jocelyn

i want you more than any stupid song could ever say ᢉ𐭩 requests are open

[heaven4lostgirls]

you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love ᥫ᭡.

𝒿𝑜𝒸𝑒𝓁𝓎𝓃 ── .✦

𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝓎, 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎𝒷𝑒𝑒

𝑔𝑜𝒹 𝒾 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑒

𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉

𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒾’𝓂 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉, 𝒾 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝒾 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓈𝑒

𝓃𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 ── .✦

[heaven4lostgirls]

𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜

texts with older bf!jack (smau, fluff)

[heaven4lostgirls]

texts w older bf!jack abbot

[tonystarkissist]

IronDad Bingo Fic #5

Trope: Jealousy

This was requested by an anon. Thank you for the request love!! XOXO

And… 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 sleep… which meant finishing this one… long… piece of craziness which to me makes kinda no sense right now. So, yeah. I hope it doesn’t suck to bad lol. If it does… oh well. I’ll embrace it.

“Hey, Pete. You know about Harley, right?” 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.

“Uh, that kid from Tennessee you’ve been collaborating with for, like, the past month?”

Peter hated that kid…

“That’s the one,” Tony grinned brightly. He spun in his chair again, turning back to the work he had abandoned. “He’s wanting to come down for a couple weeks to help me out on a new suit. He’s had a few promising ideas. I want you to meet him.”

Peter blinked dumbly at the admittance from the man. Mr. Stark wanted him to meet his sworn enemy? Of course, Mr. Stark didn’t know about his silent, one-sided rivalry he held with the boy he’d never even met, but… still! He’d been fighting desperately for even the tiniest amount of Tony’s attention while he’d been rather preoccupied talking to this Harley kid about their project. Who knows how far he’d have to go if the other teen actually came for a visit? Gosh, Peter could see it now… 

Keep reading

[afternight-crimson]

╰⋆˚꩜｡ ex!jack abbot is not fond of the new resident

cw: mentions of blood! proofread a lil

“i swear i’m fine!” 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, you’re 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.

“oh come on. i swear i’m good with sutures! let me at least show my skills,” stan swears by his heart.

you enter an empty treatment room, and turn around to the guy who’s so eager to help you with your injury.

“you’re telling me you just wanna show off?”

“to be fair, my main reason is to help you. the other part is secondary,” 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.

“just live up to your word, okay?”

his face practically beams! oh, he feels like its his lucky day to help the pretty resident.

“i won’t disappoint,” he smiles with full teeth, grabbing the suture kit from you and pulls a chair facing the bed.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

stan’s hands are gentler than you thought. head bent close, and brows furrowed in concentration. he grips your hand carefully, “deep breaths and relax your arm for me, yeah?”

you nod, “yeah… yeah, sorry.”

“don’t apologize. you’re doing great.”

you take your gaze away from your palm, immediately meeting his. you didn’t realize that he was already looking at you.

“yeah yeah, okay,” 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 nurse’s station. his eyes fixate on stan’s 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 it—

“what’cha watching there?” robby nudges his shoulder, putting the chart he was just reading on the counter.

jack doesn’t look away.

“that new resident of yours… he knows what he’s doing right?” jack asks, hiding the grumble in his voice or else it’ll give him away.

robby follows his eyes, “ah that. our overeager intern lacerated her palm earlier. so, stan’s just fixing it up.”

“fuck” you hiss, teeth digging on your lower lip.

“i’m almost done, okay? you’re a big girl,” 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 shouldn’t even take this long too, that’s a quick job for a good resident, and not whatever slow, deliberate thing happening behind the glass like there’s no one else in the department.

“he’s taking his time about it,” 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 time—

“abbot,” robby’s voice firm and stern voice cuts him off. that doesn’t faze his friend away though.

“what?” jack finally takes his gaze away to look at his friend, like robby is the one being insufferable. “what now?”

“just leave them be, alright? leave her be. it’s been like what—a year?” he says with a serious face, the friendly grin no longer there.

“how is that relevant? have you seen the number of people waiting out there, we can’t have our residents fucking aro—?”

robby doesn’t let him finish and lets out an exasperated sigh. he grabs his shoulders, forcefully steering jack to push him out of the nurse’s station, and drag his ass with him to the ambulance bay area.

“ooookay, let’s get some air, shall we?” 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 robby’s turning him towards where they’re going, your head tips up.

you’re not sure why, but its like your instincts sensed that you’re being watched and you just had to look who it is.

you make eye contact with jack, being escorted out by your attending.

there’s that annoying little thing prickling in your chest once again. you hold your gaze on his, and your ex boyfriend does too—

“and we’re done!” stan pulls your attention back to him. “look at my beautiful work.”

you turn to stan, and okay, you can’t deny that he is quite good with sutures. he has that precision that you struggle with.

“humble, are we?” you tease.

“i’m allowed. i did good work,” 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 can’t you tell my favorite jack trope is ex!jack 😋

[izamon]

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.

[heaven4lostgirls]

texts w older bf!robby

[heaven4lostgirls]

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

── ⟢ 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 issues—bad ones! he’s 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

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

When you wake up, you’re 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 there’s a sheen over your teeth and tongue that makes you want to gag.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been out, only that it’s been long enough for anyone important to you to have seen you.

There’s a lone chair next to your bed, angled to the TV screen that’s mounted to the wall but close enough that you know whoever sat there couldn’t have gotten it any closer if they tried.

Part of you hopes it’s there for Steve.

Part of you wants to never see his face again.

Steve had always been the first person—your person to go to whenever you needed someone.

You just didn’t know if he was that support for you anymore.

If you two were…anything anymore.

Your thoughts are all fuzzy and you’re starting to feel dizzy, so you leave the morose contemplation for a later date.

You notice the button attached to your bed labelled “call” and without hesitation, you press it gently.

Within minutes you’re 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 doctor’s expression looks slightly more sympathetic.

“We’re glad to see you back Miss,” he greets you, mentioning your surname on the chart.

You give them both a hesitant smile.

“How long—“ you cough, your voice hoarse from being unused.

“How long have I been here?” You ask weakly.

Doctor Carter, per his nametag gives you a soft smile.

“Not that long,” he comforts your worries. “You’ve 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. It’s Thursday July 27th.”

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, “When can I go home?”

He frowns sympathetically, sharing a small look with the nurse.

“That we’re not sure of. We’d 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?” 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.

“Can—can someone call my mom? I wanna see my mom.” You whisper brokenly, sniffling and scrubbing your hands over your cheeks as you feel your tears start to flow.

“Your parents are on their way.” The nurse affirms, smiling gently at you as she offers you a tissue.

You nod shakily, whispering a small thank you.

You’re about to open your mouth and ask more questions before you’re 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 you’d never seen before.

He’s still dressed in his usual light wash jeans and converse with the telltale varsity jacket but something about him looks off.

He’s swaying on his feet as he stares at you as though he’s 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 can’t seem to move, frozen under his gaze until he’s intercepted by the Doctor.

“Sir—Sir! You cannot be in here; this is a private room!” 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.

“Please—please. Y’gotta let me see her, I can’t—I need to—“

“Sir you need to leave, immediate family only.”

Steve wants to fight and argue and plead with you to just let him stay.

He’ll do anything.

He’s 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.

He’s 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

“Honey—“ Steve’s 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.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

A few days later, you’re 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 that’s seems unfamiliar in his usual confidence.

“Can I—“ he winces “is it okay for me to come in?”

Your mom pats your knee with a soft smile, “I’ll let you two talk.”

“Mom!” You protest as she walks out of the room.

Your gaze lands on Steve as you hear the door click shut.

“Why are you here?” 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.

“I thought—you’d been asleep for so long and I just really needed to see you and I know we both said things—“

You can’t help the brittle laugh that escapes you.

You don’t mean for it to be as harsh and scathing as it sounds but Steve looks as though he’d rather you have punched him.

“Steve there is no we anymore.” You frown at him imploringly.

Steve feels like he’s been gutted from the inside out.

He shakes his head firmly, “you don’t mean that.” He protests.

You give him a commiserating look.

“Steve—I meant what I said.” You say softly.

Steve shakes his head more firmly this time, “Don’t—” he rubs his hand over his jaw in frustration.

“Don’t say that. You didn’t mean it; you can’t mean it.”

“Steve you couldn’t even tell me you love me not knowing if you’d ever see me again.” Your voice breaks.

Steve’s eyes are frantic when he meets yours, wide and teary as his lip wobbles.

“No—no no no I knew I was gonna see you again baby. I wasn’t gonna let you die in that place. And I know I should have—”

“You should’ve done a lot of things Steve.”

Steve lets out an ugly sound, something so soft yet broken that you sink further into yourself and the horribly thin hospital mattress.

“I know, I know I should’ve.” He agrees, shuffling to walk closer to you despite your protests.

“But you’ve gotta give me a chance to fix it baby, I just spent 3 weeks without you and I—I can’t do that again, okay? I can’t.” He whispers pleasingly as he stops at the railing separating the two of you.

You sniffle and scrub your hands down your cheeks.

“You’ll just keep choosing Nancy over me and I can’t sit there and watch you be the man I needed to someone else—”

Steve blinks through the onslaught of tears as he pleads with you silently.

“I can be that” he insists pleadingly, his hands clasped in front of him in prayer. “I can be that for you—I know, I know I hurt you and I’m sorry, but I need you to know I can do better. Please—pleaseplease don’t give up on me baby.” 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.

“—and I know it’s selfish and you don’t owe me anything but I—I need you. I can make this right—because I love you and I—“

Your ear starts to ring, as a dullness starts to encompass you.

Now? Now’s the time he chooses to confess his love to you.

“I want you to leave.” 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.

“Baby?” He pleads confused.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You insist, clenching your hands at your sides in anger.

“I think you need to leave Steve. Now.” Your voice is cold and detached, your gaze shifting between wet and emotional to sheer detachment.

Steve doesn’t 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.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

By the time you’re reading to start physical therapy, the thought of Steve might as well have ingrained itself into your head.

He’s somehow everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You don’t see him again after that last hospital visit, but you know the flowers that turn up weekly aren’t from your aunt in California.

Some part of you revels in the fact that he wont leave you alone, that he’s 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 you’d spent so long thinking that you weren’t worth it to try, that Steve would never be the one to choose you and just when you thought he might—he’d pick Nancy over and over again.

Physical therapy takes your mind off things, you’re 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 it’s 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 you’ve 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 you’ve been forced to grow around instead of healing.

But time passes as it often does and the seasons change and soon enough you’re 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.

“Hi,” 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.

“Steve?” you frown. “What are you doing here? I thought Eddie was picking me up?”

Steve rubs his hands together in nervousness, as he blows out a breath nodding dumbly.

“Uh yeah, you know he had um—he had band practice and he asked if I could come and get you?” he offers, shrugging meekly as he avoids your eye contact.

You know he’s lying. He knows that you know he’s 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.

“You haven’t gotten any better at lying since I last saw you,” 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.

“Get in the car Steve,” 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 Steve’s music filters through the speakers. You stare aimlessly at the passing scenery of the town as you try to ignore Steve’s desperate glances.

“I—” Steve breaks the silence softly, a light-hearted tone in his voice. “I almost crashed because of this squirrel last week, screamed like a little girl. You would have—”

“Stop talking Steve,” 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 doesn’t know how to do this, how to act as if every version of himself isn’t inexplicably tied to you in some way or another.

How he’s supposed to pretend as if he’s not unravelling at the seams every second you’re in his direct vicinity and wont talk to him. There is no Steve Harrington without you, there never has been and never will be.

He’d spent the last couple of months silently stewing in his own personal hell and torture, calling your parents at all hours to know if you’d 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 back—why didn’t he say it back?

It haunts him every minute of every waking hour, the thought that he could’ve 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 wasn’t good for you—and imagine that, a world where Steve Harrington lost everything he’d 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. Don’t be late and don’t 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 he’s fucking it up again. He’s trying so hard and he’s fucking it up. He doesn’t know how to fix this—or 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 weren’t meant to be apart. Call is codependency, separation anxiety or fuckin’ anxious attachment—Steve didn’t care.

“I’m sorry.” 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 doesn’t want to let you out of his car, as bad as that may seem. He just doesn’t know if he lets you leave now, if he’ll ever see you again.

Steve’s a worrier, he worries like it’s an Olympic sport and it feels like all his worries the last couple of months have been all consuming youyouyouyouyou.

“We don’t have to do this, Steve.” 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.

“Please,” 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.

“I can’t do this without you, I—please just give me five minutes.”

Steve can see the condescension brewing in your eyes, as if you’re about to console him. Like he needs consoling—he’s not the one who had to relearn how to walk or had to look her boyfriend in the face and watch as he couldn’t say he loves her.

“Steve—”

“Please, Baby please—just this okay? I promise and, and if you don’t wanna hear from me after this then I’ll go okay?” He implores, unashamed to admit he’d 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.

“I have spent the last 4 months knowing what it’s like to be without you. Having to face myself knowing I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me and I—I can’t do it.” Steve’s voice breaks, his breath hitching in his throat as he blinks back his own tears.

“I—I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t fuckin look in the mirror because all I see if you. You’re everywhere and I’m so—so scared all the time, I’m so scared I feel like I’m crawling out my own skin without you and that’s selfish. That’s selfish because you don’t deserve to carry that—that’s my shit, that’s my own shit but I need you know how much I need you with me okay? It was never—never like this with anyone else. Never.” Steve’s 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.

“It’s 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 didn’t love you, because I do and I can’t—I don’t work without you. You told me to leave and I did, but I can’t stay away and I’m sorry. You can tell me to leave you alone and I’m going to try my best but I—watching you almost die—” 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.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—” 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 couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

“You’re okay, you’re okay baby. I’m here.” 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.

“I can’t—I’ll do better I promise—I can’t do this without you, please please don’t make me do this without you—” 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 you’ve known him. He’s so inconceivably broken down that you don’t even have the words to even start to unpack this.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you reassure him, despite your own underlying pain and anxiety. “We’re gonna be okay.” This time you’re not even really sure if you mean it, only that some part of you knows that it’s what Steve needs to hear right now.

“You—you’re not going to leave?” his voice is wrecked and hopeful all at once.

“Not right now,” you assure him.

Steve seemingly takes your words for what they are, not a promise that things will be okay and not even that you’re willing to let him in again but that for right now you’re willing to try.

[iris-in-the-rain]

[heaven4lostgirls]

clubchalamet stay AWAY FROM SHAWN HATOSY SO HELP ME GOD

[nowimconvinced]

18+ or tmi

Dress-up with Pope

Pope Cody

'Pope? Which one?'

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.'

[laceoddity]

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 Dennis´ arms.

Dennis blushes furiously and stutters his way through a thank you.

"Y´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. "I´m sorry Dr. Abbot but what the hell are you talking about?" He might´ve not been around for the time the veteran had been shirtless in the middle of the ED (much to his chagrin) but he´s heard Trinity talk to Samira about it and he´s seen the way the man´s thick arms and chest stretch out his tight T-shirts and scrubs.

"You don´t have to flatter me, Boy. I´m barely even your boss and even then-"

"I´m not flattering you, Sir" Dennis snaps back, not without a bit of irritation at how being called boy makes him feel.

"So you wouldn´t call this being out of shape?" Jack asks and takes off his shirt.

Dennis passes out.

They fuck in the shower.

[midwestprentiss]

popeamy is genuinely such a sensitive topic to me i’m sad no one talks about them more. i’m glad i see edits on tiktok but everyone get more popeamy pilled NEOWWWW

[heaven4lostgirls]

no guys i’m so emotional about amy and pope. in my head they’re married somewhere with kids and ran away from oceanside and never experience anything bad ever

[tripleabatterybuni]

It's ok pope, he really didn't mind

[minimarvelh]

Tony: Why don't you have children?

Steve: ehm Tony, if you didn’t notice I’m kinda single?

Tony: That’s not an excuse. It’s a good weather outside, go find yourself a child.

Steve:

Steve:

Tony: I found one, so that can’t be that hard.

[iwannab3adored]

the veins, the hair, oh my glob…