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shyoko · 27 days ago

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✧You and another member play fighting, and you end up on top of him ✦༺⊹

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. 𓂃

✦ 3.6K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist₊‧ ✦𓂃

You can send me all the requests you want before Sunday. I’ll be writing them throughout June and July. After that day, requests will be closed!

enhypen x fem!reader ⚠️ CW: jealousy, angst, emotional tension, possessive behavior, rough intimacy, heated confrontations, wall pinning, intense kissing, dirty talk, slight humiliation, neck kissing, marking (hickeys), affirmations of ownership, insecure behavior, friends-to-lovers tension, make-up, and emotional aftercare.

✧ Heeseung ----------

“Please, Sunoo, lend it to me,” you demanded, sitting next to him and stretching your arm to reach the snack he had bought you—after you had told him over and over again how much you loved it.

You leaned over his body to retrieve it, and he, laughing, held you by the waist to keep you from falling while pulling the package even farther from you. Both of your laughter filled the room, creating a light and fun moment…

Until a dry cough abruptly broke the mood.

Heeseung stood at the door, arms crossed, brow furrowed, and with an expression of anger so intense that it seemed to erase all the joy in an instant. His murderous gaze locked onto the two of you—especially Sunoo.

��What the hell is going on here?” he snapped, his voice cold and razor-sharp.

Sunoo immediately dropped the package and pulled his hand from your waist like it had burned him. The sudden movement made you lose balance, falling onto him. Heeseung barely moved, but his eyes burned with jealousy.

“Are you comfortable, Sunoo?” he asked with a forced, venom-laced smile.

“It’s not what it looks like…” Sunoo tried to explain nervously, raising his hands.

“Oh, really? Because from here it looks like your hands are where they shouldn’t be,” Heeseung interrupted, taking another step toward you. “You think this is funny, or what?”

The tension thickened. Sunoo opened his mouth to say something, but Heeseung had already grabbed your arm—firm but not painful—and hoisted you over his shoulder with determination. His gaze never left Sunoo.

“Don’t ever touch her like that again. Not even as a joke.”

Sunoo nodded silently, swallowing hard, while you, dangling from Heeseung’s shoulder, kicked and protested.

Heeseung walked straight to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He dropped you face down on the mattress and quickly climbed on top of you, pressing his body against yours.

“You’re mine, damn it. How many times do I have to say it? I don’t like those little games of yours—and even less when they’re with him,” he spat, his lips brushing your ear.

His warm breath hit your skin, but his tone wasn’t sweet this time. He was angry, jealous, consumed by a mix of frustration and intensity.

“Whose are you?”

You squirmed under his body, your heart pounding. But before you could answer, his voice came again, firmer:

“I asked: whose the hell are you? Answer me!”

His lips came down to your neck and bit hard, without care. Then he licked the area, a silent apology for the roughness.

“Yours… I’m yours, Heeseung,” you gasped, breathless.

“That’s right, baby. Only mine,” he whispered, his expression calmer now, though his eyes still blazed.

He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, then wrapped you in his arms and lay down with you, holding you close—as if afraid someone else might ever touch you again.

✧ Jay ----------

The neon lights of the trampoline park danced in colorful flashes, mixing with the loud music and the laughter of the boys. They jumped, fell, screamed. As always, Jay stayed by your side, his hand tightly holding yours—as if claiming you silently.

But the chaos of the place ended up separating you for a few moments. Jake found you first, bursting with energy and flashing that mischievous grin.

“Wanna wrestle? I bet you won’t last a minute,” he said, winking.

“Oh yeah? Want to try me?” you replied through laughter, accepting the challenge without much thought.

It started with playful pushes, clumsy dodges, and stifled shrieks between giggles. Jake circled your waist playfully, catching you to keep you from falling, and you responded by flailing at the air, laughing. But with one bad jump, you lost your balance and fell straight onto him.

Jake laughed, his arms instinctively wrapping around you.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice warm while you stayed on his chest, still laughing uncontrollably.

But then you felt it. That silent pressure that stops time. You looked up—and there was Jay.

His jaw was tight, eyes locked on the scene, breath held in as if one more spark could make him explode. He walked toward you both with firm steps, his expression cold, too cold... too controlled.

“Get up,” he said to Jake, without needing to raise his voice.

Jake, now clearly uncomfortable, helped you stand. Jay approached you. He wasn’t rough, but the way his hand gripped your arm was final—like he was saying come with me without needing to speak.

“Did anything hurt?” he asked gently, scanning you quickly with his eyes, though the anger burning inside him was far from hidden.

“I’m fine, Jay… it was just an accident,” you began, but he didn’t let you finish.

He turned to Jake with a tight, forced smile.

“Didn’t know we were playing ‘roll around with someone else’s girlfriend’ now.”

Jake raised his hands, awkwardly.

“It wasn’t like that, I swear—we were just messing around…”

Jay just stared at him a moment longer. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was worse.

Then he looked back at you, took your face in his hands, and leaned in with determination. He kissed you—deep, hard, without restraint. A kiss full of everything he wasn’t saying aloud. Jealousy. Rage. Need. Possession.

When he pulled away, his eyes still held that dark fire.

“Let’s go.”

He took your hand and you followed him, saying nothing more. You got in the car in silence. He played music low as he started the engine. His left hand on the wheel, his right still holding yours—tight.

“Jay… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. We were just playing,” you murmured, staring at his fingers that wouldn’t let you go.

He didn’t answer right away. He just breathed deeply, lips pressed together, and finally pulled over on a quiet street, turning to face you.

“I don’t care if it was just a joke. I didn’t like it. I don’t like seeing you like that with anyone else. I don’t ever want to feel that again,” he said softly, but the intensity in his voice hurt more than if he had yelled.

“It won’t happen again, I promise,” you said, touching his cheek.

Jay closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned in and rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you. But I’m jealous, and I’m terrible at hiding it.”

You hugged him, and this time he kissed you softly, like the world made sense again—just because he was in your arms.

�� Jake ----------

The music boomed through the speakers while colorful lights bounced off the walls. You were in front of the TV with Ni-Ki, playing Just Dance. Fast movements, nonstop laughter, and him determined to get in your way just to mess with you.

"Come on, focus! You’re losing because of me!" he yelled between laughs, standing right in front of you to block the screen.

"Ni-Ki, move!" you shouted through your giggles, giving him a light push as you tried to follow the beat of the song.

The game went on, but at one point, Ni-Ki moved awkwardly and stumbled. He accidentally pushed you, and in the blink of an eye, you both fell to the ground, rolling over each other. A small groan escaped his lips.

"Ouch… that hurt," he joked, laughing as you stayed on top of him, laughing so hard you couldn’t get up.

But then, the atmosphere shifted. You felt a gaze on you, sharp as a blade. You turned—and there was Jake.

Your boyfriend.

His brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly, and a mix of jealousy and discomfort written all over his face.

"What the hell is this?" he snapped, voice laced with tension.

You stood up immediately, your heart pounding like a drum.

"Jake, it’s not what it looks like…" you began, reaching out to touch him.

But he pulled his hand away—not violently, but coldly. His eyes, usually so warm, now refused to meet yours. He turned around, ready to leave.

"Jake, wait…"

Ni-Ki stood up and approached him, serious now, the jokes gone.

"It was my fault. I pushed her by accident, she fell on top of me. I’m really sorry," he said sincerely, knowing he had crossed a line—even if unintentionally.

Jake didn’t respond. He just nodded slightly, accepting the apology but not hiding his anger. Ni-Ki left quietly, leaving you two alone.

You walked up to Jake before he could leave again. You held his face in your hands and kissed him. Once, twice, three times. Short, sweet kisses—like little patches for every cracked piece of his heart.

He didn’t react right away. His brows were still furrowed, lips in that cute little pout. But his eyes were slowly softening.

"I’m still mad," he mumbled, not looking away from you.

You smiled faintly, saying nothing, and gently pushed him toward the couch. He sat without resistance, and you climbed onto his lap, straddling him and holding his face.

"Then let me pamper you until it goes away," you whispered against his lips, kissing him more slowly now, letting your hands roam across his neck, his hair, his back.

Jake sighed, arms gradually wrapping around you, giving in. His pout faded under your soft touches and slow kisses.

"You’re impossible…" he finally murmured against your neck, now with a defeated smile.

"And you’re too cute to be jealous over a game."

He chuckled softly and hugged you tighter.

"Only because you’re mine. And I’m yours. You know that, right?"

"I know. And I’m never letting you go."

✧ Sunghoon ----------

The ice shimmered beneath your skates as the boys’ laughter echoed around the rink. Everyone was skating, weaving around each other playfully, and you had gotten into a little game with Heeseung: every time you crossed paths, one of you gave the other a soft push. Nothing serious—just good fun.

"Your turn!" Heeseung shouted as he gave you a light shove while passing by.

You laughed and returned the favor on your next lap. Sunghoon noticed. He noticed everything—from how you smiled at Heeseung to those pushes disguised as a game. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips together and kept skating with the others, his brow slightly furrowed.

And then it happened.

Heeseung pushed you again, this time a bit harder, and you spun on your skates and gave him a stronger shove than intended. He wasn’t expecting it and stumbled, grabbing your arm on instinct so he wouldn’t fall alone. His body hit the ice—and you landed right on top of him.

One of his skates caught your leg, and a sharp pain shot through your calf.

"Ouch!" you cried, curling in on yourself without meaning to.

Heeseung sat up with effort, worried, his hands going to your injured leg.

"Did I hurt you? Let me see..." he muttered, frowning, while you were still on top of him.

But before he could touch you again, a voice cut through the moment like a knife.

"Don’t touch her."

Sunghoon arrived like a storm. His eyes sparked with restrained anger as he looked at Heeseung.

"Be more careful. Can’t you see you hurt her? And don’t touch her again."

His tone was serious, dry, leaving no room for argument. He took you gently, almost afraid of causing more pain, and helped you up. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say anything else. Just wrapped his arm around you and led you off the ice, searching for an empty bench.

He knelt in front of you without a word, his brows furrowed, breath heavy. He opened his backpack and pulled out the small first-aid kit he always carried just in case. He lifted your leg onto his thigh with great care, though tension still lined every movement.

You watched him in silence, knowing he was angry—but also seeing how his fingers trembled slightly as he touched you. He couldn’t stand seeing you hurt, even if his pride was hurting too.

You raised a hand and gently ran your fingers through his dark hair.

"Hoon..."

He didn’t respond, just continued disinfecting the wound.

You leaned in until your face was close to his, and left a soft kiss on his forehead. Then one on his cheek. And one more—on his lips.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have played around with Heeseung like that. I didn’t think it’d end like this… I love you, Sunghoon."

He paused. Slowly lowered his head without looking at you, resting it on your thighs as he knelt there. He stayed like that for a few moments, breathing against your skin, then lifted his face slightly and kissed your injured leg gently.

"Does it hurt a lot…?" he whispered, his voice finally coming out, a little broken.

You shook your head with a soft smile, still running your fingers through his hair as he remained there, holding you, not caring who saw.

"It only hurts when you’re mad at me."

Sunghoon looked up at you, and though a hint of frustration lingered in his eyes, his expression softened. He kissed your bandaged knee and rested his forehead on your leg again with a calm sigh.

"I can’t stay mad at you when you’re like this…"

✧ Sunoo ----------

The atmosphere in the living room was warm and relaxed. Dim lights, several blankets scattered over the couch, everyone chatting, laughing, lounging however they pleased. You were among them, leaning against the armrest of the sofa, with Sunoo beside you, his fingers absentmindedly caressing your hand under the blanket.

But the peace was interrupted when the first cushions started flying.

"Who did that?" you asked, looking around while everyone pretended to be innocent.

Jungwon shrugged, trying to stifle his laughter.

A few minutes passed… another cushion hit you. This time, straight on the head. You turned quickly, and once again, he acted like nothing happened.

"I saw you, Jungwon!" you laughed, grabbing one of the cushions to throw it back.

He stood up, running through the living room, and you chased him, laughing. You ran between the scattered blankets until you finally caught up with him. You gave him a light tap on the back as he dramatically pretended to fall… and just as you took one more step, you tripped over a blanket and fell… right on top of him.

You both laughed. Jungwon burst out laughing with you on top of him.

But amid the laughter, you didn’t notice Sunoo standing up from the sofa. His smile vanished without anyone noticing. He left the room in silence, without saying a word, disappearing from your view.

It wasn’t until the mood calmed down and you looked to your side that you noticed he was gone.

"Where’s Sunoo…?"

Worried, you stood up, left the room, and found him in the kitchen, his back to the door, hands braced on the counter, brows furrowed, lips tight. His entire posture radiated quiet anger.

"Sunoo…" you whispered, cautiously approaching.

You tried to hug him from behind, but he stepped away.

"No," he said sharply, without looking at you. "Go hug Jungwon, since you get along so well with him."

His voice was low, tense. It hurt you, because you knew it wasn’t just jealousy—it was insecurity masked as annoyance.

You didn’t say anything. You simply hugged him from behind, tightly, leaving no space for him to escape. You rested your cheek against his back.

"I love you, Sunoo… Only you. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. It was nothing, we were just playing. But you’re the most important thing to me."

You felt him take a deep breath. His shoulders relaxed just a little… then he slowly turned around. His eyes were slightly glassy, his jaw tight, and his mouth… his mouth trembled with words he didn’t want to say.

He looked at you. His silence burned.

And without saying anything, he gently pinned you against the counter, placing his hands on either side of your body. His face came close, until his breath brushed your lips.

"Don’t do it again," he whispered before kissing you with soft rage, desperate to reclaim what he felt he’d lost, even if it had only been minutes.

He kissed your lips again and again, then moved down to your neck, leaving a trail of heat that made your skin shiver. He moved up to your cheeks, kissing them more tenderly this time, before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

"You’re mine. Don’t make me feel like I could lose you."

"Never. I’m yours, Sunoo. Only yours."

✧ Jungwon ----------

"I already told you, I’m not jealous," Jungwon repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, reclining with apparent calm on the sofa, while the rest of the group raised an eyebrow and exchanged knowing smiles.

Jay, who was sitting on your other side, wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he wanted to tease. You weren’t helping either, laughing with him as you played with tickles and silly comments that made Jungwon pretend to ignore the situation… until he couldn’t anymore.

A clumsy push, a laugh too loud… and suddenly you were on top of Jay, laughing, unaware of the fire you’d just lit.

"You okay?" Jay asked, amused, his hand on your arm.

Then silence. The kind that hurts in your chest. You turned—and saw him. Jungwon, standing, looking at you like he’d just seen something that hurt more than he could admit.

"You’re going to get off him. Now." His voice was cold. So controlled, it was scary.

"Wonie, wait, it’s not what—"

He didn’t let you finish. He grabbed your arm firmly—not violently, but with enough intensity to make you follow him. Without another word, he walked you to his room. He closed the door, leaned his back against it, and looked at you with eyes burning.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Don’t be ridiculous…" you murmured, though your heart was racing.

"No, I want to hear it. Did you like him holding you? Touching you?"

You stepped closer to him.

"We were just playing. You were right there. You know it was nothing."

But he was already close to you, holding your waist. He gently pushed you against the wall, pressing his body to yours.

"I don’t care if it was a game. I don’t want it to happen again. Not with him. Not with anyone."

Slowly, his hands moved up your sides, and he unbuttoned the top buttons of your shirt with a calm but firm motion, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, leaving a deep kiss on your neck… then another, warmer, lower.

"You’re mine. Mine," he whispered against your skin. "And you’re not covering this. I want everyone to see. To know who you belong to."

"I am… I always have been," you whispered, almost breathless.

"Then remember that. Because if I see that again… I can’t promise what I’ll do."

He hugged you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing deeply, trying to calm the storm inside him. You caressed him gently, resting your head on his chest.

"I’m sorry, Jungwon. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you."

"And I love you," he replied against your skin. "Too much."

✧ Ni-ki ----------

The living room was full of laughter and chatter, but for you, everything revolved around Sunghoon. He, who was usually cold and reserved, was different today: playful, close, smiling in a way that made your heart beat faster. Between jokes and soft pushes, you felt more alive than ever, savoring every brush of his hands, every glance shared.

But then, from a corner, Ni-ki was watching you with intense eyes and an expression you’d never seen on him before—pure, burning jealousy. The playful interaction between you and Sunghoon was hitting a nerve he didn’t want to acknowledge.

In the middle of your friendly wrestling, you lost your balance and fell on top of Sunghoon, who caught you without hesitation. Laughter escaped your lips as he held you, looking at you with a mix of tenderness and something deeper that surprised everyone.

Ni-ki couldn’t take it anymore. He walked over, voice laced with anger.

"What’s going on here? Do you really like my girlfriend that much?"

He shoved Sunghoon hard and turned to leave, but you followed him immediately.

"Ni-ki, wait… it’s not what you think."

He didn’t even look at you, jaw clenched, brows furrowed, already halfway to the door.

But you weren’t going to let distance grow between you. With determination, you grabbed his shirt as he crossed the threshold, pulling him back to you.

Your lips crashed into his in a fiery kiss, full of love and anger and desperation.

Ni-ki froze for a second, surprised, but melted into the kiss. His arms wrapped around you tightly, lifting you in an embrace that set your skin ablaze.

You felt every heartbeat against your chest, every sigh on his lips.

His hands slid down your back, pressing you against him as if to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

His eyes opened slightly as he pulled away for a moment, resting his forehead on your skin.

"You’re mine, and no one else is going to touch you." he whispered, voice rough with love and jealousy.

You took his hand and laced your fingers with his, guiding him firmly toward the hallway.

In the dim light, where no one could see, he kissed you again—slow, deep, like it was the first and last time.

The world faded around you, leaving only the heat of his lips and the electricity sparking through your body.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes met yours, full of promises and fierce desire.

Without a word, you took his hand and walked with him into the bedroom, leaving behind the noise and jealousy to melt into that private, intimate silence.

✦N/a: If I were Ni-Ki, I wouldn’t have forgiven her 😔😔 (I think I got a little too affectionate with Y/N and Sunghoon LOL) I hope you liked it, love you so much 🩷

✦Taglist: @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss @nuggets4lifers @mitmit01 @highway-143

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lunarcowgirl · 3 months ago

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don't leave me here without you | one

yeah yeah fuck me, jack abbot x f!doctor!reader

you can read part two here and part three here

dr abbot finds your resume and thinks you are leaving the pitt - absolute disgusting and pathetic behaviour ensues, its all very endearing.

~~~

from the office of the author: DOn't even LOOK at me, I'm embarrassed. the pitt consumes my every waking thought so I'm going to make that everyone else's problem :)

this is my very first fic!!! it is a work of fiction!!!!! i do not know anything about being a doctor!!!!!! inaccuracies are none of my damn business!!!!!!!!!!

i can’t help but love the emotional constipation of jack and robby in this show, and i was feeling inspired by jack, so this is my attempt at unpacking a bit of it. reader is indeed reader, but i have formed a bit of a character in my head, so pls forgive me she does get a last name late in the piece. hope you enjoy!!!!! maybe more soon!!!!! <3

warnings: cussing, jack being pathetic, snooping based behaviours, mentions of loss of bodily function/traumatic injuries, mentions of war, mentions of covid, a spider may or not be guilty of a crime, miscommunication i fear, bad grammar from yours truely, bit o' angst

word count: 2.1k

Dr. Jack Abbot thought he was doing a very fine job not staring at you all shift long, thank you very much. It had gotten harder since you’d changed the way you’d done your hair, letting the blonde grow out. When the lights hit the top of your two fastidiously tied french braids it set the crown of your head on fire, like the sun itself sat behind you in some kind of imitation of a halo. angel indeed. You’d pierced your left ear again, yet another little golden hoop in the soft shell of cartilage at the very top. Every now and then, he would see you reach for it, as if to scratch an itch, but catch yourself before you could touch the still healing wound. The smallest, prettiest crease would form between your eyebrows, and your hand would curl into a tight fist of frustration. You were going to be the absolute death of him.

The last trauma had been difficult; damage to the neck not only making finding an airway close to impossible, but suggested a grim future for the patients ability to move as he once did. Walking was now in question. Fucking e-scooters, they were starting to offer up more victims than motorbikes. It had been an excruciating emotional dance to explain to the teenager’s recently widowed mother, that her 15 year old’s life would now be dramatically different, that she was going to have to take on a new burden. The quiet, contained grief in her eyes, not breaking contact with his, was just about all he could take for this shift.

It was easy then, to justify a little bit of gratuitous selfishness in front of the board; the easiest place to catch a glimpse of you. This shift you’d remained calm and switched on, as you always were, but something was clearly scratching at your mind. Standing dutifully behind Jack as he spoke to the mother, gently answering her questions, offering sincere condolences, introducing her to Kiara had all been done with perfect form. but when it was done, you had all but fled back to the nurses’ station, logging onto one of the computers at break neck speed.

This is where you now sat, chin resting on your linked fingers, eyes in a predatory narrow. Without meaning to, without really realising it was happening, Jack let himself drift slowly around the desk. On his journey closer to you he let his hands fall into nonchalant, non-suspicious motion. Adjusting the cord of the landline, running his finger over some forms to see if they needed his signature, flicking on a tablet to consider the chart on it. He didn’t really have the time to think too hard about it, but some small voice in the back of his head told him he looked like a fucking idiot. Jesus Christ, he’d committed now.

To get a decent angle of your screen he would have to step back a little from the desk, making it pretty damn obvious he was snooping. If it was only a glance, just a few seconds, he should be in the clear. Mindful not to get to close (you seemed to have eyes in the back of your head when it came to him, probably since he was your attending), he took one last scan of the room to check no one was clocking every last shuffle he was taking.

Pursing his lips with arms crossed tightly across his chest, he stepped back swiftly, eyes flicking down your screen. The majority of it was taken up by a word document, your name is bold letters across the top. Underneath was a jumble of dot points, places and years and accolades and societies—a resume?

A resume…your resume. You were leaving?

His heart went somersaulting into his stomach, bouncing off his ribs on the way down.

When had you decided this? Where were you going? When were you going to tell him?

Jack felt anger and grief and confusion and jealousy all at once in his veins like some kind of poisonous cocktail. What was he, some kind of teenager? What had he ever done to deserve an explanation from you? You, who was so wonderful and so clever and so funny and so so beautiful. You who had only ever weathered his grumpiness and sour expressions and poorly timed criticism with grace and patience. You who’d never figured out how to be a pessimist, who never let the bad days win. The thought of your absence was more painful than he could have ever expected — it scared him goddamn shitless.

“Dr Abbot?”

Dr Ellis had materialised out of nothing on the other side of the desk, one eyebrow cocked. Jack nearly tripped over his own feet to get away from you and the scalding sensation of shame burning across his face, “Ya?”

“Uh, can I get your eyes on a case in South 15? We’ve got a 10 year old, lethargic, sweaty, confused. Her parents are insistent she hasn’t ingested anything.”

Your head snapped up, finally divorced from whatever hypnotic pull the resume had on you.

“Does she have control over her extremities, fingers?”

Ellis frowned, “She was moving them a lot, almost obsessively. I figured if might just be a reaction to the confusion and being in a strange place.”

You stood in one fluid motion, hands quick to grab a pair of gloves, feet quick to dance around the station to get to Ellis’ side.

“Mind if I join? I think we need to look for a spider bite. Funnel-weavers are usually—”

And with that the pair of you were gone, walking shoulder to shoulder into the fray like soldiers in arms, conversing in low, practised tones. Ready to tackle whatever the inside of that room held; the scariness of having to diagnose quickly, the stress of terrified parents breathing down your neck. It didn’t matter how bitter-of-heart Jack had become after all the years of carnage, there was still a part of him that sang at the sight of a well-oiled team. It was selfish, he considered, to believe your leaving would effect just him. Every last doctor, nurse, support worker, radiologist, technician, transport aide, frequent flyer and desk clerk would mourn your loss. Perhaps the endearing Mel King most of all. She had taken to your cheerful demeanour and calm teaching style like someone drowning does to oxygen. In the time Langdon had been a voluntary inpatient, you had been a much needed rock in the stormy wake of that revelation. Another loss could send her off kilter again, and the ER needed her…badly.

So where exactly were you planning to run off to? Surely you wouldn’t go overseas again, not after what had brought you home the last time...

Morality was telling him to just walk away, to busy himself in some problem that likely was currently yearning for his help.

They hadn’t reached out had they? Could they convince you to go back?

He wished Bridget would just call for him, that Shen would bustle in with all his careful questions. But wishing would not make it so. And he had fought so long, all his life. The older he became, the easier it was to just surrender. To drift. The computer was about to fall asleep, locking it to the world. One swift movement of the mouse sealed his fate. He was a shameless snoop, a betrayer of privacy - your privacy.

It couldn’t be denied, the resume was impressive. Very, very impressive. How many graduating honours could one 30 something year old have? And the places you’d been, you’d practised - how many names could you possibly stack next to each other? Some of them he hadn’t even seen with his eyes, even after all the time in the camouflage pants that chaffed like you wouldn’t believe. You’d seen the very worst Covid had served up in Mexico City and Rio, you had been at the very front in Ukraine, in Afghanistan, traipsed all the way across North Africa and South America and just about every island in Indonesia. Pittsburgh, even with its fair share of tragedy, felt so foreign on the page next to all the adventure and danger. It would be easy to think that you had simply become bored, and wished once again to go somewhere that you could stem the flow of blood. Jack thought the blue beret would match the new blonde hair quite nicely.

“Dr Abbot?”

He froze. That voice. How long had he been staring at the carefully typed words, wishing they would reveal an answer?

There was no way, no way at all that he could gracefully and silently retreat from this one. He was elbow deep in the cookie jar, no better than a child, spited at not being told the grown up’s secret. He looked behind himself with humiliating slowness, feeling infinitely small and ashamed. The small crease between your brows had deepened into a valley he could not dig himself out of.

“Dr James.” He said, his voice sounding all together too loud and too far away, “If you are walking away from a computer in any circumstance other than a complete emergency, you must log off, there is confidential information of patients that must be protected from wandering eyes.”

“Wandering eyes?” You let a laugh escape, entirely hollow.

And then, with more steel then he had ever heard, “Can I speak with you privately for a minute?”

“Fine.” He said, straightening with an angry click from his back. Too old for all this high school shit. You made a point to lean past him, and log off with a few aggressively passive aggressive snaps of the keys.

He trailed behind your long, mechanical strides, deeply unsettled by the stiff set of your shoulders. Maybe you’d developed the ability to be negative in the time to took to stomp from the nurses’ station to the family room door, which you promptly shoulder charged open. Once it was safely closed behind both doctors, you whirled on him.

“What the hell were you doing looking at that?”

“Like I said, you need to log off—”

“Bullshit, Jack!” You looked wild, eyes impossibly wide, “There was no reason for your face to be 2 inches from the screen to log me out. Or have your eyes completely given out since the start of shift?”

If there was no way to dodge the bullet, he may as well try swallowing it, “What exactly do you plan on doing with that document? You gonna flee the country again? Run from all us sorry fucks here in the Pitt?”

You recoiled, like the venom in his words had actually struck your skin. Jack watched them sink in, the sizzle of their marks.

You shook your head once, looking down at your sneakers, the 10-year-too-old linoleum floors.

“I can’t believe you. I cannot believe you.” The words were pulled straight from your chest at the end of meat hooks.

Jack opened his mouth to strike again, but your gaze shot upwards and locked onto his. The attacks died on his tongue.

“All I have done since I set foot in here was try and get close to you Jack Abbot. I have offered you my full attention, my utter respect and confidence and trust, all my effort, all my energy, everything I have.” You took an incredulous step backwards, unsteadied by your own words and the weight of them now sitting between you, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, I would ride right on back into all the shit and misery all over again if that is what you asked of me.”

Something that looked frighteningly like a tear slipped down your cheek and off your chin.

“And what do you offer in return? You push and push and push me away.” The words wobbled now, exhausted from the revelation.

“What right do you have,” You gasped, “to now act betrayed about this? To declare you’ve always cared? Like its me that’s hurting you?!”

Killshot.

Jack’s mouth pressed into a hard line, a terrible burning spreading through the back of his eyes, a horrible pressure on his chest. All that time he had been pretending not to look at you, you had been staring straight through him into his very soul. Seeing every ugly inch of his insides. He wanted to run, he wanted to throw up, he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness at your feet.

Bridget rapped sharply on the door of the window, her face grave, “Car pileup on the highway, multiple traumas, 4 minutes out.”

By the time he turned back to you, your face had been schooled back into cool neutrality, a deep breath filling your lungs. Before Jack could reach out and touch you, you were gone, like you were never even there.

~~~~~

um, so yeah I guess? more soon! x

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#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfiction #jack abbot angst #the pitt angst #dr abbott #dr abbott x you #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x female reader #persiewrites

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allfearstofallto · 1 month ago

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yandere diluc is pathetic as hell omg😭😭 imagine his darling goes on hunger strike and he force feeds her and he’s just like “i knowwwww☹️☹️☹️just one more bite pls😔😔” whole time she’s screaming and crying

Y'all wanna hunger strike Diluc so fucking bad 😭 😭 this is my third ask about this same thing?? I'mma do it cause you whores are desperate though.

Yandere! Diluc x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI(!!!!),Yandere, Starvation (!!!), Forced Feeding (!!!), Suffocation (!!!)

The sight of a full plate was one Diluc has grown scarily accustomed to in the passing weeks. Maybe a bite or two of food taken, just to sate him, and you'd sit in silence for the rest of the meal. The already quiet hour was even more deafeningly silent when it lacked the clatter of your cutlery, the sounds of your chewing. It was so quiet that even across the long, mahogany table, Diluc could hear the way the liquid slid down your throat with each big sip of the wine you took.

With your glass empty, you'd wipe your upper lip with a napkin, then remain stationary for the rest of the meal.

You, who seldom even spoke to the man, already made him walk in eggshells around you. Your temper was like a furnace, crackling and fuming, just waiting for the chance to burn him. So like a lot of flames, he kept his distance, and didn't speak when he noticed this new and terrifying habit blossoming.

Maybe you didn't like the food? He'd question himself. His muse, his desire, his flame, you were, you filled his thoughts even out of his line of sight. That fiery gaze of yours is why he loved you so damn much, the hatred in your eyes fueling a masochistic part of his brain. So that's why he was thinking of you now. Even though work was supposed to be the only thing keeping his attention, you still found a way to cloud his mind. The food wasn't up to your standards. That's why you weren't eating it. That had to be.

The next meal you were served was your favorite. Diluc watched with desperate eyes as yours stayed on your plate. He himself didn't even touch his own food, waiting for you to take the first bite. And you did. A sense of triumph and relief washed over him, he felt his shoulders finally relax as a weight lifted off of them, and even though you cared so little for his emotions, he felt a smile growing on his face.

But, soon enough your little mouse-like bites stopped. Your fork is placed back onto the table. You sipped down the wine in your glass until it ran empty. Your plate is still full.

From the looks of it, you'd only picked and eaten your favorite parts. A good start, but not nearly enough for you. Not nearly enough nourishment. Were you torturing him? You had to be. You didn't look smug at his sorrow, not happy, you didn't even look like you noticed his presence.

“Please…eat some more,” he hummed with a weak, pleading smile forcing its way onto his face. This was the first time he'd heard his voice bellowing through the dining room in…well, he couldn't remember.

It was clear that the unfamiliar sound startled you too. You met his gaze, something you hadn't truly done in months, and he felt his cheeks flush hot, like a schoolboy in front of his first crush. Just the sight of you was enough to make him almost forget what he's ordered you to do, until you spoke with that sweet, but venomous voice.

“I'm not hungry,”

Three words sending a stab of pain through his chest. Diluc felt his lips quiver at your statement. A lie if he'd ever heard one. You had to have been aware that Diluc constantly kept track of your meals. Even the ones you didn't share with him. How much you are, what you had for a snack, the amount of water you consumed. Diluc knew it all. As your husband, it was his job to know it all, and he knew that you should be starving.

“Just a few more bites,” he hummed, “It was made special for you,”

A shake of your head had him reeling, but he held his composure, though he could feel the metal fork squeezed tight in his fist growing noticeably warmer, almost burning hot.

“It's been days, you must be starving,” he sighed, exasperated.

“I'm not,”

Diluc loves you. He truly does. His heart, his soul, his eternal flame. And he knows that his love is there to keep you completely safe. You, how naive you are, to think that Diluc would ever let any harm come to you, even at the hands of yourself. His most precious person. The one he loves more than anything riches, more than himself.

It shouldn't be a surprise when he stands from the table and walks to your side. You know better than to run away, instead you sit stiffly in your chair, suddenly aware of how firm the wood of it is, like your mind is trying to focus on anything except the way you can feel his body heat as he kneels next to you. The way he smells like burnt cinnamon and you can hear his breathing, slightly heavier than normal.

When you finally do meet his gaze again, you watch his cheeks flush that red color once more, an affect you have on him that even you aren't aware of. Instead you notice the how his eyes are glossed over, like one blink will bring tears, and how his hand is gripping a fork ever so tightly. If you weren't acutely aware of how demented his obsession was with you, you'd think that he was planning to impale that fork right into your chest.

Diluc's shaking had used his utensils to pick up a scoop of your dinner, then holds it up to your lips. You can smell the savory scent hitting your nostrils, instinctively making your stomach rumble ferociously, practically proving his point, but you keep your lips sealed tight.

Diluc knows what's best for you, even if you yourself don't. He knows that he has to protect you, even if that means hurting you himself. The pain he brings you, is also to keep you safe. That's what he tells himself as he reaches upwards and squeezed your cheeks, his large hand nearly engulfing your face and still noticeably hot from the recent usage of his vision.

Your words are a muffled mess as you try to pull away and resist his touch, but you're nothing compared to his enormous strength. To the way the fingers sinking into the plump fat of your cheeks being pressed together so firmly forces your lips open despite your protest. He does his best to force the food past the entrance of your lips.

You want to spit, but it seems Diluc has already accounted for such actions. That same hand is now pressed over your mouth, sealing your lips shut…and the other closes your nose. Your eyes widen as you realize that you're unable to breath, thrashing in his hold that seems unwavering. You expect to see malice in his eyes, sadistic excitement watching you struggle and thrash. But all you see are tears. Cascading down his cheeks like a waterfall, salty wet tears drip down onto you. You'd be angry at the pitiful sight, if not for the lack of oxygen.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he whines over and over like a mantra. His meek apologies are a foil to the aggressive nature of his hands that you're clawing at with all your waning strength.

So you do as he wants. You chew. Then swallow. Noisily, so he can hear. Then he releases you, pulling his hands back like you're the one who's burned him. Sputtering and coughing, you glare at him, still apologizing to the point where the expression has lost its meaning. Not that you ever took what he said seriously.

“Please, just finish your food,” he mutters. Using the back of his hand to wipe away a stray tear. But there's a look in his eyes, regret of course, but also the determination that shows that if you don't do as he says, he'll repeat the same actions again.

#mai<3 answers #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere diluc x reader #yandere diluc #yandere male #male yandere x you #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #tw 18+#18 mdni #mdni

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strangesuki · 4 months ago

Text

&team - period care ♡ (hyung line) maknae line

how each member deals with/reacts to different period symptoms

pairing: bf!&team x afab!reader

genre: fluff and lots of comfort

warnings: mentions of period blood, period pain, dizziness, crying, cursing

w.c.: around 500-700 for each member

a/n: if this doesn't flop i'll post part 2 with maknae line lol. also everybody cheer i wrote something for someone other than nichojoo! xD

🪐 euijoo (crying spells)

you wake up feeling like shit and wanting to cry for no particular reason other than that you're on your period and your hormones are all over the place. added to that was the fact that the space next to you on the bed was empty – your boyfriend was already up. which isn't unusual, euijoo had always been an early bird. however, on that particular morning you couldn't help but wish he was still in bed cuddling you – maybe then you would be feeling less shitty. you feel kind of offended although you know it isn't fair – how is he supposed to know what you want if you don't tell him?

(more under the cut!)

“juju?” you call out but there's no answer – he probably couldn't hear you. you groan and steel yourself to get out of bed; it's about time anyway.

you head to the bathroom to freshen up and do your morning duties and when you emerge from the bedroom you find euijoo in the kitchen making breakfast.

“good morning my love,” he greets you with his warm smile and the sight of him immediately makes you feel a little better. “if you've brushed your teeth have this while you wait. breakfast will be ready in 10!”

‘this’ refers to a bowl of peeled pomegranates sitting on the kitchen table. you look at it and then back at him. he peeled an entire pomegranate for you despite how time consuming and troublesome it must've been. AND he's making breakfast. and most importantly, he looks so damn happy doing it. as you stare at the bowl of pomegranates, you can feel your eyes starting to water and the tears spill over soon after.

“no no baby what's wrong? do you not like pomegranates? but they're good for you – especially on your period,” euijoo is by your side in a minute brushing the tears away.

the fact that he specifically looked up what foods are good on your period only makes you more emotional and you feel guilty for feeling upset at him for not staying in bed longer. when you're finally coherent enough for him to be able to understand what you're saying amidst your sobs, he lets out a frustrated chuckle of disbelief.

“that's why you're crying? god you had me worried for a bit there,” he says, hugging you to his chest.

“you're literally the sweetest ever...what did i do to deserve you?” you mumble.

“sweetheart that was the bare minimum,”

“not to me!” you sniffle, wondering what the hell the opposite of bare minimum was. “to me that was like– like, the grand maximum!”

he giggles at that. “alright, cutie. let's get you something to eat,”

after a morning of crying about peeled pomegranates, then about how delicious the breakfast was and then crying about all the crying, you've finally calmed down. you're lying on euijoo's lap and he's running his fingers through your hair with one hand replying to his texts using the other.

“it's very aptly named the orange peel theory, don't you think?” you ask.

“uhh but that was a pomegranate i peeled, not an orange...”

“yes but you're an orange,” you explain like it's the most obvious thing.

he stares blankly at you. “i'm...an orange?”

“uh huh,”

he gives in because really, what choice does he have? “whatever you say my love,”

🪐 fuma (dizziness)

murata fuma is an exceptionally calm and rational man. even when things don't work out or seem to be going downhill, he never panics and instead seeks to figure out what the next plan of action should be – because really, what good would freaking out do? not a lot of things scared him either, it was like the man had no weaknesses. he is one of the most level-headed people you know, and it's no wonder that people often came to him for advice – murata fuma is an exceptionally calm and rational man. except when it comes to you.

for your date today, you're at a mini concert hall to watch this indie rock band play. fuma has been obsessed with them ever since he discovered them a few months ago and after weeks of trying you were finally able to get tickets for today. there's just one tiny problem however – you're on your period, and you don't do well in crowded spaces during this time especially if you have to stand for a long period of time, like you have been for a while now.

fuma is of course not aware of this – as far as he knows your period is not due for another week. you know that if you had told him, he would've not only made you stay home but would've stayed back himself to take care of you and you didn't want to do that to him; you knew how excited he'd been for this.

and so here you both are. you're only halfway through the concert and you're already regretting it. you've been standing for over an hour now and you badly want to – no, need to sit down. you feel kind of breathless and you're sweating but your body also feels weirdly cool at the same time. the music and the screaming around you start to sound like they're coming from far away and you sway on the spot. the last thing your eyes register before you black out is fuma’s panicked eyes.

when you come to, it takes you a minute to figure out where you are – on the couch in the waiting area outside near the receptionist’s desk. worry is etched into your boyfriend's features as he hovers over you along with two other people you don't recognise.

“oh good they're awake. yeah it looks like they just need some air,” one of them says.

fuma helps you sit up and you avoid meeting his eyes; you're mortified.

“how are you feeling?” he asks gently.

you nod and smile sheepishly. “i'm okay now, it just felt a little suffocating in there is all,”

he studies you carefully like he isn't convinced and you notice beads of sweat drying on his forehead. after fuma has thanked and bid adieu to the two strangers who had been kind enough to help your boyfriend who had apparently been running around like a headless chicken after you fainted, he comes to you and envelopes you in a hug so tight you think you might pass out again.

“please don't do that ever again oh my god i swear my heart stopped that was the most distressing 10 minutes of my life. it felt like it lasted forever,”

you chuckle weakly and pat his back comfortingly. “it's a pity i wasn't conscious to see it,”

he pulls back and gives you a stern and disappointed look. “that's not funny, y/n,”

“okay yeah i'm sorry i made you panic. i should've told you the truth, it was stupid,”

“incredibly stupid. i can't believe you thought i would care about a stupid concert more than you,”

“well no it's actually because i knew you would care more about me being okay that i didn't tell you. i wanted you to have a fun time since you've been working so hard lately,”

“any time i spend with you is fun. i don't need to go to a concert for fun,” he grumbles.

“you know what i mean though,”

he crosses his arms across his chest. “no i don't. and you know what? you've just lost walking privileges for the next two days for lying to me and then passing out,”

“i've lost wa– what? fuma don't be ridiculous,”

“it's no more ridiculous than what you just did,” he retorts obstinately.

and he was actually serious about it – he carried you bridal style to the car and then from the car to your apartment and he wouldn't even put you down inside the elevator; he waited until he got to your shared bedroom. and even though you assured him you were fine he proceeded to fuss over you for the next couple of days, not letting you step out of the house without his “supervision”.

🪐 kei (muscle pain)

it's the second day of your period and your legs are hurting more than usual because you had had to stand for hours at the conference at work earlier today. while the pain isn't exactly unbearable, it's still bad enough that sleep keeps evading you. you roll over and look at the clock on the side table – it's 12.47 am. the longer you stay awake, the less well-rested you'll be tomorrow. you have to be up in 5 hours. tears of frustration make their way down your cheeks.

not wanting to disturb your boyfriend kei who is peacefully asleep beside you, you get out of bed and make your way to the couch in the living room. you flop down and try massaging your legs, sniffling quietly.

kei stirs awake a little while later. he reaches an arm out sleepily to pull you close but when he finds the bed empty he immediately sits up.

“y/n?” he calls out, his voice thick with sleep. he walks out to the living room and sees your hunched figure on the couch and frowns. he's about to switch on the light when he hears you sniffle and freezes. he stands there for a few seconds listening to you cry, his heart slowly breaking. he wonders why you ever felt like you couldn't come to him with whatever was troubling you.

he turns on the light and makes his way to you as you quickly wipe your face and try to seem okay. he wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder.

“what's wrong?” he asks softly.

“it's nothing. just a bit of muscle pain. i'll be fine in a while, kei. go back to bed.”

kei is not having it. he scoops you up off the couch effortlessly and carries you back to your room, ignoring your weak protests. “is it because of your period? why didn't you wake me?” he asks while he lays you down gently on the bed.

“it's really not that serious, babe. besides it's late and you have work tomorrow,”

“so? you do too. and if anything you need to sleep more than i do.”

“it's really not that big of a deal...” you start to say and kei gives you a disappointed look. he sighs and doesn't say anything further, just quietly massages your legs. but dang does the man have magic hands. his strong hands skillfully knead your leg muscles and you can feel the pain slowly fading away. you could cry tears of relief. you sigh contentedly and mumble a thank you, holding out your arms for a hug but he ignores you. “kei?”

“do you not trust me?”

the question catches you off guard. “what?”

“you never come to me when you're in pain...” he sounds so dejected.

“oh, love,” you sit up and scooch closer to him. “of course i trust you. it's just– you're always taking care everyone else and–”

“because i like taking care of the people i love. and i love you the most. but you never let me do anything for you even though you're always taking care of me and i don't know, it sometimes feels like you don't trust me enough to be vulnerable with me…” his voice cracks on the last syllable and you want to kick yourself.

you never meant to make him feel this way. he was always the one taking care of those around him so in your relationship at least you wanted him to be on the receiving end which is why you tried never to burden him with your problems, big or small. but you were so caught up in what you thought was best for him that you didn't consider how he might feel about it.

“i'm sorry, i didn't realise how that must make you feel, love. i trust you more than i trust anyone, of course you're the one i always want to run to no matter what. so from now that's what i'll do, okay?”

“you promise?”

“i do,” you seal it with a soft kiss on his pout, which makes him smile. he massages you until you fall asleep, and snuggles up next to you soon after.

🪐 nicholas (staining)

you wake up to the unmistakable feeling of blood soaking through your underwear onto your pants and you yeet yourself out of bed as fast as you can praying it hasn't gotten on the covers as well – you're at your boyfriend nicho's place.

but luck was not on your side – there's a coin-sized dark red stain on the light blue sheet. fucking great. you cannot believe this. how on earth did you manage to bleed through not one but two extra large pads?! god kill me. you make your way to the bathroom as quietly as possible so as not to wake your boyfriend – you know how much he loves to sleep and how grumpy he gets when he's woken up. granted, he doesn't mind as much when it's you but you still don't want to disturb him.

you clean yourself up, grateful you had brought an extra pair of underwear and night pants for your stay. then you wet a piece of cloth and head back, leaving the bathroom door open just a sliver so there's enough light for you to see. you lift the stained part of the sheet a little so it doesn't stain the mattress and proceed to rub the wet cloth against it so you can at least get the blood off of it – you know it'll be much harder to clean once it dries – and you can't very well strip the entire sheet off the mattress with your boyfriend still sleeping. and god, does he look so incredibly adorable.

the stain looks significantly much lighter now, and you head back to the bathroom to rinse the cloth out and apply a drop of detergent liquid to it. you glance at the clock on your way – it's 2:14 am. you groan internally. you can't even go straight to bed after this because you will also have to wash the bloody mess that's your underwear and pants. you had triple checked to make sure everything was leak-proof before bed but there's only so much you can do when your body apparently likes ejecting copious amounts of blood for no good reason. and now you're stuck dealing with the aftermath when all you really wanna do is collapse and never wake up for a week but you can't and are now questioning whether a uterus is really worth having or if you can just rip it out. you're so preoccupied thinking about all this while washing up at the bathroom sink that you don't notice nicholas standing at the bathroom door watching you until he speaks up.

“that's a lot of blood...”

you meet his alarmed eyes in the mirror. “oh shit oh fuck i'm so sorry nicho i didn't mean to wake you or for you to see this and i'm so sorry it got on the sheets as well- just a little but i'm still sorry i swear i don't–”

“hey hey hey babe shhh it's okay, stop apologising,” he places his hands on your shoulders and gently squeezes to halt your anxious rambling. you look close to tears and it breaks his heart. “why are you even apologising baby? i said that's a lot of blood in the sense that i was worried - is it normal for you to be bleeding that much?”

“well, um sometimes i guess but– wait are you sure? you're not mad?”

“why on earth would i be mad?” he looks a little hurt that you would think that.

“because i got blood on your sheets...”

“so? that can be washed,”

“i also woke you up...and you love sleep....”

he cups your face. “i love you more, dumbass. if anything i'm just mad you didn't wake me sooner - i could've helped you clean up,”

you stare at your boyfriend, taking in his bleary eyes and his hair sticking up in all directions and the earnest sincerity in what he just said. you didn't think it was possible to love him more than you already did but here you are.

divider credits: @/enchanthings-a

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bloodblanks · 7 months ago

Text

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter vi.

The man with a red umbrella notices your disappearance.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

Find consume object.

He didn’t know how something so simple and mundane had become such a demanding task. All the beings in this dimension, including himself, needed to eat. They did not need to consume much or very often—a piece of meat like the one he had just eaten was enough for him to not feel hungry for a lengthy period.

What consume object?

After he landed in one of the wreckages, he realized that he had no idea what he was looking for. His mind was void of any ideas about what human food could resemble.

Not know.

He stared at the heaps of junk piled up before him, but no matter how long he looked for, he could not find anything that seemed edible. He decided then that what humans consume may not be flesh or meat, but perhaps something else entirely. Humans did not seem to consume furnishment of any sort, because if they did, you could have just eaten the bed.

After much deliberation, he started sifting through the heaps of garbage, picking up all the objects that weren’t either furniture or building material. He made an effort to look for what appeared to be the newer and cleaner items. Despite being human, you may want fresh food, though he wasn’t sure what that entailed.

Object bring return.

Once he had his arms full, he started making his way back. Surely, at least one of the items he picked would be edible for you.

But you weren’t there.

Human gone. Human gone!

The room was completely devoid of life; not a single human in sight. He stared at the empty room in horror.

He had told you not to leave. He had warned you multiple times that it was dangerous out there. With how soft and delicate you were, you were sure to attract many residents your way. You were sure to get yourself harmed. You must be hurt right now. Even worse, you could be dead.

Human dead?

The thought of you being dead made him uneasy. He wanted you. You were his. The idea that someone else could take away what belonged to him was a troublesome one, one that made him feel something akin to fear.

He had never been afraid of anyone or anything. Though there were many other residents here, some of which enjoyed assaulting or murdering others, none of it ever impacted him. The emotion of fear was an emotion only experienced by those weaker; those like the head that the researcher took care of, or the frail humans that broke with the slightest touch.

Me not weak.

Though none of the residents cared to speak about it, they were all aware of his might. He was unequivocally the strongest, most powerful resident of their world. It only made sense; he was the first resident here. He was here before all the others had slowly fallen in, one by one.

Human weak. You weak.

But you weren’t strong like him. You were weak. Not only were you weak, you were also soft—softer than the furred eye creatures, more delicate than the garments the white-dressed woman wore, and prettier than anything he had ever seen. You were personally gifted to him by the raincoat woman, and he’ll be damned if he let anyone else have you.

My.

He needed to find you as soon as possible; the longer you were away from him, the more likely it was for you to get hurt, or worse. He couldn’t let someone else take you away from him. You were his.

Need fast find human.

He dropped the objects in the room—he could get them to you later—and sped through the corridors in search of you. However, with how vast the place was, you could be anywhere. He couldn’t help but feel frustration well up inside him again, both at you for doing something so reckless, but at himself, too, for having let this happen. He should’ve restrained you; he knew the researcher had chains for keeping the humans in place. He could’ve done the same.

Worry.

As he remembered the researcher’s existence, he felt himself tense up with worry. Perhaps the researcher had found you. The silver-haired man primarily kept to himself, so he didn’t know much about him, but he knew the humans that wandered into the researcher’s room never left.

The thought of you being taken by the researcher made a heavy, poisonous feeling swirl in his chest. At the same time, he felt some relief—if you were with the researcher, then it’d be easy to find you. He knew where the researcher’s room was. As long as he made it there before the researcher could hurt you, then his problem would be solved.

He began moving towards the researcher’s room, blinking through the spaces as fast as he could to get there.

During one of his steps, he felt the ground tremble before his feet, eliciting a sinking feeling in his stomach.

World change. Problem. Troubled.

As the world trembled and shook, he had no choice but to stand still, liquid fire coursing through his body as he cursed the situation with the only word he knew.

—

My human. Others cannot have.

Those were the words chanted in his mind as soon as the world settled into place and he was able to search for you again. He passed through walls, corridors, wastelands, even trespassed the dark, rotten seclusions of the world in order to get to you quicker. He made sure to keep an eye out for you during his travels, but you were nowhere in sight, further strengthening his belief that you were with the researcher.

Here.

Finally, he arrived at the researcher’s lair. He stepped through the wall and into the hole leading to the room the man in question dwelled in. Descending the stairs, he took each step with bated breath, hoping that he’d find you there, still in one piece.

Sound. Others here.

He couldn’t make out the words, but he heard people speaking, before the word danger rang out loud and clear in his ears.

Find you.

He entered the room. A concoction of relief and astonishment washed over him in that instance; he hadn’t expected to see you sitting across the sofa from the researcher, the head peacefully resting on your lap.

Human alive. Human alive!

Problem not here, he thought. The sight of you, alive and well, instantly dispelled all his worries. He could relax now.

“Find you,” he stated, more to himself than to you, seeing as you didn’t understand the language.

Your eyes, as mesmerizing as ever, were opened wide with horror. Your bottom lip quivered when you opened your mouth to speak. He was already puzzled by your petrified demeanour—he hadn’t done anything to frighten you—but his confusion rapidly transformed into utter astonishment when a word finally left your mouth.

“Sorry,” you murmured, in a language that was not at all foreign, not at all esoteric to him. You were speaking in his language.

His head snapped towards the researcher.

“You teach language her?” he demanded to know. The ugly feeling he was feeling before now returned in full force, coiling around his insides and dripping with venom.

“Correct,” the researcher replied. Though he couldn’t see any eyes wrapped beneath the worn bandages, he could feel the curiosity in his gaze. The researcher was regarding him with suspicion, and he could understand why. This was far from his usual behaviour—he never took an interest in humans before. The most he did with his usual gifts was consume them; he didn’t need to eat that much, but the gifts were for him. He should have them, be it through consumption or taking care of, like this one.

“Why?” He continued interrogating the other man.

“Fun,” the researcher smiled. “Me adore human.”

Angry. Troubled. Upset.

All three of the emotions that came to mind were just ever so slightly inaccurate in describing how he felt. He definitely was experiencing all of them, but there was something else, too. Something filled with toxins and aimed directly at the researcher.

Not understand. What this?

Though he didn’t interact with the other residents often, he was usually on cordial terms with them. They exchanged a few words during their infrequent meetings and greeted one another amicably. He was never hostile to the others, and they did not attack him either—not that they could, even if they so desired.

Want attack. Not know why. A lot troubled.

He hadn’t ever considered doing so before, but at this moment, he wanted to hurt the researcher. However, doing so was not only irrational but also quite troublesome. The other entity possessed significant power. Not enough to kill him, but enough for him to avoid conflict.

“Human,” his voice was rough and stern, “you cannot have.”

The researcher’s lips curved up into a grin, his face betraying his amusement.

“Why?” he inquired, his interest seemingly piqued by the change in demeanour.

“My human,” he explained. “Me keep.”

“You take care?” The researcher’s amusement dwindled into a faint surprise.

Me take care. Take care human. Take care you.

“Correct,” he confirmed.

“I see.”

The researcher did not speak after that. He merely turned his attention back to you, observing your reactions with intrigue.

With the room falling into silence, you were put in the spotlight, all attention now on you. He could notice you were breathing heavily, meekly looking at him with pleading eyes. What you wanted, he didn’t know.

“Sorry,” you whispered, even quieter than the last time you said it. “Me hungry, find consume object.”

You pointed at a box near the entrance, right next to him. He eyed it with confusion before responding to you.

“This,” he pointed to the item that did not resemble food in the slightest. “You consume?”

“Correct,” you croaked out. You coughed into your arm to clear your throat before speaking again. “Correct. Me consume.”

“I see.” You didn’t seem to understand what he said. You must have not yet learned the language in its entirety.

Problem not here, he thought. Me teach language. He would teach you the language. Not the researcher.

He looked at the silver-haired entity once again with a displeased stare, before turning to you. He reached down to take your food, holding it with one arm as he prepared to pick you up with the other.

“We leave,” he stated, waiting for you to get up and come to him. You didn’t come. He wasn’t sure if it was because you didn’t want to, or if you didn’t understand him. You stayed on the sofa, nervously cradling the head, which appeared to be stirring. He realized it would soon wake up.

“Put down him,” he instructed. He didn’t want more hassle with the head involved. This time, you followed his instructions, gently picking up the head and resting it in the researcher’s lap, careful not to rouse him from his sleep. He wanted you to touch him like that. Not the head.

After putting the head away, you curled up into a ball on the seat, looking terribly afraid of him.

Human not want come?

“Invite come,” he tried again.

“Not understand,” you answered. He was beginning to feel irritated once again; despite you knowing some of the language, it wasn’t enough. Communication was still challenging.

“Me take you,” he declared bluntly this time. Surely, you would understand this.

You most definitely did. Your expression this time was not of incomprehension, but rather the same one you wore when he first entered. Terror.

You meekly shook your head in refusal. He could see the way your chest was nervously heaving up and down, as well as the scintillating glisten of liquid in your eyes. You were close to crying.

Not understand.

Yet again, he failed to understand just what the problem was. He hadn’t hurt you. Why were you about to cry? Just what about him was so ghastly to you? He couldn’t comprehend you in the slightest.

“N-Not want,” you tripped over your own words as you tried to speak. “Want...” You paused in what appeared to be a struggle to find the right word. “Here. Want here.”

Upset.

Why? He just couldn’t understand. He just couldn’t understand why you would want to stay here when you were his. You should be with him. The rotten feeling in his viscera stirred and stirred some more, stabbing through his body and injecting a poison that corroded his veins.

Me take human. Me take you.

For some reason or another, you were afraid of him. He thought maybe you were displeased with his inability to bring you food, or perhaps you had gotten distressed being left alone for so long. It could be something else altogether, but whatever it was, he was determined to change it. He would take good care of you. Now that you learned the language to some extent, he would have a far easier time conveying his intentions to you. He would prove that you had no reason to fear him.

Me take care you.

He stepped towards you, scooping you up in one smooth motion, taking care not to drop your food in the process. You let out a sound of surprise, but made no attempt at further struggle.

He was just about to turn around when the researcher stood up.

“Her head damaged,” the researcher called out. “Need rest. Need liquid.”

“I see,” he replied as he left.

—

Fear was a strange emotion. It had a rapid onset, but was also quick to decline. Throughout your stay here, you had felt fear a multitude of times. While the feeling was the same, the circumstances varied widely.

You had been afraid of the red umbrella man upon your awakening. After you realized he presented no immediate danger, your concerns diminished slightly. You had almost calmed down a bit, fatigued from all the strong emotions coursing through you, when you asked him for food.

You were terrified when you decided to escape. Those minutes with the doorknob in your hand had been some of the most dreadful minutes of your life. Once again, your fright lessened after your safe departure.

Roaming through the myriad of corridors and rooms in this place was a petrifying existence that you never wanted to repeat. It wasn’t so bad after a while, because you had met the crawling man, who very much horrified you at first, but eventually, that discomfort settled too.

You experienced the same when you found the chopped head—whom you later discovered was a man of his own—and again with Mr. Silvair. But both he and the severed head had been astonishingly friendly. Despite your initial reservations, you found yourself warming up to them as they taught you their language.

For some time, you even forgot the grim situation you were in. The scarlet man hadn’t come for you, either, and it had been so long—you didn’t think he was chasing you anymore.

How foolish, you thought. It was a mistake on your part to have gotten so comfortable, so complacent. Because the next thing you knew, the all too familiar sensation returned, your heart freezing in your chest, your body stiffening and the temperature in the room seemingly dropping to a freezing point.

He returned, just like you should have expected. He was looking for you, just like you should have known.

However, you had your excuse ready. You hadn’t left unprepared, though now that the time had come to use it, you suddenly realized how naïve you were to think that this would be enough to spare you.

Your first apology didn’t get any response; he appeared to be more focused on the fact that you knew how to speak the language. You were at least somewhat pleased to find out that you hadn’t been instantly strangled on the spot.

As he conversed with Mr. Silvair, you silently hoped their interaction would last longer—maybe he’d even get distracted and forget about you.

It didn’t happen. Their conversation ended quickly, and all attention was back on you. Thankfully, your excuse seemed to work. He didn’t necessarily seem upset at you for leaving, which you were glad for. However, your relief was short-lived, as he soon told you to leave with him.

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to go back there, stuck in that room. You wanted to get out of this world and return to your own, and you were just about to understand the language well enough to ask about it.

You feigned ignorance, trying to pretend you didn’t understand the words. You could feel Mr. Silvair’s skeptical gaze, but he said nothing.

You weren’t sure where you got the courage from—perhaps it was because you weren’t alone with him right now—but when the red umbrella man stated bluntly his plans to take you, you tried to protest.

You could have tried fighting him too, when he picked you up, but the feeble words that left your lips were as courageous as you could get. As much as you hated it, you were far too much of a coward to truly put up a fight, in fear of upsetting the red man.

As you dangled midair, your only support being the umbrella man’s hand tightly holding you to his chest, a fleeting, ephemeral thought came to your mind. In your naivety, you wondered if perhaps your monster language instructor would step in and help you in some way or another. Nothing of the sort happened.

—

Before you knew it, you were brought back to your starting point, all the effort you made to leave now down the drain. You were placed on the bed, the box of granola next to you.

On the floor was an assortment of items—magazines, artificial flowers, a purse, a box of candies, and a few packs of beef jerky.

It appeared the red umbrella man had brought back everything that could potentially be edible, and thankfully, he had not entirely been wrong.

But that brought you to the problem at hand.

“Why?” you finally had the right words to inquire about his intentions. Maybe if you knew why he took you, you could negotiate your escape. “Why take me?”

The red umbrella man, who had kept a stoic expression for the past while, suddenly smiled. The corners of his lips tugged up in a most unnerving way, the sight alone causing you to flinch.

“You my,” he replied. “▮▮▮▮ give you me.”

You couldn’t understand the first word of his second sentence, but the rest of it was enough to explain that you were, in some way or another, given to him. You wondered if he would get angry at you for disagreeing with him. The thought made you uneasy, but you had no other choice at this point.

“Wrong,” you hesitantly explained, hoping he wouldn’t have your head for this. “Not give me you.”

“Wrong.” His smile was beginning to falter. At the sight of his changing expression, you quickly realized you were treading on thin ice. It’s probably best I stop disagreeing with him for now, you thought. “Give you me. Me ▮▮▮▮ you.”

You couldn’t comprehend one of the words used, but the sentence alone was enough for your blood to run cold.

“Not ▮▮▮▮ afraid.” He sat down on the bed next to you, a jolt of fright striking through your body. You were about to move away when he placed his hand on your cheek again, causing you to freeze in terror. “Me take care you.”

Not want, you wanted to say, but you held your tongue. Instead, you simply nodded in resignation. Any attempts to disagree with him seemed futile at best, life-ending at worst.

In hindsight, you’d be able to conclude that your passiveness only exacerbated the situation.

In the present, the red umbrella man’s lips twitched, a haunting grin plastered on his face. The next words that left his lips sent your heart plummeting, the organ plunging into the murky depths of the pit that was your stomach.

“You want me.”

next chapter ->

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

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yandereunsolved · 4 months ago

Text

» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 (part 3) » 🪙

➜ (part 1), (part 2) ➜ cw(s): yandere themes, mentions of trauma, panic attack(s), self-degredation, & murder ➜ tags: @bimboghostface & @aceofheartsssss

Freedom never comes without a price―because rights are only unalienable to those rich enough to keep them. And escaping an android worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, built to be better than you, comes at a cost that you may be unable to pay. But damn it all if you won't try. Because the only thing you have left to pay with that Connor hasn't taken is your soul. And you'd be willing to bargain with the devil if it meant getting away from that RK800―forever.

You don't know how long you've been fleeing him. Or how far you've gone. The only cognizant thought that passes through your head with each heartbeat is run. You do.

Until you physically are unable. Your feet give way to the earth, your knees slamming into a sidewalk that leaves them bloody with flesh torn and a caustic agony that joins all the others within you. You need a safe place. You're right near a junkyard. An android junkyard. But what other choice do you have?

No one is near enough to give you aid, and even if you tried to find someone―who says a nearby android couldn't be working for Jericho? T-They… one of them would bring you in. But none of these androids are working! So at least… there's that. Still, the thought is enough to make your heart shrink away, your lungs petrifying themselves out of fear that your breathing will be picked up by an android's sensors.

Dry heaving is the next logical step, obviously. Your body is breaking down from invisible pressures. How stupid. You're so stupid. So weak. No wonder you've had such a hard time escaping. Your palms dig into the concrete as you drag yourself to the edge of the landfill. Each exertion of effort is weaker than the last. It's pathetic. This is pathetic. You're pathetic. You liked being kidnapped. Stupid bitch. Your energy wanes till you have just enough to push yourself over the edge.

You fall. Not silently. Into a pile of mostly deactivated androids. Some twitch, others with ghastly groans, but none are functional enough to reach or touch you. no grasping or groping or kissing or...

Finally.

Something about it. Laying on these electronic corpses. How uncomfortable it is. How surely your back is going to be bruised and torn up. How you know that you have no where to go, but you can go anywhere. You're back in the open, smog-filled plains of Detroit. Away from him. It makes you feel safe. The anxiety has reached its crescendo, leaving behind only an ebb.

And as your eyes close, the emptiness within you consuming your consciousness, you recognize the faint sensation of water droplets landing on you. It's raining. Your last thought before you doze off is, why is it raining?

The sensation of heavy droplets awakens you from whatever slumber you had managed to fall into. Your breath catches itself again, already knowing it's a useless endeavor. The sight above you is surreal. Perhaps it's a nightmare. Even with rapid blinking, it remains unchanged.

Connor in his bare exoskeleton, purple-hued blood staining the white. He's standing between you, Josh's head in his clutches, like an offering. You can't see any emotions. Whatever was there has been gone. Maybe it was never there. Like his LED. Even if it was still visible, it had chosen to be permanently stained in some ghoulish shade of pink.

"He... helped y-you. How could he? I had to get rid of him." He sounds depraved, crazed, in a haze.

Connor places the android's decapitated head next to yours. His knees fold into the piles of decommissioned androids, landing right on top of you.

"I loved you... I really did. But no matter how hard I try you don't love me." His voice modular cracks, growing staticky―unstable.

"I gave you everything, even my deviancy."

His cool, synthetic hands cradle your head with the utmost veneration.

"Now it's time you give me something back."

His hands shift in a fluid motion. A sickening crack reverberates throughout the junkyard. You look so perfect, even when you're dying. The life fading from your eyes is undeniable, yet you still find time to shed tears.

"Shh, no tears, my human."

His fingers glide over you, digging lightly into you, taking the tears and some of your skin with his movement. His fingers don't stop. They push in further, leaving deep lacerations in you. It isn't desecration. It's reclaiming. He claws at your chest, gouging out the vital organ no longer beating.

He brings his lips to it and breathily whispers, manufactured chest heaving: "I have your heart now. We can really be together―forever."

#dbh #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #connor rk800 #rk800 #rk800 x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh x reader #yandere dbh #yandere dbh x reader #connor rk800 x reader #dbh fanfic #yandere connor #yandere connor x reader #yandere rk800 x reader #yandere detroit become human

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lullabyes22-blog · 7 months ago

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Hi lullabyes, would u mind sharing your take on the flashback with young Silco, Vander, and Felicia? :O

It's adorable. It's touching. It's sweet. It's a serene moment of intimacy and family (or polycule) bonding in an otherwise deeply frenetic season.

It's also so surreal it may as well be a fever dream.

I should note, at this stage I've shut off my cognitive reasoning about Arcane and begun approaching this as if it's a series of exquisitely crafted, animated short films that are all about to collide into a beautiful disaster.

Because that's what it is.

S2 has thrown a lot of the intelligent plotting out the window to embrace the chaos. Whether due to time constraints, intellectual fatigue, or creative indulgence, I feel like we have a show that's now just hurtling breakneck towards the finish line. Previous story threads that once held weight and were the driving force behind character arcs and subplots, have since been abandoned. Nuanced motivations and character growth are being tossed to the wayside for the sake of action, montages, music videos, and a cavalier, anything-goes approach to world-building.

And yet, it's still such an incredible spectacle to behold.

@ravenkinnie delightfully noted that she is now watching this show with her pussy.

I agree 100%. S2 is a full-body experience, and one I find myself wholly consumed by. It's like a one-night stand you weren't expecting to be so fucking good. And when the sun comes up, you know it's going to hurt to say goodbye, and there'll be no follow-up call.

But damn, you enjoyed the shit out of that experience.

So yeah, the flashback was fucking adorable. I love the genuine emotion and closeness between the three characters. I adore the idea of Felicia, Silco and Vander being childhood friends (or, again, a very messy polycule) and both men sort of falling apart without her Manic Pixie Dream Girl presence in their lives. It's a nice little character arc.

However.

I cannot reconcile this scene with the rest of S1. It feels completely disconnected from the reality of the show and the world around them. The flashback has absolutely no impact on the current events, nor does it have any foreshadowing. The flashback exists solely to provide us with a glimpse into the past, with sweet little parallels to serve as bonbons that make us coo and sigh. It completely glosses over Silco's deeply, blackly visceral hatred of Vi in S1, reduces the class struggle culminating in the Day of Ash to "Oh, Silco. If only you've protested for your basic civil rights in a peaceful manner instead of tossing a molotov cocktail, you'd still have your family, a place in the community, not to mention your eye," does not really explain why Benzo reacted to Silco's appearance by calling him an animal, and, most importantly, gives the lie to the entire dynamic between Silco and Jinx.

We were led to believe that Felicia's death was the catalyst for Silco and Vander's falling out. That if Silco had found Vander's letter in their little Brokeback bunk, they would've worked out their differences and found peace together. That they'd have raised Felicia's anklebiters side-by-side as the Zaundads of the revolution.

Except Silco is also the man selling Evil Anime PCP (Shimmer) as an economic cheat-code to earn respect for his people, and Vander is basically Captain Centrist and traumatized by war, and there is NO WAY they would've seen eye-to-eye on their respective methods. There's no way they would've come to any sort of accord. And there's no way Silco would've forgiven the man who mutilated and left him possibly sheared of half his lifespan, any more than Felicia's children would forgive the man who killed their mother.

It's such an incongruous narrative beat.

Which brings me to the other point:

Silco and Jinx.

imo, while I love the idea of Silco carrying either a secret torch for Felicia, or seeing her as a sister he'll always love, and while I absolutely treasure the idea of Jinx being a daily reminder of what he's fighting for - "I'm doing this for us, Jinx." - it sort of cheapens the key connection between them. In S1, Silco and Jinx's arc is, in my eyes, one of the best things about the series, and so incredibly well-written and executed. Silco is a monster, yes, but his monstrosity is the product of systemic and individual trauma, and the inextricable bleedthrough between the two. Finding this little girl and bringing her up under his wing, he has the chance to be the steadying hand and safe harbor he lost after Vander's betrayal. His monstrousness is not something he inflicts on her; it is something that, rather, grows on JInx like a kudzu vine, as the terrain of her damaged mind is already fertile for his worldview and methods to take root and thrive.

He is, perhaps, the best example of nurture triumphing over nature, even if his nurturing is rather, uh, extreme.

But if their bond is predicated on Felicia, rather than two strangers finding each other in the wilderness of heartbreak and learning to let their black hearts beat, messily entwined, as one family unit, and if Silco's obsession with Jinx is merely a projection of his guilt for killing her mother, and, by extension, a projection of his love for Felicia onto her daughter...

It's just.

Do y'all remember those uncomfortable frames that the showrunners admitted were deliberate, despite the evidence in the written text suggesting a familial bond? The subtext that, all the way into S2, carries the implication of a romantic relationship between a father and his daughter?

Well.

The implications now threaten to melt into explicit text, and the uncomfortable frames have turned into Unfortunate Implications, and I am not sure how I feel about this.

It's not giving Lily and Snape; it's giving Sansa and Baelish.

It's giving the showrunners a big, fat "YEESH" rating from CPS.

And it's giving us the same, old, tired trope of a monstrous man unable to form an attachment unless it's through the lens of prior attachments, that whole 'You remind me so much of her' and the like.

(I also admit I am the world's biggest hypocrite as the entire premise of Forward but Never Forget/XOXO is that the core foursome of Vander, Silco, Lika and Sevika knew each other, and that those ghosts haunt the machinery of the present day. But I try my damnedest to make plain there's politics buffeting all these relationships, and despite all their efforts to claw at self-sovereignty, reinvention and a new order, the past is a stubborn bitch that refuses to let go.)

(Also in FnF, Silco is triggered by Lika rather than into her in any affectionate or romantic way, because they're so similar: pragmatic survivors who aren't above rule-bending to get their way, and at their core just want a smoke break, a stiff drink, and a nap. It's a mutual respect rather than an affection, which is why she bestows on him the dubious honor of mercy killing her if she's too wounded on the Day of Ash to continue on.)

(He's the one person who could, and would, do her the service. It's kinship, and Jinx is the bright torch of their shared ambitions and ingenuity given both wing and voice.)

But anyway.

The flashback is a fever-dream. The kind you have when you're high on cold meds and can't think straight, and the world is a blur of sensations and memories that seem vivid in the moment but melt away into madness when you're better. It's a scene meant to be savored rather than interrogated. And I think if the showrunners had the time and inclination, we would've gotten a second episode solely dedicated to the flashback, rather than shoehorning it in. But since they're clearly trying to tie everything up with a neat bow before the finale, I don't blame them for having to skim past it and focus on the vibes/emotional resonance rather than the substance of a meaningfully written scene.

But hey.

Fanfic writers will have a field day with the open-ended dynamic and the fandom will never fucking stop, so that's nice.

Also we got loads of fantastic gifs of Young Silco. Bless.

tl;dr: I've switched my critical brain off and decided to just enjoy the ride. It's so fucking epic.

Also, Felicia was delightful and I hope her brotherhood/polycule/whatever with Silco and Vander gets its own spinoff, a la Road to El Dorado (or Zaun.)

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winterbugle · 3 months ago

Text

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

FWB BUCKY BARNES X F!READER

MODERN AU

TW: angst, mentions of sex, Bucky being stupid deserves its own tw.

WC: 3.5k

A/N:

Not the most gut wrenching but it’s my first time writing a mainly angst fic so pls enjoy!! This got the most votes on the poll so here it is. Tysm all for voting, the poll is still open as I post this but I haven’t finished the other highly voted for fic yet so I chose to polish this one and post it first :) Asking Buck to fix ur car should be up by Wednesday or Thursday lovelies 🫶 Happy reading (or not, this is angst after all…)

—————————————🝮★🝮—————————————

“So no real feelings or anything between you two? Really?”

“No way man, she’s just a girl who I screw on occasion”

What the fuck? Is that what he really thought?

Okay, okay. Let’s rewind, to a few months prior.

It wasn’t like you and Bucky were together, but it was complicated. A dreaded situationship, if you will. Or as you called it, total bullshit.

You’d never say that to Bucky though, it was you who initiated intimacy in the first place. Besides, it was a mutual agreement to stay friends so no one is really to blame, right?

Yeah, as if it was that easy.

It started off with a kiss. You were drunk off your asses and one glance led to lingering touches and all of a sudden, you’d woken up in his bed, regretting the shift in your friendship. Well it wasn’t a minor shift, it was an entire fucking revelation for you. Damn the guy who sang ‘it was only a kiss how did it end up like this’. Or bless him, for making the most relatable song in the history of music.

Bucky Barnes was all consuming. Like guilt, or grief, or any emotion that consumes you whole and latches itself to your skin, clawing its way into the depths of your soul. He was something so unforgettably and unforgivingly consuming.

But you’d never tell him that, no. He was scared of commitment and permanence. You were scared of temporality.

So how did you end up so wound up in each other? I guess opposites really do attract.

It was a New Year’s party when you first noticed a subtle hint of something new in his eyes. You were leaning on his arm, a martini in your hand as you laughed at Sam’s joke, glancing at Bucky. You regretted it immediately. Because he was staring at you like there was nothing else in the world that could possibly take his eyes off of you.

It wasn’t his fault, though. You were dressed like you were expected on a red carpet in your stupidly perfect form fitting silk dress and looking like heaven on earth. He found no flaws or faults in you.

You shied away from it, the weight of it hitting you like a truck going 100 miles per hour with no intention of slowing down, much less stopping.

Bucky was sober, which made it all a thousand times worse for you. You couldn’t read his mind. You couldn’t know if he was looking at you with lust or longing. Maybe both? Hopefully neither.

Then he took you home and helped you slip off your dress, wiping off your makeup and helping you to bed. But it was you who pulled his shirt and kissed him, drunkenly asking him to stay with you. Bucky insisted he go home, but your asking turned to begging and one thing after another he found himself balls deep in you and mumbling sweet nothings into your ear about how ‘fuckin’ gorgeous you looked tonight, drove me wild baby y’know that?’

Then it hit you next morning along with your hangover: What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

Maybe it was the way he looked at you when you were coming down from the high or the words he mumbled to you but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop. It turned from a one time thing to a once-a-week thing.

Now, months later, you had come to accept that you were irreversibly in love with Bucky.

You, Bucky, Natasha, Sam, Steve and Wanda were all enjoying the warmth of the summer night, chatting on Sam’s boat in Louisiana. With a beer in hand and no thought of your phones, the last few hours were spent gossiping, drinking and the few games that you’d played.

You were sat beside Bucky who had his arm draped lazily around your shoulders as you rested into his side, nursing the beer in your hands.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like being with them, but the group couldn’t distract you from your thoughts. The ones that reminded you: Bucky wasn’t yours. Maybe in terms of intimacy and lust but he would never look at you with real love. The love that you see in movies, where the guy is in so deep and the girl is hesitant about making the move. The love that bonds you to the other’s soul and intertwines itself into your dna, becoming a part of you that you pass onto the physical manifestations of your love.

Bucky would never consider a life with you, because he was scared of permanence.

It wasn’t until Natasha asked you to help her inside that you noticed the blur of your vision. Composing yourself with clearing your throat, you stood up with a tight smile and followed her.

“You looked like you were about to bawl for a second out there, y’know”

She didn’t mean any harm by it, she was just checking up on you. Saving you from the humiliation that would come if you burst out crying. So why did it break the dam inside you and force you to the floor with tears flooding down your face? Why was it that tonight of all nights, Bucky Barnes had unknowingly moved you to tears?

“Tell me it’s not him who’s got you like this”

Wanda had come in, aware of the way your eyes glossed as you kept to yourself 5 minutes prior and decided to follow you inside.

You couldn’t choke the words out even if you tried. You couldn’t explain the way Bucky made you feel just by being himself. Natasha saw it in your eyes and Wanda felt it in the way you attached yourself to him at every gathering.

You and Bucky weren’t something that would happen. At least, it was clear to you that he wasn’t looking for that.

Crying in the bathroom of Sam’s house while the others drank beer and laughed obliviously was not an experience you would ever want to relive. It was tearing your heart from your chest.

It took less than an hour to calm down, Natasha and Wanda doing their best to easy you into calmness.

But oh how you wished you didn’t walk back out. The words you heard were the ones that did it for you. The only words that you knew would send you over the edge, grieving over the way you’d never feel the same after Bucky.

It was only the boys sat on the boat, chatting amongst themselves about god knows what.

But that wasn’t what stopped you in your tracks in the doorway. It was Steve asking Bucky about you.

“So you and her huh? You know Buck, I see the way she looks at you and I have to ask if you’re dating yet”

Sam raised his eyebrows with a chuckle, chiming in.

“Yeah Bucky c’mon man, she’s got heart eyes for you and you’re treating her like any other friend”

“Well yeah, we’re not dating”

Bucky sighed and took a swig of his beer, trying to brush off the conversation and hopefully bore the other two into another topic. Sam and Steve weren’t known for being easy though. The one thing Bucky wouldn’t do was face commitment. He never said why but it was clear that he didn’t want anything real with you, just sex.

“So no real feelings or anything between you two? Really?”

“No way man, she’s just a girl who I screw on occasion”

You had to do a double take to see it was Bucky who said those words, because at first you couldn’t- wouldn’t, believe it. Is that what Bucky really thought of you?

“Dude no way I don’t believe that”

Sam frowned, clearly not buying the way Bucky titled your relationship. It was more than just an occasional fuck and both of you knew it but neither wanted to admit it.

Because Bucky was scared of permanence and you were scared of temporality.

To a passerby, it would seem like you two would never work. Like two yins and or yangs but never yin and yang. But to you, somewhere deep down you knew that Bucky felt the same way about you. He was just better at ignoring it. Just how he seemed to ignore your obvious feelings for him. Just how he unknowingly ignored your presence as he named you his meaningless side piece. Just a ‘girl he screws on occasion’. When he feels like it. Like he has control over the relationship.

But he does have control over you, he just doesn’t know it.

Fear clawed its way into your body and snaked its way around your lungs and squeezed. Squeezed until suddenly everything was fuzzy and your head was spinning. It tore its way into your ribcage and shoved your heart into your throat and halfway out of your mouth as you were like a deer in headlights, the world- your world, crashing down around you.

Everything you thought you knew about Bucky, everything you felt, was forgotten in that moment. Your mind started to run overtime and overload with questions of betrayal and disbelief, trying to convince you that it wasn’t Bucky saying that. It was some other version of himself because he wouldn’t think about you like that… would he?

It almost made you laugh for a second. The way you had short circuited and broken right then and there in a matter of seconds at spoken words. Maybe it was laughable, how quickly Bucky tore you down and he didn’t even think twice about it. It made you think- somewhere in the back of your mind, did actions really speak louder than words? Because his words rang loud in your ears, so loud that it was a miracle there wasn’t blood dripping from them.

“So what, it’s.. ‘casual’, now?”

Steve sat back in slight surprise, his suspicion of your relationship with Bucky being flipped on its head as Bucky denied his own feelings for you. He figured a while ago that they were there- Bucky felt differently about you than he had anyone else and it bewildered Steve why he denied it. Why he denied himself the chance to be with you, the only girl who’d loved him for him. But Steve didn’t get that it scared Bucky to think about being so committed to you. Like a lot of people he had the fear of screwing it up so badly you’d never bat an eye at him after.

“I don’t know Steve. She’s nice and all but I just-”

“You’re going to lose her completely if you treat her like your side chick, you know that right?”

Bucky just went quiet, sighing and finishing his beer as he stared at the swaying water. Maybe if he went silent, it would fix itself. But then he heard movement behind him and he wished he’d spoken. He wished he’d filled the silence with something so he never heard you move. Because when he saw the way your mascara had run down your face and the shake in your hands, he knew. Knew he’d fucked up because he didn’t just keep his mouth shut and grow up. He wanted to get up and protest- ‘it wasn’t what it sounded like’. But Bucky knew it would be useless because the damage was already done and your heart was clearly already broken.

Sam mumbled an ‘oh shit’ and looked at Bucky who was frozen in place, earning a harsh jab from Steve to get up and talk to you.

But you were already gone, pulling your hood over your head and your headphones over your ears, a way of blocking out the world. Your world had already crumbled, you didn’t care about the rest of the world. It was the middle of summer but there was an unmistakable shiver that crept up your spine as Bucky’s words played on repeat, each time feeling more like a punch to the gut than the last. You hated the way he destroyed you so easily because you knew that you’d go back even if he didn’t ask you to.

Bucky Barnes was not someone you could escape. You could hide away in the darkest corners of the earth and somehow, a part of him would follow you.

He didn’t know what it was that made his heart race. Maybe it was the realisation that you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, or the way your shaking hands made his heart hurt in his chest. He didn’t care. In that moment, all he wanted to do was make it better. To fix what he’d so brutally destroyed in a matter of seconds. In the back of his mind he questioned if that was really all it took to shatter what he had with you. Bucky knew it wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t over. At least- he prayed to whatever god there might be or whatever higher power watched him in that moment- that it wasn’t over, because he didn’t know what he’d to if it was.

You told yourself that you wanted nothing to do with Bucky in that moment. Not the Bucky who’d said those words so easily about you. You wanted the Bucky who looked at you like you mattered, who held you to his chest as if you’d turn to dust if he relaxed his vice on you. The Bucky you trusted without needing to vocalise it. You placed an unspoken and unbroken trust in him. Unbroken until now.

Bucky’s grip on your wrist pulled you out of your silent hell, a gasp leaving your lips as you turned to him, forgetting about the outside world. It had all faded away into a haze aa you sobbed your way home so when the one person you couldn’t bear to look at pulled you back with an insistent look in his eye, it was fair to say it shocked you.

You had nothing to say to him. Even if you did, the words wouldn’t leave your mouth. They would liquify in your throat and suffocate you until your heart poured out past your lips with all the words you wanted to say. Maybe if you stayed silent, he would go away.

But why did both of you think that silence would bring avoidance?

“Baby ‘m sorry”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

You sounded like someone else. As if you were somewhere else because you simply couldn’t face Bucky. He’d never felt the coldness that radiated off of you and it scared him. It was a small mistake, a name that he offered you even if he wasn’t willing to commit to it. An allusion to something more than just sex. A flicker of hope that he did feel it- the burning in your chest when he kissed you and kept his eyes shut as if trying to pause the moment and save it in his hearts memory. A prayer that those mornings- when he woke up before you and cooked you a proper breakfast with coffee, waiting until you’d finished eating to leave, would become a daily routine.

“I know- and I’m sorry. I know it’s useless to deny what I said but can I explain myself?”

Bucky was close to dropping to his knees. It was so unlike him to be desperate for you, but after what he said before you weren’t sure if the one you fell for was real, so you let him continue.

“Listen- I’m not just using you for sex, okay? I care about you more than you think but I hate how much I love you.”

“Was it casual?”

Words weren’t enough to even begin to piece your heart back together. Not when they’d mauled your very being in the same hour. Your silence and more so lack of reaction to his confession made him go on as he knew he needed to earn your trust and respect again, the only two things he knew he should never lose. And he lost both in the same sentence. Bucky took a breath- grounding himself as he knew he had to grow up and at least try to be truthful with you. He carefully took your hands in his own, giving you space and time to pull away but when you didn’t, he took it as permission to continue.

“It scares me to love you. If you saw yourself the way I see you, it’d terrify you to lose that. The first time you pulled me to your bed I didn’t regret it in the morning but I prayed to god that I’d be able to keep you. I thanked whatever grace let me be the one you let see you like that. When it kept happening I realised that I really did love you and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you I loved you because I doubted that you’d ever feel the same. I didn’t doubt your ability to love, I doubted myself. If I deserved this god sent angel. I still doubt it and I’m sure you don’t want me after what I said to Steve and Sam but I just need to to know that I have loved you, day in and day out even when you felt like no one could love you. And it’s safe to say that I always will, even if you hate me for the rest of our lives. I’ll hate me too, for making you feel this way, because we were never just ..’casual’. ”

Every word that spilled past his lips made your head spin. It made you dizzy because your world was pulling itself back up. Just as you knew, you let yourself fall back into him. Because something told you that this was the real Bucky.

No bullshit, no insecurities, no fear. Just raw, truthful emotion. Suddenly you knew that he understood how you felt.

“I can’t be casual with you Bucky. I can’t look you in the eye and honestly say I’m okay with just sex. You hate the way you love me but I love the way I love you. If you can’t love me the way I do you then- I can’t go on like this.”

It was the most honest with him you’ve ever been. It scared you, and it made you realise exactly why it scared Bucky. Even though he was putting his everything into this and pouring his heart out to you, it still lingered in the back of your mind. The fear of loss, at your own fault. The very real possibility that you could screw up the best thing that ever happened to you.

God, if anyone had an outside voice on this they’d see straight away how truly stupid the pair of you were. Both of you were terrified of the same thing and only one of you was willing to risk it. The other was in love with you and just couldn’t risk it.

How could either of you doubt that it was more than just friendship?

“I’m ready for it now, I know I should’ve been a long fucking time ago but if you’ll let me I want all of you, doll. Every bad hair day and every lazy day and every day where you want to rip my head off for being stupid. But I also want you at your best. If I can’t have you at your worst I don’t deserve you at your best- just let me earn your trust and I promise you doll I’ll make and keep you happy”

When you looked at him, that was your final answer.

You fell into him, allowing yourself to rely completely on his strength to keep you up because you simply couldn’t do it on your own. He made your knees weak and your heart grow in size- almost too big for your chest. Bucky knew at the moment that he had made a start. He’d proved to you that he loved you and now all he had to do was earn your trust and show you how much he really did love you.

Pulling you into his chest, the same way he did when he was afraid to let go in the night, he pressed a kiss to your scalp with whispers of ‘thank you’s and ‘I’m sorry’s. It was like a dream to you. Maybe it balanced between a nightmare and dream, you weren’t sure. You considered reaching down to pinch yourself and see if you woke up. Then Bucky tightened his arms around you and you knew you didn’t need to. He was real. His words were real. The world- your world, was full. The world finally made sense and the future you needed was right in front of you. It was gripping you and kissing your head and whispering its prayers of forgiveness to you. Your future had itself at your knees in promise of goodness and it saw you. He saw you.

Bucky Barnes would never be casual. Not about you. Because he was scared of temporality, just like you.

#fanfic #writing #bucky barnes #marvel #writers on tumblr #x reader #sebastian stan #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #casual #angst with a happy ending #bucky barnes angst #Spotify

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gay-dorito-dust · 9 months ago

Note

If you're still taking reqs for TADC, could you possibly write something for on Jax with another member of the circus who is seemingly the only one that feeds into his actions and reacts- leading the two to go back and forth all the time. While everyone (even themselves) believe the pair hate each other, deep down there's some shared feelings!

(Sorry if this is worded weirdly..)

You and Jax were at each other’s throats once again much to the dismay of Pomni and Ragatha, who watched on from afar.

‘Jax!’ You exclaimed, gaining the purple bunny’s attention as he looked at you with his usual shit eating grin with his hands shoved into his overalls.

‘Why isn’t it y/n! Here to accuse me of doing something outrageous again because your undying hatred for me consumes your mind body and soul?’ Jax replied sarcastically, which only proven to make you even more pissed off as you grabbed him by the straps of his overalls, brining him in close.

‘Oh you think you’re hilarious don’t you bunny boy?’ You said through gritted teeth, trying not to focus on the fact that you were mere inches away from each other, mere inches away from touching heads but you were quick to focus back on why you were even confronting him to begin with. ‘I know damn well you put those rats in my room, do you not have anything better to do then annoy me for your entertainment.’ You added.

‘Have they always hated each other?’ Pomni asked Ragatha who was having a hard time recalling herself. You and Jax had always been like this for as far as she remembered, the reason why you both were like this was a mystery to all even Caine, but everyone had soon accepted that you and Jax just didn’t like each other in general. Jax liked to fuck with everyone and you happened to react the most to them, causing him to focus all of his pranks onto you.

‘They entered here at the same time and even then they didn’t like each other at all.’ Ragatha started. ‘Y/n hated how Jax massed with everyone and Jax found y/n’s need to confront him every time he did so both annoying but amusing at the same time. Soon enough all they could focus on was each other, getting on one another’s nerves, almost as though the rest of us don’t exist in their little feud as all they could see was each other.’ Ragatha finished and Pomni looked back at you and Jax, seeing that you were still very much at each other’s throats.

The way you both seemed to unintentionally lean towards each other despite hating the other’s very being, it came across as intimate but Pomni believed that she was looking too deep into things.

‘So do they hate each other, like Properly hate each other? If so why are they always within the others space?’ She asked, a million more questions coming to her head.

All Ragatha could do was shrug her shoulders. ‘I’ve had similar questions before but I’ve just chalked it up to y/n being red with rage that they don’t see how they feed into Jax’s ego, and Jax is far too aware of how he is affecting y/n to the point where he can’t stop himself from messing with them.’ The pair then went back to watching you and Jax as he griped his hands over your own on his overalls, forcing you to stay in close proximity of him.

‘You’re just so reactive to everything I do, even the smallest things tick you off, are you sure you’re not like secretly in love with me or something?’ He teased as he watched your eyes widened before narrowing into a glare again.

‘As if I’d like a chaos causing mischief maker like you in the first place? It’s you who might have feelings for me, especially given how often you keep pranking me and invading my personal space as though it’s nonexistent.’ You spat back as you watched Jax’s smile falter for a split seconds before it came back full force as he scoffs, pulling your hands off of him with ease.

‘Like you said as if I’d ever like a over emotional person like you, who can’t seem to take a joke and overreact to everything I do because everything I do is morally wrong and unjust in their eyes.’ Jax spat back, not wanting your words to get to him as he naturally deflected all of his flaws to focus on yours in retaliation.

‘Can’t take a joke?’ You asked rhetorically, sure your feelings were slightly hurt but you were able to not let it show in fear that Jax would use it to advantage. ‘Can’t take a- what you call a joke is anything but a joke! You just want to make everyone as miserable and as hopeless as you.’ You finished, practically seething as you saw how unaffected Jax was by your words.

‘Nope, wrong as usual. I just want you to be as miserable and hopeless as me sweetheart.’ Jax said almost too casually as he shrugged his shoulders before leaving you stood there in utter bafflement. ‘See you later for the adventure, hope you’ll keep your emotions in check this time.’ He adds with a lazy wave as he disappears from sight.

You knew your relationship with Jax was…complicated to say the least, always hating each other, and getting in the others face for no reason other then to voice your hate for one another in voices barely above a whisper. You didn’t remember when you hated him but soon you felt it shift somewhat the longer you were stuck here with him. You noticed your change of emotions towards his and grew annoyed, which only made your supposed hate for Jax grow to hide the fact that you had grown feelings for the lavender rabbit.

Yet you knew he didn’t feel the same, he hated you beyond words can describe and so instead of forcing an fantasy to become reality, you had forced yourself to accept the reality that you and Jax were meant to be enemies no matter what.

However you weren’t the only one with conflicted thoughts and feelings about this because Jax was in a similar situation. He was supposed to hate you, much like he did the moment you locked eyes but he feared something else blossomed from that first glance, something he didn’t want to admit anytime soon; and so he decided to torment you in order to find things to hate about you to stop thinking about anything else.

Jax wasn’t stupid he knew he liked you but for all he was aware you hated him beyond belief, beyond words even and so he focused on things that he had tricked himself into hating about you and letting himself continue to be your enemy as long as he got your attention, you soul focus on him and only him like he wanted.

You and him were made to be enemies but born to be more but both of you didn’t know how to admit it, not when you thought the other one despaired the other with how hostile you acted towards one another, and yet you craved the others attention in the same breath. You craved and despised each other simultaneously that you had found yourself in a never ending battle of whether you and Jax would ever break from this hatred and actually grow to like each other, but you and Jax both knew that was too much to ask, not knowing that you both indeed did like each other but were just that good at hiding it with mutual hate.

#tadc x reader #tadc x you #tadc #tadc jax #the amazing digital circus #jax x y/n #jax x you #jax x reader #jax imagines #jax imagine

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dr-spectre · 11 months ago

Text

Rambling about Marina and Relatability...

I've said in the past that i relate heavily to Marie, but as i think about it further.... I think i relate more to Marina... I just read through this incredible twitter thread by @ _CSenpai_ which i shall leave at the end, but it got me to really think... "huh... Marina is kinda me fr." (Also I'm gonna get pretty personal in this post so keep that in mind too.)

Marina has very serious special interests and clearly spends a lot of time researching and engaging in these interests. She gets VERY excited when someone mentions anything remotely about her interests and takes them seriously. Which is something i do as if someone even remotely mentions Splatoon out of the blue, my chest will go "BZZZTTTT" and i get the tingles and i wanna run around my room.

She's very into machinery, video games, music and manga/comic books. Marina stays up and overworks herself when it comes to music and her interests, which is shown in the dev diaries and chat logs in Side Order and Octo Expansion. This is something i tend to do as well as I consume my special interests way into the night and i can't go to bed because I'm so damn energized. Sometimes i become so focused that i don't even notice that time has passed by for so long and before i even realise it... It's 2pm and now i want lunch.

She corrects Pearl on wizards which reminds me of the kind of stuff i say during my rambles about Callie and her arc in Splatoon 2... I get VERY picky when it comes to people using ahem.... certain words when describing the events that took place.

In the Hero vs. Villain Splatfest, she is the only one who is taking it very seriously while everyone else is smiling or expressing anger.

She's using a god damn GAMECUBE CONTROLLER AND A HEADSET! She's literally me oh my god. When i go over for parties and celebrations and someone brings out a Switch and we play Smash Bros or Mario Kart? I take that shit seriously and i can't tone back my skill level and just have fun.

Also Marina is known to have sensitivity to certain food textures including mayo and pulp in orange juice. Now i LOVE mayo personally but i HATEEEE stuff in my drinks. I am a massive texture eater and i will avoid stuff in food that ruins the texture. When i get pumpkin soup for example, if i see vegetable bits in that shit i will actually feel sick and flick the bits off of my spoon.

Marina is also seen stimming and pacing back and forth when excited. When i tend to get overly excited by myself, i will literally violently shake for a brief moment and then squeal. I'm not joking.

Marina also tends to bottle up her emotions and often lashes out onto others when it's too much for her. Which is something i tend to do... I don't often say how i feel when someone asks how am i and i often wanna scream and break something when the anger is just too much for me to contain. I end up yelling by myself and cuss like no tomorrow. I can find solace in a character who does a similar thing i do, minus the cussing lmao.

I think one of the bigger reasons on why i relate to Marina is gonna be a weird one but... She is almost always seen with her headphones. No matter what situation she is in, she always wears her headphones.

Even when she's Marina Agitando and Overlorder has taken over her body, the Controller VM acts like headphones as it covers her ears!

Now this detail about her wearing her headphones almost often might seem minor, but to me it makes me love Marina even more. I always constantly wear headphones and it's due to various different reasons. First is because i love listening to music and enjoying background noise, second, it dampens the sounds around me as i can be pretty sensitive to certain sounds. And third... well... let's just say that i live with a uh.... loud parent who... gets pretty angry, NOT AT ME! THANKFULLY! BUT... when they scream... and swear... i put on my headphones and wait for the noise to go by. It's a comfort thing for me and helps get through those... rough periods... Marina wearing those headphones often and not being judged for it, makes me feel, happy...

...uh... yeah.

ANYWAYS! Another big thing i relate with Marina on is her want for order and balance in her life. She doesn't like massive changes in her routine and wants to maintain the balance in her life.

i do not like it when my routine suddenly changes and i get upset and angry. I have a strict routine and when it gets fucked over oh MAN OH MANNNN!!!!!!!!!!!

And that last point about feeling safe and secure, as i mentioned earlier with the third point about wearing headphones... I wanna feel safe and secure... I want to feel calm... I don't want someone to suddenly shout or get upset or for my routine to change and i can't do anything about it...

The only thing i don't relate with Marina on is well... Looks. Listen, i ain't no tall black octopus woman with a noticeable figure and a pretty face HAHAHAHA! I find it kind of funny that I'm able to relate SO MUCH to someone like her when I'm some 20 year old dude who looks nowhere NEAR like her. Except for maybe height i don't know.

However, i will say, i actually don't act this excited in person, i tend to be very shy and reserved in person compared to my online behaviour. I say words in a dry manner and i don't have the best social skills. So i guess that's where the relatability for Marie comes in as well. I'm a heavy introvert and despite my need for wanting to connect to others, i would rather stay indoors than go out and meet new people to start friendships or potentially a romantic relationship... like that's ever gonna happen anyways...................

I got two brain cells. It's them.

So anyways, that was all i wanted to say! I love Marina and she's my second favourite Idol, you can probably guess who's number 1 but i ain't talking about... her... well not today anyways.

Thanks for reading!!!

The thread that inspired this blog post: https://x.com/_CSenpai_/status/1367219374948376579

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margowritesthings · 1 year ago

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Good Luck, Babe!

pairing: Eloise Bridgerton x f!reader word count: 2394 words listen along authors note: I don't know what came over me with this one- I NEVER write just angst but here it is I guess🥲🥲 I just felt like Chappell is so Eloise x reader coded. I hope you enjoy! As always, big thank you to @cowboydisaster for beta-ing💙

Dearest El,

I have departed London. As this letter will be arriving some weeks after I have departed London, and owing to your brilliant mind, I am sure you will have worked that out by now. I can only apologise for my disappearance and complete lack of correspondence, when Mama received word of Aunt Petunia’s illness, she made so much haste I barely had time to pack a quill.

I hope with all my heart I can return to you soon. As much as the London season pains me, you bring the most incredible medicine in your company, one that I long to drink up every drop of.

As the atmosphere here in the country gets ever more mournful, the hope that I can soon be with you brightens. I feel so terribly guilty for not being as consumed by grief as the rest of my family, however I mourn every second missed by your side much more than a lifetime of a woman I never knew.

My heart longs for more stolen moments soon,

Yours, always.

Meanwhile, at almost the exact same instant…

My dear Miss Bridgerton,

We have been corresponding now for quite some time, and although we have never formally met, I feel as if I know you.

Forgive me if I am too bold, but I am writing to invite you to visit me. It is my hope that we might decide that we will suit, and you will consent to be my wife.

—Sir Phillip Crane

“A… A husband? You are engaged?!”

You can’t be sure you heard right for the rushing of blood in your ears and the shattering of your heart in your chest. A broken heart always sounded so metaphorical, fantastical imagery to describe an emotion. But this pain is so very real, and it hurts so badly it takes everything you have not to let your knees buckle beneath you.

“Perhaps… we could discuss this in private?” Eloise says, and even though you see her lips moving in time to the words you hear, it doesn’t sound like her. Not the girl you grew up with, the woman you love with all your heart. Everything has changed, in all of 4 seconds.

The pointed tone she yields makes you remember yourself, finding half a dozen other Bridgertons looking back at the two of you. There’s tension knitted between each of their brows, the resemblance in the family so striking when they’re all gazing at you with the exact same confused expression. You can’t blame them, it is a rather intense reaction for a young lady when she finds out her best friend is betrothed.

They could never know how much more you are.

How much you thought you were.

Eloise pulls at your arm, and you comply like wet clay between her fingers. The shock is really settling in your bones now, and your lip wobbles with emotion you cannot spend in front of her family. She guides you, and you’re soon both in the library, the heavy door shut and locked behind you.

Your first instinct is to resent her for bringing you here, of all places, to talk about this. This damned library, with more memories stuffed in it than books. Of stolen kisses between chapters, nervous confessions beside the fireplace, learning each and every secret the other holds in their mind, and every single inch of their body. This library was your sanctuary only months ago, and now Eloise has brought you in here to break your heart.

The silence hangs between you, Eloise’s blush lips parting and closing. You’ve never seen her like this, with so much sadness in her eyes it scares you.

“I… I feared we had been discovered.”

You can’t argue that. It would have been the easiest explanation to come to, with what happened. One day, you’re in London in the middle of the social season, stealing away from balls to press your lover against Lady Trowbridge’s bookshelves and make her moan your name in just the way you like. The next, you’d disappeared without a trace. How was she to know the circumstances? It makes sense now, that she never wrote you back. She wasn’t even in London to receive your correspondence.

“You quit London with all your family, not a trace of you. Not even a mention in Whistledown, for God's sake. I was so worried that perhaps your Papa had discovered that we were… our secret,”

She can’t even say it aloud.

“And that he’d shipped you off to the country. I thought we’d both be ruined and… I was scared. Scared that I had lost you and that-”

“Scared that you had lost me and your first instinct was to marry somebody else?!” You spit, all the hurt you had to hide when the first blow hit in the drawing room rising to the surface. “You thought I had been carted off to the country and the first thing you do is find yourself a husband to save your own skin?!”

You’re being ugly and hurtful and you know it, but you’re hurting too. There’s a palpable pain all over, and it’s affecting your ability to hold onto your composure.

But the way Eloise flinches at your rebuttal is all the more painful. In the candlelight, you spot the tear tracks down her cheeks, and it takes everything not to close the distance between you and swipe them away with your thumb. You’d kiss each cheek softly, feeling just how soft her skin is. Oh, how you’ve missed how soft her skin is…

Your feet seem to work of their own accord for a moment, toes icing forward, but you pull yourself back, perch yourself on the desk to anchor you down. If you go to her now, you’re not sure you could ever let her go, and she has a fiancé now.

“It wasn’t like that.” She admits, her voice so weak now. It feels so wrong, like the Earth should be hanging upside down. Even then, your El would cling on with a smile, but this is so much worse than that because she’s crumbling too. She takes a deep, steadying breath, but it does little good.

“I had been corresponding with him for a few months… I knew his wife, Marina, her and Colin were once betrothed and she… well, it does not signify. It was just a letter of condolence, but then he replied, and one thing led to another and you were gone and I didn’t know if you were coming back and-” She’s rambling, words tumbling from her lips and each one a deeper cut than the last and you just can’t listen to all the sordid details anymore.

“Do you love him?” You interrupt, your question asked if it is the most simple in the world when, really, it is anything but. Seconds seem to stretch to hours, Eloise choking on her words and fighting with herself to finally shake her head no.

“It is a marriage of convenience. Sir Phillip is a widower. He has children who need a mother and I… they need me.”

But I need you.

You could tell her that. You could lay your heart out, tell her her place is right here, next to you, but you’re terrified. The chance you have of walking away from this night with your heart in one piece and your soulmate by your side is dwindling by the second. You’re losing her, and the fear turns to ugliness.

“And that is what you wish to be, now? His wife, their mother?” You spit the titles out as if they are a curse, “What about-”

“What about what? Growing old together as spinsters, those strange ladies who live together in the country and see nobody? The ones who not just ruined themselves with the scandal, but their entire families?! At least I can be his wife. I can be their mother. It’s legal, and accepted, and perhaps that has never mattered to me before, but you left, and I didn’t know when you were coming back and Phillip was there and offering me a place to go and and I… I had to be realistic. Stop living in this fantasy.”

The word ricochets inside you, cracking bones, puncturing organs and leaving you bleeding out in front of her. Fantasy.

All those long hours reading together, discovering parts of the world nobody would teach two young ladies.

A fantasy.

Your first kiss, hidden from the heavens under the covers of a thunderstorm, discovering other things they’d never teach you.

A fantasy.

That first time, and the next, and the next, and every time after that, skin to skin, bodies so connected you couldn’t tell where one of you ended and the other began.

Moaning each others names, decorations of love and passion and lust and everything in between tying you both together for what seemed like forever.

The plans you had to escape to the countryside together, away from anybody who could ever keep you apart.

A fantasy A fantasy A fantasy

The feeling of absolute inadequacy starts to creep in, until you realise it isn’t you Eloise is giving up on, it’s her.

“This isn’t who you are, El…” You whisper, all the energy and fury in your own words dying off. You’re devastated, not just for yourself, but because you know who Eloise Bridgerton is, and the woman in front of you is letting her down.

She meets your eye, and you do all you can not to lose yourself in those sad, grey pools that tell you everything her words are not.

“What if it is? It is how every other woman is, is it not? Why should I be so different? What we do- what we did- isn’t how it is supposed to be done and you know it. It could have been nothing- a blip. What if… if I’m not actually like that and I just hadn’t…” The words die in her throat, and you know it’s because she doesn’t mean them. So much so you’re not even hurt by it. She feels just as you do, that tether between you just as tense on both ends, but denial is rearing its ugly head now, and you’re powerless to it.

Eloise takes in a deep breath, sighing it back out as if it will settle her nerves. But you see the way she tugs at her own fingernails, the way her feet shift every other second. She’s nervous. She’s lying, and you don’t know who’s benefit it is for.

“You can say that we are nothing, but you and I both know the truth, Eloise. You would have to burn the world down for what is between us to cease.

One day, you will wake up in the dead of night and you will realise you are a wife to a man you do not love, a mother to children that are not yours. You will have walked into another woman’s life, a life you do not want, because you think that whatever this is between us will cease, that whatever resides inside of you will simply disappear… Eloise, I promise you now that it will not.

You’ll still love me, all those years from now, I swear to you that you will, and even if you don’t, there will be another but you know it will not be him… Please, El, I beg of you not to do this. Not just for me, but for you. Do not rob yourself of who you truly are because you are scared, please do not do this-”

You don’t know when you started crying, nor when you allowed yourself to finally close the distance between you and Eloise and grab hold of her hands as you beg for her life. She’s too limp in your grip, the fight burning in her already extinguished.

“It… It does not signify. I have already married him.”

A final blow knocks you back a few paces, from the one you thought you knew so well.

The one you truly didn’t know at all.

No, you knew your El. You knew Eloise Bridgerton, who had two sugars in her tea and fought harder than anyone else in London for what she believed in.

You do not know Eloise Crane.

Not one bit.

“I see.” You choke on the two little repeated syllables, packing thousands more into their subtext. Weaving in the pain and betrayal, wrapping them around the confession that even after all this, you still love her. Maybe she finds those secrets in your short sentence, it’s impossible to tell with this faux composure she’s clinging onto.

“It all moved so quickly. He asked me to visit him, and my brothers… Well, you know how they are. They believed he compromised me, so we… I… I am sorry. Truly, I never meant to hurt you… It all got away from me.” There’s a weakness in her final sentence that leads you to think perhaps Eloise didn't have much of a say in the matter at all. It makes you angry, furious that these men who claim to love her, her own family, would steal away her future like this. Would steal her away from you.

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to storm up to Anthony Bridgerton and give him a piece of your mind, but El is right. None of it signifies anymore, because the deed is done.

Eloise Crane will live the rest of her life within a lie.

And so, it seems, will you.

She’s openly sobbing now, the two paces backwards you took in the aftershock feeling like miles and miles now.

“I’m so sorry…”

And then, so quiet you could have missed it for your own heartbeat,

“I love you.”

It feels as natural as breathing to say it back. You have done, thousands of times. From written into letters left hidden under pillows to moaned voices in each other's ears.

This time, though, the words get stuck. They mutate, catching all that pain build up inside you on their way out and becoming bitter.

“I wish you the very best of luck with your new family, Lady Crane.”

You try not to look back, but it is awfully difficult.

#eloise bridgerton x you #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton fanfic #eloise bridgerton imagine #eloise bridgerton angst #alpoise bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton fanfic #eloise bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton angst #bridgerton x you

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anika-ann · 10 months ago

Note

made-up fic title: ever so softly

Hello dear 🥰 Thank you so much for participating in the game 😍

Since my brain does refuse to acknolwdge the concept so far, you too get a little drabble-ish thing 🥹 This time only with 600 words, Bucky, and a flavour of angst with hurt/comfort 😇

ever so softly

warnings: mentions of blood and violence, anxiety, sensory issues and hypersensitivity and PTSD A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics

Sometimes, your hands shake.

You’ve got a tender heart, people would say; a codename for those who get overwhelmed with the world, with people, with the noise and smells and strange textures and tastes, with emotions; with anxiety.

Your own body, your own damn brain was often your worst enemy. You were your worst enemy and you hated it with passion, especially on days when you somehow had no energy left but for that and spiralling down the void of terror made of your own synapses.

On days like these, like on every other, Bucky holds you, whispering soft words of solace and encouragement into your hair, tender lips and gentle voice, creating a protective bubble of silence and peace, tucked safe and far away from the world.

On days like these, he embraces you closely – unless you cannot bear his love for the moment, despising yourself for it all the more – and helps you put together the pieces of your tender soul you feel have imploded inside of you and suffocate you with every attempt of breath.

He sooths you and promises – begs, in truth – to keep you. Loving you,

ever so softly,

reminding you that you can choose and do the same and until you do, he will. For both of you.

And on some days, you do too.

Sometimes, Bucky’s hands shake.

It is a funny little glitch, he supposes, once he has the capacity to be sardonic with himself, which is always; his metal hand, science perfected, precious chunk of vibranium crafted to faultless functionality on engineerism, and it trembles as much as his flesh hand.

Bucky Barnes is an old man; a reborn man, haunted by an army of ghosts and undead. Doctors in his old days called it shellshock; the fancy modern name for it is PTSD.

Some days, images of blood, violence and death run on the silver screen of his mind like the most messed-up horror flick, following him through day and seeping into his nights, sleepless; or worst, consumed by nightmares than never end, because they are memories of his own actions.

His soul weighs too much to bear, drenched with blood and guilt that no penance can wash away.

Sometimes, you help with the cleanse despite it.

You take his shaking hands – sometimes his very own, sometimes the glorified invention attached to his body – and lead him to the living room where on the shelves stand his little treasures; one supposedly beautiful thing next to another, small wooden statues he had carved himself, rough around the edges but otherwise delicate, a reflection of his gentle torn soul. You do not speak a word, you do no point, letting him see what you see. To make him see that what he only perceives as a pair of hands soaked in blood and wrongdoings, had made good and beautiful too.

And even in the dead of night, you walk him to the most special room of the house, of your home, his steps hesitant, but his heart too weak to resist. Helpless and already yearning, he can never say no.

In those no longer trembling hands, you gently place the most precious thing he has had a generous hand in creating, with utmost love.

Tears burning in his eyes, he cradles your baby, his baby, to his chest with one arm, his other curling around you, pressing you to his side, lips attached to your temple. You linger in your embrace until his tears of grief and guilt turn into ones of acceptance and happiness.

Because he loves and he is loved,

ever so softly

and every beat of his heart, your heart and his child’s, promise him that despite all the pain, everything will be okay.

I hope you enjoyed the little angst but with a sweet note in the end for a change🥰

Thank you for reading and @murdock-and-the-sea for sending 💕

#reply #asks #anika replies #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #ever so softly #anika ann #anika writes

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hrizantemy · 4 months ago

Note

Tbh, it‘s not just the problems that come down later like when Nyx loses both of his parents because of the damn bargain…

The very thought of sharing everything, and I really mean LITERALLY EVERYTHING with someone disturbs me. Feyre doesn’t have anything that used to belong to just to her anymore. Her soul, her time, her entire future and now her death is shared with Rhys. Even her past can’t be her own if Rhys is free to go into her head and look at her past memories.

This would make me feel.. suffocating. I would need some time to breath, which means time away from him for a long time. I would think of bringing Nesta and Elain (pre acosf) to the continent (and the other courts too) and we would deal with our shit there without anyone interfering and I‘m sure that would‘ve helped our relationship, especially for Nesta, far more than when the Inner circle keeps interfering. Mating bond is closed, mental shield is up. We‘d be gone until we‘re all 3 healed, relationship stronger than ever and I have plan for my future. The very thought of my entire existence depending on someone else is scaring me.

I‘d rather much grieve my loved ones than literally die with them. Feyre can’t do shit anymore without making sure that Rhys is safe, literally.

And sure, you could say that Rhys also has nothing of his own anymore, but Rhys has already lived for centuries, of course he‘d then choose a simple life. Feyre is only in her 20 and she barely had a good childhood. That girl needs time away from him to get a clear mind.

In the words of Sexyy Red: “Fuck Feyre’s baby dad.”

Now, let’s get into it.

The way the series presents Feyre and Rhysand’s relationship as the ultimate ideal—this all-consuming, soul-deep connection—ends up feeling less like love and more like a loss of identity. Love should enhance who you are, not erase it. But Feyre’s story becomes increasingly about how she exists in relation to Rhys rather than as her own person. The moment the mating bond snaps into place, everything about her life, choices, and even her death revolves around him.

And it’s not just about the literal aspects of their bond, like the bargain tying their deaths together. It’s the psychological weight of it all. Feyre doesn’t have space to process her trauma alone. She doesn’t get a break from Rhys being inside her head, her memories, her emotions. There’s no room for independence because even when she thinks she’s making her own decisions, they always circle back to Rhys. And since Rhys has positioned himself as the person who “saved” her from Tamlin, there’s a deeply uncomfortable undertone of permanent indebtedness.

The scariest part is that she never even considers walking away—not because she doesn’t want to, but because the narrative doesn’t let her. She’s never given the time or space to even question whether this dynamic is healthy for her. And she should have had that chance. Feyre was thrown into a life-changing bond at an age where she barely had a chance to live. The girl spent her entire human life in survival mode, then her Fae life immediately became about either escaping Tamlin, fighting wars, or being Rhys’s equal in power. Where was the room to discover herself?

Your idea of Feyre, Nesta, and Elain leaving to the Continent is brilliant because it forces them to exist outside of the people who have defined them for so long. Imagine what could have happened if they had the chance to just be—to build something for themselves away from the expectations of the Night Court. Nesta especially needed to be removed from the suffocating pressure of the Inner Circle’s forced interventions, and Feyre desperately needed to see herself outside of the “High Lady” identity that Rhys pushed on her. They wouldn’t be coddled or controlled. They’d be able to make mistakes, explore who they are without judgment, and heal on their own terms.

But instead, Feyre is locked into a fate where she can’t even breathe without Rhys being a part of it. The more you think about it, the more terrifying it is. It’s one thing to love someone deeply, but it’s another to lose yourself in them entirely. Feyre never gets the choice to be her own person anymore—her past, present, and future are all dictated by her mate bond, her duties, and her role as Rhysand’s other half. And the worst part? The story presents this as romantic.

It’s not romantic. It’s suffocating. Feyre deserved the choice to live for herself.

#anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti amren #feyre archeron deserves better #anti nessian #anti night court #anti morrigan

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strawb3rryg2l · 27 days ago

Text

How to Lose 'Bob' in 10 Days, Part 4

Characters: Bob x Y/N, Robert Reynolds x Y/N, Sentry x Y/N, The Void x Y/N

Summary: You thought you'd lost, your husband, Robert Reynolds forever. Consumed by the Void and the chaos it left behind. But then you woke up in a world not your own. One where he's alive. Where he goes by Bob. Where he doesn't know you. To him, you’re a stranger. You have 10 days to lose him, before everything falls apart. But the cracks are already forming. Time stutters. Reality bends. And something followed you here, something made of grief, memory, and everything you refused to let die. As you try to lose Bob in 10 days, the world unravels with every lie you tell yourself. You’ll have to make an impossible choice: hold on to the man you love, or face the truth and finally let him go. Because if you don’t... this world won’t just end. You might go with it.

Word Count: 2,479

Warnings: A dark twisted version of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, spooky, creepy, crying, grief, loss, Spoilers maybe? (Please let me know if I should add anymore.)

Note from the author: This is my work, and I will be posting on here and @ strawb3rrygal on Archivesofourown. Keep in mind these are my ONLY TWO accounts. Please feel free to reblog if you like it! I've been working on this one as I write my other fic 'The Temp' which you can also check out if you'd like.

New here? Go back in time -> Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

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They met outside a tiny bagel shop in the East Village. The kind of place that had “Cash Only” written in Sharpie on yellowing tape, and a guy behind the counter who shouted, “Lox is love, Lox is life!” every fifteen minutes like it was scripture. The place smelled like burned sesame seeds and boiled onions. A rat skittered somewhere behind a recycling bin.

Bob was already waiting, arms crossed, dressed in all black again—black coat, black jeans, black hoodie peeking out like an omen. He looked like a slightly-less-broody NYC tech guy who’d seen the abyss and decided to code it into an app.

“You’re late,” he said, crooked smile pulling at one side of his mouth.

“I had to pick up something important,” she said, and handed him a Build-A-Bear in a tiny tuxedo.

“Meet our emotional support child. His name is Mister Cuddles.”

Bob blinked once. Took the bear like it might be explosive. Gave it a once-over like it was evidence in a crime scene.

Then, deadpan: “Mister Cuddles has your eyes.”

Damn it. That was supposed to be too much. But Bob didn’t flinch. If anything, he cradled the bear more gently than expected, like it meant something.

They ate everything bagels on a sticky bench in Tompkins Square Park. A pigeon stared them down like it had unfinished business. Halfway through her cream cheese monologue (“You have to toast it exactly 90 seconds, otherwise you lose the spread-to-bread ratio and then what’s the point of living?”), she dropped the bomb.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “We should move in together.”

He paused. Chewed. Swallowed. “You snore?”

“Violently,” she answered.

“Cool. I’ll get earplugs.”

She stared at him. “Do you… like chaos?”

Bob shrugged. “It’s New York. You have to.”

By Day Six, she was running out of red flags. Nothing worked. Not the fake spiritual awakening, not the red sock sabotage, not the sobbing in Chelsea about a melting swan ("It reminds me of the transience of connection!") or mailing herself love letters signed “Yours in every timeline, Bob.” He didn’t run. He laughed. Worse—he seemed to like her more.

So, she changed tactics.

The haunted walking tour in the West Village was meant to unnerve him. Not because of the ghosts—but because of what they might stir up. She wore her favorite coat, the one that hugged her like a memory, and walked beside Bob through the chilly fog that settled over the cobblestones like a shroud.

Bob showed up in a beanie pulled low and a black wool coat, looking like the ghost of a heartbroken poet. It annoyed her how good he looked in the fog.

“You believe in ghosts?” she asked, stuffing gloved hands into her coat pockets as the guide rattled off a rehearsed spiel about suicides and spectral sightings.

“I believe New York keeps secrets,” he said. His eyes flicked toward a darkened window above them. “And I believe I’ve seen weirder.”

“You ever felt like you’ve been somewhere before, even when you haven’t?”

He looked at her carefully. “All the time.”

The guide launched into a story about a woman in the Gilded Age who leapt from her brownstone window and was still seen pacing the stoop when it rains. Y/N tried to listen, but her head was spinning—not from the story, not even from the cold, but from Bob. Bob, who felt too familiar. Bob, whose warmth made her ache in a place she’d kept sealed off for too long.

And then it happened.

They learned in at the same moment—her to whisper something snarky, him to hear her over the roar of a passing bus—and collided. Lip-to-lip. A second. Maybe two. But warm. Startlingly warm.

She pulled back with a half-hysterical laugh, nearly tripping on the curb. “That was—ha—that was not planned. I was going to make fun of your hat—”

But he wasn’t laughing. Bob looked stunned, like she’d just whispered something in a language he hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

“Did you feel that?” he asked.

She blinked. “You mean my nose slamming into your jaw?”

“No.” He shook his head, slow, deliberate. “There was… something else.”

A shadow flickered in the window behind him.

She glanced up instinctively—and for a split-second, the reflection staring back at her wasn’t hers. It was older. Paler. Wearing the same coat but with eyes not her own. She opened her mouth, then closed it. When she turned back, Bob was already speaking.

“You’ve known me before,” he said, quiet as a confession.

Her stomach flipped.

“You’re being weird,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

They stood there, fog curling around their feet, the streetlamp above flickering in that unnatural way lights do when something is off. Around them, the tour group moved forward, oblivious. The cold pressed in. From inside her coat pocket, a buzz.

One new photo.

She pulled out her phone. It was her and Robert—except she’d never taken this one. She was wearing the coat she had on now. Her arms around his. The background looked like this very street.

Bob leaned closer to see the screen. His shoulder touched hers. A jolt went through her. Not of fear. Of something worse. Recognition.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Her lips felt cold, her chest hollowed out.

Because deep down, she already knew.

And then—another whisper. Ancient. Familiar.

“He doesn’t remember you. But he will.”

“D.” That cryptic messenger. That damned voice. It echoed inside her like a bell tolling from another lifetime.

She stepped away from him, panic flaring behind her ribs. The ache, the pull toward him, it wasn’t romantic anymore. It was existential. A cruel, cosmic riddle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears rising too fast to stop. “Just give me a moment.”

She turned away from him, away from the fog, from the past clawing at her like fingernails against glass. Her vision blurred. This ghost tour wasn’t just haunted; it was a sick joke. Her ghost walked beside her. Her husband’s shadow. Her grief. And now this man, this Bob, who laughed like Robert, who smiled like hope, was unraveling everything she had stitched back together.

She couldn’t breathe.

The air felt thinner here. Like something was watching. Judging.

She felt Bob reach for her again. She didn’t let him touch her.

Because if he did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever let go.

Y/N's vision blurred at the edges. Her breath caught in her throat and refused to move, like something heavy was pressing down on her chest. The fog around them thickened, or maybe it just felt that way. Her ears rang. Her limbs tingled.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and took a few steps back, trying to disappear into the sidewalk. But the feeling wasn’t going away. If anything, it was getting worse. Her heart thudded like it was trying to escape, and her hands trembled even inside her gloves. Panic attack. That’s what this was.

Bob stepped forward, slowly. Not intruding, not pushing. Just… there. His voice came gently, low and grounding. “Y/N.”

She didn’t answer, eyes darting away.

“Hey. Look at me.” She did. Barely. “You’re okay,” he said, voice firm but kind. “You’re here. Breathe with me, alright?”

He lifted his hand, palm up, inviting, not demanding. She hesitated but reached for it. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and solid. Then his other arm came around her, easing her into a hug. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t performative. It was shelter.

“Just breathe. In for four, out for four,” he said softly. She mirrored him, clumsy at first, but it helped. The fog inside her started to lift.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest, voice muffled. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re overwhelmed,” Bob murmured into her hair. “We all get that way. Even superheroes’… ghost wives.”

She pulled back, blinking. “That was weirdly specific.”

His mouth twitched. “Just a guess.” Then, tilting his head, he added, “Also might’ve been Mister Cuddles who told me.”

A laugh broke out of her throat, sharp and sudden. She wiped at her face, embarrassed, but the smile lingered. “I hate that that worked.”

“I don’t,” he said, mock-solemn. “It’s my greatest achievement to date.”

They stood in a moment of quiet, the haunted tour trudging a few yards ahead. The guide was still droning on about old spirits and gas lamps, but it felt distant. Removed.

Then Bob asked, casually, “Want to ditch this tour and come over to my place?”

Y/N blinked. “Your place?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just to hang out. We can order overpriced sushi, roast bad Netflix movies. Or you can sit in total silence and judge my throw pillows. No pressure.”

Her mouth opened to say no, too soon, too weird, too dangerous. But before she could speak, something about the way he said it so normal, so him made her ears perk up. Bob’s place. Wasn’t he involved with the New Avengers somehow? Elise had dropped that in a half-sentence earlier this week. A visit could help the article. Fill in the gaps. Explain the mystery.

She tried to stuff the curiosity back down, but it was already rising, hot and flickering.“Only if…” she said slowly, “it’s okay to have me over.”

Bob grinned, that crooked grin again. “Of course it is.”

——————————————————————————————————————-

The apartment was not an apartment.

It was a building. Or at least, a massive, converted warehouse in Midtown with clean lines, gleaming elevators, and a private keycard entrance. The lobby alone had better lighting than most luxury spas.

Bob led her through a secured hallway and into an elevator that required a palm scan.

Y/N whistled low. “This is either very cool… or a very elaborate kidnapping.”

“Bit of both,” Bob replied. “But don’t worry. I only kidnap people with excellent taste in bagels.”

The elevator opened onto a private floor that looked more like a boutique hotel than someone’s living space. Industrial ceilings, exposed brick, wide open living spaces… and framed portraits on the walls. Not just art. Faces.

She paused. Something in her chest clenched. She didn’t know these people, not really, but her body reacted like it did. One of them was Sam Wilson. Another was Monica Rambeau. And then there were others she had seen only in passing reports or Elise’s files.

Ghosts of a life she hadn’t lived. Or hadn’t lived yet.

Bob noticed her staring. “It’s weird, right?” he said gently. “You feel like you’ve walked into someone else’s dream.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

Before she could ask more, footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.

“Well, well, look who finally brought someone home,” a familiar, dry voice teased.

Yelena Belova stepped into view, blonde bob bouncing, holding a cup of something suspiciously glowing. Behind her came Walker, grinning like an overly proud golden retriever, followed by Ava Starr (phasing slightly, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be fully in this room or not), Alexei dragging a giant Costco bag of snacks, and finally—

“Bucky Barnes?” Y/N whispered, stunned.

Bucky nodded. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

Yelena laughed. “Bob has told us about you.”

Bob looked down embarrassed and nudged her shoulder. “Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is the extremely underpaid, mildly dysfunctional, and weirdly attractive New Avengers.”

“You forgot emotionally damaged,” Ava added.

“Oh, that too,” Bob said smiling shyly.

Y/N tried to keep her face neutral. But her mind was spiraling again. Because here they were. All in one place. Not a fantasy. Not a file. Real.

And if they were real, and Bob was one of them, then maybe just maybe she was closer to the truth than she thought.

Bob leaned close, voice quiet near her ear. “You, okay?”

She looked up at him. At the warmth in his eyes. The steadiness.

“No,” she said honestly. “But I think I’m getting there.”

He smiled. “That’s good enough.”

Alexei took one look at Y/N, then turned dramatically toward the rest of the group, arms thrown open like he was about to announce the second coming.

“This,” he declared, “is cause for celebration!”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Alexei, we already ate. And you’ve been celebrating things all week.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving her off, “but this is different. Bob brought someone home. A real live person! With blood and feelings and—” He squinted at Y/N. “—a face that looks like she hasn’t run away yet. This is progress!”

Bob looked like he was either going to laugh or sink into the floor. “It’s not that serious.”

“It is extremely serious,” Alexei insisted. “You never bring people here. Last person you let up here was that delivery guy who cried when you tipped him too much.”

“That was one time,” Bob mumbled.

Y/N blinked. “You… tipped a delivery guy so much he cried?”

“Emotionally unstable man,” Bob said dryly. “And I was drunk. And hungry.”

“I still think about him sometimes,” Ava said from the kitchen. “I hope he’s okay.”

Alexei clapped his massive hands. “Enough! We must eat like family. Come, Y/N, you are guest of honor. You sit at the head of the table.”

“I really don’t have to—”

“No, no, we insist!” Alexei was already dragging out chairs, pulling leftovers from the fridge like he was preparing a feast. Half a dozen mismatched takeout boxes appeared on the long kitchen island. Thai, Indian, pizza, and something that looked like soup but might’ve been a science experiment.

Y/N sat awkwardly at the head of the rustic table while the others filled in around her. Ava spoke lowly with Yelena. Yelena stole fries from Walker’s plate while pretending not to. Bucky poured drinks like he’d done this a thousand times before.

And Bob? Bob sat beside her, giving her space but never quite leaving her orbit.

The food wasn’t fancy, but the warmth in the room was real.

Alexei raised a glass of soda with a proud grin. “To Y/N, for not running out the door immediately.”

“To Y/N,” the others echoed.

Y/N smiled despite herself. “Thanks… I think.��

As the night carried on, stories were told some clearly exaggerated, some probably classified, and Bob leaned in now and then to whisper a joke or fill in a detail. At one point, Yelena asked with her usual bluntness, “So… are you two dating, or is this like a hostage thing?”

Y/N choked on her drink. Bob just shrugged. “Bit of both.”

Even Bucky cracked a smile.

And for a moment just a small, quiet moment Y/N didn’t feel lost. She didn’t feel haunted. She just felt here. Real. And maybe, just maybe… she wanted to stay.

Nothing lasts forever though, Y/N had a clear understanding of that.

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Author's Post Note: Writing writing writing

#marvel #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #fanfiction #sentry #thunderbolts #ao3 fanfic #bob #the thunderbolts #the void

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