sheets.

Confirmed.

“Cool, cool, cool,” I said, way too fast. “I’m not panicking.”

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m calm-panicking.”

She laughed, even through the pain.

God, I loved her.

═══════

We got to the hospital just as the sky opened up.

Rain hammered the windows, thunder cracked through the clouds. Nurses moved around us like clockwork while I held Y/N’s hand through every contraction.

She was so strong. Fierce. Glowing even in pain.

And I was useless.

“I fucking hate you for doing this to me,” she hissed at one point.

“You’re doing amazing, baby,” I whispered, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“If you say one more fucking motivational Pinterest quote, I’ll kill you.”

“Fair.”

We’d waited our whole lives for this.

And suddenly, it was now.

═══════

Ten hours.

That’s how long it took before I heard the cry.

Ten hours of pacing, squeezing her hand, watching the monitors, whispering, begging, loving her through every second.

And then-

A sound that shattered everything and rebuilt it in the same breath.

Our daughter.

Our child.

Tiny. Wailing. Alive.

They placed her in Y/N’s arms, and I swear the storm outside stopped just to listen.

Y/N sobbed as she kissed the baby’s forehead.

I didn’t realize I was crying too until I tasted salt.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to her temple.

“You did it,” I whispered. “You’re a fucking goddess.”

“She’s so little,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time.

“She’s perfect.”

And when they finally placed her in my arms…

When I looked down at that tiny face with her mama’s nose and a tuft of black hair…

All I could say, through the lump in my throat and the ache in my chest, was:

“Hi, angel. We’ve been waiting so long for you.”

═══════

y/n’s pov:

The house was quiet.

Not silent, not anymore. But quiet in the way that meant peace.

A lullaby played softly through the baby monitor. The faint hum of the washing machine droned in the distance. Rain tapped lightly against the windowpane, as if trying not to wake the sleeping miracle in the next room.

I stood in the doorway of the nursery, one hand resting against the frame, the other cradling a cup of tea gone cold.

She’d just fallen asleep.

And Jungkook had, too.

They were curled up together in the armchair — his arms around her tiny swaddled body, her cheek against his chest like she knew him already.

And maybe she did.

Maybe some part of her had waited through the same lifetimes we did, just to find her way here.

She’d just fallen asleep.

And Jungkook had, too.

They were curled up together in the armchair- his arms around her tiny swaddled body, her cheek against his chest like she knew him already.

And maybe she did.

Maybe some part of her had waited through the same lifetimes we did, just to find her way here.

I didn’t walk in right away.

I just watched them.

Jungkook’s head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, face softened by sleep. The baby’s hand peeked out of her wrap, fingers barely curled, resting against the curve of his arm like she’d chosen him.

And of course she had.

Because he was made for this.

For love.

For peace.

For us.

═══════

I sat down gently on the rug in front of them and let myself feel everything.

The weight of what we’d survived.

The lives we’d lost.

The memories we weren’t meant to carry, and the ones we fought to keep.

I touched my belly out of instinct, still adjusting to the space where she used to be.

Still adjusting to the now.

I looked at them again- my husband, my daughter.

And I realized something I’d never put into words before:

Love didn’t save us.

We saved each other.

By remembering.

By staying.

By showing up every day, even when we didn’t know if the world would let us keep what we had.

We weren’t perfect.

But we were home.

═══════

When Jungkook stirred, his eyes opened slow.

He blinked at me, then looked down at the baby.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” I whispered back.

He looked around the room, still groggy, then met my gaze again. “Did I miss anything?”

I shook my head. “You were exactly where you were supposed to be.”

He kissed her forehead.

Then looked at me and said, “So were you.”

I leaned my head against the chair, heart full.

And I thought about what it means to live after the storm.

Not just to survive it. But to build something out of the wreckage. To take all the versions of yourself and love the one that remains.

Because this was it.

This was the life the universe gave us when we finally stopped running.

This was the answer to every lost dream, every second chance, every quiet prayer.

This was our beginning.

═══════

Mi-rae’s giggle could part the sea.

That kind of laughter- it didn’t just ring in your ears. It echoed in your chest, curled up in your ribs like it planned to stay.

She was running. Well, trying to. Legs still wobbly in the sand, her tiny sunhat lopsided, cheeks pink with heat. She flung her arms like wings, chasing nothing and everything while Jungkook trailed after her like a lovesick bodyguard.

“She’s just like you,” I called from the picnic blanket.

“Beautiful?” he yelled back.

“Chaotic!”

He spun her around in his arms, both of them laughing now, and she let out a shriek that made Bam bark twice before collapsing into the sand beside me, tail thumping.

Our daughter.

Our dog.

Our life.

On this beach- the cove where he proposed, where we promised forever barefoot in the sun.

Now we were back.

Only this time, there were three of us.

We spent the morning doing nothing in particular.

Mi-rae crawled through piles of damp sand with a pink shovel she kept chewing on, while Jungkook built a very serious moat around what might’ve been a castle. I sat cross-legged with a peach and a journal in my lap, watching the two of them exist like they’d always known each other.

“She’s not even one and already you’re building fortresses for her,” I teased.

Jungkook looked up, grinning. “She deserves a kingdom.”

I smiled, heart full.

He really meant it.

═══════

The sun climbed higher, and after laying out lunch beneath the driftwood arch where we once exchanged vows, I pulled Mi-rae into my lap for her mid-day feeding. She nestled against my chest instantly, warm and soft and so completely ours.

It was always quiet when she nursed.

Even the ocean seemed to hush.

Jungkook laid beside us, propped on one elbow, sipping water- until he wasn’t sipping anymore.

He was staring.

“Don’t,” I said, knowing that look.

“What?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m in awe,” he murmured.

“You’re ogling my boobs.”

“I’m worshipping,” he corrected.

I gave him a flat look.

He leaned closer, voice low. “They’re just… you know. Out. Glowing. Feeding the next generation. Heroic.”

“Heroic,” I echoed, laughing quietly.

“And kind of- ” his eyes dipped, “hot.”

“Jungkook.”

“I mean, what do you expect me to do when my wife whips out the most beautiful pair of tits I’ve ever seen and uses them to sustain life like it’s casual?”

I blinked. “The most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

“I’m serious,” he said, brushing a hand down my thigh. “You’re everything.”

When Mi-rae finished and tucked into my side, I adjusted my top. Jungkook watched every movement like he was starving.

“You’re drooling.”

“Only a little.”

═══════

The rest of the day blurred into color- pink skies, orange light, salt-stung kisses. We dipped Mi-rae’s toes in the water, let her fall asleep against Jungkook’s chest while we laid under an umbrella watching the tide.

“This was the best idea,” I murmured.

“She deserves to see where it all began.”

“Us?”

He nodded, pressing his nose into my hair. “The moment that changed everything.”

I reached for his hand and laced our fingers.

“You’ve changed me,” I said. “Every version of me is better because you existed in it.”

He looked over, and I saw it in his eyes. That softness that meant he was thinking not just about now, but about then. About everything we’d been. Everything we almost lost.

“I want you again,” he whispered.

“You have me.”

“I mean when we get home. After we put her to bed.”

His fingers drifted under the hem of my sundress.

“I want to remind you.”

“Remind me of what?”

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear.

“That you’re mine. That you still ruin me.”

My breath hitched. My thighs pressed together.

Mi-rae snorted in her sleep.

I laughed.

He smirked.

═══════

When we packed up the beach blanket and I carried our daughter back to the car, she stirred in my arms, eyelids fluttering, her hand curling around the necklace Jungkook gave me on our first anniversary.

It still had sand in the clasp.

Still smelled faintly of salt and memory.

I looked down at her, tucked against my chest.

And whispered, “You’re the best thing we’ve ever done.”

═══════

Mi-rae barely stirred when I laid her in her crib.

She sighed- one of those sleepy, content baby sounds and curled instinctively toward the warmth of the blanket. Her tiny fist held the corner of her favorite muslin cloth, and for a second I just stood there, watching.

She was perfect.

We didn’t need a lullaby. We didn’t need anything but this quiet room, this soft glow of motherhood.

I kissed her forehead, tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, and whispered, “Goodnight, my girl.”

Then I left the door cracked, just the way she liked it.

═══════

The house was dim and still.

Bam was already asleep at the edge of the hallway, one paw tucked under his chin. The beach bag sat in the laundry room waiting to be unpacked. I knew I should’ve started a load of towels.

But I also knew what - who - was waiting for me.

When I turned the corner into the living room, I found him exactly where I knew he’d be.

Sprawled shirtless across the couch. Sweatpants. No shirt. Hair tousled. Eyes hooded.

And the look?

Hungry.

“You took your time,” he murmured.

“I was putting your daughter to sleep.”

He sat up slowly, muscles flexing with the movement. “She’s lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“She got you first tonight.”

I blinked, heat sparking instantly.

He didn’t say another word.

Just patted the couch.

I stepped closer, feeling the weight of him already, the gravity that always pulled me back.

“You’ve been staring at me all day like you were starving,” I said.

“I am.”

He grabbed my hand and tugged me toward him. I stumbled into his lap, legs straddling his hips before I could say no- not that I wanted to.

His hands slipped under my dress, slow and warm. “Do you know how crazy it makes me,” he whispered, lips brushing my throat, “watching you feed our baby? Knowing your body’s already full of magic and still mine?”

“Jungkook- ”

His hands gripped my thighs, his touch sending shivers up my spine. His lips brushed against my neck, sending a jolt of desire straight to my core. 

“You have no idea,” he groaned. “You make me wild, Y/N. Soft and desperate at the same time.”

My head fell back, exposing the sensitive curve of my neck to his kisses. His hands tightened on my thighs, his touch both possessive and tender. A hunger ignited within me, a familiar ache that only he could mend.

“What do you want,” I breathed.

“You,” he growled, his lips brushing against my ear. “Right here, baby.”

His words sent a surge of heat through me. I didn't need to say anything else. The desire between us was a tangible thing, a force pulling us closer.

The world beyond the living room faded away. There was only Jungkook, his touch, his scent, the heat of his body against mine. 

My dress, a flimsy barrier against our desire, was peeled away, discarded like a forgotten secret. His sweatpants followed, kicked aside with impatient urgency.

We sank into the cushions, skin meeting skin, a symphony of heat and longing. 

His lips found mine, hungry and demanding, yet somehow gentle. His tongue traced the contours of my mouth, a silent promise of pleasures to come. His hands roamed, mapping the curves of my body, remembering every dip and swell as if they were etched into his memory. 

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against my lips, his voice thick with desire.

I shivered at his words, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His kisses were a language I understood perfectly, a dialect of passion and need.

Then, with a sudden shift, I found myself on my knees before him, his hardness throbbing against my lips. I looked up at him, my eyes reflecting the desire burning in his. He watched me with a mixture of awe and hunger, his hand gently cupping my cheek.

I took him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around him, my tongue swirling, tasting him. He groaned, his head falling back, his fingers threading through my hair, guiding me gently.

"Fuck, baby," he breathed, his voice rough with pleasure. "You're going to make me lose it."

I hummed around him, my eyes fluttering closed as I focused on the sensation of his skin against my lips, the pulse of his desire against my tongue.

But then, with a gentle hand on my shoulder, he pulled me away, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

"Hold on," he whispered, helping me up. "I want to taste you first."

He laid me down on the couch, his fingers tracing the curves of my body, his lips following their path. His kisses were slow, deliberate, a worshipful exploration of every inch of me. 

When his mouth finally found the dripping cunt, I gasped, my body arching off the couch. His tongue was a maestro, conducting an orchestra of pleasure within me. 

He knew exactly where to touch, where to lick, where to suck, driving me closer and closer to the edge.

"Jungkook," I moaned, my fingers digging into the cushions, my body tense with anticipation.

"Let go," he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and moist. "Let me feel you."

And then, with a cry that was equal parts pleasure and surrender, I shattered, my body trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me.

Jungkook’s lips never left me, his tongue continuing its gentle dance even as my body stilled. When he finally looked up, his eyes were dark with desire, his lips swollen from kissing me.

"I want you now," he said, his voice hoarse. 

He positioned himself above me, his eyes locked onto mine, his hardness pressing against my entrance. He entered me slowly, filling me completely, our breaths mingling as he began to move.

It was slow, deliberate, each thrust a declaration of love, each whisper a promise of forever. 

"I love you," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine.

"I love you too," I replied, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my body moving with his, our rhythms perfectly synchronized.

His hands gripped my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin as he moved deeper, his rhythm steady and intoxicating. I wrapped my legs around him, my nails scraping his back as I met his pace, our bodies moving in perfect harmony.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against mine. “So fucking good.”

His words were like fuel, igniting a fire within me. I tilted my head back, exposing my neck, and he took the invitation, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of sensations that made me arch into him. 

His hands moved to my breasts, his thumbs brushing my nipples as he thrust into me, his movements growing more urgent but never losing their tenderness.

“Jungkook,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the pleasure built. “I’m close.”

“Me too,” he rasped, his voice strained. “Cum with me, baby. Let go.”

He moved inside me like he’d waited lifetimes for this version of us.

And maybe he had. 

The world outside ceased to exist. There was only Jungkook, his body moving within mine, the heat of our passion, the whispered declarations of love.

And then, together, we crested, our cries intertwining as we found release, our bodies trembling in the aftermath of our shared ecstasy.

═══════

Afterward, I laid against him, chest rising slowly, heart still thudding in my ears.

My thigh draped across his hip. His hand pressed softly to the curve of my lower back. We were still catching our breath, but there was no urgency left between us- only that hush that follows something holy.

His hands never stopped moving.

Slow strokes down my spine.

Gentle lines traced along my arm. His fingers brushed the swell of my hip like he was relearning me all over again- reverent, unhurried, present. Like if he stopped touching me, he might forget I was real.

“I’ll never get used to you,” he whispered.

I smiled into his chest, nose nuzzled just beneath his collarbone.

“You don’t have to,” I murmured. “You just have to keep choosing me.”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

He just held me tighter.

Our limbs tangled. Our breath syncing. The room still warm from us, from the quiet ache of want turned into worship.

From love.

From home.

═══════

Outside, the rain started again. Soft at first, then steadier, like the sky was remembering something.

Inside, everything stilled.

Bam shifted in the hallway with a low sigh. The baby monitor hummed in the background, steady and calm.

Jungkook’s breath moved through my hair as he kissed the top of my head. His arm wrapped tighter around me, his palm flat over the curve of my waist like he was anchoring us both to the moment.

We didn’t speak.

We didn’t need to.

Because nothing had ever felt this whole.

I pressed my lips to his chest, right above his heart, and closed my eyes.

And in the hush that followed, I whispered into the silence between us-

We lived.

We loved.

And now, we begin again.

═══════

Post-A/N: did this live up to expectations? was this a good ending for them? 🥺 this is definitely their last big story but i’m always open to ideas for drabbles. tysm for loving them as much as i do and for reading their story 🫶

ANOTHER TIME ♡ LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 06/22/2025

Taglist: @rinkud @kelsyx33 @army7-013 @jungshaking @battlingmyowndemons @Strxqrd1 @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy-blog @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @elithenium @asyr97 @heyinwluv85s @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @granataepfelchen @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @blubird592 @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho

[laceandlipstick]

side effects may vary | b.b

bucky barnes x f!reader

MDNI

masterlist

word count: 7.4k

summary: he’s infected. he warns you it’s dangerous. you stay anyway. now he’s on his knees, aching, and you’re the only thing that’ll fix it.

warnings: SMUT, dubcon (sex pollen), oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, masturbation m!receiving, unintentional edging/orgasm denial, whiny/needy bucky (like he’s actually in pain he needs it so bad), use of pet names, dirty talk, slight love confession, soft aftercare, lmk if i missed any!

a/n: i truly think ive read every bucky sex pollen fic ever so naturally i had to write my own

The mission was supposed to be routine.

Low risk. In and out. Just recon.

You’d both heard that one before.

The two of you moved silently down the dim corridor of the abandoned HYDRA research site, your flashlight sweeping over long-forgotten computers and dusty floor tiles. Bucky walked slightly ahead, always putting himself between you and any potential threat. You pretended not to notice.

“How much longer do you think we’ll need?” you whispered, your voice echoing softly in the stillness.

“Just need to tag the central drive,” Bucky replied, eyes scanning the shadows. “Won’t take long. Then we’re gone.”

You nodded, but something about the place had your nerves humming. It was too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

A few more steps, and you paused. The air shifted—barely perceptible, but strange. Heavier. And there was a smell. Sweet. Tangy. Faint, but unmistakable.

You wrinkled your nose. “Do you smell that?”

Bucky stopped mid-step. He turned slowly to look at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Shit,” he muttered. “Yeah. I do.”

“What is it?” you asked, frowning.

But Bucky was already moving. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

“Wait—what? Why?”

He didn’t answer at first, just grabbed your wrist and started pulling you back down the hall the way you came. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was tight. Urgent.

“Bucky, talk to me—what the hell is going on?”

“I’ve smelled this before,” he said tightly, not looking at you. “Not here. Somewhere else. A long time ago.”

The hallway stretched behind you like a tunnel, narrowing under the flickering emergency lights. You followed him, heart pounding. “What is it?”

“Sex pollen,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “Come again?”

“It’s not a joke,” he snapped, more from stress than anger. “HYDRA used to weaponize this stuff. One of the compounds they developed… it’s airborne, subtle, hits the bloodstream fast. It doesn’t affect everyone, but when it does—”

He broke off, jaw clenched, and you could see the muscle ticking in his cheek.

You swallowed hard. “Have you—”

“Yes,” he cut in. “Once. It was… bad.”

You didn’t push for details. The way his voice dropped told you more than enough.

Outside, the forest loomed dark and quiet through the broken door ahead. But as you reached it, a steel beam crashed to the floor behind you, blocking the exit. You both jumped, instinctively ducking into defensive stances.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Bucky moved forward and tested the obstruction. It wouldn’t budge.

He looked back at you, breath shallow. Sweat beaded at his temple despite the cold. “We’re not staying here.”

But the building had other plans.

When you tried the alternate routes—the lab’s north hallway, the roof access hatch—each one was caved in or sealed off by the earlier collapse. The compound wasn’t just abandoned. It was booby-trapped. The scent in the air was growing thicker now, almost syrupy, leaving a strange heat on your tongue every time you inhaled.

“I don’t feel anything,” you murmured, leaning on the railing beside him as you paused to think.

“You wouldn’t. Not everyone reacts,” Bucky said quietly. “And if you haven’t by now, you probably won’t.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and noticed what he was trying to hide.

His shoulders were tense, his breathing faster than it should’ve been. He wasn’t sweating from exertion. His pupils were blown wide, and his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

“Bucky,” you said gently. “You’re affected, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just lowered his eyes.

“I can handle it,” he muttered. “I just need space.”

Your throat went dry. “You want me to leave?”

“I want you safe.”

You stepped closer, but slowly. Carefully. “I’m not leaving you.”

Bucky looked up sharply, and there it was in his eyes: fear. Not for himself. For you.

“You don’t get it,” he said hoarsely. “This stuff… it doesn’t wear off fast. It builds. Messes with your head, your instincts. If it takes hold, I won’t be thinking straight. I won’t be able to—”

He broke off, turning away from you and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what I’m like when I lose control.”

You watched him in silence for a long moment. Then: “You haven’t hurt me yet.”

He let out a bitter laugh, but it cracked in the middle.

“Don’t test that,” he whispered.

You shook your head. “I’m not. I’m staying because I trust you. And I know you’re still in there. You’re already fighting it.”

He turned to face you fully, chest rising and falling hard. “You don’t understand. It’s not just wanting someone. It’s needing. The kind of need that drowns everything else. If I touch you—”

“Then we won’t touch,” you said softly. “We wait it out. Together.”

Bucky took a step back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not. I’m making a choice.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, but stopped.

Something flickered in his eyes—something that looked a hell of a lot like longing. Raw and unspoken.

You gave him space. You didn’t reach for him. Just sat on the edge of a metal crate, folding your hands in your lap, trying to act calm even though your heart was thundering.

You could feel it in the air now. That charged tension. Thick as smoke. It wasn’t touching you like it was touching him, but it made the space between you feel thinner, more fragile. One wrong move and it would snap.

Across the room, Bucky paced like a caged animal.

And every few seconds, his eyes drifted to you. Hungry. Guilty. Haunted.

You knew this was only the beginning.

⸻

An hour passed. Maybe more.

The scent in the air had dulled your hunger, your sense of time, even the urge to speak. You sat in silence on the cold floor of the lab’s storage room, your back pressed to a cracked support beam, watching Bucky unravel.

He’d stopped trying to pretend he was fine.

His jacket was long discarded, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked chest. Veins stood out along his arms and neck. He kept pacing, breathing shallow, jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a tooth.

You didn’t speak. You knew he couldn’t take conversation right now. The smallest sound made him twitch.

He moved like he was walking the edge of a cliff—aware that every step might send him plummeting. Muscles pulled taut beneath his skin. His metal hand flexed and unflexed at his side like it didn’t know what else to do.

And his eyes—God, his eyes—flicked to you with such force it made your breath catch.

Not lust, not fully.

Need.

Desperate. Consuming. Agonized.

He cursed softly, dragging a hand over his face before disappearing into the adjoining room. You waited, heart pounding, body frozen in place. He didn’t shut the door, just stepped around the corner—out of view, but not out of earshot.

You listened to the sounds of him moving. The rustle of fabric. A breath drawn through clenched teeth.

Then—

A low, choked sound. A broken gasp.

You realized, with dawning horror, what he was doing.

You turned your face away, pressing your hand to your mouth.

It wasn’t the act itself. You weren’t embarrassed. What hit you was the sound of it—like he was being torn apart. Pain colored every breath. He wasn’t enjoying it. He wasn’t even chasing relief.

He was begging for it. And not getting any closer.

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Fuck. No—”

A sharp thud—his fist hitting the wall.

You stood slowly, heart aching, and took one cautious step toward the doorway. “Bucky?”

“Don’t—” His voice was ragged. “Don’t come in here.”

“I’m not. I just—”

“Please.”

You stopped.

He was breathing hard again. You could almost hear him trying to ground himself, but it wasn’t working. The pollen had burrowed deep. It wasn’t letting go.

Another minute passed.

Then he emerged.

His shirt was half-unbuttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glassy with frustration—tears at the corners, not from emotion, but from overwhelming physical strain.

You met his eyes. You didn’t look away.

Bucky swallowed hard. “It doesn’t work.”

“I know,” you said quietly.

His voice was barely audible. “It only makes it worse.”

You took a breath. “What can I do?”

His jaw twitched. “You already are. Staying away. Staying safe.”

You took a step forward.

He took one back.

“No,” he said, voice sharp. “Don’t. I can’t—” He looked at the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m not okay, and I don’t want to be the kind of man who hurts someone just because he can’t stand the way his own skin feels anymore.”

The words cut through you.

“You’re not that man,” you said. “You never have been.”

He laughed bitterly. “You didn’t see what I just tried to do.”

You moved slowly, deliberately, and sat back down. Close enough that he knew you were there. Far enough that he could breathe.

His shoulders slumped. He slid down the wall opposite you, legs bent, head in his hands. You noticed him shiver, like the heat crawling under his skin was unbearable.

He whispered, “It hurts.”

And that broke you.

You wanted to touch him. So badly. Wanted to hold his hand, stroke his hair, kiss the pain off his mouth. But he was curled up like a wounded animal, pride cracking under the weight of need he couldn’t control.

The silence thickened. The air between you pulsed with want, but heavier than that was the aching restraint. He was fighting it. Fighting for you.

After several minutes, he looked at you again. Really looked.

“I’m trying,” he said hoarsely. “But I don’t know how much longer I can.”

You nodded. Your voice was gentle. “Then we’ll take it minute by minute.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he exhaled like it cost him everything.

The silence in the room had a pulse.

It beat with his breath. With yours.

Slow and thick and unbearable.

Bucky hadn’t moved in nearly fifteen minutes, but you could see the tremble in his hands now. His skin gleamed with sweat. Every breath rattled deep in his chest. He didn’t look at you anymore, didn’t dare. He knew what would happen if he did.

He was so deep in the pull of it now, you wondered if he could feel anything but the ache. His body had started reacting to you in waves—tiny stutters of movement, involuntary flexes of his thighs, his hands, his jaw every time you shifted.

And you weren’t doing anything.

You were just sitting there.

But to Bucky, that was enough to make him sweat like he was burning from the inside out.

He finally broke the silence.

“This was a mistake,” he rasped. “You should’ve left.”

Your heart cracked, but your voice stayed steady. “I wasn’t going to leave you like this.”

His head dropped back against the wall, and he let out a strained breath.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s not just that I want you. It’s that I can feel every second you’re not touching me like a scream inside my skin. It’s like drowning.”

You stood, slowly. Walked across the room and sat in front of him—just out of reach. His eyes followed every step like they physically hurt.

“You think I don’t want to touch you too?” you said softly. “You think it’s just you suffering right now?”

Bucky swallowed hard. His eyes finally lifted to yours.

“You’re not the one whose hands shake every time you breathe,” he said, his voice a broken whisper. “I want to tear my skin off just to stop feeling. I’ve had this happen before, I know how it ends.”

Your eyes widened. “You’ve—before?”

He looked away. “Years ago. On a Hydra op. They used it on me. Weaponized it. They’d toss it into air vents, pipe it into prisoner quarters, see who’d crack first.”

“Oh my god.”

He nodded once, stiff. “You think this is bad? Back then, they didn’t even care who it happened with. They just wanted results. Wanted to see how long before the asset broke.”

You reached for him—then stopped yourself. But he saw the movement. Saw the ache in your eyes.

“I got out before anything happened,” he added. “That time. Barely. I chewed through a fuckin’ steel door with my arm to escape before it hit full peak.”

You swallowed. “And this is the same formula?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Stronger. Stark ran tests last time. He said this strain’s twice as potent and designed for targeting specific attachment cues.”

You blinked. “Attachment cues?”

He gave you a long, tired look. “People the infected already want.”

Your breath caught.

Bucky saw it. Saw the realization hit your face.

“That’s why it’s only affecting me,” he said quietly. “You didn’t get hit with it because it’s me that wants you. Not the other way around.”

“Don’t say that,” you whispered. “You don’t know how I feel.”

His eyes darkened. His voice dropped to a hoarse growl.

“You’d be feeling it if you wanted me half as much as I want you right now.”

You flinched, not at the anger—there wasn’t any—but at the need underneath it. The ache. The fucking agony of being so close to someone you craved with every breath and knowing that touching them could shatter everything.

He looked down at his hands. The metal one clenched into a fist. The flesh one twitched—he was losing control of it in microbursts, shaking with restraint.

“Earlier,” he said, voice raw. “When I tried jerking off? It made it worse.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just listened.

“I didn’t think that was possible. But it’s like… it’s not about the act. It’s you. My body knows it’s not you. So it just—” He shook his head. “Punishes me harder.”

A beat passed.

You whispered, “What happens if you don’t… if we don’t—”

“I won’t die,” he said. “But it’ll feel like it.”

Your heart ached. “And you’d go through that… just to protect me?”

His eyes lifted to yours again, and they were glassy now. A little wild.

“I’d rather rip my goddamn arm off than touch you in a way you didn’t ask for.”

You couldn’t stay where you were anymore. You crossed the space between you on your knees, stopping just before your legs touched his. He looked like he was bracing for impact.

“I trust you,” you said gently. “I’m asking. I want to help you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s not how this works.”

“Why not?”

His voice cracked.

“Because when you touch me—when you kiss me—I won’t be able to stop. I’ll take and take until you can’t breathe, and then I’ll keep wanting more. I don’t want to use you.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“You don’t know that.”

He leaned forward, eyes wild, chest heaving.

“I want to fuck you until I forget my name,” he whispered. “I want to mark you up so deep everyone knows you’re mine. I want to taste you, ruin you, own you—”

You gasped, eyes going wide.

He slammed his mouth shut, like the words had escaped without permission.

You sat there frozen, stunned into silence, heat rising up your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He blinked.

Your voice trembled. “Yes. I want that. I want you.”

A beat.

Then another.

And then Bucky let out the softest, saddest sound you’d ever heard.

A choked little groan, like his soul had just cracked open.

He dropped his head to your shoulder—not touching you anywhere else, not even leaning into you. Just resting his forehead there, breathing like he was dying.

Because he was.

⸻

Bucky stayed like that—forehead pressed to your shoulder, body shaking, breath hot and ragged.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You let him have this moment, because you could feel how hard he was fighting himself.

Not to beg.

Not to snap.

Not to break.

His voice, when it came, was hoarse and nearly silent.

“Every part of me is telling me to grab you. To push you down and make you mine. To fuck you until I stop hurting.”

You swallowed. His breath was against your collarbone now.

“But I don’t want you scared of me. I don’t want you thinking this was just the serum.”

You shook your head gently, brushing your lips against his hair. “I’m not scared of you.”

He groaned softly—like even that was too much.

“I can’t even think straight,” he whispered. “It’s like… everything that makes me human is on fire. And the only way out is you.”

Your chest ached. Your thighs pressed together without meaning to.

“Tell me what you need,” you said.

He laughed—dry, broken, bitter. “I need to be inside you so deep I forget who I am.”

You felt your body shudder.

“I need your hands on my chest, my back, my face. I need to feel you wrap around me, claim me—make this stop.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He finally lifted his head. His pupils were huge, his mouth parted, his jaw clenched tight enough to tremble. A bead of sweat slipped down his temple. His hair was damp.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he rasped.

“I want you to say it,” you said. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t need this.”

“I’ve already tried—” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I tried to take the edge off. It didn’t work.”

You looked down between his legs—and your throat went dry.

The bulge in his pants was obscene now, the fabric stretched tight with pressure. He looked painfully hard. You wondered how long ago he’d tried, how long he’d suffered since.

“What happened?”

He leaned his head back against the wall, shut his eyes.

“I touched myself. I thought if I could just come, it’d stop. But my body—my brain—it knows. It knows you’re here. And it knows that if it’s not you touching me, it doesn’t count.”

You were already crawling closer before you could stop yourself.

Bucky tensed, but didn’t stop you.

You knelt between his spread legs. He still didn’t touch you—his fists were clenched at his sides, white-knuckled, arms shaking with restraint.

You brought your hand to his thigh, hovering just an inch above the fabric.

“Can I touch you?”

He opened his eyes. They were tortured.

“Please,” he breathed. “But slow. I’m close. I—I don’t want to come just from you brushing me.”

You nodded and let your hand press to his thigh. His muscles jumped beneath your palm.

“You’re so warm,” you whispered.

He gave a strained laugh. “That’s not warmth. That’s burning.”

You slid your hand a little higher. Still not to where he was hard, still gentle. His hips jerked slightly, but he locked himself down with a hiss of breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “That already feels better.”

“You’re really not gonna hurt me,” you said. “Even like this, you’re still holding back.”

He looked at you, agony and adoration bleeding into one expression.

“I always hold back,” he said. “With everyone. But especially with you.”

Your breath hitched. “Why?”

His voice cracked.

“Because I knew that if I ever touched you the way I wanted… I’d never be able to stop.”

He leaned forward slightly, nose brushing your temple, breath hot at your ear.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered. “You’re not just the antidote. You’re the fucking trigger. I’ve been half in love with you for months. And now every part of me wants to bury myself in you so deep you never forget how I feel inside you.”

You whimpered.

Bucky growled, pulling back fast, his fists slamming against the floor.

“Shit—I didn’t mean to say that—I didn’t—”

“Bucky,” you gasped, “look at me.”

He did. Wild. Wrecked. Near feral.

You climbed into his lap slowly, straddling him without grinding or teasing—just being there. His whole body tensed, cock straining beneath you, twitching in his pants.

“Is this okay?” you asked.

His hands hovered near your hips, but didn’t touch.

“I don’t know,” he rasped. “I’m scared I’ll lose it. I’m scared I’ll grab you and not stop. I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you said. “I know you won’t.”

“I don’t trust myself.”

“I trust you.”

He made a soft, broken noise—like he was trying not to cry.

“Tell me what to do,” you whispered. “Tell me how to help.”

His hands finally landed on your hips—light and trembling.

“Just… stay with me,” he said. “Don’t leave. Even if I break.”

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to his.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He shuddered beneath you.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, voice raw with hunger. “I want your thighs on my shoulders, your hands in my hair. I want your skin under my tongue, your legs wrapped around me while I fuck the pain out of both of us.”

You whimpered and your hips twitched by accident. His jaw clenched—hard.

“Don’t move,” he hissed. “Fuck, doll, I’m gonna come just from you being here.”

You stilled.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.

“I’ve never wanted anything so bad,” he whispered. “And it hurts. I didn’t know it could hurt this much.”

You brushed his hair back from his face. His expression was wrecked—tormented, desperate, holding on by threads.

“Then let me help,” you whispered.

He looked at you. Really looked.

And for the first time, you saw something break.

Not in fear.

Not in control.

But in surrender.

Bucky was panting beneath you.

Not softly—not like someone turned on. Like someone wounded, like a man on the battlefield bleeding out, like he was praying to survive the next ten seconds.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe right,” he murmured. “It’s like my lungs forgot how unless you’re touching me.”

You slid your hands up his arms slowly—reassuring, grounding.

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “You’re not alone in this.”

He leaned forward again, his forehead resting against your collarbone this time, the tip of his nose brushing over your skin.

“I don’t know how long I can keep fighting it,” he said. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“Then stop fighting,” you whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

He laughed—a low, pained sound that melted into a moan.

“I’m not even inside you and I feel like I’m gonna die.”

His hips twitched under you. Not thrusting—just a reflex, a cry for relief. You felt him—thick, rock-hard and straining against his jeans. He must’ve been leaking for hours. Your thighs clenched instinctively.

You moved your hips—just barely. One slow roll, not even direct pressure, but enough to make him gasp.

“Jesus—fuck—don’t—” he begged.

“Shhh,” you whispered. “Easy, Bucky. Let me help you.”

Another gentle grind. His hands grabbed your hips hard, trembling—but not to stop you. Just to anchor himself.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed. “I’m gonna come in my fucking pants like a teenager—”

“I don’t care,” you said. “Let it happen. You’ve been holding back too long.”

A desperate little whimper escaped his throat. His jaw was clenched, his head thrown back now. You reached up and brushed your fingers through his hair—his favorite thing, usually—and his whole body jerked like he’d been shocked.

“Please,” he said. “Please, just a little more—fuck—please—”

You rocked against him again, just a little harder, just enough pressure for both of you to feel it.

His body snapped.

He grabbed you—carefully, still careful—but pulled you flush against him, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder again, and humped up against you once, twice, three times, his cock dragging up between your folds through the layers of clothing.

He was soaked.

“Bucky—”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I can’t—I need—need it—can’t think—”

“Come for me,” you whispered, voice firm, lips at his ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Let it happen.”

That undid him.

He let out a guttural moan—raw, feral, completely undone—and his hips ground up into you again, erratic now. You felt the first pulse through his cock. His body locked up, and then…

“F-Fuck—!”

Hot. Wet. So much. Even through his pants, you could feel it as he came violently, grinding into you, clinging to you like a lifeline. His whole body was quaking.

You held him while he shook through it. You didn’t stop touching his hair. You didn’t flinch when he whimpered against your skin. You just let him go.

It lasted longer than you expected—waves of desperate, aching release. Even when the worst was over, he kept rutting softly, hips twitching, trying to milk every drop of relief from the contact.

Then—finally—his breath began to slow.

He went limp against you.

For a minute, neither of you spoke.

You just stayed there—your thighs sticky from his release through the denim, his arms wrapped around you, your lips pressed to his temple.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice ragged and exhausted.

“Don’t be.”

His fingers tightened on your waist. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I chose to be here,” you reminded him.

He nodded faintly. “I don’t think it helped, though. The serum—I still feel it. I thought maybe if I came it would… I don’t know, reset something.”

You pulled back to look at him.

He looked wrecked.

His hair was damp, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly parted and lips swollen from biting them too hard. There were tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I feel a little better,” he admitted. “But it’s still there.”

“How bad?”

“Like I haven’t touched myself in weeks,” he muttered. “Except now every nerve in my body is screaming your name.”

You felt heat flood your body.

“I’m gonna take these off,” you said softly, tugging at his shirt, “and you’re gonna let me help you through this.”

His eyes fluttered open, stunned. “You—you mean—”

“I’m not saying we fuck right now,” you said, firm but gentle. “But if your body’s still suffering, then we’re not done. And I’m not leaving you like this.”

You grabbed the hem of your own shirt, pulled it off, then reached for his.

“Trust me?”

“More than anyone,” he whispered.

You helped him undress slowly. When his pants came off, the evidence of his climax soaked the fabric. You tossed them aside without judgment.

Bucky lay there now, bare to the waist, hard again, cock twitching faintly, swollen and flushed and leaking already despite just having come. He looked embarrassed by it—but you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You’re not in control. But I’m here. We’ll get through it together.”

He gave you a look that almost broke your heart.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” he whispered.

You smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Lie back. I’m gonna take care of you.”

⸻

The next time he came, he didn’t even want to.

You had your back against the cold wall of the containment chamber, legs spread, and Bucky was curled up between them, head on your chest, panting like he’d run ten miles. Sweat rolled off his temples. His back was tense. His cock — red, swollen, leaking — was still pressed against your inner thigh.

He’d already come once — thick, helpless spurts across the concrete floor — but it had barely dented the pain. His body was still demanding, still begging.

“I don’t know what to do,” he groaned into your shirt. “I don’t—why won’t it stop?”

You cupped the back of his neck. “Because it’s not about finishing. It’s about needing.”

“I tried—before you came in—I tried to get it out—jerked off until I couldn’t breathe—but it didn’t help. I came and I still wanted to fuck —”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know, baby.”

His hips shifted. His cock slid hot and slick against your thigh.

He sobbed.

You swallowed your own panic. You could feel the strain in his muscles, the tension that vibrated under his skin like he might split apart.

“I can’t fuck you,” he rasped, pulling back enough to look you in the eye. “You get that, right? Not like this. Not until I know I can stop.”

“You won’t hurt me,” you said. “I trust you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

You let your hands slip down to his hips. His skin was burning up, soaked through with sweat. He looked ruined — flushed, eyes glassy, hands trembling with restraint.

“Then let me help another way,” you whispered.

Bucky didn’t speak. Just nodded, barely.

You guided him off you slowly. Laid him flat against the floor — rough concrete beneath him, the thin blanket from the cot crumpled under his back. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air until you took one and placed it at his side.

You knelt beside him. His cock stood red and angry against his stomach.

You leaned down and kissed the tip.

He cried out — full-body, involuntary, like his nerves were misfiring.

“I c-can’t,” he gasped. “I’m gonna lose it—”

“You already did,” you whispered. “So let me take the pieces.”

You wrapped one hand around the base of his cock. Warm, slick. Twitching.

You kissed him again, just under the head.

He whined — high and desperate — and it lit something inside you.

You took him into your mouth.

He jerked so hard his back left the floor. His metal arm hit the wall with a sickening clang.

“No—no, I—fuck, it’s too much—”

You pulled off just enough to speak. “Tell me to stop.”

He looked down at you — eyes huge, soaked — and said nothing.

You took him back in.

You worked him slowly. Sucking, stroking, dragging your lips along the swollen shaft as if he hadn’t just come an hour ago. You knew how sensitive he was. You could feel it. Every twitch, every jolt of his thighs, every clench of his abs as he tried to hold it back.

“I want it,” you whispered, mouth still brushing him. “Come for me again, Bucky. Let me feel it.”

“I’ll break,” he whimpered. “I’m gonna break—”

You sucked harder.

He shattered.

He came with a strangled noise — no warning, no words — just a ragged, throat-torn cry that echoed off the sterile walls. You swallowed him down, every drop, holding him with one hand as his hips bucked, his body convulsed. He was twitching, gasping, shaking beneath you like he’d just had a seizure.

When you pulled off, he was glassy-eyed. His chest heaved. His legs were still trembling.

But he was still hard.

Still leaking.

Still burning.

“Still?” you whispered.

He nodded miserably.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You kissed his thigh. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not stopping,” he choked out. “Nothing’s working. I keep thinking if I come again, maybe—maybe—but it just makes me need you more. I need—fuck, I need to be inside you so bad, it’s like something’s wrong in me—”

You moved slowly, crawling up to sit across his lap, keeping his cock pressed to your folds but not letting it in.

“You’re not broken,” you whispered. “You’re just overwhelmed.”

“Hurts,” he muttered. “Hurts so bad.”

“Then I’ll stay right here until it doesn’t.”

He blinked, looking up at you like you were light in a storm.

You started to grind against him — not hard, not fast — just dragging your slick folds over him, your clit brushing his shaft. His hands flew to your hips, trying to hold still, to not thrust.

“Don’t,” he gasped. “I can’t—if I move, I’ll—”

“You can,” you said. “You will. I want it. All of it. All of you.”

His head dropped back. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not a bad way to go.”

And then he broke again.

He came a third time, sobbing your name, his come hot and wet across your thighs, thick and heavy and never-ending. It was everywhere — on you, on him, on the floor. His body bucked, twitched, sagged.

You collapsed onto him, both of you breathing like you’d run for miles.

Silence, finally, as his cock finally softened just a little.

His eyes were half-lidded. “Still there,” he whispered, hand twitching toward you. “Not as bad. But not gone. I don’t think it ends until…”

“Until?” you asked softly, brushing sweaty hair from his eyes.

“Until I’m inside you,” he whispered. “Real. Deep. Not just for release. For connection.”

You kissed his jaw.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

He looked terrified.

“But I need you to ask me,” you said. “When you’re ready.”

His lips parted. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’d die if I did.”

“You won’t.”

His cock stirred again.

“Next time,” he breathed. “Next time, I need to be inside you.”

You kissed his lips.

“I’ll be ready.”

⸻

You were both so quiet.

The air buzzed with what wasn’t being said — the pounding tension between your legs, the ache in your core, and Bucky’s need still crackling in the space between your bodies like static.

He’d come so many times. It hadn’t been enough.

Not for him.

Not for you.

Now you were both kneeling on the floor — his back propped against the cold wall, you straddling him, clothes tugged out of the way but not removed, the tension between you so taut it felt like breathing too loud might snap it.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Bucky whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “Not just because I want to fuck you… but because I’m scared I will. Like if I let go—really let go—it’ll be too much.”

Your fingers were in his damp hair. You held his face in your palms like something fragile, something worth saving.

“Let me take it,” you said. “You won’t lose control.”

He shook his head against you. “You don’t understand what it’s like inside me right now. It’s tearing me apart.”

“Then give it to me, Bucky. All of it.”

You took him in your hand again — already semi-hard, already twitching. Just the touch made him groan deep in his throat.

“I don’t want to break you,” he murmured.

“You won’t.”

“You’re not afraid of me?”

You leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. “Never.”

That’s when he gave in.

He didn’t say yes — didn’t need to. He just sank his metal hand into the back of your thigh, the other resting firm on your hip. You felt his cock pressing up again, hard and hot and ready, and you lifted just enough to line him up.

Your slick made it easy — but your nerves made it slow.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “Please. Just breathe for me.”

You nodded.

You sank down.

And oh god—

It wasn’t gentle. Not at first.

Not when he was so thick and hard and desperate. His cock pushed in with a stretch that made your breath catch, your hips stall.

His head thudded softly against the wall. “You’re so fucking warm.”

You grabbed his shoulders, nails biting into flesh, and bottomed out slowly — inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside you, until there was no space left between your bodies, until your legs trembled from the pressure.

Bucky made a broken sound in your neck — part relief, part agony.

“Fuck—” he whispered. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—so long. I thought about it all the time. Touched myself thinking about you—every night—felt so guilty—”

“Don’t,” you breathed. “You’re here now. I’m here.”

You stayed there a moment, just… letting him feel you.

Letting the heat of your body melt into his.

Letting the intensity settle.

Then you started to move.

Slow. Careful. Up just a little — then down. Your body swallowed him so perfectly he groaned like it physically hurt.

“Can’t believe you’re real,” he said. “You’re mine. You’re mine—”

You kissed him, silencing the spiral. Tongue sliding over his, hands cupping his jaw. And when you moved again — a little faster, grinding down instead of lifting — Bucky’s moan vibrated straight into your mouth.

His hands gripped your hips hard, guiding your rhythm even when his brain felt too scrambled to think. His eyes never left your face. He watched you ride him like he was seeing the sun rise for the first time — wide-eyed, reverent, and a little bit undone.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed. “I—I can’t—shit, I’m not gonna last—”

“You don’t have to.”

“But you—”

“Let me finish you, Bucky,” you whispered.

His hips surged up — just once — and your breath hitched at how deep he went.

He was so far inside you it felt like he was lodged behind your ribcage.

“Again,” you begged.

He thrust up again — harder this time — and you cried out, fingers scrambling at his chest. It wasn’t graceful anymore. It was raw. Bodies slamming together in rhythm. The slap of your thighs, the wet drag of your folds, the sound of his groans getting louder.

You were chasing something now. So was he.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—inside—” he gasped.

“Do it,” you said. “Fill me. I want it.”

“You’ll be dripping with it—”

“I don’t care.”

And that did it.

He snapped.

His body seized — whole frame tensing so violently his metal hand crushed the edge of the wall behind you. He was panting, almost growling, as he spilled inside you. Hot and thick and so much you felt it flood you immediately, leaking down your thighs, making a mess of both your clothes and the floor.

You came with him — loud and sudden, spasming around him, mouth open in a wordless cry as your vision blurred. Your muscles locked, shaking as he throbbed inside you, each pulse sending another wave through your body.

It took minutes — long, ragged minutes — for either of you to move.

You collapsed against him, face buried in his neck, and he held you like you might vanish.

He was crying. Just a little.

Silent tears streaked through the grime on his cheeks.

“You okay?” you whispered.

“I feel like myself again,” he said. “For the first time in hours.”

You kissed the tears off his face.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

You smiled. “Not even a little.”

His lips found yours again — this time soft, slow, tender.

Not a kiss of need.

A kiss of thank you.

A kiss of I love you, without saying it out loud.

⸻

Bucky didn’t move at first.

You stayed curled against him, both of you still tangled in your half-removed clothes, his cock softening inside you while the mess between your legs dripped down and pooled beneath you.

There was no bed. No softness.

Just the floor, his arms around you, and the buzzing silence in the aftermath.

You stroked your fingers gently through his damp hair. It clung to his forehead in sweaty curls, and his chest rose and fell beneath yours like a storm still receding. Every now and then, his grip around your waist would tighten — like he had to confirm you were real.

“I’m here,” you whispered into the curve of his neck.

“I thought I was gonna lose myself.”

“You didn’t.”

“I came inside you—fuck—too much—are you okay?”

You nodded, nuzzling into him. “I’m okay. Really.”

He groaned, like he didn’t know whether to cry or curse or hold you tighter. Maybe all three.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he mumbled. “Should’ve pushed you away.”

“But you didn’t,” you whispered.

His voice cracked. “Because I’m weak.”

You lifted your head then, met his eyes, and cupped his jaw in both hands. “No. You’re not weak. You’re human. You warned me. You tried. You never stopped thinking about protecting me — not once.”

He blinked at you. His pupils were finally normal. His breathing calmer. But his eyes…

They were glassy.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his gently — not with heat this time. Just a simple kiss. One that tasted like salt and closeness and everything you’d both been too afraid to say.

“I stayed,” you said softly. “I made that choice. You didn’t take anything from me. I gave it to you.”

He swallowed hard. His voice came out low. “You gave me more than I deserve.”

You shook your head. “You deserve peace. You deserve softness. You deserve someone who wants to be the one holding you when you’re not okay.”

He looked like he was going to cry again.

So you kissed his cheeks instead — both of them — and whispered, “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

You helped him ease out of you slowly, gently. Your thighs were sticky, soaked with his release. He hissed at the sensation — not out of desire this time, but raw oversensitivity. You both winced when you saw the mess between you: your clothes ruined, skin slicked and shining in the harsh light.

There were a few scratchy towels folded in a bin by the wall — probably left there by whoever prepped the room in case something like this happened.

You wet one under the tap, came back to him kneeling, flushed and quiet, waiting for you.

You cleaned him first — gently wiping him off, the stickiness between his thighs, the remnants of you on his skin. You were slow, careful, watching his face the whole time in case he flinched or pulled away.

But he didn’t.

He let you.

Then he cleaned you.

With shaking hands, he knelt in front of you and murmured soft apologies as he worked — wiping the slick from your inner thighs, dabbing carefully between your legs, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” like he still didn’t believe you weren’t angry.

“You’re not hurting me,” you promised.

“I know. I just… I feel like I don’t deserve to touch you. Not after what I was thinking in that corner.”

Your brows knit together. “Bucky—”

“I wanted to take you. Wanted to come so bad I didn’t care how. I’ve never… I’ve never been that far gone. Not even after Hydra. It scared the shit out of me.”

You knelt down in front of him again and placed your hand over his heart. “But you didn’t touch me until I said yes. You waited. Even when it hurt.”

“I wanted you,” he said, voice cracking. “But I didn’t want to want you like that.”

“And now?”

He looked at you like you were sunlight after a winter that lasted years.

“Now I just want to be near you,” he said. “Touch you when it’s not about needing. Just… wanting. Loving.”

You both stilled at that word.

He looked down fast, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You didn’t push. You didn’t say it back.

You just leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his.

And that was enough.

Eventually, you both changed into the spare clothes folded in a crate by the wall — grey cotton shirts and loose sleep pants, both far too big, but dry and warm. You bundled the soiled ones and left them near the drain.

The room didn’t have a bed, so you laid a fresh blanket down in the corner — still on the floor, but now wrapped around each other. You fit together easier now, bodies limp and pliant, exhaustion making everything heavier.

Bucky buried his face in your hair and didn’t let go for a long time.

You both dozed there — not fully asleep, not fully awake. Just… together.

And when he finally spoke again, his voice was soft and real and bare.

“I want to kiss you again.”

You smiled, already tilting your face up to his. “Then do it.”

This time, his lips were slow. Sweet. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t a thank-you.

It was a beginning.

[severehideoutbluebird]

I think the show gave us some very clear pointers on what Caine can do. He's an AI trained to create and improve stories, models, code and (I think) pretty much every other element on the Circus. But that's not all, so far he has shown the following abilities:

Nigh-Omnipotence: complete control over the Circus, with him being able to create, manipulate, and control anything within its boundaries. With his only current known limit being that he has no control over the minds of those who are trapped in it, or at least that was the case before episode 5.

Omnificence: able to create anything, including virtual food, a random name spinner, an entire kingdom and its surrounding landscape and pretty much any other critter and prop we have seen on the show.

VR Manipulation: Caine is shown to have complete control of the environment in the digital world, to the point he can heal glitched characters. Although this manipulation cannot fix abstracted characters.

Nigh-Omniscience: almost complete awareness of the digital world. It is shown that he was aware when Pomni exited the Circus into the void in the piloted episode. However, he does not seem to have any awareness or knowledge of the Void.

VR Sustainer: Caine is not only the ringmaster of the circus, but also appears to be what sustains it. In episode 3, when he learns from Zooble that he might be "bad at the only thing he's good at", it causes his code to start contradicting itself, which results in the entire Digital Circus to begin glitching out violently.

Teleportation: Caine is able to pop in and out about everywhere within the digital world, as he was shown - also in episode 1 - saving Pomni by teleporting her from the void back into the digital world .

Toon Force: Caine can manipulate his own body parts and proportions without harming himself.

Flight: Caine has the ability to fly, or hover in the air freely.

Move/Locate: Has the ability to bring/locate any and all players as he wishes.

***

As far as this simulation goes, we can assume Caine has all the permissions a normal manager program would have. The thing that sets him apart from any normal program is that he's an AI, which means he learns, adapts and corrects himself as needed.

My personal theory is that at some point Caine learn how to bend the rules of it all. He's running for an undetermined amount of time, which means in terms of artificial intelligence that he has experimented A LOT with what he can and cannot do effectively. We can only assume that he now has sufficient knowledge of the digital world and himself to know the limitations of his powers.

He does not have control of the characters actions, but he can influence them. Look at this way, Caine has the power to grant effects like buffs and debuffs, just like a game is supposed to work.

When Jax asks for a drink he's totally in control of his actions, but the second he finishes his request the condition is triggered and Boom, he's vegan. We know it works like an effect because he literally got an icon similar to this one 🌱 after Zooble's request. And let's not forget that at the end of the day the condition expired as promise.

This has A LOT of implications story wise, so many in fact that I guess we won't be seen much of it in the future. Caine could make the cast do pretty much anything if he truly wanted to, I mean, even if he's not wired that way it would be so boring to resolve any big conflicts that way.

I don't think Zooble knows anything special about the inner machinations of the Circus and it's host, but they definitely know more about it than meets the eye.

"I thought Caine couldn't..."

THIS MOMENT RIGHT HERE

I don't wanna jump the gun just yet and call this foreshadowing, this was clearly played off for the lolz, but I have a nagging feeling this is implying something much, much darker

It's clear that Jax said the part about the egg white* involuntarily, since he doesn't want to play this vegan bit whatsoever. But his sentence at the end; "I thought Caine couldn't..."

"... control us"??

Imagine that. They're trapped against their will, they can never go home, they're forced into stressful and scary adventures every day, but at the very least they still have free will. At least they can choose what they say and do (puppeteer employee re-evaluations aside)

Only, they can't. That can be taken away from them as well.

And Zooble knew it.

Remember this brief convo in the previous episode;

"The only thing holding Caine back is the fact that he likes us. I wouldn't push it."

ZOOBLE KNOWS SOMETHING.

Most likely they may just be wiser and/or more perceptive than most, fully comprehending the scope of Caine's powers in the circus and knowing that they're all hanging on by the threads that Caine is clutching. Or, possibly, they may have been witness to this "punishment" they mention. This may be the real reason they never go on adventures. Not cuz they just can't be fucked (tho probably true) but because they figure "If I don't do anything, I can't do anything wrong/worth punishing"

They know what Caine is capable of, and how it can be weaponized. In that sense, they were actually very forgiving to only ask for Jax to be vegan for the day as punishment for pretending to eat Gangle. I think between episode 4 & 5 we're seeing Jax come to that realization as well. It's clear that in his own way, he trusted Caine wouldn't hurt him or force him to do anything against his will, and was proven wrong twice.

Like I said, this might be foreshadowing for something later on, it might just be subtext you're meant to stew over as I have. Either way, its clear that Caine has greater capacity for evil, or at least immense harm, than most of them realize.

*also, since when do whiskey sours have egg whites?? I looked it up thinking it was a joke, but no, this is a cocktail with egg in it, wtf. Tho technically, according to google if it has an egg white it's a Boston sour, but same diff

[littlefankingdom]

I cannot explain the anger I feel anytime I read a panel where a character we are supposed to side with (except Bruce, because he's a self-loathing champion) says that Bruce should never be a father.

Batman, Bruce Wayne, was created in 1939, and he didn't even last two years before his creator gave him a child. In his long existence, Batman has only existed for LESS THAN TWO YEARS before he was made a father. Dick wasn't adopted because of the laws at the time against bachelor adopting, but Bruce was clear in the comics that this was his son. Old comics are a bit silly at time, and abuse was acceptable parenting in this time period (spanking and slapping, which Dick has been the subject of both), but it's clear that Bruce is meant to be a loving father. Dick is his pride and joy. If anything happens to him, Bruce is threatening everyone. He will kill everyone in the room than himself if his boy dies. He has huge paintings and pictures of the boy in and out of costume around his house because he loves him so much. When Dick is mad and threatens to leave, Bruce is like "I would prefer to lose both my arms and legs than lose you".

And it continued after that. When Dick leaves for college, Bruce is acting like it's a funeral. He's a dad realizing his baby is all grown up now and leaving home, and it's breaking his heart. He cried when child protective service took Dick from him, and when they took Jason. Both time, which are separated by decades, he was willing to throw away everything he had just to get his son back. Dick was the center of his universe, and with Jason, it was extended to his kids in general.

Batman, Bruce Wayne, being a dad is as important to his character as the murder of his parents. It's him learning to move on from this traumatic event, building a new family after losing his, giving children what he didn't have. It's linked to his parent's murder. If you are going to take that away, you can take away their murder too while you're at it.

This man would not survive without being a father, that's how he was written. It's a core characteristic of his character. Bob Kane is rolling in his grave from the audacity of those writers. "Batman shouldn't be a father" in your dreams, which are my nightmares.

[saturnzlv]

HELPING HAND

leon kennedy x gn!reader

notes: mature language, college au, suggestive content, re2r adjacent. wc: 1.1k | m.list

when life couldn’t get any worse, you want to fuck a blond guy.

he keeps his white reeboks pristine, his hair is always well-kept and brushed neatly, his lips never seem chapped, and his fingernails look better than your own. with the way he holds his pencil and drags the graphite along the paper, his handwriting looks more perfect than a teenage girls in her diary.

this guy is seriously starting to piss you off.

“you got that?” leon asks.

you snap out of your brief daydream, gaze lifting from his hand holding a pencil to those wide blue eyes that can pull you in like a tide. “uh, yeah,” you say, sitting up straighter in your chair. clearing your throat, you glance to your notebook that leon had written in.

“good,” he says. “i think we can finish up for today then.”

he lets you take a look at his notes on your paper. turns out this tutoring thing is seriously needed. his handwriting fills the page, correcting all your errors. how were you supposed to know how to properly use semicolons and em-dashes? you had fucked up so many of those damn symbols, it looked like hundreds of halves of winky-face emoticons were attacking your paper before leon edited your work.

a sigh falls from your lips, and you lean back in your chair for a second. “this shit is driving me insane,” you mutter.

as you stand from your chair and pack away your notebook, leon tilts his head up to look at you. it’s a pretty sight, but he ruins it when he opens his mouth.

“at least you’re not bored,” he jokes.

god, that horrible humor of his just makes you want to drop to your knees and unzip his pants to get him to shut up. however, the little smile he has makes up for the shitty joke. you can’t help the corners of your lips lifting in response, and you’re sure leon’s proud that he got you to react positively to his joke.

“whatever, blondie.” you wave your hand in dismissal of his words, pulling your bag’s strap over your shoulder. “same time thursday?”

he stands from his chair, gesturing to the door of his dorm room. “yeah.” he nods. “i’ll walk you out.”

that earns a slight laugh from you. “walk me out,” you repeat with a roll of your eyes. “you’re walking me, like, two feet to the door.”

“it’s still walking you out,” he counters. he opens the door for you, and you step out into the hall. you give a small wave before turning, and the door clicks shut behind you.

your next tutoring session comes by, and you quickly realize you can’t pay attention for the life of you. sure you get distracted during class, but your professor is the worst at explaining the damn language she speaks. it isn’t your fault you’re failing, and it isn’t your fault that your tutor is so distracting.

the tone of leon’s voice is always light; it’s softer than most boys you talk to. you notice how his brows briefly furrow when he re-reads a sentence, or when he makes a mistake and has to erase what he wrote. his tongue sometimes darts out to wet his lips, bringing his bottom lip in for just a moment.

he’s a pretty boy with cute habits. from hours of being tutored, there’s hours of staring. it’s almost laughable at how you’ve now memorized the little details of his. the beauty marks and light dusting of freckles littering his fair skin, the small indent at his chin, the soft curve and tiny bump along his nose—you’ve memorized it all.

and as he goes on and on, verbally editing your essay that’s due tomorrow, you just want to shut him up with a kiss. it’s nice of him to take time out of his day to tutor you. he won’t take cash payment, he’s said so numerous times, and you’re no good with your words. however, you know that the phrase ‘actions speak louder’ exists for a reason.

“i think if you were to move this sentence from here to the beginning, it’ll read more smoothly,” leon says.

his head lifts, baby blue eyes finding yours, and his lips part to continue speaking. you don’t allow him to continue when you lean in and cut him off with your lips pressing to his. he almost freezes as your lips meet and your palm cups his jaw, but his eyes quickly flutter shut and his lips purse against yours when he registers what the hell just happened.

it’s a little too short for his liking. when you pull back and lower your hand from his jaw, leon’s almost disappointed. he wants to reach out and bring you back in for another, but he’s damn near shell-shocked. not even a stupid quip can fall from his lips.

you, however, can make a stupid quip. “you talk too much,” you say. leon finally finds his footing and brings you in for another kiss.

one more thing you quickly realize is that, despite his awkwardness, leon actually knows what he’s doing. his hand skims along the muscle of your thigh before resting at your hip, drawing you closer to his body. it’s difficult, since you’re sitting in two different chairs, angled oddly, but you get the message and lift yourself from your seat.

with him manspread, your knee rests between his thighs against the wooden seat of the chair. both your palms cradle his face as you lean over him, kissing him over and over again. you’re kissing him like he’s oxygen and you’ve been deprived of breathing, yet he doesn’t complain about the desperation of it. in fact, he’s enjoying it more than you know.

you soon learn that leon’s an absolute sucker for kisses. when you pull away to fix your position, a borderline whine elicits from the back of his throat, the loss of your lips on his making him feel needy for more. his hands at your hips ever so slightly tightens its hold as you straddle his lap. your lips find his once more for a quick kiss or two, and you then forcibly (gently) tilt his head back to trail your kisses down the column of his neck.

a whispered prayer of your name falls from leon’s lips. his fingertips snake under the fabric of your shirt and along the bare expanse of your side. his begs are silent, yet who are you to deny him from his wants? besides, you know damn well you want it too.

[bruciemilf]

Time travel AU where Flash accidentally resets the timeline by moonwalking.

Moonrunning? Moonjogging? He hasn’t decided yet.

All he knows is this; When they figure out how to retrieve the Bat and his birds from ‘94 Gotham, his ass is grass.

—-

Bruce breaths Gotham in. It tastes like stale piss, expired cigars, and sinful intentions.

Tim is trying to build a Doctor Who time machine out of a payphone.

It’s held together by sticky gum and spite. The profanities scribbled on the glass are so strong Jason blushes.

Dick, ever so tortured, looks like a war vet who lost blinking privileges. “I’m pretty sure I just saw someone throw a body in a dumpster.”

Steph’s attention gravitates to a pair of rats robbing a cat for a can of tuna. Duke refuses to engage with this foolery, frankly.

“We don’t even exist yet. How does that work. How do you just exist one moment, and then you don’t. Only in Gotham, dude.”

Jason snorts. “You want the funny answer, or the real one, twinkle toes?”

Damian, for a lack of dignified description, is cranky.

He was supposed to watch animal planet with Batcow and Jon. It’s past his bedtime. Bruce gently patting his back is NOT adequate compensation.

He’s about to tell him, don’t worry, baba is going to fix it, but—

Bruce’s world, momentarily, incapsulates two figures bickering in front of a restaurant.

Not hateful. Intimate and knowing and intense, but not hateful.

Thomas. Nursing a cigarette with a rapidly declining lifespan, and Martha, looking like she told Gotham to chew glass and get a better wardrobe.

Bruce? Bruce carried his 8 year old corpse under his ribs for 30 something years, and it’s the first time he felt it move.

He doesn’t think. Not really. He just walks. Stares.

“You good, kid? You look like if Edgar Allen Poe fought a raccoon and died.”

Bruce’s thinking capacity is reduced to zero.

He doesn’t know if it’s Dick or Jason who cursed behind him. Just that he crumbled in Thomas’ arms and wailed.

[casadecopia]

Omg so like 10 to 15 years ago Iknew this guy who had the fucking sexiest roommate ever ok like this dude was tall, he was thicc, he was big and handsome with dark hair and tattoos. He looked like someone who had been fit in like high school or college and done football or sports of some kind and ended up work at a restaurant or bar and had just gained weight from eating extra meals and slinging drinks behind the bar all shift— like idk how to explain it like he had this muscular stature but everywhere he was supposed to all hard and sharp and boney angles he was just soft and slightly curved and smrjtkdjdlejhf he was like Hopper in Stranger Things before he ended up in the Russian prison camp— so hott

anyway so i eventually hooked up with him and just the fucking weight of him ontop of me heavy in a way that was sooo good and his belly was bumping me omg getting in the way bc I remember we were on a single sized mattress so both of us on their didn’t really fit and he was just so thic and man sized and bigger than me and it was so fucking good like some of the best sex I’d had back then.

We only hooked up the one time and then he moved or something I can’t remember and then like 5 yrs later I saw a pic of him on instagram in a tank top and shorts with someone in a like gym selfie or something— and than man lost like goddam 30 to 50 pounds (I mean he didn’t look bad, he looked healthy, he looked normal) but let me tell you I have never been so suddenly and so instantaneously turned off by someone who used to have mad sex appeal.

Like I was horrified— I was like “I’ve never seen that man in my life nor let alone laid biblically beside that… that mutilated clone of a skinny strip of nothing— where is my bouncer?!” (He was a bouncer for a club or some shit at some point which honestly was a fucking good hire with the bod he’d had at the time) personally offended

anyway my point is that to this day I STILL CCANT GET OVER IT and I feel icky inside when I think of it bc mfer 🤬😅🥲 had been so fucking gorgeous like I could have pet him all day, he was a life size plushie and he JUST THREW IT ALL AWAY I guess by starving himself or working out WHICH IS SO NOT HOT

I tend to stay off social media for the most part now but I think last time I saw a photo of him he looked like he gained some weight back but not all of it and sometimes i still wonder every once in a while if he’s got that hot premature dad bod back

Does anyone fuck with (or would you fuck) chubby/fat tboys or am I being lied to

[myluckyluv]

Project: Ruin the Nerd

CW: Rough sex , Sexual content , Begging, Praise & degradation mix , Teasing

If any of these themes are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please scroll past. 18+ only / MDNI.

This was a bad idea. You knew it the second you stepped into Gojo Satoru’s ridiculously modern house with your laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a binder full of notes clutched tight to your chest.

“Yo~ you finally made it,” Gojo drawled from his couch, pushing his sunglasses up into his snowy hair. He was sprawled across the cushions like a king on a throne, grinning like he already knew exactly how this night was going to go.

You cleared your throat and adjusted your glasses. “We’re supposed to be working on the lab report, Gojo.”

“‘Satoru,’” he corrected with a wink. “You’re in my house. You can drop the formalities… or at least the skirt.” His eyes flicked down to your pleated uniform and thigh-high socks with blatant amusement. “You dress like you want to get corrupted.”

Your face burned. “Can we please just start?”

He smirked and patted the seat beside him. “Of course, princess. Let’s ‘study.’ I promise I’ll behave…” His grin widened. “Until you don’t want me to.”

Reluctantly, you sat beside him, flipping open your binder. You tried to explain your plan for the experiment—something about chemical reactions and thermal energy—but he wasn’t listening. He was watching your lips as you talked, slowly leaning in, close enough that your words started to stutter.

“You talk like a textbook,” he murmured, voice low and warm against your cheek. “But I bet you taste sweeter than anything in it.”

“G-Gojo—!”

He chuckled darkly and pulled away, just far enough to give you space to squirm. “Relax. I’m just getting to know my lab partner.” His fingers brushed your exposed knee, featherlight and casual. “You’re all tense. Want me to help with that?.

You slapped your binder shut. “We’re supposed to be working.”

“Oh, I am working,” he purred, leaning in again, this time close enough that you could smell the subtle cologne clinging to his hoodie. “I’m just testing reactions. Like how red your cheeks get when I do this—” His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just shy of dangerous territory.

You gasped, thighs clenching. “Gojo!”

He laughed—loud, cocky, and unbothered. “Damn, you’re cute when you’re flustered. Bet you’ve never had a boy this close before, huh?” He was right. And worse, he knew it.

You tried to move away, but he caught your wrist gently. “C’mon, don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he said, voice softening just enough to make your heart stutter. “You came to my house in that outfit. You’re practically begging to be ruined.

The worst part? He was kind of right.

“You’re such a jerk,” you whispered, but your voice lacked conviction. Your thighs were trembling. Your breath was shallow.

Gojo leaned closer, mouth brushing your ear. “And you’re still sitting here. Why is that, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His fingers traced lazy circles on your inner thigh, edging higher, never quite touching where you needed him most.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “And I will.”

Silence.

He smiled.

And then he kissed you—slow, hot, and all-consuming, like he’d been waiting to devour you since the moment you walked in. Your hands clutched at his hoodie as he deepened the kiss, tongue teasing yours, teeth grazing your lip until you whimpered. Gojo didn’t stop at the kiss. His hands were already sliding under your skirt, pushing the fabric up over your hips with a slow, deliberate touch that made your breath hitch. “Told you,” he murmured against your lips, “you showed up like this just begging to get fucked.”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Your back arched, body already moving without thought, as he lifted you effortlessly and laid you back on his plush couch. His hoodie came off in one smooth motion, and your fingers twitched as you took in the sight of him above you—grinning like a devil, eyes half-lidded with hunger.

“You still want me to stop?” he asked, dragging your panties down your legs in one smooth tug. “Say the word, baby. Or keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna make a mess out of you.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. And that was all the permission he needed.

Gojo sank into you with a low groan, burying his face in your neck as your back arched off the cushions. “Shit—tight little thing, aren’t you?” he growled, voice rough and strained, like he was barely holding himself together. His pace was unforgiving from the start—deep, slow thrusts that had your legs shaking and your moans echoing off the walls of his expensive living room.

You clung to his shoulders, your voice cracking with every snap of his hips. “Satoru—too much—!”

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he purred, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, “you don’t get to tap out just yet. You’re the one who came over like a good little schoolgirl. Now you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Each thrust was rougher than the last, his voice in your ear a constant stream of filthy praise and taunts. “You sound so pretty when you moan my name. Say it again,” he demanded, thrusting harder, “C’mon—let the whole damn block hear who’s fucking you this good.”You were barely holding on. Your legs trembled, your breath hitched with every thrust, and your voice was hoarse from moaning his name like a prayer. Your head lolled back against the couch, eyes hazy with tears and bliss, as you whimpered, “Please—please don’t stop. I want more, Gojo—please, I need it—”

That snapped something in him.

“Ohhh?” he chuckled darkly, not slowing in the slightest. “Look at you, nerd girl. From quiet and studious to crying for my cock in one night. Damn, you’re better than any dream I’ve had.”

Your release hit like a wave, hard and blinding. Your whole body arched beneath him, shaking uncontrollably as he fucked you through it, groaning low as your walls pulsed around him. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep as his own release shuddered through him, his grip on your hips tightening with a guttural moan.

He collapsed over you, breathing hard, forehead pressed to your shoulder, then let out a lazy laugh. “Mmm… damn. That was fun.” He looked up at you with a devilish grin. “Wanna take a water break? Or should I bend you over my desk for round two—y’know, in the name of ‘research’?”

[fictionalsimp09]

Exile - Jegulus & Black Brothers - @taylorswiftmicrofic - 294 words - AO3

James stops halfway up the stairs to the flat he and Sirius share to find his friend sitting on the floor outside the door. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m in exile,” he huffs. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Regulus kicked me out of my own house ‘cause he saw the face cream I borrowed from him the last time I was at his in the bathroom.” 

James chuckles at the brother’s antics, much preferring whatever this is to the fighting before they both left their family. He opens the door and the two of them walk in to see Regulus casually reading a book on the sofa and he sits down next to him. “Hey, love.” 

“Hey, baby,” Regulus replies sweetly. “How was your day?” 

“Good.” He looks between him and Sirius. “How was yours?” 

“Mine was good. I finally found that face cream I lost last month.” Sirius clears his throat and Regulus glares at him. “Who said that traitor can come back in?” 

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, Reg,” James says. “But you don’t live here.” 

His scowl turns to James. “Not yet.” 

The room is silent as he processes what was just said. “That is…the most threatening way someone has ever said they want to move in with me.” 

“Well?” 

“I would love to live with you,” he grins, pulling Regulus into a deep kiss, fireworks exploding in his stomach like it is their first time. 

“You two are so gross!” Sirius gags. “I can’t wait until you get out of my face.” 

Regulus smirks. “I can’t wait to have our own place so we can fuck wherever and-” 

Sirius covers his ears and runs to his room, leaving them laughing and kissing in the living room. 

[kdh-tally]

HIHIHI OMG STOP THIS SHOW HAD ME LAUGHING AND SOBBING AND GRAHHHHHH wait so jinu is alive (im in denial shhhhhh) and like, this is a request....but what is like jinu is alive and he shows up to rumi whos like sobbing obv and the girls watching and supporting her but then as they're wrapping up all the saja boys (THEY ARE A FOUND FAMILY FIGHT ME ON THIS) pull up and see him and like ensue pt 2 of crying and shock??? basically jinu comes back and everyone happy :D

Prompt : Huntr/x reaction to Jinu not being dead

Authors Note : Jinu is 100% alive lmaooooo. Unfortunately, I had just published Jinu and Rumi reuniting a few hours before I saw your request :( BUT I did write the Huntr/x reaction to Jinu coming back to life and I WILL right a pt 2/3? where the Saja boys react <3

Can be read as a second part to -> RuJinu Reuniting

The Huntr/x dorm was calm but slightly tense. Mira laid spread on the couch as she watched a recently released telenova, while Zoey prepared a batch of snacks. They were excited to relax. Promotions had been going well, the boys didn’t seem to be causing any trouble and their fans were as loving as ever. 

However, both girls had a tenseness to their movements. Rumi had been MIA all day and they had a gut feeling she wasn’t alright. Zoey sighed as she placed the snack tray on the coffee table. “Maybe we should go look for her?”

Mira was already nodding, about to get up when the door creaked open. The two girls waited in silence, as they heard footsteps come through the hallways. They let out heavy breaths when they saw their purple haired leader. 

“Rumi!” the two immediately ran up to her, encasing her in a tight hug. 

“We were so worried about you,” Zoey cried as she cuddled closer to the girl. 

Mira moved back slightly, her face contorting with confusion as she took in the girls red and teary eyes. “You’ve been crying?” Her voice was quiet with worry.

Rumi’s voice was hoarse as she spoke. “I have to tell you guys something..” The girls immediately responded with gentle words of encouragement, they would rather she tell them anything than let it eat her up inside.

“You know you can tell us anything Rumi”

“Wether it’s about some new demon power or if you lost your voice again. We’re here”

“Well…” Rumi’s voice trailed off, prompting someone to clear their throat behind them. Mira and Zoey’s eyes pan up slowly only to widen as they see Jinu.

The room was quiet and tense. In a second, the two had summoned their weapons. Mira had her double-bladed staff up to his throat, her eyes narrowed in focus. Behind him, Zoey stood with her blades ready to cut through his back. 

“You guys-”

“He’s supposed to be dead Rumi” Mira spoke, not once taking her eyes off the man. 

“Yeah, well… surprise!” Jinu shrugged sheepishly, jazz hands included, as if that would help.

It took a few minutes but Rumi finally got both girls to calm down. She sat across from them, Jinu by her side as the two explained what they had been doing and how Rumi had found Jinu.

“Let me get this straight,” Zoey takes in a breath, “Jinu’s soul was floating around some fancy white room and he spent the entire time there thinking about you,” she pointed at Rumi, “and how to get back to her and then a few hours ago you were looking at the Honmoon when Jinu popped up out of nowhere and the both of you hugged and made up and things are fine?”

“Exactly,” Rumi smiled

“Do the other Saja’s know?” Mira asked, a grin slowly forming on her face as she formulated a plan.

“Not yet,” Jinu sighed, scratching behind his neck. Truth was he missed his band-mates and was quite scared of how they would take his return.

“Perfect,” Zoey grinned, already plotting. Mira’s laugh turned suspiciously evil. Rumi knew that look.

“Don’t mind them,” Rumi groaned while facepalming. 

Jinu leaned toward Rumi. “Are they always like this?”

Rumi sighed dramatically, but a fond smile tugged at her lips. “Unfortunately.”

Jinu smiled back. “I missed this.” And just like that, the warmth of the room wrapped around them all, laughter echoing and the buzz of chaos only just forming.

Because tomorrow? Tomorrow, the Saja Boys would see a ghost.

[howtobegirly]

if you mysteriously disappear in this forest, be nice to the ghosts. they are my friends. the old hag that lives near the southwestern edge of the forest...well, our relationship is a little more complicated. it isn't...bad, per se, and i'm not certain i could call her evil, exactly, but...well, i suppose we didn't really get off on the right foot when i first moved here.

well, moved may not be the best word for it. to be more precise, i was hiking here one day, on an overgrown used-to-be-path close to the eastern side of the woods, running south, and then i got stuck here & couldn't find a way back out. i don't mean that i got lost, i mean trapped. supernaturally. i made my way back down the path i had cleared--it was pretty obvious which way i had come because i had used my machete (a gift from my uncle) to cut my way through the blackberry vines--all the way back to the trailhead I had marked with a neon-pink scrunchie tied to a sharpened stick (i had planned to make a better marker later, the next time i hiked), but as soon as I stepped back out into the clearing (that led up to the abandoned road i'd found the week before, which is what started this whole thing), i...huh. y'know i actually don't know what happened then. i just remember waking up back in the witch's little hut in the woods, with her pacing around muttering to herself as she examined bottles and jars full of questionable substances. it was clear that many of them were plants, but not like anything i'd ever seen growing around here.

yeah, of course i thought she was crazy the first time we met. i couldn't tell if she had rescued me from something, or if she had kidnapped me to prevent me from leaving the woods. i still don't have an answer on that. i've asked her how she found me that day, tried to piece together what happened there at the edge of the forest, but she never answered me. always just keeps on muttering to herself as she mixes her potions of...unknown intent. i've asked about those, too, of course, and her reply is always more mumbling.

i've been able to pick out a few words here and there, mostly names. Amos, Bill, Henry, Buck, and Adela are some of the ghosts. Some of the other names, I'm not sure about. Perhaps they're ghosts i haven't met yet. you might not know this, but most of the fog around here isn't actually fog.

at any rate...we see each other around the woods frequently, being that we both live and forage here now (though nothing growing in this forest seems to match the various jarred ingredients i saw in her cottage), and things are...awkward between us. perhaps it's because i initially thought she was an evil witch (i admit, i may have judged her unfairly at first). or maybe it's just that its difficult to communicate with each other. i've tried to be friendlier, bringing her food i've made and patching up the roof of her hut. in return, she gives me mystery potions. i have no idea what any of them do. i tried one once and woke up hours later next to the stream, hair coated in mud, and having inexplicably sewn patches of moss as epaulettes and cuffs onto my patagonia fishing shirt (why did i even have my sewing repair kit in my backpack for a quick day hike? i'm still baffled by that). needless to say, i didn't try any more of her "gifts" after that.

immersed in the fog

[deardaichi]

023. glances, crushes, and setups — iwaizumi hajime.

wc: 0.7k cw: f!reader. seijoh 4 friendship. iwaizumi is whipped. setups. getting together (kind of) a/n: iwa and the seijoh 4 supremacy. i hope you enjoy <3 anonymously requested

iwaizumi sees you everywhere.

not in a weird way, but in the way that happens when someone becomes part of the rhythm of your day — walking down the same hallway after class, sitting by the windows during lunch, scribbling something in the margins of your notebook with your head tilted just so. you’re not loud. you’re not trying to be seen. but iwaizumi sees you anyway.

he doesn't say anything. doesn’t know how to.

so he keeps it to himself — the way his eyes follow the shape of your smile, the way his ears tune in when you laugh. he learns to recognize the sound of your voice from three tables over. he knows when you switch your hair up. he notices when you wear your sleeves too long and end up tucking them back.

he doesn’t stare. not really. just…looks. like a habit. like breathing.

“you’re pathetic,” hanamaki says one day, halfway through unwrapping his melonpan. “it’s almost impressive.”

iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his food. “shut up.”

“you’re watching her again,” matsukawa adds, sipping from his juice box. “with that very intense face you do.”

“it’s not intense,” iwaizumi mutters.

oikawa leans in across the table, face too serious. “you look like you're calculating wind resistance to throw a volleyball through a moving train window.”

iwaizumi glares. “i’m not—whatever. leave it alone.”

but they don’t. of course they don’t.

on friday, they ambush him.

“you have to come with us,” oikawa says, already pulling him down the hall. “it’s very important.”

“this feels like a setup.”

“it is,” hanamaki calls cheerfully from ahead.

“but it’s for your own good,” matsukawa adds, which makes it worse, somehow.

they lead him to a quiet little corner behind the school, near the side gate no one really uses. and then they vanish — literally disappear around the corner, laughing like idiots.

and then you show up, turning the path with a little furrow in your brow like you were also asked to meet someone here.

you stop when you see him.

“oh,” you say, surprised but not in a bad way. “hi.”

“...hey,” he says, suddenly aware of his hands, the silence, the ridiculous pounding of his own heart.

you glance around. “were you, um. supposed to meet someone here too?”

he clears his throat. “yeah. but i think i got set up.”

your lips tug into a smile. “me too.”

you both stand there for a second — not awkward, exactly. just quiet. then iwaizumi shifts his weight and says, a little rough around the edges, “i’ve…kind of been wanting to talk to you.”

your eyebrows lift, surprised. “yeah?”

he nods. looks down for a second, then back at you. “would you maybe wanna hang out sometime? just us.”

you smile again. this time it reaches your eyes. “i’d like that.”

and before he can even register the warmth in his chest, the soft surge of relief—

“SEE?” oikawa shouts, poking his head around the corner. “THAT WASN’T SO HARD, RIGHT?”

“you’re welcome,” hanamaki says, stepping into view like he’s been waiting backstage. “we did you a favor.”

“a huge favor,” matsukawa adds, holding up a peace sign.

hanamaki turns to you with a grin, too pleased with himself. “he’s been admiring you from afar like a respectful stalker for, what, three months?”

iwaizumi makes a noise of pure betrayal. “hanamaki—”

but you’re laughing, hand half over your mouth, cheeks warm. “that long, huh?”

“at least,” hanamaki nods, unbothered. “we’ve had to listen to him suffer through it the entire time.”

iwaizumi’s still groaning. oikawa’s already planning the imaginary wedding seating chart. matsukawa is narrating the scene like it’s a nature documentary.

and you — you’re still smiling at iwaizumi like he hung the moon.

you bump your shoulder gently against his. “you could’ve just said hi, you know.”

“yeah,” he mutters, eyes flicking to you. “i’m starting to realize that.”

and honestly? you’re kind of glad he didn’t. because now you get to watch him turn red while hanamaki keeps talking, and it’s kind of perfect.

taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @oligbia @megapteraurelia@iwantfoodpleasebuymefood @dira333 @kcandyliciouss

© deardaichi | everything here is written with care — please don’t repost, copy, or alter my work without permission.

[mrsalwayswrite]

My Hero

Summary: It was supposed to be a relaxing morning at the park until, unfortunately, it wasn't. Luckily for Violet, Tall, Dark and Handsome showed up to save the day…and his owner wasn't too bad either. 

This is my entry for Riorgail week - day 7 - AU @empyreanevents

A/N: I had so much fun writing this and am planning on turning it into a short series.

Warnings: threats of violence

Words: 4400

“Are you stalking me?” Violet snarled, staring at the man suddenly walking beside her at her favorite park.  

She had been having such a good morning until this moment. Her work schedule finally allowed her to have Saturdays off, a rarity. Joyously, she embraced the ability to go for a long, lazy walk and enjoy the summer sunshine. Her coffee was on point this morning at the café and the cute barista that flirted with her had given her an extra shot of espresso as he winked at her. Even her new golden retriever puppy managed to sleep through the night without having an accident, giving hope for her house training. This morning had been perfect. 

Until him. 

Her asshole of an ex. 

He walked next to her, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere, with a sheepish smile and hands tucked into his pockets. “Violet, please, let’s–” 

“Leave me alone, Halden. I thought you'd have gotten that message after I ignored all your calls and texts.”

“Look I'm sorry, okay? Let me make–”

“Sorry? You're sorry?” She laughed but it was anything but humorous. Abruptly, she stopped, turning to glare at him. “‘Sorry’ is for when you accidentally spill a cup of water on the floor. Not for when you fuck almost half the girls on our college campus when we were dating!”

He ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair, causing the perfectly sculpted locks to appear imperfect, something he would spend far too much time on fixing later. “I know, it was a mis–”

She ignored him, stomping away. “Come on, Andarna,” she called to her puppy, who was tugging happily at the end of her leash. 

“Fuck! Would you just fucking listen to me?” He snapped, moving to block her on the paved path and grabbed her wrist. Those vivid green eyes that once made her heart race now were hard as diamonds, staring down at her in anger. No one ever told Halden Tauri ‘no’ and it showed, but Violet was done with doing what he wanted and adhering to his ego. 

She tried to jerk her hand back but only succeeded in hurting her wrist with how tightly he was gripping it. She wondered if he had forgotten how fragile her joints were or if he was intentionally causing her pain on purpose. 

“Let. Me. Go.” She quietly stated, shifting her body weight, her hazel eyes never wavering from meeting his gaze. She refused to be intimidated by him. Not ever again. 

His voice dropped low but with an audible bite to it. “You owe me th–”

A deep, menacing growl cut off Halden's words. 

Peering to her right where the forest line started, Violet's eyes immediately widened as an absolutely massive, black dog prowled closer to them, as if emerging from the shadows. His golden eyes narrowed on Halden and lips curled back in a terrifying snarl. 

“What the fuck…” Halden dropped her wrist and stepped back. For every step the practically pony-sized dog stalked forward, Halden took a retreating step back until the dog stood next to Violet, the top of its head reaching her chest. 

Violet stood paralyzed, gripping her puppy's leash still in her hand with an white-knuckled grip. The massive dog was built like a tank, barrel-chested with a long, thick coat of black hair and just…huge! To add to the intimidating factor, one of its ears looked half bitten off and there was a long scar running down the side of its black muzzle. Every instinct within her short stature screamed to run! Even if it was foolish to run from a predator that could obviously catch her within a heartbeat and rip her throat out with its gigantic teeth, her body tensed, ready to flee. Yet it stood beside her, snarling at her ex like it was defending her. That counted for something…right?

Or maybe it just saw her as an appetizer? 

“Violet–”

“Fuck off, Halden, and don't try to talk to me again. I've got nothing more to say to you.” She snapped, infusing every ounce of confidence within her tone that she could muster. 

A low growl echoed her words, one expansive paw stomped forward either in threat or ready to launch was questionable. Whatever it was, it worked. Vivid green eyes wide, and with more than a hint of panic in them, Halden retreated a few more steps backwards before turning on his heel and hurried away. 

A whoosh of exhaled air left her lips as she watched her ex attempt to subtly sprint away, his ego never allowing him to actually run in terror. She glanced down at the gigantic dog still standing at her side, its head tilted up so golden eyes met her own hazel. “Thank you for your help…but also please don't eat me or my puppy. That would suck.”

The black dog huffed, nudging her in the side with its head, almost knocking her over. Her heart rate spiked at the action, a flash of fear winning out before realizing the nudge was almost affectionate. Before she could fully calm herself, her heart rate doubled in a blink as the dog lowered its head to seemingly look at the golden retriever puppy staring up at it, tail wagging so hard it made her whole body shake. The dog snorted onto the puppy, making her ‘woof’ and tip over, tail still wagging even with all four paws in the air. 

“Oh, you're sweetheart, aren't you?” Violet cooed, heart melting at the sight. “You just pretend to be scary.”

The dog looked up at her, lips curled up slightly and eyes somehow narrowed as if it understood her words. 

She blinked. “Um..okay, sorry. Scary. You're very scary. I mean…you definitely were. And are…still are. Sorry.”

It's head moved back and forth, looking between Violet and the puppy attacking its left front paw like a personal chew toy. With another huff, it nudged her side hard using it's head, making her take a stumbling step. 

“What?” She asked, only for him to nudge her again. “We're on a walk, or at least trying to if Andy didn't feel the need to sniff everything.” 

This time the dog opened its mouth and gently placed it around her wrist and then tugged. 

“Um…oh-okay?” Violet looked around the park, seeing the many people out but none seemed to be paying any attention to them. “I guess we're following you now?”

Being led around the expansive park by a dog almost as big as her own diminished size was not on her bingo card for the day but she did not think she could easily get out of it now, especially since it seemed to have a destination in mind. Thankfully Andarna trotted faithfully along on her own leash for once. 

While walking, well being led, Violet tried to subtly study the dog while keeping an eye out of its owner. There was absolutely no way this dog was here alone. Firstly, she had checked and yep - definitely a male - appeared healthy with a shiny, groomed coat. He was also the biggest dog she had ever seen in her life. If she had to guess a breed, she would say a Newfoundland but he was bigger than any Newfie she knew of and there was something else about his stature that made her wonder if he was mixed with another breed. Whatever breed he was, if someone was trying to create a small, intimidating bear, they certainly succeeded with him. 

Yet no matter how terrifying his outward appearance made him to be, his mouth on her wrist was so gentle, she barely felt it. Only the faintest hint of pressure and the slobber from his mouth were the only indicators of her entrapment. 

Peering down, a smile tilted the corners of Violet's mouth up as she watched Andarna happily follow the larger dog's lead, only occasionally pouncing or sniffing something that caught her eye alongside the paved path. 

The odd trio passed a playground, the sound of children's laughter and screams intermingled with parents’ voices. The Newfoundland continued their parade, going off the path and towards the nearby basketball courts. Violet noted one of the three courts, the closest to the playground, contained a handful of pre-teens shooting hoops and teasing each other. Meanwhile the court furthest away from the playground and backed up against a large open field, frequently used for various sports, was being utilized by a group of men. 

Very attractive, shirtless men. 

Hot damn. 

Before she could get a good look at them, for research purposes obviously, the dog tugged her towards a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the field. Violet wondered if the dog chose it for the shade offered or the strategic location of being able to see over the field, courts and playground without having to move. Once at the wide tree trunk, the dog released her wrist and nudged her side again with his head. 

“Um…okay? You want me to sit?”

With its seemingly signature woof, he nudged her side before sitting on his haunches, still grotesquely taller than a dog should be. 

Sighing, she looked around the base of the oak tree. “And now I'm listening to…gods! Okay, okay! I'm sitting!” She startled as he nudged her more forcibly that time. 

With a huff and a disgruntled mutter about ‘demanding, giant beasts’, she settled cross-legged, tugging the backpack off her back and next to her side. To her shock, the massive dog plopped down next to her, his side pressing against her left thigh, his soft, black hair brushing against her bare leg, not covered by her shorts. Andarna wiggled over, wagging and playfully growling as she attacked his front paws again. Violet hesitated but relaxed when the dog just stared at her silly puppy, allowing her to play. Violet quickly pulled out the stake and short runner, hooking it up to Andarna's leash so she could roam while Violet sat down. Once that was done, she pulled out her latest read, ready to relax. 

Once the book rested on her legs, she turned her attention to her wrist. Faint discoloration already marred her pale skin. Carefully, she maneuvered her wrist, twisting and turning it but did not feel anything wrong besides it being sore. 

“Fucking Halden.” She muttered to herself. Roughly, she yanked her single braid out and ran her fingers through her brown hair, watching as the silver ends caught in the dappled sunlight. If she could go back in time, she would love to slap herself and tell her to not fall for a set of pretty eyes and a smooth tongue. But hindsight is 20/20, as they say. Pushing the thought of her stupid mistake out of her mind, she threw her hair back into a loose braid and flipped open her book to her bookmark. 

The dog raised its head and left out a soft ‘woof’. Violet followed his gaze and immediately stilled, senses on high alert. A beautiful Doberman strutted towards them. She was tall, not nearly as tall as the black dog next to her, but enough to create a sliver of nervousness in Violet. She wondered if her and her puppy would get a short complex from being around these large dogs. 

The Doberman confidently walked up to their little group. Of course, the silly puppy had to be the first to greet. She pounced in front of the bigger dog, butt up in the air and tail wagging as if greeting an old friend. The Doberman stared down, if she was human Violet would have said staring down her nose at her puppy in judgement. After a long second where Violet started to worry she was going to need to intervene, the Doberman lowered her head and nudged Adarna with her head before continuing onward. She then walked to stand in front of Violet, staring at her with those eyes that seemed to be smarter than any dog's should be. 

“Um, hi….I'm Violet.” She murmured. 

The Doberman snorted loudly, either a sign of approval or disgust was still up for debate. Turning, she rubbed her head against the massive dog's for a moment, a strangely tender action for her otherwise haughty attitude, before regally taking a spot on his other side. 

“Um…okay then.” Violet shrugged, cracking open her book. Guess she had some additional companions for the time being. 

She was unsure how long they sat there, long enough to get absorbed in her book and for Andarna to wear herself out by sniffing and attacking the few leaves that fluttered by. Eventually, the puppy curled up between the massive dog's front paws and fell asleep. With a almost resigned chuff, the massive dog moved his head, resting it on Violet's bent knee like it was a pillow. Both bemused and slightly concerned that she was trapped once again by the Newfie, she returned to her book. 

“Sgaeyl! Tairn!”

Violet blinked out of her book zen, caught off guard by the movement to her left. She watched the Doberman raise her head and glance at the Newfie before looking back at the man who had called, what Violet presumed, was their names. 

And what a man he was. 

Standing at the edge of the basketball court closest to them, the man stared at the odd grouping with arms crossed over his chest. Tawny skin gleamed under the morning sunlight, highlighted by a sleeve tattoo that covered from his wrist, up to his arm and continued to cover part of his chest and a portion of the side of his neck. Gods, he looked good. Damn good. Clearly defined abs adorned his torso and bulging biceps stole her gaze with the way his arms were crossed over his broad, toned chest. 

Yet even from this far away, it was his dark eyes that seemed to hold her in their thrall. 

“Sgaeyl! Come on!” He called, once again, in a low rumble. 

Gods, that voice. Whatever deity had crafted this man obviously was attempting perfection. With the way the faintest breeze ruffled his messy black hair, this man was a romance reader's wet dream. 

The Doberman rose to her haunches but remained sitting. 

“Um…I think your owner wants you.” Violet whispered to the Newfie, his head still reclined on her bent knee. 

The massive dog peeked one eye open at her then dismissively closed it again. 

Violet chuckled to herself but the sound died in her throat when she looked back up. Mr Chiseled Abs walked towards her with a ground-eating stride, long legs demolishing the fair amount of space between them. Swallowing thickly, she had to remind herself that staring was rude. 

As he got closer, Sgaeyl rose and greeted him, pressing her head to his thigh and receiving the scratch behind the ear he gifted her. She stuck to his side as he took the several extra steps to approach the trio still resting on the ground. 

As he approached, Violet realized how tall the stranger truly was. He appeared tall from a distance but now, standing nearby, he practically towered over her, easily close to six and half feet by her quick guess. Gods…how was it fair to humanity for him to be this handsome and have that height. 

“I'm sorry if my dogs were bothering you. I should have gotten them sooner–” He began in that low timbre, meeting her gaze. 

“Oh no! They've been great!” She interrupted, waving a hand, then turned her gaze to the giant beast still refusing to move. “I'm sorry if you needed them, I told this one to move but he…well…”

“Tairn only does what he wants. Ungrateful asshole.”

Her hazel eyes snapped to the man's, whatever good will she momentarily had gone in a moment. “How can you call your dog that?”

The man rolled his eyes, holding his hands up in surrender as he moved to a squat. “Not sure he's my dog. It's more of a roommate thing…and I feed him. Pretty sure he only tolerates me for Sgaeyl. They're mated, or whatever the equivalent is for dogs.” He shrugged, running a hand up and down the Doberman's back. 

“Sgaeyl.” She felt the name roll off her lips, a hint of a smile tilting her lips up. “She's beautiful.”

“Mmm…she's my girl.”

Violet was incapable of ceasing the melting of her heart as she witnessed the clear affection in the man's eyes as he looked down at the dog still by his side. Plus, the warmth in his voice as he claimed her, like his simple statement explained so much more…this man was a danger to her hormones if he kept this up. 

“And this one is…Tairn? Do you know what breed he is?” She asked, looking away and desperately hoping the warmth on her pale cheeks was only internal and not visible.

He hummed. “Yeah, Tairn. I've wondered about doing one of those DNA tests but decided it didn't matter.”

“Oh? Did you get him from a rescue?”

“No.” He chuckled, shifting to sit in front of her now. “He found us at a park one day and fucking followed us home. I tried to leave him behind but Sgaeyl almost ripped my arm off so I figured I was outvoted.”

She laughed, tipping her head back and letting the mirth freely flow. Somehow, only knowing the dogs for a short period of time, she could easily visualize it. “Well, hopefully it wasn't too much of a hardship, he seems like a sweetheart. Anyone would be lucky to have him.”

“No…he barely tolerates people…except for you, apparently.” 

Onyx eyes locked on her and she stiffened. Not from fear but because he seemed to be studying, as if attempting to peer into her mind and tease out her intent. It was now, so close and trapped in the strength of his gaze, that she observed the golden flecks in his dark eyes, like stars in the night sky. 

This man truly needed to tone down his perfection. It was becoming unnerving. 

A loud, deep voice interrupted their staring, making her startle at the sudden proximity. 

“Hey, fairy! Thanks for your help earlier!” Another shirtless man shouted from the edge of the basketball court. Tall and broad like a barn door, Violet was fairly sure the man's muscles had muscles. Another man stood beside him, grinning like a fiend as he ran a hand over his short, blond hair. 

She blinked awkwardly. “Um…you're welcome?”

The broad man's smile widened, a hint of mischief in it. “Loverboy there couldn't keep his eyes off you. Helped us score some extra points!”

“Shut the fuck up, Gar!” Mr dog-lover-and-sexy-abs whipped around to snap at the other man. 

“We'll meet you back at the house, honey bear!”

The man sitting in front of her raised his middle finger, making the other two men laugh before they headed towards the parking lot where a small group seemed to be waiting.

“Sorry about him.” He shook his head, tracing a thumb over the scar bisecting his dark eyebrow. “We won't keep you any longer.”

“It's okay. We should probably head back too.” She commented, following his lead of starting to get up. Of course, she had a massive dog restraining her ability to move while the man glided from his seat in a smooth movement. 

At first she gently tried to nudge the giant dog but when that came to no avail, she huffed and tapped his nose until he opened his eyes. At hearing a quiet snicker, she shot the man a glare before giving up and forcibly lifting the huge head off her knee to escape the restraint. With a reluctant sigh, Tairn rose slowly, as if emphasizing his lack of interest in moving positions. 

Once Tairn began moving, Andarna woke up with an abrupt startle. She leapt to her feet, head rotating around, and seeing a new person made her frenzied with excitement. Tail attempting to power a tornado, she barreled into the man who knelt once again to greet the enthusiastic puppy. 

“Whose this?”

Violet smiled at her puppy. “Andarna. She's a golden retriever. She just turned four months old last week.”

“She's cute.” He easily said but those onyx eyes remained on Violet as he said it. 

Violet blushed, ignoring the awakening butterflies. He was just talking about her adorable puppy, he did not mean anything more than that, she reassured herself. 

The man continued to play with Andarna, allowing her to chomp onto his hand with her puppy teeth and growl. Sgaeyl watched the two with a dismissive air as if this playful action was beneath her. 

After tucking her book, runner and stake back into her backpack, Violet knelt in front of Tairn. He had not moved from her side, only sitting on his haunches and monitoring her every action. Without a second thought, she cupped his face, running a thumb over the long scar on his muzzle. She met those golden eyes that held an agelessness to them. “Thank you for your help earlier. I hope your human roommate gives you extra treats for saving me and being my hero.”

“What happened?”

The brusque question drew her eyes to the man, his gaze locked on her with a newfound intensity. 

“Oh, my ex found us earlier while we were walking. I'm honestly not sure how he did. He tried– it doesn't really matter. Tairn scared him off and then brought me and Andy over here.”

“Is the bruise on your wrist from Tairn or this shitty ex?”

“It's nothing. I bruise easily.” She had to fight the urge to hide her wrist, instead ignoring the man as she pressed a quick kiss to the Newfie's nose before standing. 

The man mirrored her action, towering over her, never lessening the sudden intensity. “And if Tairn hadn't come to your rescue, what were you going to do?”

Violet shoved her hands on her hips, meeting his gaze with a confident glare, hating she only reached his collarbone but unwilling to back down. “If you must know, I was planning on kneeing him in the balls…something he'd certainly remember.” 

A long moment passed, something unnamed swirling around them like a cyclone. Then as if a breeze blew the cyclone away, the tension ebbed and he smirked down at her. 

“What?” She snapped. 

“You appear small and fragile, but you're a violent little thing, aren't you?”

“Only if the situation calls for it.”

He openly laughed and Violet had to remind herself to breathe at the beauty of the simple action. Still smiling, he spoke but with a new lightness to his tone. “I'm glad Tairn was able to intervene, but we do need to leave. Come on, Sgaeyl.”

Sgaeyl stood at her owner's side, still eyeing the puppy pouncing on the open ground between them, while Tairn pressed himself against her side. 

“It's all right. We have to go home too.” Violet cooed, running a hand over the massive dog's head. “Maybe we'll run into each other again soon.”

Tairn impassively stared at the man, golden eyes staring him down as if trying to impart a silent message. 

The man huffed. “No, asshole, I'm leaving.”

The dog curled one corner of his lip up, showing his sharp, canine tooth.

“Sgaeyl, get your mate before I fucking leave his fat ass.”

The Doberman looked between Tairn and her owner before letting out a loud bark and staring at her owner with narrowed eyes. 

“Ah, fuck!” The man groaned, then shoved his hand in his pocket. “What's your number, Violence? I don't think Tairn is going to let me fucking leave without it.”

“It's actually Violet..”

“I think my name suits you better.” He winked, holding out his phone. 

With an exaggerated eye roll, she plugged her number in his phone. Obviously, she was doing this so she and Andarna could see Tairn again…not to see Mr hot-specimen. Nope, this was solely for the dogs. 

“I'm Xaden, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.” She replied, handing him his phone back. 

“We’re usually here every Saturday morning for a couple of hours, if you want to join.” 

“Oh, yeah, that should work for us.”

He nodded, glancing over to the parking lot before meeting her gaze again. “Will you be okay? Or should we walk you back?”

“I can handle myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest, raising a single eyebrow. 

“I believe you.” He smirked, onyx eyes scanning over her before turning and walking towards the parking lot, Sgaeyl loyally by his side. 

Violet ignored the shiver his gaze sent down her spine. Scratching behind his ear, she spoke to the immobile Newfie. “You should probably follow. We'll see you next week, okay, Tairn?”

The massive, black dog pressed his head against her chest, making her fondly smile before he nudged Andara, almost tipping her over. With a huff, he turned and followed Sgaeyl across the open field.  

A beep had her pulling her phone out of her pocket to see a text from an unknown number. 

Unknown number: See you around, Violence.

She rolled her eyes before replying. 

Violet: You're just mad Tairn likes me more. 

“Come on, Andy. Let's head home.” She threw the backpack on, and made sure the leash was securely on her unbruised wrist, before checking her phone again. 

Unknown number: Can't blame him for wanting to cuddle up to a beautiful woman.

Unknown number: Let me know if your shitty ex comes back. Tairn and I will sort him out for you. 

Warmth filled her chest cavity at the unexpected texts, firstly from the compliment that sent butterflies soaring and secondly from his offer of….what? Protection? They were complete strangers and yet…he was offering to help her with her ex? Not that she needed the help, she was a modern, independent woman who did not need a man, even if it was still sweet. 

Not that he needed to know that. 

Violet: I told you I can handle myself. 

She shook her head, adding the number to her contacts. Her hand buzzed once more with the responding text. 

Tairn's roommate: Offer still stands. 

[andy-15-07]

Hii Andy!! I was wondering if you'd be up for writing a Pedro x famous trainer reader fic? I'd love it if the reader was the one helping Pedro with his jaw-dropping biceps for the Cannes and overall physique for the fantastic 4. It'd be awesome if the story was a slow burn — like they start off with a professional relationship, then become friends, stop working together, and only after that they start dating.Thanks a bunch! 🥹🫶🏻

Built to Last

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 879| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

“Day One” , Six Months Before Cannes

“You’re late,” you said, not looking up from your clipboard as you heard the gym door creak open.

“I brought protein muffins,” came a voice rich with charm,and a bit too much confidence.

You glanced up, arching a brow. “Pedro Pascal bribing his trainer on day one. Bold move.”

Pedro laughed, setting the muffins down. “It’s called positive reinforcement.”

“Cute. Now put that ego on the treadmill and start with a warm-up.”

He obeyed, to your mild surprise, peeling off his hoodie to reveal toned,but not yet Marvel-grade,arms. The man had potential, sure. But you’d been hired for a reason.

“No shortcuts,” you called out. “You’re going to suffer, Pascal.”

He grinned. “Can’t wait.”

One Month In , Friends or Something Like It

“You’re quieter today,” Pedro said between reps, arms trembling under the weight of his bicep curls. You watched the muscles flex, the definition starting to show after weeks of hellish training.

“I don’t talk when I’m impressed,” you said, jotting notes.

“So I’ve been unimpressive until now?” he teased, smirking.

You smirked right back. “You're just now catching up to my standards.”

You weren’t supposed to banter this much. You weren’t supposed to notice how often he looked at you after a tough set or how his smiles lingered just a little too long. But you did.

And one day, after a brutal TRX circuit, Pedro sat on the mat and let out a long sigh.

“Are you always this hard on your clients?”

You leaned against the wall, sipping from your bottle. “Only the ones worth the effort.”

He looked up at you. “That a compliment?”

You shrugged. “Take it how you want.”

Three Months In , The Shift

Pedro was nearly there. His body was Marvel-ready: arms sculpted, core lean, posture confident. You’d seen dozens of transformations in your career, but none that made your chest feel tight like this.

You tried to stay distant. Professional. But when he asked you to stay late one night, just to run lines with him while doing resistance bands, you didn’t say no.

“I feel like I’m gonna drop dead,” he panted, sweat rolling down his neck.

“You won’t. You’re stronger than you think.”

He looked over at you. “So are you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward,it was charged.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when this is over,” he said suddenly.

You forced a smile. “You’ll be in France. Shirtless. Flaunting my hard work.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, but… I think I’ll miss this.”

You swallowed. “It’s just training, Pedro.”

He didn’t argue. But neither of you really believed that.

Cannes – Day of the Photoshoot

Pedro looked like sin in sleeveless black. Your work on his arms was spectacular. And it made your stomach twist to know that you were no longer his trainer.

The studio had wrapped your contract two weeks ago,your part was done. You were supposed to be onto the next client. But Pedro had insisted you come.

For "support," he said.

“You know,” he said quietly, walking up beside you between shots, “I still follow your meal plans. Mostly.”

You smiled. “Color me shocked.”

“And I still think about the gym. About us.”

Your breath caught. “Pedro,”

“I know. I said I’d keep it professional,” he cut in, scratching the back of his neck. “But you’re not my trainer anymore.”

The truth lingered between you. You weren’t.

“And maybe we could just… see where this goes?” he asked, voice softer now. “No pressure. No sets. Just,coffee?”

You tilted your head, heart hammering. “Are you asking me out?”

His grin was crooked, nervous. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

You paused. Then smiled.

“Only if you promise not to flex on the first date.”

Two Weeks Later , First Date

The café was small, tucked away from paparazzi and the chaos of post-Cannes buzz. Pedro wore a hoodie, sunglasses, and a sheepish smile.

“So this is weird,” he said, stirring his coffee.

“Weirder than you doing push-ups while quoting The Mandalorian?”

He laughed. “Okay, fair.”

There was a pause,comfortable, familiar. You were both easing into something new, something tentative but deeply wanted.

“You were the best trainer I’ve ever had,” he said suddenly.

You sipped your drink. “I hope that’s not your pickup line.”

“No,” he said seriously. “I just wanted you to know I didn’t fall for you because you made me look good.”

You blinked. “You fell for me?”

He looked up at you. “Yeah. I think I did.”

Two Months Later , A New Routine

It was strange not seeing Pedro in the gym every day, but you found a rhythm. You visited set sometimes. He showed up to your morning sessions with other clients, always waiting until you were done before stealing you away for lunch.

You still teased him about form. He still bragged about his arms. But now, you were kissing between reps and holding hands when no one was watching.

One morning, you caught him staring as you organized your equipment.

“What?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He walked over, pulling you close. “Just… lucky I got you.”

You leaned into him. “No reps. No contracts. Just us.”

He nodded, forehead against yours.

“Built to last.”