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kilojulietsierra · 7 hours ago

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It Means Family (Dr. Jack Abbot x FemNurse!Reader) Oneshot

Based on this request from @pear-1206 : Jack Abbot x fem reader. She had a younger brother (you can give him a name if you want) who is a bit skeptical toward Jack since he's very protective of her. She had been his guardian since their parents died and he was practically being raised at the Pitt by everyone. Jack is friends with her and helps her with everything until their feelings change toward each other. He accepted Jack as his sister's bf but still held his opinion because he didn't want to see her hurt. After some time, Jack knew that he wanted to marry her and wanted her brother's permission. Maybe a series of attempts of Jack trying to gain it and the boy just messing up with him😆😆. Maybe after he's given it, she asks her brother to handoff her at her wedding. Maybe you can do it in two parts or just a long one shot. Either way, it's up to you. Suggestive, friend to lovers, kisses, etc. Ask me if anything. Tag me later!!! Thanks!!! :))? (I hope I did okay!)

~~~~~~

He had been there the night you got the call.

You wouldn't even have answered it, it had been a crazy night, but after the fifth time your phone vibrated in your pocket you got a sick feeling in your stomach.

You had dropped to the floor in the middle of the ED, your vision blurred, heart rate pounding in your ears. Blurred images of Lena and Ellis running your way, then Jack appeared.

Through your blurry vision and ringing ears you could almost see him, almost hear him saying your name. "Tell me what's wrong."

"They're gone..." It didn't sound like you talking, more like an echo, someone elses voice. "They're gone."

Then it was bereavement leave, a long flight to Honolulu, two coffins, a twenty one gun salute and a folded flag. A house on base you had 48 hours to pack up and clear out. A kid brother well over a decade younger than you that just had the whole world fall out from under him.

Night shift changed to day shift, late nights out with friends changed to school drop offs. Everything changed.

If you had worked anywhere else you weren't sure you would have made it through the first year. Lena, Dana, Bridget and Perlah, every one of them a Godsend. Without them, without Robby, and Cassie, Mateo, Princess, Frank and his wife, without them you would have drown under the weight of all of it.

You had loved night shift, but there was no way to keep that schedule and take care of your brother. You loved Robby, he was a great attending to work with, a great chief, but he wasn't Jack.

It didn't take long for you to start finding reasons to show up early if you could, or stay a little late, just to be on Jacks shift even for a few minutes. He never made a big deal about it, but he did always take the time to check in. If you were okay, if Marcus was doing ok, if you needed anything. "If either of you need anything, don't ever hesitate to ask. Okay?" There was no doubt in your mind that he meant it.

~~~~~~

"Did it hurt?"

"Yeah bud, it hurt. Still does some days." Jack had his pantleg pulled up and Marcus was staring intently at the titanium and fiberglass that made up Jack's prosthesis.

"Marcus!" You hissed at him across the counter.

"He's fine." Jack had turned to look at you over his shoulder with a smile, "Just curious. Nothing wrong with that."

"Sissy, have you seen Dr Jacks fake leg?" Your little brother looked up at you from his seat on the floor, eyes wide.

You had to try not to flush from the embarrassment, "Yeah Marc, I've seen it. It's called a prosthesis though, not a fake leg. Okay?"

Your brother nodded, fumbled over the word, "Prosthesis." He nodded again, "Can I touch it."

"Marcus!" You thought you'd drop dead.

Jack just busted out in a laugh.

"Go grab your stuff out of the breakroom, please." You pointed towards the door, "We need to go." Once Marcus was gone you through a pleading look at Jack, "Dr Aboot, I am so sorry."

He stood up, shook his head with a smile, "Don't be, he's fine. Just wants to know how stuff works is all."

You gave him an apologetic smile and changed the subject, "How's night shift been?"

"We get by, not the same without you though."

"Oh I'm sure." You laughed it off but it spiked your heart rate none the less.

~~~~~

It had felt silly at first. The little crush you had always harbored for Dr. Abbot. Not in any gross or even serious way really. Just... appreciation.

You thought that it would fade after everything and with the switch to days, but instead it seemed to have magnified it. Every moment no matter how brief now had your stomach spinning and your heart racing. You lived for the little moments between shifts and had finally started to admit to yourself that you had started to seek them out. Not just to visit, to catch up with your old team mates, but because it felt good. Exilerhating.

That particular night though, you hadn't meant to see Jack. Honestly you hadn't wanted to see anyone. You had parked yourself on a bench outside the ER, grateful at first that Dana had let you slip out a little early. Then the heaviness had settled over you.

Abbot had seen you, stood and watched for a moment from the ambulance bay before heading towards you. He approached cautiously and his voice was soft, "Hey, everything okay?"

Your stomach dropped. Embarrasment, guilt, something else. "Yeah, yeah, just... needed a minute I guess."

He stared at you. Nothing new. Then he glanced at his watch and the hospital then back to you. His bag thudded on the sidewalk and he groaned softly as he settled into the bench beside you. "Want to try that again? More convincing this time?"

The laugh tasted sour, "Everything's totally fine!" You hadn't realized you had felt like crying until just then.

Jack nodded, a slim smirk at your attempt. "Where's Marcus?"

"Perlah's mom picked him up and took them over for a sleepover."

He nodded again, "That's good. Boys'll have fun."

You nodded in return and swiped at your eyes. "He talked about it all night last night, all morning."

Jack leaned his elbows on his knees and turned to try and catch your eye. "So, want to tell me what's going on?"

"I don't..." You choked out another laugh, "I would if I knew. I don't even know. How stupid is that? I just feel..."

"Exhausted? Alone? Like maybe you don't want to go home to an empty house?"

You turned to look at him so fast it made him chuckle.

"I recognize that look. I know it well."

"How stupid is that?"

"Not at all."

You were both quiet for a long moment before you added, "I don't know how I ended up here. I don't know what I'm doing. I just..."

"You're doing great. Marcus is a good kid. Just need to take care of yourself too." Jack finished for you with an encouraging grin. "Go home and enjoy your night off. Drink too much, watch trashy TV, stay up late." He smiled a little wider at your chuckle. "Or go do something, go out while you have the chance."

You laughed again, harsh and still a little rough, "Go out? You're funny."

Jack grinned a little wider, "Well then go home, enjoy your night off." He stood up and grabbed his bag and then grabbed yours too. He held it out to you and used your grip on the bag to pull you to your feet. Once you finally looked him in the eye, still fighting back the tears, his smile softened slgihtly. There was something else behind it though.

"Next time you have the night to yourself, I'll take you out."

The expression on his face never changed, he just held your gaze, nodded after a moment and then gave you a quick wink before turning away and heading into the ED.

For several long moments you stood there, watching Dr Abbot walk across the street, totally taken off guard.

~~~~~

Before dinner with Jack you thought were going to have a panic attack. You'd paced your apartment, made Marcus and the sitter both stare at you oddly, came up with a dozen excuses to cancel. You only came up with one reason to follow through though; you really, really wanted to.

After dinner with Jack you couldn't even begin to remember any of the reasons you had panicked. When he stopped you a few feet short of your door and pulled you into a kiss you thought you were going to pass out. Your head spun so fast all you could do was hold onto him and hope he could keep you on your feet. Of course he did, strong arms holding you close and keeping you steady. He chuckled against your lips when a little moan escaped and you flushed with embarrassment as he pulled away to look at you.

"Not gonna lie, I've wanted to do that for a long time." He cracked a smile and studied your face as his hands smoothed over your waist.

When you could think straight you nodded, eyes stuck on his lips, "You should have done it sooner."

Jack chuckled again as he settled his lips back over yours and walked you the last few feet to your door. "I'll make it up to you, if you let me."

You moaned again and your grip on his shoulders tightened. You glanced over your shoulder at the door, conflicted, but Jack grabbed your chin and pulled you back to look at him.

He gave you a quick kiss and shook his head, "Not tonight hon." Another longer kiss, and he kept his voice low, "He's gonna have a bunch of questions if I walk in there right now."

"He always has a bunch of questions." You laugh and lean your forehead against his shoulder.

Jack wraps his arms around you fully and chuckles, breath warm against your ear. "Yes he does." He dropped a kiss there, and then selfishly dropped a longer, heated one against the side of your neck. Not pulling away until you shivered and pushed him back. Eye to eye again he gave you that look, the one you knew and loved so well, "We'll figure it out."

You nodded, smiling, heart racing, "Yeah we will."

~~~~~

"How old are you?"

"So old."

"Have you seen Lilo & Stitch?"

"I have not."

"Would you let me have a pet alien?"

"That would depend on the alien I guess."

"We lived in Hawaii. Have you been to Hawaii?"

"Once, while I was in the Army. I've even been to the base your Dad was stationed out of."

"Did you see his boat!?"

"I'm not sure, bud."

"Are you missing any other body parts?"

"Just the leg?"

"Are you a vampire?"

"Would I be out in the middle of the day if I was?"

"Can you make cheeseburgers?"

"Awesome cheeseburgers."

"Have you ever had an actual girlfriend before?"

"Yeah bud, I've had a girlfriend before."

"Have you and Sissy kissed?"

"Yes, your sister and I have kissed. More than once."

"Was it gross?"

"Not even a little bit." Jack was enjoying himself way too much as Marcus bombarded him with questions from the backseat of the truck. More specifically Jack was enjoying the way you were slumped against the window hiding your face in your hand trying not to laugh or cry.

"Marcus, I think that's enough questions." You gave Jack a pleading look, silently begging him to shut it down.

"Dr. Jack said I could ask anything I wanted."

Jack smirked at you, eyes hiding behind dark sunglasses, but you knew they were shining with glee at your suffering. "He's right, that's what I said."

"Are you going to make me eat vegetables?"

"Does Sissy make you eat vegetables?"

"Yes." Marcus mumbled.

"Then yes, I'm gonna make you eat your vegetables." Jack reached across the console and grabbed your hand. He gave it squeeze when you finally looked his way you couldn't help but smile. Jack looked over his shoulder at your little brother, "So, when do I get to start asking questions?"

"That's not fair!"

"Oh yes it is and I think it's miy turn."

Jack was sitting at your kitchen counter watching you make a cup of coffee, still half asleep. "What's Marcus up to today?"

You sipped the coffee while it was still hot enough to burn, "Perlah took the boys to some action park thing they just built on her end of town, gokarts, mini golf, all that."

"Should be fun. What's that gonna cost you?" Jack smirked, content to watch you wake up and sip your coffee.

"Five shifts in a row. So, they can take a long weekend." You pushed off the counter and came around like you were going to sit in the stool next to Jack.

Instead he grabbed you gently by the hips and pulled you to him, settling you between his legs with his arms around you. "You sure you don't want me to leave you alone? You can just relax today if you need to."

You let out a grumble, the meaning of it not entirely clear, but the way your weight sunk into him Jack took it to mean he should stay right where he was. It feels good to hold you like this. Head on his shoulder, face buried in his neck, and all of your weight against him with no doubt he would hold you up. "Don't know why I'm so tired," You mumbled into his neck, "Feel like I'm the one that worked last night."

Jack squeezed you tighter, "Why don't you go lay down? No reason you can't be lazy for awhile."

You grumble again, your coffee cup gets set on the counter and then you quietly ask, "Come lay down with me?"

For a second Jack froze, a dozen thoughts racing through his mind. He moved his hands back to your hips and just as quietly he whispered into your hair, "Can do that if you want." He dropped a kiss on the crown of your head and had to bite back a smile when you nodded against his shoulder. "Okay, c'mon."

Before you could stand up straight Jack had a hold of the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up to carry you down the hall. Your arms and legs wrapped around him tight and he was pleasantly surprised when you didn't act surprised, didn't argue or give him a hard time. Just let him carry you to bed.

~~~~~

A few hours later you woke up, warm and comfortable, one of Jacks arms under your head like a pillow and the other wrapped around your middle. When you sighed and shifted deeper into his hold, the arm around you tightened and you felt him press a kiss to the back of your head.

"What time is Marcus going to be back?" He sounded like maybe he had nodded off for a bit as well, his voice rough and raw.

"After lunch sometime. Sent them money for pizza." You couldn't bring yourself to open your eyes. Didn't want to do anything that meant you would have to get out of bed yet. Not when Jack was there with you, finally.

He nuzzled into the back of your hair and kissed you again, "Ready to get up?"

You shook your head and shuffled back, just a little closer to Jack, eyes still closed. "Aren't you normally asleep by now?"

Jack just hummed, spread his one hand wide over your torso, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt. "Took a nice nap." His breath was warm and suddenly directly beside your ear. When you shivered and moved to shift your hips back, his hand moved from your stomach to your hip and clamped down, stopping you. "Stay right there." His grip softened, but his hand stayed put.

In an instant your heart began to race, "Why?"

"Because we're cuddling, and it's nice."

You bit your lip, hearing Dr Jack Abbot say 'cuddle' nearly making you giggle. "Feels good."

Behind you Jack chuckled, something a little extra behind it. "Yeah it does." He chuckled again when you tried to move, "Hon, I said stay there."

When the thought finally occurred to you you chuckled with him, "Dr. Abbot, is something wrong?" "

Jesus." His hand on your hip squeezed harder than he'd ever gripped you, "Yes and that's not fucking helping." Jack let out a painful groan when you freed your hand from your blankets to pry his fingers lose from your hip. Not that you had to try very hard, he let you move him easily, pull his arm back around you again and finally shift your hips back flush with his. "Jesus Christ." He breathed out as both his arms caged you against him.

A shudder ran down your spine, his breath against you neck, his lips, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he held you tight and the shameless way he caved in ground his erection against your ass. Another giggle escaped you, this one breathy and unsteady.

"Happy now?" Jack teased as his kissed the back of your neck.

"Yes." You shifted back against him again, testing the waters, and smiling when his breath rushed out him. "What time is it?"

He twisted the arm under you so he could see his watch, "Little after ten."

You took a deep breath, building up the courage, your desire doing a lot of the work for you, "I'm not tired anymore."

Jack had always known you too well, and you were so grateful for that because that was all you had to say for him to snap. His hands moved exactly where he wanted them as he coaxed you to turn your head to kiss him. If the kiss hadn't knocked the wind out of you already his words would have.

"You're gonna be."

~~~~

Jack was still there when Marcus came home, changed from his scrubs into the spare jeans and shirt he kept in his backpack. He'd stayed out of sight while Perlah and you chatted by the door, neither of you quite ready for that round of questioning just yet. Or the dozens that would follow.

Your heart did a little flip in your chest when Marcus lit up upon realizing Jack was there. Your brother immediately began to explain in excruciating detail all the excitement of the adventure park and Jack seemed more than content to listen.

You watched from the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower you had taken after spending the last couple hours of your morning in bed with Jack. Your heart flipped again when you heard Marcus ask, "What are you doing here anyway?" No filter, your brother still had no filter.

Jack threw you a look and the tiniest smirk before he answered, "Came by to see your sister after work. Thought maybe I'd hang out here today and we could go out to eat later. Sound okay?"

"Yeah! Can we go to that steak place again?"

"Marc, we don't need to go someplace quite that nice."

"Why not?" He looked at you a little put out.

Jack turned to look at you again, barely holding back a full on smirk, "Yeah hon, why not?."

You knew your face had betrayed your thoughts, because that smug asshole smiled, actually smiled. "Because it's pricey" You snark back at him even as he makes his way around the counter to come stand behind you.

He sets his hands on your hips and pulls you close, "So?" He pries. Then quieter, just for you he adds, "We're celebrating."

"Stop it." You hissed at him, a flush creeping up your neck. You did your best to ignore the feel of him chuckling behind you and turned your attention back to your brother, "We aren't going anywhere until you finish your homework anyway."

"SIssy… It's Saturday." He dropped himself onto the couch dramatically.

"And we made a deal that you could go this morning and have fun if you promised to finish your homework this afternoon."

"But Dr Jack is here, we can go do fun stuff!"

Jack must have felt your deep sigh because he held you a little tighter and kissed the back of your head. He whispered, "If he get's it done can I take you guys to dinner?"

You hummed in thought and dropped your head back against his shoulder, "Ok Marc, how about you get all your work done, and then maybe we can all go to Saltfork for dinner? Seem fair?"

"Can I have the brownie skillet thing!?" He launched back up off the couch with wide eyes.

Behind you Jack full out laughed and all you could do was pinch the bridge of your nose, "We'll see."

He did a little touchdown dance in the middle of the living room and then sprinted to his room.

Once you were alone Jack turned you around and pulled you closer. Stared into your eyes, smirk still firmly on his face.

"You don't have to bribe him to like you, you know? You're like the coolest person he knows." You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his shoulder.

"Maybe I just like spoiling you both a little. Ever think of that?" His one hand slid down to cup your ass and squeeze. "Plus, like I said, we're celebrating." He snorted when you bit his chest through his t-shirt.

"Stop being so smug or it's not going to happen again." You mumbled.

Jack smirked, slipped his hand up and under the back of your shirt, warm against your bare skin, "So, you do want it to happen again?"

For a minute your embarrassment kept you silent, but you nodded and spoke into his shirt, "As often as possible."

That must have made him happy because Jack didn't say anything. He simply tipped your face up to his and kissed you. Deep, long, slow kisses that made your pulse skyrocket.

"Eww. Dr. Jack will you help me with my homework?" Marcus had reappeared.

Jack gave you one last kiss and a wink before he pulled back, "Yeah bud, what d'ya got?" He gave your hip a squeeze and then followed after Marcus as the boy ran back into his room.

~~~~~

"Is Jack going to move in?" Marcus asked one night while it was just the two of you eating dinner in the living room, watching Lilo & Stich. A treat for the both of you, acting like bums after a long week and watching a favorite movie. Even if Marcus swore it was for little kids. Never mind he knew it word for word and had watched it a thousand times.

"Jack has his own house Marc, he owns it. He's not going to move into an apartment with us." You fought down the nerves already spinning in your stomach.

"He's here a lot and normally, if you two had been together this long, you'd be living together. Right?" Marcus was a teenager now and you kind of sort of hated it. Raising your little brother was one thing, quote unquote raising your teenage brother was another game entirely.

Jack had been in Marcus's life for years now in one way or another. First as a friend of yours, then as your boyfriend, now it was clear that Jack Abbot was playing a big part in the young man your brother was becoming.

"Maybe." You pause to sip your drink, buy yourself time, "It's not always that simple though."

Your brother is quiet for a minute, watches the movie and shoves a handful of fries in his mouth. "So, are we going to move in with him?"

A week later he had asked Jack the same question. You had to work so Jack had gone to Marc's baseball game on his own. After the game they'd gone through the drivethru for food and while they waited Marc asked, "Would you want Sissy to live with you?"

Jack had a hell of a poker face, but he still nearly let it slip at that. "What do you mean?"

"If It was just you and her? You'd want to live together right?"

"Where's this coming from?"

"Just curious."

Jack thought for a minute, let the truck roll a few more feet ahead in the line. "Would you want to live with me?" He turned the question on the boy.

Marcus stared out the window, "I'd think it'd be kinda cool I guess."

"Don't think it would be weird?" Jack found himself getting his hopes up.

"Do you know how many times I have to explain to people you're not my Dad, you're my sisters boyfriend? It's already weird."

He couldn't help but laugh. Jack nodded a couple of times, "Fair enough."

~~~~~

In the middle of Jacks living room surrounded by storage totes you stood up to catch your breath and squint across the room at Jack, "Do you ever feel like we've been manipulated by a thirteen year old boy that just wanted a bigger bedroom?"

"Not a doubt in my mind." Jack laughs as he sets another tote down. "But," He closes the distance between the two of you and grabs your hips. Pulling you to him by the waistband of your shorts, "Jokes on him, I'm the one getting what I wanted all along."

You let him kiss you, enjoyed the butterflies in your stomach from making out in the middle of the house that would be your house now, not just his. Then you pulled away, "Have you ever lived with a teenage boy? You might regret this."

"I've lived in barracks." He pulls you back to him with a grin, "I've lived in a canvas tent in the middle of the desert, with twenty other dudes barely old enough to drink with no showers and eating MREs for three meals a day." You grinned along with him, while he made his point. "Think I can handle one thirteen year old boy." He sobered a little, eyes scanning your face, "Especially if it means I get you here in bed with me." Jack kissed you again, intention behind it this time as his fingers traced the waistband of your cutoffs.

When his fingers settled on the button you couldn't help but giggle against his lips, "Supposed to be unpacking." You still let your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers combing through the curls at the nape of his neck.

"You're very distracting." He dropped his gaze down to his hands as they popped the button, "Especially in these fucking shorts." His fingers moved to the zipper, pulling it open so slowly.

"So I should probably get rid of them?" You teased, but it came out breathless and jittery as he walked you back towards the couch.

Jack bobbed his head to the side as he moved to kiss you again, "No, but you should definitly take them off."

~~~~~

The number of times you watched Jack over the years, sit down with Marc and talk about anything and everything. Talk through the loss of your parents, missing out on sports team tryouts, girl troubles, trouble with friends, life in general. From the time he was a young boy and barely knew Jack beyond Dr. Jack, Sissy's friend, Marcus had always seemed to see Jack as a source of knowledge and little to no judgement.

Bad behavior that sent you up the wall was nothing to Jack. A simple conversation or at worst a hard look and it was handled. To the point that you wondered what you would have done without him if it had just been you and Marcus.

Then one night while you were out with friends, something you were finally able to do again, Jack got a call. He nearly didn't answer, because he didn't recognize the number, but he was glad he did.

He didn't speak for a long while when he entered the hallway where Marc and his three friends were sat. He simply stared them all down. When he did finally break the silence, it wasn't the sisters boyfriend Jack that spoke. It was former Army NCO Jack Abbot, Dr Jack Abbot. Stone faced he simply said, "Explain."

To Marc's credit he stood up straight, looked Jack in the eye and told the truth. Something that went a long way.

Jack took him home, the drive long and painfully quiet, and when they got home he sat him down at the kitchen to wait for you to come home.

In bed that night you had stared at the ceiling. "At least it was just a gummy. RIght? And it came from a store."

Jack grumbled next to you. You both had lectured him on how dangerous it was to take any substance when you didn't know what it was for sure or where it had come from. Anyone could say they got it from a friend of a friend that was old enough. "He's a good kid, hon. He's smart. He told the truth and that's what matters I think. Just did a dumb teenager thing."

"Thank you for going and getting him."

"Of course."

You moved closer and cuddled into him, "I'm glad he has you."

~~~~~

One morning later that summer you were getting ready for work, watching Jack in the mirror as he slipped on his running blade.

Like always Jack sensed you, knew what you were thinking before you could say it out loud. "Coach told Marc if he wanted to make JV next year he needs to work harder." He stood up and shifted his weight back and forth on the specialized prosthesis. "So, he wants to start working out with me this summer." Jack came up behind you, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. "We'll see how he feels after today."

"Is it weird I think it's kinda sexy when you put that thing on?" You chuckled as he grabbed your hips.

"Yeah, it's weird." He dropped a kiss to the side of your neck, "I like weird though." You elbow him in the side and he only laughs, smacks your ass, "Have a good day, baby."

While he and Marcus jog around the neighborhood Jack can't help but let his mind wander. Half of him paying attention to Marcus talking about being able to take his driving test soon, and that he would need a car. The other half of his mind though, was occupied with a different conversation he needed to have with your brother.

Jack was a little ashamed to admit it took him the whole three miles to build up the guts to do it. They were walking down the street towards the house, cooling off. "Marc, I want to ask you something."

Your brother was still more than a little winded from the run, which honestly made jack feels a little better about himself, "Okay."

"How would you feel if your sister and I got married?" Just get it over with.

Marcus didn't answer right away, when he did it caught Jack off guard. "Why?"

"What do you mean why? Because we love each other, been together for years, because I want to."

"No, I mean," Marcus sucked in a deep breath, "Like, why now? You said it, you guys have been together for like ever."

Jack rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, had to remind himself that to Marcus it was forever. Nearly half the boys life Jack and you had been together by that point. "Honestly bud, you're old enough now that her life doesn't revolve around you like it used to." Jack had always made a point in his relationship with your brother to be as upfront as possible. "You're older now, more mature. When you were a kid I didn't want to get in the way of you and her. That was more important." He didn't know if that made sense at all, to anyone but him.

Marc nodded as they crossed a street and after a few minutes he finally responded, "Is it alright if I don't know how I feel?"

"Of course it is." Jack stopped at the corner, knew that Marcus would follow his lead, "I love your sister, think you know that, and I love you too. It's important to me that you'd be okay with it."

"So, have you already asked her to marry you or something?"

He shook his head, "No, not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. Man to man."

Marcus nodded, "Nothing... nothing would really change right?"

Jack could see that kid in him then, the one that had once upon a time had the whole world ripped out from under him. "Not really. She might take my last name, that would be about it. It'll be easier for her to get my benefits and everything if something happened, but no, life will be pretty much the same."

"If you couldn't marry her? Are you going to get pissed?"

"Don't say pissed, especially around your sister. We'll both get in trouble. No bud, if she doesn't want it I'm not going anywhere."

"So, is this like, if our Dad was alive and you were going to ask for his permission to marry Sissy or something?"

Jack laughed, "Not quite, but sure you can think of it that way if you want."

"What if I said no?"

There was something in the kids eyes that Jack recognized all too well. "Then we're turning around and doing another three miles." Jack shoved him jokingly, "So, don't get a big head."

Marcus laughed as he caught his balance, "I don't know how I really feel about it I guess," He started as the two of them kept walking, "But, I think it would make her happy."

Jack didn't expect the stab of emotion in his chest. "Well, then how about you think on it and we can talk about it again later?"

It took Marc less than 24 hours to come back and tell Jack he thought it would be a good idea and then threaten him that if he broke your heart Jack would have him to deal with. Jack had laughed but nodded, "Understood."

~~~~~~

You had cried when Jack proposed to you, but now you could not quit smiling. Sprawled across his chest you stared at your hand in front of you, the diamond he had put on your finger, smiling.

Jack had one arm behind his head, but his other hand was drawing lazy patterns over your bare back, perfectly content to watch you in that moment. "Maybe I should have asked sooner."

Your eyes snapped back to his, "No, this is perfect." You moved to crawl up to meet him, kiss him, humming happily at the feeling of his two rough, warm hands settling low on your hips and then smoothing up your sides, over your back.

"Yeah?" He asked quietly, lips brushing over yours as he looked up at you, watching you intently.

"Perfect." You lowered more of your weight over him and he wrapped his arms around you, kissed you deeper. "Everything is perfect." You moaned when his hands moved back to your hips, pulling you straddle him. "I'm so happy Jack, you've always made me happy."

Jack nodded, cradled the back of your head and spoke directly against your lips, "Good. That's all I want hon," He paused to kiss you, the love and the meaning behind it bone deep, "Just want to make you happy."

You lost yourselves in it for a moment, kissing and touching eachother, both of you coming to terms with the knowledge that this would be the rest of your life. Jack was finally, officially, going to be a part of your tiny, broken little family. The missing piece that had brought it all together.

Suddenly you laughed, unable to stop it.

Jack grumbled, fingers dug into your hips, "Something funny?"

"I'm sorry." You kissed him, traced his tongue with yours in apology, "I just thought of something."

"Oh yeah?" Jacks eyes were laser focused as you sat up, still straddling his hips, your hands coming to rest on his torso. He let his hands slid down your thighs to rest, "Want to share?"

You bit your lip, "It's slly."

Jack just stared up at you, waiting. "Ohana."

Jack watched you, gently shook his head to say he wasn't tracking.

"Lilo & Stitch?"

Jack furrowed his brow, then shook his head, still confused. Marcus had forced him to watch the with him plenty of times when he was younger. Even still Jack would find the two of you on the couch watching the kids movie. He hadn't really put much thought into it.

"It's us." You shrugged and looked away for a second, "We watched it once, I'd only had Marcus with me for maybe... a month, if even, and I had no idea what to do so we watched movies. Like all the time." You nodded to yourself at the memories, your fingers absently tracing over the lines of muscle and a few scattered scars over Jacks chest and abdomen. "He said one day, ' Sissy! it's us.' and it is. A lost, sad, lonley, little kid, and an older sister just trying to do her best, but has no fucking clue what she's doing. Just trying to do what she can after their parents died. It's even set in Hawaii." You snorted out a laugh, "It's stupid but it was nice at the time, to see that, for both of us I think." You took a deep breath and smiled down at him.

"It means family?" Jack finally nodded, understanding he thought, his hold on you tightening, "It's little and broken, but still good, right? That's what they say?"

You nod, eyes burning again. Jack watches you, his eyes taking in all of you and then the corner of his mouth ticks up, "Does that make me the surfer dude boyfriend? WIth the muscles and the floppy hair that follows her around like a kicked puppy?"

The laugh rips out of you before you can stop it and you smack him across the chest, "I think it does." You're smiling like an idiot again as you stroke your hands over his strong core and chest, trace your fingers over the corded muscles in his arms and then you lean down. One hand combing through the graying curls you loved and your lips brushing over his. "Technically fiance."

~~~~~

It felt strange to be back in Hawaii. The last time you were here was for your parents funeral. So many emotions. You had woke up early, your internal clock messed up, but it gave you an excuse to sit and watch the sky light up over the early morning breakers. Your heart skipped a beat when Jacks arms wrapped around you from behind, his lips brushing over the side of your neck. You dropped your weight back into him, happy to feel him take it easily, keep you standing like he'd always done.

"Second thoughts?" He whispered against your ear, arms wrapped tight around you.

"Not a chance. You're stuck now, no getting out of it."

Jack hummed, a hint of a laugh in it, "Damn." His lips moved down your neck, over your shoulder. He didn't have to see you to know you had rolled your eyes. "Don't have to be up for a long time yet, hon." His hands moved to slip beneath the shirt you had worn to bed.

"Are you telling me to come back to bed?" You couldn't help but smile as you dropped your head back against his shoulder, let yourself enjoy the moment.

"Asking nicely." He chuckled into the side of your neck, "For now.'

"Well," You started, turned in his arms, "Since you asked nicely." You wrapped your arms around Jacks neck and kissed him as you let him take you back to bed.

For a few more hours anyway.

Then he was waiting for you, looking so calm and confident, smiling at you while your heart felt like it was going to rip out of your chest.

Beside you Marcus gave your arm a squeeze, and then he gave you an easy smile. His eyes locked on yours and unwavering. God, there was so much of Jack in him now. The way your brother stood, the way he carried himself, the confidence and certainty on his face as the seventeen year old boy stood in for your father, ready to walk you across the beach and up to the alter.

There had been a time, after that phonecall that had brought you to your knees in the middle of the ED, that you thought your life was over. Far from it you realized, It was just beginning. Sure, maybe your PTMC family was going to be a little annoyed with you when you get back from your "family vacation" and find out you and Jack had eloped, but they'd forgive you. Eventually.

~~ The End ~~

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #the Pitt request #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x you #Jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #shawn hatosy #the pitt x reader

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enimsiyobeht · 1 day ago

Note

Thinking about boypussy Lino and pussy drunk reader who always wants to eat his pretty princess out... just getting on his knees when they're having a movie night and devouring that pretty pussy, or laying between Minho's legs, throwing those legs over reader's shoulders and eating him out so vigorously...

and equally obsessed Minho..who wants reader inside him.. will cock warm reader when he's working, is basically free use because there's not one moment he doesn't want reader inside him

😩😩😩

admit it! (you're obsessed). minho x male reader.

1468 boypussy, unprotected (all scenes), oral sex (m. receiving), cockwarming (all scenes), dirty talk, overstimulation, oral fixation, pussy worship, power play, comfort sex elements, implied size kink, sensory kink, somnophilia-adjacent/sleepy sex (extra scene). mdni !!

a/n : i lob this request, and i bet my hubby... @spear-of-moonlight (hope for the best recovery of your wrist 😿😿💖) would love it 2!! 👉👈 i thought of some extra scenes to elaborate with the whole ask, enjoyyy.

The movie plays, mostly ignored.

Minho’s in your lap, pink cotton shorts pushed up high on his thighs, a faded tank top slipping off one shoulder. He’s pretending to focus on the screen—he always does, biting the inside of his cheek like he isn’t soaking the seat of your pants, legs twitching whenever your fingers shift an inch closer to where he wants them.

You’re not even halfway through the opening act when you drop to your knees.

“Again?” Minho teases, though his voice is already breathless. “Didn’t you get enough this morning?”

You don’t answer.

You just hook his legs over your shoulders, peel those pretty shorts down, and stare. His pussy’s puffy and slick, lips parted like it’s been waiting—like it knows you’re down there again.

“Fuck, look at you,” you murmur, palms pressing into his thighs to spread him open. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

Minho giggles, head tipping back, hair spilling over the couch cushions. “You’re the one crawling back between my legs, baby.”

You don’t deny it. You never do.

Because nothing compares to the way he tastes—warm and sticky, pussy twitching the moment your tongue touches it. You groan into him, suckled in like you’ve been starving, like you need him to breathe. And Minho? He’s already moaning, back arched, one hand in your hair and the other clutching the cushions like you’re fucking him with your mouth.

Your tongue drags slow over his slit, and Minho gasps—hips bucking despite himself. His thighs are already trembling, spreading wider over your shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe you’ve made it that way. He doesn’t even try to hide how wet he is, how swollen his pussy’s gotten from you just looking at him.

“You’re drooling,” he breathes, voice laced with smug arousal, “so disgusting.”

You groan into him, tongue dipping into his fluttering hole as your fingers press into the meat of his thighs, spreading him wider, pulling him open. “I can’t help it,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “You’re too fucking pretty. I want to live down here.”

“Then stay,” Minho says softly, and you look up—

—his eyes are half-lidded and shining, lips bitten raw, cheeks flushed. He’s got that same expression you dream about: smug yet ruined, like he’s got you wrapped around his little finger and wants to break you with it.

You bury yourself deeper, tongue fucking into him with purpose now, nose pressed to the slick mess between his folds as your fingers reach up to stroke his thighs, his hips, the little strip of skin above his clit that makes him gasp out loud.

“I’ll cum if you don’t stop,” he warns, breath catching, “and then I’ll get greedy.”

You smile into his cunt. “Good.”

You don’t let up. You eat him out like you’ve forgotten anything else exists—tongue curling and licking and sucking, lips sloppily devouring every drip of slick he gives you. You feel his pussy clamp around your tongue, feel the tension roll through his whole body as he tugs at your hair and writhes in your grip.

He cries out when he cums, the sound sharp and sweet, his back arching clear off the couch. You hold him down, licking him through it until his thighs twitch and he’s squealing from overstimulation, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

You pull back with a wet kiss to his inner thigh. “Princess tastes so fucking good.”

Minho lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one that made me like this.”

“You’ve always been like this.”

He’s still trembling when he shifts onto his side, shorts hanging from one ankle, legs sticky and shining with your spit. His eyes follow you as you sit back on the couch—your cock straining against your sweats now, fully hard, precum staining the waistband.

“You’re gonna take care of that, right?” Minho murmurs, crawling toward you. “Can’t let your princess do all the work.”

You expect him to drop to his knees and suck you off, like he’s done a dozen times before. But instead, he straddles your lap, kissing you open-mouthed and messy, grinding against your cock until your hands settle on his hips.

“Need you,” he breathes, voice breaking. “I want you inside. Now.”

“Min,” you whisper, “we just—”

“I don’t care,” he whines, gripping your shoulders as he lifts himself and lines you up. “I want you. I want to feel you again. I want to keep you in me forever.”

You don’t even try to argue.

He sinks down onto your cock with a breathy moan, pussy still wet and open from your tongue, welcoming you back like he was made for it. You groan, head dropping back against the couch as he fully sheathes himself, his thighs quivering around your waist.

“Fuck, you’re so warm—so tight still,” you pant, holding his hips as he starts to move.

But he shakes his head, hands pressing to your chest. “No. Don’t fuck me. Not yet.”

You blink. “Then—what?”

“Just sit. Let me warm you.”

You can barely hold in your whimper.

Minho curls against your chest, arms wrapping around your shoulders, cock pressed to your stomach as he sighs through his nose. His pussy clenches around you in slow, steady waves, like he’s savoring the stretch, letting you rest inside him without moving—but still making sure you feel every inch of him.

“I’m gonna ride you later,” he murmurs, “when you’re at your desk, pretending to work. I’m just gonna climb in your lap and sit on your cock like this… and not say a word until you beg me to move.”

You groan into his shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I want to,” he whispers, licking a stripe up your neck. “I want to ruin you for anything that isn’t me. I want to make you sick with it.”

You believe him.

Your cock twitches inside him, and he smiles, biting down on your shoulder as you finally start to grind up into him. Slow. Gentle. Lazy. The kind of rhythm that says we’ve got all day and I’m never pulling out.

“I love when you’re inside me,” he murmurs, clutching your shirt. “Even when I’m not cumming. Even when you’re just… holding me open.”

You press your face into his hair, wrap your arms around his waist, and keep your hips rolling.

“I could stay like this forever.”

extra scenes (2) below

Under the Table

You’re trying to finish emails on your laptop, legs crossed under the table, coffee long since gone cold beside you. Minho’s been quiet for a while, curled up on the floor in an oversized tee, pretending to scroll on his phone.

But then he shifts.

He slides under the table without a word, crawls into the space between your legs and rests his cheek on your thigh, nuzzling you through your sweats. You keep typing for a few more seconds, pretending to ignore him, until his fingers curl into your waistband and tug.

“Baby…” he says, voice muffled. “Can I have it?”

You don’t say yes. You don’t have to.

He pulls your cock out, eyes fluttering as it presses against his cheek, heavy and flushed. He lifts your shirt and slides your cock into him—not his mouth. His pussy.

Wet. Warm. Welcoming.

Minho straddles your thigh, folds spread open as he sinks down slowly, whining as he takes every inch. You groan, hands hovering over your keyboard, as he settles fully onto your lap, cock snug inside him.

“I won’t move,” he whispers, breathless. “Promise. Just need you in me.”

He stays like that the whole time you work—his heat pulsing around you, walls clenching when you get too focused. He doesn’t ride. Doesn’t beg. Just warms you, as promised. Until your hands leave the keyboard, and your fingers curl under his shirt, and you lose the will to pretend.

Middle of the Night

It’s 3:12 AM when you feel it.

Minho stirs beside you in bed, half-asleep and boneless, his bare thigh hooking over yours. He presses his body close—chest to your side, cheek on your shoulder—and lifts the covers without saying anything.

You feel him reach between your legs, guiding your half-hard cock to his entrance, slick and already aching for you.

“Can’t sleep,” he whispers. “Need you.”

You’re groggy, barely awake, but your body knows exactly what to do. You shift your hips and let him sink down onto you, slow and warm and perfect. He hums softly, nuzzling into your neck as he settles fully.

“Just stay like this,” he mumbles. “I’ll fall asleep like this. Just keep me full.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, hold him close, and let him fall asleep cockwarming you—pussy twitching in little spasms every time you breathe.

thanks for 570 followers btw :)

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laceandlipstick · 1 day ago

Text

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.

232 notes · View notes

miareen221b · 3 days ago

Text

How are they in a relationship? headcanons!! x fem!reader

(Umemiya, Sou, Sakura, Nirei (because that boy is oppressed in the community I swear)

AN: would've liked to write more characters, but I haven't finished season 2 yet nor read the manga so I don't know much about them to write their headcanons yet, so maybe after I do there'll be a part 2?

Umemiya Hajime:

•a true golden retriever •you can't convince me otherwise •has a verity of love languages •physical and verbal affections are examples!! •he LOVES to shower you with kisses whenever he can •or to hug you from behind •he'd compliment you on your outfit whenever he thinks they're cute/very stylish (which is all the time!!) •and on your makeup (if you wear any) •showering you with gifts is also another example!! •he'd get you gifts on occasions or even just because he wants to!! •be sure that you're the first one to try his garden's fresh corps •whenever a new plant is growing well he'd show you right after he notices it!! •even if you're not around he'd take a picture and send it to you!! •you can NOT convince me that whenever you two aren't with eachother he wouldn't text you and send you pictures about everything he's doing and happening around •he'd NEVER expose to any shape or form of violence •a bunch of thugs annoying you (they obviously didn't see him with you) he would fight the urge to kill them for looking at you and send them a silent threat with his eyes to fuck off or else and they'd flee away!! •an unexpected fight? As much as he just wants to stay with you, he still has duties so he'd leave you somewhere safe and go •you wouldn't even see him covered in blood and scratches!! He makes sure he's all clean before meeting his cutie pie!! •LOVES to call you nicknames and pet names!! •N/n, cutie pie, sweetie pun, honey, sugar, love you name it!!

Suo Hayato:

•a true gentleman!! (Mostly.. don't let his facade deceive you!!) •he LOVES to tease you (he'd stop when you get really annoyed but otherwise..yk..) •loves to cook for you and make you tea •afternoon teatime is a must!! •takes good care of his lady!! •when you're really tired after a long day he'd massage you (perhaps with a tease with him "accidentally" touching you somewhere he shouldn't) •or when you're emotionally drained he'd let you rest your head on his lap and play with your hair until you're feeling better!! (This is so cute😭) •definitely buys you a matching earrings to his to show everyone that you're his you're together •if a bunch of thugs annoyed you he'd definitely do just like umemiya (but scarier they might piss themselves while they flee lol) •isn't much of an online chatter as he prefers to be with you physically •but still, if you weren't together he would chat online (nothing is better than talking to you after all!!) •if he had a fight to go to, he'd inform you where is it so you wouldn't accidentally get hurt •dirty jokes loves to joke with you!! •buys you matching clothes to his (again, to show others you're his) •morning/good night texts guaranteed •will use his mischievous tactics to now your preferences to anything so he can always be perfect for you!! •randomly pats you on the head (he just thought you're cute)

Haruka Sakura:

•tsundere vibes •he LOVES you, really, he just doesn't know how to express it •and it makes him unable to sleep at night (you once noticed the black circles under his eyes a few days after you started dating and asked about it, but he'd never admit it so it's still a mystery to you) •he literally had to ask everyone for advice to ask you out (and still does after dating you, and they don't mind, they know this is all new to him and they're there for him for guidance they think it's funny and cute) •tries his best for you (literally) •Tsubaki_chan recommended him reading shujo manga so he could get some ideas •of course he read them (another thing he wouldn't admit though) •the next day you found him at your door, holding a rose bouquet blushing like crazy looking away stuttering to call you honey!! •but it was a great resource for date ideas!! •Would never expose you to violence (unless necessary) •so when a bunch of (you know the rest already, no?) he does kick their ass (he considers that "necessary" of course!!) •when he has a fight (if he knows of it before it happens) he tells you where it is, not to get near it's place (if he doesn't) he makes sure you're somewhere (or with someone) safe •is new for everything, take it slow!! •so when he wants to buy you a gift he went again to tsubaki_chan for help (it's tsubaki_chan so yeah..it was a really good gift!!) •99% of the times, m'boy is blushing (we know you like it!!) •isn't much of a texter too •but still, when you want to chat he'd try his best (canonically a slow texter) •if you asked him for morning/good night texts he'd always do them (anything for his love!!) •if something interesting happens, and he wants to show/tell you on your shared chat, he'd take time to but he'll eventually do it!!( Please praise him) •even tho he looks like a human tomato whenever it happens, but he does LOVE your physical touch!!

Niere Akihiko :

•a true cutie pie!! (No room for discussion) •is also another blushing mess (he's just glad you're dating him) •100% boyfriend material!! •he now carries two notebooks with him wherever he is (one is the usual one, and one only for you) •has anything noted about you in it (what you love to eat/drink, where do you like to get it from, favourite colour/s, your sizes, accessories style, makeup brand (if you wear any) yk, literally everything about you he has noticed or you told him IS there) •he also writes down shops and places he thinks you'd like so you can go together there sometime!! •best dates planner (has everything planned, from start to end (literally) •although when something happens that wasn't planned he freaks out (please comfort him, he's too cute to get stressed) •whenever he gives you a gift, yk it's good!!(It's always something you really wanted/needed, m'boy is always on spot!!) •you can go to him if you needed help finding something (he always knows where) •shy shy shy SHY!! •don't tease him, he's not sakura, his heart might actually explode!! •LOVES when you praise him (please pat him on the head too) •if a bunch of thugs (yeah yeah, yk the rest) he'd stand Infront of you and protect you (he might get a beating, but m'boy always stands up again) •while you clean him up, please be careful, he's already feeling weak and pathetic for not being as strong as others and incapable of protecting you so he might cry •whenever that happens, please hug him tightly until he calms down, he really needs it •after a bit of Suo's training him, next time that happens, he'd get a couple of hits, but he'd successfully protect you!!(PRAISE HIM!!!) •always has another one for you •unexpected rain? He already has two umbrellas •need wipes/tissues? Has them •need painkillers? Has them •need pads/tampons? Don't ask him about it, but he does have them •does look at your photos before he sleeps (he's thanking God you chose him) •always makes sure you're happy, safe and comfortable (like, ALWAYS!!) •please praise him

Another AN: I actually spent a day writing only umemiya and Suo, Sakura and Nirei were written so easily which makes me reconsider that Suo is my favourite or not lol

I'm considering taking requests, so maybe I'll make a requests post soon, and please do tell me what you think about the hcs, I always wanna know your opinions

#wind breaker #satoru nii #suo hayato #windbreaker #akihiko nirei #hayato suo x reader #haruka sakura #bofurin #hayato suo #nirei akihiko #akihiko nirei x reader #sakura haruka #Haruka Sakura #wind breaker satoru nii #wbk #wind breaker x reader #Umemiya Hajime #umemiya hajime x reader #sakura haruka x reader

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goomyloid · 2 days ago

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After reading the Noelle kissing Kris manga, I just had to talk about the tearjerking and heart-warming moments about it all.

I found it adorable yet also pretty telling that it took Noelle several attempts to get the kiss right with Susie with all the preparations, and the environment being perfectly set up for them to do it, but she nailed it perfectly on her first attempt to kiss Kris in that moment, with no prior build up. I also liked what compelled Noelle to kiss Kris, was them expressing their happiness for Noelle and Susie, while also seemingly intentionally excluding themselves from the equation altogether. Which leads me to talk about tearjerking moments.

When I read it all, from the look on Kris's face, it really did feel like they were genuinely trying to exclude themselves from Noelle and Susie's happiness, while trying to do everything they could to ensure they were both happy. It's like they had a face where they were genuinely happy for Noelle and Susie, talking about how great a pair they were, but also putting up a front to hide the pain of thinking, they'd be better of if they weren't part of the dynamic, which I think Noelle pick up on.

When I look at Noelle kissing Kris I think of it as a twofold kind of thing. Noelle says she was just in a kissing mood, but I genuinely do believe she acted on her subconscious desire to show Kris that level of affection when the opportunity presented itself, especially considering she wanted to kiss them again under the impression that she didn't do it right, and also appeared to want to tell them something but stopped upon seeing Kris's blushing face.

Whereas Kris has now been made aware that Noelle does in fact have deep feelings towards them, and doesn't know how to handle the revelation. Honestly I think it's pretty awesome that for all of Kris's talk about them Noelle and Susie being great pair, and getting closer, Noelle just expressed, unintentionally or not, that she also wants to get closer to them in the same manner.

this was AWESOME to read, i felt like you put into words everything subtle i tried to convey with that comic… its perfect

i enjoy the idea that like, as much as kriselle feels like It Shouldnt Be Happening (with suselle being the obvious endgame, probably) (or just the fact that it’s “obvious” at all) it simultaneously feels like its fated or meant to be. it’s not what the story is pushing towards, but realistically, it seems like the most viable option long-term (imo). underneath all the baggage, kris and noelle are super comfortable with each other, shes the only non-family member to really understand them, and vice versa, they dont have to put up any fronts. i suppose that kind of ties into susie and noelle’s “messy highschool romance” kiss vs. kris’s and noelle’s “accidental this-has-awakened-something-in-me weirdly perfect” kiss. just the fact that noelle turns around and kisses kris after susie feels like “it shouldnt be happening” (i know we all want polycule here but lets pretend they’ve barely entertained that idea yet) and makes things needlessly complicated, but suddenly, this seems like the more interesting path…

“forbidden” romance not in the sense that theres something actually wrong with it, but instead its simply not the path that the narrative is pushing towards (something something the forbidden path starts with ice magic…)

noelle choosing to kiss kris in that moment also kind of reflects what it is she likes about them, like you said. a tag i got a really long time ago on a reblog was “noelle’s image of kris in her mind is a kind one.” underneath all the pranks and goofs, they always mean well in the end. but when kris expresses that kindness by saying noelle and susie would make a good pair, noelle, who knows them so well, can still see past their words — more as a gut feeling than anything else — because the mere gesture of trying to hide their feelings to maintain her happiness is ALSO kind of them.

i keep saying that kris is the kind of person to run from their feelings all the time because i really believe it’s the case. theres only so many ways you can achieve that kind of stoicism lol. they hide and repress and keep those feelings locked away (both good feelings and bad ones) because they dont want to be a burden and mess things up for everyone. i think this was definitely a product of their home life, too — things get so chaotic that no one has the time or energy to pay more than surface-level attention to you (with asriel being the one genuine exception i think). it eventually just becomes easier to shut up and cut off all the emotions that might make you dare to Feel Real Things out of fear of rocking the boat. all of this is to say that how kris feels about noelle is just another thing they have sealed away, eventually just internalizing as genuine care for her wellbeing, with Something Else still hidden deep inside. and noelle kissing them undid all of their many many years of careful feelings-control because “oh shit oh god noelle no you cant kiss me havent you considered the Consequences??? the ramifications?? noelle the rammies. Tje consequences ive made up in my head”

and again like you said everything is incredibly subconscious on noelle’s end and she barely notices it. part of it could be from genuine Lol That’s Kris thats My Friend! without taking 5 seconds to think deeper about everything and unpack her own feelings. she Feels her feelings but is too mentally preoccupied to understand what they mean. i actually made this diagram just last night to convey basically exactly this

ultimately the whole shoujo romance thing makes the stakes way lower so now things are like, Oh no someone’s feelings might get hurt rather than Oh no the entire world is actually going to end. (maybe part of why i internally set it to take place multiple years in the future where they’re all in college or something and the dark world stuff is behind them LOL)

im gonna stop myself before this post gets too disgustingly long but man i have so many thoughts about them. sometimes i fear i treat them more like ocs so i have to realign myself and think “ok this still lines up with canon right.” but everything ive said is just what “feels right” to me i guess

#mailbox #thank you again for this ask!#deltarune spoilers #long text

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blooddlusts · 23 hours ago

Text

MANCHILD ⋆｡°✩ lee heeseung

( WHY YOU ALWAYS COME RUNNING TO ME ) ── ex boyfriend!! lee heeseung x fem! reader

synopsis: in which you awkwardly cross paths with your ex-boyfriend. and for him to pick up a desperate phone call when you needed it the most (read part one here)

fic notes: ex boyfriend! lee heeseung x fem! reader, suggestive language, cursing, angst, a little bit of reconciliation, very slowburn interactions

kiara's notes: due to popular demand, y'all asked for a part two. y'all can thank my bestie @nocturnebite for actually helping me come up with a happy segway into this story because i was prolly gonna make it more angsty lmao. if this needs a part three —feel free to yell at me (it prolly does)

word count: 2.7k

his phone number blocked, the pictures of you both ripped in two and thrown in the trash. every memory of his face, of his lips kissing your skin, his laughter ringing in your ear —erased, deleted, gone. that was the end of the chapter between you and lee heeseung. and perhaps it was better off that way.

it had been months since you had last spoken to him. while you promised yourself that it was't a big deal, the hole in your heart was begging to be filled, replaced with someone else. it took some motivation to get yourself out of bed, to try going out to clubs, to put makeup on and make yourself presentable in public. he had made you an emotional train wreck, which meant dragging your shaky feet out on the ground to find the confidence that had seemingly left your body the day that he shattered your heart into a million pieces.

and while the confidence returned —your luck with finding a better boy to date seemed physically impossible. no literally. the saying "there are other fish in the sea," must have been a lie. because the men on your dating apps, the men that approached you at clubs, were absolutely horrendous in every way possible. that's not to say that they weren't attractive (in fact, many of them were drop dead gorgeous) but you could spot their imperfections from the first date.

if heeseung had done one thing right, it was for your eyes to be open to the men that would sit in front of you. from the way they ate their pasta to the way they would snake an arm around your waist. the attention to detail made it so easy for you to reject another date, you didn't want to pursue another romantic relationship if they were going to be the same as your ex-boyfriend. but the one thing that lee heeseung had cursed you with was the magnetization. no matter where you went, you were always attracting the same type of men. the "man child" and it was fucking annoying.

they were the ones that played hard to get, the ones that like to linger and make you squirm in your seat wondering if you were going to be given the chance to go on a second date. the ones who promised to pick you up for dinner at seven only for you to be sitting in your living room almost an hour later, wondering when they would show up. the ones who talked passionately about their own hobbies without even batting an eye when you spoke on your success. you don't know what you did to attract such a form of men —but it was completely exhausting.

you prayed that they would be different. so maybe that's why you found yourself getting ready for another date. another dude from another dating app you were on. he didn't seem like a "man child" (but that was just your optimism speaking). and yet, you found yourself waiting in the lobby of your apartment, looking at the hands on your watch tick forward. he was late —of course he was.

"you look nice,"

his voice was unexpected. like a random bolt of lightning striking a clear summer day. it immediately took you out of your bored dazed as you looked up to see him staring at you. how many months had it been since you'd see his face? how many times had you spent trying to block him out of your head? surely, this was a figment of your imagination —but the tiny smile that touched his lips professed that the man standing in front of you was real.

"um thanks," you awkwardly replied, feeling your cheeks turn pink as you politely accepted his compliment.

the silence that between the two of you was as thick as a slice of texas toast. after all, what was there to say? how could you casually strike up a conversation with someone who casually threw your heart to the side?

"are you going on a date?"

"something like that, if he's planning on showing up," you scoffed as you looked down at your phone. no new messages, brilliant.

"how are things with your going with your girlfriend?" you asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject. you were mentally begging that your date could show up any minute now to save you from the jaws of the awkward conversation you were forced to be in.

"we broke up,"

great, so much for making the conversation less awkward.

what were you supposed to say? "i'm sorry that you two broke up?" you weren't. in fact, there was some form of satisfaction knowing that things with his ex-girlfriend didn't work out again. and yet, you found yourself awkwardly shifting in your chair praying that some sort of words could slip out of your lips to answer heeseung.

"oh..."

"...yeah,"

as much as you were curious to know why the relationship had ended. you had no choice but to plant a tiny smile on your lips and let out a sigh of relief as your phone screen lit up. saved by the bell-ish. the likelihood of this date being better than your previous ones seemed unlikely but it was better than spending any more time with heeseung. those were minutes you were never going to get back.

"well, that's my date," you said as you got up from your seat and smoothed out your dress. for a minute, you could have sworn that there was a tiny grimace on his face when he heard those words slip out of your lips. but it was almost immediately replaced with a faint smile. it had to be your imagination.

"it was nice seeing you heeseung,"

and with a polite smile, you walked out of the lobby with confidence in your footsteps, masking the sinking pit of anxious feelings that swirled in your stomach. you had a date to worry about and yet, he was there crawling his way back into your mind like a parasite.

it had been so long since you'd last seen him. so why out of all places did you have to see him now? more importantly, what was he doing in the lobby of your apartment building?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

your date was going horribly. not much of a surprise there. after being picked up forty minutes late, your date reeked of cologne. not that his cologne smelt bad, but it was like the man practically bathed in it. he was chivalrous enough to open the car door for you —that was about it. he chewed with his mouth open, he would constantly interrupt you when you had anything to say, and let's not forget how his phone wasn't silenced so you could hear the tinder notification constantly beeping on his phone.

you couldn't even keep track of what he was talking about. you were just waiting for the bill at this point. you were already planning on calling an uber instead of letting him drop you back at your place. the last thing you needed was his lips covered in pasta sauce trying to kiss you —ew.

"well, this has been a fun date but i should probably go home now," you started to say as you watched the waiter place the bill down in front of you. your date didn't even pay attention to what you had said, he took one glance at the bill and looked back up at you.

"aren't you going to pay?" he asked.

"excuse me?"

that was a quick slap to the face. now he was really racking up the points for being the worst date you've had. picking a fancy ass restaurant and expecting you to pay? of course, you should have picked up the sign sooner. there was a card on the dashboard of the car he picked you up in that was from some car rental business. he decided to pay for the most expensive bottle of wine and gorge himself on an expensive plate of food. great, another man child.

"i asked you out on the date, the least you can do is pay for the food," he replied casually while wiping the pasta sauce off of his chin.

"you've got to be fucking kidding me. is this what you do to all women that you take out on a date? order the most expensive meal and expect them to pay for it?" you snapped as you glared daggers at you date.

the fact that he didn't say anything made things even more upsetting. all he did was blink at you, as if you should have known this was how the date was supposed to go. "look, it's not that big of a deal. besides, i promise i'll make it up to you once we head back to your place," he said as he tried to place his hand on top of yours.

"oh really? is that what you think is going to happen? that i'm invite you back to back to my place and i'm gonna let you fuck with that tiny thing you call a penis?" you grit your teeth before getting up from your seat.

"go call your parents and ask them to help pay for your meal," you said as you opened your purse and threw some cash down in front of him. "here's my half of the bill," you added on before walking out of the restaurant, leaving behind your date jaw dropped and confused.

you stepped out of the restaurant into the darkened sky. the only thing lighting up the world in front of you were the city lights and the billboards that illuminated advertisements of happy smiling faces beaming in fluorescent colours in front of you.

while you should have felt relieved that you called it quits with that dude that just wanted to get in the sheets, there was something about this date that was the last straw. they were all the same, all of the dates that you had been on were just stupid men seeing you as another way to get their body count up. it was fucking disgusting. you craved the romantic life, you begged to be loved again, you wanted—

—and in that moment, your impulsiveness took over. you found yourself fishing your phone out of your purse, your hand going to the settings, clicking on a blocked phone number that you had memorized by heart, and pressing the call button.

you paced around in circles. a thousand thoughts accumulating in your head as you continued to hear the phone ring in your ear. until you heard his voice on the other line.

"hey, do you think you can pick me up?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the car ride was completely silent. no questions asked, no small talk to be made, just you two sitting with the radio as ambience to fill the void that was between the two of you. you didn't think he was going to answer, let alone pick you up. yet, you found yourself in the same car with your ex-boyfriend, with lee heeseung, the man you swore you never wanted to see in a million years —all because some stupid date went horribly wrong.

for the first time in a while, you felt like you could actually breathe. like you could sit back and pause in a world that was constantly moving. or maybe it was because you were in a car with someone that you had once been vulnerable with, someone that you had completely poured your heart and soul to. whatever the reason, you were able to rest your head on the side of the window and relax in the passenger seat.

"so, do you want to talk about what happened?" there it was. the moment that you weren't necessarily dreading, but knew that was going to happen. it was only a matter of time before he was going to confront you about the situation. or why you decided to call him up out of all people.

"not really," you muttered. you refused to make eye contact with him. one look into those doe-like eyes and hating him was a lost cause. you couldn't give in to him that easily.

"it's just, all of these dates that i've been going on are awful," you started as you finally moved your head away from the window and turned to look at him. "i mean, every guy i've been going out with these past couple of months have been the same. i'm so sick of attracting men that act like children!" you groaned as you threw your hands up into the air.

heeseung only chuckled as you finally started opening up to him again. there was something about seeing your face getting all red and flustered that made his heart skip a beat. he wanted to tell you, he needed to tell you—

"—he asked me to pay for the meal, hee. the dude literally ordered the most expensive meal on the menu and expected that i was going to pay—"

"—you called just me hee,"

you paused and turned to look at heeseung who was staring directly at you. thankfully you two were at a red light, so it wasn't like any car was going to come crashing into you but still. the nickname had slipped out of your tongue so casually that you didn't even notice yourself say it. but he did.

you didn't say anything to him after that. it was an instant "keep your lips" quiet moment after that. he caught you slipping once, you weren't going to let it happen again. so when he drove into the parking garage of your apartment complex you couldn't help but eagerly take off your seatbelt.

"well, thanks for the ride," you said already moving to open the car door. but before you could make a swift exit, heeseung was already out of the car, outside opening the door for you.

what was this feeling that was swelling up in your chest? you should be hating him right now. yet, you didn't shoo him away when he started to walk with you up to your apartment. he didn't say anything, just had his hands in his pockets, keeping his eye out for anyone that seemed suspicious. it was the tiny things that made your heart continue to skip a beat, even when you knew that you shouldn't.

"you know you didn't need to walk me to my door," you said as you fished your keys out of your purse.

"i know, i just figured that maybe it would save you from any other creeps trying to hit on you," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"i appreciate it, heeseung. thanks for picking me up tonight. i honestly didn't think that you were going to pick up the phone,"

"well i'm glad i did. i've missed talking to you,"

you could only nod and smile at his comment. and then came the awkwardness that you two were so familiar with. it's not like you could give him a hug, or the usual kiss on the cheek when you first started dating. you two were just strangers, exes that picked up the phone for one small favour. nothing more nothing less.

"have a good night, heeseung,"

"sweet dreams,"

and while you watched him walk down the hallway as you stepped into your apartment, your stomach was greeted with the same pit of butterflies fluttering around. you shook your head, you couldn't fall for him again, that would mean neglecting everything that he had done. the way that he had taken your heart, smashed it into a million pieces and left you lying trying to fix everything he had broken.

but he answered your phone call.

you watched him turn the corner, a sigh escaping your lips before you closed the door behind you. now was not the time to catch feelings for the man that had cursed you to find every "man child" in the city. now was not the time to fill the hole in your heart with the same man who inflicted the damage you were trying to fix.

but everything about that night had brought back the tiny spark that you had put out so long. the wave of emotions coming back like a tide the more you played them over in your head. and so you went to bed with a confused head and a stomach swirling with butterflies.

he had left you once before. but he came back.

if only he never answered your phone call at all.

taglist: @keehoes @daisyintherainsposts @evxnsbae @douqhnxtss @mimimovv @sunooqvrlsx

reblogs, likes, comments & feedback are appreciated!

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julietcpulet · 3 days ago

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Can we PLEASE talk about Maomao giving Jinshi MIXED SIGNALS instead of flat out rejecting his advances? Jinshi is under fire constantly for forcing his advances on Maomao but I don't think Maomao has ever said NO to his face. Now, one could argue that this isn't befitting of her status as Jinshi is an Imperial member, so saying no would be disrespectful... but SHE knows who Jinshi is. She knows Jinshi would NEVER force her if he knew she didn't want it, so then why is she hiding behind her "I'm a commoner" excuse? Why not just tell him that she isn't interested? Instead of saying some vague shit like "it could NEVER work between us!" when she knows DAMN WELL, Jinshi will do ANYTHING to achieve his goals. She has witnessed firsthand in the rear palace how committed he is to see things through the end, so it doesn't really make sense for her to do all this unless a part of her secretly wants Jinshi to try. Not to mention the amount of times she's actually shown care for him PUBLICLY. Jinshi is just as confused as everyone else, so why is he getting flamed for trying to pursue the woman he likes who's done nothing but constantly give him hope?

Whew, putting me on the spot with this one 😅

I’m not sure if you’ve read the light novels so I’m going to just address this kind of broadly without trying to spoil anything or without light novel quotations. I’ll take it that you’ve at least seen the anime so I’ll use some moments from there and hopefully be able to address everything with that.

So, about Maomao sending mixed signals, it actually fits in perfectly with her characterization as an unreliable narrator. Basically, this means we can’t always trust what she’s saying because she often deliberately deceives herself, acts as if she knows nothing when she does or has no feelings when the opposite is true. This makes watching her behavior all that more important than listening to the words she says. This factors in to her relationship with Jinshi immensely as she never truly puts off his advances because as she begins to know who he truly is underneath the masks, she does develop feelings for him. Her actions speak louder than her words do. Her accepting more of Jjnshi’s touch, looking calm in his presence, seeking out his help with problems like Lishu’s ghost. She goes to and thinks about him without much realizing it and that is the telling factor in the honesty of her feelings beneath what she may say. If people take Maomao at face value they miss the genuineness of her character underneath and the beauty of her developing relationship with Jinshi.

You’re right that Maomao doesn’t ever come out and tell Jinshi no to his pursuit of her affection. To me there are several progressive reasons for this:

1. In the beginning Maomao deceives herself he couldn’t be interested in her to that degree due to their separation in status. Also, she does have deep seated insecurities related to her looks and being a servant so Jinshi’s interest merely doesn’t seem realistic to her, as such she doesn’t feel the need to turn him down. Even when they are in the cave together and have become so much closer she continues to make statements about them having a “master / servant” relationship when they have gone past that. She doesn’t entertain he could see her any other way so to her his feelings can be dismissed.

2. As things progress she sees his advances as his “childish behavior” which is a part of him she grows to know as his true self. This in turn brings her to develop genuine affection and feelings. However due to her own denial she cannot voice said feelings aloud or express them in a normal way but neither does she want to reject what to her has become a connection she feels safe and familiar with in Jinshi. This means she isn’t going to reject him outright and her outward actions such as not moving away when he touches her or making faces shows her growing comfort with him. As in the last episode she says she “missed this atmosphere” she had only when Jinshi is with her.

3. Finally, a part of Maomao at this point in the narrative (if you’re only at the Shi clan part of the anime) is starting to develop feelings but lacks understanding of herself enough to grasp the depth of them or how to express that at all. Due to her rough upbringing with her parents history and being raised by sisters who loved her in their own way but didn’t know how to fully meet her needs, she’s had to suppress much of her emotions her whole life. As such she lacks the ability yet to be clear about what she wants, needs or feels about a given person or situation. Even though it was clear she was beginning to understand Jinshi was royalty for some time, she dismissed it purposefully. She does the same thing with her own emotions. She won’t say no to his feelings because at this point she’s come to have her own kind of appreciation for being on the receiving end of them but lacks the capacity still to reciprocate, even if her affection is growing.

For Maomao it isn’t about her secretly hiding behind excuses or wanting Jinshi to fight for her like women who expect men to win their affections. In her case it’s that both she and Jinshi have a distorted sense of what love is and are learning together at the same time. She’s not keeping her feelings from him on purpose, she doesn’t understand them herself and ironically, it’s Jinshi’s unfailing pursuit of her that helps her open up to a better understanding of her own emotions to where eventually she can stop running and confront what she feels for him.

As for people being upset with Jinshi’s pursuit of her despite how uninterested she may seem, that is due to a lack of comprehension regarding the nuance of their dynamic. We see time and time again that Maomao has no problem with the ways in which Jinshi treats her despite her protests. This is further evidence of her ability to say one thing and mean another. She will talk of being put off by Jinshi involving her in his buisness, yet she’s the one going ten times as hard to solve the problems once involved, also sometimes making her own problems and involving him afterward. If people do not grasp that Maomao has a knack for self-deception than they will miss all the important aspects of how she relates to people in the plot.

Also, due to modern sentiments, people take things too much at face value with Jinshi seeming like the typical man who won’t take a hint and Maomao the exasperated woman getting hit on by a guy she has no interest in. This isn’t the case at all between them pretty early on. Maomao is put-off by him more at first due to his sparkly persona as the palace nymph because she discerns how fake it is quickly and doesn’t like it when he acts that way. He continues to pursue her because she’s the one woman who notices his beauty but also sees the person beneath any mask he puts on and sees his value beyond how he looks. So anyone who speaks badly of Jinshi is usually looking at his actions through a basic modern lense and not taking the time to see the depth woven into the story.

Overall Maomao isn’t trying to lead Jinshi on and he knows this. It’s why she’s often frustrated with him because he can read her so well. So his pursuit of her isn’t unfounded. What is seen as her initial resistance quickly turns into a soft affection which is where the anime is at currently. Hope this answers some of your questions and clears up Maomao’s feelings towards Jinshi a bit 😄

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #jinmao #jinshi x maomao #maomao #jinshi #ask #apothecary diaries ask #jinmao rambles

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peasack · 1 day ago

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Hey guys! Back with the platonic!reader x thunderbolts.

Thought this would be a cute and kinda wholesome idea, so hope you guys like it!!

Thunderbolts x gn!platonic!reader

✦ Thunderbolts game night headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ Alexei Shostakov ✦

LOUD. He’s yelling before the game even starts. He’s so competitive, even in Uno or Monopoly. He's the type to slam his cards on the table like he's in a high-stakes poker match.

Cheats constantly. Steals money from the bank, hides cards, pretends rules don’t apply to him. If you catch him, he acts like it’s part of the game.

Has no idea how to play anything electronic. You try to get him to play Mario Kart, but he just crashes into walls and screams in Russian.

Nicknames the dice. He’ll be like, “Come on, Natasha! Don’t fail me!” and everyone’s like… who is he talking to? He’s talking to the dice.

He has a pair of lucky dice named after his kids, including you. Whenever it's all or nothing he grabs them from his pocket, whispers to them and somehow always gets the score he needs.

Doesn’t understand losing. Will pout like a child if you beat him. He’s a sore loser but forgives you after you share snacks with him.

✦ Yelena Belova ✦

Master of trash talk. Soft voice, brutal words. “Oh? You think you will win? That’s so cute. I will destroy you.” She’s actually very sweet but she plays it up to mess with you.

Always brings the weird snacks. She shows up with like pickled herring chips or something and acts offended if no one else tries them.

Pretends not to care but actually loves winning. She’ll play it cool but does a little fist pump under the table when she beats John.

Secretly teams up with you against the others. If it’s a team game, you and Yelena are partners 99% of the time, and you both cheat in the most creative ways.

Loves chaotic games. Uno, Jenga, Cards Against Humanity—anything where she can ruin people.

✦ Bucky Barnes ✦

Reluctant participant. He shows up because you asked him to but claims he doesn’t like games. Lies. He gets super into it.

Super patient when teaching you new games. Will quietly explain rules to you if you’re confused, even if the others are already playing.

Lowkey very good at strategy games. Chess? Clue? He’s unbeatable. He has war-era patience and loves a good tactical challenge.

Loses his mind over video games. Cannot aim for his life in a shooter game. “Why is this kid running in circles? Stop jumping! STAND STILL!”

Protects you when the others gang up. When John and Yelena are being little gremlins, Bucky will switch sides to back you up.

✦ John Walker ✦

The worst when he’s losing. He’ll start questioning the rules, the fairness of life, the position of the table legs—anything to justify why he’s not winning.

Gets VERY loud in team games. Yelling directions, yelling at Bob for not following his plan. Absolute coach mode.

Takes everything WAY too seriously

"It's just Uno John.."

“THERE ARE RULES, Y/N. THERE. ARE. RULES.”

Softens if you get upset. He’s competitive but if you start to actually feel bad, he immediately backs off and maybe, just maybe he'll let you win the next round.

✦ Bob Reynolds ✦

Lowkey the peacemaker. Tries to keep everyone calm but ends up making snarky little comments when John gets on his nerves.

Very good at puzzle games. The quiet thinker. Can solve a Rubik’s Cube in like a minute and wins all the brain games.

Surprisingly sassy when he’s tired. If it’s late, he’ll start roasting people quietly under his breath and you are howling.

Always ends up on your team. You’re his comfort person. You’re the one who can get him to laugh even when he’s overwhelmed.

Super soft when you win. Always congratulates you, even if the others are too busy fighting to notice. Might gently pat your head like, "You did good, Starlight."

✦ Ava Starr ✦

Chaos incarnate. She plays to destroy people. She’s fast, sneaky, and will fully phase through the table to steal cards if you’re not watching.

Hates losing. But instead of yelling like John, she just gets eerily silent and stares at you.

"Ava, it’s just Connect Four."

Deadpan "No. It’s not."

Loves games with sabotage. Like Uno. Reverse cards are her love language.

Doesn’t really like team games. Unless you’re her partner. Then she’ll protect you like a hawk.

Let’s you win sometimes, but pretends she didn’t. “No, you just got lucky, don’t get cocky.”

✦ Group Dynamics ✦

Yelena and John are the loudest. Always fighting, always accusing each other of cheating.

Bob and Bucky just exchange looks like: “Why do we hang out with these people?”

Alexei is the one who flips the Monopoly board when he’s losing. Every time.

You always get away with the sneakiest cheats because Bucky secretly lets you.

Ava and Yelena 100% gang up on John at least once per game night.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Hope you guys liked it! My requests are always open so if you have any ideas I'dove to write them! <3

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whomstress · 2 days ago

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Something I wanna say that no one seems to be mentioning is we saw trauma response from loss from BOTH Jax and Ragatha.

We obviously saw it with the past friend Ribbit of Jax but we also saw on what Ragatha said about letting yourself fall into despair can do to a person in the circus i.e. abstract.

Ragatha definitely more postive due to her mom being constantly critical and trying to be the opposite of her, but I also think it's her way of trying to keep her friends alive. Like at the bar she says she doesn't even think her mom misses her which much hurt very deeply. And like Kinger said not making someone feel like they belong is the worst thing that can happen. I'm sure Ragatha has been there the second longest next to Kinger knows this too.

I truely don't think Ragatha was trying to bring up Ribbit when saying "not anymore" to Jax. I think she was talking about herself and how, through his hurt, he pushed everyone else away with cruelty.

For me, it seems obvious because of how regretful she is after, and she still apologizes later even after she just yelled at him. He pushed her all day, openly antagonizing everyone and especially her, LITERALLY taunting her as she walked away, and she still felt it important enough that she needed to apologize to him properly. I think that's honestly why that moment seemed to move him.

She may not like Jax but he's still stuck in there like everyone else and she's lost countless of people too that she now has to hold their death on her shoulders. I REALLY doubt she'd mock a loss of a fellow human in a casual retort. Especially how much she cried at Kafmos funeral. And not to mention it seems in the circus there's like a kind silent agrerment of lettting people grieve how they want kinda thing with no one ever saying anything bad about Jax when he didn't attend Kafmo's funeral.

I think that's her overcompensating for positivity comes it. People keep saying it's "toxic," but I wouldn't say that as it's more annoying, and it's not actually hurting anyone. Ragatha is terrified that she will lose her friends if she doesn't constantly put on a happy face or try to cheer them up. She's not a child she's been in there longer than most of them. She knows they're stuck. She knows it's hell. In fact, the line "we can't die here. That's the whole thing. " Really rings to me she or someone else mightve experiment to "get out" of the circus by trying to die.

But she also knows very intensely what happens when no one can see the bright side of things anymore. They give up on hope and trying. Jax, as cruel and negative as he is, has his own toxic positivity in the way he tries his best to laugh and have the most fun, even at the expenseof others, with every adventure. He may not have hope of leaving, but he does still have a positive look forward, mostly just to torture people. Along with the delusions that people, like Gangle, actually like being made cry and bullied. But, I really doubt that works for the majority of the people there.

So even if it is Ragatha own delusions thinking if she can make people a little happier they may able to stay longer. She means it from a geniune place.

One more theory is that Ragatha wasn't always so guarded with her relationships. Im sure she had some very close friends early on. But after loss after loss could you really blame her for just trying to keep them just alive rather than close? Kinger's head is in the clouds he forgets almost everything instantly, even the person he loved his wife. But Ragatha has to remember and keep moving forward.

I think its simliar how Jax doesn't mind not having friends for the most part and pushes people away by being mean and putting himseld first, he's obviously lonely but rather be that than hurt so deeply again. Ragatha's pushes away the opposite, instead of thinking of herself first like Jax, she's so worried about others she is also okay if she's alone because to her there's something more important than her loneliness.

I see this especially when Kinger, Gangle, and Zooble congratulate her. They obviously like her and appreciate her and she looks genuinely shocked because she does nice things all the time and doesn't expect anything back from it by now.

#ragatha #tadc #tadc spoilers #tadc jax #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #the amazing digital circus #tadc theories

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faramirsonofgondor · 10 hours ago

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Ok ok but Dick being like ~ 15 years older than Damian. When Damian shows up on Bruce’s doorstep, Bruce doesn’t really have a chance to announce it to the public before he gets lost in time. So now Dick, who’s 25 is stuck with this tiny 10 year old and has the job of integrating him into Gotham society.

Except because Bruce only adopts kids who look like him, and Damian and Dick are tanner than the rest of his kids, literally everyone assumes that Damian is Dick’s bio kid. Like Dick is like “oh yea this is Bruce’s biological son that I’m looking after” and everyone goes “uh huh sure” but when he’s not around they’re just like “oh that’s his kid for sure”. Both Dick and Damian are aware of it and offended by it, albeit for very different reasons. Dick is offended that they somehow think he would be a deadbeat dad even if he was a teen dad, and Damian is offended that nobody believes he’s Bruce’s kid.

But eventually Dick is just like fuck it that’s my kid, and Damian is extremely annoyed but somehow lets Dick convince him to go along with it. Dick walks around in a pink shirt that says “Your favorite DILF” in the most basic font ever, and buys Damian a matching shirt that says “The favorite child” which Damian refuses to wear unless one of the other Batkids (usually Steph since basically everyone else fucked off when Bruce was lost) is around.

It gets to the point where even Dick, Damian, and Alfred forget that Damian isn’t actually Dick’s bio kid. (In this AU, Bruce is lost in time for about 3 years) Dick decides to forget about Talia’s existence as well and just decides that Damian is a clone that he birthed. But then Bruce comes back and now they’re in a weird place. Damian lives with Bruce now and while nobody ever says anything directly, the entire public is giving them a huge side eye because both Dick and Damian look a little depressed with the predicament. People start to wonder if Bruce is blackmailing Dick or something.

Everything comes to a head when Bruce and Dick start fighting in front of the whole fam over something Bruce said to Damian on patrol. Bruce tells Dick that he needs to back off because Bruce is Damian’s father, not Dick. Nobody’s sure how Dick is going to respond, but they definitely weren’t expecting for Dick to say “Fuck you, I’m the one who birthed him!!!” There’s a stretch of silence and before anyone can respond to that, Damian just nods his head and goes “Grayson is right. Surely your memory is not so poor that you’ve forgotten?” Everyone is gaping when Alfred delivers the final blow “Master Bruce, I truly did not expect this behavior from you. Of course Master Dick is Damian’s parent. Perhaps it is best if you retire, since it is clear that your lack of sleep is getting the better of you.”

Everyone is shook and they’re like “wtf you cannot gaslight us into believing this shit.” Except they do indeed gaslight. And gaslight. And gaslight.

Jason tries to reason with them by talking about how he had met Damian in the League, had seen Damian with Talia, yada yada yada. Damian just goes “I think I would remember if I had played little league. Such foolish games are beneath me. Cease your nonsense, Todd.” Jason eventually calls Talia to make sure he’s not losing his memories or something. Talia is perplexed but Dick’s claim over her child does scare her just a little bit, considering she remembers how feral he was when he was younger and she’s heard whispers about him killing the Joker (not that she ever mentioned that to Jason).

Tim tries to go with logic but gets shut down every time. One time he asks “If you were raised by Dick then why is your English so proper?” He’s met with “Oh, so because English is not Richard’s first language, then he is incapable of speaking it properly? Tt.” When he questions why Damian fights the way he does if he wasn’t raised by the LoA, Dick brings out his Renegade training and shows off his skills. Tim keeps trying to find ways to prove that they’re lying, but somehow ends up losing the argument every time. It’s grating, especially considering Alfred is on their side.

Bruce is hesitant to try anything because Alfred is corroborating their story and he doesn’t want to cross Alfred. He only questions it once, asking Dick where Damian’s baby photos are. He does not anticipate Dick tearfully explaining that they were all destroyed when Blockbuster blew up his apartment. Bruce is so panicked and desperate to make sure Dick doesn’t cry again that he just never questions it again.

So now the entire family is kinda gaslight into believing it, and those who know the truth don’t actually say anything because they don’t think it’s worth the effort. After all, Dick is doing a great job of parenting Damian. But then comes the Justice League, which is much bigger than batfam. Everyone is kinda awkwardly glancing around when Dick introduces Damian as his kid, because they remember a few years back Bruce saying the same thing, but now Bruce is just going along with what Dick is saying. The OG Titans are like “wtf dude” but also immediately have his back whenever someone tries to question it. They talk about how they were there for Damian’s birth, about all the presents they’ve bought for their nephew and holidays spent together. Everyone gets the memo to not ask questions about it. The only one stupid enough to try is Hal, who is met with a feral Damian. He has a flashback of the many, many times Dick bit him as a child and decides that yea, that kid belongs to Dick.

#jason tim and bruce trying to ethos pathos logos their way out of this mess and dick just says no and that’s it #everyone on dicks side took one look at the situation and went ‘whatever it takes to stop bruce from screwing up another kid’#someone: who’s his mom? dick: me :). someone else: ok but who’s his dad? dick: me >:)#babs in the corner: *forges birth certificate and other paperwork*#damian wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #batfam #batfamily #batfam au #batman #batman and robin #dc #dc comics #dc characters #nightwing

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brownblob · 1 day ago

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Home Sweet Home

Jim Walters x GN!Reader

TW: Suggestive, toxic relationship dynamics, yandere, creepy Jim (ish?)

Consume, the need to devour you was necessary. It was a thought that engulfed him entirely - from his body to his mind. All he thought of was you, who was so close. Just a room away and sometimes right in front of him, sitting in silence - the carving on your neck, a collar of sorts displayed like a trophy. A rabbit, skittish like you - distrusting too.

Finally in his grasp, defiant or pliant, something he could mold - though not with the intention to change. It was with the intention to safe-keep, to help you, he insisted. Fragile things needed help, aid. He wasn't one to brag like that, not at first at least - but it was a fact, wasn't it?

You who was from a place so far away, locked with him in his little cabin with nowhere to go. Cute. You'd die if you stepped a foot out so he'd graciously take responsibility - hold you in his shaky arms, hoping you wouldn't find him repulsive. How could he not quake with you so near? How beautiful you were, so close yet so far. Lashes coated in tears, body moving in jagged steps. All to get away from him. Quite rude of you, he wouldn't push though. Not yet, as long as you stayed. Stayed close to him, within his gaze, under his nose, so close that he could touch you - just to make sure you weren't a fleeting dream.

Though the need for you wouldn't go away, the desire to melt into you - become one. So close, so utterly in sync. His movements would be smooth, as gentle as he could be in this moment of exasperation. Desperation as he pinned you beneath him, so full of life as you struggled for steadiness.

Struggle as you may, you have nowhere to go. So stay and melt under his touch, cry for him as he does for you, yearn for him. Tremor beneath him as he engulfs you, skin on skin so sinfully pure - the act of becoming one as you place your hands on his chest, stabilizing yourself.

Icy eyes look down at you adoring or obsessive, hands either gentle or rough, body warm or cold, and words sweet or biting.

Stupid you are for trying to run, he warned you it would hurt you - now he's the one who has to patch you up. You cry into his shoulder as he awkwardly cradles your body, cursing himself as his blush deepens. Blame him for all he's worth but to be depended on by you was all he ever wanted. Hands in your hair as he talks to you, warming up your body. A kiss to your forehead as he relishes in your stillness, comfort. How long has it been? You aren't sure. You never did end up going back to the Little Cub Cabin. You ponder as you sip the drink he's given you. You swear it has something in it, though he proved you wrong by gulping it one go once. Nevertheless it doesn't make sense. Why else do you always end up in bed after. Limbs tangled together as your head pounds. Not that you mind, not anymore. Not when he is home.

Home sweet home.

Note: AHHHHHH i"ve been so obsessed with this game since playing it and oml oml this man deserves more content on him. I know this isn't my usual content but i just HAD to. Also creator/author @hereisremina of this game YOU COOKED SERVED AND ATE. I hope this little fic shows my appreciation (more coming) for the absolute artwork you've produced. Note 2: So guys i know it's been SOOOOOOO long since i last posted something significant and I am so sorry. It's been really difficult with responsibilities and a LOT of writers block. I'll try making more content but I might also be branching out to other fandoms than just TWST, as you can see here. My guilty pleasures are yanderes (yes I am self obsessed because i wanna be the one thing that consumes another's thoughts. Sue me.) so I might be focusing on such content now...who knows

Note 3: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

#Chilling Devotion #chilling devotion jim #just my thoughts #x reader #yandere #imagine #jim walters #he needs more love #fanfic #Chilling devotion fandom #brownblob

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maryshelleysgrave · 14 hours ago

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Today's entry is one of my absolute favourites because we haven't heard from Jonathan in so long and what we finally get to hear is just horror after horror

Like I know we all joke about Lizard Style™ but Jonathan knows the span of his life and has just seen a monster leave in a most unnatural way wearing his image. That's terrifying. Jonathan doesn't exist, he may as well already be dead, he has spent the last few weeks as a living ghost essentially, and before his time is up he has to see a monster playing with him in these final ways by wearing his clothes and using his very being as a disguise to murder a child.

And then we are reminded that this castle is simply danger incarnate. No where is safe for Jonathan - he is either trapped in rooms by or with the count, or he is at major risk of becoming a midnight snack for Dracula's three weed smoking roommates anywhere else. Even something as innocuous as dust in the moonlight is a threat. No wonder we haven't heard from Jonathan in so long; first for likely fear that he'll run out of paper and ink, secondly because he's been living through each precious day through constant control and fear

(yap about the woman and her death under the cut)

The death of the woman screaming for her child is genuinely one of my favourite sections of the whole book though. It offers a snapshot of the horrors wreaked upon people by Dracula outside the castle and outside the crew of light. I am always in awe of the sheer bravery and love this fictional background character must've had to walk up to the castle and scream demands for the sake of her family.

I also think it sets up the themes of familial love (in whatever form family takes) and the power of love. What happens through the rest of the novel wouldn't occur if the characters didn't care and love each other so ardently. Yes this woman's death is a terrifying display of Dracula's power and cruelty, but the woman's actions are a precursor to the love that characterises and motivates the rest of the plot.

Her death is shortly written. Neither we nor Jonathan know much about her so there's not much to say. There is little to pity as Jonathan is becoming well acquainted with The Horrors™ and understands that her death is perhaps not unordinary, but one line in particular stands out:

There was no cry from the woman

Dracula loves to exert his power and takes delight in cruelty; he has a pack of wolves waiting patiently at his heels and plays with his food the characters simply to cause torment. I suspect that Dracula wants people to scream, he wants to see people suffer. By refusing to voice her own agony as she is killed in one of the worst ways possible (you cannot convince me that literally being eaten alive is a nice way to go) her death becomes a final act of defiance in the face of the monster who revels in pain. She does not give Dracula the satisfaction of her death. She screams only in grief for her child, defying Dracula by the pure act of trying to confront him, and she defies him again in her own death.

Anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

#dracula #dracula daily #sorry for yapping #but it really is one of my favourite entries

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noirscript · 20 hours ago

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Inked Possession

part 2.

Pairing: Yandere Artist x Erotic Book Writer!Reader

Note: Tags and warnings later! At work TuT I'll fix my recent stuffs later after work TuT

It begins with a laugh.

Not yours. And definitely not Eleazar’s.

The gallery hums with polite chatter and soft music, all of it bleeding into the undercurrent of hushed awe and too-hungry eyes. It’s a private preview of Anatomy of Devotion,

Eleazar’s newest exhibit—his obsession rendered in brushstrokes. You. In shadows and warm light. Draped in his shirt, curled into his bed, arched across canvas like you belonged there more than in your own skin.

And you do, don’t you?

You feel exposed, not because of the nudity or the rawness of each painting, but because you know he painted them while you slept, dreamed, moaned. The audience doesn't see that part. But he does. And you do. And it burns beneath your clothes.

From across the room, you sense his eyes on you. He’s dressed in black again—casual in a way that still looks powerful, shoulders straight and jaw tense. His dark hair is slightly messy, a curl brushing the edge of his cheekbone. He watches you with an intensity that borders on unnerving. You offer a small, reassuring smile, a signal: I'm fine. I'm just talking.

He doesn’t smile back.

You turn to excuse yourself politely from the nearby crowd, but someone steps in.

“This one,” a voice says beside you, male, amused, too relaxed for your comfort. “Damn. That’s my favorite.”

You follow his gaze and immediately regret it. He’s pointing to the massive oil painting of you in Eleazar’s studio chair, one leg folded under the other, wearing nothing but his ruined, paint-smeared shirt. The same one that now hangs like a shrine in your shared bedroom.

“The way you’re looking in this?” the assistant says, sipping his champagne with a crooked grin. “Like someone just dragged you out of a fever dream. Fucking raw. He nailed it.”

You offer a tight smile, holding your glass a little too firmly. “He captures what matters.”

He leans in slightly, voice dropping as if you’re already conspiring. “If I had someone like you in my studio, I’d never stop painting. Or touching. I mean… ever considered posing for someone else?”

The comment slides across your skin like rot. You pull away a fraction, breath caught in your throat—but it’s already too late.

The man doesn't notice. “I’ve got a setup. Nothing big, but I can be a lot more fun than your guy.”

The flute nearly slips from your hand.

It doesn’t shatter. It doesn’t have to.

Because Eleazar is suddenly behind him.

The temperature of the room changes. The quiet turns heavy. The gallery’s background noise continues—oblivious—but here, where Eleazar stands, the world becomes razor-sharp.

The assistant laughs nervously, stepping back as if he’s only now aware of the storm forming inches from his face. “Oh—hey. Didn’t see you there, man. Just a joke. Your wife’s stunning, really. You must be proud.”

Eleazar’s smile is slight and sharp. It looks polite. It isn’t.

“I’m always proud of what’s mine,” he replies, calm and low, too calm. “But you strike me as the kind of man who doesn’t understand boundaries until he’s bleeding.”

The man blanches, and you can practically smell the fear start to rise off him. You reach out to place a hand on Eleazar’s arm, grounding, a silent plea not to cause a scene here.

He doesn’t need to.

He takes your hand instead and guides you through the crowd, slow and silent, his grip firm but not harsh. You follow without protest.

---

The drive home is quiet. Not cold—just sharpened into something that leaves no room for distractions.

Eleazar keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, flexing every now and then like he’s holding back something primal. His jaw is tight, his profile locked in shadow, and even the air feels afraid to stir.

You try once, softly. “Eleazar—”

“Don’t.”

You flinch. Not because of the volume—he doesn’t raise his voice—but because of the meaning behind it. He rarely interrupts you. When he does, it's because he's trying not to unravel.

“I could smell him on you,” he says after a while, his voice calmer now but laced with restrained venom. “Like a stain.”

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper. “He was being inappropriate, yes, but I didn’t engage.”

“You laughed.”

“I didn’t mean to. It was uncomfortable. I was trying to be polite—”

“You laughed.” His knuckles tighten around the wheel, the leather creaking. “Do you know what that does to me? Hearing that sound, knowing it wasn’t for me?”

You stay quiet.

“I won’t punish you for his stupidity,” he says, more to himself than to you. “But I will remind you what your smile belongs to. What you belong to.”

---

He doesn’t even wait for you to enter the apartment. He leans down as he opens the car door, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and murmurs, “Studio. Now.”

You obey.

Inside the space where he paints you daily, the scent of varnish and oil hits you like memory. It’s thick in the air—intimate, private. You notice immediately the cloth and basin of warm water, the soft silk rope, and the blindfold folded neatly on his stool.

It’s not a punishment.

It’s a lesson.

He enters a moment later. Locks the door behind him. Doesn’t say a word as he moves behind you and begins unzipping your dress. It slips from your shoulders like surrender, pooling at your feet.

You don’t fight him when he lifts you into the studio chair—the one you’ve posed on countless times, the one he’s immortalized you in. He moves slowly, methodically, securing your wrists behind the chair with the silk rope, then spreading your ankles to tie them to the legs.

The blindfold is the last thing. He slides it on gently, fingertips brushing your temples.

Darkness falls.

You can feel the shift in the air as he steps back. The silence lengthens. Then you hear it—the sound of his fingers dipping into paint.

When his touch returns, it’s cold and deliberate. He draws a line across your collarbone, slow and thick.

“This one’s black,” he says near your ear. “Do you remember what black means?”

You nod, throat dry. “Mine.”

“Good girl.”

He paints over your chest, dragging his fingers in spirals around your nipples until they harden. Down your ribs, across your stomach, then along your thighs—everywhere but where you need him most. He avoids your core deliberately, punishing you without pain.

The next color is red. “This is for shame. For forgetting—even briefly—that your smile is sacred. That it belongs only to me.”

The red stains your inner thighs, the underside of your breasts, your throat.

Then comes gold. He doesn’t speak as he paints a streak from your heart to your navel, a line of reverence amid chaos.

You sit there—tied, blindfolded, dripping in black and red and gold. Helpless. Waiting.

And still, he doesn’t touch you there.

He disappears briefly, and when he returns, it isn’t with fingers or paint.

It’s with warm cloth.

He parts your thighs and presses the soft towel to your center, cleaning you with the kind of care that borders on sacred. Each pass is gentle, almost worshipful, as he murmurs, “You think I’d risk your body for a lesson? No. I’d never hurt what’s mine.”

The moment the cloth drops away, so does his restraint.

He goes to his knees, and when his tongue finally touches you, it’s not tentative.

He eats you like a starving man—devouring every moan, every shudder, holding your thighs in place as you buck and cry out against the ropes. He doesn’t stop, even when you beg him to, even when you sob that you’re close.

Especially then.

He forces it out of you like confession, like sin.

When you fall apart, trembling and sobbing, he rises slowly. His belt unfastens. His zipper follows. You can hear the scrape of fabric, the rustle of movement, and then he’s there—pressing into you, filling you with a single, brutal thrust.

Your scream echoes.

He groans above you, voice rough with need. “You’ll never laugh for anyone but me. You’ll never write another smile that doesn’t belong to me.”

“I won’t,” you cry, already breaking again.

“You’ll write me into every draft. Every kiss. Every fuck.”

“Yes—yes—only you—”

His pace is merciless. The chair creaks beneath your bound frame as he drives into you, each thrust branding, each moan a claim carved into your bones.

You lose track of how many times you come. It blurs into rhythm—him, you, the ropes, his voice, the heat. You sob out his name, not from pain, but from surrender.

When he finishes, it’s with a growl pressed into your neck.

He unties you slowly. Carefully. Then carries you to bed like something fragile and beloved, laying you down in clean sheets even as your skin still bears his paint.

You don’t need to speak. His hands say it all. So do the kisses he trails across each bruised thigh, each paint-streaked breast.

---

The next morning, your coffee is hot, the sheets are clean, and your laptop is open.

There’s a new document saved on your desktop.

Lee – Part I

Beneath it, in the document’s header, a single note:

“Only I get to read you, darling. Write accordingly.”

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere male #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere fic #yandere x y/n #yandere male x reader

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alltimecharlo · 2 days ago

Note

It has been some trying times for me. Work is evil, I miss omega Will, I don’t have any time to read fanfic, and it has rained for the past 4 days. Your work keeps me going atm. Also thinking about omega Will being cuddly with people on the team and maybe (Leno or Gabe) and Mack getting jealous about it like he’s the only one allowed to cuddle. He does not realize he gets special cuddles and always smells like Will because Will scents him. Idk. It’s just been on my mind.

i loved this idea anon!!! hopefully it gives you some strength to push through 🩵 fic under the cut! :)

Mack doesn’t think he’s the jealous type.

He doesn’t. He never has been. He’s always figured, if something’s yours, it’ll come back. If it’s not—well. Better to let it go than waste time worrying.

But apparently that cool, reasonable part of his brain goes absolutely fucking dormant the second Will Smith, omega and menace and apparently also the team’s emotional support blanket, decides to drape himself over someone that isn’t Mack.

They’re in the lounge at the practice facility. Everyone’s wiped from a brutal morning skate. Mack has a protein shake half-finished in one hand, his legs stretched out across a beanbag chair that’s definitely too small for his frame, when he looks up and sees it:

Will, flopped sideways on the couch, practically tangled up in Mario Ferraro.

Like—Will’s head is on Mario’s shoulder. He’s got a hand tucked between their bodies, fingers loosely curled into Mario’s hoodie, and Mario isn’t even flinching. Just chewing trail mix like this is normal. Like this happens all the time.

Which. Maybe it does?

Mack blinks, something uneasy crawling up his throat. He tries to ignore it. Looks back down at his phone. Swipes through a few messages from his mom. Doesn’t reply.

Looks back up.

Will laughs at something Mario says and tugs the guy’s sleeve like he needs more of his attention, like he’s not already climbing him like a cat in a sunbeam. And Mack’s stomach twists.

It’s fine. It’s whatever. Omegas are naturally more tactile, right? And Will’s always been affectionate—nudging Mack’s elbow in the locker room, draping himself across Mack’s back during off-ice warmups, falling asleep half on top of Mack during road trips.

But that’s… that’s just them. Isn’t it?

He glances around.

No one else seems to find this weird. Some of the younger guys are playing a half-hearted game of Mario Kart in the corner. Toff’s snoring in an armchair. Eky’s messing around in his phone.

Mack sits up straighter. Sets down his shake. Crosses the room and drops down on the other side of the couch with what he hopes is a casual, neutral expression.

“Hey,” he says.

Will perks up immediately. “Hey! We were just talking about your reverse hit on that Kings guy this morning.” He grins, crooked and dimpled. “You nearly flattened him. It was beautiful.”

Mack hums, his eyes darting briefly to where Will’s still nestled in against Mario. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will says, voice warm with praise. Then, with zero hesitation, he wriggles free from Mario’s side and sprawls dramatically across Mack’s lap instead.

Like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like it’s inevitable.

Mack freezes for a second. Then, carefully, he puts a hand on Will’s waist to steady him.

Will sighs, pleased. “You’re comfier anyway,” he mumbles, cheek pressed to Mack’s thigh.

Mack’s heart does something weird and stuttering. “Right,” he says, trying not to sound wrecked.

Mario gives them both a knowing little look but doesn’t say anything. Just smirks and gets up to grab another snack, leaving Mack alone with the warm, heavy weight of Will across his lap.

Will smells like warm sugar and summer grass. Always does. Mack breathes it in before he can stop himself.

“You good?” Will murmurs, barely looking up.

Mack swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “You always like that with the rest of the team?”

Will hums. “What, cuddly?”

Mack nods.

Will stretches, his hoodie riding up slightly, revealing a thin stripe of skin above his waistband. Mack looks away.

“I mean,” Will says thoughtfully, “not with everyone. Mario’s chill. But like—not all cuddles are the same, you know?”

Mack doesn’t know. Or maybe he does, because suddenly he’s remembering how Will will always lean into him just a bit more. How Will seeks him out on the bench, how Will tends to end up in Mack’s hotel bed when the rooms are doubles. How his hoodies always smell faintly of Will’s omega scent, even when he’s pretty sure Will hasn’t borrowed them.

“Do I smell like you?” Mack asks before he can stop himself.

Will pauses. Then looks up at him with a slow, smug smile. “You’re only just noticing that now?”

Mack groans.

Will laughs, bright and delighted, and curls in closer.

“It’s fine,” he says, pressing his nose against Mack’s hoodie. “I like it when you smell like me. Makes people know you’re mine.”

Mack chokes on air. “I’m what?”

Will grins. “You heard me.”

And then he closes his eyes, like the conversation’s over, and Mack is left staring down at him like the world’s spun sideways.

He thought he was the jealous one.

Turns out Will’s been staking his claim this whole time.

♡

#:)#willmack #san jose sharks #macklin celebrini #mackwill #wacklin #will smith hockey #hrpf #hrpf fic #abo #hockey fic #hockey rpf #willmack prompts

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allsteddie · 2 days ago

Text

Under the Spotlight [Part I]

Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson hate each other. At least that's what the press is saying. Also known as the Actor!Steve AU.

It starts like this: Steve is in Los Angeles. He’s just began shooting his new period drama show and the first round of promotion is starting as well.

Personally, Steve doesn’t like this part of his job very much. It’s tiring, and also kinda boring, talking to the press. They’re always asking the same questions, always trying to make Steve give out more information about his personal life or trying to get on his good graces by flattering him in the most obvious ways. If he could, Steve would stick to just acting, but he’s still not famous enough to skip talking to the press and going to events if he wants his shows and movies to catch the public’s attention. So, he sucks it up and tells Robin she can let the reporter in so Steve can start his sixth(?) interview of the day.

The woman is nice enough, he guesses. She asks about the show, what Steve can share with his fans, what his fans can expect of this new role. Then, of course, just like every single reporter that came before her, she asks how Steve felt about working with Nancy Wheeler for the first time since they broke up. It’s so predictable that Steve would roll his eyes if he could. Sadly, he can’t. It wouldn’t be polite of him; it wouldn’t look good. So Steve plasters one of his trademark smiles and says the same thing he did to the other reporters.

“Nancy is a great actress and one of the best friends I have. Working with her is always a joy.”

And it’s not even a lie. Nancy is great and she is one of his best friends. Their relationship ended, yes, but it was a mutual understanding, and they parted in good terms, with no bad blood between them. They broke up almost two years ago, there’s no reason for things between them to be weird anymore.

That’s not what the press wants to know, though. They just want Steve to let something slip so they can explore it, distort it and publish it as truth. Steve’s been in this industry for enough time to know how it works.

The reporter seems unimpressed by his mild answer. She insists, mentioning Jonathan Byers, Nancy’s new boyfriend (fianceé, actually, but that information is not public knowledge yet) just to see if she can get a reaction out of him. Poor woman, she’s gonna have to do better than that.

When she realizes Steve’s not going to give her anything, the woman deflates. She moves on to other topics, prods Steve a little about his personal life, but her heart is not there anymore, Steve can see it.

“Alright, Steve, we’re almost done here, I promise,” the reporter (Anna? Anne?) says. “We asked your fans to send us questions on our Twitter page and selected a few.”

“Okay.”

The woman takes a minute to go over her notes.

“Okay,” she says, straightening her posture on the armchair she’s sitting. Steve does the same, more out of respect than anything. “@lysa_07 asks: did you always want to become an actor, or did you think about following a different career?”

“When I was in school, I played basketball and wanted to go pro. I was pretty good, actually, some universities offered me a scholarship and everything, but I got injured when I was in my senior year. Had to go through knee surgery and eight months of PT just to be able to walk by myself again.”

“So acting was your second choice?”

“At first, yes. But looking back I think I’m better off where I am right now. I loved playing basketball when I was a kid, but by the time I got injured it was more about winning than anything else. The fun I used to feel when I was playing was not there anymore because I was always worried about failing and letting my team and coach down. So, I guess even if I didn’t get injured, I would eventually have given up on basketball anyway. Living under that kind of stress is not for me.”

Nodding, Anne(?) types something on her tablet. “Yeah, I get that. I was on the soccer team in high school, the pressure really is crazy,” she agrees. “Okay, second question. @harringtons_fan_5_ever: What do you like to do in your free time?”

Steve chuckles. “Call me lame, but all I want to do when I have free time is go home, see my dogs and sleep as much as I can. There’s nothing better than that.”

“They don’t travel with you? Must be hard being away from them for so long.”

“They’re old dogs, travelling is too stressful for them now. And, yes, I miss them like crazy, they’ve been with me for over ten years.”

“Oh, I see. I hope you get to see them soon, then.”

Another pause as the reporter types something else on her tablet. Steve takes the water bottle on the small table beside him and takes a sip, his throat a little parched after talking for so long. He hopes the woman is being honest and they are almost done, because Steve can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

“Last question is from @justaccoffingirlie,” she says. “It’s two questions, actually. First, she asks: In terms of music, what are your favorite genres? And follows with: what do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”

“I guess pop and classic rock are my main choices when I’m making a playlist,” Steve answers, thoughtful. “Sorry, but what was that second question?”

“What do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”

“Is that a band?” he asks, a small frown forming on his face as he tries to make sense of whatever the woman expects him to answer. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Yes, it’s a metal band. They’re very popular, their new tour has been sold out for months. They released their third album a couple of months ago.”

“Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.”

For the first time since the interview started, the reporter smiles brightly, nodding once again, this time with more enthusiasm.

“Yeah, they’re pretty big, you know!?” she says. “Their fans are very passionate.”

“Oh, good for them, I guess.”

“It sure is. Thank you very much for your time, Steve. We should publish this interview in two weeks. We’ll send all the details to your team when the article comes out.”

“Sure. It was great talking to you.”

In retrospect, Steve should have suspected something was not right. Anna had looked too satisfied by the end of their little chat. But he suspected nothing. After almost two hours, Steve just wanted to go back to his hotel room. He had a plane to catch that night and an eight-hour flight to Europe awaiting him.

Two weeks later, that interview he’s given is the last thing on Steve’s mind.

The make up team is working their magic on him whilst Steve reads for the last time his lines for the scene they’re about to start shooting that morning. Nancy is in the chair beside him, chatting with the hairdresser as the woman works on her as well. It’s all a little chaotic, but familiar enough for it to be relaxing in a way.

That is, until the door to the make-up room is slammed open and a pissed off Robin shows up on the threshold.

“Robin? What happen—” Steve begins to say but stops when Robin starts beating him with what seems to be a rolled-up magazine.

“You are a dumbass!!” she says, hitting him with no mercy. “Why do you do this? Do you fucking hate me, Harrington?!”

“What the hell, Robin!? Stop!”

The make-up artists scramble away from the woman, letting Steve all by himself to deal with her. Traitors!

“You. Are. An. Idiot!” she says, furious.

Steve grabs her wrist when she tries to hit him again and takes the fucking magazine out of her hands. That doesn’t stop her; Robin just starts slapping him with her bare hands.

“Hey, Robin, come on, stop hitting him,” Nancy, beautiful, sweet Nancy says, coming to Steve’s rescue. She grabs Robin’s arm and pulls the other woman away from Steve, forcing her to sit down on the chair she had previously been using. “Breathe, Buckley, you’re not making any sense.”

“You want me to make sense? I’ll make sense. I’m gonna kill this fucking idiot!!”

Steve gets up from the chair before Robin can reach him again. “You’re crazy!”

“Of course I am! You’re always trying to make my life difficult by opening your big, fat mouth. Why can’t you shut up, Harrington? Why?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did!”

“What did he do, Robin?” Nancy asks, just as confused as everyone else in the room.

Robin takes a deep breath, massaging her temples.

“Look at the fucking magazine, Steve,” she hisses.

Still lost, Steve unrolls the magazine and looks at its cover. It’s him. It’s a picture from a photoshoot he did a month ago, his name printed in big yellow letters announcing his interview on page 17.

“They published my interview, so what? Why are you pissed at me?” he asks, staring at the flattering picture with narrowing eyes. There’s no mention of Nancy on the cover, which is good in his humble opinion.

“I’m pissed at you because you are a dumbass who doesn’t know how or when to shut up. Why did you have to mock Corroded Coffin? Have you lost your mind?”

“I did what?”

“Oh, Steve,” Nancy says, mournful. “Tell me you didn’t do that.”

“I have no idea what she’s talking about, Nance, I didn’t mock anyone.”

Nancy grabs the magazine from his hands and opens it, flipping pages until she finds Steve’s interview. Her eyes roam over the page for a moment, then she lets out a small sigh.

“’When asked about Corroded Coffin’s new album, Steve Harrington claimed he has never heard of the band before and found funny the idea of a band with such a silly name being so famous,’” Nancy reads aloud, whilst Robin glares daggers at him. “’Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.’”

“I never said their name was silly!” Steve defends himself.

“But you implied it, that’s more than enough for these people, you know that,” Robin says. “What were you thinking, Steve?”

“Oh, come on. You’re overreacting, Robin. No one’s gonna care if I find a band name funny or not. Relax, woman.”

“Sorry, Steve, but Robin is right,” Nancy says, closing the magazine and giving it back to Robin. “Corroded Coffin’s fans are crazy loyal. They’re gonna go nuts when they read this.”

“Not you too, Nance.”

“But it’s true, Steve. Seriously. Corroded Coffin has one of the biggest fanbases I’ve ever seen. Their concerts are always packed. I went to one of their concerts with Jonathan last month and the crowd was insane; they screamed so loud my ears were ringing for hours after the show.”

“If they’re so famous, why haven’t I heard of them before?”

“Because you’ve been listening to the same ten artists since High School, that’s why,” Robin says, flicking him on the forehead. “Pray to God that their fans don’t take this shit to heart, Harrington. Because if they do, they’re gonna make your life, and by extension my life, a living hell.”

“At least he didn’t say anything about Munson,” Nancy laughs. “Now that would be a bad call.”

“Who?”

“Oh my God, you’re hopeless,” Robin groans, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

She throws the magazine at Steve, then storms out of the room, slamming the door shut and without looking back.

Steve frowns at the magazine in his hands, his own face looking back at him from the cover as if mocking him somehow.

Robin was just overreacting, right?

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve x eddie #my writing #steddie fanfiction

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