#absolute specimen of a being

[ewwww-what]

Everyone say hello to the horrors !

[sometimesanequine]

i think going fishing would fix me

[bazpango]

Strawberry Shortcake - Ch 7 - And the Devil Makes Three

Read on A03

[gothmiqote]

dt spoilers kinda, varha/estinien stuff ofc ofc but it's msq plot related naturally :p

estinien being only Sort Of around for this expansion kills me lmao like he on the periphery and whatever it is he’s doing intersects with varha when it counts (fighting the cyberpunk army in the desert etc etc) he’s also just like. ostensibly doing who knows what the fuck between appearances?

after the events of ew those two were definitely around each other a Lot (seeing her friends disappear one by one like that will apparently lead to some nasty separation anxiety, who would have guessed) & getting on the separate boats to go west is probably the first meaningful amount of time they’ve been apart since. to a degree she’s like it’s fine I’ve got this handled, although I don’t uh. Think he told anyone Where he was going? so she probably knew he was going to be away for a bit but not how long exactly or even really where (which she actually is cool with for real, they’re both kinda Like That TM so it’s normal). So yes, she’s very much starting to feel the yearning & the pining & what have you by the time they randomly cross paths in the throne room again.

But thEN he just. Walks out? Just says some complimentary words and fucking Leaves? I like to think he’d end up stopping by her inn room or whatever later on but based on how he was for the entire expansion I don’t even know if he would actually stay the whole night 💀 which is frustrating for her but at this point nothing super weird. Or so she thinks anyway because some point after Krile pulls her aside and is like Hey is everyone cool? Like are you good? Because Varha considers her one of her closest friends & she likes to torment Estinien psychologically for sport she knows them pretty well. To which Varha is just ?? Of course we’re good why wouldn’t we be good? But it makes her think anyway. It does Not help that Wuk Lamat flat out asks if she knows who he is personally, because the greeting she got was apparently the kind you’d reserve for acquaintances.

By the time she’s on the mini road trip with Erenville she’s trying Very hard to not think about her relationship because she’s keenly aware of how good she is at making herself quietly spiral & twelve help her, they see him and he does it again. Says some weird shit to her and fucks off into the sunset. Shout out to Erenville for not commenting on the weird vibes that were absolutely happening here. & it’s at this point she’s also starting to get kind of upset for real? Tries to back track mentally between the moments of dealing with an active crisis and no, she doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong, he didn’t seem to like her any less when he left—but that doesn’t mean things don’t change, & for all she knows maybe he’s just decided that she’s become more trouble than it’s worth to know her intimately like that (she wouldn’t blame him, she’s aware of her baggage). What kind of send off is ‘go do what it is you do’? No ‘good luck, stay safe’ or anything even remotely close? She needs to be focused on current events so she makes herself tunnel visioned but it’s still on her mind.

Meanwhile this man decided after getting paid for keeping Wuk Lamat’s dad entertained he wanted to plan a little romantic wilderness excursion in Tural. It’s literally the exact opposite scenario she’s been dreading and picking up on, they both like ‘camping’ (for lack of a better term) & this is a new area to explore, he thinks it’s a great idea. And it is! A similar trip was the catalyst for the getting together in the Steppe, albeit that one was unplanned & nothing was official until after she got back from the first, but still. Unfortunately he’s just so singularly focused on this plan (he’s looking for some decent locations when they run into each other outside of the city) he’s legitimately unaware of how he’s coming off in the present. In his mind he’s just in a good mood, & will at some point let her know what he’s been quietly putting together for them. He just wants some sort of concrete plan in place before he stops being cagey. Like he’s just in a good headspace in a relationship he’s actually very happy in & that’s manifesting in ways that make sense for Him once you know what to look for. It’s like being around your crush, except you’ve been serious about each other for the better part of the last few years now & also you never really learned how to flirt ‘normally’ (I feel like Aymeric probably tried to help with this at some point in the distant past & eventually just gave up to let his weird friend be weird. Sometimes that’s as good as it gets) because you’ve never been much of an extrovert or particularly socially gifted, so it usually comes across either insanely awkward and/or painfully earnest when you do give it a shot. All that to say, he’s doing his best, it’s just filtered through his methods every single time.

And to be fair to him also, she’s competent as hell. He had zero reasons to think she’d need any more help with the contest stuff, his presence would 100% just be overkill. He’s not saying this because he feels like it’s objectively obvious. Unfortunately it is Not, she is fully not getting this impression from any of his actions & ultimately just ends up stewing quietly over it. Initially she’s annoyed but over time gets progressively more sad lmao. If you click on him before one of the few trials you can run with npcs he’s like “I saw a big lizard, I’m going to hunt it later” which is so very baffling to her. AGAIN no real commentary on her actual situation or that she might not come back through that portal. Run the lizard through a translator and he actually meant something to the effect of I know you’ll take care of this, so I’m not worried, & as soon as you do come back we’re going to grill that lizard meat for dinner. In HIS mind this is what’s coming out of his mouth in fewer words. She’s just tired lmfao.

Once everything is taken care of & there’s some downtime she’s finally able to pull him to the side and ask what his deal has been lately, has she done something without knowing, has she been pulling away unconsciously etc etc etc. His turn to be confused now. This legitimately only becomes a miscommunication issue because every single conversation got cut short until this one, which of course gives him ample time to explain what’s actually been happening & also no, he’s definitely not bored or unhappy or anything like that, he’s been enjoying the opportunity to try and orchestrate something nice for her (even if the execution wasn’t. The greatest) and honestly didn’t realize how it looked from the outside. He was very much talking her up at any given opportunity each time someone asked about her, to the point where it was inevitably deduced that his descriptions of the Warrior of Light were apparently a good deal more personal than other accounts. She’s effectively been on his mind in some capacity since he got here.

& She feels extra dumb for getting upset at all, because that’s actually incredibly sweet and it makes perfect sense when you lay it all out that way, in hindsight she didn’t need to get worked up and just feels weirdly guilty now. Varha has been in a small handful of situationships, she’s never actually been important enough to anyone for them to go out of their way for her like that (she’s never even really had friends up until recently, it’s all uncharted territory), she does not know how to properly interpret it when people just decide to do things for her because they like her. She reacts like an asshole (in her own opinion, literally no one else thought that she was anything aside from maybe a bit Off since she internalized everything so much). This does not make her feel particularly good either, she has unfortunately looped back around to kicking herself for missing the obvious.

& Estinien, being himself, is still not the best with words when it comes to this sort of thing. Because he knows he didn’t actually do anything wrong here, so he’s not experiencing misplaced guilt, but she’s clearly still upset on some level for misreading things and he doesn’t like that for her, especially when this conversation is almost definitely taking place on the sidelines of a post-battle celebration back in the city. He’s not coming up with anything directly helpful to the situation. He’s task-oriented, hardwired to look for solutions. The one he comes up with on the spot here is:

“Do you want to hunt the lizard together?”

Long pause. Yes, she does. She wants to hunt the big lizard together very much. It sounds like a good way to kick off a small wilderness excursion together. The big lizard does not fix her pre-existing self worth problems, but it’s definitely effective for the immediate situation (which is about the best he can hope for right now). Problem solved-ish, she seems happier & now they can bond over the big lizard hunt together. He’d honestly just be pleased to spend time together doing whatever but this is probably the best outcome of that whole situation. (Also he Does end up kissing her right there, partly to get people to stop pestering her with questions but mostly because he wants to.)

[yupuffin]

Quay's Cherished Items

After deliberating for far too long about what Quay's cherished items would be, I was struck with inspiration and finally came up with a list...! Quay had to discard or leave behind most of his possessions when he moved to Jinzhou, and thus is pretty minimalist when it comes to personal belongings, so the most challenging aspect for me was deciding what few things he would keep -- but I think that information can say a lot about his character. :3c

I: Chain Earring The chain Quay keeps in his left ear is his clear favorite among the assortment of earrings in his possession. The blue-green gemstone at the end reminds one of the surface of a tropical sea. However, the jewelry itself is not of a particularly fancy or expensive make.

II: Carnivore Skull A highly detailed and realistic replica of an animal skull, among numerous specimens that Quay keeps on a shelf in his room. Upon inquiry, Quay alleges that the original belonged to an eared pinniped, and that harvesting it from the beach where he found it would have been "highly illegal," hence the artificial reproduction.

III: Hand Mixer An old-model electric mixer with an odd number of attachments, some of them evidently missing since being removed from the original packaging. Quay doesn't seem inclined to replace it or any of its parts, however, insisting that the best piece of equipment is the one he already has.

[chamberlilium]

Nikki has been a great tool in helping me cope with my dysphoria since I read the game, thank you.

oh my god! im so happy and so? honored?

[ghostboyravenight]

”trans men are the weakest links of the trans community” my trans male friends and I have lived a lifetime of having our bodily autonomy stripped away to the point of sexual harassment. people talk about our bodies like everyone except us owns them because no one can handle the idea of precious female bodies being “mutilated” by gender affirming care. we are treated like traitors by women and as confused, silly girls by men. we have no spaces in which we belong because even the queer community tries to control our bodies. if we pass as men then we get ousted from queer-friendly spaces, and if we don’t pass as men we’re treated like cringe, theyfab trenders. everything we love is considered annoying. we’re called ugly and sad and “what a shame you guys are men haha”. We have to watch as society uses us as an excuse to ban gender affirming care for young people because our bodies belong to the government, because our bodies belong to our mothers, and because our anatomy is the only thing they see us as. And then we have to sit back as the trans community blames us for these bans. “All of these fake transtrenders are the reason they all hate us” when we’re busy having the women in our lives scrutinise our bodies to make sure we’re not being “infected” by the trans contagion. There’s no space we can belong in. No space that tries to make us feel welcome because either they treat us like women or they treat us like dangerous, cis men.

Every trans man I know has been sexually assaulted. Every trans man I know has been brought to suicide attempts, either due to their families or due to people online bullying them to death. Our struggles are constantly diminished and yet behind the scenes we’re fucking exhausted from fighting attacks from every single goddamn side. How fucking dare you call us weak. We’re going through fucking hell like every other goddamn trans person out there and our bodies are being abused and controlled and scrutinised every day of our fucking lives. Have you seen how TERFs talk about our bodies? How they lament us “mutilating” our breasts, our fertility, our anatomy, all in the name of feminism. That’s sexual fucking harassment, and it’s disgusting. But that’s all they fucking see us as. We’re not human, we’re just defected specimens. Cis women give themselves free passes to harass our bodies because they see us as “one of them”. One of them, but wrong. One of them, but need to be fixed. My mother regularly checks my chest to make sure I’m not trying to flatten it, and she can get away with it because “that’s what mothers do to their daughters.” Even when I’m not her daughter. Even when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs wanting to die because my body doesn’t belong to me. My body stopped belonging to me as soon as I came out as trans, because female empowerment doesn’t apply to me anymore. Female empowerment is now about “correcting” me, to restore my body back to its former glory, because only then was I worth something.

We are not weak. We are strong as fuck for dealing with the shit we have to deal with. And the worst part is, so much of the bullying comes from other trans men. We’ve been taught to hate ourselves so much that the only way to get ahead is to put down our own brothers and treat them in the way we’ve been treated.

There is no weak link of the community because we’re all dealing with absolute shit from all sides, but don’t you ever suggest that trans men are somehow the whiny babies who have nothing to complain about when we’re constantly holding back from screaming our guts out because there’s nothing else we can do.

[suiana]

yandere! prince who got cursed and became a statue for like hundreds of years. only the kiss of his soulmate will break the curse that got cast on him by a silly wizard.

enter, you.

innocent and silly you, walking through the forest (maybe trying to look for your next monster hookup) before bumping into this... this beautiful marble statue of some prince??? what? who even is he?? why is he here???

is this... your main character moment? where you kiss him and the two of you fall in love and- haha! that won't happen! you're just being delusional!

of course, being the silly specimen you are, you still kiss his lips without thinking much of it. i mean, you fucked some monsters before. what's a marble statue gonna do? he's hot, might as well right?

WRONG.

you shouldn't have done that because the second you kissed him this bright light came bursting from his chest and now you were being kissed back by this random oldie who's now supposedly human again.

"ah...ah... are you my soulmate? god you're beautiful-"

"dude i just wanted to fuck some monsters."

unfortunately, no more monster fucking for you :( because this geriatric prince is jealous as FUCK and will absolutely go batshit bonkers if you as much as suggest looking at someone else.

"lol, that drider looks kinda hot-"

"ahaha what drider? *cleaning blood from his sword*"

he's made himself a part of your life, without your consent by the way, and it's going to stay that way. no, he doesn't care if he's from centuries ago, you're his and he's yours. that much is certain to him.

so now you have a god of a prince hovering by your side 24/7. plus side is you get to see him act like a grandpa with all the new technology and lingo!

"my dear, what is... sk... skebeede? skibidi? how do i exit this app? ah, i want to take a picture, how do i- *breaks phone screen*"

he's trying his best :( just love him dearly, won't you?

[fuiru]

A 44 year old man goes to a K-Pop Concert

I promised you a report on the K-pop concert that I, a 44-year-old accountant, went to a couple of weeks ago with my wife and daughter in Toronto. So here it is.

The band we saw were Ateez. They're my daughter's favourite band and my wife's second favourite. I know most of my mutuals are similarly aged like me and may not be familiar with them so let me give you a brief primer on Ateez.

Imagine the most attractive eight men you can think of, just unfathomably beautiful specimens of aesthetic perfection, and make them sing songs that somehow combine the subjects of 'dancing like nobody is watching' with 'we live in a dystopian hellscape that we must all work together to overthrow'. Give them an ongoing music video story lore that literally nobody - not even the band themselves - understand, so that online discussion of their visual motifs looks more like the fevered rantings of a conspiracy theorist, complete with speculation about alternate realities and time being a Moebius strip. There is also a giant sand timer, for some reason.

That's Ateez. That's what you need to know.

Now, K-pop concerts are very different to the gigs I've been going to for the last 28 (!) years. There's no support act, for a start. Also the band perform for like, three hours, with breaks for costume changes and interpretive dance. Furthermore, hanging above everything is the constant looming threat of mandatory military service.

So this being my first such concert, I wasn't sure what to expect. What happened was difficult to explain, but I will try as I am already six paragraphs into this write-up and I'm too invested to stop now. Here goes:

In his Wicked + Divine comics series, Kieron Gillen places modern pop icons as deities, feeding upon and gaining strength from the worship of their fans at the altar of musical performance. I thought I understood that metaphor. I thought I understood it AS a metaphor. I was wrong, because that night Ateez WERE Gods with a capital G and we were their worshippers, a crowd emanating adoration (in the religious and non-religious senses), bestowing strength upon them and gaining their strength in return.

If that sounds weird, it probably is. But as pointed out above, I have lived over four decades and never yet experienced anything like the overwhelming passion of that crowd, the utter abandon with which they conveyed their love for the band.

"But Fuiru, what of the actual music?" you ask. Thinking back, there was a moment in one of their songs - I can't remember which - where I watched the stage, and the people around me, taking it in, and I thought, "Man, I just love Music". But that doesn't answer your question, sorry.

Ateez's music is bloody great. As a tiresome indie/rock/metal kid I'm resisting the urge to add the usual tiresome indie/rock/metal caveat of "...for pop music" because honestly that does it a disservice. They have some genuinely amazing songs. Halazia is an absolute fucking masterpiece that descends into furious hardcore breakbeat. Bouncy is a big, brash racket that somehow is also a perfect pop song. Utopia, Wonderland, and Guerrilla are similarly superb. The obligatory boy band slow number is represented by Dancing Like Butterfly Wings which will make you cry because you will forever associate it with your twelve year old daughter being pointed to and waved at by her favourite Ateez member (Seonghwa) because of her Seonghwa-branded lightstick.

That might just be me, though.

So in summary: being a 44 year old dad at his first K-pop concert rules and you should endeavour to partake in the experience if the opportunity arises.

Finally, for any Atiny reading this: my bias would be San or Seonghwa but my wife and daughter said they were taken so it’s Mingi. My concert outfit (designed and created by my offspring) reflects this.

[so-very-small]

if i was a tiny who was being used as a lab rat by an evil scientist, i’d be absolutely shameless. like, oh, you want to examine me? study me? wow :) how forward of you haha ;) am i a good specimen? am i your favorite specimen? do you threaten to dissect all cute boys or am i special? tell me i’m special. you’re so tall haha. roll up your lab coat sleeves for me.

[mercurial-chuckles]

I met them, and now I’m their queen!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader Warnings: Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Clingy supersoldiers | We've got game supersoldiers | Protective and borderline obsessive | Wet thoughts | Allusions to hot nights | Slight angst but happy ending | Confession | Friends to Lovers trope | Poly relation | Long one ~5k | Written in a feverish haze. Any, I mean, any craziness can and will be blamed on deliriously Nyquiled-mind! Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: It really started with, "Let's write a drabble," and well, IT DID NOT end up being a drabble! But blame the two hot super soldier specimens for taking reins and striding through dominantly. This was supposed to be published (along with three other fics) on New Year's, but times have been testing! Anyhoo, Sydney and I—ever indulgently—worked ourselves up with some ideas and this burgeoned, and we both decided to collaborate having similar title and prompt. Inspiration: — confession to get it off their chest before the new year starts Read Sydney's I met them, and now I'm their princess and smother her story with love and affection! Forever grateful to Sydney for giving me the push to publish this and for giving this long-ass fic a read while I was sick and whiny! @buck-star Also, if there are any Windows 11 users, do you know an easy way of typing the em dash (Alt+0151 is no longer an option) Every time I have to use, I have to copy and paste and it's been a pain in my butt. So, any shortcuts would be a great help! Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner credits to me. Picture credits to internet! Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

'Have you been Naughty or Nice?'

I've been disastrous. You thought, snorting, looking at the quite colorful, only-for-adult-eyes kind of a poster.

While walking briskly to the truck in the parking lot, your eyes inadvertently fell on the shirtless guy with a Santa hat and red trousers posing sultrily. The show had been for Christmas Eve, now nearly a week old. Lucky patrons!

And your useless, absolutely horny mind brought images of two rugged, burly-looking muscular supersoldiers adorning the costume, and you shuddered.

Nope. No. No. Do not go there.

*Thud*

The distant sound startled you, and you looked down the deserted street but found nothing. You became aware of your surroundings and realized you were standing before a shady-looking strip club. Heart pounding, you hurried toward the truck you'd parked at the end of the street.

The local hill town was vastly different from NYC. By 8 p.m., the main street was completely vacant; the local stores were all closed for the night except for the convenience store at the gas station on the end of the main street and a local vet hospital, both of which you paid a visit tonight.

You quickly got into the truck and navigated out of the small town towards your temporary abode, decked in the woods near the lake.

It was New Year's Eve, and the entire day's theme was a series of unfortunate events and bad decisions.

Earlier that afternoon, having used up all the leftovers, takeouts, and groceries, you decided to venture out to find food. You cursed yourself for being so pathetic and unplanned. It was a hard bet you'd find a store open today or tomorrow.

You should have planned better, but it was what it was, and your poor mind couldn't possibly think logically when it was going through so much. So, forgiving yourself, you decided to drive to the town, hoping to get something to stock up the tiny kitchen for the next couple of days before you can go grocery shopping like a responsible adult.

But lo and behold, you had a flat tire. After groaning and cursing at your fate for a whole three minutes, you realize your aunt mentioned that you could take her truck around if it's still working.

You grabbed the keys and went to the garage. The truck seemed in good condition, with no flat tires. GREAT! You tried to start, but it won't budge. The check engine light blinked red.

Upon further inspection, you realized the spark plug was out and saw a pair of them in a cabby on the metal rack. You weighed your options, changing the spark plug in a somewhat cold and dim-lit garage or changing a tire in the chill out in the dark. It was an easy choice.

So, for the next two hours, you replaced the spark plug. Huffing and out of breath, you started the engine, which purred to your satisfaction. Feeling accomplished, you went to the only open convenience store and stocked up on some groceries. Fiona, the cashier, was a middle-aged lady who didn't talk much, unlike the other folks in the town.

When you went to pay, you realized you had left your phone. You must have left it in the cabin when you went to search for the truck keys.

Ugh! Sometimes, you hated that you remembered directions. It made you less dependent on your phone. Luckily, you had your wallet on you.  

After bidding bye to Fiona, you loaded the two brown bags into the truck. It was then you heard the yowling and the hisses. You saw the small white kitten by the lamppost in the parking. It looked like an Angora. She hurt her leg and was profusely bleeding. Your heart tugged painfully.

You unzipped your coat slightly and carefully lifted her up. She clutched at your shirt, meowing. You rushed to the convenience store inside, scaring sweet Fiona almost to death. You explained about the kitten, and she gave directions to the vet. She even called, telling them you would be coming with an injured cat.

So, you thanked her and decided to walk since it was not far, and the poor kitty seemed far too comfortable in your arms. As soon as you reached the corner house in the location, a young guy and a woman were waiting outside. The woman introduced herself as Darlene. She seemed nice and took the kitten gently from your hands. You waited for a bit while Darlene checked on the injuries.

However, the weirdly creepy receptionist, Mark, seemed to take too much interest in you, and he asked questions. A lot of questions. And he made you pretty uncomfortable. Luckily, Darlene walked out to tell you all was fine and that she would keep a watch on the kitten overnight. You were grateful that it wasn't anything serious. You promised to drop by tomorrow after she said it was okay for you to visit since it was a holiday.

Mark told you he'd walk you to the truck and wouldn't take no for an answer. By some miracle, Darlene understood and called him for something she needed. He begrudgingly got to work, giving you time to escape.

Yeah, it had been one crazy evening. Now that you think of it, the past month has been the same way.

****

In retrospect, it started with you getting buzzed after the Thanksgiving dinner at the compound. The seemingly innocent discussion with Vision about the white hole and string theory shifted to abstract physics. Then, it veered to your favorite multiverse causality, which brought to this discussion about your supersoldiers.

"You have such affection for them," Vision remarked.

"Of course I do," you replied breezily, sipping down the espresso martini. "They're my best friends." You grinned.

Vision tilted his head, studying you, dissecting your thoughts. "It is more than that," he said gently. "You love them. And it transcends friendship."

"What? No," you scoffed, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "That's... I mean, Vision, come on. It's not like that."

You defended, deterred, and denied. And you argued passionately with Vision that he was wrong and entirely out of his depth.

He gave you a smile. "One only argues this fervently when the truth threatens to unravel their carefully constructed narrative. No?"

And the point hit home like Thor's lightning.

Love? That wasn't love. That was friendship. Mutual respect. Admiration, loyalty, and the way they made you feel so cared for, and so so protective, it ought to be friendship! That's all it was. Wasn't it? Friends spend all day, every day together. Friends, just know what you need before you even say it... Friends do that. Totally!

You shook your head, muttering about Vision overanalyzing human emotions, and excused yourself to refill your drink. But his words trailed you, seeping in and breaking every carefully shackled, dreamy thought you occasionally had.

And your eyes landed on them. They were in the kitchen with Sam and Bruce. When your eyes met Steve's, he was already gazing at you. He wiggled your favorite ice cream in his hand, scooped it into a bowl, and winked at you. And Bucky's eyes softened when you met his gaze. He was in a mid-argument with Sam and casually leaned beside Steve, giving you a grin.

Your breath stilled. And something fucking snapped in place, and that realization disrupted everything.

Holy Shit!

Sitting on the nearby couch, you trembled as the flooding thoughts overtook your senses and limbs.

You've been inseparable for years now. You've known Steve even longer since he came out of the ice. Steve and you both were there to help Bucky through his healing. It had been a long journey through ups and downs, but you all were here with a somewhat stable life.

Now, there were times you felt extremely frustrated with the way they treated you, extremely protective and like you were delicate. They were there through your every whim and craziness; likewise, you were there for them. Though initially fostering a crush on both, becoming friends with them sidetracked your crush, or that was what you thought. Apparently not!

That rigid fact of love and its effects took hold of you, and you became even more aware of your predicament as time passed. Your thoughts buzzed as Steve casually sat beside you, eating ice cream while Bucky stole a few spoons from yours. The situation worsened when they fussed over your unusually quiet behavior, asking a hundred and some questions if something happened or if you were falling sick. You pulled yourself together and told them you were fine and downright rejected them staying over.

You woke up drenched that night, not from a nightmare; it was more of a wet dream starring two supersoldiers. What followed was you being hyper-focused on every little thing and how obsessively protective they were with you. And your heart was craving more, basking at their every little action.

It was bad.

And it got worse as the dreams continued and their worry for you catapulted, wondering what's going on with you.

Now, personal space was not a concept with both men. They were practically living two doors away in your apartment complex. And they were always around you.

You were starting to realize how fucked up the situation was. There was no way in the world this could work out. You loved them both. And you were acutely aware of their love for each other. How was this ever gonna work out?

Afraid of losing them, knowing you had no defenses against their piercing awareness of every flicker of your expression and every erratic heartbeat, you decided to take some time away. After all, distance helped you hate your family less. Out of sight, out of mind, right? You thought, why not try?

But it was not that easy to suddenly up and leave. Opportunity came in the form of a mission in Arizona. It was a level-2 mission, a low-level, routine assignment, far below the high-stakes operations you usually handled with the Avengers. Kert Harrison, the mission lead, seemed pleasantly surprised when you volunteered.

You let Steve and Bucky know only after you were strapped into the jet, delivering the news as casually as you could manage: the team needed a tech assistant, and you'd joined at the last minute.

Thus started the careful ghosting.

And the group chat exploded with messages. Bucky demanded the details, cursing up a storm, and you replied, 'Chill out, Sergeant, you know I can't communicate that stuff.'

You've ignored them after that. The mission was simple, walk-in-the-park simple, walk-in-the-house simple. Kept you occupied, though. But once the mission was done, the pit in your stomach grew, and the thought of seeing them terrified you.

"A little more time would help," you told yourself, "Just a little more time to breathe."

Knowing that Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender would be your doom if you were anywhere close to them in this mindset, you ran for the hills. Quite literally.

Your aunt Ellen had a cabin in a small mountain town in NC. Conveniently, she was in Hawaii, leaving her cabin all alone. So, you decided it could use some company.

You then dropped a vague message telling them your aunt needed you, a family emergency, which was far from the truth.

And it sounded like the perfect Christmas. To be home alone.

But the problem was the cabin was not just lonely. It was alone lonely. The nearest town was 20 minutes away. Decked somewhere in the deep woods, a few other cabins surrounded near the lake. It suited Aunt Ellen, though. She occasionally came up to write or chill from the hustle and bustle of California.

And it didn't help that the whole setting felt like a Stephen King novel waiting to manifest. You couldn't help but internally whimper, but you sucked it up, pushing yourself to make it through.

You ignored the worried calls, always leaving them a text reply with a vaguely convincing excuse.

Guilt burgeoned your chest steadily for not spending Christmas with them. For the past few years, you three cozied up on the winter nights, cooking, baking, arguing, decorating, binge watching & cringe watching and the whole prospect had become a tradition.

Two days before Christmas, Steve had left a message asking if you could make it home. Home. He called it home, and your heart pained.

'Not likely, Steve.' You texted him.

'🥺🥹😭💔' he replied, making you almost break down and cry. He never sent any sort of emojis, and you always teased him about it. 'Emojis do the whole work and some, Steve.' You had told him a long, long while ago.

Steve might have thought this was the time to come after your heart with the series of emojis he sent. You had no guts to reply.

Bucky, however, seemed to stop buying your excuses after you ignored his calls. He stopped calling and texting altogether. It was typical Bucky. He got passively aggressive until you gave in. And you mustered a ton of courage to not just call or text.

Christmas morning, you woke up feeling like the Grinch. The memory of the worst Christmas when you were fourteen has been replaced by Christmas this year. This one felt far worse.

Steve left a voice message. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart. It's not the same without you." He sighed, voice soft and tattered. "We…miss you," his soft, broken voice shattered your heart even more.

Bucky, on the other hand, ignored you royally. But by the afternoon, he left a text with two words, 'Merry Christmas.' And your shattered heart further splintered.

This brilliant need-some-space vacation idea was supposed to be an escape, a way to clear your mind, to get over everything swirling inside. But it was only making things worse. It felt like you were meditating on them, and only them?

Ugh!

You mustered courage and called them that evening. Bucky picked up first, his voice gruff, replies short and clipped. "Fine. You doing good?" You hummed. "How's your aunt?" Steve piped in. They must've put you on speaker.

"She's ok," you said, and before they prodded, you asked them about their day. They mentioned getting your gifts, but other than that, they hadn't done much. The conversation felt hollow, and guilt weighed heavy on you. You felt like the worst person in the world.

Hurriedly, you said your goodbyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill.

And then, you succumbed to the loneliness that clung to your heart and the messiness that tangled your thoughts. You spent six agonizing days in the cabin in the woods, fighting every instinct to run back to them.

That was a week ago. Seven horrible days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and you thought you could use some sustenance, but it had already been one hell of a day.

~

Driving back to the cabin, you felt someone was watching you. You shook it off, chalking it up to the weird encounter with Mark. He'd set your nerves on edge, that's all. And at least the kitten was alright.

Pulling into the cabin's garage, you parked your car, not noticing the unfamiliar vehicle parked on the other side. You made your way to the other side to grab the grocery bags. The cold mountain air nipped at your skin.

The sound of boots against the gravel made you freeze. Your heart slammed into your ribs, and your pulse raced. There were a few other cabins nearby, but why would someone trespass, you wondered.

Was it Mark? Had he followed you? You grabbed the nearest thing within reach, a hammer, from the small wooden table.

The sound of heavy steps approached closer and closer, and you tightened your grip, preparing to swing. You almost threw the hammer, too, but realizing who stood there made you whimper in relief and dread.

"What the fuck? What are you two doing here?" you yelled, confused and rattled.

Steve briskly walked toward you, his expression concerned. "Is that blood?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he tried to get a look at your neck and hands.

Oh? You glanced at yourself and then up at them.

"Are you hurt?" Steve repeated his question sternly, pulling down the zipper to your jacket, completely unbothered.

"HEY!" You shook your head, stepping away from his hold. At least you tried.

Before you could protest, Bucky came closer, his brow furrowed as he unzipped your jacket, swatting away your tiny hand. Both of them froze, staring at your shirt. You glanced down and groaned. You'd forgotten you were wearing a Captain America T-shirt now covered in blood.

Steve blinked, visibly surprised. They had no idea you owned any Captain America merchandise, let alone a few bobbleheads, one of a metal-armed man and another of the man himself holding his shield, both of which you'd secretly bought earlier this year.

Bucky turned you around, cold fingers holding your chin up, demanding if you were hurt. Your breath hitched, looking up at him. His stubble was slightly grown, and the stressed look on his face made you more worried. You glanced at Steve; he looked like he hadn't slept in days, and his knuckles looked marred like he had been going at the punching bags.

"I'm fine." You whispered, not meeting their gaze and staring at the soft blue undershirt covering Bucky's broad chest. Steve had taken the hammer you still held in your hands and carefully placed them on the table.

"Start talking before you give us a heart attack," he sternly demanded.

You rolled your eyes and cleared your hazy mind. You took a steadying breath before explaining to them that it wasn't your blood and what had actually happened with the kitten, omitting Mark of course. When you finished, you glanced up at them, who looked at you angrily.

Bucky sighed, and he took another deliberate step closer to you. "Family emergency, huh?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then why are you here playing house in the middle of nowhere while your aunt Ellen is in Hawaii?"

Your eyes widened, "How the hell…?" your question faltered on your lips as you caught the guilty look in Steve's eyes while Bucky shrugged smugly.

"Never mind. Don't answer that," you muttered, reminding yourself that you were talking to Captain America & the ex-Winter Soldier.

Steve zipped up your jacket when you shivered from the sudden gust of wind. "Let's go inside," he ordered. You nodded, reaching for the bags, but Bucky was already there, pushing you aside.

"Get your ass inside. I've got them," he grumbled, clearly angry at you for ghosting them.

You walked with Steve and Bucky beside you, fumbling for your keys, but Steve simply pushed the door open. "Don't bother," he mumbled.

"Unbelievable," you muttered. "You pried open the door?" you squeaked.

"Your phone was inside. Your car was outside. No sign of you," Bucky said defensively. "What the fuck did you expect us to do?"

When you glanced at Steve, who tended to be less of a rule-breaking hazard than Bucky, he shrugged, "Oh, I was this close to breaking it down. Thanks to Bucky, we managed to keep it intact." Steve chuckled, holding the door open for you and Bucky to enter.

"Ugh," you groaned, storming into the cabin with them trailing behind.

"Nice shirt, by the way," Steve commented as you walked in, "Didn't know you were a fan."

"Of course you like it," Bucky chuckled, glancing at Steve with that grin you were all too familiar with. Steve straightened up proudly.

"Do you also have a Winter Soldier plushie hiding somewhere? No judgment if you do." Bucky snickered, reaching you, dropping the bags on the counter, and effectively cornering you in the small kitchen.

Your face burned. "It's my aunt's. She's a fan. I found it lying around," you lied poorly.

"Uh-huh," Bucky smirked, and Steve grinned, knowing all the signs fully well.

You cleaned up your hands, washing out the traces of blood here and there. You felt agitated. They were here, the stupidly gorgeous men. Your friends. Your everything. They couldn't possibly understand the volcanic arc stretching your mind right now.

You grabbed a bottle from the neatly stacked row in the cabinet, placed it on the counter, and unscrewed the cap. Sidestepping Bucky, you quickly made your way to the living room. As soon as you sat down, you chugged half the bottle, feeling the cool liquid help clear some of the tension that had been building in your chest.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" you asked, feeling utterly exhausted and emotionally drained.

You heard them approach you as Steve settled beside you and Bucky sat on the wooden coffee table before you. For a split second, you thought it would give away, but the table looked sturdy.

You sighed and refocused on getting your brain to work, but it felt impossible with them so close.

Steve took your left hand into his large, firm grip. He traced his thumb along your wrist, his touch sending waves of warmth flooding through you, and for a moment, your heartbeat stuttered, racing beneath his fingertips. You tried to steady your breath, but it only intensified the sensation.

"What are you doing here, doll?" Bucky asked seriously, and you averted your gaze, trying to pull away your hand from Steve's, but he wouldn't let go.

"Steve," you muttered softly, helplessly, and he reluctantly let go.

"Uh…I…" you started, heart thundering. This was supposed to be your solace, your way out of the whole thing, and here you were being asked to confront. You hated it.

Your head started pounding. You rubbed your fingers to your head.

Bucky stood abruptly. "Alright, sit tight. I'll make you some tea. It'll ease your headache."

"No!" you snapped, your voice rising. "Stop that. Do not make tea."

Bucky froze mid-step, genuinely baffled by your sudden outburst. "Okayyy. No tea," he said slowly, folding his arms. "But I'm not giving you coffee. You'll end up awake all night, and it gives you a stomachache," Bucky argued.

You buried your head in your hands, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. How do you not become hyper-aware of all these little things? How? They never would get it.

Steve leaned closer, still maintaining distance, but his hand caressed your hair, comforting and enraging your senses, "Hey, did you eat anything besides cereal?" he asked, and you looked at him confused.

You couldn't help but scoff internally. How the hell would you know that, Rogers? But you didn't voice your thoughts aloud. Knowing he knew you better.

"Okay, we are not talking until you eat something. Go change, wash up. I'll make you something," he ordered.

With a dejected sigh, you dragged yourself up and headed for the shower.

The shower helped, mostly. It washed away the blood and tiredness, surely, but also washed some of your inhibitions away.

You headed back to the kitchen, where you heard them.

"Slice it, Buck, not Julienne."

"It tastes the same. How does it matter?" Bucky argued.

You couldn't help but chuckle. This was familiar. This felt like home. They were home. And there they were, making sandwiches and looking utterly comfortable, their shoes and jackets discarded. They also looked sinfully hot, those tight undershirts clinging to their muscles, and the agonizing thoughts returned.

"I miss your t-shirt," Steve quipped with a grin, eyeing your plain red t-shirt and leggings as you walked closer. "Again, that's my aunt's. Get over it, Steven." You muttered.

Bucky leaned against the countertop, his intense gaze fixed on yours. You walked up to him slowly.

"Sorry for yelling at you," you told him sincerely. His gaze searched yours, and his insanely pink lips curled into a small smile.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and warm, pulling you into a hug before you could respond.

You melted into him immediately, feeling the heat of his body against yours, the familiar comfort of his embrace washing over you. That perfect mix of musk and something undeniably Bucky wafted over your senses and calmed the chaos inside your head. You tightened your arms around him, the ache of missing him--of missing them--filling your chest.

You could feel the deep rumble of his chest against your cheek, the sound vibrating through you, sending a warmth that felt grounding and exhilarating. And when he tightened his hold around you, pulling you just a little closer, your breath hitched. You flushed, overwhelmed by the intensity of it.

"'S all good, ok?" he murmured softly, his voice so reassuring it made your heart ache. "Let's eat."

Reluctantly, you pulled away, blinking as you tried to steady yourself, the flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

When you walked towards Steve, he grinned at you, and you leaned your forehead against his large bicep, feeling it flex as he worked. His familiar warmth settled around you.

"I hate it when you don't take care of yourself," Steve said. You stepped away before Steve decided to lecture you more.

You grabbed the plates and started setting them aside, wanting to keep busy to avoid the tension in the room. Your furtive glances toward them didn't go unnoticed. Both Steve and Bucky were quiet as you ate in silence. You hated yourself for not suggesting that you play something on the TV to distract from the discomfiting silence. But you were paralyzed emotionally.

When you tried to clear the plates, Steve gently stopped you. You reluctantly handed him the plates, feeling small in the space between you.

Bucky seemed to notice your unease. "Want to have that tea now?" he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving you. You averted your eyes; instead, you leaned against the wall for support. You nodded in response, trying to pull yourself together but not quite succeeding.

Bucky moved to prepare the tea, and you let yourself stay quiet, not looking at him--at either of them--afraid that if you did, you'd spill everything you'd been trying to hold back.

You felt so pathetic and helpless. Wanting to seek their comfort but feeling that would be unjust.

And you watched Steve walk to you, wiping his hands on the towel before walking closer.

He reached for your hand, his grip warm, and it felt perfectly assuring. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the way he held you as if he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"Let me ask you something. Did something happen that you're hiding?"

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to answer.

The intensity of his look only seemed to make it harder. You shook your head slightly, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, "No."

"Did Buck or I hurt you?"

"No!" you said, loudly and firmly.

"Then why?" His voice softened even further.

You stared at him, feeling the truth stuck in your throat, tangled in a way that made speaking impossible. Your eyes drifted, landing on Bucky, who stood just a few feet away, his posture tense, his eyes flickering between you and Steve.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn't say it. You'd spent years building something so beautiful with them, something so right. And if you let it out, if you gave voice to the fear and guilt swirling inside you, everything could come crashing down. What if you lost them? Everything between you, the connection, the love, the trust. What if it all fell apart because you were too weak to keep it together?

That thought should have stopped you, should have held you back.

But the tears welled in your eyes despite your best efforts to hide them. You pressed your palms against your temples, trying to stave off the pressure building inside you. Still, the overwhelming rush of emotion was too much.

"Hey, hey…" Steve's voice was soft, and suddenly, his hands were on you, gently pulling your hands away from your face, coaxing your gaze back to him. His eyes, filled with nothing but tenderness, locked onto yours. "It's okay. Whatever it is, you can tell us. We're not going anywhere. You're not going to lose us."

You couldn't stop the tears from falling now.

You had no idea what to say or what to do next. All you knew was that you had avoided them to overcome the feelings, but here you were, confronting them head-on.

"You've been my home, both of you," you whispered, voice trembling as you looked at Steve and then Bucky. They were both silent and looked almost terrified.

"I was scared when I realized that... that..." You couldn't finish the thought. Steve and Bucky's eyes locked on yours, looking like they were waiting for something.

"I'm scared, selfish, messy, and all complicated," you continued, your voice breaking with every syllable. "I'm not strong enough to lose you both…" You sucked in a shaky breath, fighting to keep your composure. "I'm selfish. To want something I don't deserve. And you might just hate me after I tell you."

You sounded so pathetic to your ears. You couldn't look at them anymore. You couldn't face them. Without thinking, you walked away, stumbling to the drawing room, where you collapsed onto the couch, curling in on yourself. You clutched your t-shirt tightly by the sides and let the tears flow freely, everything from guilt to pain to fear pouring out.

You felt Steve and Bucky both hurry towards you. Steve knelt before you, large palms rubbing your thighs to calm you.

"Look at me," Steve said, voice barely above a whisper. "Say it," his commanding tone was merely begging, pleading.

And you obeyed.

"I can't keep this in anymore, Steve. It's suffocating me. I love you both, and I'm so scared."

You said it, sealed your fate.

For a moment, there was nothing. Complete silence.

You could feel Steve's grip on your legs loosen, his hands falling away slowly as if the weight of your confession had stunned him. Then, Bucky's breath hitched from behind you. His presence shifted, the weight beside you on the couch telling you he sat beside you.

You shut your eyes, silently crying.

You did it. You messed up. Didn't you? You felt ashamed. This was the moment you feared the most. They'd never look at you the same way. You'd ruined everything.

"Do you think I'd let just anyone touch my hair?" Bucky asked, his voice low and trembling. You looked up, confused. What did that have to do with what you said?

"What?" You managed hoarsely.

"You," he said, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. "I let you cut my hair. I hate when anyone touches it but with you... it's different. It's always been different."

"Bucky..." you whispered, but he didn't let you interrupt.

"I loved you the moment you held me close after that nightmare in Wakanda. Do you remember that? I was a mess, and you just… didn't let go. Not until I could breathe again. I broke your finger by mistake at how tight I held you." His voice broke, and he swallowed hard.

"I love Steve. I've always loved him. And then... I loved you, too. It scared the shit out of me, but it's the truth." Bucky sniffled, and continued, "Ever since Thanksgiving, you've been distant, and I was terrified, thinking I'd done something terrible and lost you forever. And it fucking hurts, sweetheart."

Your breath caught in your throat. You stood up, stumbling ungracefully as you stepped away, needing to breathe. Bucky moved behind you, his hands on your arms, steadying you. You let him hold you. He tugged you closer, your back against his strong chest, his arms winding on your stomach, letting you put all your weight onto him, effectively calming you.

Steve stepped forward, holding something small in his hand. Your eyes widened as he held up a familiar notebook.

"Do you remember this?" he asked softly.

You nodded, stunned. That's the tiny notebook you gave to him. Years ago, right after he came out of the ice.

Steve opened the notebook and flicked through the pages. Your breath hitched as you saw it filled with sketches of you, Bucky, and moments you'd shared.

"You told me to fill it with things I wanted to remember," Steve said, his voice warm and full of emotion. "But all I could think about was you. I was so scared to feel love again. I loved Bucky for so long, and then you came into my life, and I... I didn't know how to go about it."

Steve exchanged a brief, meaningful glance with Bucky. His eyes softened as he continued, "But then Bucky returned, and I realized he felt the same. I've never been very religious, doll, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't pray for this every darn day."

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound deep and reassuring. "Believe me, we'd be a mess without you," he said, gently kissing your hair. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you," Steve echoed, gently kissing your cheek.

You blinked rapidly and your mind was reeling. The world seemed to stop around you. Your heart raced, and your breath caught in your throat as you processed their words. But then, confusion took over.

"I... I don't understand. I can't choose," you stammered, your heart torn between the joy and the overwhelming fear of what this meant.

"You don't have to," Bucky said firmly, lips touching your right ear sensually, sending shivers down your spine. "Steve and I are a package deal. You get him, you get me, and vice versa. Take it or leave it. Actually, scratch that. Just take it."

Your lips parted in disbelief, and looked at Steve. He nodded, looking at you hopefully. You let out a nervous chuckle.

"What did you put in that sandwich? I think I'm high," you mumbled, laughing softly.

Steve smirked, his eyes twinkling joyfully. "Apart from Bucky's horribly chopped tomatoes, nothing you don't like," he teased. He crouched slightly to kiss you softly. Just a barely present touch, but it lit a fire so quickly that you trembled. He tasted perfect, just like him, soft and manly.

Bucky followed suit, twirling you in his arms, lifting you to his level, his kiss more fervent, grounding you. He tasted musky and familiar, spicy and so so him.

You pulled back, wide-eyed, your heart racing.

"Oh, boy," you whispered, a dazed smile across your face.

The distant sound of fireworks startled you, and the three of you turned toward the window. Faint remnants of flickering lights lit up the sky. The neighbors must have set the fireworks on the lake.

"Happy New Year," Steve said softly, his hand finding yours and Bucky's.

"Happy New Year," Bucky echoed, his metal arm wrapping around your waist.

Happy New Year, indeed!

And tomorrow, you'd text your aunt out of courtesy, letting her know you have visitors over, while keeping all the lewd details to yourself. Then, you'd go to the vet to check on the kitten, which the three of you decide to adopt and name her Alpine. A purrfect New Year, indeed!

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3 Please send me a message if you wanna be removed from the Tag list. :)

I need to update my Stucky Taglist. Forgive me if you haven't chosen to be tagged in this. Until I get things fixed, kindly bear with me :)

Tag list: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @rogerscut @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @bernelflo @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @mimisweetz @navyhua23 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8 @stellar-solar-flare @stuckysgal @bval-1 @slowlyshycomputer @avengersfan25 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @thiquefunlover63 @blackhawkfanatic @notsostrangerthing @awkwardgiraffe726 @iamtamera @pebbles20 @ayayaeyato @starsrfun @harrysnovia @gingerplague @read-just-cant @iwudbutnah @tasersloth @daydreaming-lightly

[jacksabbotts]

✧ cold cut — ❪ part five ❫

. ᵒ . ➛ PAIR . dr. jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!morguetech!reader . ᵒ . ➛ SUMMARY . in which one compliment, one coat, and one very stupid scalpel cut send you spiraling back into jack abbot’s orbit—bleeding, babbling, and absolutely not prepared for what he says next . ᵒ . ➛ TRIGGER WARNINGS . lowercase intended!!! graphic injury ( scalpel cut, blood ), medical imagery ( stitches, not graphic, er setting ), mild medical anxiety, emotional spiral / anxious overthinking, self-deprecating inner monologue, implied crush / unrequited feelings ( perceived ), power imbalance ( attending physician x hospital staff ), flirting in a professional setting, profanity

. ᵒ . ➛ AUTHORS NOTES . dont look at me! the jacket is my way of edging them before we get to the actual edging 😏😅 the jacket has earned its way to the castlist. it is a main character now

. ᵒ . ➛ WORD COUNT . ~ 2.3k

JOIN THE JACKSABBOTTS 1K EXTRAVAGANZA

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist

the coat was back where it didn’t belong—on your desk, draped like a memory you couldn’t fold shut.

you didn’t put it back on ( even though he told you to wear it ). you’d thought about it, thought maybe the extra warmth would keep your brain from spiraling—but the weight of it on your shoulders made it worse. you couldn’t breathe with it on. so you'd placed it carefully in the corner of your desk, hoping it would stop staring.

it didn’t.

you had a body on the table. male, late fifties, post-op complications. nothing traumatic. nothing you hadn’t seen a hundred times before. you went through the motions : pulled the cart into place, adjusted the overhead light, unzipped the bag. the hum of the cooler, the click of your pen, the rustle of latex gloves—routine, familiar, grounding.

still, you kept glancing back.

'don’t look at me like that,' you muttered, tugging the sheet down to expose the man's torso. 'not you. him.' your eyes flicked to the desk. 'the coat. it’s staring again.'

you sighed and looked back at the body. 'you ever have a doctor who ruined your entire emotional equilibrium with one compliment and a jacket? no? lucky you.”

the corpse didn’t answer.

'not that i think it was a real compliment,' you added, setting up your scale and camera. 'i’m not delusional. he was just being polite. a guilt offering. like a sorry for making you feel like a walking pathology specimen last week kind of thing.'

you adjusted the camera. 'still. he didn’t have to say it. it suits you.' you rolled your eyes and shook your head. 'that’s the kind of thing that short-circuits a girl’s brain, you know?'

click. photo taken.

'i’ve been thinking about it for two days,' you continued. 'you know what that means? i haven’t watched any tv. i haven’t listened to my podcasts. i—' you hesitated. '—i forgot to label the scalpels last night. me. the scalpel-labeling queen. not my idea, im not that self-absorbed.'

you peeled back the id band on the corpse’s wrist, checked it against the log.

'i’m pathetic,' you mumbled.

the body, to his credit, said nothing.

'anyway, let’s get your sample. then i’ll stop rambling and let you enjoy your eternal rest in peace and silence and climate-controlled perfection.'

you reached for the scalpel.

and you weren’t looking. not at your hand. not at the angle.

you were thinking about his hands. the way they’d stitched your palm last week. the way he’d said your name—well, okay, nickname. still. his voice had dipped when he said it.

and that was when it happened.

a sharp slip. a hiss of pain. the blade biting in—clean, fast, too deep.

you dropped it with a gasp.

blood bloomed through the glove almost instantly.

'oh, come on,' you groaned, grabbing a wad of gauze with your good hand. you applied pressure, but it wasn’t enough. the blood was already dripping onto the floor, your shoe, the tray of sterile tools.

you turned to the body again, holding up your bleeding hand. 'well, congratulations. you’re the first dead guy to see me have a full-on medical spiral in real time.'

still no reply. obviously.

'don't look so smug. this is your fault, you know.' you pressed the gauze tighter. 'if you’d just let me stay distracted without bleeding about it, we wouldn’t be in this mess.'

the corpse was unmoved.

you looked down at your hand. it was a mess.

you were going to need stitches.

which meant only one thing.

you were going to have to go upstairs.

the elevator ride to the er felt like ascending to your own personal hell.

you kept your hand cradled close to your chest, gauze pressed tight, blood still seeping through the layers. the pain was manageable. the shame? not so much.

you should’ve waited. should’ve radioed someone. should’ve done literally anything else but walk yourself, in your oversized morgue scrubs and haunted raccoon eyes, up to the one place you’d been aggressively avoiding since the beginning of your shift. since he told you it suited you. since your entire brain short-circuited and your hand decided to follow.

the er doors slid open with their usual groan, and you stepped into the chaos like a deer crossing a freeway at rush hour.

don’t panic, you told yourself. just get someone other than jack abbot. anyone. a resident. a nurse. a vending machine with first-aid supplies.

you made it five steps before you heard your name.

'hey—morgue girl?'

she, dana, appeared at your elbow like a horror movie jump scare, coffee in one hand, chart in the other. her eyes scanned you—then dropped to the soaked gauze in your hand.

her whole expression shifted.

'what the hell did you do?' she asked, half-concerned, half-amused.

'i—uh—i had a moment,' you mumbled. 'it’s fine. i’m fine. just need some stitches.'

dana’s brows lifted. 'sure looks like more than ‘just’—wait, you walked up here like that?'

you nodded. she blinked. 'jesus,' she muttered, then turned and called over her shoulder. 'hey, jack!'

'dana!'

but it was too late.

jack appeared from bay two, chart in hand, brow furrowed—until he saw you. everything in his expression changed. his shoulders straightened. his steps quickened.

you wanted to sink into the linoleum.

'what happened?' he asked, voice low, serious, and somehow ten times louder than anything else in the room.

'i—' you lifted the gauze. 'it’s not that bad.'

he didn’t answer. just reached out and gently took your wrist in his hand, tilting it so he could see. the pressure was feather-light. his fingers were warm.

he pulled the gauze back.

blood bloomed. fast. too fast. you felt light headed. his jaw flexed. 'bay three,' he said, already steering you toward it. 'i really don’t need—'

'bay. three.'

you opened your mouth to protest—too late. he’d already turned, barking over his shoulder to dana, 'get one of the kids to cover four and five. i’m taking care of this one.'

dana blinked. 'uh, i could grab shen? he’s—'

'no.' jack’s voice sliced clean through the noise. final. '’ll do it.'

you flinched.

dana raised an eyebrow but backed off with a knowing smirk, already halfway down the hall.

you didn’t move.

jack turned to you, hands already gloved. 'go.'

you followed because your legs didn’t have the spine to disobey. the curtain swished closed behind you, and you found yourself once again in the crash room. the scene of the crime. the battlefield of coats and compliments and feelings.

he gestured to the bed.

you hesitated.

'up.'

you climbed onto the gurney like you were being sent to the gallows.

you watched him gather the suture kit. watched the ease in his movements, the confidence in his hands. prepped a tray of supplies with practiced ease. you stared at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact like your life depended on it.

'you—you don’t have to,' you said, voice shaking as you stared at your shoes. 'i mean, you could ask one of your residents. i’m sure they’re—'

'i trained them,' jack said flatly. 'doesn’t mean i trust them.'

you blinked. 'but—'

he stepped closer. took your injured hand with such deliberate gentleness you nearly forgot to breathe. 'they’re still learning,' he said. 'you’re not a practice body.'

your heart stuttered at that.

his fingers were careful. gentle, even—but his eyes? still sharp. still on you.

the sterile silence stretched while he prepped the stitches. you watched his hands work, the burn in your palm nothing compared to the burn in your face.

he didn’t speak again until the needle was in his grip.

'so, how’d it happen?'

you tensed. 'it’s—uh, it’s nothing, really. just a—uh—a stupid slip. happens all the time, you know, just one of those days and the scalpel was, um, sharp—obviously—and it just—'

'try again,' he said, without looking up.

you swallowed.

'tell me the truth,' he added, quieter this time. 'you’ve done this job for how long? three years?' your heart stuttered because that? there was no reason he'd know that. and that meant that he'd asked about you. he'd purposely tried to find out information about you.

'four.'

'exactly. so i doubt you just forgot how to handle a scalpel overnight.' he glanced up, brow raised. 'what really happened?'

you shriveled under his stare. your mouth opened. closed. opened again. and then it all came out at once.

'i—okay—i was distracted, alright? i was cleaning the table and i just—i wasn’t thinking straight because someone told me to keep their stupid coat and then they told me it—it suits me—and i couldn’t stop thinking about it which is ridiculous because i know you were just being polite and trying to be nice and maybe like, not feel guilty for yelling at me which is fine by the way, i wasn’t mad or anything but it just got in my head and—and—then i knocked the tray over and i grabbed the blade without looking and now we’re here—so.'

silence.

utter silence.

you didn’t breathe.

your eyes were huge.

because, oh god, what had you just said? why had you said that?

and jack abbot was fucking grinning. not smirking. not smoldering. grinning. like a goddamn kid. like someone just handed him the sun.

'jesus christ,' he muttered, shaking his head. 'you’re unbelievable.'

you buried your face in your uninjured hand. 'i know, i know, i didn’t mean to say all of that, just—forget it—'

'no way.' he was beaming now. 'you think I gave you my coat because I felt guilty?'

you looked at him like he’d just accused you of grand larceny. 'well—yeah?' you squeaked. he huffed out a laugh—soft, warm, real. 'morgue girl…'

'what?'

he bent forward slightly, still holding your hand with one of his own, the needle paused in the other. you blinked up at him, still reeling, still red, still trying to play catch-up while he tugged the last stitch tight.

he cut the thread with a flick of surgical scissors.

then he looked at you. really looked.

and he said, voice low, not flirty, not teasing—earnest. 'yeah, okay. the first time i gave you the coat… that was guilt. i’ll admit it.”

you froze. 'but the second time?'

he leaned back on his stool, hands braced loosely on his knees, head tilted like he was debating how honest to be.'that wasn’t about guilt,' he said.

he glanced away for half a second—then back. 'that was because i didn’t like the thought of you freezing half to death down there. not when i could do something about it.'

your lips parted. no words came.

'i’ve worked in this hospital for years,' he went on, almost to himself. 'plenty of people down in the morgue. most of ‘em i barely remember. but you?' his eyes caught yours again.

'you’re the first one i’ve ever gone downstairs for.'

you felt your breath stick in your throat. your fingers twitched. your skin felt too warm under the er lights.

'i didn’t mean to mess with your head,' he added, softer now. 'but i’m not sorry for noticing you. not sorry for the coat. and i’m definitely not sorry for wanting to make sure you’re warm.'

you whispered, 'why?'

his smile curved slow and dangerous.

'because i like you cold,' he said, standing. 'but i like you warm a hell of a lot more.'

then he brushed his knuckles—very gently—down your cheek. just once. he chuckled again, shaking his head as he went back to stitching you up—like he hadn’t just said the most unhinged thing in the world.

and then he walked out like he hadn’t just wrecked your soul and left your brain in seventeen different emotional pieces on a hospital gurney.

your brain fizzled out.

your brain short-fucking-circuited. completely. full system shutdown. he left the room like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just said those words, hadn’t just looked at you like that, hadn’t just touched your face like you were something gentle.

and you were still sitting on the damn gurney with your hand bandaged and your heart trying to claw its way out of your chest like it was auditioning for a medical emergency of its own.

what.

the actual fuck.

was that.

you replayed it. again. and again. and again.

because I like you cold. but I like you warm a hell of a lot more.

who says that?? who says that and then leaves?? who says that to you, the awkward morgue tech who talks to corpses and can’t look a resident in the eye without breaking into hives?

your ears were ringing. your skin felt like it had been dipped in lava. you could still feel the ghost of his knuckles on your cheek. like it had been branded into your nervous system.

you kicked your feet a little off the side of the gurney.

you wanted to scream into your hands. or crawl into the nearest biohazard bin and never return. or maybe pass away quietly in the trauma bay because that would be less humiliating than what just happened.

you glanced down at your bandaged hand. still there. still throbbing. still very much stitched up by the man who just emotionally detonated you like a code blue in your chest cavity.

you whispered to no one :

'…what the fuck.'

and then immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, because oh my god, that had come out aloud.

you peeked toward the hallway. no one. thank god. except—was that dana? you scrambled off the gurney like it had caught fire.

you needed to get out. away. back to the cold, back to the dead, back to your lane.

because this?

this was too warm. too dangerous. too much. and the worst part?

the worst part was how badly—how embarrassingly badly—you wanted him to say something like that again.

🔖  .   @Princesssunderworld  @mayabbot  @Imherefordeanandbones  @Arigoldsblog  @oldmanbunnylover  @I-mushi  @autumnleaves1991-blog  @lovelexi717  @peggyofoz  @qtmoonies  @nfwmb-gvf  @britt217  @babybatreads  @cheekym8s  @bitteroceanlove  @spooky-librarian-ghost  @dr-yapper  @yutasgem  @keseqna  @gardeniarose13  @witchbitchlovesdilfs  @sotragedynut  @robbyrosierobinavitch  @anglophileforlife @flyinglama  @reignbooks8506 @kmc1989  @sillymuffintrashflap @letstryagaintomorrow @caterpillarskimono @maiamore  @chuiisi  @madzleigh01 @qardasngan @Imightbeinsanebutwtv  @Shadowfoxey @foolishseven @anxiousfuckupon  @Lumpypoll  @Coldmuffinbanditshoe  @blueliketheseaa  @Justfaefaeee  @sweetdayme4427  @404creep  @yourdaydreamerfan  @ddrawers96  @m14mags  @generalstarlightobject  @twiddledeedumsworld  @dlljdhsh  @jetless  @Thedamnqueenofhell  @Topnerd03  @misshoneypaper  @abllor @Loud-mouph @cannonindeez @nubecita040 @Sabi127  @Coleground  @sevenberry   @idontcarenoughtonamethis  @beebeechaos  @cwzham  @homebytheharbor  @Sammiib444  @painment  @namgification  @Cherry_cosmos  @catmomstyles3

[monstersflashlight]

In LOVE with your alien fics and I was wondering if it's alright to request for a specific alien race? Specifically the Yautjas (the alien creature from the Predator movies)

I was thinking of a human reader who works in an intergalactic repair shop of some kind for space travel and while she's used to getting beings of their race come by often, there's this one yautja who just keeps coming back more frequently than the others and since he's being such a generous and regular customer she decides to give him some "perks" 👀👀

If you can't then it's fine just wanted to try asking. Absolutely adore your writing and am thankful to have found your blog!! ✨️✨️

A/N: I don’t usually do specific alien races, but you are welcome to imagine this one is a yautja. Also, if you are wondering… yes, the title is a joke. Enjoy!

The perks of being an alienfucker

Alien x fem!reader || exhibitionism (technically), semi-public sex, oral sex, dirty talk (very light)

You’ve been working as a mechanic at the space station for a while. For long enough that some of the “locals” already know you. You are friendly with a couple of them, always cheerful when they show up to fix one thing or the other. You suspect they only bring you the little problems to fix so they can chat with you, you are something like a catch by intergalactic standards. Or so they’ve told you.

But there’s one… There’s one alien that makes your blood boil and your pussy get wet. Every time he shows up you have to bite your lip to avoid saying something inappropriate. But the fact that he doesn’t look much better makes you feel extra giddy. You almost expect him to bend you over the spaceship and fuck you hard, but he never does.

He’s always waiting, as if he’s expecting some kind of signal from you that you want the same thing. And he catches you in the worst moment, when you are ovulating and your vibrator broke down last night. He appears at the door with his big strong arms and his too big body and you are already salivating. You can see every ridge of his body in his super tight suit…

And you had enough of the teasing, of the flirting, of the way his eyes run over your body as if he’s imagining licking every inch of you.

So you turn around and bend over the spaceship. The inclination of the hood makes your ass be higher than your shoulders and you are sure you look sinful like that. You look over your shoulder as you lower your pants and panties, exposing your pussy to him. If he doesn’t get the signal he needs with that… you are more than done trying to get this fine specimen of an alien to fuck you senseless.

He stops what he’s saying (you don’t even know because you weren’t paying attention), and looks at you, his eyes traveling down your body and focusing on your most vulnerable place. “What are you doing?” His voice sounds breathless, and it makes a shiver run down your spine.

You press your face against the cold metal, rapidly warming under your skin, and look at him over your shoulder, wriggling your hips a little. “I think it’s pretty clear. I’m face down, ass up, do you need a map?” You tease like the little shit you are.

He steps closer to you, still a couple feet away. “Don’t play with me, human,” he growls. His eyes are as dark as ever, and he’s clenching his fists at his sides. He seems to be vibrating and you can’t stop the little whimper that leaves your mouth.

“I want you to play with me,” you tell him after your brain starts working again.

He stomps his way to you until he’s standing right behind you, his hands hovering over your exposed backside. “Last chance to say this is all a joke, human,” he warns.

You growl, and he inhales loudly. “Fuck me already, for fuck’s sake,” you let out, your body tense and ready to explode just having him there, looking.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but for him to fall to his knees behind you and start devouring your cunt and asshole like a desperate alien was not it. You try to find something to grab, but you are powerless as he eats you out with everything he has.

You are panting and moaning, a little part of your brain realizing the door is wide open and anybody can walk in. But that only makes you hotter, groaning deeply as he pushes a finger inside of you. Is messy and fast, and your first orgasm catches you off guard completely.

He pulls back, growling low and sustained, it almost sounds like… “Are you purring?” You let out in a choked breath, almost wanting to laugh. But he doesn’t let you think twice about it, the tip of his dick pressing against your opening.

He pushes in, one long thrust that makes your feet get off the ground and you are grateful he ate you so well before because you definitely needed the extra lubrication. He’s big. He feels huge, actually. And you can’t get enough of him.

He fucks you nasty, his hips pushing yours forward and making you hit the metal of the spaceship in an almost forceful way that makes your brain short-circuit as you see stars. He keeps grunting and moaning, and the sounds he makes only drive you further into ecstasy.

It’s fast and hard and everything you needed.

“Come for me before somebody walks by, human. I want to feel your pussy strangling my cock,” his crude words make you twitch around him, creating a new wave of curses and grunts that drive you over the edge.

The orgasm rocks your body backwards, pushing him as deep as possible as you tremble. Your face is pressed to the spaceship and your knees feel weak as he grabs your hips and pushes you off your feet, rutting inside of you until you feel the first shot of his come hitting your cervix. It’s exhilarating in the best way possible.

You come back to your body feeling like jelly, plastered against the spaceship unable to move. He pulls back with a groan, kissing your back one last time before caressing your side.

“I’ll be coming tomorrow... to check on the spaceship.” He whispers before patting your ass and pushing your pants and panties back up, trapping the mess he made on your pussy against the fabric. It feels weird and sticky, but makes your lower belly boil with arousal.

You can’t wait until he returns.

[gofu-kurself]

billy hargrove is riding steve’s ass.

he’s sweaty and panting in steve’s ear and brushing up against steve’s equally sweat slick back.

steve dribbles the basketball and tries to find an opening to pass or move forward away from the absolute distraction that is billy hargrove.

steve feels the sweat from billy’s hair drip onto his shoulder and darken his grey t-shirt. steve shuffles backward, trying to push the shorter boys looming presence away.

“woah there harrington, tryna make a move on me, pretty boy?”

steve can hear the shark-like grin on billy’s glistening face.

“shit cmon billy, just get off my ass.” steve knows he sounds like a little bitch, but he’s decided to own his little bitch status. robin said being a little bitch is like, one of his best attributes—robin is the best.

billy brings steve back to the present by opening his obnoxious mouth, “you’re the one shovin’ all up on me, baby”

steve hates his life. why does he have a crush on this absolutely insufferable son of a bitch?robin says its cuz hes probably a masochist or something—robin sucks. why does he have to have a crush on the most womanizing and disgustingly muscled guy in his frat?

why does billy always have to mess around and call steve shit like “baby” while he’s riding steve’s ass and sticking on him like glue during any pickup basketball game at the frat cul-de-sac.

steve fumbles the ball, cursing at himself under his breath for being distracted, and billy swoops in with an devilish giggle. somehow he manages to swat at steve’s ass while simultaneously stealing the ball.

“who woulda thought harrington would be flustered by a little pet name” he says lowly as he rushes away from steve to shoot and sink a layup.

steve already knows billy is going to use this piece of information to fuck with him for the rest of time. he’s well and truly fucked in every way other than literally. screw pretty boys from california and their blue eyes and their sculpted chests that’s never under a fucking shirt and the way they notice every goddam thing about steve like he’s a specimen to be examined.

steve forces himself to get his head back in the game (thanks robin for introducing him to HSM last week while wine drunk) and fortifies himself with a heavy sigh before running toward the herd of sweaty frat bros again.

“hey hargrove, care to share the fuckin ball sweetheart? no one likes a selfish lover”

no one had seen billy hargrove miss a jump shot until that very moment.

[texasteaparty]

Stuck on some more hangster brain rot so what about model!Jake has been getting a lot of attention recently and while most of it is positive, some of it is negative and there has been a slight uptick in overzealous fans that demand more and more from him.

It eventually gets to be too much (mostly Javy says it's too much, Jake says he's fine ) when a fan breaks into his house and threatens Jake because he was seen getting close to a few people at a party.

Javy's idea is to hire private security, just for a while, till things settle down or the cops find the person who painted Jake's walls red.

Ex-SEAL!Bradley is both everything Jake assumed he'd be and absolutely nothing like how he expected.

Bradley is cheeky, bites back with snarky remarks when Jake toes the edge of being a brat. Their interactions send fire into his core and Jake can't help but want to burn in it.

The stalker isn't caught before Jake has his next fashion week schedule, so Bradley is sent alongside Jake to keep a closer eye on the people around.

So what if the tabloids decide to take Bradley's presence as something different than what it was and run with a different story? Jake isn't going to correct their assumptions that he bagged the absolute specimen that is Bradley Bradshaw.

Because the news spreads like wildfire though, Jake's stalker ups their ante, a new agenda in hand that refocused their threats from Jake and onto Bradley.

Bradley, of course, takes the threats as good news. And when Jake asks why, he just shrugs and says he'd do whatever it takes to protect Jake, and if the stalker is more concerned with him, then he won't try to hurt Jake. Win-win.

—

I'll probably come back to this, because it's been stuck in my head for a few days but still!! Lemme know what y'all think!!! 🙏💖

[theforbiddentexts]

To be able to recognize you can leave an abusive situation, especially one you're born into is incredibly difficult and not an easy process to go through. Imagine how Sephiroth felt after stating "I may abandon Shinra."

The excitement, the fear, the anxiety, the pain in that feeling. The environment at Shinra is all he's ever known, that objectification and false glorification, being treated as less than human for as long as he could remember. He could finally leave. What would come after, who knows, but he'd be out.

And then he gets to Nibelheim. He learns he was never free, there was never a time he was free, there was never even a chance. His life wasn't his, his very existence didn't belong to him. He wasn't born and then taken to be an experiment, he wasn't even born naturally. Ever since he was first thought of, he was an experiment.

He didn't exist because someone wanted a son, he existed because they needed a specimen.

Even the dreams, the fantasies in his mind of his mother coming to save him and spending time with her, having her care are completely shattered. The library in the manor tells him he never had a mother. The woman in the photo didn't exist. If there wasn't a chance of those things happening before, it was now at absolute zero.

He wasn't loved. He was never loved. There was never a chance to be loved. The people who cared, who he thought cared, were gone or dead. All he had was Jenova.

Was Mother.