#he was the one character I was still reading this for

[ellemj]

Does It Hurt? : Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Sex Pollen Fic

Summary: Bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that HYDRA was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. When you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. Anything.

Warnings: angst, sex pollen, unprotected sex, fingering, restraints, abduction, violence (b/c Bucky is protective as fuck), profanity, voyeurism/exhibitionism (if you look hard enough), no use of y/n, only pet name use is random mentions of princess (facetiously)/baby/sweetheart, mention of SA of unknown characters from an old HYDRA experiment, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 24.3k

A/N: This is very lengthy, I know, but I thought you all deserved one long post that you could read at once (or at your own pace) vs. me committing to and failing at maintaining a posting schedule for a multi-part series. I hope at least a few of you find it to be an interesting read.

            You lived in the tower for two months before you ever formally met Bucky Barnes. Once you’d met him, you knew you didn’t want to work with him. You were sure that he was good at his job, you could tell that just from the fact that Sam was his partner. But it wasn’t about that. It was the way he looked at you with such an unsettling gaze, the way the hair on the back of your neck would stand up as soon as he was in the same room as you, even if you hadn’t yet laid eyes on him. Everything about him kept you on edge. So, instead of being sent on missions with Sam and Bucky, you did a lot of solo missions. It’s as if Fury sensed your apprehension about working with them and decided to give you a reprieve.

            After three months of living in the tower, you ended up on the same training schedule as Bucky. You found yourself frequenting the gym at the same times as the steely, unreadable super soldier. When you were sparring in the ring, he’d be just a few meters away, lifting weights like he was worried the serum would one day dissipate from his system. When you were stretching on the mats after a long run, he would be doing an ungodly number of pull-ups. Of course, this meant that you’d be hitting the showers around the same time as well. At first, Bucky made a valiant effort to be a gentleman. You always beat him to the gym showers and he felt it would be disrespectful for him to use them at the same time, even though each shower is afforded plenty of privacy behind a locked stall-style door. So, he would sit around and wait in the gym until you left, leaving a vanilla-scented trail in your wake. It wasn’t until you’d been on the same schedule for a week straight that you finally spoke to him.

            “You know there are multiple showers in there, right?” You’d asked as you walked past him one day, smelling of something sweet and looking perfectly refreshed after a shower. Bucky cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at you, and you took that as a sign that he didn’t quite catch your lighthearted tone. He didn’t say anything in response, which is why you were so surprised to hear the locker room door swing open and then click shut as you showered the next day. From then on, you and Bucky showered at the same time, just a few stalls apart, after every early morning in the gym.

            It was three weeks after that when you ended up on the radar of an organization that never should’ve caught sight of you. Bucky likes to blame himself for that. They were watching him, after all, and if he hadn’t taken that one assignment that night, if he hadn’t answered that one call from Fury, HYDRA never would’ve profiled you. HYDRA never would’ve looked into you and found out that you were the perfect candidate for their operation.

            Both you and Bucky can recall that one mission perfectly, though you each have very different perspectives on it. It was a solo mission for you, one that should’ve been fairly low risk and easy to handle without any backup. There was virtually no danger, not a single red flag came up during your recon in the days prior to the mission. That’s why you were caught so off guard when you started to get an uneasy feeling around midnight. That was when you realized just how persistent your target was, just how set he was on getting everything he wanted from you. You had only needed to get close to him for a few minutes, but somehow you ended up in a private room with him. As the scent of your perfume soaked into his button-up shirt and your lip gloss left a trail of glitter down the side of his neck, you knew you weren’t going to get out of this one easily. When his hands started kneading the curve of your ass, slipping beneath the hem of your short black dress to get a good feel of your skin, you knew you needed help. So, as you kissed and sucked on the skin of your target’s neck, you used one hand to press the panic button on your necklace. You had no idea that Bucky Barnes would be the one sent to save you.

            Bucky was wide awake before he ever got the call from Fury that night. He’d always had trouble sleeping, but lately the trouble seemed worse than usual. He never once pieced together that his struggles with insomnia were worsened on the nights that he didn’t hear you across the hall. When he got the call from Fury, he was on his feet and headed downstairs to his bike in less than thirty seconds. By the time he was on his bike, his thoughts had already veered into dangerously homicidal territory. As he sped down the darkened highway, skillfully weaving in and out of Friday night traffic, he could hear Dr. Raynor’s rule echoing in the back of his mind. No one gets hurt. In that particular instance, Bucky chose to apply the rule to you, rather than to the piece of shit that had you feeling unsafe enough to press a panic button.

            After that night, Bucky’s gaze never felt unsettling to you again. Though a shiver might still run down your spine when he was in your vicinity, you found that you liked having his eyes on you. He was watchful in a way that made you feel safe and seen. Maybe it was the way he tried to be civil when he first showed up at the club that night. He acted as if he’d merely stumbled into the private room accidentally, profusely apologizing as the door swung shut behind him and he ran a hand through his slightly messy brown hair. For a man that hadn’t been drunk in at least eighty years, he sure as hell was good at pretending that he was.

            “I was looking for the men’s room, but I guess this probably isn’t it.” He said, slurring his words slightly and shifting his eyes back and forth between you and the man you were straddling on the couch. The man’s hands remained firmly on your ass, which had Bucky ready to put a bullet right between his eyes. He probably would’ve done it too if you weren’t right there on his fucking lap. He’s a good shot, but it was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

            “It’s the second door on the right, down the hall.” Your voice was unexpectedly soft and gentle for a girl who’d just finished putting on a show for some of the city’s most questionable men.

            “Second door on the right.” Bucky repeated, mumbling the words as he took a couple of unsteady steps further into the dimly lit room. “You work a pretty dangerous job, don’t you?” He focused his blue eyes on you. One thing about making eye contact with Bucky Barnes is that it’s simultaneously intoxicating and sobering.

            “She told you where the men’s room was, now you have five seconds to get there.” The man between your legs said coldly, letting his hands slide away from your ass to rest on your thighs. Bucky chuckled lowly, in a way that had goosebumps rising on your skin and anticipation building in your gut. He took another step closer to the couch, but this time it was clearly steady and purposeful. You swallowed hard, suddenly a bit worried that you were the only thing between the two men.

            “I know you were being generous with the five seconds but…” Bucky began calmly, reaching into the back of his waistband and pulling out his firearm. You felt the man’s muscles stiffen beneath you instantly. “I’m going to give you exactly one to get your hands off of her.”

            From then on, things were different. Though you still didn’t work together on anything directly, Bucky always seemed to know what missions you were on. You learned that his timing is impeccable, that he’s always the first one the show up when you put out a call for help, and he shows up faster than should be possible. You learned that he has rules, rules that he doesn’t follow but that he seems to cling to anyway, as if they give him some kind of comfort. The most important rule is that no one gets hurt. He broke that one when he pistol-whipped your target in the club that night. You also learned that he has a dark past, the kind that keeps him in constant danger. If you’d known that his past would introduce you to that same kind of danger, you might’ve done things differently.

            Bucky likes to think that he would’ve done things differently, that he would’ve turned down Fury’s call to be your backup that night, that he would’ve let someone else save you if he’d known. If he’d known that HYDRA was still breathing down his fucking neck, watching his every move outside of the tower, waiting for the right time to get their bloodstained hands on the Winter Soldier once more. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have put you in harms way. He might’ve saved you from one handsy lowlife, but he sealed your fate when he pushed your hair away from your face and pulled his helmet over your head that same night. That was the exact moment that HYDRA got a glimpse of you.

As fucked up as it is, HYDRA could see the connection between the two of you long before you or Bucky ever could. That’s why they chose you.

That’s why, unbeknownst to you, you’re currently less than twenty-four hours away from falling right into their hands.

            The soft pattering sound that raindrops make when they fall onto the roof of a parked car has always been one of your favorite melodies. It’s what’s lulling you into such a sleepy state right now as you try to make it through hour five of your solo stakeout. Glancing over at the screen in the center of the dashboard, you see that your target is doing exactly what he’s been doing since you first arrived outside of his building a few hours ago. Through the view of a heat-signature camera, you see his tall, lanky form hunched over at his desk. You never thought you’d wish for someone to break the law, but god, here you are now, wishing he’d do something, anything, to warrant you bringing in a strike team to bust down his door and drag his ass out. You’re just so damn bored. Maybe that’s why your mind starts wondering into territory it doesn’t belong in.

            Bucky Barnes. The man who lives across the hall from you, the man who showers just two stalls away from you in the gym every morning, the man who saved your ass in such an attractive way that you haven’t been able to get him out of your head since. You hate that he always seems to have that indecipherable look on his face. You hate that half the time you can’t even tell if he even cares that you exist. You really hate that you find him so fucking fascinating. You like to tell yourself that if he was more open, more extroverted, you wouldn’t give him a second thought. It’s the fact that he’s so quiet and mysterious, that’s what draws you to him. You can’t help but want to figure him out, him and his dark, brooding ways.

            A few minutes pass before you take another look at your target on the screen, noting that he’s still right there at his desk. You let out a soft sigh as you type out a quick message to Fury.

You: No movement for the past 5 hours, ready to get out of here. Send in a surveillance team for the rest of the night.

            Fury’s quick to respond, letting you know that a surveillance van is being dispatched and that you can leave when it arrives.

            So many things could’ve been done differently to prevent what would happen next. Fury could’ve given you a clear description of the van, he could’ve given you an exact ETA, he could’ve told you that the van would signal you with their lights when they arrived. You could’ve been a little less stubborn and let him assign you a partner so you weren’t sitting in such a remote part of the city all by yourself.

            When a large black van starts approaching your car just ten minutes later, you get an uneasy feeling. You watch in your rearview mirror as it approaches from behind, driving slowly, with the headlights off. You should’ve known the surveillance team couldn’t have arrived on scene so quickly considering the area you were in.

            It all happened too fast. It happened too fast and you don’t remember any of it. You don’t remember how hard you fought against them. You don’t remember hitting the panic button on your necklace before it was ripped from your neck and left in the street. You don’t remember taking out three men before the fourth one put a bag over your head and gave you an injection that put you into the deepest sleep you’ve had in years. You don’t remember a damn thing.

            Bucky remembers it all as if he was there. He watched the footage of your attack and capture so many times that it’s burned in his brain. He should’ve been there. That’s why he’s doing what he’s doing now, losing sleep what little sleep he might’ve gotten over the last three nights and putting all of his energy into finding you. It’s why the second he found out it was HYDRA who put their hands on you, he became a version of himself that he swore was dead.

            One-hundred and twenty hours. One-hundred and twenty fucking hours since Bucky last heard the sound of your door closing softly across the hall, since he last heard the sound of your triumphant laugh as you get a good hit in on your sparring partner, since he last heard the sound of your voice. Your voice. A sound he didn’t know was giving him life ever since it first graced his ears. Bucky throws another solid punch at the bag that hangs in front of him in the gym, not in the least bit surprised when the chain suspending it from the ceiling snaps and the bag goes flying into a wall at least twenty feet away.

            “I’ve only ever seen one other person do that to a punching bag.” Fury’s voice rings out, interrupting the silence surrounding Bucky and breaking through the thick fog in his mind. “And he was going through some shit too.”

            “I’m fine.” Bucky lies straight through his teeth as he hangs another bag, barely giving Fury a sideways glance as he approaches from the shadows.

            “Oh, you’re fine? And here I thought you might be at least a little upset that your across-the-hall neighbor was taken by the same people who ruined your life. Or do super soldiers not have feelings?” Bucky shoots Fury an annoyed look before throwing a few light punches at the new bag.

            “Isn’t that what people want when they create super soldiers? Mindless soldiers who take orders and feel nothing?”

            “You feel nothing?” Fury leans against the wall next to the previously airborne punching bag, glancing down at it with a look of familiarity. “Do you feel nothing for her?” Bucky’s fist collides with the bag almost hard enough to snap the chain, and though Fury is standing in the danger zone, he doesn’t flinch.

            “What do you want?”

            “I want to know why this is affecting you so much. Is it who was taken or is it who did the taking?”

            “Does it matter?” Bucky’s tone conveys every bit of his exasperation as he steadies the punching bag with both hands and raises a furrowed brow at the director.

            “It does.” Bucky could lie. He could lie or he could just refuse to answer. He never signed any contracts saying he had to be forthcoming with Fury at all times, he never so much as promised that he’d be honest with him. But for some reason, he tells the truth.

            “Both.”

            “What lengths would you go to to save her?”

            Bucky’s hands remain on either side of the punching bag, squeezing it hard enough to leave imprints in the tough canvas fabric. Images of you being taken in such a violent way swirl around in his mind, playing on repeat with Fury’s last question as the soundtrack.

            “Lengths I haven’t been to since my arm had a fucking star on it.”

            Your life has been reduced to brief moments of consciousness and flashes of things that your drugged mind is trying so hard to piece together. You remember the flash of a butterfly needle piercing your left arm and the cool sensation of saline entering your circulation from an IV drip. You remember someone swiping at your forehead with a wet cloth, leaving a stinging pain right above your left eyebrow and around your bottom lip. You remember harsh Russian words being spoken over you as you lost your grip on reality and went tumbling into the oblivion of a heavily sedated sleep. You remember waking up a second time and seeing nothing but gray concrete walls all around you. The air was stagnant and chilly, making you wish you had more than what felt like a small paper gown covering your skin. The sound of a metal door creaking on its hinges and a gruff voice barking orders at someone in Russian was the last thing you heard before your eyes closed and your head fell back once again. The third time you awoke from your medically-induced slumber was this morning, when the drugs were finally clearing your system. You found yourself still in that small concrete room, strapped to some kind of exam table, covered from your toes to your shoulders by a thin white sheet. Not a single thing has happened since then. You’ve laid on that exam table for hours, alternating between staring up at the dim light hanging from the ceiling above and staring at any one of the four gray walls around you. There’s a rusted metal door immediately to your left, but you found your neck too sore to turn and stare at that for very long.

            You can’t seem to remember how you got here, or much less where the fuck here is. You’ve wracked your brain repeatedly, trying to piece it together, but the only thing you remember is your last interaction with Bucky Barnes.

            You don’t usually wash your hair in the gym shower. You remember that on the morning of the day you were taken, you spent an extra two minutes in the shower washing your hair. It’s how you ended up in front of the mirror, with your towel wrapped tightly around your body, working the tangles out of your hair with your bare hands. It’s why Bucky took one step out of his shower, with his own towel slung low on his hips, and froze. You caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, the reflection perfectly capturing every detail of him. Drops of water clung to his tan skin, rolling down the ridges and valleys of his toned abs. The curve of his right shoulder could’ve been crafted by a master potter, sloping down to a defined bicep and forearm, accentuated by apparent veins holding such a steady balance of blood and super soldier serum. But his left shoulder? Your eyes were drawn to what was left of it. The skin there looked so painfully marred and fused to his black and gold vibranium arm. You stared a moment too long before you realized you were the one who messed up, you were usually gone by now. Bucky never would’ve stepped out of his shower if he knew you were there, right there in nothing more than a small white towel that was threatening to reveal where your thighs curve upward into your ass.

            “My hair…” You had said softly, your voice coming out timid and gentle. Bucky remained frozen, watching as your eyes slowly moved away from his scars and settled on the dog tags that hung around his neck. When you finally looked him in the eye in the reflection of the mirror, you seemed to find your voice again. “My hair got tangled.” Bucky only nodded, giving you an unreadable look as he took a slow step forward to head to the locker room for his clothes. You don’t know why you didn’t leave it at that.

            Bucky doesn’t know why you didn’t leave it at that either, but everything that happened after that is exactly why he’s taking your disappearance so fucking hard.

            “Does it hurt?” You asked so quietly that Bucky thought he might’ve imagined it. He was a mere foot behind you when the question left your lips. You felt your cheeks blushing pink as his feet stilled and he met your gaze in the mirror once more.

            “Does what hurt?” You could’ve just said it. You could have just fucking said it, you didn’t have to do what you did. You turned around slowly, letting your fingers slip out of your hair before reaching a hand out and letting your fingertips ghost over where skin meets vibranium on Bucky’s left shoulder.

            Bucky couldn’t fucking breathe. As your soft fingers traced his scars, he drew in a deep breath and seemingly forgot how to exhale. You didn’t notice the way his eyes closed as you studied his skin beneath your touch, you didn’t even notice the way his chest stopped rising and falling. Your touch was so light and gentle, so innocent and yet it changed something in the atmosphere. The air in the room grew so thick that Bucky felt as though he might suffocate, you felt it too, but you didn’t withdraw your hand. It was the contrast between his rough scars and your soft fingers, combined with the warm, steamy air, and the water droplets rolling down Bucky’s back that had him growing overstimulated. When he opened his eyes and looked down at you, he watched as the towel clinging to your chest had begun to lose its grip, slipping down an inch to reveal a little too much skin while simultaneously not revealing damn near enough. He didn’t even realize what he had done until he had your wrist clamped in his flesh hand and your palm was flat against his scarred shoulder. You were looking up at him, and though he expected to find fear or apprehension in your eyes, he found nothing of the sort.

            “You’re not wearing your necklace.” He said matter-of-factly, narrowing his eyes at you, but keeping his grip on your wrist, preventing you from taking your hand away from his shoulder.

            “Should I be?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Bucky shrugged, the action moving your hand slightly but still, he held it in place.

            “You’re standing here in nothing but a towel with a guy you barely know and you don’t think you should have your panic button around?”

            “Every time I press it, you show up.” You pointed out. Bucky dropped your wrist and you pulled your hand back to your side slowly, but didn’t take a step away from him.

            “I’m starting to think you only press it when you want to see me.” His tone was taunting, almost playful, and you picked up on the smirk that was threatening to take over his features.

            “What happens if I press it one night when I’m not on a mission?” Your boldness came out of nowhere. Bucky cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, wondering to himself if you were just playing along with his little game or if the entire exchange had a hint of something real in it.

            “Press it sometime and we’ll find out.”

            As you lie on the uncomfortable exam table with restraint straps digging into your arms, legs, and torso, you have to wonder if you pressed your panic button the night you were taken. You can’t seem to remember a single thing about that day after the tense moment in the shower room with Bucky, everything after that is simply gone. Surely you didn’t get the chance to press the button, because if you did, you have no doubt that Bucky would’ve shown up. He might not have been close enough to show up before you were taken but you’re sure he would’ve showed up to the scene, found evidence that you were taken, and he would’ve been able to track and follow whoever took you. Wouldn’t he? He always shows up.

            But if Bucky Barnes always shows up, then why are you here now? Why are you alone, in unknown territory, surrounded by thick concrete walls and the sinking feeling that no one is coming for you?

            Bucky has gotten himself into some deep shit. He’s fully aware of that as he tilts his head back and rests it on the hard metal behind him. It’s the only part of his body that he can move with the restraint system that HYDRA has him in right now. It’s the same type of reinforced glass-walled system that has once held Loki, the Hulk, and even Bucky when the threat of descending into the Winter Soldier still loomed. HYDRA’s afraid of him when he’s in control of his own mind, so he’s here, locked away and feeling fucking helpless.

            Bucky getting taken in by HYDRA was part of the plan to rescue you. You’re in a concrete bunker so deep underground that any attempts to infiltrate it and extract you would’ve only endangered both yours and countless other lives. There were too many unknowns. Truthfully, it was unknown if you were even in this bunker, when SHIELD found out that HYDRA has at least three within this state alone. The only reason they were able to narrow it down to this bunker was because of one double agent on the inside. They took a chance on his intel. They took a chance, allowed Bucky to fall into HYDRA’s hands, and now everything is stalled. Until he lays eyes on you and figures out where they’re holding you and what kind of shape you’re in, nothing else can happen. You’re both sitting ducks at HYDRA’s mercy.

            He thought you were taken because of him. Bucky thought you had been targeted by HYDRA because they found out you were connected somehow, because they thought that taking you would be an affront to him. It made sense, if what they wanted was their hands on the Winter Soldier, then all they needed to do was touch something, someone, that he cared about. They knew it would drag him out into the open and give them a shot at having their prized possession back under wraps. Bucky was only partially right. They did indeed use you to draw him out, but you most definitely were never meant to be a simple means to an end.

            They chose you because of what they saw that night when you climbed onto the back of Bucky’s bike. They chose you because every interaction they observed after that night was charged with indescribable tension, an obvious chemistry that was palpable even through surveillance cameras and monitors. They knew that you were the key to everything they were planning. So now here you are, sitting up on the side of the exam table, feeling weak and honestly, ready to accept death. As gloved hands move carefully against your upper back, removing a few stitches from a wound there, you wish that you’d died in the scuffle of your kidnapping. The sedation and drugs have fully cleared from your system and you’re trying hard to ignore the aches and pains raging beneath your skin and the dark thoughts clouding your mind. You clutch the white sheet over your bare chest and grit your teeth as the gloved hands tug on a particularly tight stitch in your back.

            “I can’t give you any pain medication today.” The man behind you says in a hushed tone, noticing the way your muscles tense every time he touches you. “It would interfere with tonight’s test.” He continues working on your wound as you sit in silence, refusing to engage with him. Tonight’s test. Questions start swirling through your mind at warp speed, begging to be asked, but you press your lips together tightly. “You don’t know it yet, but I’m the only friend you have in here.” His confession comes as a hurried whisper.

            The man finishes up removing your stitches and then takes a few steps around the side of the exam table, coming to stand in front of you. Finally meeting his gaze, you see a tall, thin man, probably a few years older than you, with warm brown eyes. He doesn’t offer a reassuring smile or anything of the sort, but something in his eyes makes you feel like there might be some truth to his claim.

            “Lie back, I need to see your ribs and your left hip.” You don’t really know why you do as he says, but you listen. You lie back on the exam table, thankful that he doesn’t move to use the restraints, and you shift the white sheet so it covers your breasts but allows him to view your ribcage. You cast your eyes downward, taking in the sight of the blue and purple bruises decorating your left side. That must be why it hurts so fucking much to take a deep breath. What the hell did they do to you? “I did x-rays when you first got here, you have a couple of hairline rib fractures, but nothing major.” He runs his cold gloved fingertips over the bruises, palpating lightly and listening for the sounds of any crepitus, which would indicate much more than just a little hairline fracture or two. He hears nothing, and skims his fingers down to your left hip. It’s the worst of what you’ve seen so far. The bruising there is much darker and more expansive than the bruising over your ribs. Even just his featherlight touches there elicit a pain that has your eyes screwing shut and your teeth clenching. “It’s not broken.” He tells you, as if that’ll suddenly resolve your pain. As soon as he retracts his hand, you’re covering yourself with the sheet once more and moving to sit back up on the side of the table. Your bodily movements are slow and careful, to avoid aggravating all of these injuries that you didn’t know you had.

            “How long have I been here?” You almost choke on the words as they slip past your lips, the dryness in your throat making it painful to speak. Your voice is so raspy that you barely recognize it as being your own. Maybe you should’ve started with asking for a sip of water.

            “Today is your seventh day here.” The man answers in his softest whisper yet, as if he isn’t supposed to tell you. Seven days? Seven fucking days you’ve been lying on this exam table, sedated to the point of losing nearly a week of consciousness? Your nails dig into the side of the exam table as rage begins to course through your veins. “Don’t do anything stupid.” You look up to find the man standing still before you, his eyes darting from your white knuckles and then to your face. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you will yourself to calm the fuck down and focus.

            “Where is here?”  You ask shakily, your rage spilling over into your raspy tone.

            “That doesn’t matter. There’s something else we need to talk about, but it’s not the right time yet.”  Suddenly, you hear what sounds like footsteps and a bit of commotion somewhere outside the rusted metal door of your concrete room. It’s not yet very close, but you can tell whatever it is, it’s getting closer to you. The man’s expression grows nervous and he quickly begins cleaning up the tray table beside him, wrapping his mess of old stitches and bloody gauze up in a small plastic sheet. “I’ll be back here tonight, but someone will be with me. They’re going to make me give you an injection. Don’t fight it, please. It will wear off by the time morning comes.”

            “What’s in it?” You ask, matching his hurried tone and low volume. He’s moving to the door in an instant, with sweat beading along his hairline and his cheeks flushing pink. “What’s in the injection?”

            “Something that won’t kill you, but you’ll wish it would.”

            He’s going to snap every piece of metal and shatter every fucking inch of glass that’s holding him in place right now. Bucky’s seething, his face flushed and his chest heaving as he calculates how many concrete walls stand between him and wherever the fuck you’re being tortured right now. Another pained scream reverberates through the bunker and it reaches Bucky’s straining ears, making his blood boil. It’s you. He’s sure it’s you. Though he’s never heard you scream before, he has no doubt that it’s you. Bucky’s curling his fingers into fists and scrunching his eyes shut when he hears the electronic lock to the room that he’s in beep a few times and then click. The door slides open quickly, revealing a handful of guards and a pair of electronic handcuffs.

            “Are you ready to see your little girlfriend?” One of the guards spits the words out as if they’re venom, his thick Russian accent clinging to each word. “I think she needs you.”

            What the fuck is this? Bucky’s mind is reeling as he tries to keep his cool, refusing to blow the entire op by losing his temper and bashing a few heads in. As long as they’re really taking him to you, he won’t kill anyone — not yet anyway. He stays silent as the guards get into formation around the entrance of the chamber he’s in. He doesn’t breathe a word as the head guard places the electronic cuffs around his wrists and presses a few buttons to release the full body restraints that he’s been in for hours. He thinks about how he could easily kill every single waste-of-breath in this tiny concrete room, even with the handcuffs on, but when another scream rings out, and much louder this time with both the chamber and room door being open, Bucky’s only thinking about one thing: getting to you.

            “You recognize her screams, don’t you? Is that how she sounds when you fuck her?” Bucky starts counting down in his head.

Three. He’ll give the man exactly three seconds to shut the fuck up.

“I bet her pussy is as pretty as her moans, yeah?”

            Two.   

            “Maybe I’ll find out for myself, she wouldn’t be able to fight me off when she’s restrained.”

            One. The sound of the man’s skull cracking as Bucky effortlessly knocks him to the concrete floor is sickening. Before any of the other guards have a chance to save him, his head is between Bucky’s tactical boot and the ground. A second cracking sound echoes in the room and the man is dead. Truthfully, he sealed his fate the moment he had a single untoward thought about you. None of the other guards make a move. They’re all frozen, staring at Bucky with mixes of fear, anger, and uncertainty. They don’t know what to do without their fearless fucking leader.

            “Take me to her or I will kill every single one of you without lifting a fucking finger.”

            He showed up. Bucky Barnes showed up. With the amount of pain flooding your nerve endings and making you see stars, your first thought is that he isn’t real. The tall, broad-shouldered man standing before you, with his black and gold arm reflecting the dim light that hangs from the ceiling, can’t be real.

            Bucky stares at you from across the small concrete room. You’re sitting in the farthest corner, with your back against the rough wall and your knees pulled up tight to your chest, wearing what looks to be a tattered hospital gown. It’s fucking heartbreaking. The way your eyes flit up to his, looking at him as if he’s a figment of your imagination, it shifts something within him. A shudder racks through your body and a torturous moan leaves your lips. Bucky’s feet are carrying him forward in an instant, closer to you. You’re dropping your head to your knees and biting down on your forearm, refusing to let yourself watch as he grows closer. He isn’t real. This isn’t real, you tell yourself. The pain is making you hallucinate.

            Cold, smooth metal ghosts along the side of your face, pushing your hair behind your ear and then following the curve of your jaw down toward your chin. Bucky’s clenching his teeth together as you let him lift your head, as you lift your eyes to meet his.

            “You showed up.” Your voice breaks him. It breaks him into a million little tiny flesh and vibranium pieces. It breaks him in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever been broken before. When you lean into his touch, he wants nothing more than to pick you up and draw you into his lap, to cradle you against his chest and tell you that he’s going to get you out of this hellhole. But he doesn’t.

            “I showed up.” He says softly, brushing his thumb over a bruise on your cheek. “What have they done to you?” His eyes part from yours as he takes in the full sight of you. His fingers move up to trace the healing cut above your eyebrow, then down to graze along the cut at the corner of your mouth.

            “I’ve been sedated until today. They gave me something not long ago, an injection.” Your muscles tighten involuntarily as another wave of pain surges through you, forcing you to drop your head to your knees again as the room spins around you. The scream that erupts from you, that rips through your chest, is enough to rattle the metal tray table across the room. By the time the surge begins to pass, you’re shivering. You let your head fall back against the concrete wall behind you and find Bucky staring at you, his brows pinched together in concern and a sheen of sweat forming across his forehead. You don’t have the strength to fight when he grabs your hands and tugs you to your feet, lifting you into his arms with ease and carrying you bridal-style to the exam table in the middle of the room. He lays you on it carefully, but your thin gown shifts to reveal your heavily bruised hip and he feels a fresh serving of rage filling him up.

            “What the fuck did they do to you?” He demands to know, pushing your gown a little further to reveal the entirety of the deep purple and blue bruise. “Torture?”

            “No, I think this is the first round of torture.” You groan, trying to roll onto your side so you can curl back up into a ball. Bucky places his flesh hand on your lower stomach and his vibranium one on your thigh, holding you still. “They said it isn’t broken.”

            “And you believe them?” He questions. His mistake comes when he finally touches your skin with his flesh hand. When he presses his warm palm flat against your bared hip, you suck in a sharp inhale and your eyes open wide. “Does this hurt?” He asks, but you don’t respond. You don’t say anything because it doesn’t hurt. It feels like stretching your muscles after a long nap, like laying in the summer sun to dry after swimming for hours. He notices the look of relief taking over your face, so he keeps his hand right where it is. “This doesn’t hurt.” He says incredulously, narrowing his eyes as he looks down at the swollen, angry skin. Leaning into his touch again, you take another deep breath. “What did they give you?”

            “I don’t know. It was a liquid in a syringe, looked like about ten milliliters of something cloudy and white.” Another twinge of pain shoots through your body but it feels muted this time, just a fraction of its previous intensity. Bucky knows what they gave you. His breaths come in quicker, the slight hyperventilation making him a little lightheaded as HYDRA’s plan begins to unfold before him. He doesn’t remove his hand from your bruised hip, but begins to curl his fingertips against your skin instead. His eyes study your face, watching how it contorts, but not in pain. It contorts with the faintest promise of pleasure. He unfurls his fingers and begins sliding his hand upward, dragging his palm and fingers flat as he nears your waist. A soft whimper escapes your lips and he halts his movements. Your eyes flutter open and you meet his gaze with a furrowed brow as pain lingers in your nerve endings. The further up he moves his hand, the less relief you feel. After giving each other a charged look, he continues his upward movement. He's trying to confirm that this is what he thinks it is, while simultaneously checking you for any other bruises. He’s tallying them up in his head. Each bruise he finds is one more of HYDRA’s men that will be dying a slow, painful death at his hands.  He uses his vibranium hand to push your gown further to the side, revealing the dark bruises along your ribcage just before his hand glides over them.  

            “Just hairline fractures.” You whisper, speaking the words through a shaky exhale. He’s going to kill someone. Probably more than one someone. It’s already settled, the certainty of that fact taking up residence in his bones. He will kill anyone who laid a finger on you. Actually, he’ll kill anyone who has so much as looked in your direction with ill intent over the last seven days. As soon as he gets you out of this damn concrete bunker and back to safety, he’s going on a fucking rampage. “Bucky…”  His name falls from your lips in a way that has his body physically reacting. He feels sick over it, over feeling even the tiniest bit of pleasure when you’re in such a state.

            “It felt better when I was touching your hip.” He already knows. You nod in response. Slowly, you reach down with your left hand, watching him cautiously as your hand comes to rest over the top of his that’s still lingering over your bruised ribs. He lets you guide his hand down your skin, inching closer and closer to your hip as your face relaxes and your eyes fall closed once more. “You don’t know what this is?”

            “Just tell me.” You plead, scrunching your nose up when another muted surge of pain pulses down the back of your spine, shooting down to your fingers and toes like lightning. Still, with Bucky’s touch, it’s so much more bearable.

            “It’s a chemical compound that HYDRA designed when they realized that recreating the serum from a super soldier’s DNA would take years. They wanted to shift into researching super soldier stem cells instead.” As soon as the words stem cells leave Bucky’s mouth, you know where this is going. A sheen of sweat is glistening across your forehead now, and you wipe at it with the back of your hand as Bucky continues to drag his palm in circles over your hip bone, trying to keep the worst of your pain at bay.

            “What does the chemical do, Bucky?” Exasperation is evident in your tone, but it doesn’t even register in Bucky’s mind. He zeroes in on the way his name sounds rolling off of your tongue, trying his best to ignore the tent forming in his tactical pants. This is not the fucking time nor the place. He grits his teeth for a second and his hand stills on your hip, which earns him a displeased whimper from you and another noticeable hardening twinge in his cock. He’s quick to start rubbing circles against the skin of your hip again.

            “It does a lot of things…causes pain that gets worse and worse over the course of about eight hours, makes you wish you were dead.”

            “Yeah, I got that part.” You groan, considering curling into a fetal position. “But what’s the purpose of using it on someone? Why are they doing this?” There’s a long pause after your question, and you study the side of Bucky’s face as he watches his hand moving over your bruised hip. “Bucky?” Would it be wrong of him to tell you to stop saying his fucking name? He’s considering it.

            “They used to inject super soldiers with it and then lock them in rooms with women. It enhances all of this reproductive shit, sends their sex drive into overdrive, all they can think about it getting off.” It’s crude, the way he describes it, but its effective in giving you a clear mental image of HYDRA’s depravity. Your heart is beating out of your chest as things start to make sense in your mind, as you realize the true gravity of the precarious situation that you’re in right now.

            “Why haven’t I heard about this before?” You have to ask, but you’re sure you won’t like the answer. Bucky hesitates for a moment, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth and biting down, avoiding your gaze.

            “It wasn’t effective.”

            “Why not?” His hand pauses again, and this time, he withdraws his touch completely, taking a step back from the exam table you lie on.

            “The women never survived.” A sinking feeling settles deep in the pit of your stomach, almost overwhelming the cramping pain you already feel there. He isn’t saying the women didn’t survive the dose of the drug. That’s not what he’s saying at all. He’s saying they didn’t survive being fucked by feral super soldiers. He’s saying these women were violated and then discarded like single-use plastic, all as part of HYDRA’s attempt to have at least one of them end up pregnant so they could harvest potentially super soldier serum-laden stem cells. Bucky can see the wheels in your head turning, he can see the panic rising up inside you before it’s even reached the surface. He doesn’t reach out to touch you, but god, he wants to. He wants to reassure you. “Something about this is different though. As far as I know, they never gave the women a dose of the drug. Only the men.” You take a few deep breaths, the mixture of sheer panic and an oncoming wave of pain quickly growing to be too much for you to handle.

            “Touch me.” You choke out, just as another bolt of what feels like supercharged electricity shoots down your spine and raises your body temperature. You cry out in agony as you tremble on the exam table, barely noticing when Bucky steps forward and rests his hand on your hip again. You need more than that, so much more than that, and you both know it. When the wave of pain subsides and your breaths begin to come in slower, you peel your eyes open and find Bucky already focused on your face, concern, worry, and a good bit of rage etched into his features. “Why would they give this to me and not you?”

            “I don’t…” His voice trails off as his eyes roam over the small bits of exposed skin, as he takes in the tattered hospital gown and the bruises and cuts littered across the expanse of your body. He knows why. He was going to lie to you, to tell you he doesn’t know. But what’s the point? “They know I wouldn’t lay a finger on you just to save myself.”

            There it is. They’re dosing you to force his hand. He wouldn’t act on the torture if it was aimed at his body alone. He would suffer through the pain or die before he would touch a woman against her will, before he’d ever even think to ask that of someone. But when it’s you? He’d do whatever you ask of him, and somehow HYDRA found that out. HYDRA found that out long before even you did, and they’re using it against you both now.

            “He said…the man who’s been treating my wounds, who gave me the injection earlier, he said tonight would be a test.” You whisper, your eyes roving over to the small camera mounted in the far upper corner of the ceiling. Bucky follows your gaze and thinks about ripping the camera right out of the fucking concrete.

            Bucky’s trying hard to keep his composure. You’re the one weakness he didn’t even know he had until it was being exploited. What did he do to lead HYDRA right to you? Where did he go wrong? How the hell did everything go to shit so quickly?

            He spends the next three hours doing everything he can to ease your pain and suffering without taking it too far. The camera captures everything. It captures the shift in the room when the drug really started to ruin you, when you turned into a moaning, trembling mess on the exam table. It captures Bucky trying to soothe you by running his single flesh hand along your thigh, your lower stomach, and at times even sitting you up to rub deep circles into your lower back. You still needed more. It’s not the first time that Bucky’s resented his vibranium arm, but it’s the first time he’s resented it for a reason totally unrelated to his own trauma. The only thing that’s offering you any relief right now is the feel of his skin against yours, and he can only give you 50% of what anyone else could, because he only has one fucking hand. After half an hour, your pain worsened to an unbearable degree and Bucky took matters into his own hands. That’s when the camera captured Bucky stripping the clothing from his upper body. It was a single cry that you tried to stifle that did it. His top was crumpled on the floor within seconds, his arms wrapping around your quaking body and lifting you from the table. Instead of carrying you bridal style this time, he guided your legs around his waist and let you collapse on his shoulder.

            He took you right back to that corner of the room, the corner he first found you in. This time, he sat on the floor with his bare back pressing against the concrete wall. He turned you around in his lap as if you weighed nothing, twisting you until your back was to his chest and you were seated on the floor between his legs, and untied your gown to fully bare your back to him. The moment he placed his hands on your forearms and pulled you flush against him was the moment you knew you were fucked. It felt like coming up for air after tumbling around beneath crashing waves. When he slipped both arms under the fabric of the gown, wrapping them around your stomach and keeping you pressed against him, you felt relief and yet you only wanted – no, needed – more.

            “Bucky, it’s not enough.” You whimpered, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder.

            “I know, baby, I know. I’m so sorry.” The sweet name hung in the air like smoke, swirling around in the corner of that concrete room. You felt a fire begin to build low in your stomach, replacing the agonizing ache you’d previously been feeling there. Bucky noticed the way your shoulders relaxed a little and the way a serene look briefly took over your features when he slipped up and called you that name. He doesn’t even know where the fuck it came from, but he’ll sure as hell keep using it if it’s doing you any good.

            An hour later, the camera captured your thighs squeezing together as you continued to lean back into the super soldier behind you. It captured the internal struggle written all over his face as you fought the desire to straddle him right there on the floor and grind yourself against the sizable bulge in the front of his pants. He knew you needed it, but until you asked, until you vocalized it, he’d hold out. Though you didn’t know it, he was completely at your mercy.

            When you started slipping in and out of consciousness, your heart beat rising to a dangerous rate, sustained well over two-hundred beats per minute, HYDRA watched on through their monitors as Bucky started to drag his lips over the skin of your neck. He pressed his lips to your pulse point, seeming to count the beats with the tip of his tongue as your eyes fluttered closed and a broken moan fell from your open mouth.

            “What can I do? Tell me what I can do, please.” His plea registered in your mind but the ramifications of your response didn’t. There wasn’t a thought in your head when you reached beneath the gown and gripped his flesh hand, not a single damn thought when you guided his hand down between your legs.

            The camera didn’t faze either of you. Though it was a consideration in the back of Bucky’s mind, his fingertips had already felt the wet fabric of the black panties you were sporting beneath the gown and his hand took it upon itself to do anything and everything you needed. With his vibranium hand holding your thighs apart and skilled flesh fingers pulling your panties to the side, Bucky was dipping two digits into your dripping cunt almost as soon as you’d spread your legs for him.

            Bucky Barnes used nothing more than one hand and a few words of praise to draw two orgasms out of you, singlehandedly ending your suffering and lulling you into a state of semi-consciousness. He himself was in a daze when a team of guards swept into the room suddenly, four of them aiming their guns at his head as two of them pulled your limp body from his embrace and laid you back on the exam table in the center of the room. Bucky was left sitting in the corner, with sweat glistening along his exposed chest and abs, his dog tags sticking to his skin, and his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes were fixated on his fingers, the two that were seated deep inside you just moments ago. The two fingers that worked your pussy until Bucky’s name was falling freely from your lips, until you wrapped your soft hand around his wrist and dug your nails in, leaving little half-moon shaped bruises in his skin. Until the power of your second orgasm took away almost all of the pain you’d been suffering through for the last three hours, and you went slack against Bucky’s chest. He left those two fingers buried in your cunt until the guards tugged you away from him, taking a piece of his already shattered soul with your weak body.

             As the guards place Bucky back in electronic cuffs, not even bothering to have him put his shirt back on, he feels something rising up inside of him. It’s a part of him that he worked so hard to bury, to crush down into nothing more than dust and ash, never to see the light of day again. He feels a type of uncontrollable rage that he hasn’t quite felt since a time when he didn’t even know his own name.

Bucky feels the Winter Soldier clawing its way to the surface, scratching at the layers of his skin, begging to be set free. The only differences this time being who he’d be killing for and whether or not he’d be doing it willingly.

You. He’d be killing for you. And he would kill so fucking willingly.

             Bucky is no stranger to nightmares. He’s no stranger to waking up in a cold sweat, his heart nearly beating out of his chest as he struggles to ground himself and remember that it isn’t real. He’s no stranger to being haunted during his waking hours, plagued by memories of what he’s done, or of what’s been done to him. What he is a stranger to is being haunted by you.

            The little pants and gasps that fell from your lips so freely at the skilled work of his hand are engrained in his mind. They taunt him with every draft of filtered air that wafts around the chamber. He can still feel your back pressed against his chest, your thighs spread and leaning into his own, the soft tresses of your hair brushing against the side of his neck as you let your head fall back on his shoulder. He’s so fucking thankful that you let your head fall back that way. His control would’ve been in danger of slipping if you’d chosen to look down between your legs and watch as he slid his fingers in and out of you. Hell, his control was teetering on the fucking edge regardless. He hates that he knows how it feels to have your cunt gripping his fingers, your body begging him not to pull away, how it feels to have you relying solely on him for your release. He hates even more that he only has HYDRA to thank for it.

            Bucky lets his head rest back and his eyes close tightly as a memory makes its way to the forefront of his thoughts.

            “I’m not wearing your jacket.” You said defiantly, shaking your pretty little head and crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky was such a gentleman, keeping his gaze averted instead of taking in the way your stance was accentuating the shape of your breasts. Your breasts that were already threatening to spill over the black dress clinging to your curves. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to stop picturing your soft skin marred with road rash. He didn’t know you very well, but he knew that if you said you wouldn’t wear his jacket, then you damn sure wouldn’t be wearing it.

            “Then you’re wearing my helmet.” He said coldly, turning to face you with his black helmet gripped in his flesh hand. “Or you can go back inside and leave a little more glitter on one of New York’s most upstanding men.” The hesitation that flashed across your face only frustrated him more, as if you were really thinking about going back into that damn shithole. “It’ll keep the wind from messing up your hair, princess.”

            You stepped forward suddenly, coming close enough that your arms almost brushed against Bucky’s chest as your eyes narrowed in disdain. You looked up at him through your lashes in a way that had him feeling like he was on the edge of a rocky cliff, seconds from falling.

            "Put it on for me then, soldier.” You said softly, your voice barely above the whistling of the wind. A low chuckle rumbled past his lips as he shifted the helmet to his vibranium hand and did something so unexpected. He reached up with his flesh hand and gently, so fucking gently, pushed a perfectly placed stray lock of hair behind your ear. The helmet was on two seconds later, and he only had to fasten the strap beneath your chin before you’d be ready to ride.

            “Look up for me.” His tone was even, unwavering, even when his words were suggestive. The energy between you was electric. It felt like the sharp, crackling atmosphere you’d feel right before lightning strikes right at your feet. A chill spread throughout your body, and because of how close Bucky was standing and how focused you were on everything he was doing, you didn’t stop to think that the chill was really your sixth sense kicking in. You were being watched. You were being chosen by HYDRA as Bucky fastened the strap under your chin and met your gaze for a moment too long. Your fate was being sealed.

            The electronic lock outside of Bucky’s concrete room beeps, dragging him out of his head and back to the present. His head snaps forward as the door slides open and a slew of guards pour into the room, followed by a tall, thin man with gray hair and dark, empty eyes. His skin looks as if it would slough off and turn to dust if a strong breeze hit him just right.

            “The girl made it through the night, thanks to you.” The man says, keeping his eyes cast downward at an illuminated tablet in his hands. Bucky narrows his eyes, refusing to let relief cloud his focus. “She’s had almost twenty-four hours to recover so she’s about to get her second injection now.” Bucky’s muscles tense within the restraint system, but he maintains his composure, biting down on the inside of his cheek nearly hard enough to draw blood. “We need to go over some ground rules before tonight’s session begins. Are you going to cooperate with me?” The old man looks up now, his hollow eyes meeting Bucky’s without fear.

            “I’m listening.” He spits the words out like venom.

            “Based on the conversation the two of you had last night, you already know why we’re doing this. You were pretty spot on, really, I was impressed.” The man pauses, waiting for Bucky to respond. Bucky bites down a little harder on the inside of his cheek before inhaling deeply.

            “What are the ground rules?” He asks tensely, growing more and more impatient with every passing millisecond.

            “She stays in restraints. If you so much as look like you’re going to remove them, we’ll find another super soldier to pair her with.” Just the thought of any other man being near you after the injection they’re giving you right now has Bucky clenching his teeth. “You finish inside of her. If you don’t, you’ll have a front row seat to watch someone else do it next time.”

            Finish inside of her.

            Bucky knew what they were plotting, but it’s only hitting him now that he’s hearing it said aloud. Some part of him was assuming the team would’ve swooped in and staged a rescue before things got this far, before anything really happened. That part of him is sweating now.

            “Consider this your one chance to get what you want from her.” The man taunts, turning on his heel and heading for the door. He stops right before reaching the exit, looking back over his shoulder at Bucky. “She might feel something for you but she never would’ve given you a chance in the real world. You’re a cold-blooded killer, a ruthless assassin with a dark past. She would’ve only ever feared you.”

            Something’s different about the man with the warm brown eyes, the man who gave you the first injection. He seems almost as uneasy as you are about being here. He doesn’t quite belong.

            “This will burn at first, just like last time.” He says quietly, flicking the tip of his gloved finger against the side of a syringe in an attempt to pop the air bubbles inside of it. You stare at the ten milliliters of white cloudy liquid with disdain. You remember what it did to you last night. Memories of searing pain mingle with memories of a familiar face. Bucky Barnes showed up. He came to your rescue and gave you exactly what you needed to survive the torture HYDRA chose to inflict on you. “Tonight is going to be different.”

            “How so?” You ask, forcing your mind to abandon all thoughts of the man whose fingers were curled inside of you less than a day ago. You can’t think about that right now.

            “There will be expectations, and if they aren’t met, things will get very bad for you very fast.” The man’s warning makes your blood run cold. You tense up as he runs an alcohol swab over the skin of your upper arm.

            “Things aren’t already bad?” You ask sarcastically, glancing around the concrete holding cell you’ve lived in for days now.

            “They want you pregnant. Whether that’s by your friend or not is up to the two of you.”

            “Oh, we get choices now? Does HYDRA have a catalog of captive super soldiers that I get to choose from?” The man shoots you a callous look as he sinks the needle into your arm and pushes the plunger down, administering the drug quickly. You feel the burning sensation all around the injection site as he retracts the needle and drops it on the metal tray table beside him.

            “Do you trust me?” He asks, turning away from you and peeling his gloves off. You watch him closely as he begins to clean up the various items on the tray table.

            “Fuck no.”

            “That’s fair, you don’t know me. But I know you. I know that you have all of SHIELD and a few other big-name agencies scrambling to rescue you. I know that you won’t be here for very long, and that Bucky Barnes being here was part of the plan to bring you home. I know that when I tell you I’m on your side, you won’t believe me for one second.”

            His claims catch you off-guard. You’re frozen, sitting on the side of the exam table with your knuckles turning white as your grip on the edge of it tightens. The man doesn’t spare you a glance as he finishes wrapping up his trash from the tray table and places it in a small plastic bag at his feet.

            “He killed a guard yesterday.” You process his words quickly, your eyes following his every move as he lifts the bag and heads for the door.

            “Why?” You ask quickly, keeping your tone low. You’re tempted to look over your shoulder and see if the camera is on, but if it is, you don’t want to draw attention to the fact that this man is giving you information you shouldn’t be getting.

            “Because apparently, you’re worth killing for.”

            “He wouldn’t have done it just for me, there would’ve been a reason.”

            “The guard was talking about fucking you.”

            An unfamiliar feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as the implication of the man’s words sink in. Bucky killed someone for you?

            Bucky killed someone for you.

            Bucky could reduce the metal restraints around him to fragmented pieces on the floor. He could shatter the walls of this damn chamber with a single punch, without even using his vibranium arm. He’s envisioning himself kicking down the door to the room violently, ripping the electronic keypad lock from the wall, and shoving it up any one of the guards’ asses. Sweat is beading across his forehead and dripping down his hairline as he struggles to hold onto reality. He can see you when he closes his eyes. He can feel your head against his shoulder and the soft skin of your thigh against his palm. You’re so unreachable, locked in your own cell with multiple concrete walls and a few hundred meters between you and Bucky, and yet, it’s as if you’re right in front of him. The image of you is taunting him, daring him to lose control.

            He doesn’t know how his touch soothed you in any way last night, not when the drug is wreaking this level of havoc on his own body. He can’t imagine finding relief in anything. He’s a trembling mess when a large team of guards descend upon the chamber. He doesn’t put up a fight as they remove him from the chamber restraints and place electronic cuffs around his wrists. The only thing that stops him from killing every single one of the men in the room right now is the fact that he’s sure they’re taking him to you.

            His brain is fuzzy, his thoughts jumbled and hard to sort through by the time he’s positioned in front of another metal door with an electronic lock. He has a brief moment of clarity when he sees one of the guards key in the code: 0371. Even with the swarm of bees buzzing around in his head, he commits the number to memory, just in case he needs it later.

            Bucky’s shoved forward into the room as soon as the door slides open, but with the lights low and his eyes not yet adjusted, he can’t see shit. He feels one of the guards moving to stand in front of him, removing his electronic cuffs, and then moving away. There’s a rush of cool air against his bare back as the door whooshes shut behind him. They never gave him his fucking shirt back.

            You see Bucky before he ever sees you. As you lie on your back, with your hands restrained out to the sides, you let your eyes roam over his disheveled body. His hair is messy and his scruff is a little more grown out than you’re used to seeing. Sweat glistens across his bare torso and forehead. His eyes are narrowed as he searches the dark room for any sign of you. You’re about to call out to him when the room is suddenly cast in a pale, dim glow, and his eyes land on you, lighting your skin on fire. You feel vulnerable as his blue eyes rake over your body, taking in the sight of you restrained and only partially covered by a thin white sheet. They let you wear a black sports bra and pair of black underwear beneath the sheet, but that does little to make you feel any more covered.

            A sharp pain starts to build in your lower stomach, spreading quickly down to your thighs and causing you to tense up beneath the sheet, bending your knees upward and letting out a soft groan. Bucky’s moving forward within a second, reaching the side of the bed and resting one knee on the mattress as he reaches for your restraints.

            “Don’t.” You choke the word out, shooting him a warning glance. Your eyes fall to the right, looking just past him, and he turns his head to follow your gaze. The wall behind him is made entirely of mirror, a two-way mirror, presumably. Fuck HYDRA for that. He can hear those fucking ground rules replaying in his head like a broken record as he turns to look at you once more, as his eyes take in the ropes tied tightly around your already bruising wrists. He knows what’ll happen if he touches those restraints.

            Bucky pulls his hand away from the restraints but leaves his knee propped on the side of the bed, looking down at you with concern as your face contorts with pain. He reaches down with his flesh hand, letting his fingertips ghost along your jawline, watching as your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. He can’t stand seeing you this way for the second night in a row. Fury and the rest of the team should’ve had you out of here by now. What the hell are they waiting on now that they have Bucky on the inside?

            “Bucky…”  His name is a near whimper when it leaves your lips. Hearing you say it in such a way has him pulling his hand back and retreating from the bed quickly, like you have something he doesn’t want to catch. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to get out of this.”

            You watch as Bucky’s eyes scrunch shut and his flesh hand moves to wipe a bit of sweat away from his forehead. You take a moment to let your eyes rake over the entirety of him. They definitely gave him the injection. You can tell by the way his pulse is visible in his neck even from a few feet away, by the way his chest rises and falls so much quicker than usual, and by the slight tent forming in the front of his tactical pants. You don’t let your gaze linger for long, not when you feel your pain and restlessness increasing just at the sight of him. You want him. You want him bad, and you’re afraid if you weren’t in restraints right now, you’d already be all over him. It’s fucking shameful.

            When Bucky lets his eyes focus back on you after taking a minute to gather himself, he finds you staring up at the ceiling, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to leave an indentation of your teeth. The bulge that’s already straining against the fabric of his pants only grows, and he wants to bang his head against the concrete wall for that. He can only hope you haven’t noticed it yet, but he’s sure you have.

            “What are our options here?” You ask, a slight rasp breaking through your normally smooth tone. Bucky can only assume it’s from all of the screaming you did the night before. He casts another glare in the direction of the two-way mirror wall, trying his best to look anywhere but at you.

            “I don’t think we really have options here.” He answers honestly, rubbing the palm of his flesh hand against the back of his neck. His eyes are coasting over the concrete wall behind the bed now, still avoiding you. He feels a dull ache throbbing at the base of his skull and slowly spreading down his spine the longer he remains standing.

            “I think we have a few.” Bucky raises an eyebrow at your statement, finally looking back at you. “We could refuse to do anything and see how long it takes for them to come in here and kill me.” Bucky narrows his eyes at your stupid suggestion, shaking his head slightly. You might think they’d just come in and kill you for refusing to cooperate but Bucky knows what they’d do. They’d take him out of the equation and bring in some other super soldier who wouldn’t think twice about taking everything from you. “We could do what they want, suffer through it, and pretend it never happened when we get out of here.”

            Suffer through it. Bucky feels physically ill just from hearing you describe it that way. You think you’d suffer through sex with him. And almost worse than that, you seem to think he’d suffer through sex with you. He’s ready to bring the concrete bunker to the ground with just a few punches in order to get you out of here so you don’t have to suffer through a damn thing.

            “Or we…” The words die on your lips as you watch Bucky’s muscles tensing and rippling with whatever pain or emotion he’s currently feeling. He looks pissed, honestly, and you’re not sure if that’s because of the situation you’re both in or because of something you said.  You swallow hard, audibly enough that Bucky can hear it from across the room. “Or we could fuck.”

            You’re not thinking straight, you can’t possibly be thinking straight. If you were, you wouldn’t have said that to Bucky just now, he’s sure of it. He’s holding his breath and keeping his brow furrowed as he stares at you, at the mouth that just said something to unhinged it sent heat flooding through his body. He’s staring at the mouth that he wants so badly to feel against his own, and for some reason, he can’t think of a damn thing to say to you. You shift under his gaze, repositioning your wrists so the ropes don’t pull as hard on your already bruised skin.

            “Say something.” You press, hating the silence that’s weighing heavy on your shoulders.

            “I don’t know what to say to that.”

            “I gave you three options.” A distant pain rumbles through your body, making your bones tremble.

            “And you want me to just pick one?” Bucky asks, sounding more and more on edge with every word. You inhale deeply and let out a sigh, choosing to stare up at the ceiling instead of staring at him any longer.

            “What the hell even are those options? The first one, refusing to do what they want, that won’t end like you think it will. The second option just makes me feel…” Bucky starts pacing at the foot of the bed, letting the dim lights highlight his toned body perfectly with every jarring step he takes. “The second option makes me feel like shit. Suffer through it?” He casts you a sideways glance that makes you feel bad for the way you worded things just a moment ago. “You’ve been suffering since the night you got here and I’m not going to have a hand in adding to that. But the third option? What the fuck are you thinking?”

            “I’m thinking it might be the only thing under our control.” You say softly, the meekness of your voice freezing Bucky mid-step. He’s at the center of the foot of the bed, slowly turning to face you head-on. He looks like a god from this angle and it makes you want to draw your knees up to your chest and close your eyes like a cowering child. He should look like shit. He should look as bad as you probably look right now after being held captive for so many days.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Not only are they behind that mirror watching us right now, but you know they’re recording every second of this.” Bucky’s blue eyes flit over to the mirror wall on his left and he scowls at it, as if he can see the horde of despicable men gathered behind it, just waiting for a glimpse of some action. “I don’t want there to be some video floating around one day where I’m just lying here beneath you in this bed, looking helpless while you just...I’ll be damned if I die down here and a video like that is the last anyone sees of me.”

            Bucky wants to reassure you, to tell you that there’s no way in hell he’d let that be the last people see of you. But he knows reassurance isn’t what you need right now. You need to feel like you have some semblance of control over your situation. He can see how that third option you listed is the only way you can fathom feeling like you have that control. Fuck. Is this really what it’s come to?

            “So, you want me to just…” His voice trails off, as if he’s scared to finish his sentence. The only thing you can think about is the way the fear doesn’t reach his eyes at all. There’s something else behind his blue irises, rimming his dark pupils as he stares back at you. It’s something so real that it causes a chill to spread along the surface of your skin, threatening to erupt into a tremble if you don’t tamp it down.

            “Fuck me.” You say, your voice a little shaky but still sure. “Fuck me like it’s something you actually want to do, like it’s something you wanted to do long before we ended up here.”

            Oh, you have no idea. You have no idea that it really is something he wanted to do long before you ended up here. You don’t have a fucking clue that Bucky has laid in bed more than one night in a row, listening across the hall as you get ready for bed. He’s waited until you’ve fallen asleep more times than he can count, before replaying a few key interactions with you in his head, letting his hand drift lower and lower down the front of his sweats until he wakes up the next morning full of shame. He looks you over carefully, from head to toe this time. His eyes rake over the shape of your body outlined beneath the white sheet, taking in every dip and curve in your form.

            With the way he’s looking at you, studying you, it feels like the concrete bunker has suddenly warmed up by fifteen degrees. Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip nervously as you await some kind of response from the man that you just practically begged to fuck you. Bucky’s eyes track the small movement, and he finds himself wanting to feel your tongue against his own. God, he’s going to feel so ashamed after this, isn’t he?

            “You want me to fuck you.” He says slowly, bending forward at the waist until his hands come to rest on either side of your covered feet at the end of the bed. Your heart is beating out of your chest as he holds that position and looks into your eyes. He didn’t phrase it as a question, but it’s obvious he’s waiting for you to confirm it again. He isn’t going to a damn thing without confirmation. You nod quickly, swallowing hard and trying to look more sure of yourself than you’ve ever been. Bucky moves forward again, this time lifting one knee and placing it on the bed. Then the other, then the first leg moves again. He’s crawling over you in a way that has the entire atmosphere changing around you. It feels like the room is spinning, like the air is thinning out and the oxygen percentage is dropping dangerously low with every inch between you that’s lost.

            “I need to hear you say it.” He speaks lowly as he hovers above you, dropping his head down so his nose brushes against your jawline while one of his knees moves between yours gently, nudging them apart just enough for him to fit comfortably against you.

            “I want you to fuck me.” You answer breathlessly, letting your eyes flutter closed as his lips begin to ghost over your neck, moving closer and closer to your ear.

            “Again.” He rasps, taking your earlobe between his teeth like he’s done it a million times before and knows it’ll get a reaction out of you. Your back arches in the slightest as he bites down on your earlobe softly, causing your covered chest to brush against his bare torso.

            “I want you to fuck me, please.”

            “That’s it.” The words rumble in his chest and you feel the vibration against your skin. Suddenly you resent the sheet that’s acting as a barrier between the two of you. “Just keep reminding me.” Bucky’s pressing his lips against the skin of your neck, right over the spot where he used his lips to check your heartbeat just one day ago. In one swift move, he’s tugging the sheet down and to the side, slipping himself beneath it letting the skin of his upper body collide with everywhere that yours is exposed. Instant relief floods through his body at the simple feeling of your warm skin against his. Whatever pain he was feeling is suddenly gone, diminished almost entirely. You’re all he needed. He positions one knee between your legs again, but a little higher this time, nearly letting it press against the fabric of your black panties.

            “I want this.” You whisper, your tone laced with need. He drags his lips from your neck, over the curve of your jaw, and along your cheek until he’s hovering right over your mouth. He wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you more than he’s ever wanted anything, but he won’t. He decides that now, as he’s staring down at your lips, wishing he knew what it felt like to bite down on one of them, what it felt like to slip his tongue between them. If he kisses you, he won’t ever be able to listen to you speak again, to watch the way you tug that bottom lip between your teeth when you’re thinking hard. He won’t be able to look at you without wanting your lips all fucking over his own every second of every damn day. So, he won’t kiss you.

            You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. As he hovers above you, his mouth just an inch away from yours, you’re expecting it. You’re a little disappointed when he dips his head to the side instead, dropping his forehead down toward your shoulder and nipping on the exposed skin there. But every trace of disappointment flees when he positions himself fully between your legs and grinds down, pressing the hardened front of his tactical pants against your clothed cunt with just the right amount of pressure.

            “You want this?” He asks, scraping his teeth along your shoulder as he grinds against you in small circles. A tortured moan escapes you and you tug against the restraints, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and pull him even closer. Your knees bend on either side of him but you resist the urge to entrap him with your legs around his waist. You won’t let yourself seem that desperate, that starved for his touch.

            “Bucky.” His name leaves your lips as a sultry moan, and he stills instantly. Though he doesn’t pull away from you, he stops grinding entirely. He bites down on your shoulder, a little too hard, leaving a little red mark in the shape of his perfect teeth.

            “You can’t do that.” He groans. He’s speaking so quietly that you doubt the cameras in the room will be able to pick up a word. You kind of like thinking that his words are only for you to hear. “You can’t say my name like that, not when they put this shit in my veins. I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “You won’t.” You don’t really know why you’re so sure, but you are. He won’t hurt you.

            “But I could.” He reminds you, slowly starting to grind his hips again. You can tell that your thin black panties are already soaked through with arousal. Can he feel it through his tactical pants? Can he smell how wet you are for him?

            “But you won’t.” You say again. Bucky reaches beneath the sheet with his right hand and slides it under your bent knee, moving your leg out to the side to spread you even more and give himself a better angle. Another moan falls from your mouth and he feels his body temperature rising to a dangerous degree. You’re right, he won’t hurt you. He’d never, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t fear that not-so-distant part of him that was always so capable of inflicting bodily harm. Especially this week, with everything that’s happened. That part of him is so much closer to the surface than usual. He fears that any little thing could make him snap and the Winter Soldier will take over before he has a chance to force it back down to the depths he keeps it locked away in. “Look at me.” Your command is soft but stern, easily earning you Bucky’s attention. He stills his hips against yours and lifts his head from your shoulder, doing exactly what you want when he looks into your eyes. “I trust you.”

            “You shouldn’t, not with this.” He argues, fighting the urge to drag the hardened length of his cock against your damp panties again. He’s starting to itch to get his tactical pants off, to remove some of the layers keeping him from fully feeling you.

            “I do, and you can’t really change that. I trust you to do this.” He almost growls at your words, hating the power you’re giving him. It’s only making things harder for him, in more ways than one. “What’s so wrong about me saying that I trust you to fuck me?”

            “Everything.”  He’s grinding into you again, but more fervently this time. Your head presses back into the firm pillow behind you and the soft sigh you let out has Bucky’s cock twitching in its confines. “Everything’s wrong. You’re tied to a fucking bed, covered in bruises and cuts, with a chemical influencing every thought in your mind right now, and you’re telling me that you trust me to fuck you. Shit…” His voice trails off for a moment as he hitches one of your legs around his hips and drives down against you a little harder, needing so much more of you than he’s taking right now. “That same chemical is influencing me and you think I can control myself? Enough to keep from hurting you?”

            Bucky lets his flesh hand slide up your waist beneath the covers, skipping over the curve of your breasts in an attempt to be respectful before traveling up the side of your neck. He grips your chin in that hand, holding your face still and forcing you to look at him.

            “What makes you so sure I won’t hurt you?” He has to know. When you search his blue eyes, you find so many things. Need, lust, desperation. But you also find fear, apprehension, and doubt. He needs to be sure that you’re really and truly okay with this or he’ll never be able to live with himself after it’s done. That much, you’re sure of.

            “Is this the first time you’ve ever thought about touching me?” Your question comes out as a whisper against his lips. His hips falter, but you aren’t going to let him stop this time. Keeping your leg hitched over his hip, you start grinding your hips upward, maintaining the pace he’d been setting. He narrows his eyes at you, his grip on your chin tightening for the quickest second before releasing. That same hand slides across your cheek, moves between your head and the pillow, and tangles tenderly in your hair.

            “No.”

            “Every other time you thought about it, did you ever imagine hurting me?”

            “Not once.”

            “If I told you that you were hurting me, would you stop?”

            “Yes.” He breathes the word out with ease. He doesn't even need to think about it.

            “Do you trust me to tell you if you’re hurting me?” The pause that ensues is loaded and the tension is almost crackling in the air around the bed. Bucky nods slowly, his eyes still narrowed and his hips still unmoving as you grind up against him yourself. “Then why do I feel like I have to beg for this right now?” A playful smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth and you know you’ve gotten through to him.

            “You would beg?” He asks, the smirk taking full form now. He leans down and takes your earlobe in between his teeth just like he did moments ago, but instead of biting down, he sucks on it gently. He releases it from his mouth after a second and starts dragging the tip of his tongue up the shell of your ear.

            “Is that what you want?” A tremble shakes your body as he lowers his full weight onto you.

            “I’d love to hear it.” He admits, whispering his answer so only you catch the words. “But if you do that in front of the men behind that glass, I’ll cut their ears off and shove them down their fucking throats before I kill them. I try not to do shit like that anymore, so don’t force my hand.”

            You’re reminded of the possibility that he might’ve killed someone for you last night, for talking inappropriately about you. You were unsure of it at first, but hearing Bucky talk this way makes it so much more believable. You’re stuck in your head when he rolls off of you, breaking the physical contact and leaving you both yearning for more. He’s lying beside you, tugging his tactical pants down and off in one swift move beneath the sheet, trying to figure how the hell he’s going to make it through this.

            Nerves are bubbling up in your stomach as you start to question everything. This is all just the influence of the chemical coursing through your veins, like Bucky said. But if that’s true, why does it feel so real? He’s back on top of you in an instant, now with only his boxers and your panties creating space between the two of you.

            “You get to have some control here too.” Bucky promises, sinking between your legs and placing his forearms on the bed on either side of your head. “If you want something, need something, tell me.” You nod just as he’s lowering his head down and attaching his lips to the column of your throat. The sweet combination of him kissing, licking, and sucking on your skin like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted has your back arching off the bed and your wrists fighting the restraints. What makes it even worse is the way his scruff combats the soothing actions of his mouth, leaving a light burn everywhere his face travels. You wish you could kiss him back the same way and show him how damn near insufferable it is to be the helpless one. “Are you sore from last night?” He asks as his flesh hand begins ghosting down your side. He traces the waistband of your panties with the tips of his fingers, back and forth slowly, teasing you as he waits for an answer.

            “A little.” You rasp, your throat feeling dry and tight with the building anticipation. You swear he almost smirks at your answer. His hand slides beneath your waistband and you’re having flashbacks to the night before. The pain was worse than anything you’d ever felt but Bucky’s hands between your thighs was the perfect antidote. Just as a new wave of pain is beginning to shoot down your spine, Bucky drags his fingertips along your wet folds, teasing just outside of your entrance, before dragging them up to your clit and applying a firm pressure there. You gasp, pushing down into his hand as much as the restraints will allow as the pain in your back instantly subsides.

            “That’s it.” He coos, taking in the way your pupils dilate at his touch. Your cheeks are flushed pink beneath him, and though he knows it’s mostly from the drug in your system, he can’t help the tiny bit of pride that swells in his chest. Bucky starts rubbing slow, steady circles against your clit, staying focused on your face the entire time. “There you go, just like last night.” He dips his middle and ring fingers downward until they’re threatening to slide inside of you, and you want nothing more than to buck against them, but you fight against the urge. Bucky notices your resistance and chuckles lowly, sliding his two fingers in to the first knuckle. “You wanted control, so take it. Don’t hold back on me.” He encourages, with his lips lowered down to your ear again.

            With his words echoing in your head, you let your eyes fall closed and your head press back into the firm pillow as he starts slowly dragging his fingers in and out of you. In and out, in and out. He peppers your neck with kisses before sliding his fingers in as deep as he can, and then curling them against your walls on the way out, coaxing a sultry moan from you with ease. With every pretty sound Bucky earns from you, he’s one step closer to losing his shit. He hates that his resolve crumbles more and more every time you so much as take a breath beneath him. He hates even more that there’s probably a room full of men that get to hear and see you this way, that it’s not just for him.

            Bucky can feel the effects of the drug growing stronger, sending repetitive pangs down his back and throughout his bones. He knows you must be feeling it too. It hasn’t reached its peak yet and he can only hope that what he’s about to do will be enough to keep that peak at bay for a while. His flesh hand continues on between your legs, with his middle and ring fingers thrusting in and out of you at a steady rhythm and his palm applying pressure to your clit. He rolls slightly to his side and uses his vibranium hand to start tugging his boxers down. He’s pushing all thoughts out of his mind when you’re on the brink of your first orgasm. When it’s tearing through you, bringing stars into your vision and a rush of heat where his hand is connected to your clit, he’s watching as you bite down on your bottom lip and lose touch with reality. You look painstakingly beautiful this way, so fucked out and vulnerable in a way that should be reserved for his eyes only.

            “Say my name.” He whispers, as your orgasm ravages your body. Before you even have a moment to think, his name is rolling off of your tongue and filling the concrete room. He feels like some kind of two-pump chump now, having to bite the inside of his cheek and damn near draw blood just to hold off his own orgasm. Precum coats the tip of his hard cock, threatening to drip onto your bare thigh if he doesn’t hurry up and do something about it. As your orgasm tapers off and aftershocks begin to work through your muscles, Bucky draws his flesh hand out from between your legs and hooks his index finger in the wet fabric covering your pussy. You’re barely recovered from the first orgasm when you feel him tugging your panties to the side and pressing the shaft of his cock against your wet cunt.

            “Shit, Bucky, let me catch my breath.” You pant, but the feel of his hard length gliding back and forth between your legs already has you wanting more. It has you wanting everything.

            “Catch it.” He encourages you, pressing his lips against your cheek in a chaste kiss. “But there isn’t really much sense in that when you’re just going to lose it again as soon as I start fucking you.” He has a point. You focus in on the way he’s grinding against you, dragging himself against your arousal-slickened clit from balls to tip repeatedly, but slowly. You don’t have to see him to know he’s well-endowed, and that scares you a little.

            “It’s…it might not fit.” You whisper. Concern is etched in your features as you blink your eyes at meet his gaze head-on.

            “It’ll fit.” He assures you. With another drag of his hips, the tip of his cock is brushing against your entrance before sliding right back up to your clit. He’s teasing you, teasing himself.

“It’s been a long time for me.” You admit. A soft blush colors your cheeks as he slows his hips to a stop and drops his head to your shoulder. You feel him sigh against the bare skin there and for a second, you fear you’ve said something wrong. Should you not have told him that? Does it make you seem weak? Afraid?

Bucky’s really struggling to hold himself back. He wants to grab the backs of your thighs, push your knees up toward your chest, and sheath himself within you so fucking hard and fast that you don’t remember what it’s like not to have all of him inside you. And now knowing that you haven’t been with another man in so long? It almost makes him giddy. He almost wishes you’d said you’d never been with another man, but that’s unrealistic, considering you’ve probably had a greater number of men begging at your heels than the number of men he’s killed over the years.

“What’s your favorite color?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. Bucky reaches down between your bodies with his flesh hand and wraps it around his shaft, stroking up and down slowly and carefully as he kisses your shoulder. God, even your skin tastes good.

“It changes all the time.” You answer, just as he’s using his hand to line himself up at your entrance. Your eyes scrunch closed in anticipation, knowing his size is going to be more than enough to cause a bit of pain.

“When I get you out of here, what’s the first thing you want to eat?” He drops more of his weight onto you, letting the head of his cock press much more firmly against your entrance. You feel it slide in just barely, so slowly that you’re unsure if it’s even moving forward.

“Whatever I can get my hands on.” You can’t think straight enough to come up with any specific answers, but he doesn’t care. He’s just trying to distract you enough so that you don’t focus completely on the stretch of him sliding inside you for the first time. He pushes his hips in a little more, feeling your cunt start to draw him in. So fucking tight. He groans lowly, needily, and nips at your shoulder.

“Do you remember that solo op you had in the club?” Bucky shouldn’t be getting so real, but as he sinks his cock into you inch-by-inch, his mind is drifting into dangerous territory. He’s starting to feel a little too animalistic with the way your cunt is practically weeping for him, begging him to go further. Bucky feels you nod and he pulls back from your shoulder, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head again. He peers down at you just as his cock is reaching the halfway point within you. A loud moan escapes you as the stretch grows to be a little too much to bear. “I couldn’t stand to see that guy with his hands all over your ass.” He confesses. Suddenly, the burning pain his cock is causing you dampens significantly. You’re staring up at him, your lips parted as panting breaths fall from them, as his hands slide over the pillow to smooth out your hair.

“You barely even knew me.”

“I still barely know you.” He points out, giving you another inch, breeching that halfway point. Though your cunt is greedily pulling him in, he still feels the resistance within your tight walls. You weren’t lying when you said it had been a while for you. “But that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t like him touching you.”

“Bend one of my knees up, around your hip like you did before.” You whimper the request as he nearly bottoms out inside you. You know that angle will make it a little easier to take such an impressively sized cock. Bucky’s quick to comply, gripping your left thigh and crooking your leg over his hip. He holds it there with his flesh palm pressed flat against your skin and his fingertips digging into the back of your knee. There it is. With one gentle thrust, he’s balls deep inside of you and frozen in place.

Bucky imagines that this is what it would feel like if he had the privilege of going to heaven. Hell, just being buried inside of you like this, feeling your chest heaving beneath him and your back slightly arching off the bed is enough to kill him and send him there right now. He holds himself still, wanting to give you a chance to adjust while also giving himself time to calm down so he doesn’t start filling you up before he’s even really fucked you. It’s a feat, trying not to blow his load so soon with the way your pussy is gripping the entirety of his length. He feels your breathing slow and after one deep inhale, you relax beneath him.

“Good girl.” The pet name rolls off of his tongue the moment he feels you relax. Suddenly, you’re tense again, and one moan from you has him dragging his hips backward and pulling his cock halfway out. You scream his name as your wrists tug hard on the restraints, threatening to break the ropes. He hated hearing you scream last night, but this is different. Hearing you scream his name this way makes him fucking feral. He snaps his hips forward, thrusting into you so hard that all you can do is cry his name out over and over. “And you didn’t think you could take me.” He says lowly. He starts to set a steady rhythm with his thrusts, in and out, in and out. He alternates between pulling his length halfway out and occasionally pulling it almost completely out before slamming it back into you a little harder each time. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours beneath the sheets fills the room, echoing off of the concrete walls and surely reaching whatever audio recording devices are around.

“This shouldn’t feel so good.” You groan, bending your right knee and hooking it around Bucky’s hip to match your other one. The new angle gives him access to go even deeper and with every thrust, you feel yourself dripping all over him and the sheets beneath.

“Yeah? It feels good, huh?” He punctuates his question with a particularly deep thrust and you cry out again, struggling against the restraints. “If you weren’t tied up like this I’d have you on all fours right now.” That’s it, the drug has to be peaking for him to be talking like that. You have no doubt. “I’d be watching you take every fucking inch of me over and over.”

“Stop saying shit like that.” You need him to stop talking, because if he doesn’t, HYDRA is going to have one fucking loud sex tape on their hands. Dirty talk is a weakness of yours, and every time Bucky speaks your moans are growing louder and even more filthy sounding.

“Just keep taking my cock.” Bucky groans out, as if you have much of a choice in the matter. You know you do, but with the way you’re feeling, your body wouldn’t give you one. You think your body might actually implode if you stopped taking his cock right now. “You’re doing so good for me.”  He reaches that specific spot inside you, one that men have rarely reached before, and it has your toes curling and your lungs gasping for air.

“Right there, oh my god, right there.” You whimper, straining just to get the words out whole. If he didn’t already know how pretty you sound when you’re close to an orgasm, he’d be scared he was hurting you. The tension in your voice, the gasping breaths you keep taking when he bottoms out inside you, and the way you keep trying to twist out of those damn restraints could easily be mistaken as the actions of a girl in pain. But Bucky knows you. You’re going to cum on his cock.

“If you’re ready to…fuck, baby.” Bucky grunts, fisting a hand in the hair at the back of your head and driving his cock into you impossibly harder. “If you’re ready to cum, just let go.”

“You first.” You say through gritted teeth. He chuckles, though you can tell his resolve is steadily slipping.

“Oh no, sweetheart, that’s not how this works.” His tone is almost condescending and if he wasn’t giving you greater pleasure than you’ve ever known right now, you might tell him to fuck off. “You’re going to cum on my cock, and I’m going to fuck you through your orgasm.”

“What happened to you get to have some control here too?” You ask, repeating his earlier words back to him as he continues rutting into you at a devilish pace and depth.

“I found out how good it feels to have you wrapped around my cock and I got greedy.” He responds, looking and sounding wholly serious. The most pathetic sounding whimper erupts from your chest as he pulls all the way out and slams back into you, almost too roughly for you to handle, but it feels so damn good. It’s like he somehow knows exactly how much you can take, and he pushes that limit just enough to blow your mind. “I’m going to do that one more time, and you’re going to cum on my cock.” It’s not a question. It’s a command. Knowing this is a fight you won’t be winning, you nod desperately and tighten your legs around his waist. He pulls fully out of you one more time, leans down and presses a kiss right at the corner of your mouth, and then snaps his hips forward. He buries himself to the hilt and starts grinding his hips into yours in circles, gifting you a type of pleasure that you’ve never felt in your life. As your orgasm washes over you and your pussy clamps down on his cock, threatening to hold it hostage inside of you indefinitely, you can’t help but feel a little sad. Your back arches off the bed and his fingers curl against the back of your scalp as a needy growl climbs up his throat, as he tries hard to fuck your unrelentingly tight pussy. Your heart aches with the thought that you won’t ever get to feel this again, that he’s just ruined you for every other man out there. Fuck him.

Fuck Bucky Barnes.

Bucky’s a mess in more ways than one as he presses his forehead against yours and his thrusts grow sloppy and lose rhythm. With one final deep thrust, his balls are flush against your ass and he’s cumming so deep inside you that he fears he’ll be giving HYDRA exactly what they want. He only feels a fleeting moment of relief before a sickening feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. He only got to have you this way, to experience you like this, at the hand of the organization that ruined his life. As much as he enjoyed it, and he thoroughly enjoyed it, it feels like it’s tainted. Shaking the negativity from his mind, he slowly starts to pull out of you, watching your face with concern as you wince.

“Did I hurt you?” He questions softly, peering beneath the sheet. He doesn’t see any blood on his cock, thankfully. He never would’ve forgiven himself if he drew blood from your sweet little cunt. You murmur a nearly silent no as his eyes fall on the white stream of his cum dripping out of you. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. She’s had enough.

Bucky slips two fingers between your folds, gently circling your clit twice before dragging them down and scooping up his cum. He fucks it back into you as tenderly as he can, with his brows pinched together in concentration. You lay there and take the moment in. It feels possessive. Though you’re sure everything that just went down only happened because HYDRA mandated it, something about the way he’s looking at you and making sure even a single drop of his cum isn’t wasted on the bedsheets has you biting down on your bottom lip. This right here feels like it’s real, like it’s just you and Bucky. You decide to cling to that feeling to keep from descending into a pit of shame and sadness.

            “Should we take him back to his cell now?” One of the guards asks. He stands tall beside the two-way mirror with his hands on his hips as he stares at the scene before him. He studies the super soldier, who looks so normal and humane lying next to you in bed. It’s difficult to look at him and imagine the Winter Soldier that the guard has heard so much about over the years. This man seems so different than the gory tales. As Bucky brushes your hair away from your face and rolls over to the side, the guard wonders just how far removed this man is from the legendary assassin.

            “No, leave them together. The drug will peak again in a couple of hours, I want to see how they handle it a second time.”

            “But we were told that—”             “I said leave them together.”

            You wake suddenly, disoriented and in a cold sweat. Your shoulders ache something fierce and when you try to roll over onto your side to figure out where the hell you are and why it’s so dark, you find your wrists tied to the corners of the bed. Shit. You know exactly where you are now. When did the lights get turned off? When did you even fall asleep? God, it’s just like last night, when Bucky fingered you to two orgasms and then you woke up hours later with no recollection of the events that occurred after the last bit of pleasure you felt. The soreness between your thighs and wetness seeping into the fabric of your panties is the only reminder you need of what happened earlier.

            You had sex with Bucky Barnes. Panic begins to set in and you start tugging against the restraints hard enough to break your skin, hard enough to draw blood. You don’t even realize that Bucky’s in bed next to you until you feel the mattress shift beneath you and hear his raspy voice break through the thoughts swirling around your head.

            “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He speaks to you softly, but sits up quickly and places both of his hands against the skin of your shoulders. You focus in on the contrast between his cool vibranium hand and warm flesh palm. “Just breathe.”

            Even in the dark of night, Bucky can see the thin trail of blood dripping down your arms, threatening to stain the white sheets beneath you. He thinks quickly, refusing to sacrifice the only piece of material fully covering you from HYDRA’s view. Bucky slides his flesh hand behind your head, curling his fingers in your hair and lifting up slightly so he can tug the pillow out from under you. Within two seconds, he has the pillow back under your head and is using the pillowcase to soak up the blood on each of your forearms. She stays in restraints. Bucky can hear the rule repeating in his mind, even as his fingers trail over rope cutting into the skin of your left wrist. If he squints, he can make out the bruises that have already formed from how tight they are and how hard you’ve been fighting against them tonight. He follows the length of the rope with his index finger, noting where it’s attached near the upper corner of the bed, to a metal loop bolted into the concrete wall. Fuck HYDRA. With one solid tug, the metal loop is flying out of the now cracked concrete wall. Relief takes over your features and your breathing begins to slow as Bucky grabs your wrist and moves your arm to your chest. He does the same thing to the metal loop on the other side, and then brings that sore arm in closer to your body as well.

            He stays close to your side, hovering over you protectively, waiting to see if anyone is going to burst through the door and whisk him away for breaking a rule. A few silent seconds pass and he starts to relax. When he focuses on your face again, you’re looking up at him, studying him closely.

            “What?” He asks, watching as you alternate between rubbing each of your wrists. Bucky lets himself fall back into bed beside you, switching to staring up at the ceiling instead of at your face. The drug hasn’t worn off yet and when he looks into your eyes, he’s reminded of what he did to you just a short time ago. It makes his dick throb in the worst way. He reaches down beneath the sheet and adjusts himself in his boxers, letting out a frustrated sigh.

            “I don’t think you were supposed to do that.” You whisper back. You maneuver the lengths of rope around so that they’re in a pile beside you on the edge of the bed. You wish you had a way to cut them off entirely, but still, this is so much better than how it was before.

            “I’ve done a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to do tonight.” The guilt is evident in his tone and it feels like a literal punch to the gut when you hear it. You want to reach over and grab his hand, to tell him that he did what had to be done and you don’t resent him for it, but you stay still. You can feel his body heat radiating and seeping into your exposed skin with how close the two of you are.

            “I’m sorry.” Why the hell are you sorry? None of this is your fault, yet you’re apologizing. Anger flares in Bucky’s chest and he sits up abruptly, turning away from you and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He assumes a sitting position, with his hands gripping the edge of the mattress and his head hanging low.

            “Don’t do that.” He says through gritted teeth. When he glances up, he sees his reflection in the mirrored wall. He can see his own heaving chest, his rippling abs, and his tensed flesh bicep, all of those things coming together to give off a vibe that says fuck off.

            “Do what?” You ask apprehensively, moving to sit up in bed as well. You keep the sheet draped over your lap but turn your body to peer over Bucky’s shoulder, catching his gaze in the mirror. His stare burns you up, and you quickly avert your line of sight, choosing to stare at the tense muscles of his bare back instead.

            “Apologize.” Bucky responds stiffly, screwing his eyes shut and inhaling deeply. He doesn’t want to risk seeing you in the reflection, not when the drug seems to be gearing up for a round two within his bloodstream. The room is starting to feel too small and too hot around him. “You know you didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t apologize.”

            “I feel like I did something wrong.” He doesn’t like hearing you so unsure, it doesn’t suit you. “I shouldn’t have asked you to fuck me like that earlier, I should’ve just—”             “Should’ve what? Said no and waited around for them to bring in someone who wouldn’t care if you wanted it or not?” He can hear the sound of his vibranium arm whirring as he squeezes down on the mattress a little harder just at the thought of you with someone else, specifically with someone who doesn’t give a shit about you. “You needed to feel like you had control over the situation, so you asked me to do it and…” His voice trails off, the rest of his sentence lost in the dark room.

            “Right, I asked you to do it.” You repeat his phrasing slowly. “So, why does it seem like you feel guilty?”

            “Because I do.” He grumbles, dropping his chin down to his chest again and breaking the staring contest he was having with himself in the mirror.

            “Why?” You press on, needing some kind of explanation. What could he possibly have to feel guilty for? He did what you asked, and only what you asked of him. He didn’t take it too far, he didn’t take advantage of you in any way. Bucky doesn’t answer. How does he even begin to explain why he feels guilty? Should he say that he feels guilty because it’s his fault that HYDRA targeted you in the first place? Should he say that it’s because he should’ve found a way to get you out of here long before they ever tied you to a bed and made him touch you?

            You watch the toned muscles of his back tense more and more in the dark. You notice the way his flesh bicep flexes and his vibranium one whirs louder with each passing second. You were the one panicking a moment ago, floundering in the dark before Bucky reached out and comforted you. Now it’s your turn to comfort him. You reach out a cautious hand, watching as the rope drags along the bed. When your palm collides with the skin of Bucky’s back, you feel him tense even more and freeze, as if he’s holding in a breath. You peek over his shoulder into the mirror as you push your hand firmly against him and start to drag it down toward his lower back. He doesn’t so much as lift his eyes to meet your gaze, and you take that as good sign. You shuffle forward on your knees, moving to sit right behind him with your thighs on either side of his hips and your chest close to his back.

            “What are you doing?” He asks lowly, keeping his head and eyes cast downward but sensing your movements. You continue to drag your right hand down until it’s nearing the waistband of his boxers. You’re trying not to think as you then turn your hand and slide your palm around his side and start feeling over the ridges of his abs. Your front is pressed flush against his back now and instead of pulling away, you swear you feel him lean into you the tiniest bit.

            “Stop talking.” You whisper back, moving your left hand beneath his vibranium arm and around his torso to meet your right hand over his abs. When Bucky feels your hands still and your chin pressing down on his right shoulder, he finally tilts his head up and steals a glance at your collective reflection. Shit. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his cock just from the way you’re wrapped around him and looking into his eyes.

            Bucky starts peeling your hands away from his skin slowly, moving them away from his torso before pushing off the bed and rising to his feet. Rejection stings. You stay right where you are, resting on your knees with your legs slightly spread, facing the mirror. You watch the man before you as he runs a hand through his already tussled hair and turns around to look at you.

            He can’t stand it. When he sees you sitting like that, looking up at him with such a gentle expression on your face, his cock twitches within the confines of his boxers.

            “Shit.” He groans, quickly turning away from you and scrunching his eyes shut. “You have to stop looking at me like that.” Realization dawns on you as your eyes land on the bulge behind the black fabric of the only item of clothing he has on.

            “Bucky—”

            “Don’t.” He’s speaking through gritted teeth again, and with your current view of his side profile you can see the muscle of his jaw ticking. “Don’t say my name.”

            “You liked hearing me say it earlier.” His eyes are back on you in an instant as a playful smirk threatens to spread across your lips. There’s a flashing image of those same lips gracing the shaft of his cock, but he shakes it out of his head as suddenly as it appeared. “What’s different now?”

            “They only needed us to fuck once.” Bucky points out, continuing to stare at the concrete wall. “We don’t have to do this a second time. You let your eyes roam over his body, taking in every detail you can make out in the dark room. It’s not over for him. The drug hasn’t cleared his system, and if anything, it looks as if it’s having an even stronger effect on him than before. Yet, for you, it’s dampened. You’re a little warm and you feel a bit of an adrenaline rush, but no waves of pain or agony are ripping through you right now. Your suspicion is confirmed when Bucky reaches up and grips his flesh shoulder with his vibranium hand, squeezing it as though his trapezius muscle is cramping up.

            “You’re in pain.” You say quietly, analyzing the way he reacts to your observation. He drops his hand from his shoulder and takes in a shaky breath before turning his head to make eye contact with you.

            “I’m fine.”

            “You’re not a very good liar.” He scoffs at your insult, reaching up to rub his shoulder again. You’re right. His shoulders are starting to feel like he’s been holding two-ton weights for hours and his back has been aching ever since he stood up from the bed and refused your touch. “Let me help you.”

            “You really want another round on camera for HYDRA? The first one wasn’t enough?” He spits the words out like venom, like you chose to give the enemy a sex tape. Anger surges within you and you cross your arms over your chest. Bucky’s eyes flit down, settling on your suddenly accentuated breasts as they threaten to spill over the top of your sports bra.

            “You’d rather them have footage of you cowering in the corner with a hard-on? Looking like a beaten down puppy?” He scowls, lifting his eyes from your chest to focus on your face.

            “I’d rather not take advantage of you twice.” His expression is serious as he speaks.

            “You didn’t take advantage the first time.” You argue. He stares at you with narrowed eyes and a fiery look behind his eyes. You can’t tell who he hates more right now, you or himself. “Stop looking at me like you want to kill me.” Your demand causes him to falter momentarily, his stern look and narrowed eyes shifting to a confused expression. Kill you? He wants nothing more than to either fuck you six ways to Sunday or get as far away from you as possible, he’d take either option right now. But killing you? It’s almost laughable that you’d think that’s what’s going through his head right now.   

            “If I wanted to kill you—”

            “I’d already be dead, right? Save the tough guy shit for someone else, that line is really overused.” You’re dismissive now, moving to sit with your legs crisscrossed in front of you, still facing a very on-edge Bucky Barnes. His eyes glaze over as he takes in the sight of your legs against the white sheets. He knows exactly what those legs feel like in his hands, hooked around his hips, wrapped around his lower half. Fuck.

            You watch as a million thoughts seem to be running rampant through Bucky’s mind. Seeing the way his eyes dart around and his tongue sticks out to wet his bottom lip makes it seem like he might actually be hearing voices or something. He clenches his fists and then unclenches them. He turns away from you and the bed, choosing to stare at the concrete wall for a few seconds before turning to the mirror and contemplating shattering it with the flick of his wrist. He turns away from the mirror and faces the only door in the room. There isn’t even a handle or keypad on the inside, there’s no way out of it unless he punches through the fucking concrete wall. He could do that, probably with even less effort that he imagines, but what would that get him? He might end up back in his own concrete cell, which is what he really needs right now, but what would happen to you? They’d find someone else to do what Bucky’s currently refusing to do. He clenches his teeth so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if he heard every single one of his molars crack under the pressure.

            “Does it hurt?” It’s as if a time machine has suddenly appeared and is sucking Bucky into a swirling vortex, dragging him back in time. The trigger being the question that’s just left your lips in such a soft whisper. You asked it just like you did the first time, the first time in the gym showers when you caught Bucky so off-guard that he thought about you for days.

            “Does what hurt?” He asks, remembering every single moment of that little conversation as if it was a script. Him remembering and repeating his line in such a slow, hushed way is what has warmth spreading beneath the surface of your skin. He listens to the rustling of the bedsheets as you push yourself off the mattress. He listens to the sounds of your ropes dragging across the floor as you make your way across the room, drawing nearer and nearer to him and effectively sucking all of the air out of his lungs as you do so. Your fingertips, so gentle and soft, dance across the scars where his vibranium arm meets his flesh. His eyes close tightly as you drag those fingertips down over his shoulder blade, and then further over to the right to trace his spine. Down, down, down you drag those fingertips, until he’s shuddering beneath your touch and all he wants to do it turn around and face you. Your fingers still right above the waistband of his boxers, and that’s when he decides to make a move.

            Bucky turns around as your hand falls away from him, and he finds himself only a couple of inches away from you. His mind is screaming at him to close the gap, to wrap his arms around you and eliminate the space between your bodies. But the memory of that night in the gym showers tugs at him even more than that resonating mental scream. A shiver runs down your spine as Bucky lifts his flesh hand to your face. He traces the curve of your jaw, from your right earlobe down to your chin with his index finger. His touch is so light and careful, so calculated and thoughtful as he meets your burning gaze. Your breath hitches in your throat when he starts trailing that same finger down, over the front of your neck and straight to the notch between your collarbones. His eyes follow the movement of his finger, setting your skin on fire with the combination of his touch and his watchful scrutiny.

            “You’re not wearing your necklace”. That’s what he said next that night, when he didn’t want to answer your question about his scars. It’s true again now. As his eyes settle on your chest, that little necklace with the built-in panic button is notably absent. Though you know that you could keep carrying on the little charade, that you could keep reading off of the script that you both seem to have memorized, your gaze falls to his chest. You study the silver chain hanging from his neck, following it down until you zero in on the two metal plates resting over his sternum. He lets his hand fall away from your neck as you reach up and hook a finger around the chain of his dog tags.

            “Give me yours.”

            There’s no more hesitation or apprehension when Bucky rushes forward, letting both of his hands capture the sides of your face and guide you in to meet him. He wasn’t planning on kissing you. In fact, he was specifically avoiding doing exactly that. He feels every nerve, every sensory receptor in his body firing at once when his lips press against yours. It’s like the fourth of fucking July beneath his skin as you part your lips to let his tongue delve into your mouth. You’re stumbling backward in an instant as Bucky begins taking steps forward, moving you in the general direction of the bed. He kisses you harder and harder with every step he takes, surely leaving your lips pink and your nose a rosy shade of red. You don’t even get a chance to break for breath until you feel the edge of the mattress hitting the backs of your knees. Your hands move to his abs and you push against the firm muscles there, fighting for balance so you won’t go crashing onto the bed.

            As Bucky pulls back, keeping his hands on the sides of your face and his gaze trained on your widened eyes, he realizes that he’s been fighting a losing battle not only with the drug coursing through his veins, but with you as well. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re having the same realization. He’s tugging the dog tags from his neck without giving the action a second thought. When he stands before you, with the silver chain clutched in his flesh fist and the two metal tags suspended in the air, it feels as though all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

            “If I let you wear these…” Bucky takes a deep breath in and shifts his gaze to the decades-old dog tags in his hand. “You don’t take them off until you have your necklace back.” He looks to your face, waiting for any sort of confirmation. You nod slowly, not even thinking about his request. You’ll do it. You’d do anything he asked of you right now with the way he’s looking at you, with the way he just kissed you. He slips the cool chain over your head gently, ensuring it doesn’t get tangled in your hair as he settles it around your neck.

            Seeing his name around your neck awakens something feral, something so fucking primal inside of him. Bucky bites down on his bottom lip as you reach up with your right hand and grasp the tags, running a thumb over the indentation of his name.

            “Bucky.” Your voice is always a little different when it’s his name being spoken. He can’t quite describe in what way it’s different, but it always does something to him. He bites down on his bottom lip a little harder and lets his hands move to your waist, smoothing over your skin and tugging you forward against him. “Let me take advantage of you.” Every single muscle in his body stops working, all except for his heart. He can’t even fucking swallow as his heart beats against his ribcage like it’s gone into overdrive. He’s sure even you can feel the rapid thrumming of it, vibrating against your own chest with how close he’s holding you to himself. If you can’t feel that, you can sure as hell feel the outline of his hard cock pressing against your lower stomach right now. He sees nothing but sincerity and lust written across your face and swirling around in the color of your eyes. So, he responds with the only sentence his brain can come up with.

            “Take advantage of me.”

            Though things happen so quickly, HYDRA’s cameras capture everything. When the two of you fall backwards into bed, the man observing you both from behind the two-way mirror is on the edge of his seat. Out of all of the ways the second round could’ve started, he didn’t expect it to start quite like this. He watches with his mouth hung open as the Winter Soldier presses you impossibly further into the mattress, kissing you with a fervency not many people have had the privilege of experiencing before. The man pushes out of his chair and moves to stand closer to the mirror when Bucky starts rutting against you, grinding himself between your legs in a desperate attempt to find relief. But when you hook a leg over Bucky’s hips and skillfully flip positions so that he’s on his back and you’re straddling his lap, with the flimsy bed creaking beneath you both, the man behind the mirror is truly shocked. This isn’t what he expected at all. He nearly put a stop to things the moment Bucky ripped your restraints out of the wall, but seeing this now, he’s glad he didn’t. Hell, if HYDRA doesn’t get the stem cell experimentation capabilities that they want out of tonight, they could get a big payday with the video footage of this alone.

            Covering up with the sheet doesn’t cross either of your minds as you hook a finger in Bucky’s waistband and start pulling his boxers down his thighs. You only pull them down enough to free his dick, and watching it spring up toward his stomach is enough to have you wanting the boxers on the damn floor. But still, you won’t go that far, not here. You don’t give yourself much time to admire his impressive length as you wrap your hand around it and start stroking from base to tip, spreading his precum along the shaft. Bucky’s lost in the feeling, so lost that he doesn’t even realize how many times your name has fallen from his lips, and you’re not even fucking his cock yet. When he groans your name in an especially needy way, you’re already tugging your panties to the side and pressing your wet cunt against his shaft, dragging your hips back and forth in quick succession.

            “Shit.” Bucky groans lowly, gripping your hips with both hands and pulling you down harder against him. “Just like that.” He learned yesterday just how far encouragement goes in getting you off. You grind against him like that, alternating between quick movements with your hips and slow, lazy circles, until you can’t stand it anymore. You feel empty and your pussy is aching for him. His face is contorted with pleasure and his eyes are screwed shut, but you can read him well enough to know that he needs more too. Your gaze travels down to where you’re seated against the shaft of his cock, noting the way the head of it glistens with a mix of his precum and your arousal. God, it’s such a sight. Your head is swirling with dangerously horny thoughts as you lift your hips and wrap your hand around his length once more. Giving it a few strokes, you line it up with your entrance.

            “Don’t hurt yourself.” Bucky warns, watching you with narrowed eyes and a slightly concerned look on his face. You know you should listen to him and take it slow. He’s so big and as if his length wasn’t enough, his girth alone could take a girl out entirely. You laugh softly, thinking about how he was telling you take his cock just a couple of hours ago. You sink down, taking the tip in painfully slowly, focusing on the burning pain as your walls stretch to accommodate him. Then, just to spite him, you sit down on the entirety of his cock all at once, crying out at the mix of pain and pleasure. “Fuck, what did I just say?” Bucky groans out, digging his fingers into the skin of your waist as he tries to lift you back up. You fight against him, staying seated on his cock as tears form in your eyes. “Get off, it’s too much for you.”

            “No.” You say defiantly, willing the muscles tightening around his length to relax as much as they can. With each passing second, it burns less and begins to feel more tolerable, more enjoyable. “I can take it like this.”

            He’s going to lose his shit. Bucky’s seconds from either cumming so hard that it’ll be spilling out of you for days or picking you up, pressing your back against one of the concrete walls, and fucking you until you can’t even take a breath without feeling the ghost of him inside you. He watches through hooded eyes as you start circling your hips, as you let your head fall back and your hands brace against his bare chest. He catches sight of his name draped around your neck, hanging between your breasts, marking you as his and he can’t help himself. He thrusts upward just once, feeling you clench around him and memorizing the pretty sound that erupts from your chest. Again. He needs to feel and hear that again. So, he thrusts a second time. Then a third. Then, he’s meeting every bounce of your hips with one of his own.

            “That’s it, take advantage of my cock.” He coos, matching your pace as your fingers curl against his chest and leave red marks in their wake. He wants more of you, he wants you closer. His eyes land on the ropes still tied around your wrists, and without thinking, he’s moving his hands from your waist and gripping one rope in each palm. He tugs on them hard, pulling you down abruptly so you fall against his chest. You’re skin to skin now, with his cock buried so deep inside of you that you think your pussy might be molding to the shape of it with each passing second. “Do you have any idea how good this feels for me?” He whispers the question against the skin of your neck, pressing his lips to your pulse point right after he’s spoken. “Do you have any idea how perfectly your tight little cunt wraps around my cock? How badly it makes me want to cum?” The volume of your moan would be almost embarrassing if everything he was doing and saying didn’t make you feel an unmatchable level of pure bliss.

            “Please,” you plead through panting breaths, working hard to keep bouncing your hips in your current position. “Please cum inside me again, Bucky.” You sound desperate but don’t give a single fuck. “It felt so good the first time.”

            “Fuck, you need it, don’t you?” He asks, thrusting up into you a little harder and sliding his hands down your sides. He grips your ass with both hands and puts even more force behind each upward snap of his hips. The sounds in the room are obscene and borderline pornographic as he fucks you senseless. “Whose name is around your neck right now?”

            “Yours.” You cry out, dropping your head to his half flesh-half vibranium shoulder. His right hand disappears from your ass, but only before a second before it’s slapping back down with a resounding smack, earning him a gasp and arched back from you.

            “Say it.” He orders, massaging his palm against your reddening ass cheek. You scream his name out only a moment later, as your orgasm is turning your brain to mush and your pussy to a fucking ravine. You’re barely aware when he rolls you over and starts fucking you into the mattress like his life depends on it. You feel the warm gush of his cum filling you up, the few sloppy final thrusts as he empties himself entirely, and then the weight of his body collapsing on top of yours. The only thing your brain seems to be thinking about is how deeply fucked you are. You’ve never been more sure of anything than you are of this, right now: Bucky’s gotten so far under your skin that you won’t be able to shake him when all of this is over.

            You’re fast asleep beside him when the world tilts on its axis. When the explosion happens, Bucky doesn’t even have a moment to reach over and grab you, to pull you to his chest and try to protect you from the rain of concrete and debris. He can only watch as you’re thrown violently against the far wall, crashing against the concrete with a silent thud as a sharp ringing sound takes over Bucky’s hearing. He’s tossed in the opposite direction, feeling every little cut and rip of his skin as his body is cast through the two-way mirror on the other wall. It’s the last thing he remembers before blacking out, that he didn’t protect you when everything came crashing down.

            “I’ve got something over here!” A deep male voice calls out. It’s grating to your ears, almost like nails on a chalkboard. Everything sounds too far away yet too close at the same time, and your head is throbbing in the worst way. You want to yell out and tell everyone to be quiet, to let you sleep a little longer. Something tugs against your neck, and you want to reach out and swat away whoever is nearby, but you find yourself too weak to even move your arms. Your eyes remain closed and your body remains still. You just want a little more sleep. “Dog tags!”

            “Is it Bucky?” A second voice sounds, this one a little higher pitched and quieter. You try to blink your eyes open at the familiar name, but it feels like they’re covered in sand and it burns the second your eyelashes flutter, so you stop. Swallowing thickly, a cough creeps up your throat and barely manages to scrape past your lips.

            “No, no it’s…” That’s when you feel a warm hand wrap around your own, intertwining its fingers with yours and squeezing once. “It’s her. I think she’s alive. We’ve got her.”

            “Someone get a medic crew down here now!” The higher pitched voice grows louder and your head throbs more intensely. If everyone would just take it down a notch you could get a little more rest. “Let Fury know she’s coming home.”

            Home. The word sends a fuzzy feeling, something like relief maybe, buzzing through your mostly numb body. You’re going home.

BONUS PART (will be linked here June 7th, 2024)

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @eecummingsandgoings @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @aka-tua-braindump @immortalfangirl @valenftcrush @andrometda @sillysillygoose444 @gracescor3 @hellsenthero @mistressmkay @shortnloud @stellarburritos @hazbin-h0etel @mostlymarvelgirl @lesleurs @lillianacristina @frombkjar @witch-lemon @edelweissbarnes @glowstickfluid01 @its-daydreamer23 @sadiechar @hallecarey1 @hhiggs @steeph-aniie @lilipiggytails @ladyvenera @theallknown213

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier #sex pollen

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Dreemurr of Sacrifice

1 | 2 | 3

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Back in the light world, Asgore is still dealing with the heartache of the sacrifice, even months later. Mayor Holiday is still set on moving ahead, though!

Yay, it's nice to finally get back to some light world characters here! More with the Dreemurr family will be coming along soon!

Alt text for these pages under the read more:

Page 1 Panel 1: a landscape shot of the Holiday house and surrounding garden, with Rudy and Asgore outside the fence and hollybush hedge. The Delta Rune is emblazoned over the door and spiky snowflakes decorate the roof and fence.  Asgore is walking by with a wheelbarrow. Rudy: “Asgore, you old goat! Been way too long!” 

Panel 2: A closer shot of the two men- Rudy is slim and dressed in a crisp tunic, Asgore larger and wearing slouchy overalls. Asgore: “Howdy Rudy. You’re looking well!” Rudy, hand on his knee, bends over to hack and cough. Rudy: “Oh y’know… well enough, I guess! How’s business?” 

Panel 3: Asgore looks down,ruefully scratching the back of his head. His wheelbarrow is full of droopy plants, ready for planting. “Could be better… Those soldiers hassle me almost daily. But, I’ve gotten used to it, so it’s all right.” 

Panel 4: Rudy puts a comforting hand on Asgore’s shoulder. “Aww hey, you can complain to me any time…” he says. Asgore doesn’t avoid the touch but he doesn’t seem comforted. 

Page 2 Panel 1: close up on Rudy, who jerks his head to look as far behind him the door of the Holiday house opens to show the silhouette of a woman in a long dress. 

Panel 2: Rudy: “But uhh, I’ll let Carol here say her piece first. See you, Asgore!” He waves and pushes the gate open to go back to the house. Asgore looks taken aback. 

Panel 3: A textless landscape shot of the front of the yard. Rudy, halfway back to the house, turns to look behind him as Carol comes out of the large Holiday gate to meet Asgore, who is hunched in a half-bow with his hand over his heart. 

Panel 4: Asgore: “Howdy, Mayor Holiday.” He doesn’t look up at her, and we see only the back of her head, not her face. Carol: “Good day, Asgore. I appreciate you stopping by, as I wanted to inform you personally.” 

Panel 5: Carol leans into Asgore’s space, and he leans away, cowed. Neither of their eyes are visible, but we see their mouths: hers stern, his distressed. Carol: “We will be conducting the Ritual again in three month’s time, at the harvest moon. You and Toriel’s presence is required.”

Panel 6: Bust shot of Asgore, dismayed. “A…Again? You’ve… found another one?” His hand is still protectively over his heart. 

Page 3:  Panel 1: We see Carol’s face for the first time: she is severe looking, with medium length hair, a stiff dress, and a choker necklace and ornate belt. Her hand is also over her heart, though more like a formal salute. “I have tasked QC with obtaining the child.” 

Panel 2: Carol’s speech bubble continues as narration. “She’s been quite diligent in her duties, and believes we now have one open to the concept of self sacrifice.” The scene shown is QC- a friendly, soft woman with wildly curly hair- appearing to be at a street market. She is speaking to a child with a bandana neck scarf (Clover, from UT Yellow), but there’s no dialogue. 

Panel 3: Another shot of Carol in profile, gaze fixed intensely ahead. “With the Ritual rites already perfected, this time we will be successful.” 

Panel 4: A wide shot of Asgore, hunched over his wheelbarrow of wilty plant starts and flowers. There’s no dialogue. His expression is despondent. 

Panel 5: Carol: “Is there something you’re withholding, Asgore?” Asgore: “No. We’ll be there.” We don’t see his expression. Her hands are folded sternly in front of her. 

Panel 6: She moves once again into his space, pushing past the wheelbarrow to lean in. “I know that you two have been avoiding us in public since the last Ritual.”  Asgore cringes away like a dog that’s been scolded. 

Page 4: Panel 1: Carol continues. “Toriel has hardly spoken a word to me since then. I trust there is an explanation?” 

Panel 2: Asgore wrings his hands in front of him. His speech bubble covers up his eyes, but his mouth is downturned. “Carol… Toriel avoids you so much because she respects you. She does not want a confrontation.”

Panel 3: Carol, her expression still severe, almost angry. “A confrontation?” 

Panel 4: Asgore, still cringing and looking down: “I don’t know.. if I can explain just how badly losing Kris hurt.” 

Panel 5: His narration continues from the previous panel. “She’d be so cross if I knew I said this, but…” We see the past, Toriel kneeling and clutching the blankets of an empty bed, crying hard. Asgore kneels beside her, holding her shoulders. He’s crying too, unable to comfort her. “The night of the sacrifice, when we got home… Toriel collapsed and wept so long and hard I was afraid her heart would simply stop.” 

Panel 6: Sill the past with present Asgore’s narration over the top. “And then, once Asriel left too… Both of our children were gone.” Left to right, in the interior of the Dreemur’s house, Asgore stands dismayed as an unhappy Toriel rushes after Asriel, who is walking out the door with a bag on his shoulder. He’s looking back but is clearly set on leaving. 

Page 5 Panel 1: Back in the present, Asgore is even more hunched in on himself, hugging his fists to his chest with his expression drawn tight and sad. “I know Toriel acts as though she is fine, but that’s simply because she is stronger than I am. The tension between us is so terrible that I’m afraid she’d leave me if she had somewhere to go!” 

Panel 2: Close on his distressed, panicky face, looking away from the confrontation. “And part of me can’t help wondering… w-what if we were…”

Panel 3: Carol jabs a finger in Asgore’s face. “We. WILL. Be rewarded for our sacrifices. Of this I am CERTAIN.” She’s stern, but her fists aren’t clenched- she’s controlled. Asgore shrinks under her words, looking up at her as he stammers “I-I know, but…”

Panel 4: Carol’s speech: “You talk of heartache. Kris was not even your child by blood.” Asgore looks down, ashamed. 

Panel 5: Carol continues, hand splayed over her chest. For the first time her expression is something other than stern, perhaps angry- still that, but pained. “Do you think your pain is greater than the one I feel, for December? Whom I gave away first?” 

Panel 6: Asgore plucks at his sleeve, looking away guiltily. “No, of course not-” 

Page 6 Panel 1: Carol’s brief moment of any other emotion is gone. She sweeps her arm to the side. “And yet I have put aside my grief for years, all for the sake of you, and everyone else, in this town. I will do whatever it takes to drive this invader from our doors, and restore this town to the peace it once had.” 

Panel 2: Carol’s face is almost a snarl. “All I require is that you, my oldest friends, trust me.” Asgore looks abashed. 

Panel 3: Close on Asgore’s downturned mouth, so none of the rest of his expression is visible. “Of course. Of course we do.” 

Panel 4: Carol draws away, her face returned to calm sternness. “That’s good to hear. Our children don’t need our tears.” 

Panel 5: Carol turns to go back into her gate, dismissing Asgore with a wave. “But our town does need our efforts.”  Asgore watches her go, putting his hands back to his wheelbarrow. 

Page 7 Panel 1: Another wide shot of the Holiday house and gardens, with Carol walking back to the house and Asgore outside the gate. Carol: “So I’ll see you both at the next gathering.” 

Panel 2: Asgore looks down at his wheelbarrow, despondently. His plants are all notably wilted. “Good day, Mayor.” The sky behind him darkens. 

#lynx art #eldritchrune #deltarune au #asgore #rudy holiday #mayor holiday #aaaand a little bit of a UTY cameo there! #also we are trying out alt text for these I hope they work well! #PHEW what took up my time for these was definitely the BGs again #a lot of guesswork with Carol and the Holiday home since we haven't seen those in canon yet

[yanderenightmare]

i love your hybrid au sm! the way you characterise each animal to suit not only it’s species, but the characters itself is so creative and nothing short of genius! so it got me thinking, how would you imagine the bnha characters as mythical creatures and monsters ??? ( eg. vampires, wendigos, harpies, werewolves ) etc.

it's been so long since did a funny lil piece like this

TW: implied noncon, yandere, the supernatural?

gn reader

Bakugou Katsuki

Demonic spirit

He enjoys large houses—preferably something with a bit of history. But every now and again, some moronic humans decide it’s time to wreck the old and build something new—which means he’s often on the move.

He doesn’t mind living alone in his new house until you move in. He’s a little mad at you at first—he thinks you’re one of those wreckers, what with your renovations and whatnot—but then he understands that you’re preserving, not destroying. Apparently, the Gothic manor is your ancestral home built by one of your great-grandparents seven generations back in the 18th century—seems you were the only descendant who felt it was worthwhile to keep. 

He wouldn’t normally stay when someone else moved in—he’d often use his demonic means and scare them on their way. But with you, he settles for dwelling in the shadows, in the many dark rooms you haven’t found a use for yet. But when night comes, and you turn off the lights and go to bed, he can't help but end up in your room—watching you sleep, oh-so-peacefully and blissfully unaware of his presence. But he won’t do anything to you even though he could, even though you make it so easy—he’s grateful to you, his little housemate.

Your bedroom becomes awfully hot at night—you can’t explain it. Nor can you explain why the wind howling through the house sounds more like the groaning breaths of a beast. All you know is that your bed feels heavier than it should if you were the only one in it—and that you don’t dare twist around to see what it is sleeping next to you because whatever it might be, you don’t think it’s human.

You know it isn’t human. It’s too big to be, and its hands are too warm and too rough—and its claws too sharp where they rake into your skin and tuck you close to a chest that feels as though engulfs you. You don’t think it has a heart, only a stomach—and it sounds hungry.

You read up on sleep paralysis demons, and it brings you peace of mind, but only until night comes and you go to bed in wait. It’s the first time he talks to you. His laugh is like rusted clockwork, and his voice is like raked coals—hot and scratchy against your ear as he tells you how your human ways of rationalizing the things you don’t understand are cute and amusing.

Shigaraki Tomura

Ghost

You’ve moved into his old room, and though you furnish it a bit differently than he did when he was still alive, you’ve placed the bed in the exact same spot. It’s been all dust and dead moths up until now, it almost feels like he’s alive again as he sleeps next to your warm body.

It’s only small things in the beginning. Underwear that goes missing, unexplainable handprints on the foggy shower doors, your duvet on the floor even though you’ve never been one to kick it off in your sleep.

You’ve never been one to believe in the paranormal either, but something convinces you to search up the history of the house. You find out a boy had murdered his entire family here—parents, grandparents, his sister—and that the boy himself was never found.

Obviously, you shut your laptop with a bang and try and will it away from your mind. It happened years and years ago—whoever that boy was, he was long since dead. But the more it starts sinking in that you’re not alone, the more your belief feeds him—makes him feel real again, as though you’re slowly bringing him back to life.

Sometimes, you spot him in the mirror of your vanity, but when you twist around, there’s no one there. But you feel him—the gust of cold breath giving you goosebumps, the weight of hands and a chest pressing against yours at night, and the brush of coarse fingertips touching you in places—places that have you moaning his dead name.

Keigo Takami - Hawks

Guardian Angel

Being a guardian angel has always been a fun hobby of his ever since the creation—he’s found it to be a nice break from all the other angelic duties he has bearing down his wings. Of course, it’s always sad when your human dies, but luckily, there’s always another one not far behind to steal your halo all over again.

You’re his most recent. He watches over you any minute he can spare, chuckling over all your silly human antics. And though he’s had plenty of humans before you in the long history of man and God, he can’t help but confess you’re his favorite so far. You’re just so cute with your big, adorable eyes and pretty smile.

He begins taking greater pride in his responsibility of being your guardian. He used to see it as but a menial little task he could take to when feeling up for a laugh, but something about you makes him want to watch over you every single second of every day.

And so he does—he has the feathers to spare, especially for something so important. But soon, simply watching over you doesn’t feel like enough anymore.

He knows it’s wrong—so very wrong—so much so he’s afraid he’ll be cast out if anyone were to find out. It’s not right for angels to feel amorous for humans—most would call it deviant and demonic. But he can’t help himself—watching you in your vulnerable state while you undress, bathe, and sleep.

Still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

Maybe he’ll come to visit you one of these days.

Midoriya Izuku - Deku

Hybrid between fae and troll

He protects the forest and nurses all sick and wounded animals back to health, writing down the condition of trees and brushes in his notebook as he wanders for hours until he falls asleep in a moss bed beneath the stars. And though he knows his responsibility is purely to the forest, he can’t help but feel inclined to keep an eye on the little human who lives just beyond it. You’re just so cute with the way you walk the forest and sing songs you think no one hears—wearing your human clothing and living in your human abode behind walls and a door. He just finds it absolutely fascinating. 

Sometimes, you feel like there’s something following you when you walk about the forest next to your house. You’ll turn around to see a cluster of rocks and greenery you could have sworn weren’t there when you walked by—you look away before allowing yourself to think the pile looks an awfully lot similar to a larger human’s huddled form. But sometimes you hear it—the sound of stone scraping methodically, as though walking. You don’t humor the thought until you start finding his footprints outside your house, on the path to the forest—feet thrice the size of your own and sunken as though made by something very heavy.

Your legs go out from beneath you once you first see him—not like those times you’d turned around only for him to pretend to be part of the earth—this time, he’s pretending to be more like you, and it only makes it all that much worse. He’s bigger than a bear, grey-skinned with flecks that remind you of freckles and hair like fresh moss sprouts. His eyes are as green as the fox-fire fungi when night falls—glowing with nocturnal light. When you try to run, he follows suit, making the ground shake so bad it knocks you over. 

He carries you into the mountain where he lives and keeps you there from then on. After all, the part of him that’s fae has considered you his pet from the moment you took a bite of your first forest fruit. It was his gift to you whether you knew it or not, and now you’ll belong to him forever.

Shoto Todoroki

Vampire

It’s an awfully boring world. Not much to do when you feel you’ve done it all twice over. The taste of blood has become stale no matter how many different types he drowns himself in at night. Sometimes, he humors the thought of setting his manor ablaze if only to watch the fire roar until the sun rears the top of the roof and finally puts him to eternal rest. But he’s been thinking about it for two or more centuries already, and he’s beginning to doubt his nerve.

Dead things can’t make vows, so he must go on as he decided to when he was still alive—that’s the curse—only another person can break it.

You seem doable enough when you stride into his manor with your little sharpened sticks and silver daggers. It’s been a while since a hunter has graced his presence. The scent of holy water makes him lick his fangs, and the nearly irresistible urge to drink you dry almost has him pouncing on you—but he knows it would be but a fleeting high unworth it in the end when he’d have to live another millennium without the warmth of the sun or another soul.

He drops down before you with grace. You have the tip of your silver dagger pointed up under his chin in the same second but get stunted by his pale porcelain face, showing no signs of aggression and rather riddled with a bleak sort of melancholy you’re not used to seeing on the godless creatures.

He simply stands there, straight-spined and high-headed, with his hands folded behind his back as though showing you respect—and then, unprompted and to your great surprise, asks if you would please make it quick and put him out of his misery.

Touya Todoroki - Dabi

Hyrbid between incubi and vampire

He preys in nightclubs on those who have that mischievous glint in their eyes in dire hope their lust can match his. Every day, it’s a dozen new—he can never seem to find the right one—always starving and never sated no matter how much he gorges himself, always thirsting, always dying for more. 

Until you.

You’re but a dainty wallflower who doesn’t want to be there, but you have this scent about you—garden-fresh, like something he’s never smelled before, and his tongue yearns for a taste. He knows what it is once he gets closer to you—the opposite of sin of all things, it’s innocence, and oh, how he craves to devour it whole.

His silver tongue has had so much practice that using it on your gullible ears makes him all but drool, asking you if you’d like some fresh air. You nod your head, big eyes looking at him as though he were some sort of saint for offering. He laps it up—it’s all he can do to pace himself. But when he has you alone, it’s all over for you.

He’s going to corrupt every last piece of you until that once peachy keen taste of innocence has become an ever sweeter taste of syrupy sin. He’s going to make you exactly like him—and your tall fall from grace will leave you blasphemous and beautiful.

#yandere #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere dabi #yandere touya #yandere todoroki #yandere tomura #yandere midoriya #yandere izuku #yandere keigo #yandere hawks #yandere headcanons #yandere hitoshi #yandere hitoshi shinso #yandere shinsou #yandere shoto #yandere shigaraki #yandere shinso hitoshi #yandere shouto #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere tomura shigaraki

[homicidal-lingonberry]

a thought about kabru and mithrun and their time in the dungeon. (I love kabumisu but this is more about their canon relationship)

I have seen several people say that they dont think that kabru really cared about or liked mithrun. that he was just doing things cause he had to, etc. but I feel like this ignores something pretty cool about kabru. Kabru always has an inner monologue going on, one that we get to see.

several times when we see kabru doing nice things we can see that his inner monologue doesnt actually match. we see him kindly doing things that actively distress him several times. we as an audience are made very aware when kabru is doing something he doesnt really like.

so what kind of an inner monologue does kabru have when he performs caring tasks for mithrun? does he think about the advantages of having mithrun or the canaries on his side? does he think bitterly of mithrun? does he think about how much he hates this? the worst he thinks is "to think I'd get roped into this for the sake of that lot." and "this isnt seeing to his needs, this is nursing!" pretty early on in their journey together. this is while he is still digesting the full picture of mithruns condition and all the things hes going to need to do, the full weight of the situation now apparent.

after this, all we see is compassion. him thinking he would like to make mithrun something nice to eat, even if it wouldnt matter to him. him empathizing and reflecting on how not having desires would be really rough. him coming to understand where some of mithruns quirks, like his sense of direction, come from.

by the end, he has trusted mithrun enough to tell him about laios, and mithrun has given him all the information he has been searching for for YEARS.

and this is just the dungeon. kabru continues to involve himself with mithrun when its not his problem anymore. when really, he should be doing anything but. and after everything is done, if he truly did not care about mithrun, he has NO reason to do anything he does in chapter 94.

they are FRIENDS okay??? Kabru cares about him. it isnt just obligation. ty.

as far as mithrun goes, he gives kabru information, he asks him what he wants to do with that little smile (doesnt wait for his squad), slaps him out of his panic attack, and then kabru is the person he eventually confides his true desire to.

theyre FRIENDS and Im tired of people acting like they dont even like each other just bc they dont like the ship. you dont have to ship it, but if you think these 2 didnt drastically change each others lives in a positive way and that they dont care about each other...you maybe need to read again.

and also I think a lot of these takes veer on dehumanizing mithrun. like how could kabru even like him or see him as a friend when hes like that. like do yall forget mithrun was busy keeping kabrus ass from getting killed. or the way he perceptively sees straight through kabrus bs every single time until kabru finally tells the truth? I know kabrus confession to laios is a lot more emotionally intense, but laios isnt the only character that forces kabru to be honest.

#kabru #mithrun #kabumisu #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers

[aphrmoosun]

Here is the list everybody needs. A list of my favourite Nomae fanfics (I must confess I have read more than once already):

1. Fates Entwined By The Stars

Set after the events of Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, Noa resumes his duties with the Eagle Clan, but one particular human woman, who has re-entered his life, continues to plague his mind.

2. Revelations

"Humans don't say 'copulate'; for us it's either having sex or making love."

Mae insisted that, although humans can do it purely for pleasure or relief, they also use it as a way to feel a connection with the person they love. Noa didn't understand then, but he does now.

3. The Conflict of The Planet of The Apes

This story take place 300 days after the event of The Kingdom of The Planet of The Apes.

4. Guilty As Sin?

“What if he’s written mine,

on my upper thigh,

only in my mind?”

In which, Noa can’t escape his dreams of Mae in her absence, so he seeks her company.

5. Echoes of Eden

This story explores the fragile hope for reconciliation in a world torn apart by fear and prejudice. Can Noa and Mae forge a path toward peace, or will the shadows of old wars darken the future dreamed of by the legendary Caesar?

Shout-out to all the Nomae nation that spend their time giving us this content. Even though we don't have a kotpota page on Ao3 nor the tags of the characters on the pota page and still we fight to get the page there and it is updated every day. I don't know what they are waiting for ...?

#noa #mae #nomae #noa x mae #kotpota #pota #noaxmae #apes #kingdom of the planet of the apes #planet of the apes #fanfic #fanfics #one shot

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

food likes and dislikes + why

Consider this part of the Twisted Wonderland food lore series, I guess? Part 1 and part 2 focus on compiling food culture and related world lore; I will keep adding to them as new information is released. This part expands on the reasons for why each character likes and dislikes the food that they do. Please note: THIS DOES NOT COVER ALL CHARACTERS, only the characters we have official profiles for! The staff do not have least favorite foods listed + other characters like Neige and Che'nya lack profiles, so they are not addressed here.

Additionally, the reasoning behind some likes/dislikes are speculation or implied rather than outright stated as canon. I will indicate when these instances crop up.

Riddle

Favorite: strawberry tarts

Riddle has been fascinated with strawberry tarts since he was a child, as he would see them in the window of the local cake shop. He lovingly describes the bright-red fruit on them as "[shining] at [him] like forbidden jewels", as his mother would liken the sugar content in sweets and pastries to poison.

He tastes his first strawberry tart after meeting Trey and Che'nya. Trey is the one who offers him a slice from his family's bakery. Riddle is entranced by its look and taste. "A bright-red strawberry tart on a white plate. To me, it shined more brightly than any gem could. That first bite was so sweet. It tasted like nothing I'd ever eaten before. With each bite, I became more entranced..."

SPECULATION: The implication, as I read it, is that strawberry tarts fulfill a desire he has long since had but has seldom acknowledged. They are also tied to the positive experience of the intimacy and the first friends Riddle ever made, as well as a symbol of his independent behavior.

He seems to regularly offer cakes and other sweets at unbirthday parties, as they are a must-have at these events. Other foods he intakes typically adhere to the rules of the Queen of Hearts, even if he has different preferences (such as preferring honey to sugar cubes for his tea, and preferring milk tea over lemon tea).

Least Favorite: junk food

SPECULATION: While we aren't given an explicit reason for Riddle's stance on junk food, it's implied that his mother ingrained in him a sense of which foods and amounts are "right" and 'wrong" to have. He likely still takes her teachings to heart.

Riddle tried fast food for the first time at age 17 and declared that he doesn’t like it and won’t have it again. This supports the idea that he has avoided this kind of food for a long time—again, something instilled in him by his mother.

Trey

Favorite: candied violets

Trey started eating candied violets before he started elementary school. He was so impressed by the concept of edible flowers that he went around trying to eat flowers and weeds he found in the wild.

Trey states that he loves how the flower's aroma overtakes his senses and makes him feel as though he's lying in a bed of violets. He cites this as being the "real appeal" to him.

Trey also says that he gets bad cravings for candied violets and would even snack on his parents' stash (which they prepared for their bakery's cakes). This however did not stop Trey, so it led to his parents setting aside some candied violets specifically for him. In fact, they still send care packages to NRC which contain candied violets. Trey snacks on them on study breaks.

He suggests using candied violets as a sugar substitute. It changes the color of the milk, and he finds that interesting.

Least Favorite: mustard

Che’nya and Trey played Russian Roulette with six cream puffs. Five had regular cream filling and one had mustard.

Trey had bad luck and ended up biting into the one cream puff with mustard inside. There was no water to wash down the flavor, and Che’nya was of no help because he was laughing too hard at his friend’s demise. Trey reports that he “seriously almost cried”. It is this bad experience that bred his dislike of mustard.

Cater

Favorite: spicy ramen

Cater says that a "capsaicin kick" from spicy food "lights a fire under [him] when [he's] feeling out of it" or feeling down in the dumps.

Additionally, ramen pics are "GREAT for [social media] engagement". He usually places a lot of importance on a dish's appearance when judging it.

Least Favorite: anything sweet

When Cater was 10 years old, his mother and two older sisters were into making sweets. Back then, Cater was actually excited for extra desserts. However, they continued to make more sweets every single day. It got to a point where Cater started to have a hard time eating them.

According to Cater, his sisters in particular made things worse. They would pile more sweets onto his plate and tell him there's plenty more where that came from. If Cater said he didn't want any, his sisters would give him puppy dog eyes and he would relent. This would ruin Cater's taste for anything even remotely sweet.

He loves visiting cafes, but the most photogenic items tend to be desserts. Cater has the dilemma where he will order something cute but then can't eat it because of his aversion to sweetness. (The problem is solved if he invites someone to come with to be his human garbage disposal.)

Trey is, so far, the only person who has been able to immediately sus out that Cater doesn't like sweets. Cater usually has to dance around this fact about himself and find roundabout ways to avoid eating sweets (such as suggesting to Trey that he show us UM to the first years so Cater can avoid tasting a sweet chestnut tart).

Ace

Favorite: cherry pie

Ace says cherries are his favorite fruit. There is no further explanation given for why cherry pies in particular are his favorite.

He prefers fresh fruit in his pies as opposed to the “canned stuff”. Ace finds the flavor to be a lot more robust in the former.

SPECULATION: The meta reason for Ace's favorite food may be because the Drink Me potion from Alice in Wonderland is said to taste like "cherry tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast". The "tart" was probably changed to "pie" to help differentiate Ace's favorite food from Riddle's favorite food (which also involves a red fruit in a crust).

Least Favorite: raw oysters

When he was a kid, Ace read a book that involved oysters. He can't stand raw oysters because they remind him of that story.

SPECULATION: This is likely a reference to the story of "The Walrus and the Carpenter", which involves a walrus tricking and eating sentient baby oysters in Disney's Alice in Wonderland. It probably traumatized kid!Ace xnsbdkwbiwcnks

Deuce

Favorite: anything with eggs

Deuce comes from a single parent household, so their budget is usually tight. Eggs, being a cheap staple food, was something his mom often prepared for him. They are also simple and versatile enough for even his mom and himself to learn how to cook a variety of ways.

Deuce remarks that he likes his omelets "extra fluffy". It's how he always orders it at the NRC cafeteria.

Least Favorite: pepper (ie the more bitter green ones; JP)/bell peppers (ie red/yellow ones EN)

No matter how small they're chopped, Deuce has never been able to eat (bell) peppers. He says the flavor and the smell are too overpowering for him.

SPECULATION: Pepper is a commonly disliked food among young children in Japan. It’s similar to how broccoli is disliked by children in the west. The implication may be that Deuce is still immature like a little kid that hates peppers.

Leona

Favorite: meat

The only reason Leona provides is pretty vague; he says he needs the protein so he can perform to the best of his abilities in magical shift/spelldrive.

Least Favorite: vegetables

He claims that if a carnivore is eating greens, then it's sick. Therefore, there is "no reason" for him to eat any. He's perfectly healthy!

SPECULATION: Given that Leona also refers to others as "herbivore" in a derogatory sense, it's possible that he views those who eat plants as weaker than him. He, with the DNA of a carnivore, is technically "above" them in the food chain and doesn't deign to "lower" himself to their status by eating vegetables. This implies that a lot of his tastes essentially boil down to "I'm a lion, lions don't eat vegetables (heavy sarcasm)."

Ruggie

Favorite: donuts

Ruggie's family struggled to put food on the table, so they couldn't afford birthday cakes. Instead, Granny Bucchi would make simple donuts for him. He loves the warm and fluffy insides and crispy outsides.

Once Ruggie started earning income through various part-time jobs, they could afford ingredients to make fancier donuts with different toppings such as chocolate dip and almonds. Even though Ruggie can now afford to get himself a birthday cake, he still craves his grandma's homemade donuts.

Least Favorite: anything rotten

When Ruggie was younger, he got a nasty stomachache from eating old bone-in steak. He learned from that experience that if food rots, it's ruined and he can't shouldn't eat it for his health and safety.

He will basically eat anything as long as it isn't rotten though. This includes bones, as hyenas have strong jaws and are able to munch on them.

Jack

Favorite: pear compote

The pear is Jack's preferred fruit. He specifically likes compote because it is sweet. Jack says that a good compote will help melt exhaustion and restore lost carbohydrates after a workout.

Least Favorite: green onions

While Jack does not comment on green onions in particular, it is implied that he does not care for them because they are smelly. He comments that the cafeteria's soup has too many onions in it and that it messes with his sense of smell. Being a wolf beastman, his senses are heightened, so he is sensitive to smells.

Azul

Favorite: fried chicken (EN)/kaarage (JP)

No special reason is given in-game. Azul enjoys fried chicken but does not allow himself to eat it often as he is aware of how unhealthy it is.

He has tried many recipe substitutions to make his favorite food healthier for his consumption, but the flavor and texture always fall short of the real thing. Some methods he has already tried include using cooking methods other than deep-frying and using soy beans instead of meat.

SPECULATION: It can be inferred that fried chicken is a favorite of Azul's since childhood, and something that his mother served him in high amounts during celebrations. This may be led to his overweightness as a child, something which he holds a lot of lingering insecurities about.

Least Favorite: healthy foods (EN)/nutritionally balanced meals (JP)

Azul recalls a period of his life when he would eat mostly health food since it is an easy way to count calories. After a while, he began to dislike health food for this very reason.

Jade

Favorite: octopus carpaccio

No special reason is given in-game.

SPECULATION: The meta reason for this being Jade's favorite food is likely because moray eels (which the twins are) eat octopus. Carpaccio is a dish that is served raw, just like how real moral eats consume octopus.

Least Favorite: conger eel

Jade says that he dislikes conger (saltwater) eels because "the texture simply does not live up to [his] tastes".

Floyd

Favorite: takoyaki

Floyd likes to put unusual stuff inside takoyaki instead of the typical octopus filling. It keeps him from getting bored. Fillings he has tried before include cheese, shrimp, sausage, oysters, tomato, broccoli, strawberries, whipped cream, chocolate, anchovies, potato salad, and konjac.

He gets a real kick out of seeing who can make the worst tasting takoyaki. No matter how bad the odd fillings taste, Floyd eats every last one. He doesn't want to get told off by Azul for wasting food.

He has plenty of practice flipping takoyaki in the pan, so it isn't difficult for him.

Least Favorite: shiitake mushrooms

Jade puts shiitake mushrooms in "pretty much anything". Because of this, just seeing a shiitake mushroom pisses Floyd off.

Kalim

Favorite: coconut juice

There is no clear in-game reason provided. However, Kalim likes coconut juice to the point where it's not unusual for him to order 100 coconuts from a fruit vendor in Silk City.

SPECULATION: Aside from being a refreshing beverage, coconut juice has historically been used reverse the effects of poisons and drug overdoses in both India and Africa. We know that Kalim has had multiple attempts on his life, including intentional poisoning of his food, so this may be why Kalim has acquired a taste for coconut juice.

Least Favorite: curry

Kalim's dislike of curry originates from an incident in which Jamil, his dedicated food tester, fell into a two week-long coma after tasting poisoned curry intended for Kalim. He has not been able to stomach curry since.

Jamil

Favorite: curry

Despite going through a traumatic experience with curry, it remains Jamil's favorite food. It hasn't really deterred him.

SPECULATION: Jamil expresses interest in sampling curries from all over Twisted Wonderland, as it is different in every country. Therefore, curry may be a dish that Jamil sees as "international" and sates his yet-to-be-achieved desire of being free to travel and see the world.

Least Favorite: dates

Jamil used to love eating dates as a child. One day, the dates he had bought from a fruit stall had a bug on them. He freaked out and set off a spell, setting the fruit stall on fire. Jamil has not been able to eat dates since finding that bug on them.

Vil

Favorite: homemade smoothies

Vil likes the customizability of homemade smoothies, especially seeing as he is a model and actor who has to watch his figure. Green smoothies are particularly appealing since they can be chock-full of nutritious fruits and vegetables. It's also easy to alter the flavor to your liking.

Least Favorite: mayonnaise

Vil used to have mayonnaise on his salad when he was younger. This was done almost on a daily basis. He got three pimples from this diet, which were painful and not photogenic for a child star. Vil eventually learned that mayonnaise "doesn't agree with [his] skin". Now he usually takes his salads with salt, olive oil, or vinegar.

He doesn't mind the flavor or the texture of mayonnaise. If he is given mayo in a meal, he won't let it go to waste. He just does not enjoy eating it because of the pimple trauma.

Rook

Favorite: liver pâté

Rook describes it as "a delicacy" that is "both rustic AND refined at the same time". He says he was first captivated by its smooth and creamy texture that melts on your tongue. Rook attributes the appeal of the dish as being dependent on its freshness, so he enjoys it only on rare occasions.

Least Favorite: garlic

He calls his dislike of garlic a "professional aversion". Garlic is smelly and tends to linger after consumption, so Rook worries that the aroma will alert others (whether wild animals or other people) to his presence. He wants to be able to blend in with his surroundings!

Epel

Favorite: yakiniku (JP)/grilled meats (EN), macarons

Epel loves grilled meats because he has fond memories of it from Harveston. His family and neighbors would arrange gatherings where they take big hunks of meat and grill them on a charcoal fire. He admits that it's not fancy, but it makes for a "mighty fine meal". Epel also loves the fresh veggies that you eat with the meat; they have a natural sweetness to them. The veggies can be eaten straight off the grill without sauce and still be perfectly tasty.

Epel says he likes macarons "more" than even grilled meats, but this information is pretty dubious since we learn in his Ceremonial Robes vignettes that Vil seems to have instructed him to make this claim. It's sliiightly confusing because Azul seems to believe Epel does like macarons and questions if his sources were wrong when Epel looks surprised that he knows that (which seems to contradict the idea that Vil told him to lie about his tastes).

When asked why he likes macarons, Epel responds with, "They're... cute. And sweet! And they come in lots of different flavors. They're not very filling, but still." He makes a similar comment about macarons not being very filling in Glorious Masquerade.

Least Favorite: nashi pear (JP)/apple pear (EN)

Epel says that while the flavor of nashi pears is not bad, he dislikes them because "they're jist pretendin' ta look like apples"! Indeed, if you google "nashi pear", you'll see that they visually resemble apples.

In Port Fest, he and Jack get into an argument over what would be a better topping: apples or pears?

Idia

Favorite: sweets (ie candies; JP)/snacks (EN)

Idia says that he likes snack foods and candies because they're easy to eat while gaming.

He also says that he loves DIY candy kits, where you can make your own cute little sweet treats using water and powder packets. "It turns snack time into a game! It's easy to get totally absorbed, too." Idia likes the idea of being able to change the color and shape of the snacks himself. He insists (unprompted) that these DIY candy kits are NOT just for kids.

SPECULATION: This is just a funny thought I had while reading Idia's dialogue, but I wonder if he would also pull out the L (Death Note) style explanation of "I'm a genius, so I use a lot of brain power! So the logic follows that I should eat a lot of carbohydrates/sugar to refuel."

Least Favorite: raw fish

Idia dislikes raw fish because "it stinks, it's lukewarm, it's all slimy and clingy and sticky..."

Another large part of why Idia dislikes dish is because "real" food like that requires proper tableware to eat. He thinks this just adds "pointless busywork" to meals (and has a similar attitude when it comes to cooking). "Who cares how you get nutrients, as long as you get them? Just eat an energy bar with vitamins and minerals! Bam, EZ."

Ortho

Favorite: nothing

Least Favorite: nothing

Ortho does not require nutrients to live, being that he is a technomantic humanoid. He is, however, capable of taking pictures of food and analyzing ingredient makeup.

Idia has made an Oral-Energy-Intake Gear, which allows Ortho to eat food like everyone else. It's not clear what happens to the food Ortho eats though.

Malleus

Favorite: ice-cream

Malleus likes frozen desserts! When he breathes fire, the inside of his mouth gets very hot. Eating something cold like ice-cream helps to cool the temperature of his mouth--and this temperature contrast helps to enhance the flavor of the ice-cream.

Malleus shares an instance when he had frozen a castle and some servants in a tantrum; Lilia was able to salvage the situation by using his magearm and flavored syrups to make shaved ice, which he shared with everyone. He then used this opportunity to teach Malleus to use his powers wisely. This isn’t ice-cream, but it’s still another positive memory Malleus has related to cold desserts.

He likes to try different varieties of frozen treats and compare their flavors and appearances. Malleus doesn't seem to understand all the different nuances though. For example, he has a popsicle stick that declared that he had won something, but didn't know he was supposed to claim a prize. He does, however, understand that it is highly valuable and has it stored somewhere. He plans on bringing it home to Briar Valley when he graduated.

Least Favorite: whole/full-sized cakes

He doesn't have anything against sweets, but rather directs his ire at excess. Malleus never has people to share cakes with, so he ends up trying to eat the whole thing by himself on special occasions. He never finishes them in a single sitting and says they give him heartburn.

Malleus says he may see whole cakes in a better light once he has company to split them with.

Lilia

Favorite: tomato juice

There's not a lot in the way of the tomato juice lore. The best we've got is Lilia remarking that he has recently been into drinking and comparing different tomato juices. He claims the tastes and textures can be very different.

Lilia is also fond of berry juice, which he says is a specialty of Briar Valley. He encourages the guests at his farewell party to indulge in it.

SPECULATION: Some fans headcanon that Lilia likes drinking tomato juice because it resembles blood, and Lilia behaves in very bat-like ways. This could be the specialized traits of his species of fae.

My personal speculation is maybe the reasoning is similar to what is typically given for Jamil's love of curry; Lilia is someone who is worldly and well-traveled, so maybe he just likes tasting the local produce in an easy-to-go-down way.

Least Favorite: marshmallows

Lilia does not like the taste. Additionally, hee thinks it's boring that, despite how bulky they are, they disappear as soon as you put them into your mouth.

Silver

Favorite: mushroom risotto

Silver says that risotto was the first dish he ever cooked himself. He likes the simplicity of it.

SPECULATION: Silver may have a preference for mushroom risotto because it includes an ingredient that is easily foraged in the forest (well, granted you can tell which are edible). Recall that he spent most of his days there and had to take care of himself for unspecified stretches of time when Lilia was off on his travels. Simplicity and ease of access was a big deciding factor in what Silver prepared for himself.

Least Favorite: Lilia’s cooking

… Does this even NEED an explanation? We all know how bad Lilia’s cooking is, and poor Silver somehow grew up on it 😭

What is sort of sweet is that Silver tries to convince himself to get over the poor quality of Lilia’s food by saying that what matters the most is sharing that time with loved ones.

Sebek

Favorite: salmon carpaccio

Sebek has a memory of going fishing at the lake by his grandfather's house with his older brother and sister. His siblings helped Sebek pull a large salmon out and then prepared carpaccio from it to serve for dinner. He loved seeing how delighted his parents and grandpa were to see it at the table. His grandpa even smiled, an occurrence which Sebek notes is rare. Now when he has salmon carpaccio, it reminds him of home.

Sebek says he could have salmon carpaccio for three meals a day and still never get tired of it. Keep in mind that Sebek also has a large appetite (claiming that eating three helpings for one meal is eating light), so that's a LOT of salmon carpaccio.

Least Favorite: black coffee

He cannot so much as tolerate a mouthful of "that muck" because of its bitterness. Indeed, we see how poorly he takes down black coffee when he mixes his order and Malleus's up in Glorious Masquerade.

Sebek is resentful that Silver can drink many cups of black coffee (to keep awake) and that his fellow knight shares a freshly brewed pot with their liege. "IT REALLY GRINDS. MY GEARS."

People have advised Sebek to sweeten his coffee with cream or sugar. He adamantly refuses to do this, since he believes that's something only children would do. "It's mortifying!" Furthermore, Sebek hates the thought of being the "odd one out" taking his coffee differently. "I refuse to let Silver outshine me in a matter so trivial!"

Sebek has been working tirelessly to train himself to tolerate coffee, since he wants to be able to share the same experience with Malleus. Now he is able to take one splash of coffee in his milk.

It should also be noted that Sebek used to dislike vegetables that were very bitter, so it seems that he has an aversion to bitterness in general. He has conquered bitter vegetables and is smug about surpassing that challenge.

SPECULATION: ... This gives the vibes of a child who is still immature so they hate taking down bitter things. I guess it suits Sebek's "I wanna grow up fast!" behavior.

Grim

Favorite: canned tuna

... Look at him. Is he not peak cat? 🤡

SPECULATION: I'd imagine that Grim developed a taste for canned tuna in part because that's most of what he eats on Ramshackle's measly budget. They likely cannot afford fresh fish or other extravagant meals.

Least Favorite: nothing

LISTEN. Grim literally eats ROCKS. Plus, he literally snatches others' food and is eager to try foods and started his own club that revolves around food!! I don't think there's anything he won't consider shoving into his mouth.

Crowley

Favorite: wild game

Crowley describes himself as an avid connoisseur of meat and will eat any meat: beef, pork, chicken, and wild game (also called gibier). He encourages the other staff members to sample new meats when they can.

Crowley also appears to like mangos. He was excited to try the mango juice of the southern country that he vacationed to in book 4. Crowley also brought back mango souvenirs for the staff, including a sweet and sour mango tea for Trein. He reminisces about the sweet mangos he enjoyed and the sunny beach he was on back then.

SPECULATION: Crowley probably likes wild game because he is twisted from a crow or a raven of some kind. Those birds are known to scavenge the meat of various dead animals (carrion).

Least Favorite: unknown

While we don’t have a confirmation for what Crowley’s least favorite food is, he doesn’t seem to like spicy foods—or, at least, he does not tolerate spice well. He complains about the tomato stew at the cafeteria causing him to sweat and cry at the same time. Crowley is also hesitant to sample Scarabian cuisine since he has heard that their food is liberally spiced.

Crewel

Favorite: raisin butter

Crewel says that raisin butter pairs well with adult beverages. He finds the aftertaste of raisin butter excellent and enjoys its appearance too--its spotted look reminds him of dalmatians.

Least Favorite: unknown

Sam

Favorite: chicken gumbo

SPECULATION: As far as I'm aware (and believe me, I looked everywhere I could), there's no given in-game explanation for why this is Sam's favorite. The best I've got is that chicken gumbo is a regional dish from New Orleans, the region from which The Princess and the Frog is inspired by.

Least Favorite: unknown

Trein

Favorite: vichyssoise

Trein finds the texture of the vichyssoise served by the NRC cafeteria smooth and pleasant. The students don't have the same appreciation for it; Trein says that he is the only one that ever orders the dish.

SPECULATION: Like Sam, Trein is not provided with a clear reason why he favors vichyssoise. But!! If we think about the composition of the dish, it's made with very cheap and accessible ingredients--even a peasant could afford them. Vichyssoise, then, could be representative of the story of Cinderella, where a kind-hearted girl's beauty was able to shine even when she was covered in cinders. The beauty of even simple vegetables is able to shine in vichyssoise!

Least Favorite: unknown

Vargas

Favorite: raw eggs

Vargas reports eating large amounts of raw eggs (roughly 60 for a single meal). He was told by the cafeteria ghosts that it would be troublesome if he ate so many of their eggs every time he dines there, so he has since started to bring his own eggs.

Sam tries to avoid stocking perishables, but the one exception is eggs. That's because Vargas always buys his entire stock.

SPECULATION: A meta reason for why Vargas eats an absurd amount of raw eggs is that this is a clear reference to Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. In his villain song, Gaston says he eats 5 dozen eggs, which is exactly 60--the same amount that Vargas eats.

Least Favorite: unknown

Rollo

Favorite: grapes

Rollo eats the same lunch 365 days a year, and prefers to take it in an area away from others. (Presumably, he does the same with his other meals.) This lunch consists of 2 croissants, a cup of café au lait (coffee with milk), and exactly 16 grapes.

He says that, with a strict routine like this, he can forgo unnecessary desires. Rollo finds it refreshing and recommends that others try it. The exception seems to be special occasions; he says he has an extra croissant on those days.

SPECULATION: No canon reason is given for why Rollo loves grapes (many fans actually thought croissants were his favorite before his SSR came out). What I believe is that Rollo likes grapes because they're easy to count and limit one's consumption of (because of how small they are). It fits perfectly into his stringent life.

Least Favorite: savarin

SPECULATION: Again, no canon reason is given. If I had to speculate based on what I know of him and how he takes his meals, then... I'd wager he doesn't like savarin because of how overly indulgent it is. It's a ring-shaped cake soaked in flavored syrup and then topped with cream and various fruits. For someone who regularly has bread and one type of fruit (grapes) for his meals, savarin is basically a sin.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Heartslabyul #Octavinelle #NRC Staff #Rollo Flamme #Savanaclaw #Scarabia #Pomefiore #Diasomnia #Ignihyde #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #twst resource #twisted wonderland resource #book 1 spoilers #book 4 spoilers #book 3 spoilers #port fest spoilers #glorious masquerade spoilers #epel ceremonial robes vignette spoilers #Grim #Gaston #beauty and the beast #the princess and the frog #alice in wonderland #twst theory #twisted wonderland theory #twst theories

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Hermitcraft / Life Series Fic Recs

Because I love so many of them...

I'll split the fics into completed and updating fics, and try to only recommend currently updating fics (i.e., not abandoned). I'm going to write a little about why I like each fic and what the general vibes are - so this is also a kind of review I guess?

I've tried to @ the authors if they have a public tumblr. Sorry to anyone who didn't want to be tagged, I can remove any @ if you ask (or if I have embarrassingly tagged the wrong person). Anyway, enjoy, and I appreciate reblogs because I want as many people to see these fics as possible!!

This ended up being incredibly long so I'm putting a divider here. Click to keep reading!!! Also, fair warning: shipping ahead! Some fics will have mild sexual content, please read the tags if you are unsure <3

Updating Fics

I have already recommended Help Me To Breathe, lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart), and There Are Monsters Nearby in this post, so I won't explain why I like them a second time, but definitely check them out!!

Death's A Good Gig by @mawofthemagnetar is probably going to be finished by the time this post gets to you, reader, but I'm putting it here anyway. It's short and sweet, one of my favourite representations of Zedaph (or, Zedeath) I've read, and just a joy to experience. If you like grim reapers and discussions of unions, this one is for you. Also I need more Zedaph in my life.

Look, I'm Sorry, Please Stop Scaring Everyone by @cat-in-the-desert reminds me a lot of a particular TV drama I liked when I was younger, which followed a similar premise. This fic follows Mumbo (vampire) and Grian (ghost) as they get up to various housemate shenanigans and meet their local magic-expert and salesman Scar. This fic is fun, but still includes a nice amount of Feelings and hinted-at Angst which I really love. It's lighthearted, but never boring.

It Hurts To Hope by Inquillitory is my favourite of the "Grian crash lands into Hermitcraft and causes problems for everyone" genre. Seeing how many fics there are with that premise, I think that says a lot. It handles Grian's weird Watcher stuff really well. Honestly, I just want to know what happens next!

killing the boy in the tv by @raspberrystruck is like a sickfic on steroids. If you want Grian with so much past trauma he forgets how to function in society, this is basically the fic for you. I really love how hybrid traits affect the characters' interactions in this fic, and how everyone is kind of messed up because of the imbalance Grian brings. It is wonderfully descriptive in all the right places!

Love Me Like I'm Dead by @daniofcrows is such a gem. You know how hard it is to find good Xisuma whump? It's impossible. I absolutely love how Xisuma and Evil X are characterised in this, and I am obsessed with the unique take on hanahaki disease which I have never seen handled in this way before. The balance between flashbacks and present day is maintained wonderfully and I cannot wait to continue reading this one. Wow.

Oh, you wanted me to do a verse? by @bugbbear is... kind of indescribable. It's horror. It's comedy. It's the apocalypse. It's boatem. Scar eats someone. One of the most interesting and unique apocalypse stories I have read. Slowly updating but worth the wait, in my opinion. This one NEEDS more attention.

So Much For Stardust by @a-plethora-of-peters is basically one of my all-time favourites. Which is a damn good achievement seeing as I don't usually read ZITS fics. Like, ever. In this fic, Skizz is a human abducted and hurt badly by aliens, now recovering in the care of good aliens who don't know how 'sentient' he is. Every update of this one makes me smile, it is wonderful. I love how the characters are written and how the different perspectives are shown. It is just great.

Solar Waltz by @raspberrystruck and aroundtheclock is a brilliant and very very sad regression fic. I love fluffy regression fics as much as the next guy, but this one just... hits different. The hurt/comfort levels are off the charts. Grian is so damn cute the whole time, while also being harrowingly complicated and sad. I am so ready for whatever comes next.

Tango's Castle of Cards by @evilrat-sabre is the one where Tango is a BUG. He's just a little guy (horror). This one is so beautifully written, with poetry-type interludes and perspective changes that really make everything feel so much more impactful. Finding out your buddy is a murder bug isn't the easiest thing in the world. I love this so much.

Traveling Thieves {Dark Fantasy AU} (series) by @amethystfairy1 is basically one of the series of all time. I know I keep saying that but it really really is. I love a good fantasy au, and I love an au with hybrids even more. In this world, hybrids are treated like slaves, but it isn't all doom and gloom for the main characters of each installment. There is a lot of hurt/comfort and the different stories feed into each other in really interesting ways. I try to read as much as I can, though I've missed a few because my emails are buggy. Definitely worth reading these fics, especially since now they're all starting to come together!

Completed Fics

Solving Counting Sheep by @theminecraftbee might have rearranged my brain chemistry a little. Another strong contender for 'fics that inspire me to kill Grian', this time with a more concrete notion of "replacement". Three is my favourite fucked up living weapon. It's so rare to find Evo fics in this day and age, too. This fic had me immediately clicking on every update as soon as I got the emails.

Rescue Fire by @imaginethat0327 is one of the most unique takes on a fictionalised life series game that I have ever read. The whole concept is explained in a realistic and easy-to-follow way, as we learn what's happening with the characters. There are several brilliant storylines happening in this one, but my particular favourites are Jimmy & Tango, Joel, and of course Scar & Grian. This fic is full of whump and, well, read the tags, it isn't always pleasant, but those are my favourite things ever. Definitely worth checking out this fic and its currently updating sequel.

don't you know about me? by takenbadgering is a wonderful comedy of errors with just the right amount of angst for a realistic setting type of fic. If you enjoy polyamory miscommunications, rave aesthetics, kandi, school teacher dynamics, and a lovely blend between grumbo, cubscar, and mumscar, this is the one.

Eventually the Birds Must Land by @milo-hypno follows a polyam ship I would have never thought of, and I cannot believe how much I loved it. This married-as-friends fic premise is wonderful, and captures the main trio (Grian, Mumbo, Impulse)'s personalities so well, while balancing them with the incredibly terrifying descriptions of the Watchers and their power. There's a lot of angst here, but it is ultimately hurt/comfort to the maximum degree. I loved reading it as it updated. Yay for gay marriage!

From The Archives (series) by @sixteenth-days was the absolute inspiration for my own Comms AU, and I will never forget its influence on me. As someone basically unfamiliar with TMA, I thought this series might be hard to follow, but it was not! I read all 57 parts in the span of two days, and I think it altered my brain chemistry. Please read it, even if (especially if) you don't know anything about TMA. The Cleo and Grian storyline lives in my head rent free. I mean it. This is horror at its finest. Also there's an audio series of this fic being released rn, which is very cool.

SUPERCRITICAL by @masque-of-plague hits different. It is such a wonderful take on the superhero/HotGuy trope, and it gets so super dark at some points! This one really takes swings at it's fictional government, which of course I love, while at the same time building this brilliantly emotional relationship between Scar and Grian. I do enjoy a bit of enemies to lovers, but the actual plot mixed into the story makes this one extra special. It is thrilling, with action that I don't get to see too often! Great work.

I am weary with contending! is one of the mumscarian fics of all time. From 'this house has people in it'-type horror, to magic gone wrong, to childhood trauma, to attempted assassination, to gender fuckery, this fic has it all. Usually I don't go for convex siblings, but this one is good enough to get a pass from me. Amazingly detailed worldbuilding alongside a brilliantly creative story.

It Spreads by @foxxology may not count as a fic, actually. It's a comic. But it's posted on ao3 so it counts. I was obsessed with this one as it was updating, honestly. It rocked me to my core. The art is phenomenal. The writing is brilliant. I love sculk.

Luck of the sea by Sleepy_Duck is a lovely take on mermaid and human interactions, with Grian as a marine life conservator and Scar as a very neglected mer. This one takes us emotionally in all sorts of directions, and offers lots of hope for the future of the characters. I heavily enjoyed this fic - if you like mermaids and marine biology, check it out.

there are many downsides to being a marine biologist by donnerstag is another mermaid fic but with a pretty different vibe. First of all, it follows what I would consider a rarepair Doc/Martyn. Second of all, reading this as it updated was a thrilling experience that nearly made me cry at certain points. I love how the relationship builds in this fic. It is honestly amazing. The whole idea of experimenting on a sentient sea creature, learning that he can communicate, then losing funding and having to save him from being dissected?!?! It's crazy. I love it.

Thus concludes my fic recommendations. I hope you enjoy at least some of these, and consider reblogging to spread these wonderful fics around <3

#ben chats shit on the internet #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitshipping #fanfiction #fic recs #life series #trafficblr #traffic smp #trafficshipping #traffic series #traffic life #??? what else do i tag this uhh #long post

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: i caved and did an actual Ewan fic! Given that the lad is more of a public persona nowadays, I reckon it's fine (?) This is pure self-indulgence for all my Ewan loves. May have a continuation but idk for now, enjoy!!

all my other works

The reader and Ewan are paired for press interviews. Despite barely having any scenes together and only knowing each other in passing on set, the chemistry they share cannot be denied...

Your first round of press takes place in a primped up hotel suite in Paris, thanks to the team at HBO.

You are an up and coming actress, much like some of your costars in the show, but the pressure is heavier on you because you were entering in season two, whereas everyone was already well-acquainted with one another.

Your few scenes were mostly with Jace and Baela, so you grew close to Harry and Bethany.

However, the media team decided to pair you up with Ewan for the day. A little fun initiative was set by the team that a character from the Blacks would be do press with a counterpart from the Greens - hence, yourself and Ewan.

You're nervous as you walk down the hallway, unable to fully pay attention to the instructions your lovely assistant gives you.

She tells you about the different interviewers for the day, bloggers and magazine writers from all over the world. She reminds you that each one will only be for a maximum of 5 minutes, so it shouldn't be too complicated. She smiles and eagerly says, "Take a deep breath, you got this!", as you reach the suite doors.

But in your mind, all you can recall is your first interaction with Ewan, almost a year ago right after the table read. You had nervously blurted out to him that Aemond is your favourite character, after he just asked, "How are you?". He laughed, said thank you, before he was pulled away in conversation by Tom.

You pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that things will fare better today. That you won't get all tongue-tied when those steel blue eyes land on you.

Upon entering the room, the team is quick to fuss over you. Sometimes you forget that you're actually an actress now. A celebrity, some might say. It all feels surreal and you have a inkling it won't ever stop being this way.

Ewan is already seated in front of the camera, and he stands to give you a hug as you finally walk over.

"Hey there, how are you?" he smiles widely, smelling like cigarettes and something muskier as he wraps his arms around you.

Unroll your tongue. Rework your brain. Calm down.

"Hey, Ewan!" you respond. "I'm doing great, happy to see you again."

"Well, I only wish we could have had more time together on set." Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to take your seat before he does the same. "But next season perhaps? Who knows?"

"Oh, sure." You settle in, pleased by the fact that your chairs are only about a foot apart. "We can both look forward to my character giving Aemond the arse kicking he deserves."

He laughs, eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on now, I was thinking our characters are actually quite compatible, no?"

"Well, I sure wouldn't want to step on Alys' shoes. She'd probably curse my character all the way to Yi Ti."

"Hmm," he hums, biting his lip. You can't help but hear Aemond when he does that. "I say you can always count on Aemond and Vhagar to come to the rescue of a beautiful maiden such as yourself."

Well, you'll be damned. Ewan, while still an introvert of his own sort, is as charming as can be. If he's turning it on to get himself hyped for the press, it's working.

It's definitely working on you, to say the least.

The media manager gives the signal for the first interview to begin, and a reporter walks in, all ready with prepared script in hand.

"Here we go," you mutter, facing forward.

"Good luck," Ewan replies.

You both shake the reporter's hand, and he introduces himself as Jared.

"So guys," Jared begins. "Why don't we start with you telling me a little bit about what we can expect from your characters this season?"

The question is easy, and it doesn't take long for you and Ewan to think it through. Jared asks a few more basic questions, before drawing the attention more to you.

"When you watched season one, did you have a favourite character?" he asks you.

You smile, "Oh, I mean, I have to say - and Ewan already knows this, by the way - that Aemond was my favourite character."

"Was?" Ewan says, feigning shock. "Unacceptable."

"Was... Is... " you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully, earning a laugh from Jared. "I think I might be more a Daemon girl now."

"Oh!" Jared exclaims happily. "Does Matt know about this?"

"I'll be sure to tell him - "

Ewan interjects, shaking his head at you, "There's no need to tell him, because I'll convert her back to Team Aemond in no time, trust me."

"Daemon is awesome, though," you say to him, smiling.

"Sure." Ewan makes a face like that fact doesn't matter. Wasn't he the one who said that Daemon would be the character he would most like to play if not Aemond?

"And Caraxes is my favourite dragon." You share a look with Jared, hoping he would agree.

"Yes!" Jared says. "Caraxes is the best dragon in the show, in my opinion."

"Ah, you're both wrong," Ewan says. "My Vhagar is the oldest and baddest dragon in all of the land."

"My Vhagar, he says," you joke. "Seems like someone still hasn't shed Aemond for this press tour."

"And I never will, darling." His gaze is intense when he turns to you, and you clear your throat to fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, they're giving me the wrap-up," Jared thankfully breaks the tension. "It was a pleasure talking to you guys, congratulations on the new season!"

One interview down, and your nerves have already considerably subsided. Ewan tapping your arm to start up a conversation once more surely helps in distracting you.

In the best damn way possible.

"How do you think we did? That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"I think we did quite well," you casually offer a high five, but your heart skips a beat when Ewan interlaces your suspended hands for just a moment.

"I'm glad they paired me with you," Ewan says, after releasing your hand. You hold on to the armrests to keep your fingers from twitching.

"I am, too," you admit. "I am a fan of you, after all, but I think you already know that."

He blushes, "Well, that's not a bad thing. I think you're a fantastic actress. I must have seen your first film a good ten times."

"You mean my first and only film," you add humbly. "But thank you."

"Only film for now," he affirms. "No doubt this is only the beginning for you, darling. With your talent and your charisma, I'm sure you have potential scripts piled up already."

"I could say the same for you! Have you seen what your fans say about you online? You're the internet's new boyfriend, Ewan Mitchell."

The media manager announces the next interview, but Ewan follows up with a response for you under his breath, "I have seen some things. But when I have a girlfriend, I'll make sure she won't have to share me at all."

Oh, so apparently he is single. But wait - why is he telling you this?

You don't get to mull over that thought. For the time being, the next interview starts and you make sure you do a good job at what you're paid to do - promoting the series.

Not daydreaming about getting with a costar, for heaven's sake. Stay professional.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You feel lightheaded after finishing the seventh - or had it been the eighth? - interview.

Your assistant delivers a coffee to you during the twenty-minute break. Ewan had stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He certainly is everything you expected him to be, and so much more. Insightful, cheeky, dedicated. An artist, through and through. He was in the business for all the right reasons, passion and respect for the craft.

If he had any flaws, you weren't privy to them yet. If there are any reasons for you not to be attracted to him, you didn't know what those were yet.

But with every flirtatious remark and pointed smile, you can't deny the hope blooming in you.

"Hey," he reappears, pulling you out of your musings. "I hope you don't mind that I smell of smoke."

No, you didn't, not when it's him.

"Don't worry about it," you reassure him. You tilt your head forward to take a sip of your coffee, but a lock of your hair falls in front of your face. Annoyed, you think to reach for it, but Ewan beats you to it, tucking it back in place.

"There you go, darling," he croons, gesturing for you to proceed in drinking.

"Th-thanks." His eyes don't leave yours as you take a slow sip.

"So," you say, desperate to break the silence, "which interview did you enjoy the most so far?"

"How can I possibly choose? I mean, I really liked the one with ComicSociety, the guy that said our characters have a lot of chemistry and should get together next season. He's right, I already told you!"

"Ohhh, sure, that will go down really well with the Blacks and Greens."

He smirks, "I don't see why not?"

"For one, Aemond is ensnared by Alys, and my character will never give up fighting for Rhaenyra. I just don't see it happening, Ewan."

"Right," he mutters thoughtfully, "there is still Alys in the picture."

"Still in the picture? With the amount of steamy scenes you two have lined up for season three, I'd say she will be Aemond's entire picture in and of herself."

"Hmm," he glances at you once, then looks down. Dare you think it, does he look disappointed?

"But hey," you add lightly, "maybe we can talk to Ryan and he can flip the entire script just for our characters."

"Yeah," his cheeky smile resurfaces, "maybe you can take Alys' place."

Take the place of Alys? Of Alys. Is he insinuating...

"Next round of interviews, guys!" The media manager announces to the room.

"Here we go again, darling," Ewan squeezes your hand once, before putting on his professional face once more.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

By the end of it all, not even caffeine can perk you up. You were exhausted, you and Ewan having finished four full hours of press.

Your assistant comes to your aid, ready to direct you back to your own hotel room.

"This has been such a pleasure, Ewan, really." You stand, this time initiating the hug.

He squeezes you gently, humming in your ear. When you pull apart, he says, "I honestly wouldn't mind trudging through hours and hours of press with you."

That's sweet of him. You're too tired to mask the warmth that rises to your cheeks. "And I feel the same. Today couldn't have gone any better."

"Truly, and listen, maybe we could - "

"Ewan!" The manager approaches. "I'm so sorry to rush with this, but we need to film just a quick soundbite with you for Aemond. Just two to three questions for the Max Tiktok account?"

"Oh, okay - " Ewan is reluctant to turn away from you.

"Perfect! If you could just stand there by the windows please..." The manager already has him by the arm, directing where he has to go.

"We have to go," your assistant says. "Still have to prep for tomorrow."

"I'll see you soon, Ewan!" you call out to him. "Thanks again."

He gives a half-hearted wave, dejected as he watches you walk out of the room.

"That wasn't too bad," you share with your assistant as you enter the elevators. "Not bad at all, actually."

"Oh, you did so well," she compliments. "It definitely helps with the press that you and Mr. Mitchell have such insane natural chemistry."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

In the calm of your hotel room, you get ready for bed.

Just when you're about to finish with your nightly routine, your phone rings from your bedside table. You're quick to rush over, thinking it could be your assistant or your manager, with an urgent update about work.

But no - it's an unknown number. A UK number, as it appears.

Confused, you click answer anyway, putting it to your ear with a tentative, "Hello, who is this?"

"Hi, darling."

"Ewan?"

"Yeah, uhm, I hope I didn't disturb you - "

"Not at all," your answer comes out in a rushed breath.

"I also hope you don't mind that I got my assistant to ask your assistant to give me your number? It's what I wanted to ask you before you left today."

"Oh." You feel fully awake now, by some miracle, butterflies finding home in your stomach. "I don't mind. I... I should have given you my number, anyway. I have most of the cast's, in case I need to get a hold of you guys."

"Hmm, right," he says from the other end. You hear him calmly breathing, the sound strangely comforting, and wonder if he can hear the same from you.

He says, "I just wanted to keep hearing your voice. Didn't get enough of it today," and your heart just about stops.

"Oh. Okay," is all you are able to respond with.

"What are you doing?"

"Just... just getting ready for bed." Phone pressed to your ear, you shuffle around the room, putting some things back in place.

He says nothing for a few seconds, but you still hear his breathing, and some shuffling in the background. It occurs to you that he might just be as nervous as you are now.

Maybe.

"Listen," he finally says, "do you want to hear my pitch to Ryan about why our characters should get together next season?"

A genuine laugh escapes you. He sure is persistent. Playful, sure, but you're definitely willing to play along.

"Let's hear it."

"First," he says, "you have to renounce Daemon as your favourite character - "

"Not a chance."

" - and swear your love for Aemond."

"Keep dreaming."

He laughs, and you can only picture the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Aww darling," he teases, "don't you love me?"

The OGs will know that the final line is a nod to my first ever Aemond fic! 🖤

Did this slightly delay my series works? Yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? For Ewan frickin Mitchell, I would never ~

#ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon

[lilacstarx]

✿ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ

Summary: when boredom strikes the general can play cupid for two little youngsters

Warnings: New Patched character yunli, platonic relationship depends how you view it, yanqing and yunli are the same age and share an interest (CONTAINS SPOILERS) Reader is gender neutral, Marriage life. Not proofread

Author’s Note: no one told me once you ship someone from a fandom basically people will cook you alive 😭 yet i still made this :33

It was awfully quiet recently and you've been having a hard time pinpointing what it was normally a sign to start a new hobby that's going to cost a lot and lose half of the profits per the general claimed his money has no limit when it comes to you but still you felt bad.

Humming to yourself on the way to the garden, for sure, Jing Yuan and the lovely kid you raised together playing starchess every afternoon during their free time. Sometimes they take a nap beside you, saying, “You have a calm aura” when really they slack off from time to time. 

The garden was empty, strange no wonder it was at peace. The two rascal pairs aren't in their normal place; not even the hologram of the starchess board can be seen.

You get shocked when a fluffy white man brushes their head at your ankles.

"Are you looking for them to mimi?" You asked, crouching down to caress the lion's fur, only to be met with a purr. "Mimi, do you have any ideas?" Cooing at the lion before burrying your face against its thick, fluffy furs.

The little fun with the lion is interrupted when a small vibrate from your phone was heard snatching it out of your pockets and looking at Jing Yuan messages.

RichHusband: sent a photo

RichHusband: come find me at aurum alley be careful love :33

You: is that yanqing and yunli?

You: Yuan what are you doing!?

You: Yuan???

*Rich Husband is offline*

What a headache you thought zooming out of the photo, it appears that Jing Yuan was hiding and far away from the two teens "that's impressive look mimi" putting the screen near the lion's face

Well, if the general is going to cause problems, why not double it?

———

Scanning around Aurum Alley, you see Yanqing and Yunli at tall auntie eating. They appear bright-eyed, and a wave of nostalgia hits you.

Remembering the days when Jing Yuan and you used to sneak out using his allowance for the month, even though you argued that he didn't need to buy you gifts every week.

The thought has banished When someone drags you from behind with a hand on your lips, preventing you from yelling, you bite the stranger's palm and use your feet to kick his shin.

Jing yuan winches at the pain “hey beloved calm down-“

“Yuan! You scared me” shouting at the white-haired man before making repeated apologies and cooing at him to make him feel better.

Jing yuan shushes you “we might get caught be quiet they almost saw you!”

“Not really they were having fun” He grabs your hand, blending in with the crowd while keeping an eye on them.

“They are both participating in the war dance, right?”

Jing Yuan hummed in response, still keeping an eye on the two. “Are you slacking off again? ”Raising your brow before nudging his arm, the general pretends to not hear what you said. 

The silence between you two was pleasant, and hearing everyone excitement around and having their own conversations was enough to persuade Jing Yuan to stop following the two like a creep. "Okay cupid; since you're here, why not take me on date?”

Jing Yuan mused, drawing circles at your palm before kissing it. “I would be a fool to refuse that offer.”

Bonus:

Yanqing enters the magnificent home where he was raised, and though it was late at night, he had fun today, especially spending out with Yunli.

Eyeing Jing Yuan from the coach while pretending to read your book, you hear the footsteps "Yanqing is here, act normal!""

Yanqing comes through the living room greeting the two adults, who just responded with a nod before shrugging them out. If you ask him about the upside-down book you were reading, he seems skeptical.

As Yanqing locks his bedroom door, you stare at Jing Yuan, scoffing, "You idiot! We looked suspicious, and he gave us the look!"

“Dear your book was upside down”

"Says the one with dumpling sauce on their shirt!"

©Don’t repost without permission or translate

#ᗯiᒪᒪoᗯ #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #yanqing x platonic reader #jing yuan x gender neutral reader #yanqing honkai star rail

[sweet1delusi0ns]

Naruto boys random headcanons──☆*:・ﾟ

Sfw

Characters: Naruto🦊,sasuke🗡️,Itachi🥀, kakashi🍃, kiba🐺, shikamaru🀄️,shino🪲,neji🎋,Lee🥋,choji🍥,gaara⏳,kankuro🪆

Naruto🦊-*

Hes lazy at home. Not because he’s tired he just wants you to take care of him, but when you call him a baby for all these requests he gets mad “I AM NOT A BABY! I AM A GROWN MAN! NOW SPOON FEED ME!”

He tries to prank you but fails, your too smart to fall for it. He always tries to trip you in public while walking and every time he is the one on the floor and your the one laughing some how-

He likes the idea of drawing and being an artist he just can’t draw. He can only draw stick people with different hair, one time he tried to draw you, gave up and instead gave you a picture of a stick person with your hair. It’s now on the fridge LOL

He tries to act cool around his friend with you but just makes a fool of himself. “Yeah this my bae so what?” “Yeah I’m his bae and he’s my baby, my big, soft, smiley baby!” His soul is now crushed and his friends all laughing

He sleeps like a ANIMAL. he full on can’t sleep normally, You both go to bed the same time, one of you is always gunna wake up on the floor, mostly you. Then he wakes up like “why you on the floor?”

Sasuke🗡️-*

He may seem cool but he gets very flustered. He doesn’t cover his face though he just closes his eyes so he doesn’t get more flustered and so he can ignore the fact that he is red

He CANT Dance, don’t EVER take him dancing. It’s not because he’s bad at dancing he just never learn. If there is music he will bop his head to the beat though, if you try to get him to dance he will freak out and freeze. He just doesn’t like it ok!

His waist is weirdly sensitive, you could barely touch his waist and he will start giggling. He isn’t ticklish anywhere else but if you take a feather to his waist he will start LAUGHING

He will kick your feet when he wants attention. If you guys are out to dinner with friends he will kick you under the table to get your attention, he thinks it’s funny until you fight back and stomp on his foot. He made you kiss his pain away at home, atleast he got attention LOL

He forgets the silliest things one time he forgot how to tie a knot so anything he needs to tie like his clothes or shoes you had to do for him. You don’t know if he actually forgot or if he just wanted to be babied-

Itachi🥀-*

He can’t handle heatwaves. If it’s over 90 degrees he’s gone for. One time you woke up on a heat wave morning waiting for him to wake up and walk out but he never did, you went to find him and he was in bed, sprawled out, shirt and covers off soaked in sweat. You had to rub ice on him to get him conscious -

Unlike naruto, he likes drawing and can ACTUALLY DRAW, although he can only draw plants but he doesn’t mind he likes plants! He will draw you flowers instead of buying you some which is like equally as cute~

He has very sensitive eyes. Like how he can’t handle heat he cant handle the sun either. If it isn’t cloudy he will have to squint to keep his eyes from hurting. When you told him to wear sun glasses he said “I still want to see you clearly though love…”

He’s not a big fan of skin care but he likes those face roller things. He bought one just so you could use it on him, he likes that it’s cold but also massaging!

He sneezes like a girl- he has the cutest, most petite sneeze you’ve ever heard out of a man which is cute and very funny. He doesn’t even realize it either “a-choo!” “That was crazy out of character” “huh?”

Kakashi🍃-*

He’s allergic to cats, he likes cats sure but he never hangs around them because he’s allergic. You didn’t know that and one day you brought a stray inside and he instantly turned puffy (poor thing)

Once he gets home and discards the mask he puts lip tint on. He has pink lips for that reason. When he first puts it on he will find you and kiss you just to leave a mark before waiting 10 minutes then whipping it off

He needs reading glasses but never uses them, then complains to you when he gets a headache as if you didn’t tell him to put them on

He takes a lot of baths. If he showers it bound to end up a bath. And he doesn’t care if your using the bathroom if he wants a bath he’s gunna make a god Danm bath. One time You were just washing your face and he busted in the door and ran to the bathtub, You washed your face as fast as you could-

He is EXTREMELY tired when he first wakes up, he doesn’t move for like 20 minutes so if he needs to get up and do stuff your gunna have to make him, like actually you’ll have the carry him out of bed.

Kiba🐺-*

He bites his nails from stress so you have made it a habit to smack his hand away when he does. It worked since all you have to do is tap him softly and he will stop. He’s so glad you help him get over bad habits

He decorated akamarus ears when he’s bored, one time you walk in on him giggling like a little girl and akamarus ears were pulled together in a little ponytail! You joined in on the fun🤞

He comes back from a casual walk along a complete mess, you have no idea how but one day he came back with half a bush stuck on his leg. He always cleans up though!

He sometimes transforms akamaru into himself to prank his friends or you, mostly you. One time akamaru came up to you as Kiba and started licking your face “EW OH MY GOD?!” “AUUFF AUF!” “KIBA YOUR NOT FUNNY”

He always has tan cheeks and nose. Compared to the rest of his face, his cheeks are cute and golden!

Shikamaru🀄️-*

He lets you win at intelligents based games to make you feel better. Except one time he actually tried and lost. He’s convinced you cheated

His hair is straight but gets very frizzy if not cared for. (You care for it since he’s lazyy)

He draws on himself when bored, mostly just trippy designs like swirls and stuff. Will also let you draw on him, only if your good tho he doesn’t want “bad drawing” on him😔

He has a box FULL of hair ties and will notice if you take one. “This one you literally stole from me?” “Don’t care put it back!!!”

He gets Freezingly cold at night, like really really cold. When he snuggles up to you to warm up you could feel how cold he really is and you don’t understand how since you are both under covers-

Shino🪲-*

He keeps bugs in the house so they can watch over anything, they are basically his security cameras-

His hair is so cute and wavy! Also gets very frizzy because of the texture like Shika. He also makes you take care of it, he just really likes you touching his hair

He gives you bugs as gifts, not like freaky beetles but cute little bugs like lady bugs or fuzzy green caterpillars. You find it cute that he gives you things that mean so much to him

He shockingly has a sensitive neck, only to you though. Bugs can crawl all over it and he doesn’t move but if you try to kiss it he gets chills. Also shockingly he has really soft skin idk maybe he sheds skin (IM JOKING)

When he gets home and can finally undress he lets you take his glasses off since you love his eyes and he loves that you love them. He gets insecure about it sometimes!

Neji🎋-*

He speak really highly and intelligently but he’s honestly a little dumb sometimes, or maybe he’s just dumb with you to be silly we don’t know

The only jewelry he really wears is an ankle bracelet you got him

He loves hair charms, he likes decorating his hair! He likes putting clips and braids in it, sometimes even put color streaks in it if he wants to be festive

He really likes pottery and making things out of clay, he’s very creative and he finds clay the perfect outlet. He even makes pots for you!

He has a flower garden that NO ONE is allowed in. He treats them like they’re his baby’s, because they are! He’s favorite plant he has is his cactuses.

Lee🥋-*

He’s extremely energetic and powerful yet he has asthma, he denies it. But if it’s really hot outside he runs out of breath REALLY fast which makes you worry

He’s scared of spiders you kill the spiders for him or he runs! If you trap a spider and chase him with it he will almost start crying (he will start crying) he’s ashamed to admit spiders are his weakness

He wears mascara, he gotta make them lashes voluminous yk. He stole his mascara from tenten too. You made him give it back to her and bought him his own

It’s pretty obvious but he is FLEXIBLE! Backbend, splits anything he can do. You thought he broke his spine onces-

He’s not much of a plant guy but he has the TINIEST succulent in your room that he cares for, every other plant he has had died but not that one~

Choji🍥-*

He loves finger painting and is actually really good at it, you’d think it was made by a professional and an actual paint brush but no it was Choji and his finger paint😭

His hair is so thick most hair ties he uses break. He has to use hair needles instead because it’s the only thing that holds if he wants his hair up for a while

He thinks pillow fights are actually entertaining he could have a pillow fight with you all day and never get bored. He goes crazy if he’s over at someone’s house and they suggest pillow fights!

He loves bath bombs!!! He basically died when you run him a bath and put bath bombs in it, his favorite scent it lavender. Even if you didn’t add a bath bomb he loves when you make him baths he thinks its adorable

He paints your cheeks like his in your sleep, that’s his idea of a prank even though it’s basically him just being a cutie “look now your like me y/n!!”

Gaara⏳-*

He turns the black rings around his eyes to cat eyes sometimes. He looks ADORABLE with cat eyes. He sometimes even uses eye shadow too, if he can’t change it he thought might as well make it look cutee

He’s scared of mosquitos, he just doesn’t like bugs that can fly and go after human blood it freaks him out

He wears one of those scent bracelets and puts your signature scent in it so he always smells like you~

He gifts you plants all the time

He collect the silliest things, there are these cute little cat charms at a near by store and he’s working on collecting them all!

Kankuro🪆-*

Shockingly he really likes reading. He likes fiction books the most, he asks you for suggestions

He asks you what new make up design he should try, sometimes he just gives you the brush and lets you go wild. But you always make him look cute~

He fidgets with the ears on his hat when he’s bored. It rubbed off on you so now if he’s around you with his hat on you start messing with them-

He steals your clothes and hides them so you have no choice but to ask to use his for the day. After the day is over he comes up to you smiling and hands you your missing clothes “found em!” “By found em do you mean took them out of the hiding spot?” “Yeah-”

He paints his nails either black, pink or purple. He also lets you paint them, it honestly just ends up a mess. He would totally whip nail polishes on your nose~

#naruto fanfiction #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto reactions #naruto scenarios #naruto uzumaki #naruto x reader #sasuke uchiha #sasuke x reader #itachi uchiha #itachi x reader #kakashi sensei #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #kiba x reader #kiba inuzuka #shikamaru nara #shikamaru x reader #shino aburame #shino x reader #neji hyuga #neji x reader #rock lee #rock lee x reader #choji akimichi #choji x reader #gaara x reader #kankuro x reader #kankuro #gaara of the desert

[bkd-b3ans]

You try to repair a watch, Boothill is being annoying as usual, you end up discovering his neurolink perfectly mimics human emotions.

-> Ship: Boothill X Mechanic!Reader (or just tech savvy idk the term really)

-> Rating: Safe for All

-> TL;DR: Boothill visits you after closing hours, nearly ruins a 5 million watch repair commission, stares for a bit too long while you work and overheats for a bit, ends up learning you live above your own workshop and you learn he gets flustered easy.

-> Extra notes: No idea where I will go with these, I just love writing stuff. Next one is going to be more about touching / feeling, but until then, you too can experience casual chatter. I do not proof read, whatever is written is in accordance to Ellios script, go meow at him. Take this "2nd" part as pure world-building.

-> Word count: 2k~ ish

-> First part: here

Thank you for reading and bearing with my awful English. If you have any prompts I would be more than happy to hear them.

"Pardner? Yoohooo~" Boothill was waving his arm like a manic from the front of the counter, trying to catch your attention, but you were too engrossed in your work, tinkering away with some expensive watch you were paid to fix, the tiny gears and springs neatly organized in your table in tiny boxes with labels, while you were hunched over the table, looking through a magnifying glass and listening to music, tongue almost sticking out like some cartoon character while you were trying to place the gear in its place carefully using some precise tweezers.

For all you cared, your shop was closed for the day, so why would anyone in their right mind, or that knows how to read a sign, would even bother you? Of course you didn't take into account a Galaxy Ranger that had a passion for annoying you at random times.

"Psst, hey, over 'ere..." he sighed, "Fudge this". Impatient as ever, Boothill just helped himself with one of the expensive motor oil cans in the counter and stepped around it, taking off his hat and placing it on your head.

The whole motion made you jump out of your skin, dropping the tweezers together with the very important, one of a kind gear, that you could barely notice while it was on your table, let alone on your floor, rolling off into the void like all of the pens you've lost throughout the years.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MY FUCKING WORK OF MY AEONS-" you took off the hat annoyed, hand still shaking from the scare and heart running laps in your chest. Shoving the hat into Boothills chest, you couldn't help but be angry at the man, sighing.

"Damn sugar-cube, didn't know ye were this jumpy. Ye should be more aware of yer surroundings you know?"

"What the hell does that mean. MY SHOP IS CLOSED BOOTHILL, CAN'T YOU READ??"

"Well, not your language no, it's all a bunch of jumbles and lines"

You looked confused for a moment before realizing that neither of you were from the same planet. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, trying to get rid of your furrow.

"Just, shut up and help me look for that gear. AND PUT THE DAMN CAN DOWN"

He raised his arms in defeat, putting down the can of motor oil and looking around your workbench while you were painfully looking for the gear with your magnifying glasses.

"Lotta' shiny pieces you have on the table. Are these really more important than your good old buddy, Boothill?"

"Unless you're willing to give me 5 million, then yes"

Boothill choked

"5 million?? For some beautiful watch?"

"What can I say, some people have more than they know what to do with. Now stop yapping and get on your knees, I can't see shit."

"Is that an invitation, darling?"

"... BOOTHILL!"

"Aye aye, don't get your feathers ruffled like this darling, just sit there and be pretty"

----------------

You couldn't help but be annoyed still, slumped in your chair, fiddling with your pen, while Boothill was looking around. How long has it been already, maybe a few minutes? Hours? Days??? Your work couldn't wait that much, and each ticking second felt agonizing. You were so close too, getting interrupted was the last thing you needed right now. You always had plans, a schedule, deadlines, you couldn't afford the unpredictability that is Boothill sometimes.

You almost got too lost in your thoughts before you heard a sudden thud, metal against wood, and a proud exclamation.

"Here it is sugar-cube, your pretty little thing... Cogwheel whatever. Now can you stop looking like someone spat in your food or do I need to repair this watch myself to make you happy?"

You could swear sometimes he was like a dog, a big doberman. For as scary as he could look sometimes, you couldn't help but be unable to push him away. All you could do was just let out an amused scoff, taking the gear piece in the palm of your hand, and gently placing it in it's box.

"No, no, you've done enough damage already. Why are you here even?"

"Just wanted to pay my best buddy a visit? What, a man can't do that no more?"

"No fixing your body? No maintenance work? Really nothing? Just a visit? Odd, thought you were a busy man"

"Oh I sure am sugar-cube, but sometimes even I need to sit down and relax."

"... In my workshop"

"In yer workshop, yes."

You sighed

"Fine, fine, stay for as long as you need, but don't touch anything that is in this-" you motion around your workbench "general area"

He tipped his hat in acknowledgment

"Aye aye, I'll stay put, fudge me, you can be very serious sometimes."

"5 million"

"Right yes, that's understandable."

You went back to work, trying to finish placing the last pieces inside that damned watch, headphones back on your ears. Boothill was simply slumped on the couch you kept around the waiting area, that barely saw any use to begin with. He was just looking around, bored out of his mind, the silence really starting to get to him. On occasion he's throw you glances, looking like a kicked puppy only to be met by your back either way. Yet he couldn't help but notice the few tics you had, tapping your foot, humming to yourself from time to time, arranging your hair by shaking your head around, and just how damn beautiful you looked in that dim warm light.

By no means we're you prettied up and groomed, after all, working with machinery all day will just lead to one always being covered by oil or sutt, clothes messy, the tools around your belt loud and heavy, but to him, it was part of the charm. The passion you had for what you did, the care you treated everything with, even his own body when it needed repairs. Sure, you two may butt heads more often than goats, but you were the reason he kept making his trips back to your workshop for any needs. He trusted you, felt comfort in your presence.

He could feel his insides start to heat up, his mind trailing off. Sure, he couldn't blush for the love of him, after all blood stopped flowing through his body long, long ago, but his body still reacted from time to time to strong emotions, and now it was no different. It felt, uncomfortable almost, a strange emptiness in his metal gut. Maybe it was the bullets he snacked in like some chips, or maybe it was more than that. He just simply pulled his hat over his eyes to focus and calm down.

-------------------

Finally, after so many hours, you were finally done, the watch ticking gleefully, almost as if happy with it's new look. You sighed in relief, finally placing down your headphones and slumping in your chair, pulling your glasses up.

"Finally... I swear they are trying to drive me insane with all these new 'trinkets' that have way too many small pieces for their own good. How you holding up, Boots?"

"Fine as ever sugar, bored out of my mind, but rested"

"Yeah, I can see that, you've already made a dent in my couch"

"Hey, I helped ya find that gear for free, can't I get some more respect"

"And who's fault was it that I dropped it?" You said, raising your eyebrow.

"Aye aye, sorry 'bout that."

There was a moment of pause

"Say, partner, you've messed around inside my body for a while now. Do you know if there's any functions that might mimic proper human emotions?"

"Human emotions? Hmmm"

You thought for a moment, trying to remember if you've seen any kind of code that might do that.

"I don't think I've seen anything like that, but I've also never like, actually paid attention. There may be some functions that mimic that, after all, you might need them to think and work properly. Why?"

"Ah, nothing important, was just wondering."

"I can always check if you want. Of course, for a price"

He couldn't help but scoff, amused "You were never free eh?"

"Someone has to eat"

"Sure, sure. I mean why not, might as well get this mystery solved, since I'm here and have nothing better to do."

"Then come with me"

You both went inside your garage, Boothill already used to all the steps, laying down on the weird table chair as he put it while you connected the cables to the back of his neck, opening the hologram screens.

"Let's see..." you rubbed your chin, pacing around while moving around screens, trying to find anything remotely similar to what Boothill mentioned, but it was rather hard. Every line kept changing dictating different functions every moment.

"Hmm...."

"Anything the matter?"

"No, I just realized why I might have never seen that kind of function. Your neurolink is adapting to everything you do, so it's changing constantly. I think the only way to spot anything us to trigger whatever made you so curious about your 'emotions'"

"Trigger em? And how the fork do you plan on doing that?"

You thought for a moment, moving next to Boothill, dragging the screens along with you. You didn't really give a warning as you poked his chest with a screwdriver, noticing some changes.

"What in the beautiful sky are you doing?"

"There it is" you just pointed at the screen at the suddenly changing lines.

"Your body reacts to your mental state. Right now you are confused"

"I sure as warm lake I am, you're poking me around with a screwdriver."

"What else would have you wanted me to do? Touch you with my own hands?"

He was about to say something, but you grabbed one of the screens, squinting at it.

"Getting flustered, Boots?" You could almost feel your own smug smile forming on your face.

"Flustered? Please, you'd think I'd get 'flustered' from just a check-up?"

"Bashful... Interesting"

"Hey! Stop saying things and answer me, sweetheart"

"And annoyed. Yeah, you do seem to have those functions, and they're damn advanced to mimic human emotions. Guess you aren't just metal after all. You still have the ability to feel. It's interesting how this changes..."

You got too focused on the lines of code, not paying attention to how you started leaning against the table, your hand extremely close to Boothills, fingers almost touching. Sure, you were just staring at the lines changing, but Boothill was staring at your hand, annoyed almost that he couldn't just grab it, only to be confused over why he was annoyed. You just chuckled to yourself and pushed the screen away, unplugging the cables.

"Well, mystery solved, your neurolink functions exactly like a brain and it sends the proper signals, so your body will be affected by your emotions."

"Great-" he rolled his eyes, standing up and scratching the back of his head "You need a new table, this one is forking uncomfortable."

"I don't take feedback"

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say darling." he just hopped off the table, adjusting his hat.

"H-"

"1k credits"

"Damn, let me finish at least. Fine, you know the drill"

"Nah, I'll let it slide this time. Getting to check your internals can be fun sometimes" you patted his back

"I'll go home, unless you want to guard my shop, you should leave too."

"You don't just live in your workshop??"

"...what...?"

"You know, like, I've always only seen you here, where is your home even."

"Oh... Oh! I guess you can say that? My home is upstairs, I bought the whole building when I opened so everything on the ground floor is the shop, upstairs is my place."

"Ok that makes sense... Can I-"

"No"

"Fine fine, I'll go my merry way then. I'll see you next time partner, and thank you for the free check-up"

"Don't get too used to them"

He nodded, tipping his hat and leaving.

#boothill honkai star rail #honkai star rail #hsr #fanfic #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill fanfic #my stuff

[23victoria]

Am I Still Me? ❀

f1 grid x fem!reader, charles leclerc x fem!reader

wc: 6.6k+

summary: the aftermath of y/n’s horrible crash in suzaka, part 2 to ready, set, suzuka!!

warnings: cussing, angsty, sad, kinda depressing ig, emotional and physical trauma

authors note: sorry i took so long with this, honestly didn’t know what to write 😭💀, also if you get some of the references i put in here and characters names you a real one!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

PART 1

f1 masterlist

The beeping of machines, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the distant murmurs of nurses and doctors—it all blurs together into a foggy haze. When you finally open your eyes, it’s like surfacing from a deep, dark ocean. The light is too bright, the sounds too sharp. Your body feels heavy, achingly so, and it takes a moment for the fog to clear enough for you to remember why you're here.

The Japan Grand Prix. The crash. The pain.

Your vision focuses slowly, revealing the worried faces of your parents, sitting by your bedside. Your mother's eyes are red-rimmed, and your father's face is etched with concern. When they see you awake, relief floods their expressions.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry and scratchy. Your dad quickly offers you a sip of water, helping you take small, careful sips.

“How long…?” you manage to croak out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“About a week,” he replies gently. “They had you in an induced coma to help your body heal.”

You try to take in the information, but your mind is sluggish, struggling to process it all. You notice the casts on your left leg, the bandages wrapped around your torso. Every breath sends a dull ache through your ribs.

“Your injuries were severe,” your mom says softly, as if reading your thoughts. “The doctor said you had a punctured lung and liver, three broken ribs, a laceration to your kidney, and broken femur and tibia in your left leg. The doctors… they did everything they could.”

The gravity of her words sinks in slowly. You close your eyes, tears escaping, feeling the weight of your injuries, the immense road to recovery ahead.

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

The days blur together, filled with endless medical procedures and physical therapy sessions. The pain is constant, a relentless companion that gnaws at your resolve. The physical therapy is grueling, each session pushing your body to its limits. Your left leg, encased in a cast, feels like it’s made of lead. The simplest movements send waves of pain through you.

Your parents are always there, their support unwavering, but you can see the toll it’s taking on them. They try to hide it, but you notice the way your mother’s hands tremble when she thinks you’re not looking, or the way your father’s shoulders sag with exhaustion.

It’s not just the physical pain that wears you down. The psychological toll is immense. The fear, the uncertainty—it’s all-consuming. The thought of never racing again haunts you, a dark cloud that looms over every waking moment.

Despite their best efforts, the doctors and therapists can’t hide the reality from you. Your injuries are severe, and the road to recovery is long and uncertain. There are no guarantees that you’ll ever be able to race again.

A few weeks into your recovery, your finally allowed visitors, you receive a visit from Max. He enters the room with a tentative smile, looking unsure of how to approach you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft. “How are you holding up?”

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve been better,” you admit, your voice tinged with bitterness.

Max sits beside your bed, his expression serious. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through,” he says. “But I want you to know that we’re all here for you. Whatever you need.”

You nod, grateful for his words but unable to shake the feeling of despair that clings to you. “Thanks, Max,” you say quietly. “It means a lot.”

He stays for a while, chatting about the latest races and team developments, trying to lift your spirits. But when he leaves, the emptiness returns, heavier than before.

Lewis visits next, his brotherly presence a comforting balm. He’s always been a source of inspiration and comfort for you, and seeing him now brings a glimmer of hope.

“Hey Y/N/N,” he says warmly, enveloping you in a gentle hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

You manage a weak smile. “Thanks for coming, Lew.”

He sits with you, sharing stories and offering words of encouragement. “You’re one of the strongest people I know,” he tells you. “If anyone can come back from this, it’s you.”

His words touch you deeply, but the doubts still linger.

George's visit is bittersweet. He’s always been like a brother to you, and seeing his concern is both comforting and heartbreaking.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he says softly, his eyes filled with worry. “How are you holding up?”

You shrug, trying to mask your frustration. “Some days are better than others.”

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I know it’s tough, but you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for you.”

You nod, but the words feel hollow. The reality of your situation is a heavy burden, one that seems to grow with each passing day.

Lando brings a burst of energy into your room, his usual cheeky grin tempered by concern. “Hey, superstar,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re looking better than I expected.”

You chuckle, appreciating his attempt to make you laugh. “Thanks, Lando. I guess I clean up well.”

He spends the visit telling you funny stories and trying to distract you from your pain. For a brief moment, you almost forget about your troubles. But when he leaves, the emptiness returns with a vengeance.

Oscar visit is quieter, more introspective. He’s always been a man of few words, and today is no different.

“Y/N/N,” he says, his voice gentle. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Thanks, Oscar,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sits beside you, his presence a comforting anchor. “So…what do you wanna talk about?,” he says simply.

You look at him surprised, “What do I want to talk about?”

“Yea, what did you want to talk about” he says softly.

“You're not going to tell me that “You're strong, you’ve got this, you're gonna overcome this” you say indifferently.

He shakes his head saying “Nope.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I'm pretty sure everyone else who visited you has said the same thing, so I want to know what you want to talk about. Any good shows you’ve been watching? Hospital drama? Yes, no, maybe? Tell me I wanna know” he says gently.

You smile at him, greatly appreciating the normalcy his bring. You smile saying, “Did you bring food?”

He smirks, laughing “Yes I brought you y/f/f.”

You squeal, happy to have some outside food, the hospital starting to bore you. “Yes, there is some hospital drama. Apparently a resident has been sleeping with a neurosurgeon, and get this, he was married the whole time! And he didn’t tell her until his wife showed up last night for a case!” you say opening your bag of food.

Oscar looks at you in shock, “No way! Holy shit! Tell me more!”

Charles visit is the hardest. He’s always been your closest friend on the circuit, and seeing the pain in his eyes is almost too much to bear.

“Y/N/N,” he says, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“Charles,” you say, reaching out to take his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

He nods, but you can see the guilt etched into his features. “I know but I still feel like I should’ve been there for you earlier,” he says quietly.

“You were,” you reply, your voice firm. “And you still are.”

He stays with you for a long time, his presence a comforting reminder of the bond you share. But even his support can’t chase away the shadows that cling to your mind.

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

One particularly difficult day, you’re in the middle of a grueling physical therapy session. The pain in your left leg is excruciating, and every movement feels like a battle. You’re sweating, gasping for breath, and on the verge of tears.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling with frustration and pain. “It’s too hard.”

Your physical therapist, a kind but firm woman named Maria, looks at you with sympathy. “I know it’s hard, Y/N,” she says gently. “But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve come so far already. Don’t give up now.”

You want to believe her, but the doubts are overwhelming. The thought of never racing again haunts you, a constant shadow that refuses to be dispelled.

“I’m worried about her, Y/F/N,” your mom says, her voice thick with worry. “She’s losing hope.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice equally troubled. “We need to do something.”

The next day, they call a meeting with all the drivers who have visited you. They gather together like a small conference room, their faces etched with concern.

“Thank you all for coming,” your dad begins, his voice serious. “We wanted to talk to you about Y/N. She’s struggling, and we need your help.”

Your mom nods, her eyes filled with tears. “She’s losing hope, and we’re afraid she’s going to give up. We need you to remind her of the fighter she is, to help her see that she can get through this.”

Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, Max, and Charles exchange worried glances, their expressions serious. They all care deeply about you, and the thought of you giving up is unbearable.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Lewis says firmly. “We’re not going to let her give up.”

The others nod in agreement, their resolve clear. They begin to plan regular visits, phone calls, and messages of encouragement, determined to lift your spirits and help you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

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The next few weeks bring a steady stream of visitors. Max is the first to arrive, his usual confidence tempered by concern.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, sitting beside your bed. “I brought you something.”

He hands you a small box, and when you open it, you find a miniature model of your race car. “I thought it might help you remember what you’re fighting for,” he says quietly.

You smile, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Max. It means a lot.”

Lewis is next, bringing a stack of racing magazines and a collection of your favorite movies. “I thought you could use some entertainment,” he says with a smile.

George brings a scrapbook filled with photos and memories from your racing career. “I want you to remember how far you’ve come,” he says softly.

Lando arrives with a box of your favorite snacks and a playlist of uplifting songs. “Music always helps me when I’m feeling down,” he says with a grin.

Oscar arrives with a stack of books, his quiet presence a calming balm. “I know you love to read,” he says simply. “I thought these might help you pass the time.”

Charles comes last, bringing a framed photo of the two of you celebrating after a race. “I want you to remember all the good times we’ve had,” he says softly. “And all the ones we still have ahead of us.”

Their visits bring a small measure of comfort, but the road to recovery remains daunting. The physical pain is relentless, and the psychological toll is equally severe. There are days when you feel like giving up, when the thought of never racing again is too much to bear.

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Today was another day of physical therapy, the room was sterile, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on the rows of equipment in the physical therapy room. You sat on the padded bench, beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. Your physical therapist, Maria, stood in front of you, her expression firm yet encouraging.

"Alright, Y/N, we're going to try to put a little more weight on your leg today," Maria said, her voice gentle but insistent. "You’re making great progress, but we need to push a bit more."

You nodded mechanically, gritting your teeth. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence in your leg, a cruel reminder of the crash that had shattered more than just your bones. You took a deep breath and tried to stand, but the agony was immediate and overwhelming. You crumpled back onto the bench, gasping.

"Come on, Y/N, you can do this," Maria urged. "Just one more try."

Something inside you snapped. The relentless pain, the frustration, the overwhelming sense of loss—everything boiled to the surface. You exploded.

"NO! NO! NO! I CAN'T DO THIS!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls. "I CAN'T! IT HURTS! I'M IN PAIN! AND DON'T YOU TELL ME YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS WHEN YOU DON'T! YOU HAVEN'T LOST THE ABILITY TO WALK! YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TOLD YOU MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DO THE ONE THING THAT GAVE PURPOSE TO YOUR LIFE!"

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Maria's face paled, and she took a step back, her hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Y/N, I—" she began, but you cut her off.

"Just please, take me to my room," you said, your voice breaking. "I can't do this anymore."

Maria hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Okay," she said softly. She turned to call a nurse. "Please take Y/N back to her room."

The nurse arrived within minutes, her face a mask of professional concern. She helped you into a wheelchair and wheeled you down the long, sterile corridors back to your room. The journey was a blur, the walls closing in on you, each turn of the wheel a reminder of your limitations.

Once inside your room, you pushed yourself onto the bed, curling up into a ball. The nurse lingered for a moment, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"Do you need anything, Y/N?" she asked quietly.

"No," you muttered. "Just leave me alone."

The nurse nodded and exited, closing the door softly behind her. The silence that followed was deafening. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of despair settle over you. The hours dragged by, each second a reminder of the future that felt increasingly out of reach.

You heard the faint knock on the door but didn’t respond. You knew it was someone coming to check on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The knocks continued throughout the day, but you ignored them all.

You didn’t eat, didn’t speak, didn’t move. The room grew darker as the hours passed, the light outside fading into night. The pain in your leg was nothing compared to the ache in your heart, the sense of hopelessness that had settled in like a lead weight.

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Nights like this are the hardest. The darkness magnifies your fears, turning whispers of doubt into deafening roars. It’s one of those nights now, the kind where sleep seems impossible. The weight of your injuries and the uncertainty of your future press down on you like a suffocating blanket.

A soft knock on your hospital door interrupts your spiral of despair. It’s Charles, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He steps inside quietly, his eyes searching yours with concern.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling up a chair next to your bed. “I heard what happened, thought I’d check on you.”

You manage a weak smile, but it quickly fades. “Thanks for coming,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I’m not great company right now.”

He takes your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t have to be. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the weight of your shared pain filling the room. Then, the dam breaks.

“I don’t know how to do this, Charles,” you confess, your voice trembling. “Every day feels like a battle, and I’m so tired. I’m scared I’ll never race again. Racing is everything to me. It’s my passion, my dream. And now… I feel like it’s slipping away.”

Tears stream down your face, and Charles moves closer, wrapping his arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out all the pain and frustration you’ve been holding in. His embrace is warm and strong, a safe haven in your storm of emotions.

“I know,” he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. “I know how much racing means to you. It’s not fair what’s happened. It’s not fair that you’re hurting like this.”

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. You can see the tears there too, the raw pain he’s been holding back. “Charles, I feel like my life is over. If I can’t race… what’s the point? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Without it, I don’t know who I am.”

He cups your face in his hands, his eyes filled with determination and love. “Y/N, you are so much more than a racer. You’re strong, and brave, and passionate. You’ve touched so many lives, including mine. This injury doesn’t define you. You do.”

You shake your head, the weight of despair still heavy on your heart. “But what if I can’t do it? What if I can never race again?”

Charles’s grip on you tightens, his voice firm but gentle. “Then we’ll find a new dream, together. But I believe in you, Y/N. I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve overcome so much already. Don’t give up now.”

His words pierce through the fog of your despair, lighting a small spark of hope. “But what if I fail? What if I can’t come back from this?”

Charles’s eyes lock onto yours, filled with a fierce resolve. “Then I’ll be there to catch you, every step of the way. We’ll face it together, no matter what. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

The sincerity in his voice, the unwavering support in his eyes, brings fresh tears to your eyes. “Charles, I’m so scared.”

“I know,” he whispers, his own tears falling freely now. “And it’s okay to be scared. But don’t let fear steal your dreams. We’ll fight this, one day at a time.”

You lean into him, your hearts beating in sync as you cry together, the shared pain and love binding you closer than ever. In his arms, you find a flicker of hope, a reason to keep fighting.

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The next day your parents come in, their expressions filled with concern. They sit on either side of your bed, each taking one of your hands.

“Y/N,” your mother says softly, her voice filled with emotion. “We know you’re going through a lot. But we’re here for you, every step of the way.”

Your father nods, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all rooting for you. And so are your friends.”

You nod, but the doubts still linger. The thought of facing another day of pain and struggle is almost too much to bear.

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It’s been five miserable and grueling months in the hospital. You’ve improved a lot, the doctors say but you just feel like you're stuck in limbo, going nowhere. Today you receive a surprise visit from all the drivers at once. Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, Max, and Charles fill your room, their presence a comforting reminder of the support you have.

“Hey, superstar,” Lando says with a grin. “We’ve got a little surprise for you.”

He hands you a small box, and when you open it, you find a collection of letters and messages from fans all over the world. Each one is filled with words of encouragement and support, reminding you of the impact you’ve had on so many lives.

You feel a lump in your throat as you read through the letters, each one a reminder of why you started racing in the first place. The passion, the thrill, the joy—it’s all still there, buried beneath the pain and fear.

“We’re not going to let you give up,” Max says firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people we know. And we believe in you.”

Lewis nods, his expression serious. “You’ve overcome so much already. This is just another challenge, and we know you can get through it.”

George takes your hand, his eyes filled with determination. “We’re here for you, Y/N/N. Every step of the way.”

The others nod in agreement, their support unwavering. In that moment, you feel a flicker of hope, a small but growing light in the darkness.

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As the days fly by, the recovery process grinds on. The physical and psychiatric therapy sessions remain grueling, one pushing your body to its limits and the other peeling back layers of fear and doubt you didn't even know existed. You're forced to confront not just the physical pain, but the emotional turmoil of possibly losing the one thing that has defined you for so long: racing.

“Tell me about your fears, Y/N,” Dr. Yang, your therapist, prompts gently during one of your sessions.

You take a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat. “I’m terrified that I’ll never be the same again,” you admit. “Racing was everything to me. It was my passion, my identity. What if I can’t do it anymore? What if I’m not...me?”

Dr. Yang nods, her eyes full of understanding. “It’s natural to feel that way. But remember, you’re more than just a driver. You have other strengths, other passions.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. “But I don’t want to be anyone else. I don’t know how to be anyone else. Racing was my life. Without it, I feel...lost.”

Dr. Yang leans forward, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience, Y/N. It’s okay to feel lost right now. But this is also an opportunity to discover new parts of yourself, to grow in ways you never imagined.”

The thought of having to reinvent yourself is daunting. The stress and anxiety of not being able to race again loom large, casting long shadows over your recovery. Each day is a battle against these fears, a struggle to hold onto the hope that you can still find a way back to the track.

Each therapy session, both physical and psychiatric, feels like an uphill battle. The pain, both physical and emotional, is relentless, and the progress often feels painfully slow.

During one particularly tough session, you break down. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you sob, the tears streaming down your face. “I don’t know if I can ever be the Y/N I used to be.”

Dr. Yang sits quietly for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. “You’re right,” she says finally. “You might never be the same Y/N you were before the accident. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find a new version of yourself, one who is just as strong and passionate, even if in different ways.”

Her words strike a chord, the truth of them both painful and liberating.

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One day, after a successful therapy session, you receive another surprise visit from Charles. He enters the room with a bright smile, holding a small box.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “I’ve got something for you.”

You open the box to find a small, intricately designed keychain in the shape of a racing car. “It’s beautiful,” you say, touched by the gesture.

“It’s a reminder,” Charles says softly. “Of your passion, your strength, and your determination. No matter what happens, you’re still a racer at heart.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, but this time they’re tears of gratitude. “Thank you, Charles,” you say, your voice choked with emotion. “I needed this.”

He smiles, his eyes filled with warmth. “We all believe in you, Y/N. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

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The days that follow are still hard, but the nights are a little easier with Charles by your side. One night, as you’re lying in bed, exhausted from another day of therapy, Charles sits beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he begins, his voice soft and contemplative.

“About what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

“About racing being your life, your dream,” he replies. “I get it. Racing is my dream too. But I’ve realized something important. Dreams can evolve. They can grow. And sometimes, when one dream ends, it makes room for a new one.”

You look at him, your eyes searching his. “What do you mean?”

He smiles, a small, hopeful smile. “I mean that no matter what happens, you’re not defined by this one thing. You have so much passion, so much drive. If racing isn’t in the cards anymore, I know you’ll find something else that lights that fire in you. And I’ll be there to support you, every step of the way.”

His words are like a balm to your soul, soothing the deep wounds of doubt and fear. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he replies, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

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The days continue to blur together, but with each passing week, you begin to see more progress. The pain is still there, but it’s no longer as overwhelming. The therapy sessions remain challenging, but you start to look forward to them, eager to see how far you can push yourself.

Your friends and family continue to visit regularly, their support a constant source of strength. Max, Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, and Charles all make it a point to check in on you, their encouragement lifting your spirits.

And through it all, Charles is by your side, his presence a comforting reminder that you’re not alone in this fight. His unwavering support, his quiet strength, his deep love—they’re the anchors that keep you grounded, the lights that guide you through the darkest nights.

As the months continue to pass, you begin to see more and more progress. The pain is still there, but it’s no longer as overwhelming. The therapy sessions remain challenging, but you start to look forward to them, eager to see how far you can push yourself.

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It's been six months since the accident. Half a year of relentless therapy, sleepless nights, and countless tears. But today, as you sit in the hospital's discharge room, a sense of cautious optimism fills the air.

Dr. Yang, your psychiatrist, and Dr. Miller, your orthopedic specialist, sit across from you. Dr. Miller adjusts his glasses and smiles warmly. "Y/N, I have to say, your progress has been remarkable. You're officially discharged."

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. "Thank you, Dr. Miller. Thank you, Dr. Yang."

Dr. Miller nods. "Remember, Y/N, this is just the beginning. You'll need to continue with your physical therapy and workouts to strengthen your body. We also need you to come in for your planned appointments. But if you keep up the good work, we're hopeful you could start racing again by next year."

Dr. Yang chimes in, "In about a month, you can begin to slowly train with your racing trainers to get back to racing. We know how much this means to you."

The relief washes over you. The thought of getting back behind the wheel, even if it's just in training, ignites a flicker of hope.

"Thank you both," you say, your voice trembling with emotion. "I can't wait to get back to it."

As you leave the discharge room, your heart pounds with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The past six months have been a rollercoaster of emotions, but today, you feel a renewed sense of purpose.

When you step out of the hospital doors, a loud cheer erupts. There, standing together, are the boys: Charles, Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, and Max. They hold up a large banner that reads, "Welcome Back, Y/N!" and they're all grinning from ear to ear.

Charles is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug. "We knew you could do it," he whispers.

Lewis steps forward next, a proud smile on his face. "Told you, didn't I? You're stronger than you think."

George gives you a high five, his excitement palpable. "Y/N’s back in action!"

Lando and Oscar cheer loudly, their enthusiasm infectious. "We missed you!" they say in unison.

Max, usually so stoic, actually looks emotional. "You had us worried for a while, but we never doubted you'd be back."

You laugh, wiping away happy tears. "Thank you, guys. I couldn't have done this without your support."

Charles takes your hand, his eyes shining with pride. "Let's get you home."

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The drive home is filled with laughter and lighthearted banter. The boys recount stories from the past six months, filling you in on all the racing drama you've missed. It's comforting to know that life has continued on the track, even as you've fought your personal battles.

Once home, you step into your apartment, which has been kept in perfect order by your parents. The familiar surroundings bring a sense of peace. Your parents are there, tears of joy in their eyes as they welcome you back.

"You're home, sweetheart," your mom says, hugging you tightly.

Your dad smiles, his pride evident. "We're so proud of you, Y/N."

Over the next few weeks, you settle into a routine. Physical therapy sessions continue, and you push yourself harder than ever, determined to regain your strength. The boys visit often, their presence a constant source of encouragement.

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A month later, you're cleared to start light training with your racing trainers. The anticipation is overwhelming as you step into the familiar surroundings of the training facility. Your trainer, Tyler, greets you with a wide smile.

"Welcome back, Y/N. Ready to get to work?"

You nod, your heart pounding with excitement. "Absolutely."

The training is rigorous, but the thrill of being back in the environment you love so much drives you forward. The first time you sit in a simulator again, your hands tremble slightly, but as you grip the wheel, a sense of calm washes over you. This is where you belong.

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As the months pass by, your progress is nothing short of extraordinary. Your body grows stronger, and your confidence begins to return. You start to believe that racing again is not just a distant dream but a tangible reality.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you go to visit Charles at his apartment, you sit with Charles on the balcony, looking out over the city lights.

"I was so scared," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that I'd never feel this again. The rush, the passion."

Charles wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. "I know. But look at you now. You're doing it, Y/N/N. You're coming back stronger than ever."

You smile, resting your head on his shoulder. "I couldn't have done it without you, without all of you."

He kisses the top of your head. "We'll always be here for you."

"Charles," you begin, your voice soft but filled with sincerity, "Thank you. Through everything that's happened, you've been my rock. You stayed by my side, through the tears, the pain, the doubt. You've been my anchor, keeping me grounded when I felt like I was drowning."

Charles reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "Y/N," he says, his eyes searching yours, "you don't have to thank me. I care about you more than anything in this world. When I saw what happened, I was scared. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. I'm just grateful that you're here with me today."

Tears well up in your eyes as you squeeze his hand, overcome with emotion. "Charles, you mean everything to me. I don't know what I would do without you."

He brushes a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. "I love you, Y/N" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved you from the moment I met you. And now, seeing you here, stronger than ever, I know that my love for you will never waver."

You meet his gaze, your heart bursting with love. "I love you," you say, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer. "With all my heart and soul, now and forever."

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It’s a new year, the new racing season buzzed with anticipation. Rumors swirled like wildfires about Mercedes’ new driver. Speculation ran rampant—some said it could be Sebastian Vettel, making a surprise return, while others thought it might be another seasoned veteran. Few dared to hope that it could be Y/N, the driver whose crash had left a deep scar on the hearts of fans worldwide. Yet, the more optimistic whispered her name with a sense of defiant hope.

As the Australian Grand Prix approached, Mercedes remained tight-lipped, stoking the fires of speculation. The paddock was electric with curiosity, journalists and fans alike desperate for any clue. The suspense reached a fever pitch during the free practices and qualifying rounds, as an anonymous driver in the silver arrow of Mercedes set blazing lap times, ultimately securing third place on the grid.

Race day dawned bright and clear, the air humming with excitement. The stands were packed, and millions of eyes worldwide were glued to their screens, waiting for the moment of revelation. As the clock ticked down to the start of the race, the Mercedes garage was a hive of activity, the tension palpable.

Then, the announcement came over the loudspeakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to meet Mercedes’ new driver.” The garage doors opened, and out stepped Y/N, her familiar figure met with a moment of stunned silence before the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. The roar of support was overwhelming, a testament to the impact she had made in her career and the resilience she had shown in her recovery.

Sky Sports' David Croft, commonly known as Crofty, was almost speechless as he watched her walk to her car. “What an incredible moment, ladies and gentlemen. Y/N L/N, a name synonymous with tenacity and talent, has made her triumphant return to Formula One. After everything she’s been through, to see her here, ready to race, is nothing short of miraculous. Welcome back, Y/N.”

You waved to the crowd, heart swelling with emotion. You climbed into the car, focus shifting to the task at hand. You were back where you belonged.

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As the lights went out, signaling the start of the race, your heart pounded with adrenaline. You launched off the line, holding your position through the first few corners. The car feeling like an extension of yourself, every movement precise, every decision calculated.

“Alright, Y/N, keep it steady. We’ve got a long race ahead,” Amaria’s voice crackled through your earpiece. Her calm tone was a steady anchor in the chaos of the race.

Lap after lap, you pushed the car to its limits, the memory of your accident a ghost that spurred on rather than holding you back. You were in the zone, overtaking with surgical precision and defending your position fiercely. On lap 15, you made a daring move on Max, slipping past him into second place. The crowd went wild, the roar echoing in your ears even through your helmet.

“Great move, Y/N. You’re doing fantastic,” Amaria cheered, her voice filled with pride.

As the race progressed, you found herself closing in on Lewis. You knew the pit stops would be crucial. On lap 28, you dove into the pits, the crew executing a flawless stop. You rejoined the race in third but quickly reclaimed back second position, setting your sights on first place.

“Pace is looking good, tires are optimal,” Amaria updated. “Keep pushing, you’ve got this.”

Your focus was razor-sharp, every muscle in your body attuned to the car’s movements. You chipped away at the gap, each lap bringing you closer to the leader. By lap 45, you were on Lewis’s tail, and with a brilliant maneuver, you overtook him, claiming the lead.

The final laps were a blur of speed and strategy. Lewis was close behind, pushing hard, but your determination was unyielding. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes scanning the track ahead, your mind calculating every possible outcome.

“Just a few more laps, Y/N. You’re almost there,” Amaria’s voice was a lifeline, keeping you grounded.

Lap 56 came, and the crowd’s anticipation was palpable. You held your ground, defending your position with the skill and tenacity that had earned you a place among the best. As you crossed the line, the checkered flag waving, the realization hit you—you had won. You did it.

The crowd erupted in applause, the noise almost deafening. You parked the car at the P1 sign, the enormity of your achievement washing over you. You climbed out of the car, tears streaming down your face as you celebrated with her team. They lifted you up, their cheers of joy echoing through the paddock.

David Croft’s voice echoed through the stadium, capturing the essence of the moment. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we have witnessed history in the making. From a young girl in her hometown, driven by an insatiable passion for racing, to being the only girl in her karting races, lovingly supported by her parents. She defied the odds to become one of the first women to race in Formula 1. She survived a horrific accident in Suzuka, a nightmare that could have ended her career and dreams. Yet, she faced her darkest fears, battled through unimaginable pain and doubt, and today, she has overcome those scars to win the Australian Grand Prix. Y/N’s journey is nothing short of inspirational, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Welcome back, Y/N. We could not be any prouder. You have shown us what true courage and determination look like."

Other drivers came to congratulate you—Lewis, Max, Lando, Oscar, and more. Each hug, a testament to the joy and respect they had for your journey and your victory.

You ran towards Charles, your heart bursting with pride. You found each other in the sea of people, and you jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You did it, baby, you did it! I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you. You’re a winner! You did it! I’m so proud, baby. I love you so much!”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice choked with emotion.

You stood on the podium, the weight of your journey settling on your shoulders. You have faced the darkest moments and come out stronger, your love for racing and the support of those around you guiding you back to the pinnacle of the sport. The crowd’s cheers were a testament to your resilience, a reminder that no matter how difficult the road, you had found your way back home.

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

#ꨄ࿎victoria’s writings!࿎ꨄ #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 grid #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 x you #f1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #george russell #george russel x reader #george russel imagine #george russel x you

[beomnoullistheorem]

SO KI-KISSABLE!

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Non-idol AU — Boyfie!Yeonjun × Girlfie!AFAB!Reader

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Appetizer — You can't kiss your boyfriend without him teasing the life out of you even when he is asleep.

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Disclaimer — This is PURE FICTION : Nothing in this work aligns with the idols' character, moral and their real life. The characters are all legal adults ( 18+ ) and everything happening around & to them is entirely consensual. Readers are humbly advised to read the Contains and Disclaimer before they read.

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Word Count — 2.3k+ (bye)

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Contains — FLUFF, minor friendly! kisses (my obsession with kisses and his lips at peak), a little of flashbacks, hyper reader ig, soft Yeonjun, flirty yeonjun, and of course as title says— a lots of kisses, banter in the end ig, a little cuddling and kissing almost taking turns to make out(?)

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Noulli's Note — as a proof I am alive and this thought randomly mushroomed when I was about to sleep so boom! I had fun writing this really, I'm the one who complains writing is harder than physics but this one changed my mind~ my first full-fldeged intended fluff, hope you all like it <3

Uh well. I wrote this in sheer brainrot (the quickest fic I have ever worked on in less than 24 hours) I'm too scared but Idk why. The ending is again half-assed (T^T)

Your eyelids flutter open when sunlight directly slaps you in face at dawn, groaning and cursing at the sun to- "lower your brightness, sun!" It is the best night you have ever had and sun can't be so cruel to cock-block it so soon, it is your first night (actually morning) with him, afterall.

The rods in your eyes can barely contain the light seeming to flash into your eyes. You await some kind of butterflies or birds to fly over in your room and spread the curtains like in the Cinderella.

...

Well no birds or flies seem interested in closing curtains for you, the fact still not settling in your morning head.

"Ugh, wish I was Cinderella.."

Your mind surely is taking time to yet work, until you deduce that no one is gonna block the sunlight for you. To avoid yourself of the struggle you turn to other side, to your boyfriend for almost two weeks now, the best and the only blessing in your life.

He is also the tease master who has given you heart attacks last night with his cheeky lines and cuddles.

Yeonjun is made to cherish his beloved with everything in his will and ability— his actions especially servicing and romantic to his sweetheart (aka you (me too)), he knows exactly when and how easily to trigger your heart and have you burst into a reaction bomb of squeals.

It isn't that you're passive in love, your hyper reactions just swell his heart and motivate him in a way that he feels worthy to have you. Hence, teasing you is his side profession in your relationship where he takes a fine a share of delight in it.

It is not your first time to have fallen in love, yet your heart is explosive at any of the things Yeonjun does to you: from the little carding of hairstrands behind your ears to soft kisses, anywhere, on you. And he loves that about you, almost exploding into your squeals and laughter that he is all heart eyes to binge watch.

As if kissing the back of your hands as a pledge to treasure you forever had not robbed you off the ability to speak when Yeonjun asked you, "will you be my girlfriend, darling?" Your heart had almost combusted out at the soft touch of his lips, for almost a second your hands wished to be glued there, at his mouth. It had taken minutes for you to say yes.

The first kiss wasn't as embarrassing as establishing your relationship — his lips saying hi to yours for the first time was something really soft. His lips were more plushy than the plushies themselves, so plump, so sweet and so wide— capturing yours into his lips was so natural, it felt like once in, never out.

It had you wanting to continue for long, your lips finding home onto his. Hardly letting him pull off of your lips, you had him breathless then and everytime you kissed him. He has consumed you wholly since then — from the thought beginning your day to the ones ending it, he has become your everything.

Yeonjun certainly does own your heart rentfree, but his lips swarm the whole of it.

Developing a soft spot for his lips can't really let you miss this sight when you turn to him: he is facing you; deep in slumber while his hands seem lonely, resting on the mattress with nothing to grope on or drape around; his lips plumped as if they already aren't and his closed eyes with his pretty lashes painting their shadows at under eye.

Yeonjun is cute, his feather like lineaments to always doted on, but this is... something else.. a sleepy frame so adorned with beautiful hair ornamenting his glowing face resembling a sparkly water under sunset. The tiniest features on his face meet the light, the smallest of minute acne on his cheeks, facial hair highlighted, his adam's apple and collar bone glimmering along his face, he looks so extraordinarily gorgeous.

Your heart is doing gymnastics with excitement at max, your lazy sleepiness immediately whooshing away at the sight your eyes refuse to blink at.

How is he so beautiful, and why- mine? are the thoughts beatboxing at perfect sync with your pounding heart, the said beat drumming in your own ears to blur out the noises of chirping sparrows and beeping traffic down your building.

You are zoned out in him, your eyes seeming to photograph all his beauty into your memory, your cognizance capturing every little detail at its finest bit by bit. You don't even seem to have the mind to grab your phone under the pillow & actually photograph it, when your eyes now discover his rosy lips.

Are there rose petals under the skin of his lips? you mindlessly wonder when your hands work faster than your impulses do and trace his lips but you retract. You can't touch him so he wakes up and barely give you any chance to adore him peacefully by flirting the hearts out of you. He is so mesmerizing, everything blurs around him, forming an enhanced portrait of him.

"He is.. so ki-kissable!" A little squeal already escapes your mouth before you could even process it and you turn away, calming your palpitations almost bursting out those not-so little squeals and laughters of excitement which will waken him, undoubtedly.

Palming at your heart, almost strangling your chest and exhaling as noiselessly as you could, you face him again, hoping you'd relax but your cheeks are the best place for crimson tints to happily color at, in these moments with your boyfriend.

His plumpy lips are glossed by sunlight, urging you from the cores of core with alarms "kiss him!", again & again banging in your head. Your gulp your saliva down, your lips eventually feeling tingly all of a sudden now that you're close to his face, in the blink of an eye.

At such proximity, his little snores backed up by his soft raspy voice isn't missed by your sensitive ears, saving it all to your memory.

It seems like you can't find any peace from your insides so you plant your lips at his, your eyes closing shut and your heartbeat exploding yet calm enough to let you savor this moment, stealing a soft kiss from your sleepy boyfriend who is so gorgeous bathed in the rays of dawn.

His pout perfectly houses your lips, you're now lost in its touch stirring so much bliss inside. It is the way you're bewitched with just his soul, his existence, flush & explode at his flirtings, gladly let him rule and reside in your heart.. you would actually admit that he has you wrapped around his finger (but never to him).

Seconds do not hesitate to turn into minutes, yet you're slow as ever, kissing him as if the time in the world is all yours, hands already toying with his hair. You pull back in realization, getting touchy will out your mischief. You glance at him, he is still unfazed. He must be sleepless from the way you've entertained him with your puny attempts to flirt back till midnight.

His snores are still ringing in your ears with his warm breath fanning your face. You are still inable to actually turn away and wake up when you're swamped adoring his little features like the way his mole at his cheekbone sinks into the pillow the more he curls into himself in sleep, or the way he has no idea you've kissed him like that and sleeping like a cute duck.

The fact once again immersing you in your profession of staring holes into your boyfriend in adoration. So immersed that you don't really observe his smirking lips.

"No more kisses, angel?"

With Widened eyes, an audible gasp, you're turning away in an audible, flamboyant(-ly uncool) manner – entertaining that tease of a cunning fox who was awake all this time. So flushed and barely able to utter, you turn your back at him.

"Y-You weren't sleeping all this time, jjunie!?" You no longer have any idea if you're accusing him or actually questioning him.

"You kiss so good that sleeping felt wrong." His slender fingers drape around your arm and already begin to turn you back to face him, while you're resisting with all your might to hide your flushed face and your poor self, suffering with a mini heart attack again.

"So pretending to be asleep felt good?" You finally croak out, your voice barely audible. You feel so embarrassed, he has been awake this time, drinking in all your messy features and your puny mischief of trying to kiss him— no, kissing him.

"You were kissing so good assuming I was asleep," he rasps softly, laughing in the end. "Of course that felt good."

"I'll feel better if you kiss me again, by the way," he whines with groggy voice sounding utterly awful to you. How is he still so good at teasing you so early in the morning?

"..."

"Oh come on, now! kiss me more!"

You've almost begun to shed your remorses to have taken advantage of your boyfriend like that before he has 'no more kisses, angel?'-ed you & your heart almost popped out at his sudden rise at your kiss.

Yet his whines are a little too adorable, you wish to listen to them more even with that little pang of regret to have him whine like that when you're the one who has begun this. He is acting so entitled, that just encourages you to tease him more.

Hiding your laughter at his whines is a little tedious when he is already wriggling you with his super strength already, shaking you vigorously to have you facing him.

After a few more struggles, he successfully faces you to him, you still refusing to look him in his eyes to hide your smiling face. Not that he is able to open his eyes as wide as an owl in the sunlight, yet he still doesn't stop his little groans and whines that you don't look at him.

"That was the best good morning I've ever gotten and you're refusing to give me more of it?" His fingertips play at your lips which you instantly slap away earning a lazy 'ow!' from him.

Even after waking up where our system takes a tad bit of time function well, Yeonjun really does awaken the butterflies in your tummy with his witty way of titling your mischief with the 'best good morning' right after he has awakened.

That feels really good to listen, your heart and you in sync with simping thoughts.

"Please, Baby? Kiss me again?" He pouts now, voluntarily, plumping his lower lip up in dramatic sadness as he looks down. You can't contain your laugh until you pull him in a kiss again. Smiling as a kid who's gotten his candies as he asked, it is rather Yeonjun taking it to a further step.

Yeonjun is already so into kissing you, his lips now playing at yours, brushing at them ever so softly that it tickles on yours lips. Your hands relax on his nape while he takes the charge, hovering over you and relishing on every corner of your lips.

He is so adept with these skills, that simple nibble of his lips on yours could have you weakened from head to toe, all pliant for his lips traversing from your cheeks to your jaw. He is so perfect on top of you, lacing his fingers with yours and showering so many giggly smooches at your neck. Purposely he traces a little of his teeth on your neck, earning breathy gasps and praises from your honeyed voice.

His lips are never chapped, thanks to you always kissing and biting onto them, softening them from time to time. The said lips begin tickling and marking your jaw with marks that blush at his lips.

You face him towards you again, your lips are already missing his playful smooches. Kissing him is so different to him kissing you, the feel so playful and so.. good. It is normal to crave more at this point but to actually cuddle your lips with his, yet he doesn't let you think of anything.

His kisses so teasing that they feel so not enough yet too good to stop. It is when you think you can collide in his lips more, parting them for him to prod inside, he parts away displaying his swollen lips.

You shoot him a 'why did you stop' look with your half-lidded, kiss-needy eyes, until he opens his mouth. Uttering the most annoying words ever, and ruining the mood as the yeonjun-usual of today.

"Should brush, you stink."

Seconds before there were lovey-dovey flowers budding and blooming inside of you but now it feels like your boiler could burst at any second at his words, your shyness and a little embarrassment already craving you with the sheer desire to be swallowed by the bed monster.

Rosy tinges on your face fade with the smile containing raging volcano forms on your face, your nerves popping a little and asking him to say that again, which he does so, again, plopping beside on the bed, with a smirk dancing on his face.

"You need to brush, angel~" stressing on the need to brush and adding a taunting tone at the angel to mock you, he sighs at you. "You stink."

"As if you smell like flowers," you scoff at him, counting down to 10 to calm your boiler. "Who wants to kiss your inflated stinky lips? they're too bad to taste."

Yeonjun observes you pouting your lips and cursing at him as you get off of the bed and fold the blankets, throwing so many scolding at his face at every lock of your eyes with his. It is that same hearty smile that forms on his lips when he watches you with heart eyes.

"You. You can't seem to let go of my lips," he proudly boasts at your soft spot for his lips. He is spot on with his come-back, so true that you almost give in admit defeat.

Damn fox, so kissable and so annoyingly right.

"Brush," he demands concealing his laughter. "Will you, with me?"

"YeAh."

I ain't kissing him for the rest of my life, you rage inside.

"After breakfast let's make out, love."

"Okie."

#yeonjun fluff #yeonjun soft hours #yeonjun soft thoughts #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x y/n #yeonjun x oc #txt fluff #txt fanfic #txt soft hours #txt soft thoughts #txt scenarios #txt x you #txt x reader #txt x y/n #txt x oc #yeonjun imagines #txt imagines #nou's.tale : so ki-kissable!

[selfloverrrrrr]

A noncon biker megumi...

His friends with reader and secretly possessive over her...reader was still at school nyt time..and as she was about to leave it started raining and she had a dress on..she didn't have a umbrella with her and out of the blue she saw a familiar bike and saw gumi...he asked her if she needed a ride with a smirk and she laughed at his humor*i think💀anyways)it was raining heavily and she got soaked..her dress started printing her figure and gumi had to swallow a huge gulp....as she was about to climb the back side of the bike*at the end of the bike)he stopped her and told her to sit infront..without arguing she went to the front and he was behind...her ass was kinda at his deck and felt the head in his body rising..he held her waist tight and and started driving..as they came at a speedbumb..the bike went up and down and that's how her ass also jumped on his deck..he struggled to focus on the road..after some time they got to their hostel and she said her goodbyes..but gumi couldn't cuz he was really hard from all that bumping..and followed her as she was about to close the door he pushed it open and thts where the fun started

Rival

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference, Yandere, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Masterlist

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

I was a second year student. My college life was going well. I mean what else you need for a good college life? My studies were going well, I have good friends. What else I need.

In college I have two special friends. Nobara and Yuji. They were like my bestfriends. I shared everything with them and they shared everything with me. I loved them so much. We were BFF. And I have some other friends too.

And then there was Megumi Fushiguro. And yeah.... he's the famous biker boy of our college. He's kinda my rival you can say. Sometimes He getting on my nerves. I don't know why he does that... maybe it just his time pass to bully me!

It was just a normal day at college. It was raining so heavily. I didn't brought umbrella with me. I was late for returning to the droom because of some work. Every students left. I was the one. I was standing in the front door of jujutsu high. Suddenly heard a voice "hey y/n... you need help?" The voice said. I looked at my side. It was Megumi. He stopped bike infront of me.

"seems like you need a ride....should I give you a ride?" he asked with a smirk. I laughed at his words. I knew exactly what he meant. it was raining heavily and also I got soaked. My dress started printing my body. But I didn't noticed he was starting at my body.... I was about to climb the back side of the bike but Megumi stopped me and told me to sit infront. Weird...but without arguing I went to the front and he was behind.

I sit infront of him. He started the bike. I didn't noticed that my ass was kinda rubbing on his dick. Megumi felt the heat in his body rising. He held my waist tightly and continued driving. As we came at a speedbumb..the bike went up and down and my ass rubbed on his dick. Now he was struggled to focus on the road. After some time we got to our hostel and I said goodbye to Megumi and went towards my room. But Megumi couldn't.... because he was really hard from all that bumping.

As I unlocked the door. Suddenly felt a push from behind and sound of locked the door. When I turned around it was Megumi. He was looking at me with a smirk. "What are you doing?!" I asked. "Come on y/n....are you gonna act all innocent and not gonna help me with what you did?" He asked with that smirk. "What are you saying?" I asked. "Oh... you still gonna act innocent I see" He said. "Megumi look... I really don't know what you're saying... just get out!" I said. "Oh you can't understand then let me show it to you " he replied with a smirk.

He grabbed my hair and dragged me towards his bedroom. I groaned in pain. He threw me on his bed and locked the door. Took off his shirt and threw it on the bed then started crawling towards me on the bed."Megumi what are you doing....please stop" I said and tried to push myself backwards but he grabbed my leg and pulled me towards him. I gasped. He was still smirking."stop?... Where's the fun then? The fun part is about to began ~.... Now you have to help me with the thing you've done with me..." he whispered and crashed his lips on mine.

I tried to push him away but his grip was too strong. I can't even move myself. He was kissing me too roughly. I couldn't breathe. He grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head which was already soaked with the rain water. My boobs bounced out. He looked at those with lust in his eyes and didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensetion. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even effect on him. "M-Megumi stopppp" I scremed but he didn't stop.

Then he took off my pantie. He looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered " so wet. You naughty little slut, getting wet for me huh?". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pant.

His dick sprang out. It was too big and too thick. "Look... this is what you have done to me..." he said while stroking his dick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " M-Megumi no no no... P-please no... s-stop" I begged but didn't even listen to me and slammed his whole dick inside me in one slide. I scremed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throughig my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he was liking it so much. His thurst became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thursting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh... I don't want this ..." I moaned. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed. " Shhh.... shut up and just fucking take what I'm giving you." He screamed. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. My vision blurred out.

"So... you're gonna be my personal and only slut...huh?" He whispered with a smirk on his face.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

#jjk #jjk smut #smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw noncon #fem reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi smut #yandere megumi #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu megumi #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro #yandere #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #megumi noncon #dark content #dark blog #dark writing #dark romance

[eupheme]

— yours, all yours

cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 2.3k

tags: cooper pov, jealous and possessive!reader, sort-of alternate timeline (includes a fo4 character for fun), cooper is an ass, partners-with-benefits, mutual yearning, light angstintentional pushing/teasing, soft thoughts, kissing, oral sex, praise kink, biting and marking, come swallowing

a/n: @aliisa-jones left a sweet comment on mine, all mine that got stuck in my head, so this is a “what-if” situation that I whipped up today, with reader being the jealous one (with Coop & Nora on the other side)!

Cooper can’t help the little bark of a laugh when he realizes - disbelief woven into the sharp sound that spills from him.

Goddamn. His little wastelander might just be jealous.

Cooper’s always been a perceptive man. Able to read people when it mattered - a real helping hand during his time in Hollywood.

Even more so now - gun drawn and ready before they’re even figuring their own conclusion. Twisting the situation to his benefit.

So he doesn’t know why it took him so damn long this time.

Two days to notice, after they picked up that Vaultie. Made from before - like he was - on her way to New Vegas.

A pinch of curiosity had plucked at him with her addition, but nothing more. Had been a rare indulgence to have someone understand all the shit he says, unable to help the occasional age-old idioms that have still lingered inside his mind.

But something about her had set you on edge. He’d thought you’d like her. Two peas in a pod, annoying the shit out of him with idle chatter during the long hours on the road.

You had bristled. Narrowed eyes and distrusting. Wondered if that’s the way he looked, half the time.

Wasn’t until you started to move, that he really noticed. Wandering closer than he’s used to. Finding reasons to pass by him, your ass pressing snug his front. Your pretty tits pushed up against his arm, leaning close to ask him something.

Pretty eyes blinking his way, hanging onto every word.

Riling him up.

Acting like a cat in heat. As if there were pink clouds of perfume drifting off you, spelling out “mine” as they settled over his clothes.

Funny, once he’s got it figured out.

Not sure how he missed it before.

The jealousy that oozes from you. His eyes going to yours each time that frown crosses your face.

Nora is a handsome woman. He’s got eyes, after all - yhey hadn’t rotted away like the rest of him. Can appreciate where she’s come from, deep down, though he’d never say it.

But he seen lots of good-looking people throughout his time walking this earth. And even back when he was just a man, that sort of thing never swayed him.

He’d buried old Cooper Howard some two hundred years ago. A mercy - tucking his corpse away deep in the labyrinth of his soul, as the Ghoul was reborn into rot and ruin.

A place he isn’t sure how to get to anymore, but sometimes there’s still bits of him that linger. Flowers sprouting up through concrete.

Loyal, perhaps, in spite of it all. When it suits him.

Besides, it's been a while since he’s tasted fruit so sweet. Biting down until you’re gushing against his tongue. Supposed he’s not looking to ruin a good thing.

But despite all that, he decides lets it all play out. Amused at the thought.

Seeing where it goes.

Let’s himself appear at-ease, when Nora slinks closer. A cocked brow bone at the low purr of her voice as they pick through an old house - clearing it for the night.

“You mod that yourself?” Her eyes drag slowly across him, down to the holster that rests at his hip, “Didn’t take you for a handyman, cowboy.”

“Sure did,” Cooper drawls - the shotgun slung across his back held loosely in his hand, as his eye scan the old dining room. “You pick up a few new things, out here.”

Had to, to survive. His clothes a patchwork of black thread, holding together ripped seams. Weapons had come next, not like he hadn’t had the time to learn.

“Can I see?”

She’s reaching for him, and he lets her. His eyes flicking towards you as she slips the gun from his holster, fingers curling around the grip.

“Modified MTs255,” He explains, as she turns it over in her hand. Purposeful in the way she moves - with the slow, admiring brush and stroke of fingers, “Changed it from a side-loader to a-"

“Top-break.” She muses with a nod, her shoulder brushing his as she flicks at the lever. A smirk, as she glances his way - her eyebrow lifting this time, “How’s she handle?”

There’s a soft lilt to her voice. Easy to pick up on - especially with the way she smiles, tongue caught between the white of her teeth.

“Oh, I’d say she handles just fine.” He lets the words turn sweet, smooth as honey as they leave his tongue.

You make a frustrated sound, then. A little whine in the back of your throat that he barely catches, before you’re turning sharply on your heel. Stomping off deeper into the house, and he can’t help the smirk that curls at the edges of his lips.

“See for yourself,” He's quick to excuses himself, leaving the gun in Nora's possession. Peeling away from the Vaultie, not sparing her a second glance. If she calls after him - he doesn’t hear it.

His steps purposely slow as he follows behind you. Letting you simmer.

You don’t notice as he slips in the doorway behind you. A head cocked in interest as you wrench open old cabinets. Breath heavy, a rough hiss between your teeth as your fingers clench into fists against the counter.

“That'd get you killed.” He comments, idly, “Runnin’ off like that.”

A little gasp as you whirl. Your hand doesn’t even twitch towards your gun, and he'd not sure if that annoys him. Or if he knows you knew it was him by the low rasp of his voice.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” You sniff, head quick to turn away. Eager to break eye contact, arms crossing tightly over your chest.

A huff of a laugh rumbles in his chest, “Now what makes you say that, sweetheart?”

You blink at him, his spurs jangling as he closes the space. Hands pressing flat on either side of your hips, a flash of teeth as he waits.

“She-,”You huff - finger pointing accusatorily, “You let her-“

Another little sound, as your frown deepens, “Her hands were all over you, and you didn’t even care!”

It’s spat out. A kitten showing her claws, sharp little teeth bared.

Cooper lets his hips press against yours. Your hands brace against his chest, torn between pushing him away and yanking him closer.

“Takes two to tango, sweetheart.” He coos, but you just frown - not understanding.

Something in his favor. An admission you won’t get. That flicker of tenderness lost in the air.

He wonders if you’d still be angry, if you knew how long he roamed the wasteland without knowing the touch of another. That it would take more than a gun-laced innuendo to truly turn his head.

“‘Sides,” Cooper husks - finger tucking beneath your chin, “What are you goin’ to do about it?”

Needling at you. A thumb against a bruise, pressing until it stings.

Your jaw grits. Eyes searching his, fingernails pricking worn leather. Before they’re sliding up - fitting against his shoulder, around the back of his neck, as you tug him to meet you.

Pressing your lips against his. It’s possessive - an arch to your body as it curves. Tits pressed to his chest as your tongue flicks against his lower lip.

A rough groan as he parts them, as you seek more. He swallows your whine as his hands roam. Across the fat of your hip, squeezing. Fitting the curve of your waist. Palming at your breast as your hips roll against his.

Needy, in the way you gasp. Little panting breath as his head tilts. As he takes control - pressing you into the counter as he licks into your mouth.

He’s stayed away, since you picked up this new stray. Put away a lot of people, or put them in the ground. Not about to let someone use you against him.

It had him pent-up, too. Desire red-hot in his belly. Stiffening with the way you rock against him - a part of him craving the touch.

Easy then, to catch your hand. To drag it down, across the leather of his bandoiler, the heavy buckle of his belt. Pressing your palm flush against the heavy curve of his cock.

Rocking into the cup of your fingers, grinfing into your touch.

“That’s all you, sweetie.” He rasps, and you moan.

Pulling back to look down, as you trace how he strains. The heel of your palm pressing against his clothed, flushed tip, as a low growl rumbles in his throat.

Unable to hide his own need, as his tongue loosens a command.

“Why don’t you show me why I keep you ‘round.”

It’s cruel to word it that way. He’s been trying to scare you away for weeks. Knowing deep down that you’re meant for better things than him. His words now are untrue, even - he knows that.

But you do too, and you don’t care - a determination in your eyes, as they reluctantly pull up to his. Still caught on the evidence of his desire.

Fingers already fitting around his buckle - tugging.

“She might hear.” You breathe, though you don’t slow. Not until you’ve popped the button. Tugged at the zipper, a hitch in your breath as you draw him out.

He had found you tucked around the corner of the kitchen, close to an old pantry. The window behind peeking out into a long backyard. Facing towards a broken-down swing set, the grass overgrown with thick brush and weeds.

The evening sun casting blue and pink shadows, spilling over your shoulders. The room set deep against the far wall of the house.

No doors to hide behind in a kitchen like that, and you’re right - the sound might just happen to travel.

He grins, all teeth.

“Ain’t that what you want, darlin’?”

You inhale a breath.

Desire swirling in your eyes as they meet his. Sinking onto your knees without a second thought, tucked between his hips and the counter.

A small kindness, in the way his coat would block you from view, if someone were to come looking. Keeping the vision of you just for himself.

He’s biting out a curse as you take him into your mouth. The tight, wet heat as he presses against your tongue, no warning before he’s nudging against your throat.

His own hands scrape against the counter - resisting the urge to buck his hips, not wanting to gag you.

“Easy, now.” Cooper husks, something for both of you.

You hum in response - knees spreading wider. A slow bob of your head as you lick against the underside of his cock.

Eyes lifting until they’re on his. Wide and wanting as your head tips - drawing back to show how he rests against your tongue, glossy with spit.

There’s a deep throb in his core. A rattling groan as you leave him completely, your fist wrapping around his cock. Steady in the way your jerk him from base to tip, as your tongue dips down to trace against his sack.

“Fuck.” It’s bitten out, “Gotta make you jealous more often, sweetheart.”

You hum at the way he sees you so clearly. A soft suck against drawn-tight skin, before your head is turning - teeth sinking into the flesh at his hipbone.

He grunts, as his fingers jerk - clamping down against your shirt. Biting into your skin as you suck on ruined skin, the redden shade of his skin blooming darker.

Bucking into the pump of your fist, as his little wastelander marks him up. Marking a hickey along the curve of the stomach, then the meat of his thigh.

He relishes the sting. Letting you explore, as long as you keep touching him. The pleasure-pain blending into bliss as you stroke him.

There’s a tightening deep in his core, a tremor to his thighs. You go easily when he thumbs at your jaw - a soft whine buzzing in you throat that he can feel all the way down his shaft, when your lips close around him.

It has his cock jerking against his tongue.

You didn’t have memories of dirty films, the lewd magazines from before. Not knowing what it means to exaggerate pleasure for his benefit.

The need etched across your face is real - a hand dropping to nudge against your core. He’ll make up for this later, when the house is bathed in darkness. Spread you out across that dining room table he spotted, tasting what he did to you. Make you come on his cock, driving his point home.

Leaving you sticky and clenching around nothing for now. Always eager to make you learn a lesson.

“You're takin’ me so fuckin’ well.” He growls, and you shiver with the praise, “So good for me, aren’t you?”

You hum around him, your answer in the bob of your head. The sound of your fist and mouth is lewd, slick and loud. His own grunts and panting breath layering in, as everything winds tight.

Unable to help the buck of his hips, now. How expertly you work him, with none of that slow exploration when you’re alone.

Eyes focused on his face, watching what you do it him. Looking for the way his head tips back, the part of his lips.

He’s close. Can feel the way everything tightens up, that mounting pressure in his belly.

“Fuck, honey.” Cooper lets the name slip free, “‘Bout to fuckin’ come. You gonna be a good girl and swallow?”

You moan again, as you work him. Letting his hands guide you to the pace he needs. Lips glossy with spit, all but drooling as he uses you.

His breath coming short and harsh, until his teeth click sharply together. A rough groan before he’s bucking into your mouth, spilling against your tongue.

Your fist works him through it. A hand cupping his sack, gently squeezing as he throbs. Those eyes fixed greedily on his, soaking in every expression that flickers across his face.

Always good for him, and you both know it.

“Show me,” He husks, and you do - a ragged gasp as you pull of him, lips parting. The hinge of your jaw opening to show the way his come pools against the dip of your tongue.

“Fuckin’ christ,” It’s enough to have him ready to go again, if he could. “Go on, then. Swallow for me. Show me you’re mine.”

There’s the gulp as you swallow. Eyes blown wide with need as he hauls you to your feet. Your hand still drifting back to tuck around him - putting him back together, as your head tips towards his.

“Yours.” You breathe - the words hoarse as they slide from your used throat, just as you close the gap between you.

Another kiss. Softer now, though just as possessive. He can taste himself on your tongue. Always liked the way the two of you meld together.

Like it’s meant to be.

And maybe, he thinks -

Maybe a little part of him is yours, too.

ahh thank you for reading! I always love a little cooper pov, it's such a fave to write!

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout

[sudzymactavish]

I don't know if you dislike people ranting to you, so delete if it annoys you. But why are so many straight women writing the most messed up type of fanfics you've ever seen and thinking it's okay😭. Like there's so many women on here who always write x reader fanfics as with female reader described like 90 pounds, 4 feet tall and extremely weak and easily manipulated, who's partnered with a huge muscular male character who is 3x her size. Reader is always extremely small and weak and innocent minded and almost childlike in the way that she's written. And the writers describe the male character as having "one hand big enough to wrap around your whole waist" and stuff like that and then make the male character that throws reader around and beats her and sexually abuses her and stuff like that. It's so gross.

And then there will be like 900 likes on the post and all these straight women saying how much they loved it and it was so sexy when the reader got abused and assaulted and asking the author to make more. Like wtf!! I must have blocked over 200 blogs by now that are all just like this. There's so many women writing incest and pedo stuff too. Yesterday I saw a Leon Kennedy x daughter reader nsfw and I was just thinking how gross it is and how just looking at this stuff kinda ruins my childhood characters because I loved those games and now they're making my favorites do the most messed up shit. I'm not saying that male readers don't do it, but like 95% of the time it's women that are ones glorifying r-pe and abuse like it's something sexy, when it's not. Just nasty. And stop writing y/n to be coded like a child and stop making her a small helpless baby that gets treated violently by the character and letting people read it like it's something sexy. It's not sexy to be r-ped. Just stop. Please.

THIS IS SO REAL.

Everytime I see a feminine reader getting 🍇ed it makes me sick. And the reading being like a skeleton? Ew...

So let's write something about fem!reader being BIGGER than the men. 141 + a few other charaters.

John Price

That man would be begging for you. Pet names like "queen" and "ma'am" are heard around the base and at home referring you you. He's in love with you, as you almost swallow him in each hug and cuddle. He loves it.

John "Soap" Mactavish

Even if you are bigger than him, he still protects you. A glare and an occasional cuss-out in Scottish to anybody who thinks they can steal his bonnie. And if someone dares to make fun of your size...? They'll have a scar to remember.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He would make sure you're comfortable. Being a big woman could cause maybe your feet to hurt, or pain in your neck from trying to not bump your head on the ceilings. He'd always have some chocolate and a movie set up, just for the two of you.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

I don't think he'd really mind size. He loves when you pick him up though, even if he can't admit it. The way your hands wrap around him as he's embraced in your figure... oh yea, he's in love with his big girl.

Graves

Oh he'd be a menace. He'd say weird stuff like "she's a tree and I wanna climb her." But once he actually started getting feelings for you, all the weird comments stopped. Opening doors for you, doing paper work for you was suddenly happening all the time.

Makarov

He'll admit, he was a bit threatened. He expected his new secretary (after he killed the other one) to be, well, small. So he could keep his power. He wanted to return you, or maybe just kill you, but when he actually met you? You were in charge after that.

König

He'd be surprised at first. Someone who's finally bigger than him would probably have him shocked. When he got used to you, he totally fell in love. Head over heels. He'd take you out to dinner, buy you jewelry. You loved his presents, but in his eyes you were his precious diamond.

Shoutout to all the big girls, WE LOVE YOU ‼️‼️❤️❤️

Also anon, would you like an emoji?

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