This was requested by an anon. Thank you for the request love!! XOXO
Andā¦ also. This was mostly written in a sleep-muddled haze, slightly highlighted by a sudden intense motivation to remove all forms of stress from my life in an attempt to finally get a restful sleepā¦ which meant finishing this oneā¦ longā¦ piece of craziness which to me makes kinda no sense right now. So, yeah. I hope it doesnāt suck to bad lol. If it doesā¦ oh well. Iāll embrace it.
āHey, Pete. You know about Harley, right?ā Tony spun around fancily in his chair to fix the teen in question with a contemplative raise of his brows. Peter turned away from his project momentarily to cast a glance at his mentor in response.
āUh, that kid from Tennessee youāve been collaborating with for, like, the past month?ā
Peter hated that kidā¦
āThatās the one,ā Tony grinned brightly. He spun in his chair again, turning back to the work he had abandoned. āHeās wanting to come down for a couple weeks to help me out on a new suit. Heās had a few promising ideas. I want you to meet him.ā
Peter blinked dumbly at the admittance from the man. Mr. Stark wanted him to meet his sworn enemy? Of course, Mr. Stark didnāt know about his silent, one-sided rivalry he held with the boy heād never even met, butā¦ still! Heād been fighting desperately for even the tiniest amount of Tonyās attention while heād been rather preoccupied talking to this Harley kid about their project. Who knows how far heād have to go if the other teen actually came for a visit? Gosh, Peter could see it nowā¦Ā
āi swear iām fine!ā you repeat, angling your hand upwards so the blood from your palm pools on your hand and not let any of it drip on the floor.
the laceration on your palm was an unfortunate consequence after naively giving your absolute trust to the MS4 you dragged with you to perform an escharotomy.
he was just handing you a scalpel, how did that ended so badly?
now, youāre rushing to find a room with a suture kit on your non-dominant hand. the new and awfully stubborn r3 named stan, who started 2 weeks ago, is following behind you.
āoh come on. i swear iām good with sutures! let me at least show my skills,ā stan swears by his heart.
you enter an empty treatment room, and turn around to the guy whoās so eager to help you with your injury.
āyouāre telling me you just wanna show off?ā
āto be fair, my main reason is to help you. the other part is secondary,ā he says with a sincere look.
you sigh, sitting on the bed. you might as well let him. it would be quite a pain in the ass if you treat your dominant hand by yourself.
ājust live up to your word, okay?ā
his face practically beams! oh, he feels like its his lucky day to help the pretty resident.
āi wonāt disappoint,ā he smiles with full teeth, grabbing the suture kit from you and pulls a chair facing the bed.
stanās hands are gentler than you thought. head bent close, and brows furrowed in concentration. he grips your hand carefully, ādeep breaths and relax your arm for me, yeah?ā
you nod, āyeahā¦ yeah, sorry.ā
ādonāt apologize. youāre doing great.ā
you take your gaze away from your palm, immediately meeting his. you didnāt realize that he was already looking at you.
āyeah yeah, okay,ā you give him a small smile, hoping that it seals how grateful you are for the help.
outside the small bubble you share with stan, jack abbot watches you through the glass behind the counter by the nurseās station. his eyes fixate on stanās hand cradling yours, and to your shy smile as the man tends to your wound.
jack knows that smile. hell, he misses it. he knows what it costs to earn it, because he used to be good at itā
āwhatācha watching there?ā robby nudges his shoulder, putting the chart he was just reading on the counter.
jack doesnāt look away.
āthat new resident of yoursā¦ he knows what heās doing right?ā jack asks, hiding the grumble in his voice or else itāll give him away.
robby follows his eyes, āah that. our overeager intern lacerated her palm earlier. so, stanās just fixing it up.ā
āfuckā you hiss, teeth digging on your lower lip.
āiām almost done, okay? youāre a big girl,ā stan smiles
oh, the usual level-minded attending seethes. who the fuck does he think he is? calling you big girl like that, voice all soft and sweet? a suture on the palm shouldnāt even take this long too, thatās a quick job for a good resident, and not whatever slow, deliberate thing happening behind the glass like thereās no one else in the department.
āheās taking his time about it,ā jack points out. is stan not aware of the awfully busy nature of PTMC? for a woman who values efficiency in the workplace, why are you letting this man be inefficient with timeā
āabbot,ā robbyās voice firm and stern voice cuts him off. that doesnāt faze his friend away though.
āwhat?ā jack finally takes his gaze away to look at his friend, like robby is the one being insufferable. āwhat now?ā
ājust leave them be, alright? leave her be. itās been like whatāa year?ā he says with a serious face, the friendly grin no longer there.
āhow is that relevant? have you seen the number of people waiting out there, we canāt have our residents fucking aroā?ā
robby doesnāt let him finish and lets out an exasperated sigh. he grabs his shoulders, forcefully steering jack to push him out of the nurseās station, and drag his ass with him to the ambulance bay area.
āooookay, letās get some air, shall we?ā robby squeezes his shoulders, a surprising reminder that jack is menacingly built and yet he just lets robby manhandle him towards the exit.
through the glass, right as robbyās turning him towards where theyāre going, your head tips up.
youāre not sure why, but its like your instincts sensed that youāre being watched and you just had to look who it is.
you make eye contact with jack, being escorted out by your attending.
thereās that annoying little thing prickling in your chest once again. you hold your gaze on his, and your ex boyfriend does tooā
āand weāre done!ā stan pulls your attention back to him. ālook at my beautiful work.ā
you turn to stan, and okay, you canāt deny that he is quite good with sutures. he has that precision that you struggle with.
āhumble, are we?ā you tease.
āiām allowed. i did good work,ā the corner of his mouth tips up.
you playfully roll your eyes, letting stan hold your hand and look at his work from different angles under the harsh hospital light.
your mind starts to wander to why is jack here in the hospital two hours before his shift?
a/n: aaaaaand i guess this is the start of my blurb series hehe canāt you tell my favorite jack trope is ex!jack š
Bucky has a lot of issues which will obviously take years of therapy to be even remotely okay with, but I do believe that about 95% of his mental health problems would at least temporarily be fixed by Peter Parker shyly sticking a fridge magnet to his arm.
hiii omg I loved the recent fic u wrote of steve and reader getting hurt badly <3 could u make a second part?
like her recovery, steve feeling guilty...
love uuu! take care <3 thanks
āā ā¢ i'm scared i'll never sleep again ; steve harrington
summary: you wake up from your attack, in pain and grappling with the fact that steve didn't choose you. steve doesn't know how to live without you
warnings: steve is going through it , reader is going through it. kind of codependency and open ending. angst angst baby, steve has issuesābad ones! heās not coping well.
author's note: hi my lovelies<3 thank you for being so patient with me and for continuing to request! my research thesis and coursework is genuinely killing me but we persevere! i can't promise that new fics are coming soon, only that i am trying to get them out to you as soon as i can<3
word count: 3.6k
part 1
Ėāąæą»ā ā
When you wake up, youāre alone.
There are things scattered around your hospital room that lets you know that there were once people there.
Cards, flowers, and balloons decorate next to every surface around you, bringing a warm smile to your cheeks.
Your entire body aches, you can feel where your skin has been sutured together from the wounds.
Your eyes feel dry and crusted and thereās a sheen over your teeth and tongue that makes you want to gag.
Youāre not sure how long youāve been out, only that itās been long enough for anyone important to you to have seen you.
Thereās a lone chair next to your bed, angled to the TV screen thatās mounted to the wall but close enough that you know whoever sat there couldnāt have gotten it any closer if they tried.
Part of you hopes itās there for Steve.
Part of you wants to never see his face again.
Steve had always been the first personāyour person to go to whenever you needed someone.
You just didnāt know if he was that support for you anymore.
If you two wereā¦anything anymore.
Your thoughts are all fuzzy and youāre starting to feel dizzy, so you leave the morose contemplation for a later date.
You notice the button attached to your bed labelled ācallā and without hesitation, you press it gently.
Within minutes youāre greeted by the sight of a spry young nurse who walks in before a doctor.
She has a warm smile on her face whilst the doctorās expression looks slightly more sympathetic.
āWeāre glad to see you back Miss,ā he greets you, mentioning your surname on the chart.
You give them both a hesitant smile.
āHow longāā you cough, your voice hoarse from being unused.
āHow long have I been here?ā You ask weakly.
Doctor Carter, per his nametag gives you a soft smile.
āNot that long,ā he comforts your worries. āYouāve been in a medically induced coma for the last three weeks; we started lowering your sedation earlier this week to help you wake up as naturally as possible. Itās Thursday July 27th.ā
Your face feels numb. Three weeks, well that could always be worse.
Three weeks was a long time to be gone though.
Did your parents know what happened to you? Did they have to be the one to sign off the forms?
You barely hear your own thoughts over the beeping of your heart rate monitor and the sounds of the nurse trying to soothe you.
You snap your gaze back to the doctor with a teary gaze, āWhen can I go home?ā
He frowns sympathetically, sharing a small look with the nurse.
āThat weāre not sure of. Weād like to keep you overnight for monitoring and check on your healing process tomorrow morning. After that we can discuss the path forward, would that be all right with you?ā He asks gently.
You want to kick your feet and cry out that none of this is all right. Nothing will ever be all right again.
You nearly died and you woke up alone.
God, you know your friends and family have their own lives, but you just hate that you almost died alone and woke up for your only comfort to be strangers.
āCanācan someone call my mom? I wanna see my mom.ā You whisper brokenly, sniffling and scrubbing your hands over your cheeks as you feel your tears start to flow.
āYour parents are on their way.ā The nurse affirms, smiling gently at you as she offers you a tissue.
You nod shakily, whispering a small thank you.
Youāre about to open your mouth and ask more questions before youāre interrupted by the sound of sneakers hitting the linoleum floor.
They squeak as the skid outside of your door and you see the form of someone pushing through your room door.
Your doctor starts to voice his protests as he walks towards the door before it swings open to reveal the intruder.
Standing six feet tall and a couple of steps away is Steve Harrington.
His brunette hair unkempt and circles under his eyes that youād never seen before.
Heās still dressed in his usual light wash jeans and converse with the telltale varsity jacket but something about him looks off.
Heās swaying on his feet as he stares at you as though heās seen a ghost.
His chest heaves and his hands shake as he attempts to cross the room to you.
He pays no mind to anyone else, and you canāt seem to move, frozen under his gaze until heās intercepted by the Doctor.
āSirāSir! You cannot be in here; this is a private room!ā Dr. Carter asserts, moving to stand in between yourself and Steve.
You can only hear the pained whine and growl that Steve lets out at being held back.
āPleaseāplease. Yāgotta let me see her, I canātāI need toāā
āSir you need to leave, immediate family only.ā
Steve wants to fight and argue and plead with you to just let him stay.
Heāll do anything.
Heās been through hell and back these last three weeks, wondering and waiting to know if he was ever gonna be able to see you again.
Begging your parents to let him stay past visiting hours and spending his every waking moment trying to memorize the look of your face lest that be the last time he ever gets to see you.
Heās been a sad shell of a man for the past three weeks, barely sleeping and eating and unable to keep himself functioning away from you.
Every time he found himself about to fall asleep all he could hear was your voice telling him that he kept choosing Nancy.
That he didnāt love you.
God, he never knew just how much regret one could feel about not speaking up sooner.
Missed opportunities, all fucking bullshit.
And now you sat not even a couple of steps away from him, but he still wasnāt allowed to hold you, to touch you and let you know that he was being a stupid asshole about everything.
Every fibre of his being ached to crawl into that bed with you and to lie there and tell you all the things he should have before letting you walk away from him.
āHoneyāā Steveās voice breaks and you clench your eyes shut.
You can hear his pleading die off as Dr. Carter pushes him out of the room.
Silence is a companion with you once again as the nurse also exits the room with a sympathetic smile.
į įسą¬ Õ
A few days later, youāre sitting against the inclined hospital bed making small talk with your mom when you hear the familiar sounds of sneaks squeaking.
Your heart stutters in your chest and you turn to look at your mother in dismay who only smiles with a knowing look.
Steve peeks into the room with a nervous demeanour thatās seems unfamiliar in his usual confidence.
āCan Iāā he winces āis it okay for me to come in?ā
Your mom pats your knee with a soft smile, āIāll let you two talk.ā
āMom!ā You protest as she walks out of the room.
Your gaze lands on Steve as you hear the door click shut.
āWhy are you here?ā You whisper into the silence of the room.
Steve clenches his jaw shut, turning to stare at the pale white paint of the hospital room.
āI thoughtāyouād been asleep for so long and I just really needed to see you and I know we both said thingsāā
You canāt help the brittle laugh that escapes you.
You donāt mean for it to be as harsh and scathing as it sounds but Steve looks as though heād rather you have punched him.
āSteve there is no we anymore.ā You frown at him imploringly.
Steve feels like heās been gutted from the inside out.
He shakes his head firmly, āyou donāt mean that.ā He protests.
You give him a commiserating look.
āSteveāI meant what I said.ā You say softly.
Steve shakes his head more firmly this time, āDonātāā he rubs his hand over his jaw in frustration.
āDonāt say that. You didnāt mean it; you canāt mean it.ā
āSteve you couldnāt even tell me you love me not knowing if youād ever see me again.ā Your voice breaks.
Steveās eyes are frantic when he meets yours, wide and teary as his lip wobbles.
āNoāno no no I knew I was gonna see you again baby. I wasnāt gonna let you die in that place. And I know I should haveāā
āYou shouldāve done a lot of things Steve.ā
Steve lets out an ugly sound, something so soft yet broken that you sink further into yourself and the horribly thin hospital mattress.
āI know, I know I shouldāve.ā He agrees, shuffling to walk closer to you despite your protests.
āBut youāve gotta give me a chance to fix it baby, I just spent 3 weeks without you and IāI canāt do that again, okay? I canāt.ā He whispers pleasingly as he stops at the railing separating the two of you.
You sniffle and scrub your hands down your cheeks.
āYouāll just keep choosing Nancy over me and I canāt sit there and watch you be the man I needed to someone elseāā
Steve blinks through the onslaught of tears as he pleads with you silently.
āI can be thatā he insists pleadingly, his hands clasped in front of him in prayer. āI can be that for youāI know, I know I hurt you and Iām sorry, but I need you to know I can do better. Pleaseāpleaseplease donāt give up on me baby.ā His voice breaks as he chokes down a sob.
His legs fail him as he sinks slowly to the floor beside your hospital bed, tears streaming down his face as his hands remain clasped together.
His posture is reminiscent of a small boy praying for forgiveness at an altar.
āāand I know itās selfish and you donāt owe me anything but IāI need you. I can make this rightābecause I love you and Iāā
Your ear starts to ring, as a dullness starts to encompass you.
Now? Nowās the time he chooses to confess his love to you.
āI want you to leave.ā You whisper, staring at your lap with no intention.
You hear Steve inhale sharply, his breaths stuttering as he continues to cry next to you.
āBaby?ā He pleads confused.
āDonātādonāt call me that.ā You insist, clenching your hands at your sides in anger.
āI think you need to leave Steve. Now.ā Your voice is cold and detached, your gaze shifting between wet and emotional to sheer detachment.
Steve doesnāt fight you, but you watch as he slumps in on himself, his back shaking with the weight of his grief and sobs as he nods, making his way out of the room.
į įسą¬ Õ
By the time youāre reading to start physical therapy, the thought of Steve might as well have ingrained itself into your head.
Heās somehow everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You donāt see him again after that last hospital visit, but you know the flowers that turn up weekly arenāt from your aunt in California.
Some part of you revels in the fact that he wont leave you alone, that heās just as torn up and gutted from the inside out about this as you are. Though a smaller part of you resents him even more for choosing now.
When youād spent so long thinking that you werenāt worth it to try, that Steve would never be the one to choose you and just when you thought he mightāheād pick Nancy over and over again.
Physical therapy takes your mind off things, youāre more concerned about your own mobility than you are about Steve Harrington.
Sometimes your mind wanders, or your dreams unravel out of your control. Pictures of a white picket fence, children that look like you and Steve cuddled up next to you as you watch some blurry picture on the TV.
Sometimes itās you, in a beautiful dress, twirling in the orange sunset of your kitchen in the arms of a blurry faced lover that only wears the cologne youāve smelt on one person.
Those nights are the hardest, the ones where you feel like your heart has been torn out of your chest, leaving a Steve shaped hole in your body that youāve been forced to grow around instead of healing.
But time passes as it often does and the seasons change and soon enough youāre walking out of the hospital with your leg in a brace and a smile on your face.
Only to stumble at the sight of who stands before you.
āHi,ā Steve breathes out, a slow hesitant smile blooming across his cheeks. He looks the same, maybe more sun kissed by the summer sun, but he looks just like that boy that used to hold your hand and tug you around the hallways of Hawkins High.
āSteve?ā you frown. āWhat are you doing here? I thought Eddie was picking me up?ā
Steve rubs his hands together in nervousness, as he blows out a breath nodding dumbly.
āUh yeah, you know he had umāhe had band practice and he asked if I could come and get you?ā he offers, shrugging meekly as he avoids your eye contact.
You know heās lying. He knows that you know heās lying.
Neither of you move for a second as you eye him and his car dubiously before sighing to yourself and relinquishing to the fact that you need to get home anyway.
āYou havenāt gotten any better at lying since I last saw you,ā you mutter to him as you hobble past him, barely sparing him a glance as you watch as his arms twitch out slightly as if unsure if he should help you.
āGet in the car Steve,ā you snap at him as you lower yourself into the passenger seat, snapping him out of his daze as he rushes to get in.
The drive is silent as the familiar sounds of Steveās music filters through the speakers. You stare aimlessly at the passing scenery of the town as you try to ignore Steveās desperate glances.
āIāā Steve breaks the silence softly, a light-hearted tone in his voice. āI almost crashed because of this squirrel last week, screamed like a little girl. You would haveāā
āStop talking Steve,ā you beg through a whisper, not turning to look at him.
Steve snaps his jaw shut with an audible click, and you hear his sharp intake of breath. He blinks in quick succession to clear the blurriness of his gaze.
He doesnāt know how to do this, how to act as if every version of himself isnāt inexplicably tied to you in some way or another.
How heās supposed to pretend as if heās not unravelling at the seams every second youāre in his direct vicinity and wont talk to him. There is no Steve Harrington without you, there never has been and never will be.
Heād spent the last couple of months silently stewing in his own personal hell and torture, calling your parents at all hours to know if youād made even just the slightest bit of progress.
Begging them to let him visit you again, to apologise, to talk, to see you. Because ever since that night every single time Steve managed to close his eyes, all he saw was you, you bleeding out, you telling him that you loved him and him not saying it backāwhy didnāt he say it back?
It haunts him every minute of every waking hour, the thought that he couldāve lost you. Only for you to have pulled through and for him to have lost you all over again. Having to leave your room because he wasnāt good for youāand imagine that, a world where Steve Harrington lost everything heād ever wanted.
And then, a chance. The sight of Steve had been enough for Eddie to offer him one last chance to make it right.
Friday. 9AM. Donāt be late and donāt be an ass. Got it, Harrington?
Steve had never been more ready to kiss someone as he had been in that moment. Now you were here. In his car, sitting right next to him and looking just as beautiful as the last time he saw you.
And heās fucking it up again. Heās trying so hard and heās fucking it up. He doesnāt know how to fix thisāor make it right but he knows that everything has been all out of whack since he left that hospital room.
The two of you just werenāt meant to be apart. Call is codependency, separation anxiety or fuckinā anxious attachmentāSteve didnāt care.
āIām sorry.ā He offers you instead. No bullshit.
You tense next to him before you slowly turn to face him as he arrives onto your street. He doesnāt want to let you out of his car, as bad as that may seem. He just doesnāt know if he lets you leave now, if heāll ever see you again.
Steveās a worrier, he worries like itās an Olympic sport and it feels like all his worries the last couple of months have been all consuming youyouyouyouyou.
āWe donāt have to do this, Steve.ā You offer, placatingly as always. So ready to throw the towel in to let Steve look like the good guy when he knows just how much this is tearing your own soul to shreds.
āPlease,ā he whispers, pulling up to park in front of your house. He clenches his jaw as his hands tighten on the wheel before turning in his seat to look at you.
āI canāt do this without you, Iāplease just give me five minutes.ā
Steve can see the condescension brewing in your eyes, as if youāre about to console him. Like he needs consolingāheās not the one who had to relearn how to walk or had to look her boyfriend in the face and watch as he couldnāt say he loves her.
āSteveāā
āPlease, Baby pleaseājust this okay? I promise and, and if you donāt wanna hear from me after this then Iāll go okay?ā He implores, unashamed to admit heād get on the pavement to beg.
You stare at him for a long time, for the first time taking note of his sunken in eyes and grey tinge to his skin.
You nod, biting your lip as you get comfortable in silent acquiescence.
āI have spent the last 4 months knowing what itās like to be without you. Having to face myself knowing I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me and IāI canāt do it.ā Steveās voice breaks, his breath hitching in his throat as he blinks back his own tears.
āIāI canāt sleep, I canāt eat, I canāt fuckin look in the mirror because all I see if you. Youāre everywhere and Iām soāso scared all the time, Iām so scared I feel like Iām crawling out my own skin without you and thatās selfish. Thatās selfish because you donāt deserve to carry thatāthatās my shit, thatās my own shit but I need you know how much I need you with me okay? It was neverānever like this with anyone else. Never.ā Steveās swears and his voice warbles as he lifts his hand to scrub his cheeks harshly, his eyes clenching shut against the onslaught of his tears.
āItās never gonna be like this with anyone else. I hurt you so badly and I am so sorry I ever let you think that I didnāt love you, because I do and I canātāI donāt work without you. You told me to leave and I did, but I canāt stay away and Iām sorry. You can tell me to leave you alone and Iām going to try my best but Iāwatching you almost dieāā Steve chokes on his own sobs as he shakes in his own car seat as he displays his own raw grief to you on an open platter.
Before you can stop yourself, your hand is reaching out and wrapping around the warm wingspan you used to hold in bed all that time ago. He falls into you as though his body might morph into your own with enough pressure.
āIām sorry Iām sorry Iām sorryāā he blubbers into you as his arms squeeze around you soft enough to not hurt any of your recently healed bruising but hard enough that you couldnāt move even if you wanted to.
āYouāre okay, youāre okay baby. Iām here.ā You soothe him softly, blinking back your own tears as you cradle Steve patiently as you run your hands over his spine and slowly through the few curls near the top of his spine.
āI canātāIāll do better I promiseāI canāt do this without you, please please donāt make me do this without youāā he sobs harshly into you as he pleads.
Your heart feels wrung out from the anguish in his voice, Steve has never been like this in any of the time youāve known him. Heās so inconceivably broken down that you donāt even have the words to even start to unpack this.
āItās gonna be okay,ā you reassure him, despite your own underlying pain and anxiety. āWeāre gonna be okay.ā This time youāre not even really sure if you mean it, only that some part of you knows that itās what Steve needs to hear right now.
āYouāyouāre not going to leave?ā his voice is wrecked and hopeful all at once.
āNot right now,ā you assure him.
Steve seemingly takes your words for what they are, not a promise that things will be okay and not even that youāre willing to let him in again but that for right now youāre willing to try.
Pope's face was half-lidded, his hands crossed over his waist.
'What?'
'Blue bows or pink lace?'
You held up two sets of knickers. One gauzy, blue baby doll with cutesy bows on the straps and soft, satin, matching suspenders. In your other arm is a more structured piece, a pink lace bra with criss-crossing black straps and peekaboo knickers with the split down the middle.
Pope averted his eyes and looked at the ground.
'I don't know,' he grunted.
'I need help!'
'You choose.' Pope's hands were crossed firmly across his lap, hoping you didn't see his semi.
'I don't know what he likes,' you wheedled.
Poor Pope was trying to watch his Sahara documentary, and you were stood in the living room, blocking his view of the TV.
'And I do?' Pope looked up at you.
Your expression was pleading.
'... the blue bows are pretty.' He mumbled finally.
You smiled in relief, glad he'd finally given an opinion. 'Thank you,' you breathed.
The hands crossed over his waist moved slightly centre and you could see Pope's hard-on in his jeans.
You bit your lip to disguise your smirk and skipped off. Pope breathed a sigh of relief and tried to watch his documentary again but the peace he sought was long gone. Why you needed a best friend's opinion on your sex clothes was a thread better left unpicked.
Pope heard you skip back down the hallway and tried to palm down his tented jeans.
'What do you think?'
This man, built like a fridge and so strong, was almost reduced to tears.
You did a twirl in the blue babydoll. As you spun, the gossamer fabric skimming your thighs gave Pope a quick glimpse of your panties. Pope gave a soft moan.
He watched you from his chair. Pope desperately tried to make eye contact but they wouldn't obey him; instead dancing across your body. You watched them dart side to side, looking across your stomach and tits. Pope let out a soft whimper.
He was covered in someone else's blood less than an hour ago and now he was coming undone because of you in a see-through babydoll. Pope's wrists strained in a clench, forearm muscles bulging as he tried to cover the hard-on painfully straining against his zipper.
'It's-' Pope's voice comes out as a squeak. 'It's nice.'
'Nice?' You ask, slowly creeping forwards. Pope could smell your perfume, leaving him heady and drunk on you. He nodded dumbly as he shamelessly gaped at the swell of your tits. The sheer coverage wasn't functional, but introduced a layer of you can't have me.
Pope gave a low growl when he focused in on your pert nipples brushing against the fabric. Pope felt sorry for them. They were caged in and they needed to be free. He could make them feel so much better.
'My eyes are up here,' you murmur softly and Pope's eyes flick immediately back to yours. 'Good boy.'
It really shouldn't affect Pope but it does. A shudder runs down his spine at being called a good boy. That's what Pope really wanted to be. Your good boy. He wanted to please you so you called him that over and over.
'What about your date?' Pope asked.
You were in front of the TV but the Sahara documentary was long forgotten.
'This is the date,' you whispered.
Pope's body was practically vibrating. His thick length flopped against his inner thigh in response like a dog's tail.
You slowly bent your knees until you're straddling Pope's lap; your suspenders silky against his jeans.
'You're so hard,' you coo, 'is this all for me?'
'Mhm,' Pope flushes red.
'And I haven't even done anything yet.' You smirk.
Pope shook his head, eyes back on the ground.
'Good boy.'
The praise shot through Pope's veins like adrenaline.
'It's just... those baby blue bows are really pretty.'
Thinking about Shawn saying Abbot is out of shape...
Maybe Jack and Dennis coincidentally go to the same gym and Jack notices how much buffer the younger man has gotten.
"You sure have filled out these past few months, Dr. Santos must be feeding you right." He chuckles, his eyes examining the lines of muscle on DennisĀ“ arms.
Dennis blushes furiously and stutters his way through a thank you.
"YĀ“know I remember being all cut like that when I was younger" Jack continues, not without a bit of wistfulness, "It just gets harder to maintain when age catches up to you"
Dennis splutters, eyes wide and disbelieving. "IĀ“m sorry Dr. Abbot but what the hell are you talking about?" He mightĀ“ve not been around for the time the veteran had been shirtless in the middle of the ED (much to his chagrin) but heĀ“s heard Trinity talk to Samira about it and heĀ“s seen the way the manĀ“s thick arms and chest stretch out his tight T-shirts and scrubs.
"You donĀ“t have to flatter me, Boy. IĀ“m barely even your boss and even then-"
"IĀ“m not flattering you, Sir" Dennis snaps back, not without a bit of irritation at how being called boy makes him feel.
"So you wouldnĀ“t call this being out of shape?" Jack asks and takes off his shirt.
popeamy is genuinely such a sensitive topic to me iām sad no one talks about them more. iām glad i see edits on tiktok but everyone get more popeamy pilled NEOWWWW
no guys iām so emotional about amy and pope. in my head theyāre married somewhere with kids and ran away from oceanside and never experience anything bad ever
