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last-herondale · 11 days

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Almost pt. 4

Bucky Barnes x femreader!

/ Steve Rogers x femreader!

Angst, heartbreak, fluff

Warnings: bit of swearing

AN: helloooo next part is out! I’m excited to see where this series goes!!! Honestly I love Bucky and Steve so this is fun 😆

Enjoy 🤘🏼

The physical pain took a couple of weeks to heal. Steve was a steady nurse, changing out your bandages every few hours until the cuts seemed healed. Whatever the poison was, it had done deep damage to your body. It took you a week to regain the use of your muscles. Sam checked in now and again as Steve helped you recover. He was keeping recon on the Hydra base, watching for any new movements since your blunder with the trap, but since then there had been nothing new to report. They both agreed that the mission would be on standby until you were back to full health. Steve had nearly had you shipped out back to New York to recover, but a frantic panic of yours seemed to change his mind.

While you were confined to the safehouse, Steve hardly left your side. It was nice to be taken care of for a change. It was something you weren’t used to. Something you didn’t know how to process. He was patient and kind, even though you felt that you didn’t deserve it. You had fucked up. Big time. Nearly blew the mission with your recklessness and now it was being pushed back to accommodate you. While you would have been content to wallow in your pity, Steve would not allow it.

He pushed you to do your physical therapy everyday, cooked for you, helped you in and out of the shower in the most respectful way he possibly could. He made sure you took your medicine when you needed to. He was attentive to your every need.

When you were finally able to speak clear and full sentences again, one day while he was changing out your bandages you felt a sudden burst of emotion escape your lips.

“Why are you doing this?”

Steve ignored you for a moment, finishing off the last bandage on your left arm before he finally looked up at you with an unimpressed look.

“Because you’re injured and need help, now hold still while I-“

You snatched the bandages out of his hands with your other arm and glared at him defiantly.

“Why. Are. You. Doing. This?” You asked again, your voice becoming stern.

“Doing what exactly?” Steve asked, just as irritated, “Making sure you don’t die?”

“Why are you being so… nice to me? I’ve been on missions with you before, and whenever other people get injured-“

“Are you saying I don’t help my team?” Steve challenged.

You looked him square in the eyes and set your jaw tightly. “Not like this.”

There was a flicker of movement in Steve’s mouth. You knew you had hit a nerve there. While Steve was a great leader, the best probably this world would ever see, he never was this attentive to his injured teammates. When Barton had his side blown off during Ultron’s attack, he did not play bedside nurse for him until he was better. So why here? Why now?

He must have seen that you weren’t going to give up so easily. He sighed.

“I’m doing this because of Bucky.”

You felt your chest go cold.

“He told you to—“

“He hasn’t told me to do anything.” Steve interjected quickly, almost to save himself from saying the wrong thing, “He doesn’t even know what’s happened here, no one but Tony does. No, I’m doing this because of what you did for him.”

“Then why–”

“If you’d just keep quiet for a second, I will explain!” he said, oddly flustered. You had never seen Steve Rogers, fucking Captain America, get flustered. You sat back, crossing your arms and mimicking locking your mouth. He sighed again and drew on hand through his hair.

“Look, I’m not clueless, okay? I was there when Bucky and Nat broke up. I know what he went through after that… what he turned into once she walked out of his life. And I know you and Nat are friends, and I know you might take her side on the matter, but Bucky is my best friend, okay? So I saw what went on behind the scenes too from the other side.

“Neither of them were good for each other. What they had wasn’t healthy. It was toxic and strained and fueled by lust. When that fizzled out it was bound to fall apart.”

You were surprised by the information that Steve knew. Not that you thought that he was clueless, but you didn’t think that Bucky had shared that information with him. It made you feel a bit stupid. Of course he would tell his best friend. Maybe the idea of being the only one Bucky confided in had made you feel special, but now your ego deflated a bit.

“I tried to be there for him at first. Admittedly, I know very little about relationships and breakups. I didn’t know how to be there for him, and he wasn’t going to be truthful with his feelings because that’s just Bucky, stubborn as always. So it was easy for me to tell myself that he was okay, and let him handle things the way he needed to. He has been through so much already, who was I to tell him how to live his life?

“But then you started to show up more and more and he began to get better. I couldn’t explain how or why. I thought maybe that you two had been… together as his rebound, which I now know is not the case!” Steve said a bit sheepishly.

“I didn’t do anything,” You mumbled, “I just hung out with the two of you on the weekends.”

“Cut the shit. I know you stayed with him whenever I would tap out early. I know you would go babysit him whenever he got too drunk and in his feelings to distinguish what was real or fake. You were there for him when I wasn’t. You cared for him when he wouldn’t have the decency to care for himself, and you never belittled him for it. You cannot sit there and tell me that was nothing.”

You drew your mouth into a hard line. You remained silent, and Steve just sighed again and continued on.

“Just answer me this, and answer me honestly. Do you think Bucky is a broken man?”

You froze. That was something Bucky had said that night on the balcony. “She is broken, like me.” There were a lot of words that came to mind when you thought about Bucky, but broken was never one of them.

“No,” you whispered, “He is not broken. He is hurting, and he is stupid, and he is so irritably stubborn that it drives me insane… but he isn’t broken. He thinks that there is some part of him that is irredeemable. That he doesn’t deserve good things to happen to him in his life and it breaks my heart…”

You were crying again, but you didn’t care. Trying to hold back everything you felt for so long had taken all the strength you had. And now you were the weakest you had ever been. You looked to Steve, wondering if he saw you as a crying mumbling mess, but instead he pulled you in for a gentle hug. His large muscled arms comforted you in an embrace that seemed to warm you down to your bones.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, “I see how much you love him, how much you care for him. I feared that he would push that love away, that he would hurt you during his time of pain. I wish I could make him see just how special you are.”

Steve’s words hit the tender nerves of your soul and you sobbed against his shoulder. He caressed your hair and held you tighter as you shuddered and cried against him. You felt ridiculous, crying like a helpless baby, but Steve just murmured comforting words and held you securely in place.

“It hurts… I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost myself in him… and he doesn’t want me. It’s stupid, it's so stupid… I feel so…empty. I shouldn’t have come on this mission. I’m so…sorry Steve. I’m sorry.”

Raw emotion cut through you as you were a blubbering mess. Steve just held you through it, not judging you or reprimanding you. He was calm, he was gentle, and he was patient. He kept telling you how good you were, how big your heart was. It was strange to be in this position. To be the one being reassured, to be the one being built back up. His words calmed your soul. You don’t remember falling asleep in his arms, but you woke up with him on the couch, his arms still wrapped around you as his head was tilted back on the couch.

You watched him a bit as he slept, not daring to move or stir him awake. You felt warm and safe in his arms. It was nice. He was beautiful, that you could not deny. His features were soft and gentle in his sleep. The rising and falling of his chest was even and steady. You slowly placed your head on his chest, listening to the even beating of his heart as you let yourself fall back asleep. For the first night since you had left New York, you did not dream of James Buchanan Barnes.

The next morning you were up, making sure to carefully untangle yourself from Steve’s embrace. He was still asleep when you started making breakfast. It wasn’t until the bacon started sizzling in the pan that you heard him grumble from the couch and pick his head up.

“Good morning,” you greeted, a soft smile on your face.

“Morning,” Steve said as he rubbed his face, “You look better.”

“I feel great, honestly.”

You fixed him a plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee as he came to sit down at the small wooden table. He gave you an awkward smile as he took a sip of his coffee. You sat down next to him, a cup of coffee in front of you and a slice of toast. The medicine that you were on made you have a low appetite, but you didn’t mind making breakfast for Steve. You thought that it was the least you could do after everything he did for you.

The two of you chatted a bit while he ate his breakfast. He updated you on the situation with Hydra. Sam was able to infiltrate the base on his own, undetected, in the middle of the night. He stole their plans to ship out large quantities of the poison that had afflicted you. The shipment was planned to ship out to the states in a months time. Steve relayed this mission to Tony who suggested sending his own bots in to take care of it. Meaning you would be going home soon.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Steve,” you said softly as he finished his meal. He gave you a soft smile and just shrugged a bit.

You took up his plate and put them in the sink and tidied the kitchen as he went to take a shower. You packed your things, folding up your gear and clothes into your small pack. Steve had done your laundry for you while you had been indisposed. You smiled. It was such a small thing, but so many small things that Steve had done for you over the past few weeks had seemed to heal you in ways that you never thought you would heal from.

You felt a warm sensation in your chest.

You heard him come out of the bathroom. He was shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck as his blonde hair still dripped. “Showers open,” he said as he stepped into the room.

You faced him, gazing at him as you watched a few drops of water fall down his chest. You felt your face grow hot, and stumbled a bit as you tried to step past him. He caught you by the elbow and pulled you up, holding you a bit close to him as he chuckled.

“How many times am I going to have to catch you before we—“

You don’t know what came over you. What made you think that this was okay? All you know is that you leaned forward and kissed Steve gently on the mouth. His eyes widened in surprise, and the shock of it made you immediately pull back.

“I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have—“

But he had put his hand under your chin. His blue eyes searched yours a moment, in an incredibly soft and tender way. It made your stomach jump the way he looked at you now. As he leaned in again, slowly, allowing you to push away at any moment you wanted, you could smell the scent of his shampoo as his lips returned to yours.

He was soft and gentle. His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him. He broke off for a second, his eyelids were half closed as he searched your face.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, “If you don’t want… if this isn’t something you are comfortable with…”

You raised up on your toes to reach his level and kissed him again. You let your hands wrap around his neck and tangle into his wet hair. Steve let out a pleased sound, and his strong hands lifted you from your waist and held you closer to him.

You thought that this would feel wrong. That kissing Steve would ruin everything between you. You thought maybe he would be angry with you, for kissing him after confessing your love for Bucky just the night before. But here he was, kissing you, murmuring your name as he carried you over to the bed in the room.

Had he really done all he did this week for bucky's sake? Or was there something else? Some other reason why he had been so keen on taking care of you? Your mind tried to process these questions, but the feel of Steve’s mouth on your neck quickly shoved those thoughts away.

He broke apart long enough to lock eyes with you. He was over you on the bed, his eyes a bit wild as he looked at you. Your chests heaved together, his bare and shiny from the water.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

The only response you gave, was a gentle nod of your head as you let your hand gently scrape down his bare chest. He gave a shaky breath and shook his head.

“You will be the death of me, you know that?”

All other conversation fell away. All other feelings and thoughts and memories disappeared. There was only you and him. And for the first time in a while, you felt whole.

Part 5

#fem reader #reader x marvel #marvel fanfic club #marvel #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #fan fic author #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #marvel bucky barnes #angst #fluff #almost series

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exquisitesimp · 8 months

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Celebrating PM's victory with Mori Ogai

A/N: Hello to everyone reading this! This is my first NSFW story here and it's going to be about the reader (F) and Port Mafia's leader Mori Ogai, filled with velvet sensuality. Now BEFORE YOU COME AT ME, I know there is a lot of controversy surrounding this character (he is canonically twisted), but S4 altered my brain chemistry…I’m a simp after all, I kinda had to… And yes I will be discussing this with my therapist…Thank you so much for reading, it means so much to me! Stay healthy, eat well and drink plenty of water (and also go to therapy now that you’re here)! - Sam

Tags: Bungo Stray Dogs, Mori Ogai, smut, NSFW, 👀

Warnings: Mori (obviously), alcohol consumption, manipulation(?), fingering, vaginal sex

Word Count: 5.5k approx.

Ability: Granting indestructibility for 7 minutes, either to self or another individual. Could be applied to many individuals at a time, but the more individuals involved, the more energy is required from the user.

Condition: The user must have access to a DNA sample of the individual they use it on.

Ever since you discovered your ability, you’ve been doing everything within your power to keep it a secret. You were an orphan jumping from foster family to foster family, so it’s not like you had anyone to share it with. After reaching adulthood, you were completely abandoned, and you resorted to all sorts of misdemeanors in order to survive. Unfortunately, the nature of your ability was not particularly helpful in that regard.

A couple months ago, you happened to stumble upon “Mori’s corporation”, where you were invited for an interview. It was later on that you found out that this seemingly ordinary corporation was a front cover for the Port Mafia, an underground criminal organization run by ability users just like you. It was then obvious that you weren’t just randomly invited; they had been tracking you down for a while, after figuring out you were an ability user they could use to their advantage.

Your first reaction was to decline. These guys were too dangerous to even be around, and entering such an organization with zero battle experience was just like having a death wish. However, they kept reaching out, pressuring you – on the verge of threatening, actually – more and more with each time. And they were offering you a good amount of money too.

Eventually you realized that you didn’t have much of a choice, so you agreed, making the following deal; you would work for them, but you would not join the members in battles. Instead, you would stay at the headquarters during attacks and you would activate your ability upon request to any members that needed it, after taking a DNA sample from all of them.

Once you started working for the Port Mafia, your life instantly took a turn upwards. You were no longer this hungry, homeless kid struggling to survive. You had, instead, transformed into a healthy, dignified woman, who was valuable and could now take care of herself. And you were no longer alone, since you were surrounded by all sorts of people you had a lot of things in common with. In some sense, it felt like everything had fallen into place.

Each of your coworkers was interesting in their own ways, but Mori Ogai, the head of the Port Mafia, was especially hard to go unnoticed. He openly displayed particular feelings of favour towards you, always congratulating you and offering you gifts to reward you for following his orders. You’ve been asking him to stop, since you’re only doing your job, but he never seems to listen. That, as well as the way he treats Elise, you found quite… weird, to say the least. But he’s your superior after all, and it was in your best interest to maintain his preference for you.

Today the Port Mafia was facing a very challenging battle, and you were called to intervene with your ability quite a number of times. Once everybody made it back to the headquarters safe and Mori congratulated you with great zeal, you were dismissed and you made your way up to your room.

Upon closing the door behind you, you jumped at your bed and took a moment to rest from all the ability using and the stress of being alert all day. It was after a couple of minutes that you took notice of a moderately sized black box, waiting on your nightstand. Without thinking too much, you were quite sure what this was about.

You reached for it and removed its lid. It contained what looked like a dress, which you laid out on your bed, so you can have a better look. It was a long, satin, maroon dress, and it seemed to be pretty expensive.

You were quite impressed. Mori was generally extravagant with his gestures towards you, but this exceeded anything he has done in the past. Coming from a pretty poor background, such a luxurious gift felt a little out of place, but it was still a very welcome surprise.

“Wait, am I smiling? Because of that dress?”, you wondered. “No, I can’t be, it’s weird…”, you reassured yourself, trying to brush it off.

On the bottom of the box, there was a note in a little envelope. The note inside it read:

“Congratulations, Y/N.

Once again, the Port Mafia couldn’t have made it without you. This is your reward for doing such a wonderful job. I had it tailored to your measurements.

Please join me for some wine in my room after the sun sets. I’d also like you to wear your gift.

I’ll be waiting for you,

Mori.”

At this point you were at a loss for words, feeling very confused. You knew for a fact that he favored you, but for things to go that far…that you weren’t expecting it that soon. It’s not like his behavior didn’t give it away; quite the contrary, it was obvious that there was some sort of… sentiment on his part. You just didn’t think he’d make such a request yet.

Of course, you didn’t fail to notice your train of thought trying to go around certain words; “attraction”, “date”… And that worried you even more, because what could all this avoidance possibly mean…? You’d be lying if you said that Mori wasn’t a physically attractive man. And lying was exactly what you did.

“Nope, nope. He’s my superior”,you denied. “Not gonna happen. I’m not gonna go.”

You turned to look at the beautiful dress, which was still laid out in your bed. You took a breath, trying to reset your mind and stop it from rushing.

“What is wrong with me? How old is this man? And why is he treating Elise so weird…? It’s disgusting. HE’s disgusting for thinking I’d go. God, I know exactly what he’s expecting to do if I go… I’m not going. End of story.”

You looked at the dress again.

“Is this it? Is an extravagant gift all it takes for someone to get me to think about them? I don’t recognize myself… Oh what am I saying? Of course this is not just about the gift…”

You started pacing around your room, trying to sort out the thoughts that were bombarding your head.

“But he’s my superior! And he’s so much older! This is so wrong… But if it’s so wrong, why am I feeling… whatever this is?”

You spent a good amount of time going back and forth, all these “what-if”s coming one after the other, making you even more confused about the situation. You continued your inner conflict as you were showering, being moral and righteous one moment, then playing devil’s advocate the next.

You stepped out of the bathroom and tried on the dress he got you. And oh boy did it look stunning on you! The fabric was beautifully draped over your body, totally complimenting your figure and bringing out your best features. Its back was open, and there was a slit on the side. While it did remind you of what his intentions behind the gift were, every thought was suddenly overshadowed by a huge wave of self-confidence.

“You know what? I’m tired of this! I’m gonna shut my brain off and go. And if I change my mind, I’ll just get up and leave. What is he gonna do about it? He needs me. The Port Mafia needs me. I got this!”

The sun was already starting to set, so you went straight for your makeup, which was just mascara and a red lip, matching the shade of the dress. You sprayed some perfume on and made your way to the staircase that led up to his room. With every step you took, you consciously silenced every negative thought telling you to stay in your room, while also making sure that nobody else from the Port Mafia saw you on your way there - you didn’t want them to get the wrong idea…

When you arrived, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself, once again, that you could leave any time if you saw that things were going in a direction you didn’t want them to.

You knocked and waited for what felt like forever before you heard his smooth voice from behind the dark wooden door say “Come in, please”.

You slowly opened the door and quickly inspected his room, which was much more spacious than that of a regular Port Mafia member. It had a king-sized sky bed, and the walls were decorated with a petrol, patterned tapestry. A heavy, large, antique clock with roman numerals was hanging on one of the walls. In front of a huge window that took up the majority of the wall it was adjacent to, there was a small table and two armchairs, identical to the scarlet, velvet one in his office. They were facing each other, and Mori was already seated on one of them.

He turned his head to look at you walking towards the empty chair, a smirk gradually forming on his lips.

“My, my… look who’s here. Please have a seat”

“You literally invited me here…”, you responded.

“I doubted you’d show up”, he said, his eyes following you as you took a seat and crossed your legs.

“Well, here I am, I guess…”, you responded, briefly questioning whether it’s right for you to be there.

“You look mesmerizing in that dress”, he commented as he removed his gloves and placed them on the table between the two of you.

You just noticed that this was the first time you’ve seen his hands without gloves. You spaced out while looking at his fingers getting slowly revealed, but quickly snapped back to reality and regained focus.

“Well, you got it for me, what else would you say…” you replied sarcastically, causing Mori to slightly giggle, just like he does every time you talk to him that way.

“The tailor did a great job, it fits you perfectly”

“What can I say, it’s a lovely dress indeed”, you sighed, thinking that taking a compliment wouldn’t be that bad after all.

“It’s only fabric without the beautiful woman wearing it”, he said, and you hated yourself for getting nervous after hearing that. You had to collect yourself.

“So poetic…”, you responded, looking away and towards the window.

“Where there’s no wine, there is no poetry”, Mori said, getting up from his chair and his fingers holding on to the arms of the armchair for support, “I’ll get the best red for us” and he exited the room.

During the few minutes he was gone, you took turns glancing at his gloves, and then at his bed. Deep down you knew how this was gonna play out should he have his way, but you still didn’t know whether that was something you’d want. Something like that… it would definitely complicate things.

You heard his footsteps and turned your head to face the door. He walked in with a bottle of wine in one hand, and two wine glasses on the other. This time he returned without his coat, wearing only a white button-up on the top, with his plum tie loosely tied around his collar. Seeing him like this really had you questioning whether it would be prudent to have even a single drop of alcohol in your system.

“So, where were we?” he asked as he sat back down and placed the glasses on the table and started pouring wine on yours first.

“I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight, actually…”, you commented slightly too late.

“Oh come on, Ms. Y/N, just a glass to rejoice the Port Mafia’s victory, our victory”, he whined. “Just one, for me”

You sighed. You didn’t want to drink and increase your chances of acting recklessly, but the man got you such an expensive gift - apart from the special treatment - it would be a shame to not even have a glass of wine with him. Besides, it wasn’t him you felt threatened by. What was truly scaring you was your blindness to your own feelings towards him.

“I guess one glass can do no harm…”, you said, reaching for yours.

“That’s it”, he said, raising his, “To our victory, and to you”

You raised your glass, clinged his and took a good sip while trying to hide the smile that almost took control of your face.

Time flew by, and the colors of the sky faded to a subdued crimson before you even realized. The conversation was flowing pretty naturally, with him showing a great interest in your past and asking you questions he hadn’t asked during your undercover interview for the mafia. You tried to reciprocate, but the topic very masterfully turned back to you almost every time as he masterfully avoided most of your questions.

The wine was incredible, better than any wine you’ve ever tasted before. The bottle was soon empty, since every time he made you nervous, you took a sip. Mori had just as much as you, but neither of you were fazed at all.

As much as you hated it, there were moments when your hard, cold exterior broke, and you were warming up to him. But it was getting late, and you thought it’d be wise to call it a night.

“Well I think it’s time for me to go now”, you said, getting up from your chair. “Thanks for the wine, I had a great time”

“Oh no, Y/N”, Mori said, getting up from his seat as well, “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

“I’d really love that”, you said as you slowly started walking towards the door, “but it’s getting late, and we both had our fair share of wine”

You reached for the door handle, but before you could open the door, you felt Mori’s warm hand completely wrapping your wrist. Before you could turn around to look at him, his voice from behind you made your body freeze and your mind go blank.

“Please stay…”

He gently moved his hand up your arm, all the way to your shoulder. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, as your fingers relaxed and eventually let go off the handle a few seconds later.

Mori took a step closer to you, his chest was almost touching your back. He touched both your shoulders with his hands, and slowly brought them down to your wrists again.

“Why are you scared?”

“I’m not scared…”

“Every time you give me a sarcastic comment and play it cool, I know it’s because you’re scared”

You really wanted to prove him wrong, but it didn’t take much thought to realize that what he said was true. That was quite uncalled for, you couldn’t think of anything to say to him to deny it.

“Is it me, or is it your own feelings?”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s so scary how you’re interested in me”, he said, bringing his hands on your waist and moving them up and down your sides, “you never thought you’d find yourself attracted to someone like me, did you? You almost feel ashamed”

Your heart was beating faster and faster.

“Truth is”, he whispered, letting his hands glide along the fabric of your dress, down to your hips, “there is nothing to be ashamed of. There is no shame in being attracted to someone and enjoying their attention. Everybody wants to feel special, wanted, desired…”

He paused for a little.

“At the end of the day, the door is in front of you, and the choice is yours” he said, taking a step back and making the distance between you bigger. “You’re free to go if you wish to”

He placed his fingertips on your nape and softly traced a line down the entire length of your bare back.

“But…if you choose to stay, I’ll take it as a ‘yes’ to proceed”, he warned, fiddling the zipper of your dress in his fingertips.

You felt your throat tighten, as if some invisible rope was wrapped around it. It was obvious to you what his intentions were for the night, and you couldn’t pretend not to understand anymore. His words were true, you really wanted him, even though you’d rather die than ever openly admit it to him — or anybody really.

As you felt time slow down in the room that was only minimally lit by then, you thought that maybe, it was time to let go of the shame. Maybe shame was the only thing holding you back from taking pleasure in something ridiculously simple; the fact that you were just two people that were attracted to each other. And maybe, everything else was nothing more than just complications you came up with to indulge in your self-disgust.

This was all becoming too much to process. It was about time you made things a little easier for yourself just once, it was about time you shushed your brain and let things take their natural course.

You stood there, but the tension you previously felt left your body like dirt getting washed away by the water, and you bet that Mori noticed that subtle change within you.

“That door you were about to walk out of”, he said, and you could hear his grin through his voice, “how about you lock it instead?”

You did as he asked and slowly turned the key that was already in the keyhole, while he was still playing with the zipper of the dress.

“Good…”

You wanted to turn around, but before you could even finish that thought, Mori had already taken care of that for you, and as he held your hips, your body mindlessly followed his hands’ commands.

Just as swiftly, he pulled you closer and buried his lips in yours with such desperation and hunger, as if he could only sustain himself and wait for you to fall into his arms for so long.

Your eyelids grew heavier as you gave in to the kiss, and once you were completely sunk in it, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

A few moments later, you found yourself pushed against the wall, where Mori’s knee was between your legs and a strap of your dress was patiently hanging off your shoulder. His hungry mouth was all over yours, and his teeth were pulling and biting on your needful lower lip.

His hands were wandering all over your curves in self-pleasure, until his fingers slithered through the slit of your dress and started brushing the hem of your underwear. He slowly pulled it down and moved his knee, so it could fall on the floor and get out of his way.

Your stomach tensed up as he grazed two fingers over your outer lips. It was as if everything suddenly went silent, and the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat. What was going on? Were the two of you really about to take things to the next level? Was this really the right thing you were doing? God knows how much you’re gonna hate yourself afterwards.

He started rubbing your sensitive clit in circles, but he didn’t fail to notice that there was something bothering you, something that held your true reaction back. His hand stopped, and he brought his head next to your ear.

“Just let it go… there’s no need to be afraid anymore…”, he whispered and then resumed the movement of his fingers, while he reached down to kiss your delicate neck.

Waves of delight grew within you as he nibbled on your skin and as he gradually increased the speed and the pressure in his fingers. Mori was very amused by the sinful sounds that escaped your mouth as his fingers moved from your clit to your entrance and made their way inside you.

You felt a bit of pain at first, a pain which then marvelously melted into an immense feeling of pleasure, leaving you moaning and wanting more every time he pushed his fingers in.

“I don’t think you feel so guilty anymore…”, he smirked, keeping his hand moving at the same, unhurried pace, “mhm?”

“No”, you uttered in between strained breaths “no…”

“Beautiful… because we have all the time in the world”

Deeper and deeper moans emerged from your throat, causing Mori to slow down and eventually withdraw his fingers, because of course he wouldn’t want you to finish so fast. As you started catching your breath, you looked at him with a silent plea in your eyes, as if voicelessly asking him why he had to stop there.

His intense gaze was cast upon you, in a manner that reassured you that you were about to feel very good in just a little while. He took your hand and led you away from the door and towards the edge of the bed, where he embraced you in a passionate kiss once again. Undoubtedly, things were just about to get very interesting.

You reached for his belt and rapidly unbuckled it, moving on to the lower buttons of his shirt.

“You’re in… such a rush”, he chuckled in the middle of the kiss, as he loosened his tie with his index finger and took it off.

Normally you’d come up with some smart-ass response for this, but now you were clearly occupied with the noble job of taking off his shirt. Mori was fascinated by your impatience, so he let you have your way and assisted in your undressing too. That zipper that had been pleading to be undone since before this entire embroilment even began, he finally pulled it down, letting your dress graciously fall off your body.

As your lips got separated, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently pressed it down, so that you lay on the mattress with your entire figure exposed before him for the first time. His eyes lingered over you as he spoke under his breath.

“Finally…”

Mori keenly climbed on top of you, and his eyes lit up with a sparkle you’d never seen in them before. He brushed your hair away with the knuckles of his fingers, so that he could easily kiss on your jawline. In the meantime, you made sure that his pants found themselves on the pile with all of your clothes on the floor, and shortly after, you let the entirety of his hair free to decorate the sides of his face.

After adjusting himself a little bit better on top of you, he brought both of his legs between yours and eventually positioned himself nicely above you. You could feel his erection rub against your sensitive area, and a certain type of agitation grew within you.

As he slowly started penetrating you, you experienced a thawed pain, a pain which you haven’t felt in quite a while. Ever since you joined the Port Mafia, you hadn’t gotten together with anybody, and sleeping around was definitely not part of your plans.

You swallowed the saliva down your throat and clenched your jaw while taking it in and getting used to the feeling. His breathing next to your ear grew heavier every time he went deeper, until it resolved into a seraphic, resonant groan once his full length made its way inside you.

He reached for your leg and brought it bent beside his hip, where he caressed your thigh and your calf. His other arm was wrapped around you, holding on to the back of your head. Soon enough, his lips found yours again in the fire of another long lustful kiss, as he started moving his pelvis again.

Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, and your fingertips were digging into his pale skin. The pain you felt had already transformed into a rich delight as his painstakingly slow pace started growing moderate, but still remained as profuse. The heat of his body fully embracing yours turned your mind hazy, and both your moans fused beautifully in each other’s mouth.

After a while, you brought your other leg up as well and then wrapped them both around his waist, pushing him down deeper inside you. Sensing your neediness, Mori’s lips caressed yours with even greater zest, while his other hand slid underneath your waist and pulled it closer to him. As the intoxicating sensation overpowered you, you brought one hand on his head and entangled your fingers in the roots of his hair, clenching your fist with every ripple of electrifying bliss.

Slowing down and eventually pulling out, he broke the kiss and with his purple orbs staring into your soul, he whispered:

“Turn around for me”

You complied with his request and lied on your stomach, turning your head so that your cheek touched one of the silky pillows and letting your hands rest beside each of your shoulders. He brushed your hair to the side, and with a mischievous smile, he uttered:

“Good girl…”

His smooth, honeyed voice saying these words made your heart skip a beat. You felt his ardent breath just below your head as he planted kisses on your nape, while his hands softly moved up and down your sides. His mouth kept traveling downwards, leaving a trail of moisture all the way down to your spine.

Soon after, he wrapped one arm around your waist and lifted your hips slightly higher, while his other arm held on to the black, metal bedpost for support. As he pushed himself inside you once again, a pulsating, drawn-out grunt escaped his mouth.

“Ugh, fuck…”

You couldn’t help but moan in ecstasy when he resumed the movement of his hips. Watching you quiver underneath him and mercilessly grab the soft fabric of the bed covers, he enjoyed the moment just as much as you did. He loved seeing you in a state of complete frenzy, knowing that he was the one who got you into it.

For a brief moment as he was looking at you from above, you slightly turned your head further to the side so that your eyes met his. The expression in your face was making it clear to him that you felt great, but that you also needed a little more: just a little bit more before he could have you climax.

Without exiting you, Mori lowered his body closer to you, his chest pressing against your back and the heat of his burning skin completely engulfing your upper body. He pushed your legs a little further open with his knees and took his arm from your waist, slowly pushing your hips with his all the way down so that they touch the mattress.

He brought his elbows outside yours and let his palms glide over your forearms and your wrists. Once they completely covered yours, he intertwined his slender fingers between yours and gave your hands a long, firm squeeze. His head was leaning next to yours, and he was licking and biting on your ear, from your earlobe all the way to your helix.

Everything about the situation was so overwhelmingly hedonic. His weight above you, his breathing against your ear, the sweet amber scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils in the most delightful way… it was all so much to take in. His thrusts were getting harder and deeper, and you succumbed all the more to this excessive, unyielding sensation and getting closer and closer.

Your mewls had become ever so profound and intense by the time you reached your limit. Mori followed a few seconds after he slowed down his pace, pulling out and releasing his thick, hot liquid all over your lower back. Even many seconds after it was all over, it felt as if his final silvery sounds of overindulgence were still echoing inside that bedroom.

After you both took a moment to catch your breaths, he rolled over to his nightstand and got a tissue to wipe his residue off your body. It was just about then that you were just starting to come back to your senses, and you silently wondered:

What the hell just happened?

As you were lying naked on your boss’s bed, all these thoughts were hovering in your head again, and it suddenly hit you: things can’t go back to how they were. Such confusion…on one hand, you couldn’t even in the slightest predict how it would all be from now on. You felt as though all control had been lost now that this happened, and guilt was creeping up inside you once again.

But on the other hand, you kept getting distracted by the fact that it was nothing like the way you thought it would be. You expected the calm, cold head of the Port Mafia to be rough and vicious in a setting like this. Especially the way he was trying to lure you in this entire time, the way he convinced you to stay… You couldn’t possibly imagine that there would be such a sensual and erotic side to him…

You quickly put a stop to these thoughts, knowing that nothing good could ever come out of you viewing your boss that way. Besides, you were absolutely sure that this was just a one-time thing, and that it would never happen again. And as your sense of time was slowly kicking in again, you took a look at the clock on the wall.

It read 12:20.

Time had flown by so fast, you couldn’t believe it. All of a sudden a sense of panic grew within you. What if someone was looking for you late at night, but found your room empty? What if they’ve noticed that Mori is not in his office either? What would they assume then? You had to get out of there as soon as possible.

You pushed yourself up from the mattress and rolled towards the side of the bed to make your way out, but you felt an arm wrapping your waist from underneath.

“Tsk tsk tsk, where do you think you’re going?”, Mori asked mischievously as he pulled you closer to himself.

“The Mighty Leader of the Port Mafia wants to spoon”, you chuckled, “now if that’s not a surprise…”

“You’re so cruel…”, he whined as he caressed your cheek from behind and lathered soft kisses all over the crook of your neck. Your body momentarily relaxed as he wrapped his other arm around your waist as well, feeling a mellow warmth that you haven’t experienced in so, so long.

“I have to go”, you sighed, “it’s past midnight…”

“So what?”, he asked and kissed your shoulder. “Spend the night here”

“So…” you said, your voice going slightly higher as you were thinking of what to say next, “someone might need me…”

Mori quietly laughed, and you felt his bare chest gently pump against your back a couple of times. “At midnight!”

“Uhh, yeah…?” you responded as if it was so obvious, but deep down you knew your excuse was pretty weak to begin with.

“Do you get bothered a lot at midnight?” he mocked.

“Ugh please, just-“ you said, rolling your eyes and lifting up his arm to get up. Mori’s eyes widened in surprise at what you just did, but they quickly relaxed as a sly grin morphed into his face.

“That’s no way of treating your superior, you know…”, he remarked as he was closely watching you put your clothes back on.

“Back to being my superior, huh?”, you mumbled, cocking an eyebrow, but without looking at him.

“Nothing changes that, my dear…” he answered in a gentle tone.

“You see, here’s the thing…”, you said as you put the straps of your dress and adjusted them on your shoulders, still avoiding eye contact, “Just because this happened once, doesn’t mean I’m ‘your dear’ or anything…”

“Of course…”, he responded with a chuckle, “Don’t be surprised that I’m still your superior then…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, you asked, snapping your head towards him.

“Oh, nothing…” he said and paused for a while, slightly getting on your nerves, “Congratulations once again for today, you did a very good job”

“It’s literally all I do every single time”, you replied nonchalantly as you zipped yourself up and reached for your shoes.

“That doesn’t make you any less valuable ”, he said.

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just remained silent. Whenever he talked about value, he was always referring to your work, but not you as a person… Could that mean something changed, or were you just overthinking it?

“Anyway…”, you muttered awkwardly after a short pause, “I’ll excuse myself…”

“As you wish”, he answered, watching you walk all the way to the door and unlock it. “Perhaps we’ll have wine again soon…” he added in a slightly louder voice, making sure you heard him from across the room.

“Perhaps…” you responded as you opened the door, “Goodnight, boss”

“Goodnight Y/N”, you heard his soft voice moments before you shut the door behind you.

You took a deep breath before you started walking quietly like a cat, all the way back to your room. Once you made it inside and locked the door, you threw yourself on your bed and stared at your empty ceiling. With all these thoughts in your head and everything that just happened, this was about to be a very long, sleepless night…

A/N: If you made it here, thank you so much for reading once again! I tried to make it as realistic as I could considering the whole… situation. Please don’t unfollow me, I promise I’m normal and I’ll be posting normal content again very soon! But yeah, if Mori p3rv3rt, why sexy…?

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #not sfw #mori ogai #mori ogai x reader #anime #bungo stray dogs #anime community

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nathandrakeisabottom · 4 months

Note

Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives.

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge.

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.”

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That bastard isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as his first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the fuck out of here?”

Because distractions always helped him before.

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it.

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself.

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story.

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel.

So he wants to share it with the person he loves.

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame.

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?”

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than.

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat.

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions.

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times.

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened.

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him.

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening.

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?”

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there.

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either.

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh.

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe.

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?”

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.”

“Your point being?”

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable.

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference.

The pain, and what he chose to do with it.

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into.

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

#uncharted #uncharted 4: a thief's end #nathan drake #sam drake #nathan drake x reader #sam drake x reader #happy christmas yall!!!#and for those are yall who struggle today. you arent alone #feel free to jump into my inbox and geek out with me #sometimes family is just someone you share blood with #and that's allowed to be it #shea out

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anika-ann · 6 months

Text

Seven Minutes (S.R.) - pt.2

Type: TWO-SHOT, independent, canon-ish, part 1 here

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 10 900 cause I have no chill

Summary:

You weren't obliged to go to that party, but you went anyway. You even had fun.

Until you and Steve were left to pick up the pieces after your seven minutes in a closet together, so graceful having been pushed into it by Tony's stupid idea, Loki's magic and a game of chance where there might be more losers than winners.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, NSFW, (unprotected sex, fingering, glimpses of size kink and praise kink, soft hints of D/s, mirrors, possessiveness;cumplay, overstimulation and edging if you squint really hard), alcohol, a drop of angst, language (a lot), STEVE (he is a warning in this one)

A/N: written for @jtargaryen18 and her Halloween challenge. Prompt in the final notes. I toyed with it so much that it might have been cheating 😅 dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕

Part 2: Seven Minutes in Heaven

“Secrets are the prisons we make for ourselves.”

― Joe Hill, Locke & Key, Vol. 6: Alpha & Omega

The party had died down; or as Tony said, only the fittest had survived.

Sam, Bucky and Rhodey had challenged Natasha, Maria and Helen to a lazy game of beer pong. Bruce was still asleep. Thor and Vision started some sort of a special game of pool, wordlessly watched by Wanda and Steve, while Thor and Loki argued in hushed voices about what only gods knew – literally. Tony got some genius idea despite – or thanks to – the killer levels of alcohol in his blood and sneaked off into the corner of the room, working with holograms of graphs and other simulations graciously supervised by Pepper.

Needless to say, the spacious room still looked every bit a warzone in an autumn aesthetic. And yet. It still looked better than your heart; a wasteland.

You avoided Steve ever since you stumbled out of the stupid closet, from which he oh-so-kindly helped you, supporting your weight before you could faceplant on the floor – and he graced you with a sweet even if a little shaky smile as he did so. God, you hated him for it. You hated you could still feel the heat of his skin, taste his breath on yours, an echo of the reality of the closet; what more, the memory of his skin on your bare body, lips mapping every inch of you, teasing touches and thick fingers, dark gaze as he made you his in every way possible… this memory of your fantasy was somehow fading, as if it wasn’t even yours.

And it wasn’t; because Steve himself was never yours to have. Fantasies like these were futile.

The loneliness in your chest despite being surrounded by friends hit you harder than ever; and you should have known better. You could blame Loki and Tony and Steve, even yourself for your past shortcomings, but the trigger for your mood was all on you. You shouldn’t have been drinking. You knew you often toed the thin line between a cheery drunk and a miserable drunk. Tonight, it seemed you very much tripped and stepped over the line by a mile.

You nursed a bowl of candy, staring at the repetitive sequence of scary images projected on the wall. The only person you’d be willing to join was Tony; but the reasonable thing to do would be retreat to your room and sleep it off. You even felt sleepy; except your brain was wide awake at the same time. Body exhausted, brain hazy but alert, eyes burning with tears born not only from your loneliness, but also from being awake for too long. You were never going to another of Tony’s stupid parties ever again. You’d promise to never drink again, but your job sometimes required dumbing your mind in a way therapy never could.

The skeletons on the wall blended into a graveyard again; the image was almost soothing. Peaceful. A pile of bones that couldn’t hurt anymore a blessing. And you really should go to sleep, because your thoughts were getting morb-

The yelp erupting from your throat was pitiful – but thankfully drowned in the hooting from the beer pong table. You nearly jumped out of your skin as you found Loki suddenly sitting next to you on the couch, the corners of his lips now twitching in amusement.

Jesus.

“Don’t sneak up on me!” you complained, your body suddenly very awake too. Jerk. “Jesus, Loki!”

“I believe you Midgardians say that if one becomes easily startled, it is because they have impure thoughts or intentions,” he hummed, but had enough decency to control his smirk a bit. Still a jerk. “What is it, søster? You appear upset.”

Anger and humiliation flared up in your achy chest since it was him of all people pointing that out. As if it wasn’t his stupid magic that created the closet in the first place, feeding your misery further. You shot him a glare.

“And you are to blame. Piss off, Loki.”

He retreated a bit, showing off his bare hands as to tell you he meant to harm, a slight pout to his lips.

“Now now. There is no need to get hostile, is it? I simply noticed you were… rather isolated and the party did not please you anymore, nor did the company. I came here as a concerned friend.”

You sighed, eyes roaming his face; he appeared genuine. He might be a god of mischief, but he had proven a friend on numerous occasions indeed. An annoying sibling, if you willed; there was a reason why he called you a sister.

“Don’t you always…” you murmured, sighing again and working hard to try and smile. “Sorry, bror, I am not in a festive mood nor in a friendly indeed. You do not indeed deserve my hostility… much.”

His eyes flashed with understanding, a smile spreading on his lips as he tilted his head, inquisitive.

“Has something happened during the seven minutes with your precious Captain?”

To protest was an instinct at this point. “He isn’t m-“

“Yes, he is, but that is not the point,” Loki interrupted you, rolling his eyes theatrically before his gaze bored into yours, the blue of his eyes almost burning. “What did you see, søster?”

It hit you like a train – the realization that should have hit you long moments ago. God, you were an idiot. Such an idiot, trusting, naïve, too good-hearted idiot, who-

You slapped Loki’s bicep hard – or tried to, your hand passing through the illusion of his body he had created, your hand only meeting the cushions. Of fucking course; he wasn’t even here. He was a trickster, after all. Case on damn fucking point-

Your face burned almost as much as the tears of anger in your eyes – anger and embarrassment. God, he hadn’t- he couldn’t have possibly--- had he seen?

“You did do something to the closet, didn’t you? I defended you when Steve suggested it, you know! Did you make up the damn illusion I saw? You fu-“

Loki’s hand, materializing as his whole body now, caught your hand when you tried to hit him again, his long fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. If you had any more energy, you’d fight his hold and send him to the floor in one of the fancy moves Natasha had taught you. But you didn’t; too weak. To stunned.

The asshole.

“I did not make up any illusion nor did I see what you saw, my little Midgardian,” Loki responded calmly, for once appearing sincere – and unless you imagined it, there was a shade of regret in his expression too.

He’d better be telling the truth about not seeing at least – but how could believe a word he said? He tricked you. Like a trickster. Gods, you needed to retake your IQ test if he had got you so easily.

“I simply offered clarity to everyone who walked into that closet… incidentally, it was only you and him,” he added.

“Clarity?” you echoed, an unamused erupting from your throat as you yanked your hand free. “I don’t think so, Loki. Whatever it is you did was a damn low blow. So do take it personal when I tell you to piss off – wherever your actual body actually is--- or one of your bodies or whatever.”

You rose to your feet, determined to leave him – and this whole cursed party – behind and sleep for a week.

He caught your hand again, stopping you; you shot him a murderous glare, gritting your teeth as you failed to keep your tears at bay, a few rolling down your cheeks – a mix of of humiliation, anger and bewilderment, because were you really crying? Christ, you were never drinking again.

Loki’s gaze softened at the pitiful sight you had to make; he gently tugged at your hand, so watching you so kindly and pleadingly that he might have as well tugged directly at your heartstrings.

Gods, why did you have such a glutton for punishment and pain? Why were you such a sucker for redemption? Why were you so weak to give people and gods the chance to apologize just so they could feel better about themselves?

You sat down with another sigh, willing to give Loki one more minute to explain himself and say sorry – but not more. You blinked in surprise when he frowned, slowly raised his free hand, his fingertips brushing the tears from your cheeks away.

“I am sorry to upset you,søster. But you should slow down in jumping to conclusions,” he said, making you already regret your decision; he wasn’t apologizing. Of course he wasn’t. Men. You wrenched your hand free again. You were out of here this very- “Ah-ah. Here it is again. I am sorry. But… what is that figurative expression you Midgardians have? Say, what do you hide in a closet, søster?”

Clothes, usually, you thought, annoyed. Clothes, unless it’s empty and you’re lucid-dreaming about enthusiastically getting railed by one of your closest friends. You had a distant feeling this was not the answer the trickster was looking for.

“Loki, I’m tired, drunk and miserable,” you said matter-of-factly. “I really don’t want to play any more of your games and I think you had done enough, so I’d appreciate if you-”

“Skeletons, søster. Secrets,” he whispered conspiratorially, a slow smirk spreading on his face. “Dark, dark secrets you do not share with anyone else, those you do not dare to share. In that closet… the darkest one concerning the person you were in there with came out.”

Your shoulders sagged, annoyance biting at your gut. Loki was saying these things as if he just revealed to you the secrets of the universe and not a well-known fact.

“Gee, thanks. I knew about that ‘secret’ already.”

Loki’s right eyebrow arched as he smiled deviously.

“Did you, now? Did you know your Captain’s best-kept secret?” he pried, eyes sparkling with the mischief worthy of the god he was, confusing you in the process.

You were too lost to his mysterious message to correct him again – that Steve was not yours. Loki knew and apparently, he knew that that was exactly part of the problem. Hell, that was the whole problem at the moment, but-

“Huh?”

Loki’s other brow arched as well at the bewildered sound you let out, his gaze measuring you from head to toe with distaste almost as if you insulted him by not praising him for his supposed brilliance.

You didn’t feel bad for it – you had no energy for that. And his ego could use a little blow.

“…you truly are exceptionally drunk if you get slow like this, my dear Lady Speedy,”he emphasized, shaking his head like a disappointed parent – or older brother. “You did not see your secret. What kind of lousy trick would that be?! You already know your secrets, they are in your head! That is why they are yours! No, no, no,” he lamented, shaking his index finger before he pointed it at you, his proud grin widening. “You, my little Midgardian søster, stepped into the Captain’s head. You saw his secret. And he saw yours. Do we understand now?”

All blood drained from your face, annoyance replaced by a mask of pure horror that seized you the moment Loki finally explained. You stared at him blankly, mind suddenly completely sober and whirling. You were fucked. You were utterly, utterly fucked, because if Steve saw your secret, he knew. He knew you wanted him; he knew how you wanted him and how much. He knew what you craved him to do to you.

“Loki, this isn’t funny,” you heard yourself say, almost soundlessly. He tilted his head, that irritating grin still present as he looked right back at you, waiting for you to process the bullshit he was trying to feed you. “This is a very, very bad joke.”

Please tell me it IS a joke, you added mentally, only to be very disappointed.

“That it would be, but it is not, for I am not joking,” he retorted, expectant.

Expectant of what? Of praise? A thank you? For putting you into this insanely vulnerable position, for basically stripping you bare and revealing—

Your mind came to a screeching halt as another realization finally slammed into you like a freight train.

“Holy shit.”

Loki straightened in his seat, his grin now almost maniacal – and so goddamn smug.

You saw Steve’s secret. You saw Steve’s fantasy. Taking you over and over in front of a mirror, all the praise, sweet nicknames and affection he showered you with in your vision – that was him. He wanted you too. These weren’t only your desires, these were his.

But that was impossible. Steve didn’t--- he wasn’t- he would have said something. He would have acted differently. You would have known. This, whatever Loki was saying, couldn’t be true, Steve would have asked you out again if he wanted to, he’d-

Except he wouldn’t. Because unlike many men, Steve understood the meaning of the word no. If you rejected his initial advance two years ago, he had no reason to try again, because he would respect your choice.

You could kiss him for that. Or smack him. It that were true.

The hope rising in your chest was a dangerous thing. Hope was the thing with feathers; it would fly you high so the fall lasted longer and the landing hurt more once it dropped you out of the sky. If you allowed yourself to hope that the absolutely wonderful gorgeous human being Steve was was still interested in you romantically…

Instinctively, you glanced the direction of the pool table, hoping to see a hint of Loki telling the truth – and worried Steve might hear your conversation due to his enhanced senses – but Steve was no longer there. Swiftly scanning the room, you found out he was no longer there at all. It seemed he was the only one having made the sane decision of going to sleep.

You gulped as your gaze focused the trickster again, still afraid to believe even for a minute this could be real.

“Loki…”

“Now. You know his and he knows yours… the question is, are you willing to act on it? Are you willing to admit what is it that you want out loud now when he already knows anyway… even if he does not, for I entrusted the power of the closet only to you so far?”

You swallowed loudly, heart hammering in your chest wild. Were you? Willing to admit it out loud? That was one insane risk to take. One you weren’t sure was worth the consequences.

“Loki, if you are lying-“

“Bleh, I am not!” the Asgardian spitted out, offended. “What could I possibly gain from that?!”

“Fun?” you suggested automatically, because that was what he was all about, wasn’t it? That was why he created the insane magical closet in the first place.

Could Steve really still like you? Like like you? Now you were back to being thirteen indeed-

“Your idea of my idea of fun is rather strange. Go talk to your Captain. Or… communicate your thoughts in whichever way you prefer.”

You felt your already hot face burn at his suggestion. As much as you’d like to do that, the thought of even confronting Steve was scary – it would be much easier to be sure you wouldn’t mess up your perfectly good friendship, a friendship you cherished. Alas, you only had Loki’s words to go on. You could imagine more reliable sources, but none of them you’d dare to approach either.

“Oh shut your face, bror. If this is another idiotic prank, if you are lying, I’m going to tell Bruce to smash you—no, I’m going smash you myself, reduce you to the size of atom. Without breaking a sweat,” you promised him as you rose to your feet and you meant it.

If you were going to find Steve now – and you were, because there was not a universe in which you would simply fall sleep after what Loki did and told you – and if you were going to mess up, if Loki was truly just toying with your heart, you’d make sure he’d suffer for it.

“So feisty,”Loki praised, eyes lit up. “The Captain will like that, I am certain.”

Oh you were sure he would; Steve liked a drive in a person. He’d like it if you were brave enough not only to find him now, but also tell him how you felt. The idea was so damn intangible even as you had thought of it thousands of times, so terrifying that you just might go to bed and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night instead because you could not take that risk.

“Loki… this is a personal thing. And if I go and fuck up what Steve and I have-”

“You mean two years of fruitless pining-“ he interrupted you again.

“-based on your bullshit, I---”

You felt tears in your eyes again – and god, you were truly never ever drinking again, even as you felt very, very sober now – and the God’s mischievous eyes softened once more.

“I shall never repeat it again, but I grew quite fond of you, my little Midgardian. Despite what the over-righteous Captain believes, I have no intention to hurt you,” he assured you kindly.

“…I will still smite you if you’re wrong.”

His grin returned. “Looking forward to it, my Lady Speedy. And you’re welcome!”

“Don’t push it, Loki.”

As expected, your brief surge of bravery ran out by the time you stood in front of Steve’s door. Your hand shook as you raised it to knock, counting to three. Then, you simply did it – better to get it over with, right? With what you learned from Loki, awkwardness was about sneak between you and Steve anyway. At least you would know.

That wasn’t a terrifying thought as all, was it?

Steve appeared in the doorway, already in pyjama pants and a white t-shirt, looking at you as if he wasn’t sure whether he dreamed you up or not. His special nickname for you slipped from his lips, surprised and questioning.

You felt like an idiot; you probably looked like one too, your outfit in a pitiful state as well as your make-up, but here you were about to have one of the most important conversations in your life. An agent for the Avengers Initiative, supposedly one of the strongest and most capable people of the planet; yet, you felt like a teenager about to confess to your first-ever crush.

“Can I… can I come in?” you pipped up nervously, wondering whether your heart could actually jump out of your chest – and guessing that yes, it could, when Steve smiled automatically, stepping back to let you into his room.

“Are you alright?”

No, you wanted to say, your sweaty palms twitching to curl into fists briefly, because of course he would ask that. Beautiful, infinitely good man. Sweet and caring. Golden boy. Golden boy who wanted to fuck you in front of the mirror and watch.

You shook off the last thought as your stomach fluttered, coming to a stop in the middle of the room, trying to ignore the large inviting bed and spinning on your heels to face Steve instead.

“Yeah. No. I mean,” you stuttered, shaking your head. “I… Loki, he--- he said something.”

There was no mistaking the flash of cold steel in Steve’s eyes, the way his relaxed body straightened and stiffened, shoulders squaring at the mention of the God. He really didn’t like him, did he? After the emotional turmoil of tonight, you couldn’t say you blamed him.

“What did he say?”

“He said… you--- this is so stupid, I can’t even--- did you have, uhm, did you have a certain… vision? A dream maybe? When we were in that closet?”

Your face was set aflame at believing he had, that he had the kind of vision you assumed; a vision that would make most people blush. And Steve did blush a bit, discomfort clear in his face.

“I--- maybe,” he admitted reluctantly, earning a raised brow. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Did Loki…” His gaze found yours again, searching – and worried. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite decipher too, something you weren’t sure if you wanted to understand. “Did he tell you--?”

You shook your head.

“No. If you’re asking whether he told me what you dreamed about, then no.” Because he didn’t have to. I just know. If Loki wasn’t lying, that was. “But I… I had a vision as well. And Loki, he… told me what it meant. He said--- he said-“

You gulped, a dull weight in your chest as Steve observed you with silent wonder and a mixture of emotions you couldn’t hope to understand. Patience. Concern. Apprehension. Affection? Definitely confusion.

This was absurd. What were you even doing here? It was utter non-sense. Loki was just pulling your leg, that was what he did, a friend or a bror or not, he just decided to have some extra fun during Halloween and make it his personal April Fool’s Day. You were but the victim of his over-the-board prank-

You chuckled at your idiocy, shaking your head and stalking to the door.

“You know what? Forget this. This is so stupid, I can’t believe I fell for that-“

A gentle hand, the gentlest touch, stopped you in your tracks, disappearing as quick as it appeared on your wrist.

Reluctantly, you turned back to Steve again, truly loving him and hating him at the same time when his tone softened as if you hadn’t brought up Loki, his personal thorn in side, at all.

“Hey now. This, whatever it is, is clearly making you upset. Upset enough to knock on my door at three a.m.,” he noted, hand twitching towards you again – but not touching.

That was what he would have normally done – comfort you by touch. A warm hand on yours; the warmest hug. Touch was Steve’s love language for friends and no doubt lovers alike. But he didn’t. Because you had said no – you had pushed him anyway, you had pulled back in the closet. You had broken him; you had broken you two already.

Damn Loki and damn his stupid jokes and painfully unhelpful interventions. You already hurt Steve and now you were here, at three damn a.m. indeed, robbing him off his well-deserved sleep on top of everything.

God, what a farce.

“I’m sorry-“

“That’s not the point, you know the door is always open for you,” Steve interrupted you, eyes roaming your face with determination now. He was on a mission. He had noticed your body language, whatever it was trying to say. He noticed your hesitance. He read you like a book and he was going to read it through to the last chapter to get to the bottom of things. You were in trouble; there was no going back now. “What did Loki say? I saw you two earlier, he--- did he make you upset?”

Your heart seared, your lips parting on instinct.

While spoken on a normal volume, the question was a battle cry. If you said yes, Steve would release the wrath of Gods – of an angel, a guardian angel and a warrior – on Loki. It didn’t matter Loki was the god, the entity from another planet. He would tremble in front of the anger of a righteous man defending you.

“No! I mean--- no. He just…” you stumbled over your words again, shaking your head and taking a deep breath. You closed your eyes, because otherwise you’d never get it out, not with the way your throat felt so tight you could barely breathe, let alone speak the bare truth. “He said that what we saw in that closet was each other’s secret. Something we secretly want. Supposedly, I saw yours… and you… you saw mine.”

Your voice trailed off into a shy whisper, but you had no doubt Steve heard your words clear as day. The silent shock settling on the room told you as much. Hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palms, you squeezed your eyes shut tight, before you gathered enough courage to open them and look at Steve’s reaction.

But Steve wasn’t looking at you, much to your relief and frustration. He was staring over your shoulder, the smile on his lips absent, appearing just a little broken. You dug your nails further into your skin, not daring to even breathe in until Steve released a wavering breath of his own.

His voice was quiet as he spoke, so very soft and warm, a note of gentle wistfulness. “I’m not sure I can believe that, Shines.”

You nodded, licking your lips and bracing yourself. Now or never. No take-backs.

“I’m not sure either… but that depends. What do you want, Steve?”

“I…” he sighed, finally meeting your gaze, an unreadable open book. He observed you carefully for a moment as you tried to stand tall, stand your ground and pretend you didn’t feel like it was shaking under your feet. Like you wouldn’t feel like the Earth was splitting beneath you if his answer would be anything else than you were hoping for. “I want you, Shines. But I don’t see how that’s a secret.”

Fresh tears sprang from your eyes; but this time happy ones, the shock and relief and joy finding release.

You had hoped. You had prayed on your way in here. You wished upon the stars. And yet nothing prepared you for the reality of Steve saying this. You were certain your heart was about to explode any second, your pulse thundering in your head. He really said ‘you’.

A small part of you wanted to remark that if Loki was right about everything and you had indeed saw what was in Steve’s head, there were a few secretive details that Steve had failed to mention, but you kept your mouth shut, because that was not the point.

He wanted you. He truly wanted you. He still… you still had a chance. More than a chance, apparently.

“Oh,” you let out quietly and oh so wittily, probably making your IQ scores appear like a joke again, but this time, you didn’t give a damn. You smiled weakly at Steve who stared at you expectantly and resigned at once. “Good. Because I want you too.”

A single deep breath. Eyes full of wonder, soft confusion lacing his voice. Reluctant hope, as reluctant as your own had been. “But you said no.”

You nodded, lowering your gaze and smiling tightly on the floor as you wiped away the few tears.

“I--- I was still new and you were… you were this idol of all things good, intimidating and untouchable. I mean, in many ways, you still are, but I was just crushing on you so hard even if I barely just met you. The longer I knew you, the more it… changed into something much deeper than a crush, but when you asked me out back then, I just… panicked. And I wanted to take that answer back later, but I was scared it was too late. And the longer it got… the harder and more awkward it felt to ask you if you were still interested in me, if you’d want to be more than friends after all this time, especially since you dated someone else in between.”

A few beats of silence followed your confession, words hanging in the air.

“That was never a good idea,” Steve admitted lowly, causing you to look up to his now sheepish face. “I thought I was ready for someone else, but I wasn’t. My mind was still on you. And still is, which really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you or me,” he noted, lips curling up in a smile that would make your heart beat faster hadn’t it been already racing like mad. “You’re beautiful and brilliant. You could do anything you’d put your mind to and would still stay humble enough about it. You’re capable, you’re passionate, you’re kind. You make the world a better place… and you take my breath away. You always have.”

You stood frozen, momentarily stunned.

It seemed when Steve went for something, he went all the way. You knew that about him already; and still. His declaration took you by surprise. A pleasant one, much like two years ago; but this time, you knew better. You were ready. Or at least ready enough.

At three a.m. after a damn Halloween party, you were ready to accept you and him felt the same.Steve liked you. Liked you a lot more than a friend, if his words were sincere and you would never doubt they were anything less.

The world was a beautiful place and you adored Loki’s shenanigans.

“Well…” you said as you stepped closer, basking in Steve’s soft gaze set firmly on your face, hopeful and incredulous. “I think you are pretty damn brilliant, handsome and overall amazing too, so that works out well… and I guess maybe we should do something about that.”

“I guess,” he echoed, his smile slowly widening when you took another step. He reached out this time and took your hand, enveloping it in his larger one.

It was just holding hands, it should not have such an effect on you, but Christ, you could die a happy woman right there. Especially when Steve carefully lifted your joined hands, dropping a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. When you smiled wide at the tender gesture, Steve’s gaze lit up with a familiar and yet so different spark. “You think I’m intimidating?”

A surprised chuckle erupted from your throat, the tension you hadn’t been quite aware of melting from your shoulders. You could smack him – now he was a cheeky fella, wasn’t he?

“That’s what you took from me pouring my heart out? Really, Steve? Wow. Just wow.”

He laughed as well as he erased the last distance between you so you stood chest to chest, hand moving to cradle your face instead and angle it up, his eyes full of wonder still as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. Humour and absolute delight blended into one in his expression; you imagined yours most have looked the same.

“Well, I kinda poured mine out too to make it even. But I’m just a guy, doll. My ego needs a good rub every once in a while.”

You couldn’t help it. You snickered at his choice of words. A good rub, huh?

“Just your ego?”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, his smile earning a wicked edge that had your stomach flutter; or perhaps that was just his strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush to his front, your palms catching against his chest. So warm. Warm and wide and real, and it was yours to touch.

“Aren’t you a cheeky little thing…” he mused.

“You know it. What you’re gonna do about it, Captain?”

His gaze roamed your face, searching for an answer to the unspoken and yet completely clear question. He found it in the challenge written in your smartass grin, his lips soon gravitating towards yours, suddenly close enough you could feel his breath on your own. His voice dropped but to a whisper.

“Depends… what would you let me do, Shines?”

Anything. Everything. All at once. Forever.

You licked your lips, painfully aware of the firmness of Steve’s body against yours, so pliant to accommodate his strength. “I’m pretty flexible.”

The corners of his lips twitched at the double entendre.

“Is that right, sweetheart? Let’s see how you like what have in mind then…”

A lot. The answer was a lot. You loved it the very second his lips touched yours at last, causing you to shudder and melt into his embrace. The kiss was even more tender than you imagined; gentle lips moulding into yours, thumb stroking over your cheekbone softer than silk. Lingering and brushing yours even as he released you to do something as mundane as breathing.

“I like it so far,” you muttered, eyes closed to absorb all the sensations enveloping you. The warmth, the masculine scent, the faint taste of mint tooth paste and Steve, the thundering heart under your palms, the hot skin as your hand slid up Steve’s throat to his nape, the soft strands of his hair as you pulled him to another kiss. “What else do you have in mind?”

He hummed against your lips, smiling, hand angling your head to kiss you deeper, parting your lips with ease, so naturally as if it was always meant to be. And perhaps it was; kissing him was two years due. The thought of a lost time had your fingers flex against the material of his t-shirt, squeezing his nape; his chest rumbled with a silent groan, arm tightening around your waist, heat pooling at your stomach.

You knew this groan. You knew the feeling of hardness building against your belly and you knew exactly what it meant; and you wanted it. You wanted it real this time and there nothing in the world that would make you resist Steve inching you walk backwards one small step after another as his mouth dominated yours, his hand moving to your hip to steer you the direction of the bed.

Or you thought so until his arm softened the impact of your back against a wall, your eyes snapping open with a gasp. Your gaze met Steve’s just as his fingers tangled in your hair, eyes roaming your face attentively, taking in every detail of your flushed face and already swollen lips. You feasted your eyes too, hand instinctively moving from his chest to his bicep, nearly whining at feeling the power humming underneath.

He could take you. He could take you in whichever way he wanted and you’d simply have to hold on and survive it, because even with your fancy moves and normally sharp brain, you were no match for his strength. But you didn’t need to be; you didn’t want to be. You were actually perfectly fine with Steve making love to you tender or fucking you against the wall all the way across the room from the no doubt comfortable bed.

“What else is there?” you heard yourself ask breathily, rewarded with Steve’s gaze darkening, his hips pressing against yours, palm sliding from your cheek to your throat, thumb caressing the soft skin.

He was trying to kill you. He was, there was no other reason to show off those large paws of his in comparison to your body, no reason to remind you he could crush you without much effort.

He petted the sensitive skin lovingly, licking his lips as another shudder ran down your spine, his middle finger inching under the shoulder strap of your dress.

“Can I?”

You only panted as he already hooked his finger under it and sent it sliding down while still being able to touch your throat, the hoarseness of his voice awaking the heat inside you having been sleeping ever since your dream encounter in the closet.

“Y-yes,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand that that consent applied to everything. Everything he wanted he was free to do. You needed him to do it.

He must have understood. He must have, because when his lips locked with yours, the heat behind the kiss was otherworldly, his body caging yours against the wall in the most toe-curling way.

It was like a switch flipped inside him, because it finally dawned to him. He had seen you fantasy; the filth he had experienced came from you and he could take full advantage of that. That previously frightening thought that Steve knew now, knew how you wanted him and how much, was apparently exactly what he needed to see; that you wanted him. All of him. No filter.

You mewled when his fingers tugged at your hair with the slightest pressure, guiding you to expose the column of your throat for his mouth to explore and nip at, his other hand squeezing your hips and following the curve of your ass appreciatively. Your already damp panties turned completely useless by now and in the very back of your mind, you realized that with Steve’s slightly enhanced senses, he could probably smell how riled up you still were from your imaginary closet experience. You could be embarrassed about that; but when his hand brushed up the back of your bare thigh over your hip under the hem of your dress, stroking over the lace of your panties at the apex of your thighs, you decided you were beyond caring.

Especially when you could feel his muscled shift with the minuscule movement of his fingers tracing the hem of your underwear, so close to where your core screamed for his touch and attention.

“So, doll…” he whispered to your skin, groaning minutely when you grabbed at his nape and pulled his mouth to ours, feeling it was way too long since you tasted them. He didn’t seem bothered at all, his fingertips brushing oh so lightly against your heat at last, a barely-there brief touch gone too fast. “I saw your dirty secret, is that right?”

Alright, he needed to stop talking and teasing you and get to work before you could spontaneously combust. Your only satisfaction was the fact that he too was far from indifferent to what was happening, his hardness pressing against your thigh.

So why wasn’t he doing something about it?

“Doll?” he hummed against your lips, expecting you to answer, clearly.

“Y-yeah? I guess?”

“Hm…”

You cried a discontent noise when his hands untangled from your hair and disappeared form under the skirt of your dress, long fingers curling around your wrist, one and then the other, soothing your disagreement with a filthy kiss.

Next thing you knew, your hands were pinned to the wall by your head, carefully, but firmly, Steve’s body pressing against the rest of you; his lips released yours just in time for you to let out a gasp as startled as pleased.

Your heart turned into one of a hummingbird when you realized your predicament fully.

Trapped against the wall by Steve’s large body towering above you, hands locked in a grip unmoveable upon you testing it. Caged. Utterly helpless. Dominated. The surge of need into your belly was so acute your brain turned into a blank screen with static noise for a moment.

Steve was playing out your fantasy. He was replaying what he must have seen. He was giving you exactly what you wanted and you were not about to protest; less so when your heart felt like giving out when his teeth grazed your pulse point, your knees bucking a bit, a silent mewl escaping you and that loveable bastard smiled with absolute glee against your skin.

“Love the sounds you’re making, doll. Love how your body responds to me.”

“You’re playing dirty,” you whined, not quite complaining, but still causing Steve to look up. The glee you had assumed was most definitely in his smirk and hungry gaze.

You swallowed loudly, gaze trailing up his bulging bicep when his hands manipulated yours above your head, one hand easily gripping both of yours.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, long fingers running over your bare arm indulgingly slow, over the swell of your breast, over your waist, until they slipped under your skirt again, following the hem of your panties to the junction of your thighs and pushed it aside at last, feeling the pool of slick in your underwear. His voice grew huskier as he spoke again. “Fuck. Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t,” he promised, latching onto your mouth as his thick finger slipped into your heat at last, causing you to moan at the blissful intrusion.

He pumped his finger a few times before he added another, the soft stretch sending hot pleasure through your veins, having you chase the feeling in the limited space he made for his hand between your bodies, trying to rock into his hand as he set a maddeningly slow pace.

“Steve, ple-ase-”

The plea melted into a gasp when he curled his fingers, finding your most sensitive spot, your hips jerking forward as the ripple of pleasure he elicited.

“There she is…” he murmured smugly, swallowing your noise of complaint when he pulled his fingers out right then, spreading your slick all over your lower lips and circled your clit only to neglect it right after.

Empty and strung tight at once, you tried to move and chase the much-needed friction, only for Steve’s hips to pin you in place again, palm spawled over your ass.

You wanted to shoot him the dirtiest look for denying you, but all you managed was a soft accusation in your hooded eyes as his still wet fingers tipped your chin up, his intent gaze dark and hungry.

“God, you’re perfect, doll,” he rasped, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

You had no time to be embarrassed; not when the words from your dream echoed in your head – except it was not a dream. This was all Steve – his fantasy, his reality too. He liked to watch. He liked to tell you were beautiful. He clearly liked your fantasy too – to have you in his arms, at his mercy.

You wanted to pull him for another kiss, to guide his hand – his cock for god’s sake – where you needed him so much you could barely stand it at this point, but the thrill of the not being able to, not being allowed to, felt almost as good. He was breathing heavy too, yes, but otherwise, holding you down posed no challenge for him, not even with one hand, the other sprawling over your hip again. Your core clenched at the casual display strength, a tiny noise escaping you against your will.

And bless that it did. Steve’s fuck it was the most beautiful song you had ever heard, because it was the sound of breaking.

So fast he battled the speed of light, his hand was back, tearing away the soaked fabric of your panties, mouth stealing the blissful moan from your lips, body letting just an inch of space for you to arch into his touch when his fingers slid right back into your heat, pumping and assaulting your g-spot, this time with his thumb pressing against your clit. Small rhythmic circles, dextrous fingers filling you up over and over and he had you chanting his name as you clenched on his fingers hard, warm release overtaking your body, muscles spasming, your vision blurring for a moment.

And Steve didn’t stop. The back of your head hit the wall with a silent protest as his fingers continued to fill you over and over again, mouth latched onto your neck and sucking a bruise, grasp on your hands firm and you struggled against the hold no longer sure if you wanted to stop him or keep his hand exactly where it was, because despite the overwhelming sensation and overstimulation, your body screamed at you to take it and enjoy the flames licking at your insides, so painfully delicious.

You clamped on his fingers again with a wordless cry, gasping for air as your eyes snapped open, meeting Steve’s impossibly blown pupils drinking in the sight of you overtaken by utter bliss. The wet squelch filling the room was pure filth as you soaked his hand, but you had no capacity to feel ashamed, you body buzzing with adrenalin and white-hot pleasure, Steve’s gaze making you feel like the eighth wonder of the world.

The second he released your shaky hands you were on him, holding onto his shoulder and pulling him in for a bruising kiss, his talented fingers slowing down to bring you down from your high. Once he let you get your fill, his kiss softened, short pecks to your lips, to your cheek, to you closed eyelids.

“You okay, Shines? Was that too much?”

You shook your head with a breathless laugh, the action of checking that you were alright familiar, matching the faint memory of seeing the images of his desires. Fuck you so good you’d forget your own name, but in a very respectful and caring way. It had Steve written all over it, alright. You should have known.

His forehead rested against your sweaty one, his nose nudging yours, his body more holding you up rather than restricting your movements now.

“I’m gonna need words, Shines.”

“Yeah,” you whispered obediently, pecking his lips for a good measure.

His hungry eyes sparkled with mischief as they met yours, beautifully red lips curling up in a smirk and causing your racing heart to stumble.

“Good… because I don’t think that’s how the fantasy ended…”

You yelped when his hands slipped under your ass without a single warming and lifted you with ease, your own hands gripping at his shoulders, legs, while rather jelly-like from your mind-blowing orgasms still, wrapping around his waist on instinct. You felt his hardness press against your core, hard planes of muscle without as much minute tremble under your weight as you stared at him, excitement stirring in your belly anew. With laughable ease, one of his arms shifted so he could use his other hand on you as he pleased.

You bit down the squeal ripping from your lips, but not quite successfully. He was carrying you. On one hand. And he didn’t even break a sweat yet.

“Better?” he asked smugly and it shouldn’t be attractive, you hated arrogance, but goddamnit cocky Steve seemed the hottest thing ever at the moment. Even when he was still fully clothed and your dress was loosely hanging over your bra, skirt ruffled up. Christ, his shoulders were so wide-

“I don’t think I can survive better…” you admitted, gulping, but letting your hands roam his exquisite body and gods you could come again just from touching all the delicious power you knew were locked in that body. “But I wanna try.”

Steve’s grin was the thing from your filthiest dreams; and his cock pressing against your core, the annoying fabric of his sweatpants in the way, was too.

“Atta girl…” he praised, hand curling around your nape to pull you in for a kiss that had barely any resemblance to the one he graced you with to bring you down, oh no. He licked into your mouth with indulgence, taking what was already his. “You’re gonna be so good for me, aren’t you? Take everything I give you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me fill you up, again and again until I’ve had enough? Until you’re so completely mine that all you can think of is my name and the way it feels to come on my cock? You’re gonna let me do that, sweetheart?” he whispered to your ear, sin dripping from every carefully spoken syllable. He pulled at your dress, revealing your bra and groaning when he palmed your breast over the thin material, your own hands sliding down his chest and finally under his t-shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

So good. Gods, he felt so good.

“Yes. Wanna feel you. All of you.”

Steve rutted into you and you grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and tugged, wordlessly begging him to reveal your playground. He chuckled, pulling at his t-shirt himself to help you, quick to hum a promise to your lips that had your core clench around the painful emptiness.

“Oh you’ll feel me, Shines. I’ll make sure you’ll feel me for days. That what you want?”

One palm sprawled over his chest, the other laid over his abs, you weren’t sure you could answer beyond an absent nod. Steve did not find that satisfactory.

The nips of his teeth combined with the rumble in his ribcage had you release something between a mewl and a gasp, his abdomen shaking with a silent laugher.

“Oh that was a pretty noise. Can’t wait to hear more of it.”

“Steve, please, just-“

He heard out your plea at last, kissing you, free hand going to the laces of his sweats, undoing it way too slowly. Impatient, you knocked his hand away and did it yourself, feeling Steve’s lips curl in a grin against yours.

“Do you need me so much, doll? Need me to make you mine?”

You barely had time to breathe a yes and shove his pants down, hand wrapping around his thick length, drawing a breathy sound of pleasure from him and an unnecessary confession of the obvious.

“Yeah, need you too.”

He allowed you barely a few seconds of pumping his cock before he coaxed your hand away, the head of cock nudging your slit, quickly coated in your slick. His groan was delicious to hear, your hips bucking on instinct.

Yeah, need you too. You did this to him.

“Fuck, Shines, you’ll feel like Heaven.”

It was inappropriate. Completely and entirely inappropriate but you chuckled, a cheeky retort about seven minutes dying on your tongue when Steve entered you, a little too fast and straight to the hilt before he gave you time to adjust to his impressive size and grith. The stretch was a lot; a lot more than his already thick fingers, but you had never known you could be filled so well and it could feel just this good.

He was made for you, he had to be. Or maybe you were made for him.

Little droplets of sweat pearled on his forehead, gaze firm on yours, dark and amused at once as he slowly retreated and pushed inside you again, your lips dropping open because you had been wrong; he stretched you further and a shy glance down told you he still had a way to go.

“I could hear that pun before you said it, doll. You’re thinking too much,” he husked, setting a pace and pushing just a bit further and further with each thrust, hand sprawling over your lower back to angle you to his liking – for you to take him even deeper. The burn and fulness felt impossible, but Steve’s intent gaze on your face was even more so. “Let’s fix that.”

“I thought you liked me brilliant?” you hummed as if you didn’t feel your toes curl in pleasure, your hands grasping at his shoulders, at his arms, anywhere to keep him closer, closer…

Wind knocked out of you with ne sharp thrust, you finally took all of him; your lips parted with silent oh god, eyes slipping shut as the sensation of utter fullness. Distantly, you could feel his gaze on you, drinking in the sight; the artist in him admiring the visual, no matter how plain you thought you had to look.

“I do, Shines… but now I need you to think about one and one thing only.”

There was no space for words after that. Once he had you, he set a punishing pace, claiming your lips as much as your silky heat, overwhelming all of your senses all over again. The onslaught of sensation – his warmth, his strength, his musky scent, his lips, his grip on you, the fast but deep drags of his girth against your walls, stretching you to your limits – it was all too much, too much when his fingers sneaked between your bodies and ripped the dress away to give the much-needed attention to your clit.

“Steve-“

“That’s it…” he spoke against your mouth, teeth grazing your lower lip even as his pace never faltered, building you towards the skies again, “you really are perfect, Shines, gripping me so tight. So perfect and mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours… yours… yours,” you promised with every thrust until you couldn’t, your lips falling limp, your nails digging into Steve’s back when you came with another shout of his name.

And soon, he followed, whispered praises and mine over and over as he made you exactly that. Thoroughly his. Keeping you close even when he pulled out, keeping you close when his spent drippled out of you and he simply gathered in on his fingers, pushing it right back, dark gaze never leaving yours, your stomach making wild somersaults.

Mine. So completely mine. Aren’t you, Shines?

You were. Completely his, deeply sated and utterly exhausted. You were grateful he carried you to bed, because your legs were beyond functioning; as he laid you down, you couldn’t see the clock and you thanked heavens for that, because the time had had to tipped over from too late to too early. But you couldn’t care less. Not when Steve’s fingers caressed every inch of bare skin of your body they could reach, the rags of your clothes in a messy pile by the door a proud reminder of how exactly he had got it off.

And got you off.

You mentally snorted at the bad pun, another one you didn’t have a chance to share since Steve had been too determined to stop you from thinking returning to your mind.

“Steve?” you smiled lazily as he was lying next to you, propped up at his elbow, smiling down at you softly – so softly in contrast to how he had railed you into oblivion. Lovingly, of course.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I think this was what we should call Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

He groaned, falling on his back and drawing a full belly laughter from you, throwing his arm over his face as if he couldn’t bear to look at someone who made such a terrible joke. With effort, you propped on your elbow then, looking at the gorgeous length of his body for a change, cheeks hurting from grinning so wide. He was a work of art; Michelangelo’s David had nothing on him. Superb balance of size and function in every muscle, every tendon, as hard as stone when needed and carved into perfection. Alive and warm under your gaze and touch, its utter superiority proven by countless missions and work-out you had witnessed. It wasn’t just how large his body was, the contrast of the width of his shoulders to his waist, the lines of his abs with soft treasure trail; it was the knowledge of what his body could do. What that brilliant mind behind those sweet blues could come up, the kind heart humming contentedly under your palm now. You had met enough dumb jocks in your line of work, big almost as Steve, handsome too; but they could never compare.

He moved his arm when your fingers walked down his sternum, heading for the treasure trail; his cerulean eyes observed with a mixture of mischief and warmth, wide awake despite the ungodly hour. You stopped, fingers hovering just above his skin, the heat it radiated tickling your fingertips.

It didn’t escape you – it was literally hard to miss that – that Steve clearly hadn’t had enough. You didn’t ask why, whether it was the serum or something else, but you knew you didn’t want to leave him unsatisfied.

You had promised, hadn’t you, even if it was in the heat of the moment. Until he had his fill, he said? You could take it.

Leaning down to kiss him, you were welcomed by the sweet taste of his smile; your wandering hand continued your path at last, wrapping around his still very hard length. He didn’t protest, only reached out to pull you closer, practically lying on top of him.

The kiss was lazy; half-hearted desire, reluctance and indulgence at once. Steve tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way, caressing your cheek.

“You sure you can take more, sweetheart?”

You nodded without a second thought, a wordless ‘yeah’ whispered straight into his mouth, a slight twist of your hand causing him to groan.

Steve might be caring to a fault, but he was only a man – as he had said. Who was he to refuse your offering? He sat up and pulled you to his lap with ease, your body obedient and pliant, a gasp elicited from your throat when his lips moved to suck on your nipple, your fingers gripping on his hair.

“Steve…”

“Did I mention you were perfect?” he muttered into your soft flesh, kneading your ass and your breast.

You had never felt so utterly adored; body, mind and soul. How could you be anything else than his when this was what it was like?

“Once or twice. You’re not too bad yourself, Cap-tain,” you stuttered when he pinched your other nipple for the cheekiness, a breathy giggle escaping you.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, gaze having turned hungry again.

“Good. Turn around, sweetheart.”

You looked at him slightly confused, but obeyed. You’d do anything, even kneel in front of him, the prospect of him taking you from behind like this stirring something deep inside you. You glanced over your shoulder as he positioned himself behind you, a glorious god prepared to claim the sacrifice of those who worshipped him; and god, would you do exactly that.

He grasped at your chin softly, capturing your lips with his, his hardness nudging the globes of your ass; and released your lips all too soon, fingers pushing at your jaw to look forward.

Heat flooded your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Kneeling on the bed, completely bare and exposed, you were facing the mirror.

His fantasy. His turn.

“That okay?” Steve asks, voice husky as his lips attached to the flesh above your collarbone, his arm sneaking around your waist and pulling you to his front. He was hidden from your sight for most part, a true shame; you were on full display.

For you. For him.

You gulped, gaze set firmly on his face in the mirror, not daring to stray it elsewhere even as you could see his eyes appreciating his view.

“I… I think so?”

His smile was warm, a little boyish and entirely devious. You sunk into it as much as you sunk into his firm body, his fingers tweaking your nipple, drawing your gaze to the movement of instinct. Heat spread in your insides at the sight of his large hand over you, barely an edge of shame nudging your consciousness. Filthy. Vain. Wrong. Thrilling.

“Good… ‘cause I think we can do better than seven minutes,” Steve hummed with a trace of humour in his voice, free hand sliding between your thighs to tease you and make sure you were ready for him still – or again. When he spread your lips for the head of his cock, you instinctively bucked into his hand, gaze flickering to the sinful image. “In fact… I wonder how long you can last until you’re begging me…”

He pushed into you in one swift movement, strong hand keeping you in place, the tendons on his forearm dancing, a breathless oh falling from your lips.

“…to stop. Look at yourself, sweetheart. Look at us.”

Almost in a haze, like a new dream on its own, you did. With the strangest and most tickling glee, your gaze trailed from where you and Steve were one between your spread thighs, over his arm draped over you, his hand spreading softly over your throat to keep you looking straight into the mirror, lips attached to your temple curled in a smile.

“Your mind is way more filthier than I thought,” you managed to say before he started thrusting into you, his smile earning a wicked edge as he nuzzled your hair.

“Shh… that’s my best-kept secret. You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you, doll?”

Powerful. Adored. Desired.

His.

The next words rolled off your tongue before you could think twice, Steve’s hypnotic gaze on your body enough of an encouragement.

“Keep my mouth busy and I won’t--- oh god.”

The fingers of his left hand circled your clit, sending an almost painful pleasure through your veins, while his right hand angled your head to capture your lips indeed.

“Now who’s filthy,” he murmured, pressing his thumb against your mouth, dark pupils blown wide as you sucked on it obediently. He pushed into you so deep at the action you thought you’d feel him in your throat and you finally understood the expression of la petit mort. The feeling of bliss washing over you was so strong it could kill you and yet you’d never felt more alive. “Fuck, Shines, you’re gonna be the death of me. But first… let me show you how beautiful you look when I make you mine.”

And he did. Oh, he did.

And he’d stand by his promise that you’d feel it for days too, you were sure of it, even if only time would tell.

The sun was already rising and peeking through the blinds when you finally laid your head on the pillow to sleep at last. Successful revels Thor would say, you thought lazily.

You walked the fine line between consciousness and dreams, cradled to Steve’s chest, closer than you ever thought you could be. Idly, you let your mind wander; despite the absolutely mind-blowing sex that only probably happened to a person once in a lifetime, you couldn’t but believe that this wasn’t a one-time thing. No, Steve didn’t do one-night stands, he even said so; his mind was on your for quite some time. This was but a start and you loved the idea of that. Not just because of the promise or experiencing this again, the pleasure still flowing through your body as an echo of what had been almost too much bliss to bear, but because of love.

You had been more than a little in love with him for almost two years – and you couldn’t wait to fall harder. Because besides being a sight to behold, Steve’s arms provided comfort, safety and sincere affection. You didn’t have to be scared of that fall, because they’d catch you. You didn’t have to fear for your heart if you gave it to him, because you knew Steve Rogers to his core; he’d cherish the gift and guard it with his life.

And he’d deserve it too, your whole heart. He deserved to be loved deeply and unconditionally; and on occasion, filthily.

With a sleepy hum, he nuzzled into your neck almost as if he could hear your thoughts and approved of them, pressing a soft kiss there. You drifted off to sleep with a little sappy but entirely adoring smile.

“You did something to the bottle, didn’t you? Some fancy physics trick?” Bucky said, more an announcement than a question, just before he decided to finally follow Steve’s and your example, ready to retreat to sleep – most of the group did anyway.

Tony was a picture of genuine innocence for once at the accusation. “Me? Please. How would I even do that?”

“I dunno. Magnets? Electric pulse? Flying invisible bot? What do I know…”

A nearby chuckle caught both Tony’s and Bucky’s attention, their suddenly knowing gazes finding Loki with his arms crossed over his chest. They didn’t bother to pretend to be irritated, even as at any other time, they would have been. For once, they were just grateful; Friday had silently informed them that the agent known as Speedy had been last seen outside Steve’s suite and wasn’t seen leaving for at least an hour.

If the two clueless dumbasses figured their shit out at last, Loki’s mischievous involvement was worth it.

“Oh no, I cannot possibly take the credit for that part.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What part can you take the credit for?”

“You could not handle the truth, Sergeant,” Loki smirked, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. “But not the bottle. I swear. I admit that I wanted to – but I did not have to.”

“So you want me to believe that after two years of Steve and Speedy needing to pull their head out of their asses and at least half of us trying to talk some sense into one or the other, a stupid game an even stupider coincidence finally did it for them. Really?”

Tony nodded, watching Loki with searching gaze. “Yeah, I’m with Buckaroo on this o-“

The sudden soft dragging sound and a clink drew the gazes of all three men. The bottle, having spun a bit, came to a slow stop under their watchful eye.

“Dammit, Loki-“

The trickster raised his hands in defence, chuckling again. “I did not do anything!”

“Yeah, right-“

The bottle shifted again, this time spinning fast – and stopped abruptly at once.

“But-“ Bucky froze mid-sentence. Then, his head snapped in the direction the bottle was pointing now. His eyes found the young redhead witch, walking out of the room hand-in-hand with Vision. As Tony followed Bucky’s line of sight, his mouth fell slightly agape.

Loki only smirked harder. “I must say, it is always a pleasure to say this: I told you so.”

“No way,” Tony breathed out, incredulous.

“Stark, give that girl a raise,” Bucky muttered, shocked as well; but completely sincere in his request. Bless magic. Bless that girl for pushing the idiot of his friend into what Bucky couldn’t convince him to do for months.

Wanda only smiled at them over her shoulder and walked out of the door with a silent ‘good night’.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Complete masterlist

The prompt was Only when you and your significant other are locked in the closet for 7 minutes, you’re transported somewhere else. and well. Yeah. I transported them into each other’s head – specifically, into their filthy fantasy. I am not even sorry anymore for that cheat if it is a cheat🫡 Though I am a little sorry for the length because this was supposed to be a one shot (story of my life).

Well, this was a LONG ride. I hope you enjoyed it 🤭

Let me know if did and if you can🥰

Thank you for reading!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers lemons #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #captain america #agent reader #seven minutes #anika ann #jamieshalloween2023

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cupcraft · 14 days

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Okay but what really guts me about S6E21 the therapy episode is the moment where I think House really feels like Dr. Nolan's not hearing him or getting him which contributes to his feelings of distrust to um gtfo of therapy 5ever. Which this is not to say House should've done that or that Dr. Nolan is bad, it's more like this contributed quite a lot because well I'm making 0 sense let me explain.

So, I'm thinking about the scene where Dr. Nolan was like "what do you think Cuddy & Wilson talked about together. Walk me through the conversation?" House does and he basically concludes to his therapist that his interpretation of his friends is that they view him as the "House Problem" that they're more worried he's going to do something "bad" or "attention seeking" or "[insert anti-addict recovery rhetoric/ablelism/etc thing] here" because of Wilson kicking House out, out of the blue. And in a way, this is truthful and from an audience's perspective it is a believable interpretation. House is generally pretty perceptive about the people around him and their impression of him given that he does purposefully construct a certain impression of himself (so that he is not harmed by people by allowing himself to be genuine). And even though Cuddy and Wilson are the people he's the most genuine to, he still self-destructs around them and struggles with trust. Anyway, based on how Wilson and Cuddy have handled a lot of things in the past (not everything) such as the Morphine/saline thing, the first time he went cold-turkey on opiates, the tritter situation, forcing him to go to his abusive father's funeral, etc. it really does seem believable they'd view him as the House Problem, or in a way it makes sense House thinks that way overall.

Though this is not to say House is right. He is right and valid to think that they'd be worry he'd relapse/etc. and he is right to have trauma from previous horrible responses done to him and thus not have faith in any different. But House is in fact wrong because Cuddy and Wilson do genuinely care about him and do not actually see him at this current stage in the show as the "House Problem". Especially Wilson, which it was clear Wilson later realized his actions were impulsiveness and fucked up and not at all recovery informed (especially as the person of stability he agreed to be for House's recovery) since House felt forced to go back home. There's also the issue that Wilson created a home for him and House (as reiterated by Dr. Nolan and the fact the thing Wilson chose for himself was the organ, solidifying House's permanency in that home) only for him to be like jk i dont see a future for you here even though Sam who hates you doesnt mind. House doesn't realize that a Cuddy/Wilson conversation would be done out of care and guilt of an impulsive mistake and not because they just keep him around to stop him from being a "Problem".

SO, Dr. Nolan does challenge this rightfully so but he doesn't do it in the right way which contributes to House feeling unheard and stuck and realizing god I am miserable and i distrust this. Dr. Nolan challenges it by imagining the conversation in a way we the audience knows would not be how at the very least Wilson would talk. He posits Wilson as a very rational person to the point it is comical because Wilson is also toxic and irrational (again the very thing that Nolan says it was a home for you both and then he kicked House out!). I think even House recognizes this because he looks as though Nolan grew a second head like what on earth Wilson would never say that which I think really in the end makes House feel unheard. Because the message "Hey Wilson and Cuddy do in fact love and care about you" didn't come across. The "I think wilson is being rational" is what actually comes across, when House feels hurt by Wilson over what is an irrational reaction (especially given Wilson's apology to house goes poorly and comes off as more guilt than accountability, see the apartment scene).

So it guts me. it guts me that their communication got crossed and the outcome didn't work out. That House felt unheard and that Nolan wasn't able to reach him. Because it does bode poorly for House to leave therapy right now as he is at a point of crisis in his support network and he's returned home to the place that is triggering to him for a lot of reasons (hallucination/relapse/etc).

and as always for my ramblings feel free to add on/send asks/etc. :)

#house md #meta #just polite discussions ofc

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blackwolfstabs · 6 months

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30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 19

NIGHTMARE

Sam has a nightmare and Tara forces her out of it.

A scream woke Tara out of a dead-sleep. A bloodcurdling scream. She jolted awake, finding the soft glow of her night light meeting the walls. All was quiet, the only noise being the humming of the air conditioner.

Had it come from her dream? No, because she hadn’t been dreaming.

Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her from the trauma. Going to therapy and having to talk through it all was catching up with her throughout the day, so she shouldn’t expect anything different at night, considering that’s when most of the traumatic things happened.

She reached over to her bedside and grabbed her inhaler to take in a deep breath. Her heart was thumping from the scare, but it started to settle after this, which made her pull her covers back up to drift off again.

“No!”

Her eyes opened again. Never mind. It was real. And it wasn’t just an anonymous scream. It was Sam’s.

“N-no-hooo!”

And then a guttural scream with no words came. It was followed by:

“No, pleeaase!”

It sounded like she was struggling, as if being restrained. But it also sounded painful. Very painful and not like her at all.

“Stop i-hit! Tara! Taraaaa!”

Tara’s heart started gunning. She didn’t even think as she kicked her covers off and raced out of the room. All her brain was telling her was that her sister was in trouble, and she was screaming her name at the top of her lungs. She didn’t know if it was in the context of begging or calling, but it didn’t matter.

She threw Sam’s door open the second she hit it and ran in to find Sam a whimpering mess in her bed. She was in the midst of turning onto her right side, facing Tara’s direction as she came closer. She must have been thrashing, because the sheets and overlaying blanket had been partially kicked all the way down to the end of the bed. The ones beneath Sam’s figure were darker than the rest around her, revealing that she was sweating heavily.

Tara knew then that her sister was having a nightmare, like the ones she would have, herself, and if she were fair, it came off as a shock to see her like that. It wasn’t that Sam never had nightmares that left her sweating and experiencing intense fear, it was just the first time she had ever started screaming during one.

The frontal strands of her hair were strung across her chest, sticking to her neck from her sweat, while her clothing was disheveled, her shirt riding up in the back to show scratch marks that curved from her back to her sides, as if she had been clawing herself to get free of whatever she felt was tormenting her.

She whimpered again, digging her nails into the sheets and curling in on herself like a cowering animal. Her voice cracked as she whined.

“Tara-haaa!”

Tara rushed up to the bedside and began shaking her shoulder. “Sam, wake up,” she spoke, careful not to scream in case the line between dream and reality wasn’t clear. But the newfound contact just made her older sister start to thrash again.

“No!” she shouted, throwing her shoulder back to shake off the touch. She turned onto her back, feeling the hand leave her but still cautious of it coming back. “Leave me alone!”

She kicked out and tried to move onto her other side, but her younger sister wouldn’t let her do so. “Sam! It’s okay!” she called out to her, grabbing both of her shoulders to try and keep her still.

“Tara!”

“I’m here!” She removed one hand to brush the tangled strands of hair from her sister’s face. “I’m here, Sammy! Open your eyes!”

Samantha was ripped from her night terror but not into a peaceful realization. She gasped for breath, nearly hyperventilating as she looked around frantically, her gaze heavily glazed with the former dream world.

“Hey, hey,” Tara regained her attention as she sat down on the edge of the mattress to calm her down. She used a much softer voice now, letting her hands slide down the arms she held, “It’s okay, it’s okay—”

“Get off me!” her sister snapped and pulled her nearest arm away. Her tone was stronger than her prior whimpering, but it was more like fear set on fire than anger.

“Sam, relax! It’s me,” she told her, “It’s Tara.”

And then she stopped trying to get away. Her thrashing ceased, and she found her baby sister’s pure gaze that was full of concern. Her panting settled into more whimpers as her eyes started to clear into reality.

“Breathe…” Tara gently combed the rest of her hair from sticking to her skin and guided it behind her shoulder. “You’re okay, everything’s okay.”

As her surroundings started to sink in, Sam forced herself to try and settle down. She could feel the sweat coating her neck and dampening the cloth clinging to her back. She dropped her head, wiping her face with her hand. “I-I’m sorry…” she breathed, still sounding shook-up, “It was just a dream.” She didn’t know the exact time, but she was well aware that it was the middle of the night and she had disturbed Tara from sleeping.

“It’s okay,” the younger replied, “I get them too. It’s fine.”

A shaky groan came from her as she sighed another attempt-at-recovering sigh. She pushed herself upright and backwards to sit against the headboard, her legs trembling as she brought her knees up to let one elbow rest against them to hold her forehead. The other hand drew her hair back then dropped to her torso. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been—and still was—until her abdominal muscles started to ache, her adrenaline wearing off to feed into the other side effects aside from sweating. But she couldn’t stop tensing. If she did, she wouldn’t stop shaking, and that would only influence her into a full-blown anxiety attack. She didn’t experience anxiety attacks very often, but when she did, they were usually induced by trauma.

And that nightmare she had just been torn from was by far the worst she had experienced, since she had come back to Woodsboro and faced who she really was.

Tara watched her carefully, noticing everything. The way she would tremble violently when she would exhale. The way her core would clench to show the definition of her abs, due to her shirt being ridden from her thrashing. The way her eyes wouldn’t leave her knees, staring as the events that she had mentally just experienced played behind her eyes, taunting her with the helplessness and desperation they caused. The way her throat convulsed and her lips quivered in trying to hold back the emotions that pressed her to express themselves. Tara knew it all. She had done this dance countlessly, having been the one experiencing nightmares this severe. She knew exactly what she needed and was trying to hold back, because Sam had never been the one in the vulnerable position. And that was a hard pill to swallow. “What happened?” she asked her. Her eyes caught the way the older’s legs tensed at the question, one foot crossing on top of the other, like she was fighting herself on answering. “What was it about?”

Sam’s brow twitched, and her jaw clenched. Her eyes began to burn. She dropped her elevated hand from her hairline and brought her inferior one up from her stomach, uniting them at her knees. She croaked out a stalling hum, her throat scratchy and scraped from her excessive screaming. The longer she was awake, the more painful and real her nightmare became, especially with Tara being right next to her. Her voice, her soulful brown eyes, her touch, having her be comforting. Usually, it was Sam doing the comforting, talking Tara through things and showing a sense of control that was so powerful, it could dominate any terrible thought or thing.

But tonight, it was Tara. And she had been taught well.

The younger Carpenter moved herself closer. “It’s okay to cry, Sam,” she told her. “It’s just me. Let it go.”

Her sister didn’t look up, tempted more than ever to do exactly that. But she didn’t want to, because she didn’t know if she would be able to stop. She swallowed with an involuntary whimper, then took in a deep breath. Her chest hitched with welling sobs that pushed up to her throat. And that’s when she couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled her knees in close and hid her face in her folded forearms, jolting as her tears fell.

Tara crawled up onto the bed fully and went to sit next to her, embracing her in a side-hug while rubbing her side. Her shirt was cool, her skin was clammy, and beneath her own bare legs, she could feel the damp sheets like cold water. She had no doubt the cooling sweat was contributing to Sam’s shaking. She heard her voice come through the next round of sobs, which made her set her head on top of her bowed one. “It’s alright, Sammy. You’re safe. We’re home. Nothing’s gonna hurt us,” she soothed.

However, it wasn’t just about her safety. It was so much more that had her safety deserving to be put in danger—according to the demons in her dreams. The older Carpenter sniffled and lowered her knees to turn and pull the other into a proper hug, burying her face into the crook of her neck.

And Tara took it, holding her as she continued to cry. “Do you wanna tell me about it?” She felt the hold on her grow tighter.

Sam shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to forget about it. She wished she’d have woken up with amnesia. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. So, all she needed right now was this moment to get it off her chest, whatever it was.

“Okay, you don’t have to.”

At least Tara was there. Her warmth, her voice, her scent, her love… It was Tara’s, and that was the only person she could imagine taking away the kind of pain that wreaked havoc on her world. She was swallowing a lot of drainage by now though, which wouldn’t be good in a few minutes, so she needed to stop crying. But that was one of the main reasons she tried to never let herself cry in the first place… whenever she did, she never seemed to be able to stop.

And Tara knew that. Like full-blooded siblings, they knew everything about each other. She gently tugged down her still-ridden top in the back, covering the remains of scratch marks. “Try to take a few deep breaths now,” she ordered, rehearsing what she was usually told whenever their roles had been switched. “You don’t wanna swallow too much snot. It’ll mess up your stomach.”

Samantha tried, her breaths still hitching as she did so, but being so close to her sister was making it hard to recover. She would accidentally let go of a small cry, then bite it back with a sharp inhale. She felt so weak. She hated that. She wasn’t supposed to be that way. She had handled so much more than nightmares. Hell, she’d lived nightmares—multiple times. Why was this so hard?

“Sam—”

“I’m try-hying…” she choked out, knowing she needed to show more self-composure. She forced herself to pull away from Tara’s warm figure, sniffling and wiping her tears away. She dug her nails into her bedding, closing her eyes to focus on reality. Her lips pulled inward, and she kept swallowing back the urge to break down again. But eventually, she regained enough to speak without having to stop. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop.” Tara reached out and wiped a remaining tear from her flushed cheek. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize.” Glossy eyes raised to meet her own. “You’ve seen my nightmares a lot. They fucking hurt.”

Sam blinked at her, her breath shuddering with her trembling.

“You don’t ever need to apologize for being hurt.”

She sniffled and nodded, before she hung her head again. Those words coming off of Tara’s tongue were purely out of experience. Tara was hurt a million times and in a million different ways, and every time, it was expressed in some way, shape, or form. But she never apologized for any of it.

Pain is an element that couldn’t be contained or redirected, and therefore, expressing it was never an accident. It was simply the mourning of losing control when it was least expected.

While her big sister continued to recover, Tara slowly backed off of the bed. “I’m gonna go get you some water,” she told her as she turned to make way for the door. To her surprise, she was answered with an anxious voice.

“Wait!”

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m just going to get you some water—”

But Sam stared at her with pleading eyes. “No, no. Please, don’t leave,” she begged, sounding on the verge of tears again.

Her baby sister blinked at her, a little taken aback by the vulnerability she was expressing. “Sam… I’ll be right back, okay? It’ll be less than a minute, I promise,” she assured and gave her a small smile. Then, she tried to lighten the mood. “Time me, if you want.” Actually, that was a perfect distraction. Even though the other didn’t seem too convinced, she instructed, “Yeah, count to 60. I’ll be back before then.”

She raced out of the room.

And Sam counted.

… 36. Tara’s figure reappeared and approached the bedside again. “What’s my time? Were you counting?” She held out the filled cup.

Sam took it with a shaky hand and took a small sip. “36…” she answered.

Tara giggled. “See? I told you I’d make it in less than a minute.” Her sister didn’t smile or show any acknowledgement as she sipped her water again. She then took a seat on the edge, watching her continue to take small, but frequent sips. She was still shaking badly, but her breathing was under control now.

“Tara?” Sam lowered the cup but hesitated to raise her eyes.

“Hmm?”

She looked like an abandoned puppy that had just come in from the pouring rain, when she met her sister’s gaze. Her voice softened, as if what she was saying wasn’t supposed to be heard by anyone but the two of them, “Can you stay with me?”

The younger blinked at her. She couldn’t say this question took her by surprise, but she couldn’t say she expected it either. However, instinct had her nodding anyway, “Yeah, sure.” It was almost like she could see a weight lift off of her sibling as she sighed and went to sit back in a more comfortable position. She took the cup from her hand and set it on the bedside table.

Samantha shuddered, leaning forward to grab the blankets she had mindlessly kicked away. She still couldn’t stop shaking, even though she had calmed down from waking up.

“Wait, wait, Sam.” She was interrupted. “Don’t do that yet.”

“I-I’m cold, Tara…” she objected, watching the other cross the end of the bed to go to her dresser.

“I know, but you need to change into some dry clothes first. That’s why you’re so cold.” Tara pulled out the first top she found from the second drawer down. It was a white cropped tank top, and she paired it with some light gray shorts, before going back to her sister. “Here,” she held them out, “Change into these.”

Sam didn’t fight her as she took them and did as she was told. Meanwhile, she pulled the sheets up and tucked them beneath the pillows, which she flipped over, to avoid them laying on the dampened sheets beneath.

“Can we just sleep with your blanket?” she asked.

The other nodded. “Mm-hmm.” She had now traded her attire completely and placed them in the laundry basket in the corner of her room. As she made her way back, she crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest, her neck and limbs still feeling the chill of the ceiling fan’s billowing.

Tara had already found her way under the ivory blanket and beckoned her to join with a comforting smile. When her big sister complied and laid down next to her, she tugged the cover up and moved closer to her. She wrapped her arm around her torso, her forearm finding the bare portion of her stomach that the top didn’t cover. Her skin felt hot, but she could feel the goosebumps that tainted it, which led to her feeling the tension of her abs convulsing beneath her touch. “Relax, Sammy,” she whispered, her eyes shut as she gently nuzzled the other’s neck in moving to rest her head on her collarbone. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Sam sighed against her now-dry surroundings, still trying to warm up as she shuddered into her little sister’s embrace. She wanted to release all of the tension her body held, but it was like she couldn’t control it. She couldn’t let go. Beneath the covers, she felt Tara’s arm slide backwards to have her hand rest over her exposed skin. She released a shaky moan when her thumb started to pet back and forth over the area, “Mmm…”

“Breathe with your stomach,” Tara continued to whisper, “If you make the effort to force yourself to relax, your body will follow.” And in another moment, she felt the tension underneath her palm start to melt, the warmth of her sister’s abdomen filling her hand. She smiled, “There you go.”

The other shifted further down the mattress, seeming to favor the caressing contact her sibling was giving her, which made the giver chuckle a little.

Tara then heard a soft hum come from her sister and felt the gentle weight of her chin rest against her head. “Now, try to sleep,” she told her, glad that she was finally getting comfortable. “I’m not going anywhere…”

Samantha barely nodded, already starting to drift off. “Thank you, Tara…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She yawned, falling under the same spell.

“Always… Sammy…”

p.s. random nerd note: when Sam said "No, no. Please, don't leave." - that was a quote taken from Melissa's character in the film Bed Rest, Julie Rivers. I had to look up the part to quote it and hearing her say it in the same fearful tone Sam would've said it here... FUCK i felt it. 🤌

All my best! ♡ - parker

#scream #scream v #scream vi #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #ao3 author #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #30 day writing challenge #nightmare #AU: All My Heart

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jamiesfootball · 9 months

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Fic updates for the post-season 3 fic

I’ve somehow stumbled over the 50k words mark 🎉🎉🎉

Dani, who was previously Sir-Not-Appearing-in-This-Fic, somehow wormed his way in and is now appearing in this fic. And somehow this didn’t even dent my outline - he slotted right in like magic. Dani Rojas is life, but he is also magic

I just think it’s criminal that him and Jamie never got to cuddle so I will be fixing that thanks

Why is Nigerian food so hard to research?

Roy is doing both awful and great at therapy, which is definitely not a race

Isaac, Isaac, Isaac. You are a pillar a rock a man of great talents and mystery and I am just loving peeling your layers.

Colin Hughes really is just some guy, huh? (Crying about it)

No really, why is Nigerian food so hard to research

My toxic trait is that I cannot resist putting Jamie Tartt in little outfits. Yes he is depressed and in a self destructive spiral. But also *waves hands* outfits.

Sam Obisanya has a nemesis; former bully surprised and outraged to learn about it, thought he was the only one who was that big of a dick

Me @ Nigerian food blogs - please show me the forbidden spice blends and quit making my browser cry in JavaScript

Jamie’s outfits are plot relevant, actually

On a related note- Fuck James Tartt

Keeley Jones please stop stealing every scene challenge. you are cute as a button and you are going through some stuff but we have an outline to stick to and every time you show up the word count explodes

Except the one scene????? I need you to talk a lot for????? Girl istg

I know y’all like dog metaphors, but do you like them in a non-sexy way? Because i got a lot of that (this is shameless abuse of the making the team mascot into a metaphor ngl. Also that ‘How to be a dog’ poem really fucked me up)

Do I need to spend so much time looking up recipes? No. Am i going to? Yes. I find it very fun, and this entire fic is a shameless exercise of self-indulgence and gooey feelings and found family (and depression and self esteem issues and abuse and finally talking shit out) and I hope it’ll be worth it in the end

#[redacted title] post season three fic #if like one person likes this thing when it’s done I’ll be so happy #bonus news: since the beginning bit is pretty Roy introspection heavy when I need a break #I go work on my jamie falls asleep 5+1 fic #which is almost entirely jamie pov and gosh I like it #fic update #ted lasso fic #anyhoo I just saw the notification that ‘Cityzens’ updated so I’m gonna take a breather and enjoy that for a bit

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steddiebang · 6 months

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the freaks who could never love anyone (October 10) author: dima (ao3/bsky/tumblr/twitter) / artist: robin (tumblr / twitter) Hawkins High School’s show choir group, the Treble Tigers, is in desperate need of new members. Eddie Munson, the group’s de facto student leader, is well aware that they need to do anything they can to be in contention for Nationals.

But Eddie immediately finds himself at odds with one of their latest members, Steve Harrington. A prototypical pompous jock that has no place in a group that’s meant for misfits. But when Steve starts opening up about the many secrets he’s carrying, Eddie realizes that he might need the Treble Tigers to go to Nationals as much as Eddie does.

Tell Me Then Would You Lend A Hand (October 13) Author: funeralbeldam / Artist: rrrrraatt An exploration of Steve’s trauma. How it affects his everyday life, opens him up to Vecna, and sends him on a path of self discovery as the world is ending. His relationships with his friends - most notably one Eddie Munson - and how he views his own self worth. How one man will tear down Steve’s curtain to reveal the truth inside, through the power of music. Who says metalheads and jocks -turning-punks can’t get along?

scheming on a thing (October 14) Author: greatunionic (ao3 / tumblr) / Artist: daysarestranger / singinginmay It’s 1994, and Eddie’s been a guest of Uncle Sam at Pelican Bay since it opened in ‘89, when his public defender stopped defending and he resigned himself to the sixth to life bag the Spring Break of ‘86 had left him holding. Sure, the series of frantic transfers that made Wayne and the party lose track of him (and cost him his unlikely prison penpal, Steve Harrington) truly were a bummer, but life’s actually not too bad, in the long run: he’d got three hots and a cot, ya know, and sometimes a few of the other inmates actually believe him when he tells them he’s innocent. Still — the new lawyer and paralegal shaped suspiciously like one Erica Sinclair is starting to give him pause, and make him wonder if the story’s not quite over yet…

Or: a story about seven letters, the worst love song ever written, and a heist.

Of Space and Time (October 15) Author: @appledagger / Artist: @Ahhrenata / Additional Art: @appledagger, @betwixtandbetweenn In 2073, the world is still moving forward despite arid climates and the quick relay race between man and machine. Within the walls of the hospital center at Vecna Labs, Steve Harrington has just woken up after an accident inside the depths of the classified sections of the lab. Stricken with amnesia, he is brought to Edward Munson’s home to recover and to be observed during his recovery after experimental treatments had brought him back from the brink of death. In Edward’s home, Steve finds question after question. Why does Eddie seem to hate him so much? What do all the observations have to do with his accident? What exactly is going on with his malfunctioning mind, and what does this all have to do with Creel and Vecna’s tech monopoly? All the while, Steve struggles with the feeling that there was something more to his relationship with Eddie that he can’t quite understand.

Road to Nowhere (October 14) Author: @sharpbutsoft / Artist: @patternscolorsflowers Eddie Munson isn’t dead, and he’s trying not to make it everyone’s problem. After the horrorshow that was Spring Break, he’s been keeping to himself, attending his “legally you cannot call this a bribe but, yes, obviously it’s a bribe” physical therapy sessions, and trying to recover from his brief but violent death. Enter Steve Harrington, and his compulsive need to be useful, who’s volunteered to taxi him to and from these sessions (with minimal bitching.) This newfound friendship isn’t without its challenges though. Steve, not the best with his words, struggles to define his feelings for Eddie, who has it in his head that the only reason they’re not together yet, is because he’s not better yet. When an argument threatens to snuff out the sparks flying between them, Eddie has to learn that better is a journey, not a destination, and one he doesn’t have to take alone…

The Ones Who Know (October 15) Author: @tacticat / @hereforthesteddie / Artist: @miloboiwonder / @milotheboywonder / Artist: @donttellunclesam “Robs, Eddie’s mad at me. I did something wrong, I think. I don’t really know.“

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"We were watching movies last night and we-” his throat closes up on him and he struggles to take in a deep breath. “We kissed."

"What!?” The unlucky customers waiting on them can probably hear her, she reacts so loudly.

“I know! I wasn’t expecting it."

A look of confusion crosses her face.

"Wait but Steve, you’re-”

“Straight? I know!”

Does he, though? She gives him a curious look that seems to ask the same question.

Steve didn’t used to like being someone who knows, when that meant keeping secrets about horrifying and heartbreaking things. But now that he’s learning beautiful and precious secrets about the people who are important to him, he’s starting to learn that being one of the ones who know doesn’t have to be so bad.

change your mind (October 16) Author: helix_stomper / Artist: horsegirleddiemunson After his breakup with Nancy, Steve Harrington keeps it a secret that he hasn’t made an effort to meet his soulmate. When he accidentally wakes up next to them a few days after his 18th birthday, he’s surprised to find that it’s not only another guy, but somebody else in Hawkins. Between losing all his old friends, learning how not to be an asshole, and balancing his newfound sexuality in a closed-minded town, Steve has his work cut out for him. Eddie Munson doesn’t believe in soulmates, but that doesn’t stop him from waiting in the dreamscape every night for his. Balancing life as an openly queer, drug-dealing super senior in Hawkins, Indiana is no cakewalk, especially with Billy Hargrove on his ass. But maybe, just maybe, there’s something to that whole soulmate thing after all.

Drowning In Your Love (October 20) Author: @steveshairychest / steveshairychest /Artist: parasite_z (twitter) / @parasite-z

There’s something so enticing about forbidden love, about yearning for someone that you know you can’t have. Eddie knows he’s breaking every oath he took on the day of his knighting, but he can’t help but be drawn to the golden prince that beckons him with a sharp tooth smile. It’s forbidden to speak with the merfolk that occupy the ocean around the city but Eddie has never been very good at following the rules, especially when he’s got his hands tangled in a beautiful merman’s soft hair. Each day, he finds himself with his toes in the sand and with his heart in the hands of Steve Harrington, the heir to the merkingdom. They meet in secret at the rockpools, and the more Eddie learns about the prince, the harder it becomes to keep away. His knights oath to never take a lover gnaws at the back of his mind the first time he presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. Things become difficult when the Queen of the merkingdom starts to pressure Steve to take the necessary steps required of him to become King, the first being to choose a bride. But Steve doesn’t want any of the maidens that his mother forces him to meet. He wants the knight in clunky armor that brings him treasures from the human world, the knight that he shared his first kiss with under the light of the moon. Forbidden love is never easy. It hurts and bares its teeth just when you thought things were going well. Will Steve and Eddie be able to make it through unscathed?

Nobody’s Baby (October 22) Author: ArtaxLivs / Artist: LexPlexDraws It’s Dirty Dancing but Steddie Style. Steve is a privileged young college graduate who is supposed to spend one last summer with the family at an upscale resort but stumbles in unexpected friendships with some of the resort’s employees. Eddie is the dance instructor with a chip on his shoulder. An impossible situation makes them unwilling dance partners but maybe the possibility of trust will make them more than that.

it’s a lonely world when everyone knows your name (October 23) Author: @whataboutthefish / Artist: @hawkinsleather and on Twitter Steve Harrington had a nemesis, Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson. The only thing was, Eddie didn’t know. Eddie Munson was the face of the decade and fashion’s darling, but his hard partying ways and lack of professionalism- in Steve’s opinion- had him seething. When Steve was paired with Eddie for a photo shoot he was already anticipating hating the whole ordeal. What he didn’t expect was Eddie being more than just his persona.

Hottest Alpha Model Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington just might be wrong about Omega Supermodel Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson.

My Dad, Your Papa, Our Father (October 25) Author: @strangerthingssteddiebrainrot / Artist: @waldos-art Steve thought a memorial for the fallen if Hawkins lab was pretentious and insincere. He wasn’t the only one. But if he hadn’t come, he probably wouldn’t have found out about, this. So really, it could be argued, understood even, that he was completely taken off guard when a picture of one of the deceased scientists was placed on the memorial table and he couldn’t control what came out of his mouth, loud enough that there was no way everybody didn’t hear it. “Dad!?”

A Haunted House With A Picket Fence (October 25) author: Quinn (ao3/tumblr/twitter) / artist: AtlasMoth666 (twitter) Eddie Munson is no stranger to bad choices. It’s how he ended up a single father selling drugs to keep him and his kid clothed and fed. Dumb choices have him fleeing Chicago in the middle of the night and renting a place in his shitty hometown in Indiana while he plans his next move.

It’s also how he ends up asking his stupidly hot neighbor to babysit his daughter while he goes on a last-minute job interview, and much to his surprise, stupid-hot neighbor agrees. And it turns out he’s not just handsome, but funny, a great cook, he loves Eddie’s weirdo kid, and may just be the love of Eddie’s life.

If only starting over and escaping his past was that easy.

after all this time (i’m still into you) (October 26) Author: oriscribes / Artist: unspcfiedfigure / Artist: @hellfireloserclub Steve just wanted to keep working on his TV show, but due to some clauses buried in his contract he’d been coerced into a fake dating scheme. Which was especially stupid because Munson didn’t even like him. Steve should know, Munson had already rejected him years ago. Eddie just wanted to keep his head down until his contract ran out so he could get back to writing with Corroded Coffin instead of doing this idol shit. He wasn’t counting on getting outed and having to do damage control… by pretending to date someone who he maybe sorta had (has?) a huge crush on. OR: Steve pretends that if he keeps calling Eddie by his last name then he won’t develop any feelings to go with that crush he’d been trying to forget about. Meanwhile, Eddie is trying to figure out what went wrong years ago and if this time could be different.

how greedy my heart (October 27) Author: @matchingbatbites / Artist: @amethyst-crowns After his first encounter with the Upside Down, Steve needs something to help him relax. He gets more than he expects from drug dealer Eddie Munson, who pulls him into a world of gentle care, good feelings, and calm that he’s never experienced before.

All Eyes on Me in the Center of the Ring (October 28) Author: a_lil_a_lot - twitter / tiktok / bsky / tumblr / Artist: bienmoreau - twitter Ex-Olympic gymnast, Steve Harrington, is politely asked to not return to college after the summer - upon his return to his hometown, he’s not expecting a trip to the circus with his best friend to have such an impact on him. Just when he thinks he’s run out of options, he takes a chance in following the Munson Family Circus and finds not only something he enjoys, but a place where he belongs.

(he’s) a runaway foal that doesn’t know where to go (October 31) Author: @patti_cake08 (twitter)/ @moltenchocolatelavacake Steve Harrington has always loved too much, he knows this. And yet he’s never been enough for anybody. It’s why relationships never work out for him. But he tried again because of course he did. Always too stupid for his own good, his feelings were bullshit. A week after having his heart broken by a man he believed he’d meant more to than flirty phone calls and occasional fucks, Steve ends up at Forest Hills Trailer Park. He’d gone looking for a reprieve, a comfort, a way out of his grief. Instead he finds a pair of pale arms and a yearning heart eager to help him heal and, maybe, show him his love is enough.

#steddiebang23 weekly roundup #steddiebang23 #sorry this one is a bit long - we collected some late submissions plus the last two weeks of october #we're back to weekly round-ups this sunday!

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bullet-prooflove · 8 months

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Trust Issues - Crockett Marcel x Reader (feat: Sam Abrams)

Tagging: @cosmic-psychickitty @celilice1 @kabloswrld @anime-weeb-4-life @fredandgeorgeweasley11 @99-reasons-to-live @legit9thlunaticwarrior @telepathay @teti-menchon0604 @depxiety @lelaart @mortal--soul @iworldlywriter @nu1freakshow @kylieramey @nothinbtannika @thebewingedjewelcat @irishavengersassemble

Takes place during Through The Dark in the scenes between their first meeting and their second.

Prequel to Because of You

Crockett has trust issues. He has since he opened up to Natalie about his daughter and then subsequently had his heart broken by her. He’s the first woman he loved after this ex-wife Claire and the only one he has ever told about Harper. He knows he’s messed up, that there’s a darkness in him that he fights with booze, women and a good time because Natalie’s rejection, it still stings.

In the aftermath of meeting you, he thinks about that. In fact he thinks about you often. You’re the first person to call him on his bullshit since Natalie left, and he finds it oddly refreshing. He wonders if that’s why he’s so attracted to you because you challenge him in ways that no one else has. You may have said some pretty shitty things to him but the thing is every single one of them were true.

“The problem is, she’s right.” He tells Sam Abrams as the two of them sit at the end of the bar in Molly’s. It’s been a tough day, the two of them had collaborated on a surgery with a low chance of success. It had gone as well as it could have, now they just need to see if their patient is actually going to wake up. It’s a waiting game, one that the two of them hate playing. “I wasn’t ready to deal with it.”

“I didn’t even know you had a daughter until today.” Sam remarks, watching the ice cubes in his Scotch clack together as he swills them around. “I think that in itself shows you’re making progress.”

Crockett contemplates that. This is the first time he’s mentioned Harper to anyone, and he knows it’s because of the kid lying in that hospital bed reminds him so much of his daughter that it kills him deep inside. Sam sighs, pulling out a silver Parker Pen with his initials engraved upon it before scribbling something down onto a napkin and using his fingertips to shove it towards Crockett. It’s a name with a line of digits underneath, a phone number he realises.

“My wife’s a counsellor.” Sam explains. “She actually gets paid to listen to people. She’s not taking on new clients at the moment but if you tell her I sent you she’ll make the time.”

Crockett stares down at the napkin clutched in his hand.

“You think I need therapy?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders.

“I think you need something.” He informs the other man. “Therapy, an intervention, probably something along those lines. I think you’ve gotten used to numbing the pain instead of dealing with it and at some point, in the future it’s going to affect your judgement. I don’t want to see an excellent surgeon lose sight of what’s important because he isn’t taking care of himself.”

Crockett feels his jaw tighten at the insinuation. He opens his mouth to say something but stops himself because it occurs to him that Sam doesn’t waste his breath. If he didn’t think there was an issue, he wouldn’t have handed over his wife’s number. This is his way of trying to help without getting all fuzzy about it.

“Fine.” He says, tucking the napkin into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow morning, see if she can fit me in.”

Love Crockett? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#doctor crockett marcel #marcel crockett #crockett marcel x you #crockett marcel x reader #crockett marcel

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bottle-of-harpoons · 23 days

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Hey gamers, wanna see some cringe? *starts showing you my Mary Sue self insert*

I made this back when my hair was blue oof.

This is Mono. She's from the burning gates of hell AKA England AKA Galar.

Basic run down of her backstory.

She is from Chirchester. Both her and her childhood friend/rival, Gunner, struggled to get sponsorships to start the League challenge.

After sometime, they were eventually sponsored by Mono's uncle who ran a small business. But to Gunner and Mono, it felt like they were sponsored as a favour rather than because they were recognised as strong trainers.

They were completely overshadowed by the other trainers in the gym challenge. No matter how many gym badges they got or how many battles they won, they weren't seen as 'marketable' by the media.

Gunner believed it was because they saw her as weak and began to train harder. Soon her rivalry with Mono became toxic. They were pushing each other too hard and Gunner started taking her aggression out on Mono.

It got worse when Gunner and Mono were battling and Gunner continued to attack after Mono was defeated. She kept chanting about how Mono needed to get stronger and she was making her look bad as her rival.

Gunner ended up damaging Claus's leg and knocking out Mono in the process. They were saved when Sam (Mono's cinderace) was able to get them to the nearest pokemon center.

Mono was too scared to talk about what happened. She was so used to being ignored by the media, she believed they wouldn't listen.

During her journey, Gunner learns more about the darkest day and how a captured eternatus is kept at Marco Cosmos. She breaks into the facility during Mono's match and summons eternatus.

Mono helps some trainers take down eternatus and stop the darkest day. Gunner is arrested, however she is released as, due to eternatus going on a rampage, there isn't any clear records of how this all happened. Gunner was able to claim they were 'controlled by eternatus' and because there was nothing proving otherwise, she was let off with a lenient punishment.

Mono was too scared to come forward about Gunners pattern of shitty behaviour. She couldn't take the guilt and paranoia and she ended up running away from Galar. She's traveling around different regions but for now, she's staying in Kitikami.

She's slowly working up the courage to go back home but she chickens out every time.

Some fun facts

She's a dark and fire type specialist but also works with ground types.

Her outfit is based on Piers because she's primarily a dark type user.

Because she's a dark type specialist, she's nocturnal.

Theivul and Cinderace are her comfort mons and she takes them with her to every region (even if they aren't aloud)

Zamazenta is also a comfort mon for her (sort of like Kieran and Ogerpon but less obsessive) however, she doesn't believe she's worthy enough to capture zamazenta.

She worked for the subway bosses for a bit, as a night staff announcer.

She was originally an announcer during the day time but she kept swearing into the mic and they moved her to night shift to stop her from scarring the children.

Her pupils glow red from dynamax energy. All galarians can do this.

Her first pokemon was a growlithe names Sam who was the family pet. She wanted him to be her starter on her journey but Sam died of a heart condition before they could go. She instead named her starter (a scorbunny) after him.

Her Galar team consisted of Sam (cinderace), Blue (corviknight), Claus (theivul), Rocky (obstagoon), Harpoon (boltund) and Jake (noivern). She switches them around with other pokemon when traveling different regions.

She's a reck. She's constantly anxious and is quick to run away from her problems.

She needs therapy.

Please ignore any spelling errors. I'm not very smart.

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thatonebirdwrites · 5 months

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Can I just say I fucking love Sam Arias? Of COURSE, she's back! Honestly, I think showrunners had to send her away because Lena wouldn't have gone to the darkest of places because Sam would have been there to remind her that there is some hope in humanity, because Sam never lied to her. Sam is basically her best buddy, her wingwoman.

Sam would have talked her out of Non Nocere by asking just the right questions, and Lena would likely say, "Ugh, Sam, stop making me think and feel."

Sam would reply, "You know, I think you need a hug now." Upon which, Lena would be all grouchy but allow it. And of course Ruby would appear out of nowhere to tackle Lena in a surprise hug, and who can be angsty and despairing with that kid around? In this essay I will....

EXCERPT From Near the Start of The Chapter:

“Hey.” Sam’s voice draws her out of her research haze. “You unable to sleep?” She stands in the kitchen’s archway, her eyebrows scrunched in concern. She’s wearing navy blue pajama pants and a large T-shirt with a crow on it, and her shoulder-length brown hair falls in soft waves.

Lena shrugs. “Nightowl. Why are you up? You should be resting.”

“I normally wake at six,” Sam says, amused. “May I join you?” Sam gestures to the other stool in front of the counter.

“Sure.” Turning back to her search, she clicks through another record, the translation program she ad-hoc-ed for Irish in the other window.

“What are you researching?” Sam fills a glass with water and settles on the stool next to her.

“My adoption papers were missing,” Lena says, absently. The screen is a little hazy, so she reluctantly puts on her glasses back on. Later, she’ll switch to contacts. “Searching Irish records for my birth currently.”

“Why would they be missing?” Sam frowns.

Lena sighs. “Lillian hated that I was Irish. I thought she hated me in general, but when I put a truthseeker on her a few weeks ago, she…” The memory is laced with shock and pain still. “… she said she loved me. I don’t know what that means. Her actions have always been hurtful.”

“Abusive people can still love, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy,” Sam says, her voice soft.

Lena glances at her friend. “Therapy is making you wise, Sam.”

“Well, it’s got to be good for something, right?” Sam sips her water. “Love is a complicated topic for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Lena clicks through to the next page and narrows the search on her birthdate. Or at least the one the Luthors have used for her. The more she digs into her Irish past, the more she realizes the lies her adopted family told her. It infuriates her.

“What is love, Sam?” Lena pushes back from her laptop and looks at her friend. No, more than a friend. A sister - part of Lena’s chosen family. “I understand it scientifically. A series of chemicals in our brain and nervous system that induces feelings of connection.”

Sam studies her, her brown eyes thoughtful. “It’s more than that.”

Lena gestures for her to continue.

“Fair warning,” Sam holds up her hands. “I’m going to be super sappy now.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “I don’t think you can defeat Kara’s sap.”

“Now that’s a challenge!” Sam grins, but then her smile fades, and her gaze unfocuses. “Love is warmth. Hope. A connection that bridges time and space. It’s how I survived Reign.” She pauses to rub her hand on her leg, a sure sign she’s nervous. “When I was trapped in that damn forest, I wrote Ruby’s name, my name, yours, and I kept writing it. It was my love for all of you that kept me fighting. Kept me hoping you’d find the cure, and you did. All of you did. That connection, that feeling of vulnerability love creates? It’s the strongest force in the universe. Not even Reign could destroy it, and we both know she tried.”

“Love as a force, that’s not one I’ve heard before,” Lena tries to quip, but instead, she finds herself tearing up again. She turns back to her laptop. “Dammit, I didn’t cry this much before Kara died and I resurrected her.”

“Lena, what’s really going on?” Sam’s gentle concern only makes Lena want to cry more.

“I think I’m in love with Kara,” Lena blurts it out before she loses her nerve. “But I don’t know how to trust her again. She lied to me for years, Sam. I keep telling her that I’m working through the hurt. I want to forgive her, but I just…”

“You’re angry.”

The moment Sam says it, Lena realizes she is. She is angry. So very angry. It surprises and alarms her. How much of her rage lately relates to Kara's confession then? How much to Kara's death, where Lena's rage and grief magically brings Kara back? Or at Lex orchestrating Kara’s death?

Unnerved, she traces her finger along the edge of the counter. Parsing intricately layered emotions like this feels insurmountable. Like she's climbing a massive mountain with little to no gear. It brings to mind that dark void Dreamer and her got stuck in when her attempt at a safe space imploded. For Jack's death, she was numb, the grief apparently shoved deep down, but for Kara, she is the exact opposite - a boiling cauldron of emotion.

#supercorp #sam arias #lena luthor #kara x lena #kara zor el #kara danvers #supergirl cw #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #read it on ao3 #Sam Arias appreciation post #Sam and Lena's friendship #fencing with Lena

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jawritter · 1 year

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Carry On

Chapter 4

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2964

Warnings: Dean coming to terms with his new reality, so let’s just say it’s some tension in the room. Graphic injury. Me botching medical jargon, A lot of pain. Hospital setting. Angst.

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67 Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

My Mastlist Series Masterlist

The doctor had spent over an hour with Dean explaining to him the nature of his injuries, and the long road ahead of him. The whole time he was in with them Dean kept his hand tightly laced in Y/N’s. She didn’t know for sure if it was because he knew he needed to keep up the ‘husband and wife act’, or if there was something more to it, but his face showed no emotions. He laid there in a stoned silence, swallowing thickly on occasion; never saying a word.

As far as a case of a hard pill to swallow goes, someone telling a person they should be dead, they were lucky to be alive; but they were going to possibly have chronic nerve pain for the rest of their life; that they physically never would get back to running at 100%, that walking at first was even going to be a challenge even though the paralysis should only be temporary, was a hard fucking pill to swallow for normal people. Now, tell that to someone who has only known hunting their whole life, and you have an almost impossible pill to swallow. Hell, for Dean it was like trying to gulp down the entire bottle.

Dean had come through a lot of things in life normal people should have never come through. Dean had been to literal hell and back, died countless times, fought God himself. But this, this was going to be what ultimately ended his career. There was no ‘miracle’ or ‘divine intervention’ coming this time.

Since Chuck had been put in his place, and Jack had taken over, things had gotten relatively normal. They hunt basic monsters like they had in the past. Demons found themselves under a greater measure of control, so they kept their place. The ‘big bads’ were fewer and farther in between, and Dean had played with the idea of becoming a firefighter or a police officer, and getting out of hunting all together, but never got to do it, and now he wouldn’t ever get to do it if walking again was going to be a challenge.

The doctor assured Dean over and over again that the paralysis was most likely only caused by the swelling around the spinal cord and the trauma he endured there. That as the swelling subsided, he’d slowly regain feeling again. But that didn’t really make Dean feel better in that moment, and she knew that by the blank, sick look on his face as they talked about physical therapy to help with mobility again. The bottom line was that they really didn’t know the extent of the damage to his spinal cord, if there was any, or to his spine itself until the swelling was gone. There was still a possibility that he’d need more surgerys, or even might have to spend some time in a wheelchair before he became fully mobile again. Dean didn’t say anything, but Y/N could tell that was something that he wasn’t happy to hear by the way his grip only tightened on her hand the more the man talked.

Finally, when the doctor was done, and Dean’s pain was manageable, at least to a point that he wasn’t practically withering, the way he’d been when he’d first woken up, and he was able to eat something; they took the trio downstairs to what would be Dean’s home away from home for the foreseeable future. He’d have to stay in that room until he could go home and finish his recovery; which the doctor said totally depended on how fast his body healed itself. It could be two weeks; it could be upwards of a month. Really, there were still so many questions, and very few answers.

There had been countless people around the three of them from the point Dean’s eyes had opened, until they were rolled down to his room. They were surrounded by doctors, and nurses of different sorts, but when Dean was settled into his room, and the door was closed by the final charge nurse for the evening; Sam, Dean, and Y/N where left alone, that’s when the exhaustion started to settle in on Y/N as well as Dean. She looked up at the clock to find that it was no longer early in the morning, but rather it was closer to around five in the afternoon.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked worriedly as she moved away from where she’d been standing next to the bed. After all, no one was here now, there was no need to keep up the act anymore was there? “You’re not leaving are you?”

“No Dean,” she assured him, coming to sit back down in the chair next to his bed; he immediately reached for her hand again as soon as she was close enough. She’d be a liar if she said it didn’t make her heart flutter in her chest just a little that Dean wanted her to be close to him, when she thought that when he woke up it would be just the opposite. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to leave. I’ve been here the whole time; I don’t plan on leaving now, I’m in this with you for the long haul, if you want me to be.”

Dean closed his eyes and took as deep of a breath as his battered body would allow him, a large tear rolled down his freckle dusted cheek, and into the crease of his nose before it disappeared into the corner of his mouth. Y/N did the only thing she knew to do to comfort him, and that was run her fingers through his short, disheveled hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay Dean,” she tried, but she watched as he quickly shoved down whatever weakness he was feeling again as if it never was, and opened his eyes to look around the room, looking for a distraction because clearly, he just wasn’t ready to talk yet.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked finally, not finding his brother in the room.

“He’s gone downstairs to grab our bags,” Y/N told him and he nodded slightly as he looked around at the too white walls, the small TV that set perched on the wall just opposite of the hospital bed, and the little couch that lay against the window in the room that would be Y/N’s bed from now on until he was able to go home.

“Where have you all been staying?” He questioned, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Well, I’ve been here, I haven’t left since the night you got here, but Sam has been staying at the hotel with Eileen and Miracle. He went to retrieve them the night you got hurt. They’re looking for an apartment for you to stay at until you’re able to travel back to the bunker.”

Dean’s mouth formed a thin line and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing of what he was thinking, instead choosing to keep it to himself. Y/N had a feeling he hadn’t thought that far ahead, and knowing he was stuck in this town and state a little longer wasn’t something he was thrilled about all together.

“What about my Baby?” Dean questioned, and Y/N pulled the keys out and placed them on his chest. Dean swallowed thickly and grabbed them tightly in his free hand.

“She’s been here with me while I stayed with you, and Sam said he’s going to leave her here while he uses the car he drove back from the bunker,” she informed him.

“Please don’t leave me here alone,” Dean said again, grief starting to take hold of his features no matter how much he tried to push it down again, and it broke her heart. “Sam, he’s got… He’s going to need to leave to check on, or go on hunts now since I can’t, and he’s— just please don’t leave me.”

“Hey, easy,” she said, quickly getting up from her seat and sitting gingerly on the side of the bed next to him as his chest started to rise and fall rapidly, and his heart rate shot up on the monitors. The weight of everything started to fall hard on him, and honestly, she was surprised he did as well as he’d done for this long.

“I’m here Dean, I’m here, and I’m going to be here, through the surgeries if they’re needed, the physical therapy, all of it. You’d literally have to run me off, and I don’t scare easily. I’ve got you Dean, and Sam does too. He’s out there doing the things I can’t while I’m here with you, and between us we will get you back on your feet again, but I ain’t leaving, handsome. You’re stuck with me, okay?”

Dean huffed out as deep of a breath as he could manage in order to real in the emotions he’d let slip as Sam opened the door, still shaking the rain from his long hair and bags hanging off of his shoulders as he made his way over to the couch and laid them down on the floor by the corner of the couch.

“Okay,” Sam said with an exasperated huff as he turned to face Dean and Y/N. “I think I got everything. There are more of Dean’s clothes in the car, but I didn’t really see the point of bringing them all up right now, because he can’t exactly get dressed until his back has healed and they’ve taken the catheter out. I did get your clothing Y/N, as well as everyone’s phone chargers, laptop, and chargers for those. If there is anything else you guys need, I can go and buy it.”

Sam looked so tired and so disheveled as he flopped heavily down onto the little couch, his eyes locked on Dean’s as they stared at one another in a heavy silence.

“I swear Dean, I didn’t—”

“Okay,” Dean cut in, before turning to look at the wall in front of him. “I believe you Sam, just… let it go, okay?”

“But–”

“Look, shit happened, okay? If you didn’t make a deal, then it just wasn’t my time to go, even if I would have been better off dead.”

“Dean, that’s not true!” Y/N cut in quickly, and Dean just shook his head, his face set in stone. His emotions were all over the place, and Y/N expected that, who wouldn't be? But she did NOT want him thinking he’d been better off dead, because she just couldn’t imagine living one day in a world where he didn’t exist.

“Dean you’re not going to stay like this forever man, you will get better, it’s just… It’s just going to be a process, but you got this,” Sam tried, but Dean gave no response, he just closed his eyes and grimaced slightly.

“Go home for a while Sammy. You’ve been up here all day, and I’m sure Eileen is gonna start to worry after a while. I don’t think they’re going to do anything else to me tonight, but if they do I’ll be sure to have Y/N call you. You look exhausted.”

Sam’s mouth set in a tight line, but he didn’t argue with Dean, he just nodded his head and stood. There would be a time to hash things out with Dean, but when he was still processing his own fate, it wasn’t the time nor the place, if he wanted to be alone for a while with Y/N, Sam certainly wasn’t going to argue with that.

“If you guys need something, just call, I’m only about five minutes up the road.” Sam offered, placing a hand on his brother's arm briefly before he walked to the door. Dean watched him go with an unreadable look on his face, watching him until he closed it completely behind him.

“He means well Dean, he just—he doesn’t really know how to process this I don’t think,” Y/N attempted, and Dean snorted slightly before closing his eyes and resting his head against the hand that was still playing with his hair.

“Well, that makes two of us, because fuck if I don’t either,” Dean admitted before running his hand down his face grimacing at the movement and the amount of stubble he found there.

“How long was I out again?” he asked.

“Four days,” she answered, and laughed at the face he made as he scratched at the stubble, well, more of a beard almost at that point, on his face.

“We’ll see about digging out the electric razor tomorrow and cleaning that up some,” Y/N said with a chuckle.

Dean swore under his breath and his eyes diverted to the window, streaks of rain slid down the cloud gray glass, and a slight roll of thunder echoed outside, making Y/N look that way briefly as well.

“I would have never thought—fuck me,” Dean said, taking a shaky breath. “This is not how I anticipated that hunt to end.”

“I don’t think anyone of us could have Dean, there was nothing we could have done to have known or prevent it—”

“No, I could have prevented it. I fucked up. I made a rookie’s mistake. I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings. Those damn pieces of rebar were everywhere in that barn. I should have never been dumb enough to put myself between one and that fucking vamp.”

“Well, it’s too late to worry about that now, the damage is done, we can’t reverse it, all you can do is heal from it, so stop beating yourself up over things you can’t change,” Y/N scolded him, and Dean smirked slightly.

“But beating myself up is my nature sweetheart,” he attempted to jest, but it fell short, his breath was starting to come out in short pants and grunts more than smooth intakes of air, and he was starting to sweat slightly. His hands started to tremble as he held onto Y/N’s hand, as well as the blanket that lay flat over him.

“Dean,” Y/N said, standing to her feet, worry laced in her voice as she took in the state of him and hit the nurse call button. “What’s wrong?”

“Pain’s back,” he admitted through gritted teeth, and the nurse came rushing through the door with a syringe in her hand.

“I’m sorry Mr. Clearwater,” she apologized as she hurried to give him the pain medication. “I was on my way to your room when another patient coded, and you ended up going over the time for your medication. It should kick in quickly.”

Y/N sat quietly, watching him breathe into it, his eyes shut tight as he could get them, until finally, after about a minute he relaxed, and slowly released the death grip on Y/N’s hand before looking up at her with exhausted green eyes, and the nurse placed a hand on his knee.

“You’ve been up for a long time, try and get some sleep while that medication’s working, okay?” she said, giving his knee a slight pat before leaving the room, and Dean nodded, his eyes heavy from the medication, and the exhaustion of everything that seemed to come crashing down around him today.

“Promise you will be here when I wake up?” Dean questioned, his words slurred slightly, and Y/N smiled as he tucked the covers around him. Even though it fucking broke her to see him like this. She hated it. Hated every minute of it. He didn’t need to see that though. All he needed to see was that she was there for him, and that’s all she intended to let him see.

“I’m gonna be right here handsome, I promise. Hellhounds couldn’t drag me away.”

Forever:

@demongirl1996

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@jensenslady79

@wittysunflower

@spnwoman

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@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma

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#Carry On #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #dean winchester series #dean series #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn series #hurt!dean winchester #hurt!dean #jawritter #jensen ackles

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ashboy-3 · 7 months

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Haunt Separation

Fandom: Danny Phantom Prompt: Haunt Character: Tucker, Danny, Sam, & Frostbite Words: 881 Summary: With Danny's acceptance to college, he is discovering a new challenge. Haunt separation. Luckily he has his local ghost doctor to go to to help solve this problem; Frostbite.

The first time Danny left Amity after the portal accident was an experience. His core hurt for a reason that he couldn’t explain. The longer he was gone the more he longed for his home. If it was longer than a week, then Danny would be in physical pain at the separation between him and Amity.

It was never really anything that he had to worry about.

That was until he got accepted in college. A college that was all the way in California. He was ecstatic! This was the college that he worked all year for. The college the Lancer put a lot of work into helping him get into. It completely slipped his mind about his separation problem.

He could shout to the sun how grateful he was for his friends. His best friends who keep track of everything for him. Who keep his life in check. Who have been a bigger help since he was announced Prince of the Ghost Zone and suddenly had more responsibility.

“Remember Danny you have an appointment in the Far Frozen with Frostbite. It’s your bi-monthly check up,” Tucker informed him as they walked towards Casper High.

“It’s after school, right?” Danny lifted an eyebrow. Ever since the whole college and king business both fell into his lap he’s been worried more about his human life. It took a few therapy sessions to realize that his human half was just as important as his ghost half, especially with all of the extra responsibilities.

“You are correct. You are meeting with Lancer during your lunch period to study and makeup on some work. After school you go to Frostbite and then you have Greek lessons with Pandora and finally Esperanto lessons with Wolfe. It’s not packed today, but we did that on purpose. After that you come back and we got started on Homework,” Tucker taped away on his trustful PDA.

“Nothing to do with the council today?” Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Not today. Saturday however you will be in meetings all day.”

“Don’t forget to ask Frostbite about the pain you feel when leaving Amity,” Sam said, now joining the two on their way to school.

“Okay. Got it!” Danny said confidently, not seeing the look his two best friends were sharing.

“Here is a cliff notes version checklist of everything. We can handle any ghost that come along,” Sam promised as she handed him a small piece of paper.

“Thank you, guys. . .really,” Danny hugged the best friends he ever could have had, the trio walking into the school.

It was after school, Danny was now in the Far Frozen, in a warm hut, sitting with Frostbite.

“How have things been Great One?” the yeti asked.

“Chill. Pun intended,” Danny smiled at his old friend.

“Well, you are in normal health, nothing wrong. Any questions?”

“Actually, I do have one,” at the Yeti’s quirked eyebrow, Danny decided to continue. “When I leave Amity for to long I get this pain in my core. It becomes physically more painful the longer I’m gone. It wouldn’t be a problem but I’m moving to California for college soon.”

“Sounds to me like a haunt separation,” Frostbite scratched his cheek.

“a what?”

“Ah. Let me explain. When a ghost primarily lives in the outside world, they have a haunt. Where they reside, if you will. Well, the longer the ghost lives there the stronger their bond to the haunt is. Making it painful for the ghost to leave.”

“Well, is there a way to reverse it!?” Danny was shocked.

“Of course! It’s a little difficult and I’m sad to say it will take time out of your schedule,” Frostbite warned.

“Well, it’s something that has to be done. So, I’ll just have to make time,” Danny shrugged.

“In that case here’s the remedy. Fly out of Amity, till you feel the pain in your core. Sit down and just mess around or meditate for thirty minutes. Every few days it should extend a little bit further, until the bond is canceled out,” Frostbite smiled.

“That’s it?” Danny was confused.

“Yep! Nothing to big. Like I said just do something at the spot you first feel the pain. It should slowly get farther. Anything else?” Frostbite asked.

“Nope that was it. Thanks Frostbite! I’ll see you at the meeting Saturday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it Great One,” the two said their goodbye’s as Danny flew to his next meeting. Once he was done with all of his things that day he called Sam and Tucker, letting them knew what Frostbite had to say.

“Done, added to your schedule. From now on you have a forty-minute haunt time. This should be enough for travel and the thirty minutes for extending haunt times,” Tucker said into the phone.

“Give us a few days and we can probably find a way to merge it with homework or something, that way you still have time for other things,” Sam told him.

“Alright. If we’re lucky we can break this bond soon,” Danny said into the phone, saying night to his friends.

Lo and behold, as time went on the pain became less and less until Danny was able to leave Amity with no feelings. Just in time for him to leave for college.

#ectoberhaunt23 #danny phantom #danny fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #frostbite #eh haunt #eh day 5 #ghost king danny

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talesofadragon · 2 years

Text

𝐉𝐢𝐠𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬

Synopsis: Bucky thought he was fine. He was a free man, had established a strong friendship with Sam, and was finally done with his mediocre therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor. But after an unexpected talk with Pepper and a guilt trip down memory lane, he realizes that he’s nowhere near where he wants to be. Having no other alternative to clear his overcrowded mind, Bucky decides to take Pepper’s word for it and seek professional help once more. But instead of wrinkles, thick glasses, and an obnoxious notebook that matches the old woman’s personality, he finds someone that’s nothing like he expected. Someone that might just be the cure to his shattered mind and maimed heart.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Therapist!Reader

Warnings: Angst | Fluff

Word Count: 3.2K

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

···

GIF by falcvns

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 did I get myself into?

Bucky asked himself once more, having foolishly agreed to go through this. It had already been a good ten minutes or so since he sunk into one of Hudson Clinic’s surprisingly comfortable chairs as he impatiently waited for the secretary to call his name.

The room was overcrowded, people coming in and coming out of the baby blue doors behind the secretary’s desk, but even though there was a lot of activity going on within the beige-colored room, Bucky had not moved an inch. He sat with his back against the chair and his hands clasped in front of him. An exhale left his lips as his mind tugged him back to the moment he found himself agreeing to this nonsense in the first place.

TWO WEEKS AGO

“I’m not sure about this,” Bucky whined again, stepping backward, just about ready to be anywhere but here. Sam rolled his eyes, albeit dramatically, adjusting his grip on the casserole in his hands.

“Bucky,” he said, wincing at the distressed face Bucky pulled. “Look, I get why you’re so worried, but you need to man up and stop stressing out over nothing. It’s just a friendly dinner.”

“With the Starks.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, and Clint. And Bruce and Wanda. If Pepper didn’t want you here, she wouldn’t have bothered to extend you an invite. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. So, stop stalling and ring that damned bell already.”

Bucky let out a long exhale, his chest deflating and his eyes closing in the process. His blue eyes gazed at the bell and then at Sam, the man’s insistence reminding him of Steve back in the 1940s. Reluctantly, and after a good minute of planning his escape route, in case things go south, Bucky rang the bell, and the two men were quickly met with the friendly faces of Pepper and Morgan Stark.

It came as a surprise when Bucky received a call from Pepper, who invited him over for dinner at the Starks’ lakehouse. At first, he declined without a second thought, but Pepper was adamant about not taking no for an answer. She quickly explained that she had also invited all the remaining Avengers, where this dinner would be a good opportunity to reconnect, especially after what happened recently.

After a stern talk from Sam and a chicken parmesan casserole from Sarah, the two men were ushered to the back of the lakehouse, where Wanda, Bruce, and Clint were all waiting for them. And as much as Bucky hated to admit it, it had actually been a lovely dinner and not as morbid or half as catastrophic as he thought.

An hour or two later, after Pepper brought out the drinks, Bucky retreated to the edge of the lake. No one seemed to notice his absence. Everyone was busy chatting with Morgan or nursing their own drinks with clouded minds.

“Thank you for coming.” A gentle voice sounded behind Bucky, challenging his previous thoughts. His grip tightened around the glass, shoulders visibly tensing at the additional presence. “I know it’s harder on you than most, but I really appreciate it.”

Bucky nodded once, his gaze never leaving the lake. He opened his mouth, praying for his voice to come out as steady as possible. “I should be the one thanking you, Pepper. I’m sorry about everything.”

“I know.”

Pepper smiled gently. Her feet moved, leading her to a wooden bench while her eyes roamed the area. She looked at Morgan, who happily chased Sam, then her eyess landed on the tent Tony had built and would often spend hours hiding away from the world with their daughter.

“How… how are you two?” Bucky asked as Morgan’s excited giggles echoed across the area. His lips involuntarily twitched the louder they got, but his eyes remained laced with the melancholy that he never seemed able to shake off.

“We’re okay.” Pepper took a sip from her drink, tracing the rim with her finger. “It was hard at first… really hard. Between Morgan missing her dad and my struggle to go on after all that happened. But then, it got better.”

“With time?”

“Oh no,” Pepper snorted at Bucky’s reaction. It was obvious how fed up he was with the notion that “time heals all wounds.” Much as she was.

He furrowed his brows, moving to the side to get a better look at the woman. “Then, how?”

Pepper glanced back at her daughter, the ocean blue in her eyes intensifying as she saw her happy. “I decided to seek some professional help. At first, it was supposed to be some impartial third-party advice to help me find my footing, but then it became an anchor, you know?” The look Bucky gave her told her he didn’t know. “My therapist helped me rationalize all that happened and find the pieces of happiness I sometimes overlooked. She’s the one who suggested all this, actually. She said it was good for me, and Morgan, to connect with a piece of Tony’s legacy and remember that there’s a bigger family than just the two of us.”

“She sounds better than Raynor–my old therapist,” Bucky clarified when he saw the look of confusion that crossed Pepper’s face.

She hummed, taking another sip from her drink. “I used to have a lot of nightmares; Morgan did too. But ever since I started those therapy sessions, there’s been a sense of calm in my life. A sense of… meaning. I don’t feel so lost anymore.”

“That’s really great, Pepper.” Bucky smiled before gulping the last of his drink. “I’m glad you’re both okay.”

He was ready to withdraw to his apartment and end the conversation there. Yet, as soon as he took his first step back, Pepper’s words planted him in place. “Are you okay, Bucky?”

“I am,” he replied almost mechanically. The smile on his face could’ve fooled anyone, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on Pepper. She shook her head, and he swore he felt like a toddler getting caught by his mother at this moment.

“You’re not looking me in the eyes, and you haven’t attempted to go anywhere near Morgan since you got here.”

Bucky gulped, his hands suddenly becoming sweaty. “I… that’s not true.”

Pepper raised her eyes to Bucky’s level. Instantly, his cerulean orbs darted away from her own, failing to prove her wrong. “All this guilt you’re harboring will not do you any good.”

“I’m fine, Pepper,” Bucky stated aloud, unsure who he was trying to convince.

He thought that he had succeeded–that his words were bold enough to get Pepper off his case. But as the night went on, he noticed her stares and concerned glances. Then, it was Sam’s. For a moment, he wondered if the two had talked, but then he brushed it off. He studied Clint as he sat Morgan on his lap and started telling her stories about her father. Bucky’s eyes immediately fled before Morgan’s chocolate brown hues–which reminded him too much of Tony, Howard, and Maria’s–could find his cold ones.

A single night at the Starks proved as disastrous as he had thought it would be. Those a couple of hours led to a series of nightmares ranging from his days as the Winter Soldier to the fight between Steve and Tony, which resulted in him losing his initial prosthetic . He saw the image of Tony as he snapped his fingers and saved the world before he took his last breath. He relived the moment Steve confessed that he’d be going back to the past to live the life that was stolen from his hands. Bucky relived every scar, battle, and war he suffered through, waking up with a start each day and fighting sleep each night.

Eventually, and after a week and a half of this slow torture, he reluctantly picked up his phone and called Pepper.

Hudson Clinics. Y/N Y/L/N.

That’s all she said before Bucky called the place and booked an appointment.

PRESENT TIME

“Mr. Barnes,” the secretary finally called, catching his attention. The woman, who looked like she was in her forties, adjusted her glasses and pointed to the first door on her right. “Dr. Y/L/N is ready to see you now.”

Bucky politely nodded and leisurely strolled to the door. Stares and whispers followed behind him, but he didn’t spare them a second thought. After a knock, followed by a quiet “come in,” Bucky pushed the door open, his eyes greeted by the natural sun rays that peeked through the large window walls. He took a tentative step inside, feeling himself enveloped by the scent of sweet lavender and delicate sage.

Bucky’s blue hues traveled across the room, unconsciously comparing it to Raynor’s old office. Unlike the white walls and the fake greenery, Dr. Y/L/N’s office held a sense of tranquility with its cream color and a vividness perfectly accentuated by the light blue and yellow furniture. It was vast and inviting with a medium-sized couch in front of a series of abstract paintings that seemed to come to life each time the sun peeked through the windows.

On his right, Dr. Y/L/N was already rising to her feet, a genuine and heartwarming smile painted across her features. “It’s lovely to meet you, James,” she greeted, waiting for the man to cross the threshold.

Between his anxiety and shock, since she clearly didn’t look as old as Rayor, it took a good couple of seconds for Bucky to let go of the metal handle and step closer to the doctor. He waited for her to extend her hand, but she remained still as though she was waiting for him to initiate contact. “Hi,” he breathed, reluctantly extending his right hand. Without hesitation, the doctor shook it with care, her smile unwavering.

“I hope the wait wasn’t too long. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Dr. Y/L/N gestured to the light blue couch while she grabbed herself a notebook and a pen. Bucky took a few steps forward, sinking into the soft surface. He exhaled loudly, leaning back–he made a mental note to ask about the couch’s brand and buy at least two for his apartment’s living room.

Bucky opened his eyes and glanced at the doctor. Her smile was there, confident and honest. Her legs were folded on top of one another, her notebook now resting on the table. “Um.” Bucky cleared his throat, blinking. “I’m not sure how this is supposed to go.”

Dr. Y/L/N let out a small laugh, her Y/E/C filling with mirth. She raised her eyes to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s cerulean orbs, and immediately, a warmth filled Bucky’s chest. It hadn’t even been two minutes since he walked into her office, yet he had managed to find something akin to peace the moment he pushed the metal handle down to open the door.

“It’s okay, James,” she assured him. “I know that this isn’t by any means easy, and you may not know where to begin or what to say. But this space right here is your safe space. Feel free to begin wherever you see fit, and I’ll help you make sense of your thoughts.”

Normally, Bucky would have scoffed. He would’ve raised an eyebrow and leaned back, giving her an unimpressed look. But there was something about her soothing tone and her unrestrained words that made the tension in his shoulders ease.

“You probably already know who I am–”

“I don’t,” Dr. Y/L/N cut him immediately. Bucky was taken aback, a prominent scowl taking over his features. She saw him fiddle with his fingers, his mouth opening without any words coming out. “Unless you tell me your story, whatever I saw or heard does not matter much to me.”

Bucky audibly gasped, his tall and firm stance faltering for a second. He looked at the woman in front of him, his mind struggling to string along a sentence, let alone a word. With a quick shake of his head, and an unsteady inhale, he interlaced his hands and shifted slightly backward. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispered shakily. Dr. Y/L/N offered him a reassuring nod, encouraging him to continue. “I was born in 1917 and am a former World War two veteran. During a mission, my unit and I were ambushed by a terrorist organization known as Hydra and were consequently abducted by them. During that period, and without our knowledge, they had injected us with the Super Soldier serum with the intent of increasing our physical strength and making us their personal assassins. After being freed by Steve, Captain America, in 1943, an unfortunate incident hindered our mission against Hydra. I found myself back in their clutches with a prosthetic arm and a mind that was anything but my own. They turned me into a ruthless, massacring, assassin by the name of the Winter Soldier.”

Throughout the entire monologue, Bucky kept his eyes focused on the glass table in front of him. His lashes met for the briefest moments before he dared to look at Dr. Y/L/N. Surprised etched itself on his features when he didn’t find her in her seat, her notebook open with fresh ink on one of the pages.

He heard her hum, finding her pouring a glass of water. Her heels clicked against the parquet flooring before they fell silent when they met the furry carpet. She handed him the glass of water, her fingers high enough to not touch his. Bucky dipped his head in a silent thank you, sipping on the water just as she sat down. “James, you described the Winter Soldier as a ‘ruthless, massacring, assassin.' Are these your own words? Is that how you perceive this… side of yourself to be?”

“Yes,” James replied, his glass of water still wrapped around his fingers.

“Alright, and what about you, James? How would you describe yourself before this whole ordeal happened?”

Bucky thought the question over with the smallest hint of surprise. It had been decades ago since he was anything but the Winter Soldier. His brows knitted together, trying to go back to the days when he was Sargeant Barnes rather than the cold-blooded menace Hydra has created. When he finally got a peek at the past, he looked back at Dr. Y/L/N. “I was… outgoing, curious, brave, and spirited, I guess.”

“And now?”

“Damaged,” he looked away, trying to evade the doctor’s eyes.

“Do you remember your time as the Winter Soldier?”

“Yes,” he said, his gloved fingers curling tighter around the glass in his hand. He took one large sip, Dr. Y/L/N writing another line in her notebook. “I frequently have nightmares where I relive everything. I see people’s begging eyes, hear their pained whimpers, and feel their dread as I creep closer to them before ending their life with my hands.”

“You used a first-person pronoun, James,” Dr. Y/L/N noted. Her voice didn’t sound accusatory in the slightest. It was more as if she had come to a conclusion and was sharing it. “Do you think you and the soldier are one?”

Bucky didn’t take a moment to reflect on her words. “Yes.”

She noted this down in her notebook. “What is the one word that best describes the Winter Soldier?”

“Monster.”

Bucky could hear the ticking of the clock and the scraping of Dr. Y/L/N’s pen. Once she wrote the word in her notebook, an action that was grounding rather than irritating, Bucky had deduced, she extended her hand to take the empty glass. With another candid smile, she stood up and walked to her desk, pouring Bucky another glass of water.

“Oftentimes, James, monsters tend to be a subjective belief born out of a plethora of negative emotions, above them all, fear. This fear is as introspective as it is outrospective, leading us astray in our pursuit of finding our self-worth.”

“What are you insinuating, doc?” Bucky asked, his face a picture of confusion. Perhaps he had misjudged the woman, wasting his time in seeking help from someone that clearly didn't understand him as she should.

“May I ask you a question?” She handed him the glass of water without sitting down. Bucky nodded with a raised brow. When he sipped his water, only then did she sink back into her chair. “You said that you relive everything through your nightmares, feeling people’s trepidation. But has the soldier ever felt anything at all during these occurrences?

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? No thrill? Guilt? Anything?

“Nothing,” Bucky confirmed once more.

Dr. Y/L/N clicked her pen once before tucking it away with her notebook. She turned to Bucky with the same confidence and calm front she displayed when he first walked in, as if his story had not fazed her–impassive to the threat he considered himself to be.

Bucky played with his zipper, looking between her and his left gloved hand. He could feel himself sweating, his left knee jerking in anticipation of whatever was about to come out of her mouth. With an awkward clear of his throat, Dr. Y/L/N reached out to the side table, pulling open the drawer to grab what

appeared to be a small notebook.

“I’m going to give you an assignment.”

“What?” Bucky made a face. Was she for real? Does she think of herself as a school teacher? “I’m sorry, I think I misheard.”

Dr. Y/L/N chuckled, merriment lacing her voice. “You heard me correctly. I want you to talk to any of your friends and ask them about an event that made them see themselves in a different, more specifically, negative light.”

“Why would I do that?” he grunted, the shy amount of respect he had for the doctor hanging by a thread.

“All in due time, James,” Dr. Y/L/N replied. She placed the notebook on the glass table separating her and Bucky before nudging it closer to him. “You can seek someone who has had a similar experience to you or someone who had a different one. During our next session, you and I will explore why this little exercise is a critical part of your therapy.”

Bucky’s tongue met the inside of his cheek. He reached forward, inspecting the leather-bound notebook in his hands. He flipped through the white, empty pages, eager to be filled. Bucky’s nose scrunched at the scent of the fresh paper, his gaze meeting the doctor’s. “And what’s this for?”

Dr. Y/L/N stood up, reaching for her own notebook. “Sometimes, our thoughts are more clear and less threatening when they are laid bare on paper.”

Bucky nodded his head, accepting the vague explanation. Since the notebook was small, he tucked it in his back pocket, standing up to take his leave. Once he reached the door, he hesitated. Turning his back, he spotted the doctor a few steps away from her desk. “What makes you think there’ll be another session?”

Dr. Y/L/N smirked, placing her hands on her desk and resting her weight against the wood. “Curiousness has no cure, James. Nothing in this world is strong enough to erase its trace.”

Bucky bit on his tongue, looking down at his shoes. He gave Dr. Y/L/N an imperceptible wave and then walked outside her office. He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. Between his mind telling him it was useless and his consciousness edging him to give it a try, Bucky just knew that Dr. Y/N Y/L/N was bracing him for the ride of a lifetime. But was he ready for her to rock his entire world?

------

It's official! I'm absolutely obsessed with Bucky Barnes!!

I'm so excited about this piece. I know I have like 5 series with a WIP status, but I couldn't help myself! I was inspired to write this fic, and nothing was going to stand in my way.

What do you think, witchlings?

Don't forget to send in your Marvel/Harry Potter requests!

Until next week xx

#bucky barns imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel mcu #avengers fanfiction

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