#i need to plan this out and write it i’ve been thinking about it for years

[docrobinavitch]

tracing back lucky stars

dr. robby x f!attending!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, infidelity, swearing, angst, usual medical canon events (not much tho), mention of alcoholic parent, other mentions of death, grief, age gap (less than ten year gap) words: 15.4K synopsis: this fic spans over a decade and follows our reader from first meeting robby in a chance interaction in florida as a resident all the way to 2024. all events take place prior to season one. this is inspired by when harry met sally, as requested from one of my beloved anons. lots of will they won't they, robby being oblivious to his own feelings for like ten goddamn years, i guess slow burn ish??? a/n: hi my friends, can't explain just how much fun i had writing this so huuuuuge thank you to the anon that requested it!! i really hope you love it. they will live in my brain space for quite a while i think. title is taken from song lucky stars by haim. as always thank u for being here!! <3 syd

2013 

As you stood at that rental car counter, you decided you hated the south. You hated the way southerners pretended to be nice, but really probably hated your guts. The way they smiled at you and crooned with their syrupy sweet voices that bless your heart, they thought you were a little soft in the head. Everyone always loved to say northerners were assholes, but to you they were just honest. You had infinitely more respect for the guy from Philly who flipped you off in traffic and screamed out his window that you drove like a ninety seven year old lady with glaucoma than the man in front of you who was giving his best Aw Shucks expression as he told you he would not rent his last car to you.

“Ma’am, as I’ve already explained to you, I cannot rent you that car, it’s a manual.”

“And as I’ve already explained to you, Martin, I know how to drive a stick.”

“If that’s true,” He said slowly, “Then why did you select ‘automatic’ for preferred transmission type on the rental form?”

You sighed and let your hands rise and fall loudly with a smack onto the counter, “Because the year is two thousand and thirteen and I assumed that there would be an automatic car available.”

You were running very low on patience after the morning you’d had. After spending the weekend at an emergency medicine conference, you had gotten up at four in the morning to make an early flight back to Pittsburgh. But lovely, beautiful Panama City, Florida had fucked you over from the moment you woke up this morning. 

The hot water in your hotel room had been out and you’d been forced to take an icy shower. You spilt orange juice all over the outfit you planned to wear to the airport and so were forced to instead wear denim shorts that rode just an inch too high. The iced coffee you had made yourself behind schedule to buy before getting to the airport was knocked from your hand by an inattentive cyclist. And you had broken the heel on one of your cowboy boots on your way into the airport. So you hobbled up to bag check only to find out that your flight was cancelled and could not be rescheduled until tomorrow.

You couldn’t wait until tomorrow. You were an R3 and you had a double shift tomorrow and you needed this flight to get back to Pittsburgh at a reasonable hour so you could get whatever sleep possible before reporting for shift. So you really, really needed this fucking car if you had any hope at all of both getting some sleep and making your shift.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m just not comfortable renting you the vehicle. Now, I really need to take care of the next customer–”

“Oh, Jesus, fuck, I’m trying to give you money for a service!” You pushed your credit card and license across the counter, “Please just rent me the car so I can go home!”

“Excuse me,” The voice behind you was rough and warm, and oddly familiar. It took you less than thirty seconds to place him. 

You had listened to him speak at the conference for an hour about how to deliver bad news to patients with the right amount of empathy. You remembered specifically how soothing you had found his voice and found it unsurprising that he would seem so good at delivering bad news. He could probably tell you he had stolen your identity and all money from your bank account and you would thank him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard you’re also heading to Pittsburgh?” He said to you and then turned to your newly minted nemesis, Martin, “I can drive stick, I could drive us both.”

Well, smooth voice or not, he could get fucked if he thought he was going to steal your rental.

“Excuse me,” You said, turning to the doctor who was way taller in person than you remembered him being on stage, “But you’re not taking my rental.”

“Ma’am, as I’ve said, it’s not your rental.”

“Martin,” You said, your voice high and strained as you whipped your head back towards him, “Could you mind your own goddamn business, please?”

“I— Sorry—“ Doctor Soothing Voice interjected again, “I just, I heard you were going to Pittsburgh and it’s the last rental—“

“So you thought you’d steal it from me?”

He laughed and scratched the back of his head, “No, I thought we could split it.”

Ordinarily, you may have been more polite. You had really enjoyed his talk. But you were very angry and your ankle was throbbing from when you had broken your heel. You wanted a peaceful drive by yourself.

“I don’t share cars with strange men, that’s how you end up on Dateline.”

He nodded, “Yeah, fair enough. What if we grab a coffee first?” He turned to Martin and slid a fifty dollar bill across the counter, “You’ll hold the car for us?”

You watched as Martin pocketed the fifty, nodding politely at Doctor Soothing Voice and you glared at him, upper lip beginning to turn up in disgust. You could already be on the road by now if it wasn’t for this sexist pig who thought women couldn’t drive stick.

“If you keep staring at him like that,” Doctor Soothing Voice whispered from over your shoulder, “You might actually end up on Dateline when they find his body.”

Accepting defeat, you sighed. Grabbing your bags, you began walking away from the counter.

“Have a beautiful day, ma’am.” Martin said as you walked by. 

You gave a short laugh and started to turn back around, “Oh, you son of a—“

“Nope.” Doctor Soothing Voice gently took your shoulders and turned you back in the direction of the door, “Just keep walking.”

Once outside in the oppressive humidity, you shook his hands off you, “You know, I could have handled that myself.”

He nodded, smiling, “I have no doubts on that front.” He gestured down to your heel-less boot, “What happened to your boot, you get in a brawl with a condescending horse?”

You snorted, “A doctor and funny. Though, I guess unsurprising since you work in an ER. If anyone’s gonna be funny it’s emergency medicine doctors. How else do we cope with the horrors?” He frowned at you in silent question, “Oh. Sorry. I should have said, I was at the conference, I saw your talk. Though your name is slipping my mind at the moment.”

He raised his eyebrows and you saw the way his eyes traveled down your legs and back up again, “You were… Here for the conference?”

“What, so, because I wore cowboy boots and booty shorts to the airport you think they’re gonna take my medical license away?”

He laughed, “You’re right, I apologize. Of course you can still practice medicine in booty shorts.” He held out a hand for you to shake, “I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You could also just call me Robby, if you want, that’s what I go by in the ER.”

You shook his hand and gave him your name, “I’m an R3, I work at UPMC Presbyterian.”

“Huh, what are the odds?” He ran a hand through his hair, “So you knew who I was and still refuse to get in a car with me?”

You started rolling your suitcase towards the Dunkin’ across the street, hobbling as you went, “Just because you’re a good doctor doesn’t mean you’re not also a deviant. People are layered and nuanced. And sick.”

His mouth was twitching towards a smirk again as he followed after you. Something about you was very intriguing to him. “Nuanced like how you’re an R3 wearing booty shorts and cowboy boots to the airport?”

“Yes, exactly.” You looked both ways at the crosswalk in front of the Dunkin’ before stepping into traffic, “Besides, I need an iced coffee if I’m about to endure fifteen plus hours in a car with a stranger.”

Robby continues to watch you from behind, eternally amused by your uneven gate, “Don’t you have other shoes?”

“Yes, well, I’ve hardly had the time to dig into my suitcase to find them now, have I?” You turned and walked backwards so you could look at him, “Do you criticize all your residents like this?”

He frowned, “That wasn’t a critique, you just look uncomfortable. Do you get this defensive with all your attendings?”

You turned away from him and he watched your shoulders heave with a sigh, “No. Believe it or not, I’m not normally like this. Must be something about you that gets under my skin.”

“Well,” He smirked and held the Dunkin’ door open for you, “You have about fifteen hours to figure out what it is.”

***

“When was the last time you drove stick?” Robby was holding the keys up just out of your reach. You knew he was trying to see if you would jump for them, but you would not be humiliated. You crossed your arms and glared at him instead.

In the last half hour you had changed your shoes and drank half your iced coffee while Robby filled out the rest of the paperwork for the car.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, more than ten years ago?”

He scoffed, “Okay, you’re definitely not driving then.”

“What, like you drive a stick super often?”

“Yes, actually, the car I own at home is a manual.”

You laughed, “Oh, okay. You’re one of those guys?”

He blinked at you, still smirking, “What does that mean? One of those guys?”

You walked around to the passenger side door, opening it, and standing on the step so you could look over the roof at him, “You know, one of those guys who only drives a manual and thinks they’re better than you for it. And like, probably owns a fucking motorcycle or something that he works on in his garage with his own two hands and talks about like it’s his child.”

You watched with glee as his face reddened, “Oh my God, you do have a motorcycle, don’t you? And a leather jacket?”

“Get in the car,” He said, still blushing as he opened the driver’s side door.

Very pleased with yourself, you ducked into the car.

***

“How’d you learn to drive stick?” He asked once they were on the road.

You were eating a donut with your feet propped up on the dash, the window open and blowing in your hair, “My dad taught me.”

He nodded, “Are the two of you close?”

“No,” You said, mouth full of donut, and then swallowed, “He was an alcoholic.”

“Oh,” Robby said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, he’s not dead, he’s just dead to me.” You turned to him and smirked as he was blushing again, “It’s okay, I haven’t spoken to him in almost ten years. I’ve moved on.”

He nodded and cleared his throat, “Sounds like that must’ve been… difficult.”

Your smile widened at his attempt to comfort you. Commiserate, even, “We are strangers in a car for fifteen hours together. We don’t have to do all this.”

He shrugged and turned to look at you briefly while stopped at a red light, “Isn’t this sorta the whole point of being alive though? Getting to know strangers?”

He had very intense, very warm, brown eyes. The kind of eyes that seemed to look right through you on first glance, that made you itch to break his stare. For just a moment, your smile slipped, and you tore your gaze from his to look out the windshield, “The light’s green.”

After a few moments of silence, you cleared your throat, “Seems like now’s a good time to mention that I am engaged, by the way. So if you were thinking about falling in love with me in the next fifteen hours, don’t.”

You heard him chuckle next to you, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on it. You’re not my type.”

You choked on your iced coffee and turned to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“What?” He laughed, “Are you shocked that the booty shorts didn’t work on me or something?”

You felt your face flush and you turned away from him, “No, I just… men don’t have a type.”

He scoffed, “What are you talking about?”

“Men will fuck any woman who shows even a little bit of interest in them. It’s why they’re incapable of being just friends with women.”

He raised his eyebrows, “You don’t think men and women can be just friends?”

“I don’t think straight men and straight women can be just friends because the man will always be secretly thinking about fucking her.” Robby was shaking his head, “What, you disagree?”

He laughed, “Yeah, of course. I promise I am not thinking about fucking you even a little bit.”

You smirked, “Okay. Well, I guess we can be friends then. At least until you prove me right.”

“Won’t happen.” 

You grinned, “Friends forever, then.”

He laughed, “Yeah, sure. Friends forever.”

***

The sun was beginning to set when Robby pulled back on the highway after stopping for Wendy’s, french fry hanging from his mouth.

“I could drive, you know, for a little while.”

“S’okay,” Robby said, food in his mouth, “I like the driving. Prefer it, actually.”

You nodded, “Yeah, that tracks with the whole thing you got going on.”

He laughed and gave you a quick glance, “You are such a know-it-all, you know? Anyone ever told you that? What thing do I have going on?”

You tossed a chicken nugget in your mouth before answering, “I’m not a know-it-all, I'm just really good at reading people.” You swallowed, “You have control issues.”

He ran a hand over his face, slightly shaking his head, “And how did you arrive at this conclusion?”

You shrugged, “It’s just sorta written all over you. The way you stepped in at the rental counter, the way you insist on driving, even in your talk at the conference you told a story when you were a resident where you ended up stealing a patient from another, more senior resident because you thought you knew best.”

He scoffed, “Yes, but I was right.”

“That time. I’m sure you’ve done that before and been wrong.” He’s quiet and when you look over at him, his jaw is clenched. Oh. You’ve pissed him off. “I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. We all have quirks—“

“Like you being an insufferable know-it-all?” He said sharply.

You went quiet. You weren’t offended, exactly, moreso caught off guard that you had triggered him so easily when it hadn’t been your intention. 

“Sorry,” He said after a moment, sighing, “That was unnecessary.”

You nodded, “Let’s take a break from talking for a while.” You leaned forward to start fiddling with the radio before sitting back and humming along.

Robby drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, but for the most part, the two of you sat in companionable silence for roughly a half hour.

Until Robby cleared his throat, “I’m sorry for snapping at you, I know I have control issues. Guess it was frustrating hearing it from someone who doesn’t even really know me.”

You shrugged, “It’s okay. For what it’s worth I have been told I’m an insufferable know-it-all.”

He smirked, “And does your fiancé love that about you?”

You snorted, “No. There’s nothing a man hates more than a woman who thinks she knows more than him.”

The comment struck him as a little too honest. And he thought, perhaps, there was a note of hurt in your voice.

“How long have you been together?” He asked mildly.

You sighed and he saw you examine the ring on your finger out of the corner of his eye, “We dated for three years and got engaged about six months ago.”

He nodded, “You have a date in mind for the wedding?”

You became uncharacteristically quiet and he worried he had pushed too hard, but then, “No, um, we still can’t agree on a venue. And then we just decided maybe it would make more sense to wait until I finished my residency.”

“Oh,” He said, “Well, yeah, that seems reasonable.”

You cleared your throat, “What about you, Robby, you have anyone at home?”

It was not lost on him that you had redirected the conversation away from yourself, but that was fine. It wasn’t his business anyway.

“No,” He said, “No, it’s just been me for a while now.”

You nodded, “How’s that going for ya?”

He smirked, “No one to make a victim of with my control issues, so it’s alright.”

You smiled and then yawned, “Could you talk for a while?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, “About what?”

“Anything. Medical procedures. Hell, give me your talk again.” You yawned a second time, “Anyone ever told you you have a very calming voice?”

“Oh, so my talk put you to sleep?”

“No,” You settled back into the car seat, pulling the lever to recline it slightly and resting your head against the door, “Your talk was very good, actually. You just have a nice voice. It’s how I recognized you earlier. But now, yes, I would like you to put me to sleep if you don’t mind. I have a double tomorrow.”

Robby smirked and looked at you out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes were already closed, head leaned against the window, arms crossed across your chest.

“Alright,” He said eventually, “If you insist.”

***

It took only about twenty minutes of him talking, redoing the talk he had done the day before, before he noticed you had drifted off. When he could safely get a look at you, he saw your mouth slightly agape and you were snoring softly. It shocked him how endearing he found it, how oddly comforting it was to drive with someone dozing off in the passenger seat.

You had entered your address into the GPS a couple of hours ago and with the street lights illuminating the inside of the car, he pulled up outside your apartment building.

He hated to wake you, you really did look so peaceful, the street lights giving your face an artificial glow. 

He stared at you a beat too long before he reached a hand to your knee and gave it a light squeeze, “Hey, you’re home.”

You stirred, what sounded almost like a mewl crawled out your throat as you came to and Robby fought a smile. “Home?” You asked sleepily.

“Yes,” He leaned away from you, allowing you to wake fully, “You fell asleep.”

You blinked the sleep from your eyes and looked around, “Well,” You dragged your arm at the corner of your mouth, wiping away the drool that had collected there, “I think it’s safe to say you’re no deviant, Michael Robinavitch. Thank you for getting me home safely.”

He smirked and got out of the car to help you with your suitcase, “Anytime.”

Having all your things, you looked from your apartment building back to Robby, “So, we’re still friends?” You asked, smirking, calling everything back to your earlier conversation.

A slow smile made its way across his face. The answer was yes, but he was beginning to wonder if he had more than fifteen hours with you if the answer would eventually be no.

“Yes,” Was all he said, though. You were engaged. Someone else’s. “Friends forever, like I said.”

Your smile widened and you laughed, “Good, excellent. Maybe I’ll see you around then, Dr. Robby.”

He nodded, hands stuffed in his pockets, “I hope so.”

And then he watched, leaning against the car, as you made your way towards the apartment building. You didn’t look back at him. He waited until you were safely inside before climbing back into the car and pulling off the curb.

***

2018

Normally, you could only be found at a local bookstore, but every one you had checked as of late was missing the one book you wanted. So that was how you ended up at Barnes & Noble that day. You were crouched in front of the shelf, looking intently at the spines to locate the title you were looking for and so didn’t notice that someone was now standing next to you.

Successfully locating the novel, you pulled it from its shelf and rose to standing, beginning to read the blurb on the back cover.

Which was how you found yourself face to face with Michael Robinavitch after not seeing him for five years.

“Oh,” You said, “Hi.”

Quickly, you realized it was more than likely he had completely forgotten about you. It had been five years since you had shared that rental car up to Pittsburgh and you hadn’t seen him since. He hadn’t changed all that much, though his beard was a bit more unruly than you remembered.

But then, his face lit up in recognition, “Hi,” He said, seemingly shocked, but pleased to run into you, “I almost didn’t recognize you, your hair… it’s… different.”

You smirked, “Oh, you hate it.”

“No,” He said quickly, “No, I actually think it suits you more than the long hair.”

You smiled, “Nice save. Just as charming as I remembered.”

He shook his head, a flush working its way up his neck, “You still at Presby?”

“Yes,” You nodded, “I’m an attending now, though.”

“Good, that’s good,” You noted the way his eyes fell to your left hand and you knew what he was looking for, “Did you get married, then? You said you were waiting to finish your residency.”

It was shocking to you that he remembered you had said that. At the same time, it sent an ache through you to think about that relationship.

“I did get married,” You said slowly, looking down at your empty ring finger, “We got divorced about a year ago.”

“Oh,” He sighed, “I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay.” Instinctively, you placed a hand on his forearm, meant for reassurance. But his eyes stared down at your hand, and self consciously, you pulled away, “We probably shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place,” You shrugged, “Besides, relationships will probably always be doomed for me. Emergency medicine doctors suck at marriage.”

He barked a short laugh and shook his head, “You can’t think like that.”

“Hey, I’m just going by the empirical data,” You tilted your head to the side and narrowed your eyes at him, “Are you… in a relationship? I didn’t see a ring.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, “I’m actually here with my girlfriend, Janey and her son, Jake. Wandered off by myself while they were looking for a book for him for school.”

Oh, it pissed you off the way your stomach sank. He had always said you weren’t his type anyway. He was probably actually telling the truth. It figured the only honest man you’d ever met wouldn’t be into you.

Granted, you didn’t really know Robby, only the version of him that lived in your head from that fifteen hour car ride that you revisited every so often. More so since your divorce finalized. But it was just loneliness, you assured yourself. You had created a version of him in your head that didn’t exist. The man you occasionally pined after was not in front of you, just someone who looked like him.

“That’s lovely, Robby. I’m happy for you.”

He laughed, “You just said ER doctors can’t keep a relationship.”

You shook your head, “Stupid and self deprecating. It’s just a coping mechanism. I’m sure you’re really great at it. Being a boyfriend.”

He scoffed and scratched the back of his head, “I don’t know about that, but I’m trying.” He nodded to the book in your hand, “What’s that?”

You flipped it in your hand so he could see the cover, My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Otessa Moshfegh. 

“Uh, just a book I heard about online,” You shrugged.

“What’s it about?”

You shrugged again, smirking, “A woman who is so sick of everything she gets her psychiatrist to prescribe her enough pills to sleep through a whole year.”

He tilted his head slightly as he looked at you. You had worked with many an ER physician in your career and while in med school. You knew what it looked like when someone was assessing you for injury.

“Should I be concerned?” He asked. His tone was casual, but his posture was anything but.

Your grin widened, “You should always be concerned about me.” You joked, but his frown deepened, “I’m fine, Robby. It’s just a book.”

It wasn’t totally true. You had sought the book out because you suspected you would relate to the protagonist. Maybe too much. But he was a stranger. He didn’t need to hear about your suicidal ideations.

“You still drive stick?” You asked, anxious to move the conversation away from yourself.

He laughed and shook his head, “No, I finally have an automatic like the rest of the population.”

You laughed, “Oh, no. Bummer. You’re just like the rest of us peasants now. Do you at least still have the motorcycle?”

“Sold it a couple years ago.”

You winced, “Man, you’ve really let yourself go.”

He laughed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. You didn’t want to leave, but you felt the longer you stood here talking to him, it threatened to disprove the belief that he could not be as lovely as you made him out to be in your head.

“So,” You said finally and held your fist out to him, “Still friends?”

He gave you a lopsided grin and pressed his fist to yours, “Friends forever,” He repeated the words from five years ago and for a moment it felt as if no time had passed at all, “Like I said. Though I hope to see you again sooner than five years from now.”

“Yeah,” You said, “Me too.” 

***

2023 

Robby had zero desire to meet the new attending Gloria had hired. Whoever it was, they had been hired behind his back and with no warning to him until they were three days out from when they were supposed to start. If Gloria had hired someone behind his back, it had to mean that whoever it was was in her pocket. Or at the very least, Gloria thought that person was in her pocket. And that was enough for him to stay far away from whoever it was.

But what he hadn’t been expecting when Gloria came downstairs, new attending by her side as she gave a tour, was you.

He stopped short and stared dumbly as you and Gloria approached him. Unfortunately for him, he was unable to stop the stupid smile that spread across his face at the sight of you. 

“Dr. Robinavitch.” You said, once you were close enough. Your smile was wide enough to mirror his, “It’s good to see you again.”

He laughed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” Gloria frowned, looking back and forth between you two.

“Sort of.” You said, “We met at a conference ten years ago.”

Sort of was an accurate way to describe whatever this repeated crossing of paths seemed to be between the two of you. 

“Oh.” Gloria seemed less than pleased at this revelation, “Lovely. Well, I’ll leave you in more capable hands then. Come find me if you need anything.” And then she was gone.

Robby shook his head at you, “I’ll ask again, what the hell are you doing here? Presby get too small for you?”

“Uh,” You shrugged, “I just… really needed a change.”

He smirked, “And… knowing I was here probably made it more enticing?”

You laughed, “You caught me. Thought it was finally time we became actual friends.”

Robby could not explain how pleased he was that you were here. It was stupid that he cared. He hadn’t seen you in five years. And before that brief exchange, he hadn’t seen you for five years before that. So really, he hadn’t seen you in ten years. And yet, he was traipsing you around, introducing you to everyone, laughing a little too loudly at your jokes, like he was a fucking teenager.

Until he was walking you home at the end of the day. Until you mentioned Dean.

“That’s great,” He said when you said it, that you were seeing someone, “So you think you’ve broken the ER doctor curse, then?”

You shrugged, smirking, “Probably not. But I really like him. It feels good, right now.”

“Good,” He said, “You deserve that.” 

And he meant it. You had looked so sad the last time he’d seen you. And even before that, the first time you met, you had struck him as something of a wounded animal. Defending itself with jokes and pessimism. You deserved to be truly happy.

“And what about Janey, how is she?”

He sighed, “Um, we broke up shortly after the last time I saw you. It seems the curse of the ER doctors is still with me. But I still get to see Jake, her son, so I feel really lucky about that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s probably for the best,” He rubbed a hand over the back of his head, “I’ve been a fucking wreck since covid anyway.”

You nodded, “Yeah. It’s been a rough couple of years.” The silence stretched between the two of you. Neither of you brave enough to break it with the horrors you experienced during the pandemic.

Finally, you cleared your throat, “Did you lose anyone?” You asked quietly.

He swallowed thickly, then nodded, “Our Chief of Emergency Medicine, Dr. Adamson. My mentor.”

He heard your sharp intake of breath next to him, “I heard about that. I didn’t realize you were close. I’m so sorry, Michael.”

Something about you using his first name undid him just a little and he had to focus very hard on his shoes and his steps to keep the emotion at bay.

“What about you?” He asked instead, “Who did you lose?”

Because you had to have lost someone. Almost everyone had. Especially if you worked in a hospital.

You sighed deeply, “Our charge nurse, Liz. She was like a mother to me. She’d been charge since I was a resident.”

“Is that why you left Presby?”

“I watched a lot of people I loved and deeply respected burn out and hospital admin did nothing about it. I know too many nurses and doctors both that decided to retire early or completely change careers.” You shrugged, “I don’t know. It felt like I was watching my entire department crash and burn.”

He shook his head, “It’s so fucked.”

“That we’re here and they’re not?” Finally, he met your gaze. Your eyes were warm and impossibly open as you looked at him. If he looked closely enough, he could see his own grief mirrored back at him. He gave you a slight nod. 

“Yeah,” You sighed and looked up at the moon, “It is fucked.”

After a few minutes of walking in comfortable silence, you stopped in front of an apartment complex, “Well, this is me. Thank you for walking me home, though it was completely unnecessary.”

Robby shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, “Let me feel useful, will you?”

You laughed, “Alright. See you tomorrow, then, Dr. Robby.”

He watched you go inside and as he walked away from the building he found himself thinking that he wished you’d call him Michael again.

***

It went like that for weeks. Robby walked you home after every shift, though you insisted it was unnecessary. You talked about everything and nothing. The shift, the hard patients, the ones you lost. To books and music and film. To childhood stories and first loves. It was finally starting to feel like you knew each other, rather than just a projection of each other ten years ago that lived in your respective brains.

But it wasn’t long before he noticed the way you seemed to be shrinking every time he saw you. Your smile just a little less genuine, the spark in your eyes dimmed ever so slightly. And he was too afraid to ask you why.

Instead, Robby started showing up outside your building in the mornings, an iced coffee in hand for you.

A few weeks of watching the two of you walk into the ER together, all smiles and laughs, and Abbot couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

“So,” He said as him and Robby were walking through the ER for handoffs, “You gonna tell me about your girlfriend or am I gonna have to torture it out of you?”

Robby gave him a quizzical look, “What are you on about? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, okay, so you’re just buying iced coffees every morning for anyone these days?”

Robby laughed, “Are you accusing me of being a harlot because I occasionally buy my colleague a coffee?”

“So she’s not your girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Okay. But you’re sleeping with her?”

Robby huffed and shook his head, “No. We’re just friends.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at Robby, “Friends who… Occasionally sleep together?”

“Okay,” Robby sighed, “We’re done with this conversation.”

Robby walked away and Jack scoffed, turning to Dana, “I’m not crazy, right? They’re definitely sleeping together.”

Dana rolled her eyes, “No, actually. She has a boyfriend.”

“Right,” Jack said emphatically, “And the boyfriend is Robby.”

Dana cracked a smirk, “No, you idiot. She’s seeing someone outside the hospital.”

Jack’s eyes widened, “You’re not kidding? With the way they look at each other?” Dana just continued smiling at him, “Alright, well, no one should be surprised if Robby walks in here one day with a black eye.”

“Who’s punching Robby?” You asked, approaching the hub, “What’d he do now? Is it Mohan? Because, I gotta tell ya, I’d pay to see that.”

Jack laughed, “Not Samira, your bo—“

Dana smacked Jack lightly in the stomach, cutting him off, “You eat anything today, kid? You look peaked.”

You frowned, “I just got here. Are you saying I look like shit?”

“There’s donuts in the lounge, sweetheart.”

“Well,” You pushed yourself off the hub, unable to turn down a donut, regardless of Dana’s implications, “Yeah, okay.” And disappeared towards the lounge.

Dana turned back to Jack, who was rubbing his stomach dramatically as if he’d actually been injured, “Could you not cause trouble on my shift? Go home.”

“Fine, fine,” Jack backed away, headed to the lockers, “But you know I’m right.”

Dana watched Robby as he tracked you with his eyes into the staff lounge, “Man, could you at least try to be less obvious?” She said under her breath, shaking her head.

***

The shift hadn’t been so terrible. You hadn’t lost anyone today and had only gotten yelled at by one patient, and she had been high out of her mind so you didn’t really count it. Still, you were in your head. Or, on your phone. Dean had been MIA for a couple of days now and you were supposed to meet him at his place after your shift, but he hadn’t answered any of your texts or calls.

He had been distant lately. This wasn’t the first time he had disappeared for days on end only to show up later and act like it wasn’t a big deal. You were growing tired of it, of the games. You were forty years old now, you thought once you were this old the men would quit playing games. I mean, fuck, he had you, so what was the vanishing act about? What was he trying to prove?

Grabbing your things from your locker and placing your headphones over your ears, you pressed play on your music and began the walk back to your apartment. You turned the music up loud enough to drown out the thoughts that tornado’d around in your head.

Loud enough that you didn’t hear the man who came up behind you and squeezed your shoulder.

You screamed and jumped back– Only to see it was Robby standing there, hands up as he backed away from you, concern all over his face.

“Fuck,” You swore and bent over your knees, trying to catch your breath after tearing off your headphones.

“Sorry,” Robby said softly, “Sorry, I thought you heard me, I’d been calling after you for a while.”

You straightened, “It’s okay.”

“You, um,” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, “You left without me. You usually wait.”

“Oh–I–Sorry–I–” You sighed, frustrated with your stammering, “I’ve been in my head all day, I just…” You sighed, “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey,” He lowered his head to force you to meet his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, “It’s okay. What’s going on with you?”

You hesitated and then looked away from him, starting to walk again. He fell into step beside you, patiently waiting.

“Would it be weird to talk about my dating life with you?”

He shook his head, “No. Why would it be weird?”

Right, because he wasn’t attracted to you even a little bit. As he was always so quick to remind you. 

You liked being friends with Robby, but working in the same ER you could no longer deny that you found him very sexy. Especially when he caught a rare diagnosis. Or he very calmly and gently explained a procedure to a resident while alarms were beeping around them and nurses were shouting out vitals.

Even just watching the way he rubbed hand sanitizer into his hands between patients had you imagining his hands in… very inappropriate situations.

And all the while you had to remember that he was not, and would never be, into you like that. And also, you had a boyfriend. A very sexy boyfriend in his own right, though my God, could he answer the fucking phone?

“No reason,” You sighed, “I don’t know, um, Dean’s just been a bit distant lately. He hasn’t answered my calls or texts in a couple of days and we’re supposed to meet up today.”

He nodded, “And you’re thinking…?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. He’ll probably break up with me soon. Or just ghost me. That’s what they usually do.”

He frowned, “This happens to you often?”

You smirked, “I know. Hard to believe with how charming and likable I am that I can’t keep a man.”

Robby didn’t laugh, though, just kept walking and silently staring ahead. 

You let the silence stretch and fold between you, Robby clearly holding something back, but refusing to acknowledge it.

“You got something to say?” You said, more casually than you felt.

Robby clenched his jaw and let another few moments of silence pass, “No.”

You gave a short laugh, “Okay.” You said, stretching out the word, “I mean, you can say it, whatever it is. We’re all friends here.”

He shook his head, “I just wonder why you keep choosing men who clearly don’t respect you or even like you very much.”

His words stunned you to a stop. He kept walking for a few steps before realizing you stopped and he turned back to face you.

At the look of surprise, and even hurt on your face, he sighed, “Look, I… I didn’t mean that to come out so harsh, I just don’t understand it. I mean, it was clear even ten years ago from what you said about your ex husband that he didn’t give you what you needed. And now you’re with this loser who can’t even be bothered to answer a text.” He ran a hand over his face, “You could probably have any guy you wanted in all of Pittsburgh, but instead you seem to purposely pick men that disappoint you.”

You scoffed and started walking again, “Okay, so it’s my fault that men treat me like shit?”

“Really?” He fell into step beside you again, “That’s what you’re gonna take from what I said?”

“How else am I supposed to take that?”

He scoffed and shook his head, “I just wish you’d see that you deserve better.”

You laughed and slowed to a stop, “Robby, I’m fucking forty years old. I’m divorced. I’m obsessed with my work. I’m an insufferable know-it-all, as you know. I’m not easy to love. I don’t exactly have men breaking down my door to be with me, alright? Dean is… Not perfect. But he’s all I have.” He stared at you with a look you couldn’t quite place, “What?”

He shook his head and looked down at his feet, “Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry for what I said… It’s not my business.”

You bit your lip, fighting with the tears that seemed to threaten to overflow. And maybe Robby would think that the tears were just because he crossed a line, but it was more than that. There was something so fucking hurtful about this wonderful man in front of you, who had been so clear that he did not want you, making a whole speech about how you deserved better. Had he not ever once considered that good, decent men just did not love you and never had? Going all the way back to your father who would have done anything for a bottle of scotch but couldn’t remember to pick you up from school?

“Hey,” He said gently, stepping closer to you when he noticed your watery eyes, “I’m sorry, okay?”

He dropped his backpack to the ground and pulled you into his arms, “I’m sorry,” He repeated into your hair, arms tightening around you and anchoring you to his chest. He smelt of clean laundry and fresh pine deodorant. You closed your eyes and for a moment, allowed yourself to be comforted. To imagine what it would be like to be loved by someone like him.

Just for a moment.

***

You sat at your kitchen table, leg bouncing, fingernail gnawed between your teeth as you stared at your phone. It was nearly 9PM and still nothing from Dean.

This was ridiculous. You felt like a teenager waiting by the phone all night. You were just going to show up at his apartment, as planned. Maybe his phone was broken. Maybe a family emergency had come up.

But your earlier conversation with Robby was still playing in the back of your mind. Maybe you should just swear off men for good. Get a cat and dedicate yourself entirely to work.

Sighing, you stood and grabbed your car keys from the hook by the door.

***

You had knocked on his apartment door about ten minutes ago, giving up after a couple of tries. You leaned against the wall beside his door, trying yet again to call him, but it was sent to voicemail. You swore as you hung up, and as you did, the elevator at the end of the hall dinged and you heard the doors sliding open.

A feminine laugh floated down the hallway and you ignored it, still looking at your phone, until the laugh was replaced by silence. No walking. No voices.

You looked up and saw Dean, arms wrapped around a blonde that was easily at least a decade younger than you, probably more, mouth gaped open as he stared at you, “What’re you doing here?” He asked eventually.

What were you doing here? Chasing after a man that didn’t want you, just like Robby said. The tears that burned your eyes were not tears of sadness, but anger and humiliation. You sighed and pushed yourself off the wall, “Don’t call me. I’ll drop off your things next week.”

“Baby–”

“Oh, and just a word of warning,” You turned to the blonde, “He’s terrible at eating pussy.” You said, voice full of venom. 

And then you ducked into the stairwell.

***

You had made it back to your apartment building and after turning the ignition off in your car, had begun uncontrollably sobbing, head resting against the steering wheel.

When the crying began to slow to just hiccups, you took out your phone and dialed Robby.

He answered on the second ring, because he was reliable. Unlike any of the men you’d ever been with.

“Hey,” You sniffled, “You were right about Dean. He doesn’t like me… or respect me.”

You heard him breathe for a moment in the silence as he processed what you had said, “Are you crying?” He asked finally.

You laughed and wiped your nose on your sleeve, “Yeah, I know, it’s fucking pathetic. It’s just so fucking typical that he would cheat on me with some hot blonde in her twenties and just, like, think I would never find out! He didn’t even try to hide it. Knew we had plans tonight, and– Or, I don’t know, maybe the plans were so insignificant to him he really forgot. I guess on top of being really goddamn annoying I’m also extremely forgettable.” You lightly banged your forehead against the steering wheel.

“You’re not annoying or forgettable.” He said gently, almost sweetly.

“You’re just saying that because I’m crying and you have to be nice to me.”

You thought you heard a quiet laugh, “I remembered you after two brief encounters ten years ago. Thought about you quite often after both run ins, in fact. I would say that makes you pretty memorable.”

Robby was many things, but you knew him to always, always be honest. And so his words sprung new tears from your eyes. What were you going to do when some perfect woman inevitably fell in love with him and he wouldn’t answer calls like these late at night? When you were spiraling and a fucking mess?

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t dispute the fact that I’m annoying.”

Another short laugh, “You are passionate and assertive and intuitive and very funny. None of which I find annoying.”

Your chest felt warm at his praise, “You said I was an insufferable know-it-all the first time we met.”

He sighed, “I was stupid then. Besides, I didn’t know then that you used your teasing as a shield to keep the attention off yourself.” 

His revelation shocked you into silence and for a moment you just sat there, listening to his breathing. It was scary to be known and your instinct was to lash out, but you instead counted your breaths.

“Are you home?” He asked finally.

“I’m in my car, parked outside my complex.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

You frowned, “What? What do you mean?”

“I started walking over when I heard you crying. Sorry, is that not okay? Should I turn around?”

“No,” You said quickly, too quickly, and you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, “No, I mean, you should come. I would… I would like it if you were here.”

“Okay,” He said softly, “I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Okay.” You murmured and waited until the line cut out before you lowered the phone from your ear.

True to his word, Robby strolled into the parking lot just a few minutes later. When he saw you get out of your car and lock it behind you, he quickened his pace until he was in front of you, pulling you into his arms. Much like he had earlier that same day.

And again, you allowed yourself to be coddled. Allowed it when he kept an arm around your shoulders as he led you into your apartment building. Ignored the flutter in your stomach when he pressed a kiss to your hair and told you you deserved better.

A couple of hours later, you’re on the couch, both pleasantly tipsy from the bottle of wine you had opened and the tears had long since dried. Your feet were in his lap and while the two of you talked, his hand had been unconsciously running up and down your leg.

He hadn’t seemed to notice, but you had. 

“Did you say anything to him? When you left?”

You shrugged, “I told him I’d drop off his things.” Then you laughed, “I might have said something sort of awful to the girl though.”

He smirked, “What’d you say?”

You hesitated only a moment, flush building up your neck as you stared at the wine glass in your hand, “I told her that he was terrible at eating pussy.”

There’s a second of silence and then Robby bursts out laughing, “Is it true?”

You chuckled, still looking down at your wine glass, for some reason unable to look at him when talking about this, “Yes. He never made me come.”

Robby’s laughter died out and the hand on your leg stilled, “Never? Not even once?” You shook your head slowly, “How long were you dating?”

“About six months.”

Robby let out a low whistle, “Fuck.”

You nodded, “You’d be shocked the number of grown men who are clueless when it comes to knowing their way around…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, “Anyway, most men are pretty bad at it, in my experience, if they even like it.”

He exhaled heavily through his nose, “I just think maybe you have terrible taste in men.”

This again. You rolled your eyes, “As I said, the pickings are slim. Beggars can’t be choosers. Who would you have me sleep with, hm?”

When you looked up at him he was looking at you intensely. If you didn’t know any better, you would say hungrily. But just as soon as you were starting to wonder what it was he was thinking, the expression was gone and he stood from the couch, tossing your legs to the side.

“I should probably get going. It’s getting late.”

You tried not to seem too disappointed, “Right. Of course.”

You stood and led him to the door, “Thank you for coming,” You said as you opened the door, “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

You smiled and nodded, “That’s what friends are for, right?” You said, self deprecatingly. You hadn’t meant for it to sound sarcastic, but you knew he must have heard it anyway.

He nodded and looked anywhere but at you. He was acting very strange. “Right, yeah. Friends.” 

You frowned, “Michael,” You said finally and his eyes snapped to yours, “Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

He shook his head and then his eyes fell to your mouth, “No,” He said, gaze never straying from your lips, “I’m just tired.” He insisted.

“Okay,” You said slowly. He was drunk. Whatever was going on in his head right now meant nothing. Maybe he was staring at your mouth or maybe you had something in your teeth.

“Still friends?” You asked softly.

That joke. That stupid fucking decade old joke, still a shared line between the two of you, coiling ever tighter as time went on. And now it was fraying.

His eyes met yours and this time there was no mistaking the hunger in his gaze. You had mere moments to process the fact that Robby was looking at you with raw, unadulterated desire before his hands had grabbed your face and his mouth crashed into yours.

You gasped in surprise, but he was undeterred, his mouth hurriedly exploring yours as he moved you out of the threshold of the door and kicked it shut behind him. Beneath your initial shock, your body reacted. Robby was a man you had pined for on and off for more than a decade, and he was kissing you like you were a fresh stream and he hadn’t had water for so long that he couldn’t remember what it even tasted like. It took little more for the arousal to begin pooling in your stomach, for the ache between your legs to grow and expand.

But then, he licked into your mouth at the same time he lightly pushed you down on the couch and you could feel the way you dripped into your panties.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He said breathlessly as he crawled over you.

You could only shake your head, watching him above you like this. You were so full of want, you leaned up to kiss him again–

But he pulled back.

“I need to hear you say it.” He said, his voice husky.

You swallowed, “Don’t stop.” You breathed.

It was enough. His mouth latched back onto yours, tongue making dizzying strokes against your own, and you were embarrassed when a whine escaped you. You tried pulling him by the shirt, needing him closer. At the same time, you wiggled your hips down until you felt yourself press against the knee he had slotted between your legs, seeking pressure and friction for your throbbing center.

But Robby pulled away, “I don’t think so.” He said, “Think I want to show you how a real man eats a meal.”

Were you dreaming? You felt like you were dreaming. Because there was no fucking way Michael Robinavitch was towering over you, obvious erection growing in his pants as he tugged your ankle to bring you to the edge of the couch. There was no goddamn way he was lowering himself to his knees in front of you, eyes never leaving yours.

But he was. And he tugged your shorts down over your knees. When you went to wiggle out of your panties, he stopped you, “Not yet.”

Slowly, he kissed and sucked his way from the side of your knee, up your inner thigh, until you were impatiently wriggling beneath his mouth. He said nothing, only wrapped an arm around one of your thighs to still you.

Finally, he turned his attention to your clothed pussy, running a finger down the damp spot at your center and sighing when your back arched.

“You’re so easy to rile,” He murmured, “It’s a mystery he couldn’t make you finish. It’ll probably only take me a couple minutes. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

The pet name went straight to your head, blood pounding in your ears. Your only response was a breathy sigh as he began delicately kissing you over your underwear. He began to apply a bit more pressure and you could feel his hot breath through the flimsy fabric.

When you felt his tongue, still over that fucking fabric, you moaned loudly, frustrated, “Michael.”

You felt the smug fucker smile against you before his fingers slipped under the cloth at your hips, pulling down. You lifted your hips eagerly to allow him to pull them off you.

Mercifully, he didn’t tease you any longer, his mouth was back on you immediately. If you were eager, he was desperate now, shoving his tongue deep in you and lapping up your juices. His hands held your thighs down so firmly when you squirmed, you thought he’d probably leave bruises.

He moved his mouth up to your swollen clit, humming against it as he pushed a finger inside you. You were so tight around his fingers, getting wetter and tighter as you approached your climax. With every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his finger, you felt yourself lose a little more control.

When he added a finger you thought maybe your brain was so overwhelmed with the pleasure it had forgotten to trigger your lungs to breathe. But a moment later, he sucked on your clit just hard enough to send you toppling over the edge and you were gasping for air. 

When he felt your orgasm rip through you, he released your hips, finally allowing you to grind against his mouth. He moaned at the taste of you while you tugged him by the hair closer to you, impossibly closer.

When it was over, he pulled away from you, rising up to kiss your mouth, the taste of you still on his tongue. He kissed his way up your jawline to your ear.

“How was that?” He murmured against the shell of your ear.

You were still seeing stars from the intensity of your orgasm, “How do you think?” You gasped.

You felt him laugh against your neck and then his body pulled away from yours. You mourned the loss immediately, but clenched your fists at your sides to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Could I use your bathroom to clean up?” He asked.

You frowned and looked to his pants, still clearly tented from his erection, “It’s at the end of the hall, but let me—“

When you reached out to palm him over his pants, he jerked away. Rejection coursed through your veins and instantly, you knew you were flushed with embarrassment. 

“It’s okay,” He said and smiled at you, but it seemed strained, “I just wanted to make you feel good. I’ll be right back.”

He turned and walked towards the bathroom without waiting for your reply. 

You were still half naked on the couch, feeling confused and hurt as the high of your orgasm left you. What kind of guy made you come like that on the first try and then didn’t want you to touch his cock? What sort of fucked up point had he been trying to make?

***

Robby splashed water on his face, washing the remnants of you from his mouth and beard, and then looked at himself in the mirror.

Oh, you’ve done it now, man. He thought, You’ve absolutely fucked it.

He’d ruined everything. One brief lapse of self control and their entire friendship was now set to implode. 

But you had looked so goddamn sad on that couch and when he heard that loser not only had cheated on you, but couldn’t even make you come, it had flipped some primal, animalistic switch in his brain.

Until all he could think about was you coming undone under his mouth while you moaned his name. 

Still friends? You had asked at the door and he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t say the practiced words and finish the damn joke like he always did. Friends didn’t wonder what the other’s pussy tasted like or what they sounded like when they came.

What was an orgasm between friends? Maybe he could still salvage it. Maybe they could just pretend it never happened. 

He wasn’t prepared to lose you, not when you had just showed up at PTMC after he had spent years thinking about you. Wondering how you were doing. If you were still here or if you had moved away. If someone was finally loving you how you deserved.

The two of you were drunk. It hadn’t meant anything. You would regret it in the morning and he would graciously act like he didn’t know what you were talking about. He’d give you a few days of space and then he’d show up again with an iced coffee and walk you to the hospital. And everything would go back to normal.

It had to. He wouldn’t accept anything else.

***

Robby had left in a rush that night after he came out of the bathroom, giving you a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead as he did.

You were left feeling confused and hurt, that he had rushed out like that after the way he kissed you and touched you. Tasted you like you were a fine wine to be savored. Then turned around and acted like nothing happened. Like he had just done you a favor.

Your thumb hovered over his contact on your phone for a couple days after. You both had four days in a row off of work, a rare blessing. You typed and deleted many texts. And then there was a knock at your door.

Fuck, was he here? Maybe to apologize, to explain why he ran out like that. He was scared, he wanted you, he was in love with you. You felt like a lovesick teen for hoping. 

More likely, he would say it was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. And you would accept it even if it broke your heart because you had no other choice. You could either have this much of him or none at all.

But when you opened the door, it wasn’t Robby standing in the hallway with flowers and coffee. 

It was—

“Dean?”

***

Robby was pacing outside your apartment building with your iced coffee in hand. It had been four days since he last saw you. Four days of replaying that night in his head, getting off to the thought of how you felt and tasted. The way you sounded so desperate for him when you moaned his name.

But that was behind him now, he could forget about it if it meant keeping your friendship.

He froze when he heard your building door open and turned to look— It was you. 

You hadn’t noticed him yet, staring at your phone and headphones over your ears. He watched as your lips parted slightly in concentration, tongue darting out to wet them.

He swallowed and averted his eyes. It turned out it wouldn’t be so easy to pretend like nothing had happened. 

He’d keep trying though.

Finally, you looked up and you gave him a confused look as you pushed your headphones off, “Hi,” You said slowly.

He smiled and held out your coffee. Still frowning, you took it, “What are you doing here?” You asked softly as the two of you began the walk to the hospital.

“What do you mean?” He asked, staring ahead. He could feel your eyes burning holes into the side of his face, but he kept his focus ahead of him. It was all easier if he just didn’t look at you. “We do this every morning.”

“Right…” You said slowly and then scoffed when he didn’t say anything further, “Okay. Fine.”

“What do you mean, fine?”

“I mean if you want to act like everything’s fine, like you didn’t get me off on my couch a few nights ago, then okay. I’ll do the same.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose and kept looking ahead, “Okay. Great.” He could hear the irritation in your voice, but he ignored it, “How was the rest of your time off?”

He could feel you staring at him again, and then he thought he noticed you shake your head in his peripheral.

“It was fine.” You said finally, then you cleared your throat, “Actually, Dean showed up with flowers a couple of days ago. Said it was a mistake and begged me to take him back.”

Robby gave a short laugh, “Would’ve paid to see the look on his face when you told him to fuck off.”

You didn’t laugh with him. Didn’t say anything at all, in fact, and he felt his stomach twist with dread, “You did tell him to fuck off, didn’t you?” He asked quietly.

Still, you said nothing. Finally, he turned to look at you, but you were staring intently ahead. The tips of your ears red with what he assumed was embarrassment. Perhaps shame.

He scoffed, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The last thing I need right now is you on your high horse–”

“Do you have no goddamn self respect, is that it?” He spat, voice rising, “You chase after men who hate you because you hate yourself?”

You stopped walking then, your whole face flushed with either anger or embarrassment, maybe both. 

“You have no fucking right to talk about the men I’ve been with when you behaved just like all the rest the other night!”

“Me?” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “What are you even talking about?”

“You fucking ran out of my apartment, leaving me half fucked, and acted like it was no big deal. Don’t call. Don’t text. Then you show up at my apartment with a fucking coffee like nothing happened! Like it meant nothing!” Tears of frustration pricked your eyes, “At least with Dean I know what I’m getting, with you… it’s… it’s hot and cold and I never know what the fuck you’re thinking or what you want–”

“I want to be friends.” He said quickly, “I want to be your friend, I want you to be happy.”

You nodded and looked up towards the trees, willing the tears back into your eyes, “Right. Friends. Friends don’t lead each other on.” You said, lip curled, and then you continued your walk to the hospital.

He stared after you, stunned, and then jogged to catch up to you, “I told you from the beginning you weren’t my type–”

You were drowning. It would have been kinder for him to have tied a weight to your foot and shoved you in the river.

You turned and placed your empty hand on his chest and shoved, “Fuck. You.” He was much larger than you and you had a coffee in your other hand so he remained sturdy, though he fell back a step. Tears were streaming down your cheeks now, “We’re not fucking friends. We’re not anything.” You shoved the iced coffee back into his hand, “Just leave me alone, okay?”

Robby stared after you as you stormed off, jaw clenched and melted iced coffee in his hand.

***

Jack and Dana watched as you stormed into the ER, face red and splotchy. Your cheeks shined with tears under the fluorescent glow of the lights above. Robby strode in only moments later, a melted iced coffee in his hand that he tossed in the trash by the entrance as he walked over to the hub.

You were rushing around after stopping at the lockers, draping a stethoscope around your neck as you ambled right into Robby’s path, causing the both of you to stop short to avoid a collision. Jack and Dana watched as the two of you stared each other down for a few seconds, tension palpable, before you stormed off again. Robby stared after you for a moment before running a hand down his face.

Jack and Dana exchanged a look before Jack stepped to Robby and clapped a hand on his back, “Hey man, why don’t we get some air?”

Robby sighed, “I just got here, Jack.”

“And yet you already look like you’ve been through the ringer, so humor me.” He said and steered the other man by the shoulders to the stairs.

Once on the roof, Robby leaned over the railing and Jack joined him, his eyes roving over Robby, “What happened?”

Robby sighed, “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, man, what’s going on with you and Y/N? You ran after her at the end of the last shift. Now you walk in separately and if looks could kill, my friend, you’d be six feet under right now.”

He shrugged, “I fucked up. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have. I hurt her without meaning to. Now she wants nothing to do with me.” He looked at Jack and smirked, “That’s it.”

“So what’re you gonna do about it?” Jack asked, turning his attention back to the Pittsburgh skyline.

He laughed, “Nothing. She told me to leave her alone, so that's what I’ll do.”

Jack shook his head, “I don’t buy it.” Robby looked at him incredulously. “The two of you have been drawn to each other like magnets over the last, what, ten years? And you’re just gonna let her walk away?”

Robby smirked, “I already told you, it’s not like that with her. We’re just friends.”

“What line did you cross, then, huh?” Robby didn’t answer, jaw clenched as he avoided Jack’s stare, “I’ve seen the way you look at her, man,” Jack shook his head, “It’s not friendly.”

Robby was terrified that Jack may be right. That all this time he had been convincing himself you were just a friend, he had been falling for you instead. He knew the way the staff talked, not just Jack. Again and again, he dismissed them as rumors, a bit of lightness to keep everyone’s head above water. But what if there had been truth to it?

He had been so scared of losing your friendship he didn’t stop to think that the reason he was so scared was because maybe he cared for you more than just as a friend.

And if that was true, he had wasted so much time and energy fighting against it only to lose the war anyway.

Robby rubbed at his beard and shook his head, “Well, it really doesn’t matter because I fucked it, so.” He pushed himself off the railing and started walking towards the door that led back to the Pitt, “I should get back down there. Go home.”

Alone on the roof, Jack heaved a sigh, “I should really be getting paid extra for these free therapy sessions.” He murmured to himself before he walked back to the door.

***

For weeks, Robby tortured himself by reliving your last conversation in his head. The realization that you were hurting and he was the reason, it made him feel sick at times. In addition to that, after his conversation with Jack on the roof, he realized too late that he was in love with you. He thought about telling you many times, but it was so clear you wanted nothing to do with him, he thought it would probably just hurt you more.

The one time he had followed you out of the ER at the end of the shift intent on finally telling you, he had walked out to see your arms twined around Dean’s neck, your mouth smiling into his. His stomach had twisted and he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. It was wrong, it felt all wrong seeing you wrapped around him like that. He knew he had fucked up his chance with you, but it hurt worse that his fuck up had pushed you back into Dean’s arms.

 He did his best to stay out of your way, but it was difficult. Since you were an attending yourself, he didn’t need to be involved in all of your cases, but there were times when you begrudgingly asked for a consult. Or a really rough trauma came in and it was all hands on deck.

It was uncomfortable for everyone on those cases. The unresolved tension between you two acted like a whirlpool, extending out and dragging unwilling participants to the center. You would bicker over treatment plans or silently glare at each other over patients.

Once, when he had walked in to you performing a thoracostomy with a warm water lavage, he thought he might fire you from how frustrated he was.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hypothermic drowning victim, troponin levels suggested there was a cardiac event, I’m clearing the clots and rewarming with warm saline.” You said calmly without looking up from the patient.

“Did you consult cardio?”

“There wasn’t time.”

“You could have at least fucking called me.”

You looked up at that, and then back down, “He’s back to sinus and at normal temp.” You said and began to deglove, “I’m not going to apologize for saving a patient.”

He followed after you as you walked back to central, “You and I both know you’re supposed to call in your chief attending for approval whenever you want to do some crazy procedure that is outside the standard of care–”

“It wasn’t outside of the standard–”

“You’re not a fucking cardio attending,” He said, louder than he meant to. Others turned to stare at the two of you, “Look,” He said, lowering his voice, “You can hate me all you like, but we have to work together when we’re here. And that means,” You had rolled your eyes here and he had to move his head to force eye contact with you, “That you consult me before you do anything that is considered outside the norm. Got it?”

You sighed, “Loud and clear, boss. Can I go now?”

He stared at you a moment longer and his eyes fell to your mouth. He hadn’t meant to stare, to recall the way your mouth felt against his or how soft and pliant your lower lip was when he pulled at it with his teeth, but that’s what he found himself doing.

And you noticed. He watched as your frown deepened and you turned, walking away before he could say anything else.

“Fuck,” He murmured to himself and laced his hands behind his neck. 

“You okay, Cap?” Dana asked as Robby trudged over to the hub, leaning over on his forearms.

“Just peachy.” He sighed.

“You coming out tonight? It’s Princess’s birthday. Everyone’s going to Monterey’s.”

“Everyone?”

Dana smirked knowingly, “Yes, I heard she’ll be there too.”

He shook his head slowly, “Then, no. I will not be going.”

She sighed, “The two of you cannot keep going like this. If for no other reason than it’s starting to affect your work. Time to put your big boy pants on and face… whatever the fuck is going on with you.”

“What do you want me to do, huh? She wants nothing to do with me. Should I lock us in a room together and force her to talk to me?”

Dana shrugged, “Maybe, if you think that’ll work.” Robby shook his head and looked away, “Come out tonight.” Dana said, “There’s nothing a drink or two can’t fix.”

***

It was 8:30 when you walked into Monterey's, having gone home to change. You hated going out in scrubs, it felt wrong somehow.

You spotted Robby almost immediately where he stood near Dana, but pretended you hadn’t noticed him as you headed to the bar. 

It didn’t seem to matter though, because he was next to you two minutes later as you waited for the bartender to return with your drink.

“Could we talk?” He asked.

Your eyes flitted up to his and you found yourself momentarily distracted by how beautiful he was. The freckles, the crinkles at his eyes. You had had to work very hard not to notice the last few weeks. 

You turned back to the bar, “I’m waiting for my drink.”

“I can wait.” He said immediately.

You drummed your fingers against the bar top, “If this is about earlier–”

“It’s not about work.”

You swallowed, “Well, what, then?”

He didn’t say anything, eyes following the bartender as he made your drink. Once the drink was in your hand, he began walking, gesturing for you to follow as he led you outside.

It was quiet out here. The Sun just barely peeking over the skyline, a faint orange glow illuminating everything. You felt claustrophobic as he led you down an alley on the side of the building. It had felt like forever since the last time you’d been alone together.

He came to a stop and turned to you, clearing his throat, “How are you?” He asked softly.

You sighed, “Robby, I don’t–This is unnecessary–”

“Look, I know I fucked up. I think about it every day. But I can’t–”

“So you regret it then? What we did?” Your voice broke as you said it. There were so many layers to how hurt you still felt after everything with Robby. It was difficult to untangle most of the time, so you had just buried it. But standing here with him so close, you could feel it all clawing to the surface, demanding your attention.

“No.” He said firmly, “No, I don’t. I regret the way I handled it.”

You took a sip of your drink and looked away from him, “I see. So you just wish you had maybe let me down easier, then? Is that it?”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “This isn’t coming out right. I’m so fucking bad at this.”

You scoffed, “I’m just gonna go back inside, okay? We’re good, I promise, I will make sure to consult you–”

“I love you.” He blurted out, and you froze. “I’m in love with you. I’ve probably loved you a little bit from the moment I met you.”

For a second you just stared at him, the only sound was the sound of each other’s breathing. 

Then, your eyes watered and you inhaled a shaky breath, “Don’t do this.” It came out breathless, a desperate plea, “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” He reached out, grabbing your free hand to keep you from running.

You were shaking your head, turning to leave, then turning back when his hand tightened around yours, “You’re just lonely, you don’t want me.”

He tugged you by the hand until you were just inches from him, “I do,” He said nodding, “I love you. And I can say it as many times as you need me to to believe it.”

You swallowed, “You said just a few weeks ago that I wasn’t your type and you’ve been saying it for ten years.”

He shook his head, eyes roving over your face until they settled on your mouth, “We were both there the night I kissed you. Do you really believe that?”

Not really, no. You could still feel the urgency of his tongue in your mouth. You could still hear his reverent sighs at the sight of you naked. Still, he had pushed you away, left you alone and rejected.

Your chin wobbled, “Michael.”

His name came out in a broken plea. You weren’t sure what exactly you were begging for. For him not to mean it or for him to mean it. 

He laced his free hand through the hair at the back of your neck, “Don’t be scared, okay? I’ve got you this time. I promise. I was stupid, I was so afraid of losing you as a friend I ignored the way I really felt.”

You rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes. You wanted to believe him, but you were afraid, too. Afraid he’d change his mind, like all the rest. Leave you more broken than when he found you. 

“I love you,” He whispered and pulled back to kiss your forehead, “I love you,” He repeated, pressing a kiss to your cheek. And he went on like that, kissing your face all over as he repeated those three words and you felt like your chest was being cracked open. If he reached in to pull your heart out, to hold it, still beating in his hand, you’d probably let him take it. You’d let him do anything he wanted if you could just stay in this moment.

Until you couldn’t take it anymore and you caught his mouth with yours. He pushed you into the brick wall behind you, careful to place his hand between your head and the hard stone. The single act of tenderness had tears springing to your eyes again and you felt so fucking pathetic that you kissed him harder, desperate to drown out the feeling.

He moaned when you pulled gently at his lip with your teeth and the sound had the muscles coiling low in your belly, heat accumulating with every new taste and touch and sound.

Mouth still on yours, he frantically unbuttoned your jeans and shoved his hand down between your legs. You whimpered when he dipped a finger just barely into your entrance, his sigh in your ear sounded like relief. Like he had been dying to touch you like this for weeks and weeks, and finally he was saved.

When he pushed his finger fully inside you, you cried out and he covered your mouth with his own to stifle it.

“Robby,” You sighed as he stroked your walls, thumb coming up to rub dizzying circles around your clit, “We… We shouldn’t… I haven’t—I’m still with De—“

“I know you were not about to say another man’s name when I'm knuckle deep inside you, right, sweetheart? You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He added a finger and you would’ve folded if it weren’t for his body pressed to yours, keeping you steady, “You feel so fucking good wrapped around my fingers like this. You gonna come nice and quiet in my hand so no one hears you?”

God, no one else had this effect on you. No one else could talk to you like this, make you soft and malleable like warm putty. It drove you insane. He drove you to the fucking brink and you knew you would still come back and beg for more. He made you insatiable.

When you didn’t immediately answer him, his hand stilled and you whined, shimmying your hips against his hand.

“You can be quiet, can’t you?” He dragged his teeth down the column of your throat, sending chills down your spine.

“Yes.” You sighed, “Whatever you want.”

You felt his smirk against your skin and his fingers started stroking you again. You had to stifle the moans that fought to climb up your throat as he pushed you closer and closer to climax.

“There you go,” He said, pressing tender kisses to the side of your face, “So close, I can feel you. Be a good girl and come for me, yeah?”

His praise sent shockwaves through your body and to quiet yourself and prevent yourself from crying out, you bit down on his shoulder.

“Did so good for me,” He murmured, pulling his hand out and re-buttoning your jeans for you as you fought the daze of your orgasm. He kissed your head and grabbed your hand, “Come on, follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my place.”

“Oh— What about Princess?”

“She’ll forgive us once the rumors spread about why we left together.”

You fought the smirk on your face, “Dean is expecting me later—“

Robby turned to look at you, “Fuck Dean, alright? Let him wait up for you and wonder where you are for once. It’s more than that jackass deserves.” He started tugging you by the hand again and you found you didn’t want to argue.

You knew it was wrong, to punish Dean the way he had hurt you, but in truth, you didn’t think he’d care much when you didn’t turn up tonight. You wouldn’t tell Robby this for fear he’d show up at Dean’s apartment intent on fist fighting him, but you knew he’d continued cheating on you the last few weeks. 

It didn’t hurt as much as it had the first time you found out. Probably because you had been hung up on Robby. 

You’d break it off with Dean tomorrow. Right now, you just wanted to let Robby have his way with you.

***

Finally seeing Robby naked for the first time felt as close to a religious experience as you thought you would ever experience. In his bed, you were kissing every freckle, every scar, every tattoo you could reach while your hand was between his legs, stroking his erection.

He looked wrecked and love drunk as you worked him. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you learned what touches had him moaning, which had him gasping for air, and which had his eyes rolling all the way back in his head. 

It wasn’t long before he tore your hand off him and pinned it above your head, pushing his tip teasingly to your dripping core, “That’s enough of that, I think.” He said, broken voice betraying just how close to the edge you had brought him.

Quickly, you watched as he ripped open a condom and pulled it onto himself. Wasting no time, he gripped your hips and dragged you underneath him before pushing himself inside you. The stretch had you gasping, but he bent his forehead to yours, kissed you through it as he pushed into you. Every thrust was slow and achingly tender. His eyes rarely left yours, only to occasionally bury his face into your neck.

Anytime you suggested a different position, he shot you down, “No, no,” He’d repeat, your legs locked around his hips, “Just like this,” He’d pant, “Want you underneath me just like this.”

When he finished, you muffled his moans with your mouth, thrusting your hips up into his when the intensity of his orgasm had him unable to keep moving through the aftershocks.

Afterwards, you stared up at the ceiling fan, your head resting on his chest.

“I love you, by the way.” You murmured when you could feel yourself drifting into sleep, “Don’t know if I ever said.”

He kissed your hair and dusted his fingers over your shoulder, “You didn’t have to.”

***

2024

It was cool and cloudy in San Diego that morning. You fiddled with the ring on your finger as you stood backstage at the annual American Academy of Emergency Medicine conference. 

Michael stood behind you, hands rubbing reassuring circles into your shoulders, “You’re gonna do so good, baby. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried, I could do this talk in my sleep,” You smirked, “I’m just thinking about the first time I saw you here, when you did your talk.”

He laughed behind you, “Well, it wasn’t here.”

“You know what I mean.” You said and covered one of his hands with yours.

“Yeah,” He said, “If I had known my future wife was in the audience I would’ve picked a better shirt.”

Your grin spread across your face as you looked down at the engagement ring on your finger, “And I probably wouldn’t have worn booty shorts to the airport, but hindsight is 20/20.”

He hummed and then your name was being announced, a brief intro given, and then Michael kissed you quickly before gently pushing you towards the stage.

Later, in your hotel room, the both of you were drunk and sprawled out on the bed. Your head rested on his stomach and he had an arm draped across your chest.

He picked up your left hand and inspected it, “I love seeing this on your finger. Probably should’ve proposed the first time I brought you home.”

You smirked, but there was a nagging thought in the back of your head. One that had been there since he got down on one knee.

“What’s wrong?” Robby asked, even drunk he was ever perceptive of your mood changes.

“Nothing.” You said quickly, “Everything’s perfect.”

He let a moment of silence pass, twisting the ring on your finger between his thumb and forefinger, “You know you can tell me anything, right? Nothing’s too scary or too much.”

You did know, but it didn’t stop your brain from convincing you otherwise. Eventually you swallowed and lifted yourself onto your knees so you could turn to face him.

“Do you ever think about the rate of divorce among emergency medicine doctors?”

He frowned, “Not particularly, no. But I gather you do?”

“I just—“ You sighed, “I love you, obviously, so much. But I—I wonder sometimes if… If getting married just invites the possibility of breaking this. And… And what we have is really good and I don’t—“

“Hey,” He sat up, “Slow down.” He paused, “How long have you been thinking about this?”

You sighed, “I don’t know, since you proposed, probably?”

He raised his eyebrows, “Right, okay.”

You deflated, “You’re mad.”

He shook his head, “Not mad. I just wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

“I’m sorry.” You could feel your abandonment fears dusting themselves off in your head. You had never felt as secure as you had with Robby. You had felt loved and safe from day one. Your fears that he would leave again, he proved over and over were unfounded. No one had ever shown up for you like this. And that made the prospect of losing him even scarier.

“Tell me more about it.” He said, “Your fears.”

You sighed, “I—It’s okay, we don’t have to. I want to marry you, I do.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” He said gently and wrapped his arms around you so he could pull you to his chest, “But we should still talk it through.”

You swallowed, “If the rate of divorce for ER doctors is so high, does the rate double when it’s two ER doctors instead of just one?”

He’s quiet a moment as he mulled it over, “You ever think that maybe an ER doctor marrying another ER doctor lowers the rate of divorce, rather than increasing it?”

“How do you figure that?”

“Both people understand the crazy schedule and the difficulties of the job. And if you’re like us and work in the same ER, you see each other day in and day out, even with that crazy schedule. Being colleagues probably increases healthy communication and conflict resolution outside the ER.”

Already, you felt soothed, “I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Well I have even more compelling evidence for you.”

You smirked, “What’s that?”

“None of those ER doctors that got divorced were married to me.”

You laughed and turned in his arms so you could kiss him, “I love you.” 

After a moment, you pulled away from him slightly, gears turning in your head, “How long of a drive is it to Las Vegas?”

Robby stared at you blankly until his brain began to catch up, “You’re serious?” He asked, his voice breathless.

You nodded, “I want to be your wife. Right now.”

His laugh was high and unbelieving as he ran a hand through his hair, “What about our friends and family—?”

“We can have a real wedding. Maybe a year from now, we do the whole thing right, renew our vows. But I don’t want to wait that long to be yours.”

He smiled, “You’re already mine.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Not legally. Besides, don’t you think there’s something really romantic about getting married in secret, just the two of us?”

After a moment of searching your face, probably trying to make sure this wasn’t some sort of mental break, he nodded, “Okay.” He laughed and shook his head, “Let’s get married.”

***

“The only car we have left is a manual.” The woman running the rental counter had bleached waves and thick black eyeliner. She chewed gum as she spoke, “Can either of you drive a manual?”

“Sorry,” Robby said, grin already spreading across his face as he squeezed your hand, “There’s no automatics left, is that… Did I hear you correctly? Only a manual?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Robby. To her, he probably seemed insane, “Look, can you drive a manual or not?”

He looked back at you, then, smiling and shaking his head, “Yeah, we can both drive stick.”

The two of you had walked out of the rental store, giggling and swinging your hands between each other like children. 

It was a five hour drive, so you bought donuts and coffees. Once in the car, you propped your feet up on the dash and stared over at Robby, who was reacquainting himself with a manual.

“You sure you remember how to drive stick?” You asked, mouth half full of donut.

He glared over at you, but couldn’t resist breaking into a smile anyway, “It’s like riding a bike.”

Placing his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, he started the car and began backing out of the parking lot. As he peeled out and fiddled with the radio, you rolled the windows down and were surprised when tears pricked your eyes when you looked back over at him.

You thought about all the heartbreak and lonely nights the last eleven years. The times you thought you’d be alone forever, or worse, stuck in a relationship with someone who didn’t want you. You mulled over all the nights you had allowed yourself to dream about that doctor you met in Florida. A fifteen hour drive that seemed to have rearranged all the planets and constellations of your life. 

He had been your north star over the last decade, always seeming to guide you back to where you were supposed to be. Which was here. In this car. Windows down as you sang along to the radio. His hand held yours as it rested on top of the gear shift. Taking you to your wedding. Taking you home.

[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.

[ashthesalamipiece]

Hi I love your writing ! Could you possibly do bakago catching his daughter kissing midoryias son

Blasting Hearts and Puppy Love

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Katsuki Bakugo

Tags: Humor, Family Fluff, Teen Romance, Angry Dad Mode™, Soft Bakugo™, Deku Cameo

Word Count: ~2600

---

The Bakugo household was... loud.

Always had been. Always would be. But over the years, you’d learned to decipher the difference between “I just stubbed my toe” shouting and “the chicken’s on fire again” shouting.

What you weren’t prepared for was the shout you heard that Saturday afternoon.

“KATSUHARU BAKUGO, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

You dropped your coffee.

Spinning on your heel, you bolted through the house, nearly tripping over the cat and catching the tail end of your husband’s warpath—shirtless, hair wild, explosions popping on his palms like sparklers having an anxiety attack.

And there she was. Your daughter. Your beautiful, clever, slightly-too-much-like-her-dad daughter—Katsuharu Bakugo—with that look on her face. The one that screamed “I regret everything.”

Beside her? Green hair. Freckles. The startled look of a deer about to get steamrolled by a rocket-powered bulldozer.

You didn’t even need the full picture.

She was kissing Izuku Midoriya’s son.

---

Five Minutes Earlier

Katsuharu had sworn her parents were going out. “They’ll be gone for, like, two hours. We have time.”

And honestly? She wasn’t wrong. You had planned to run errands. Emphasis on planned. You’d forgotten your wallet. Classic.

So there she was, half sunk into the couch, lip-locked with Midoriya “I’m-Actually-A-Little-Taller-Than-My-Dad” Izumi, when she heard the front door open.

They broke apart fast enough to get whiplash, eyes wide.

Then—

BOOM.

Explosion.

Yelling.

The sound of slippers being yeeted into the stratosphere.

---

Present Time

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Bakugo shouted, stalking across the living room like a lion that’d just caught a hyena stealing his meat. “YOU’RE SUCKIN’ FACE WITH A DAMN DEKU SPAWN?!”

“I—I wasn’t—” Izumi stuttered, holding his hands up like it might protect him from certain death. “I swear I didn’t mean—!”

Katsuharu, cheeks still pink, hissed, “Dad, you’re being dramatic—”

“OH I HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED YET!”

You stepped in between them like a seasoned war general mediating nuclear diplomacy.

“Okay! Okay, Katsuki, I get that you’re having a full emotional breakdown, but maybe—maybe—we don’t detonate the child?”

“He’s not a child, he’s a Midoriya!” Bakugo snapped. “That’s a betrayal of blood!”

“She’s not in a gang, Katsuki! She kissed him, not sold state secrets!”

“I might as well be stabbed in the back with a broccoli!”

“Dad, I like him!” Katsuharu shouted. “He’s sweet and smart and—”

“AND A DAMN NERD!” Bakugo howled.

“Excuse me, I’m standing right here,” Izumi muttered, eyebrows raised.

“You’re lucky you’re still standing at all, bean sprout!”

---

10 Years of Parenting Flash Before Your Eyes

You remember when Katsuki first held Katsuharu in the hospital. Swaddled in a pink blanket, already scowling like her father. He looked down at her, called her a “tiny grenade” and promised he’d protect her from everything.

You had a sneaking suspicion that included the concept of kissing forever.

“You,” Bakugo said, turning a fire-eyed glare toward Izumi, “have exactly three seconds to explain yourself before I start decorating the walls with your limbs.”

Izumi’s face paled. “I-I like her! I’ve liked her since we were ten! She’s fierce and funny and amazing and—and she beat up a kid who called me broccoli boy—”

“That was one time!” Katsuharu shouted, flustered.

“She broke his nose,” Izumi whispered fondly.

Bakugo squinted like his soul just physically left his body.

“GET. OUT.”

Izumi didn’t hesitate. “Yessir!”

He bolted out the front door like his shoes were on fire (they might’ve been, considering the burn trail behind him).

Katsuharu groaned, “Ugh, Dad!”

“You’re grounded for eternity!”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Grounded until the earth collapses in on itself and all that’s left is ash and regret!”

You, ever the peacekeeper, held up a hand. “Okay, that’s enough end-of-days poetry. Katsu, take a breath before your blood pressure explodes.”

“I’m calm,” Bakugo growled, completely unconvincingly. “I’m totally. Freakin’. CALM.”

The throw pillow he detonated in his hand said otherwise.

---

Later That Evening

After the dust (literal and metaphorical) settled, you found Bakugo brooding at the kitchen table, arms crossed, eyes twitching.

“She’s growing up,” you said softly, pouring him a cup of tea.

“She’s supposed to grow up into a badass. Not a—kissing Deku's kid badass.”

You smirked. “Izumi’s sweet.”

“He’s a walking fern with nerves.”

“He also volunteers at the animal shelter and knits scarves for homeless people.”

Bakugo looked like you told him his daughter was dating Santa Claus.

“I should’ve sent her to a nunnery.”

“She’d have blown it up.”

“She gets that from you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Bakugo grumbled. “Okay, fine. She gets it from us. But that don’t mean I gotta like her getting all sappy with broccoli’s spawn.”

“You do realize we kissed around that age too, right?”

“Yeah, and I almost broke the windows doing it.”

You laughed, ruffling his hair. “Katsu, she’s a good kid. And she picked a good kid. That’s what matters.”

He huffed. “I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it. You just have to not vaporize it.”

“...Compromise.”

---

Epilogue: The Apology BBQ

To make peace, you and Bakugo invited the Midoriyas over for a backyard cookout.

It was... awkward.

Izuku beamed nervously. “Wow, it smells great out here!”

Katsuki threw a burger patty on the grill like it owed him money. “You shut your damn mouth, Deku.”

Inko Midoriya and you exchanged exhausted parent glances while sipping lemonade.

Katsuharu and Izumi sat very far apart—until you weren’t looking.

Then came the hand-holding.

Cue Bakugo exploding the ketchup bottle.

“YOU THINK I DIDN’T SEE THAT?!”

[selunefae]

i would really love to if you could write smut reiner as the reader's husband about him after holding back for a few months after his wife gives birth. with a lil bit lactation kink maybe?

Is it that sweet? I guess so (+18) - Reiner Braun

After months of holding back, your husband Reiner can't stay away from you any longer. You're restless and aching, and he plans to help you out.

masterlist | rules

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,272

tags: reiner braun x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader, domestic fluff, dad!reiner

cw: shameless smut, fingering (female receiving), nipple paly and sucking (female receiving), PinV sex, lactation kink, big boobs, size kink if you squint

notes: I had to do a little bit of investigation for this one – I'm a 20yo woman who has never been pregnant. I hope it's accurate enough. I'm aware that first-time sex after giving birth can be painful and uncomfortable, but this is fiction and we all want to feel good, so sorry if it is a little bit unrealistic. I've never read or written any lactation kink fic, but I understand the appeal and I think that maybe I did too much... VERY messy sex is described. I write it with post-canon in mind, but I tried to make it vague enough that the setting can be anything you like. Anyways, hope you enjoy it! (English is not my first language, not beta reader, not proofread)

You roll under the weight of the blankets, arms tightening around your chest as you wince into the pillow. Your breasts ache. The baby had a weird schedule today. She refused the afternoon feeding and fell asleep earlier than usual. Your body had been ready to feed her, but after seeing her sleepy face dozing off, you hadn’t had the heart to wake her up. You shift again, legs tangled in the sheets, trying to distract yourself from the discomfort. But no matter how much you turn, no position eases the dull throb of your full, swollen breasts.

“Mm… you okay?” a deep, groggy voice murmurs beside you. 

It’s your husband, Reiner. You must have woken him up from your stupid struggle.

You sigh and nod your head before remembering it’s too dark for him to see. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you whisper. “Don’t worry, go back to sleep.”

He hums, but doesn’t do as you say. Instead, he pulls you closer, one arm sliding around your waist while the other strokes your belly. “Feels like something is wrong.”

You bite your lip. 

“It’s nothing, just… I’m a little bit sore,” you admit, brushing a hand over your chest in a helpless gesture. Your shirt is clinging a little too tightly, and the ache manifests again. “She… didn’t eat before bed, and now… I’m kinda… full.” 

Reiner goes quiet for a second, his chest still pressed to your back, but his hand doesn't move. He shifts closer, nose deepening between your shoulder blades. When he speaks again, there’s a different edge to his voice. “I can help you.”

Your eyes flick open to the dark ceiling. “Help?”

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck, lips brushing there in a soft kiss. “Yes, let me help you,” he explains as he moves his mouth to the back of your ear. “I haven’t touched you in months. I’ve been trying to be good. I know you needed time to rest. But – fuck – I miss you.”

You stiffen.

It’s not that you don’t want him. You miss his touch, too – but your body doesn’t feel like it used to. There are new lines and softness you’re still learning to live with. Your breasts are heavier, your hips fuller. Maybe he doesn’t like the way that you look anymore.

“I…”

Despite your hesitation, he doesn’t pull away. His hands travel up, cupping you over the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. “C’mon, love. I’ll make it feel good…”

“Reiner…” you start, your voice smaller than ever.  “It’s just that…” 

You struggle to get the words out. Even if you’ve already accepted the idea that he might not be as attracted to you as he once was, saying it aloud feels like pressing a newly made bruise.

“What if you don’t like me anymore?”

…

Silence.

His hand drops from your chest. A heartbeat later, he pushes himself up on one elbow, and then the mattress dips as he sits fully, knees bent and body half-turned towards you.

“What?” he says, voice tight.

You keep your gaze on the sheets. You’re unable to see his face, but you don’t need to. You already know what kind of expression he has on right now: stern and serious. You feel ridiculous. Fragile. Like if you say one more word, you’ll shatter.

“Hey–hey, look at me,” his hand finds your cheek, and you flinch at the contact. “Babe, no. Don’t say that ever again. You’re beautiful. Of course I still want you. How could I not- ?”

You suck in a breath that burns in your chest. You feel the tears pickling at your eyes. The turmoil of emotions that’s been lingering for weeks finally spills out of your throat:

“You don’t even know that!” You snap, louder than you mean to. “You’re not even seeing me right now!”

He doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you’re scared you might have done something wrong, shouting at him like that. The tears start pooling in your eyes. With a quiet shift of fabric, Reiner leans across the bed until he can touch the nightstand. You hear him moving until a warm light spills into the room. 

Your breath catches.

He’s looking at you.

Really looking at you

His eyes trail up and down, from the strands of your hair fanned out on the pillow to the tip of your toes under the blanket. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. The light reveals everything: the soft curve of your waist, the stretch marks along your hips and thighs, the milk-damp fabric clinging to your breasts…You cross your arms on instinct, shielding yourself from his intense gaze.

He smirks. Not in the sharp, cocky way he used to in his youth – this one is softer. A little arrogant still, but in the way that comes from knowing exactly what he wants.

“I see my very beautiful wife lying in my bed,” he says, eyes drifting down your body again. “And she just so happens to be in a very sexy state right now.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel nice,” you mumble, trying to hide your shaky voice.

He leans down. One of his large hands wraps gently around your wrists, pulling them away from your chest. The other wipes away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek. He pins your hands softly to the bed, one on each side of your head. His breath is warm against your skin as he dips his head, lips finding the space just behind your ear. “You’ve never been more beautiful,” he whispers. “All this time, and I still can’t believe how I got you to fall in love with me.” 

You exhale at that, words caught somewhere between your ribs and throat. Reiner starts pressing kisses from your ear down to your neck, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. His hands move down, tracing the curves of your body through your shirt.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?”

You nod lazily, and he doesn't waste another second. 

His hands slip under your shirt, cupping your breasts fully. They’re heavy, full of milk and a little firm, but that doesn’t stop him from squeezing them with appreciation, his large hands almost big enough to cover them completely. You gasp. Your body is more sensitive than ever, and even the minimal pressure pulls sounds out of you. His fingers glide upward, feeling the few drops of warm liquid already dampening your areolas. He tweaks your nipples, and milk spurts out in response.

You feel something hard against your thigh.

“R-Reiner –”

“I’m sorry, love.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it off, eyes hungry as he finally sees everything he’s been aching for. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months.”

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and starts sucking. His other hand continues giving attention to the other breast, kneading it. He groans when the warm milk touches his tongue and instinctively begins to grind his hips against your leg. You're a moaning mess beneath him, arousal burning hot between your thighs, spreading in slow waves from your core. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling tightly, holding him there. This is the relief you needed.

“Mm…” he moans, sucking once more before pulling back for air.

His eyes are hazy, cheeks flushed, and there’s a drop of milk slipping from the corner of his mouth; one he quickly licks away with his tongue. Then your mouths crash together. You can taste the sweet, warm liquid on his tongue as he kisses with hunger, tongues fighting for dominance and fluids mixing together. With one swift motion, he pulls down his underwear, cock springing free as the tip hits your thigh from the sudden force. He’s desperate to be inside you, but no matter how many times you’ve done this, you still need a little more prep to take him. His hand moves between your legs, cupping your cunt before he trails your lips with his middle and trigger fingers. His thumb moves to start rubbing circles over your clit, and then he presses two fingers inside of you.

“AH!” You yelp. They slide in easily, but the sensation it’s still intense, your body still getting used to the new way things feel.

He smiles against your lips and starts to move them, slow at first and faster with each passing second. Your breasts press to his chest, nipples grazing skin, adding friction to the rising pleasure. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, needing more of everything.

“Relax, baby…” he says between kisses, fingers working in and out, in and out, in a hypnotic pace. “I’ll make you come.”

His lips leave your and return to your chest, switching to your still full tit. His mouth latches on, sucking firmly, milking you as his fingers drive into you faster and deeper. “You taste so good…”

He starts sucking with more enthusiasm when he feels your walls clench, and with one flick of your clit, you come.

You let out a loud moan, back arching as your pussy spasms around him. A clear, wet gush coats his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. Your nails dig into his back. At the same time, milk spills freely from your nipples, streaking down your chest and spattering Reiner’s face. You look up at him and –

God, he looks wrecked.

His body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your release glistening down his arms, and drops of white sizzling down his lips and chin. You’ve never imagined he could look this hot all soaked between your fluids. 

The sigh somehow, even though you just came, makes you feel heated up again. You reach for him and start to lick and kiss him all over his face, the mix of his salty sweat and your sweet milk a delicious combination. Your hands find his heavy cock and you start stroking,

“Eager, are we?” he teases, voice hoarse and smiling against your temple.

You’re not in the mood to pout and play, so without a word, you guide his length to your entrance, still slick and sensitive. Then, he sinks into you in one smooth, desperate thrust.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden pressure.

You can feel everything – every thich inch, every throb of his cock. He’s filling you to the brim, the swollen head prodding your cervix. Your body trembles from the stretch, from how perfectly full you feel.

“Fuck, you’re so hot… so beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding all over your body. He caresses your waist, your hips, the back of your thighs. He touches you like he’s rediscovering you, like every inch of your body is something worth worship. You whine softly, hips twitching, impatient.

He’s not moving.

You meet his eyes, wide and pleading, the kind of look you know he can’t resist. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growls, lowering his hands to your ass and giving a firm squeeze. He wants to hear you say it.

“Please… fuck me.”

And that’s all he needs.

With a deep groan, he grabs your ass with both hands, lifting your hips slightly and angling them just right, and then starts moving.

The first few thrusts are slow and careful. He’s trying to be gentle, trying to give you time after all these months. But with the way your eyes roll back, your tongue slips past your lips, and the sounds that escape your throat, he can’t hold back for long. Before you know it, he’s fucking you deep and hard, each thrust powerful and hungry, dragging moans from both of you. The headboard bumps faintly with his rhythm, and the room soon fills with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

“God, baby – fuck – I love you,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “I love every inch of you. I love your pretty face, the sound of your voice… and how this sweet cunt feels around me.”

You moan loudly at his words, arousal spiking even higher. Your fingers clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in something real, but it’s all too much. The sight of his body above you, the scent of his skin, the stretch of his cock inside you, it drowns every thought on your mind.

All your previous worries fade away.

“R-Reiner, I’m gonna –” you gasp, the pressure building again, much more intense this time.

He kisses you, muffling your cries, and one of his hands slips between your bodies. He starts rubbing your clit, syncing his rhythm to every thrust.

“That’s it, angel,” he pants, “come for me.”

!!!

Your orgasm crushes into you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes as your walls clamp down around him. You moan into his mouth, thighs trembling, nipples sensitive and tingling. Reiner groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself with one hand while the other keeps playing with your clit. He finishes over your stomach, thick ropes of cum spilling across your skin. 

You both stay like that for a moment. Sweaty, messy, and spent. You’ve never felt more release in months, and your body hums with contentment. Your eyes flutter closed on their own, and you have to fight to keep them open.

“I’ll clean you up,” you hear Reiner say. He strokes your cheek with one of his hands. “You rest.”

You barely notice the mattress shift as he slips out of bed. Your body sinks into a deep slumber, and you can finally rest.

Satisfied and with no aches.

[writing-for-life]

The Weight of Goodbye

Dream’s SoM-meetings with Hob Gadling, Lyta & Daniel Hall and his subjects

Sorry not sorry for using this one again, because I’m Jon J Muth’s no. 1 fan, plus it helps me to get over Kelley Jones’ art which I find… challenging 🤣

I’ve been thinking about The Sandman #22 for our reread, and while there are many gut-wrenching issues, this is one of the most quietly devastating ones. It’s a bit like Dream writing his will while pretending he’s just going on a business trip (and of course we get something similar again later on in The Kindly Ones 🥺)

The Speech to His Subjects

Dream addresses the denizens of The Dreaming before departing for Hell. He frames it a bit as instructions for his absence (and sounds super awkward when admitting he made mistakes—it’s honestly like car crash TV), but the emotional undertones suggest something far more permanent:

He tells them about how to maintain the realm if certain situations arise (like him not coming back, either because he dies or because he gets captured) and presents it like contingency planning (for lack of better term). But the truth of the matter is that he’s putting his affairs in order. The formality of it, the careful way he addresses potential concerns: This isn’t just someone covering all bases, this is a ruler preparing his kingdom for the real possibility that he won’t return. And it’s the first time we get told, in no uncertain terms, that if he gets destroyed (his choice of words, not mine), another aspect of Dream will take over.

[Also: Is it just me who thinks that Kelley Jones draws him at his most beautiful when he’s vulnerable? Because some of his other artistic choices are… well, definitely choices 🙈🤣]

What truly gets me is the narrative use of Matthew. He’s concerned, but he doesn’t grasp the hint of finality in Dream’s tone. And at this stage, the reader may not either (we need to remember that we didn’t have the type of hindsight we have now back when the comics first came out; we didn’t know how the whole run would end). So Matthew is, once again, a stand-in for us, the reader (that always makes me think of The Wake, and even after decades, I’m still not over Matthew's speech and his grief). It doesn't help that we’re starting to see their growing bond, and the cracks in Dream’s armour he hid only a minute ago when everyone else was still there:

“I wanted to stick around. Do you mind?” “No.” 😩

The Meeting with Lyta and Daniel

Dream’s visit to Lyta Hall and baby Daniel often gets brushed to the side a bit, and without the knowledge of what’s going to happen, I get it.

But of course we do know what has already happened in The Doll’s House. Even there, it was painfully obvious that Dream, at least on some level, had plans for Daniel. So yeah, this is not a social call; he’s checking in on his replacement (for lack of better term). They have a bond because Daniel was conceived (show)/gestated (comics) in the Dreaming. It’s not Morpheus who gives Daniel his name—it’s most likely Daniel who told him his name.

Lyta’s discomfort throughout the scene isn’t just about supernatural entities dropping by unannounced, or about her deep-seated hatred of Dream because she considers him responsible for Hector’s death. She knows, on an intuitive level, that he is marking Daniel in some way because he already told her back in The Doll’s House that he’ll one day come for the child. At the same time, he’s acknowledging here that this might be the last time he sees the child for a very long time, and that he means Lyta no harm (“today” 🙄). And maybe that’s the only explanation for this:

Because I don’t know about you: If a strange guy whom I deem responsible for my husband’s death tells me the “true” name of my yet unnamed child, I'd certainly not consider that name and smile about it happily…

Hob Gadling and the Toast

Dream appears to Hob in a dream, and that’s a deeply significant choice. He could have met him in the waking world just like Lyta, but instead, he chooses to visit Hob in his own domain, where he has absolute power. But he doesn’t really use that power here, other than for getting in contact in the first place. He rather reveals something that could almost be considered vulnerability:

That’s the same Dream who stormed off in a huff in 1889 because Hob dared to suggest they were friends. The same Dream who tentatively acknowledged that friendship in 1989. The same Dream who now decides to say goodbye to the one person he actually considers a friend. For someone whose entire existence is built on pride and hierarchy, this shows character growth. But it also shows how desperately alone he really is, and that he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone (and that's compounded to the umpteenth degree when they meet the next time 😔).

But there’s subtext here that’s even more heartbreaking: Dream is settling his accounts. He’s making sure that if he doesn’t return from Hell, Hob won’t spend the next century wondering where Dream is, or if their friendship was real. By choosing to appear in Hob’s dreams, he’s giving him something lasting: a memory. And many of us know that this will be one of the cornerstones of Sunday Mourning.

The tragedy is that Hob doesn’t even truly realise this is a goodbye, and he hopes he’ll be back “eventually”. He's happy to have seen his friend, even if it was "just a silly dream"...

Patterns...

When you read these three sequences together, you can't help but see that Dream is systematically saying goodbye to the, at least at this point, three most important cornerstones of his existence: his successor (Daniel), his one true friendship (Hob), and his realm.

This isn’t the behaviour of someone who expects to return unchanged from his mission. This is someone who understands that going to Hell to demand the release of an ex-lover he condemned 10,000 years ago is likely to have consequences he may not survive.

Which brings us to the most important question of this issue:

Does Dream already know he will die?

I don’t think he knows, at this point, specifically how or when. But I think he does understand that his existence is reaching some kind of conclusion. The family intervention, the guilt over what he has done to Nada which makes him return to Hell: They’re really only the culmination of ten billion years of accumulated mistakes and regrets, and it’s only going to get worse from here.

The paradox is that Dream is finally ready to change, but change is antithetical to how he perceives himself. So perhaps, on some level, he understands that real change might require becoming someone else entirely. And that is something I think he does know at this point.

What makes issue #22 so powerful is how it recontextualises everything that comes after. When he eventually faces his final choice in The Kindly Ones, we can look back and see that he was already preparing himself here (and if you know me, you will also know that I staunchly insist he already made an, albeit subconscious, choice in #8). Maybe it’s a masterclass in dramatic irony: Dream thinks he’s being practical with making his contingency plans. But we can see him subconsciously preparing for an ending he hasn’t yet acknowledged to himself. But he also has...

Kelley Jones’ Art

I just briefly want to brush (no pun intended) on how Kelley Jones’s art reinforces these themes. His Dream is somehow always in shadow, even if it’s just his face. There’s a weight to him in every panel, a sense of someone carrying an enormous burden. I am generally not a fan of Jones' art (sorry), and I find his constantly changing Dream difficult to get used to (but I guess that's the point, and I totally get it on a conceptual level). But one thing stands out to me: The way he draws Dream against various backgrounds (Lyta’s apartment, the dreamscape with Hob, the throne room) consistently makes him seem isolated, separate, already partially absent. Even when he’s surrounded by other people/beings. But maybe I'm just reading too much into it…

Anyway, to put it all in a nutshell: The real tragedy, but also the deeper meaning of The Sandman, is that Dream tries to make amends for a lifetime of mistakes, only to discover that some changes require transformation so complete that the self doesn’t survive the process. But in metaphorical terms, the death of the ego is also a beautiful and necessary thing…

[goddamnitmahtin]

All in Your Head

(a dc x dp au)

Bruce: *shaking Harley’s hand* Thanks for coming to see me on short notice.

Harley: It’s no problem. I didn’t have plans today.

Bruce: *leads her to the sitting area, sitting in an armchair*

Harley: *sits across from him* What’s going on Bruce? Is it system stuff? I thought you all were doing pretty okay last session. All things considered.

Bruce: I thought so too but…. I found another voice or alter I guess? And I don’t know when he got here. If he’s been here the whole time or if maybe I got stressed out and split? I dunno.

Harley: *nods* Both are possible… your split tolerance isn’t the best Bruce. What do you know about this new alter so far?

Bruce: He says his name is Danny and that he’s 15. *shrugs* I don’t know what he looks like. Matches says that he looks the way we did in high school but sometimes he’s a ghost. I don’t even know what that means.

Harley: *writing down notes* So he’s a non human alter. This wouldn’t be the first one you’ve had.

Bruce: *thinking about the dark shadow person with bat ears that crawls around on the ceilings in headspace* I’m aware…

Harley: Is Danny close to front right now? Is there any way we can communicate with him?

Bruce: *trying to check* Um… no. But B is near front. He says he’s gonna look for him.

Harley: *smiles* Your gatekeeper is very responsible.

Bruce: *sighs* I do not know what I would do without that guy- I would not be able to handle our kids- *dissociates*

Harley: *waits patiently*

Bruce: *realizes someone is trying to switch* Gimme a second-

Harley: Take all the time you need.

*a few moments pass in silence*

Danny!Bruce: Someone asked for me?

Harley: *smiles, holding out a hand* I’m Doctor Harleen Quinzel. I am assuming you are Danny?

Danny!Bruce: *sits up excitedly* Oh my god lady- you gotta help me- I possessed this rich guy thinking I could lay low for a bit while my core healed but now I’m stuck in here and there’s like a lot of dudes in here and some sort of bat shadow thing? It’s scary as fuck- I just wanna go home-

Harley: *calming voice* It’s okay Danny. You are probably a little confused about your situation.

Danny!Bruce: *groans, his face in his hands* I just wanna go home…

Harley: *assuming Danny is talking about false memories* Why don’t you tell me a little bit about that? What you remember before joining the headspace?

Danny!Bruce: I live in Amity Park. It’s a pretty secluded area. I have a mom and dad and a sister named Jazz. I’ve got two best friends, Sam and Tucker. Literally where am I right now- because this isn’t Amity Park.

Harley: You are in a city called Gotham.

Danny!Bruce: Fucking Gotham!? Holy Cheerios, no wonder this guy’s brain is so weird…. This place is practically as volatile as Amity Park. This also explains the huge amounts of ecto in some of these kids-

Harley: *frowns* Ecto?

[b3ach-bunn7]

27 DRESSES (5/6)

You try not to lose your mind while planning your sisters wedding to the man you're in love with. All the while, a certain blonde haired reporter can't seem to leave you alone

noquirklau, movie turned fanfic,

—————————————————————————

Tess is taking the news of Keigo’s newspaper scandal much worse than you are.

It was probably stupid of you to think she’d be there to offer a comforting shoulder. You’d trudged home right after your embarrassingly public outburst, not bothering to wait for the tow truck or your dad’s car. You couldn’t spend one more second near Keigo, because every single time you looked at your face your body burned with his betrayal.

You’d hailed a cab, and tried to ignore the recognition in his face when you’d gotten into the backseat. And he wasn’t the only one. On your walk down the street to your place, when the barista who handed you the horribly overpriced coffee. They all looked at you in a way that screamed ‘I’ve just read about you in the paper’. One woman even had the nerve to stop you, like you were some kind of celebrity.

It was all just reminder after another of what he’d done. You’re surprised you made it home without breaking down again in the street. But that would come tonight, with your favourite tub of ice cream and your heated blanket. 

It was horrible enough that you’d done it once. You can’t remember the last time you’d cried about a man, liked one enough to do so. 

Your key clinks against your keychains as you push your door open, dumping your purse on the ground. You’re in desperate need of a shower, the smell of Keigo and the leather of your car seats still pressed into your skin. You also need someone to cry to. It’s moments like this where you miss your mother the most. But, she’s not here, so the next best thing is spending the rest of the day alone, rotting in bed.

“How could you let this happen?” You hear a shriek from inside your place, and your eyes slip shut, cursing under your breath.

When you walk in, Tess is pacing your living room angrily. She waves the newspaper in your face like you didn’t already know, like it’s not the only thing you’ve been thinking about for the last two hours.

“I didn’t-“

“How could you let this happen to me?” She shrieks.

You pause. “What?”

“If Jane is the stereotypical, accommodating bridesmaid,” she reads, “then her sister, Tess, is the overbearing bride-to-be, who at any moment, might start stomping around Manhattan, breathing fire and swatting planes from the sky!" Her voice gets more crazed as she reads, punctuating her sentence with a frustrated yell.

It’s sort of funny, if you’re being honest. There’s that signature writing you love so much. 

You almost collapse on the couch, rubbing at your eyes tiredly. “I had no idea he was writing an article about me.”

“You? He- He called me Bridezilla in front of the whole of New York!” She screeches and you wince. Tess’ voice reaches decibels you don’t think any human should be able to.

You choose to ignore her. She’s seething, mumbling threats and things you think might be enough to get her arrested, when your home phone rings. And of course, you know exactly who’s on the other line. Keigo has called you a million times since you left, you’re sure, and you’d ignored each and every one. You can’t bring yourself to block his number, though.

Tess leave the phone at first, but you think the incessant ringing is interrupting her fit, because she yanks it off the receiver after a few seconds. “What?”

You see the already angry expression on her face tighten, and your earlier suspicions about who’s on the phone are proven right. “The only person you will be talking to is my lawyer! And- I don’t have one but I’ll find one.”

You can’t hear him through the phone, but there’s not much point trying, seeing as after calling him an asshole, Tess ends the call abruptly. She snatches her bag off your coffee table.

“I gotta get out of here.” She snaps. “Warn traffic control! Bridezilla is on the loose!” 

————

Work is harder this way, with everyone’s eyes on you. You walk through the building with your head down, not stopping to speak to a single soul, slamming the door of your office behind you. Everyone is smart enough to realise that roughly translates to ‘leave me alone’. Rumi, of course, doesn’t take the slam as the obvious hint that it is, and comes in without knocking only five minutes later.

You don’t look up, focused on your laptop. You’ve had the same blank email open in front of you since you sat down, wondering if there’s any way to remove an article from a newspaper that’s already been printed. 

You glance up at Rumi. Her mouth twitches, like she’s about to laugh.

“Don’t say anything.” 

Rumi holds her hands in the air. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

She walks around to your side of the desk, leaning on it as she looks down at you with a mix of pity and concern. 

“It's no big deal. It's just an article… on the front page of the section with about a million pictures of your beautiful face on it.”

You send her a glare. She smiles sheepishly. “It’s no big deal.”

“Rumi-“

The door swings open, again without knocking. This time, it’s Togata in front of you, so any harsh words you were about to say fall silent. Rumi’s eyes widen, and you think she’s about to leave so you grab the edge of her trousers, pulling her to stay with you.

You feel so embarrassed. Like it’s somehow your fault that any of this happened. It’s bad for you, sure, but it was Tess and Togata’s wedding article that had been ruined, and you’re sure Togata’s here to let you have it.

“Y/N-“

You cut him off. “Togata, I had no idea he was writing that. I would’ve-“

“He’s a jerk, Y/N.” He says it with conviction, a gentle look in his eyes, and you feel the tension slip out your shoulders.

“He took advantage of you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, I just. I feel like I should’ve seen this coming.” You laugh a little breathlessly, but it sounds strained. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising.” He shakes his head. “I came in here to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart clenches a little. You nod a little frantically. “I’ve been better. Just- Just trying to get through it.” 

“I mean, does anybody even read that section?” You think he’s trying to reassure you, but it’s not doing much.

Because you do. Every time it drops, you skip the useless drivel and read whatever Keigo had written that day. And Keigo knew that.

You smile weakly. “Nobody.”

——

It’s getting increasingly closer to Tess’ wedding date, and so the rush to finish the last few things are all falling into motion quickly. Today is the day you’ve been dreading the most, where Tess will stand in front of you and her tailors, flaunting your mothers wedding dress in your face, and awaiting compliments.

It’s been a crap week. And this, the dress you’d been dreaming about since you were ten years old being shoved in your face is really taking your suffering to the next step. But, it’s fine. It’ll be your turn one day. If any man will propose to someone better suited as a bridesmaid and not a bride, you think bitterly.

You try to fix your face. Tess had spent the entire journey here complaining about the article. The phone calls and emails she’d been sent by just about everyone she knew, the embarrassment. Oh, how you pity her.

The leather seat you’re sitting on sticks to your thighs. The place is fancy, and cold the way expensive clothes shops always are. You glance at your reflection in the big long mirrors all over the walls, and wince at the heavy bags under your eyes. 

It’s just you here. Tess said she only wanted your opinion, and it warmed your heart just enough that you agreed. She’s taking her sweet time though. It’s already been forty five minutes of her in the dressing room, and you groan loud enough for her to hear.

“Come on, Tess.” You yell, already impatient.

“Alright, alright. Close your eyes, I’m coming out!”

You do, the sound of shuffling material loud as she steps out. Her shoes click on the tiled floor and you can hear the smile in her voice as she speaks.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

She looks pretty in white, you think. You smile, chest tightening at the sight of your baby sister about to get married. In your mother’s dress, no less. But then you look a little closer.

And you realise it’s not your mother’s dress. 

You’re confused. She’d practically grovelled at your feet for it, and the one she’s wearing now is pretty, but. It’s not your mothers. You’d know. You’d stared at it enough times to recognise it anywhere. 

You sit up a little, brows furrowing. “I- I thought you were wearing mum's dress?”

Tess beams at you. “This is mum's dress. Well, parts of it.”

You think your heart might really give out this week. Your hand grips the leather seat you’ve been sitting on, swallowing roughly.

“What?”

“Well, you know. It was just so old-fashioned, so we used the parts that we could.” 

She explains lightly, not even looking at you as the seamstress adjusts the bodice, completely oblivious to your turmoil as she checks herself out in the big mirrors in front of her.

“You cut up mums wedding dress?” You breathe.

Tess is back to explaining, but you can’t even hear her. One of the women in the store come over with the pieces leftover, and Tess lets you know that ‘you can have the rest for your wedding.’

Your fingers trail over the soft material, the same material you’ve been achingly dreaming about for the past ten years. Tess knew. Tess knew how much you loved this dress and she massacred it without a single thought for you. 

And maybe it’s everything with Keigo, or maybe the fact she’s been working you to the bone for the past god knows how long, without so much as a thank you. But you’re livid. You’re so sick of Tess, of her whining and her need for everything to be her way, all the time.

You throw the material down beside you, shooting to your feet. 

“You cut up mum’s wedding dress?” You repeat your words with more anger this time.

Tess shoots you a weird look. “Well. Technically, Mary did.” She jokes, pointing to the woman pinning her dress up. “Speaking of, Mary, I think we should hem-“

“No. No, no, no!” You yell.

Tess glares at you, clearly embarrassed by your outburst. But you don’t care. You’ve never met anyone as selfish as your sister, someone as uncaring. And it’s like the last twenty years of it has built up, the coil in your gut exploding.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, Jesus.” She mumbles.

You growl, shaking your head. “God, you don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you?”

Tess mouths open in shock a little. “What?”

“Don’t you what me! I always made excuses because Mom died when you were little but enough is enough!”

You don’t think you’ve ever yelled at Tess like this. You don’t think you’ve ever yelled at anyone like this.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

You make a decision then, the annoyed tilt of her brows helping you set it in stone. Tess, unfortunately, is your sister. So as rude, and as selfish as she is, she is yours to deal with for the rest of your lives. But Togata? He doesn’t deserve to be lumped with her. Not the fantasy version she’s led him to believe she is.

You gesture to the tatters of the dress on the floor. “I can’t undo what you’ve done. But I won’t let you hurt Togata. You even- You even dragged Midoriya into your lies!” You yell.

You fumble in your bag for your phone. “He’s not one of your Eurotrash boyfriends, he’s a good person. And you have to tell him! You can’t- build a relationship on lies.”

And maybe a little of your own issues are seeping into your yelling, but that’s not important.

Tess scoffs. “Oh yeah, and you know this how? From all your past successful relationship?”

It’s a low blow, and you know she’s just trying to hurt you. “You tell him, or I will.”

“You won’t.” The way she’s smiling at you, full of pity and condescension, just hurts. Your own sister. You blink back the threat of tears. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly, Y/N. And you definitely wouldn’t hurt your sister.”

You smile at her wryly. “That was yesterday. Today you’re just some bitch who broke my heart and cut up my mothers wedding dress.”

You relish in the hurt that flashes across her face as you storm out.

——

You feel very vindictive right now. Which isn’t good, because you’ve never felt quite so pissed off your whole life, which probably means you’re going to do something you’ll regret later. But you don’t really care about that right now.

Tonight is Tess and Togata’s rehearsal evening. Everybody’s here. Your dad, your cousins, her long list of guests and you, fitted with a little black dress and a scowl. You wish you were anywhere but here. You’ve already had four cousins ask you about the article, and your least favourite aunt made an especially snarky comment that your little sister was getting married before you, and she was wondering how that made you feel. You’d told her that at least you can “have really hot sex with strangers”, which had shocked her enough for you to slip away.

You’re on your third glass of champagne, the bubbly liquid slipping easily down your throat. You spot Rumi across the room, sipping her own glass, and you make a beeline for her. She sends you a quizzical look at the expression on your face, but it’s quickly gone as she rakes her eyes over you.

“You look hot. I might even be into you.”

You ignore the compliment, pressing the USB stick into her hand. “Okay. It’s on the desktop under ‘Tess and Togata.’” 

The stupid slideshow that you’d been forced to make. You’d actually remade it last night. Added a few extra things Togata might like to see. Rumi peers at you curiously.

“Are you okay?”

You take the glass out of her hand and down it in one swift chug. 

“That’s not water, by the way.”

You catch sight of Tess and Togata, and your face slips into something more determined.

“Okay.” You hand Rumi the now empty glass, and stalk towards them.

Togata instantly smiles at you. He looks good, the pressed suit and the joy that comes easy to his face. Tess looks shocked, like she’s surprised you’d actually shown up. You hadn’t spoken a word to her since your argument at the tailors, and she fixes you with a questioning gaze.

“Hi.” You smile a little too widely back at them.

“Y/N, thank you so much for this.” Togata’s hand brushes the bare skin of your shoulder. It doesn’t have the same effect it usually does, but you attest that to the overload of emotions you’re feeling.

“Sure.”

One of the waiters brush past you, a tray of pigs in blankets in his hand. You make a satisfied noise, grabbing two off it. You pop one into your mouth.

“Wow, delicious. You want one, Tess?”

Tess laughs, but she doesn’t look like she finds it very funny. “No.” She says, her voice sharp. “I don’t eat that stuff.”

So she hasn’t told him. You nod slowly, eating the other one. “Right. Well, I’m going to go do the slideshow.”

You turn abruptly, not giving them any goodbyes. You’re stopped before you can get too far, and you turn back to see Tess holding your wrist tightly. She looks worried. You want to tell her she should be, but that’ll only ruin the surprise.

“You’re only going to say what I wrote, right?” She whispers.

You smile sweetly. “Of course. A perfect bridesmaid always does what she’s asked.”

You tug your hand out her grasp and make your way to the front of the room. You clear your throat, grabbing the microphone one of the audio guys hands you. You stand to the side, the slideshow you’d curated bright and fluorescent on the projector beside you. The room falls into silence as you step forward a little.

You’ve done plenty of speeches before. But this one feels a little more important than most.

“Hello, everyone. In case you haven’t read already, I’ve already been to quite a few weddings.” You start.

There’s a little bit of laughter around the room, nervous about laughing at your joke judging by the terse tone of your voice.

“So to start things off, I thought you should all know the truth about Tess and Togata.” 

You turn to the screen, which shows a picture you’d taken of them a few weeks ago at the engagement.

“Tess and Togata are a perfect couple. No, a divine couple. A couple whose love is the stuff of myths. Their compatibility is so exact that it can only be described as having been designed by the gods.”

It's hard to keep the blatant disbelief out of your tone, but you try. These are all Tess’ words, cheesy and fake.

“Since a picture is worth a thousand words I put together a slide show so you can all see for yourselves.”

The first picture is cute. Baby ones, all chubby faces and rosy cheeks. There’s a collections of awes around the room, and you smile sarcastically.

“From the very beginning, these two were destined for each other.”

Tess smiles happily, squeezing Togata’s arm. They’re sitting right in front of you, so you get a full view of every single emotion on their faces. 

“Togata and Tess have always shared a love of furry creatures.”

Togata’s picture is cute. He looks to be about seven, cheesing at the camera with his hand touching the back of a goat at some petting zoo. Tess, on the other hand, not as much. It’s one of her and Toby, a scowl on her face as the dog looks up at her happily.

And then you see it. The small flicker of fear in Tess, her smile flattering just slightly. Togata just laughs. You think he thinks that was a joke. 

"As they grew up, they both shared the same level of dedication and commitment to their education.”

Togata’s picture was him at his graduation, a diploma in one hand and his other around his mother. Tess’s picture is her at cheerleading practise, getting concerningly close with one of the football players, his hand far too high on her exposed thighs. 

Togata’s face falters a little, but he saves it quickly, laughing, trying to ignore the gasps from your more prudish aunts. 

“You look great, Tess.” He chuckles. Tess looks a little mortified.

"And civic responsibility,” you continue. This picture is Togata volunteering at a soup kitchen, and Tess half-naked (again) at a car wash.

“He was interested in International affairs. And so was she.” 

Togata working abroad at a foreign school teaching English. Tess in the arms of too many European men.

It’s mean. It’s cruel, but Tess has forced your hand. You’d given her too many chances to be honest, and not only had she not taken them, she’d also spit in your face while she refused them. 

But you notice Rumi, then, face in her hands, and that is when you start to feel the first slither of doubt.

"And today, Tess and George still share the same values.”

This picture is your favourite. Tess, quite unflatteringly, eating a plate piled high with ribs, her engagement ring glinting in the light.

"Their love is based on a deep understanding and acceptance of who the other person really is.” 

There’s a low murmur of chatter and shock that’s passed over the room. Togata is staring at the screen, trying hard to figure out what it is he’s looking at.

"The love of two true soul mates. Tess and Togata.”

You lock eyes with Tess. “So here's to the most perfect couple brought together by destiny. I'm so proud of you, Baby Sister.” Raising your glass for a toast.

There is no toast. 

Togata looks angry. It’s not an emotion you see on him really, and you’re sure it’s not just anger you’re witnessing. Tess is whispering something you can’t hear, her face tense, and Rumi quickly drags you off stage.

She takes your place, clapping her hands together. “Okay, that was- Right. To keep the merriment going, Togata’s brother Midoriya has something he wants to say.”

Midoriya takes the mic from her hands, green hair like a halo around his face, and he smiles wide enough his eyes crease. You glance at Togata and Tess.

“So safe to say you’re not a vegetarian.” His voice is clipped, and Tess shakes her head.

“Togata, that was taken a really long time ago, and-“

“So why exactly were you wearing your engagement ring?” 

Tess falters. She’s interrupted by Midoriya tapping his finger against the mic.

“Thank you. As all you know, Togata is my big brother. But he's more than that. He's my best friend.” Midoriya beams, and Togata relaxes just slightly. Maybe Midoriya can save this shit show of a rehearsal.

“And now Togata has Tess, who's- who's really, really cool 'cause she's gonna help me start my own cleaning business!” He says with a flourish.

In your defence, you did not tell Midoriya to say that. Tess’ face burns, and Togata’s mouth drops open a little in shock.

“So I'm only doing Togata’s place right now. But if anyone is in the market for a really good cleaning service please see me in the lobby.”

That’s enough for Togata to push to his feet, pushing Tess’ hand off his shoulder.

“Togata- Please, let me explain.” She pleads, following after him immediately.

And Tess looks guilty, yes, but she also looks hurt. Her lip quivers as she chases after Togata, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. And now that the adrenaline has worn off, and your anger feels vindicated, you’re left with a gaping hole of regret gnawing at your chest.

The room is left in a mess as they leave. Nobody knows if they should stay, if they should go, or if they should interfere with the argument you can all hear happening in the room beside you. 

You’re frozen on the side of the stage. Rumi walks over to where you’re slowly regretting every single thing you’d done tonight, elbow knocking into your side as she crosses her ams.

“So,” She says carefully, “What happened?”

“He needed to know the truth.” You try and sound sure of yourself, but it falls flat to your own ears.

“You could've told him face-to-face.” She counters. “I mean, I know that my moral compass doesn't exactly point due north but if I say something's wrong, something's wrong.”

Rumi looks disappointed in you. You’d been friends for years, and in all that time she’d been angry with you, upset. But never disappointed. It makes something ugly flare in your chest.

“You're the one who is always telling me to stand up for myself.” You argue, and she scoffs a little.

“Yeah. But that's not what you did.”

She points to the door, at the sound of the couple-to-be arguing in the background, still audible over the increasing chatter in the room.

“What you did was unleash twenty years of repressed feelings in one night.” She muses.

You want to argue back. Defend yourself a little. But she’s right.

“It was entertaining,” she laughs a little, “don't get me wrong, but if it was the right thing to do, you'd feel better right now.” 

She fixes you with a look. “Do you feel better right now?”

You don’t. You feel like absolute crap. Before you can scrounge up a reply, Tess flies into the room. She ignores the looks of concern and intrigue from the guests to run right to you, mascara falling in streaks down her face. “The marriage is off. I hope you’re happy.” 

You don’t know what you are. All you know is you have to leave before you do anything else you’re going to regret. You grab your purse, ignoring Rumi calling you to stay, and practically run out the rehearsal space.

You’re a horrible person. A horrible person and an even worse sister. The worst part of all this is that some little part of you feel great. A little part that yells that Tess deserves it, for all the years of torment and torture you’ve had to endure. Every other part of you, though, feels absolutely terrible.

The cold air is harsh on your bare skin, and you realise that you’d left your jacket inside. You’d rather freeze to death than go back in. Try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from crying, your quiet sobs unnoticed through the noise of the night time city. And it’s when you wipe them away, so you can figure out how to order a cab home, that you see Keigo standing beside you.

You think you’re imagining for a second. But he doesn’t go no matter how hard you blink, or wipe at the mascara clouding your vision.

“Oh, god.” You laugh wetly. “Why are you here?” Your voice cracks.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls.” 

Keigo looks nervous. It doesn’t suit him. You’re so used to him always smiling, always with that teasing glint in his eyes.

You shake your head at him. “What do you want? Another picture for the paper?”

He winces, stepping forward. You take a step back. “Y/N, please believe me. I’m sorry.”

You scowl. Today’s the day you hash out all your problems, it seems.

“Please. You used me to get ahead in your career. Be a man and admit it.” You spit. “Or don’t. Just please, please don’t pretend like you give a shit.”

Your voice sounds stuffy, your eyes hot from your tears. You’re embarassed for him to see you like this, but it’s not the first time he’s watched you cry.

Keigo is determined for you to listen, though. This time, when he steps forward again, you don’t move away. “Will you please just let me explain?” 

“No, it doesn’t matter! I just destroyed my life and I didn’t need your help to do it.” You point aggressively to the doors where you’d just ruined your relationship with your sister.

You take a deep breath, hand rubbing over your face.

“Great. Finally.” Keigo nearly yells.

Is he out of his mind? He notices the look of pure disbelief on your face, but he looks determined as he speaks.

“I saw what you did in there. And you know what? I thought it was amazing.” He breathes.

You swallow. You know it shouldn’t, but your skin heats at the compliment. He’s looking at you with something so tender in his gaze you want to look away with every fibre of your being. But you can’t.

“Was it absolutely, certifiably nuts? Yes, it was. But you did something, Y/N. For the first time, you were not just the perfect bridesmaid-“

“No.” You cut him off. “Stop. Just please.” 

You turn to leave. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you right now.”

But you don’t get far. Because his hand grabs your wrist, and you ache for the touch, because despite how furious you are, you’ve missed him. Missed his stupid jokes, his cynicism, that perfect face of his. So you don’t put up much of a fight as he turns you around. Keigo is always so attentive when he speaks to you, and tonight is no different, eyes boring into your own.

“Do you wanna know the real reason I came here tonight?”

You don’t say anything but he takes your silence for the answer it is.

“Because I knew this was going to be hard for you. And for the first time in, in a long time, I wanted to be there for someone.” 

He speaks quickly, like if he hesitates too much the words will never leave his mouth. His hand ghosts the soft skin of your arm and your lips twitch, the tears almost ready to fall once more.

Because nobody looks out for you. Maybe Rumi, and maybe your dad, but this? The kind of care that’s unspoken, about things you only realise if you really pay attention? You can’t remember the last time somebody paid that much attention to you.

“I messed up.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips and your mind flashes with memories of your car, of his body desperate against yours. 

“I know I did. And I’m sorry. And I’m gonna turn around and walk away and you’ll never have to see me again.”

If he catches the hurt in your face, he doesn’t comment on it. You want to tell him to stay. That you don’t want to never see him again. But you stay quiet instead.

“But I want you to know I… I think you deserve more than what you’ve settled for.” He gestures to the doors, at Togata and Tess. 

And god, you think he’s trying to make you break down in the middle of the street. His fingers twitch and you think he wants to reach out and touch you. You know he won’t though.

“I think you- I think you deserve to be taken care of, for a change.” Keigo’s voice is soft. Your eyes dart to the floor, unable to stand the way he’s looking at you.

Keigo walks away after that. But he only reaches a few steps before he stops. You let yourself hope, for a second.

He digs into his pocket. And he pulls out a small, digital planner. He looks sheepish, especially at the big pink bow tied around it.

“I forgot to give you this.” Keigo holds it up. “It’s a gift. So you don’t have to carry around that Filofax from 1987.”

You sigh. You feel tired, drained from the crying and the emotional turmoil you’ve been through today. 

“It’ll take care of all the stuff you need to do. Perfect for starting over.” There’s sadness in his voice he’s struggling to mask, and he holds it out for you.

You’re not facing him. You’re facing the road, the bustle of the street. Your life feels like it’s over, but nothings changed for the rest of New York. 

Keigo shakes it at you. “Can you just take it? So I don’t feel like such a jerk?”

You do. And this time, after he fits you with one last look, Keigo doesn’t come back. Just like he said he wouldn’t.

—————————————————————————

guys.. I loveeeee to write angst icl.. and plz remember it has to get worse before it gets better! And fun fact I listened to party 4 u by charlixcx on loop while writing this

and I’m team y/N like f that hoe Tess??

one chapter left 😕 this has been so so fun to write and I’m so grateful for all u lovely commenters and likers and reposters and kudoers. I’m so happy u guys r enjoying this as much as me!

[dilly-dahlia]

hi everyone! welcome to my milestone event!! I recently reached almost 300 followers and decided it was about time to celebrate that

first and foremost i want to thank everyone that has followed or interacted with me. it truly means the world to me that y'all are part of this community i have and enjoy being here. i'm over the moon that you guys like my writing and the silly stories because i love writing and coming up with silly stories :)

FANDOMS: aphmau, epic the musical

DATES: June 23 - Aug 9

event masterlist | main masterlist

before you jump in, check out my blog rules !

event rules !

✿ first and foremost, all of my usual blog rules apply

✿ this event is open for any character x reader!

✿ if you only give me the name of a character then i won’t answer your ask! I need a little more than that to get going for this event, which is why I’ve added prompts in the first place

✿ if you want more than just the vague prompt then add it! tell me if you want it to be angst or fluff or hurt/comfort or whatever other trope strikes you

✿ there is also not a limit for each prompt! more than one person can recommend the same song as the different fics will likely be titled differently, so don’t worry about any spots already being taken!

✿ i will not be a machine in churning requests out guys. i’m still a person with a life and i want to take time putting effort into each fic so they’re crafted with love and turn out the way i want. that takes time, so don’t rush me. and if you know anything about me, it’s that i like to take a lot of words to get to the point

✿ lastly enjoy! this is an excuse for me to indulge further into my hobby so make it an excuse for yourself as well :)

THE PLAYLIST !

below is a list of songs accompanied by vague prompts that I think are good fits for the music. just send an ask into my inbox—be sure to include the character and universe you want it written for, as well as any other intricacies (ie. what kind of reader, what season, etc.)! and if you want to request a song listed but have a different idea for the prompt, add that to your ask! also, these are full length fics

Beautiful Stranger Laufey - two strangers. the possibilities in front of them are endless.

so american Olivia Rodrigo - you’ve never been more in love than when they point out the little things.

Strawberry Mentos Leanna Firestone - you realized they were the one when they got you your favorite candy. or, alternatively, what they did for you to realize you were in love.

Good Looking Suki Waterhouse - learning about your partner. the little things—what makes them so irresistible to you.

Welcome to New York Taylor Swift - moving to a new place always has its highs, and you love all of them.

Silver Lining Laufey - through thick and thin, the two of you will follow each other no matter what

Backyard Boy Claire Rosinkranz - your classic “boy next door” vibes. that youthful love that always leaves an imprint on your heart.

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince Taylor Swift - rivals to lovers. everyone can see the chemistry. everyone but you and them.

add your own! - in your ask, recommend me a song followed by your own prompt! be sure to add the character you want it to be written for and any tropes you want.

THE FOOD !

below is a list of different things to make headcanons about. these are just vague ideas, so feel free to put a little spin on them. again, make sure you specify the character(s) you want and the universe.

general dating headcanons

if they were in an au, what would they be like?

how they confessed

alternatively, who confessed first?

first date

love languages

when and how did they realize they like you?

how they react to something

send in your own!

THE CONVERSATIONS !

this is sort of a freebie category where you guys can ask me any questions about myself or anything else! anything you wanna know about me like music tastes, favorite movies, hobbies, about what i’m planning to write, plans for my rewrite, etc. this is just an open category!

alright! i hope you guys enjoy this event and once again thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for showing love and support. it truly means the world to me because it makes me believe i have a genuine shot at the things i’m passionate about. so thank you

[ninjaaa-go]

god I want to write something about land and ubel so bad

[tekka-dan]

I got high for the first time in my life on March 8th, 2025.

I went out with my little brother for this week long event that happens in our city every year called SXSW. My brother and I are basically the same person in different bodies. We even subconsciously wore the exact same outfit and we haven’t seen or hung out with one another for weeks. Lately, I’ve been matching clothes with my friends and I don’t even talk to them about our outfits beforehand (it’s really cool).

Anyway, we spent the entire night just walking around downtime. His friends met up with us and while we were walking around, we came across a THC / Weed shop. My brother wanted to check it out and his friends followed suit. My life forever changed after that moment.

I ended up drinking two cups of THC margarita. Apparently it didn’t have alcohol in it at all.

I didn’t feel the effects of anything until 2 hours later.

While sitting in a rooftop bar, I suddenly felt like I could hear EVERYTHING miles away and I could not only feel but HEAR my own heartbeat. I became extremely aware of everything happening around me and I went into this hyper focused mindset.

Here’s what I can remember about being high:

- I have a deep ingrained sense of awareness and stability within myself because while I didn’t feel like I was in control of anything, not even myself, I knew everything I was doing and I was very aware of everything happening—it just literally felt like I was watching someone else and not the one doing anything.

- My body was trying to have a panic attack but my brain was not letting it. I sat there feeling like I was losing control while being in full control. The best way I can describe this situation is that I remember feeling like I was looking at myself talk while I was talking. It felt like I was trapped behind a glass wall and then there was a “me” that was siting on the other side of the glass and the me behind the glass was freaking out, really nervous and even losing control but the me on the other side of the glass had their back to that version of me and just stayed still, only saying “I got this. We’re fine.” It literally felt like I was incapable of losing control.

- I was able to read while barely glancing at whatever I was reading. I was processing things so quickly that I was unaware that I was talking really fast (which I do sometimes but it’s a nervous tick and I stutter).

- I zoned out literally as soon as I left that bar. I somehow knew where I parked and where to go but mentally I was literally not in my body anymore, I was just moving. This was proven by the fact my brother’s friends were speaking to me and having full blown conversations and I was responding and I didn’t even know what they were saying, but I was holding conversations.

- I kept having to repeat to myself that I WAS awake. Somewhere between the effects kicking in, I started having a scary realization that everything felt like a dream. The atmosphere, the music, the events—all of it. It felt like I was unable to tell the difference between reality and a dream. It started to make me scared out of my mind because I am very aware that what happens in my dreams the consequences do not matter. However, with that sense of stability fading while high, I literally had to force myself to stay present because I was starting to think I was dreaming.

- I’m way more intelligent while high apparently. I struggle with math, I’ve never been good at it. However while high, I was able to calculate my bill and tip without needing a calculator.

- my vision was heightened. I was able to read small fine print in the details section of our menu without my glasses on and without needing to squint. My brother and his friends said they couldn’t see those words even with the menu beneath their noses. I still can’t understand how this was possible for me — even the waiter was taken aback when they showed him that.

All in all — it wasn’t the best experience for me and I don’t think I ever want to do it again, lol. The reason I’ve never gotten high before is because I worked as a veterinary tech and we were drug tested randomly. I started that career when I was only 16 and I just never wanted to get caught up over something dumb like being busted for drugs, so I just stayed clean.

I asked my brother (27) how he felt getting his big sister (28) high for the first time in her life. He said it was truly an honor for him to be able to be there with me for that experience. He said the only thing he wish he’d done different was not getting another drink because he got a little more drunk than he should’ve but he did have to be the one to drive us home because I couldn’t make sense of going right instead of left while driving (I couldn’t trust my perception or processing of things once I got behind the wheel).

Anyway, I wanted to share my experience here because it was surreal.

TL:DR; I got high as a kite for the first time in my 28 years of life with my little brother while out on the town with his ragtag group of friends. It was fun but I wouldn’t do it again, lol.

[cloudyskiiees]

and if i make a total drama island rewrite with actual character development and depth and meaning behind it…. what then guys… what then…..

[bnuyfrowns]

need to write a spn fanfic inspired by lis2. like. little brother with powers that he can’t control and keeps accidentally hurting people. older brother who’s just as scared and trying to help his brother understand those powers while also trying to protect them both from people trying to hunt them down

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold

[teaboot]

Okay okay okay so I’m changing like every recognizable detail of this for privacy purposes but yall need to appreciate this

So I know how to retain CCTV footage, right? It doesn’t come up everywhere but I know my way around- and if someone gets jumped in a parking lot or whatever I can go backwards and see whodunnit

So I’m at this one place, right? And I get a call that an older woman in a wheelchair got hurt somehow and we need to see what happened.

Nobody remembers the exact time, because of course not, but they tell me she was wearing like a massive hot pink jacket and she’s in a wheelchair and she left with a medic round 09:45ish, so I figure I’ll start there.

So I find the incident itself no problem, but they need ALL footage for liability and insurance and stuff, so I have to keep going

And about ten minutes backwards, I lose her. She comes into view past a single shelf on one of the worse cameras and vanishes.

like. VANISHES. Hot pink jacket, big bulky black chair, gonzo. No idea where she came from.

So, I pull up entry cams. Zoom backwards till I see her come in… at like 06:15.

THREE AND A HALF HOURS EARLIER.

So first off, this is gonna take me like two hours minimum to write down, forget retention. And I’m kind of dying in my soul a bit but I start over there, watching her come in and meander and whatever.

At about 08:30ish she disappears.

Doesn’t leave. Doesn’t head to a bathroom. Doesn’t take her coat off. Her trail just stops.

Now, I’ve done this before. Typically, a location only has the mandatory minimum amount of room for a chair or walker to get around, so a person using one can only go forwards and it’s hard to 180. That limits options and makes it easier to follow, whereas a little unattended and fully mobile kid will zoom around in circles and shit and go who the hell knows where.

Then I see her again on the other ass end of the building, and I have to go back again to see how she GOT there.

My guys.

Her two and three-point turns are INCREDIBLE.

She’s popping on the wheels, flip, zoom, she’s out somewhere I didn’t think she could even GET to. I’ve been planning my search for places that fit a wheelchair or least-resistance fast-paths from A to B and she’s like… doing some Tokyo Drift shit.

I don’t know WHY. The whole place is basically completely accessible so long as you put up with having to reverse, but no. No, she goes where she wants.

I’ve been at this for half the day, and I still have no idea where she went for like an hour and a half.

Fuck me, I’m taking a lunch break

[exopelagic]

applied for a job!!!

[no1ryomafan]

I’m in this phrase where I’m over being upset at imagawa for the 3rd G Gundam side story even if it will always be the stupidest fucking thing ever but also not motivated enough to watch the stuff of his I haven’t seen or finished being shin mazinger and shin tetsujin yet I find it funny how so far of all his stuff I have seen his eps of arma the ones I have the least problems of his work with despite arma might as well be barely considered one of his mechas since he left production so early.

G Gundam is his best work no doubt about it yet the flaws of it bothered me a lot, everything has flaws but the way certain plot points were executed/handled while didn’t enrage me since G is at least cohesive, still left me a bit disappointed. Giant Robo I wanna eventually rewatch cause I didn’t hate it but I also didn’t love it, the themes were compelling but the characters were not as developed in the story as they could be, especially with how many he introduced and the runtime didn’t help it. I will also just never understand why he had 5 sequels planned but made the 6th one like ??? Then shin mazinger I saw bits of and I didn’t like how the beginning was structured but I’ll spare the rant cause I’m not deep in enough to fully critic. (Tetsujin the one I haven’t seen shit of)

But then we have arma where pretty much the way the first 3 eps are structured is in the long run while the rest of the show has problems not to mention is a confusing as fuck opening cause at least giant robo easy to understand at first just loses it a bit after, yet I weirdly don’t feel spite towards the beginning of arma at all. On a rewatch despite they’re being so much shit never brought up again it’s still engaging to watch, and I also genuinely think Imagawa had a really good grasp of Ryoma because of how he’s characterized early arma is some of my favorite bits of him. (Even if we all find him fighting a army of dragons to be the most badass thing ever, the way he’s portrayed as ruthlessly angry is so fucking good)

I feel like I’m incredibly biased person even if I try to be critical but idk, this is one of those things where I wouldn’t be mad if someone called arma imagawas worst work yet it still manages to be the one that bothers me the least when you look at his individual eps and I’m someone who doesn’t mind the fact he never finished it cause I know it also come with just as many flaws that arma ended up having.