mysticalmaximoff

[mysticalmaximoff]

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

[mysticalmaximoff]

Bloodbound

Carlisle Cullen x Human!OC

Summary: Place Carlisle in the Edward situation of falling in love with a human, and see what happens

Chapter 1/?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Notes:

The only thing that took so long about this is the title because fuck titles (genuinely)

This is on Ao3 under the same title and username if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/54527830)

Probably would be my last (long) twilight post in a while since I've lost interest in the series for a while (give it like 3 weeks before I regain it lmao)

Posting (just like before) is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story

Much much longer than Being a Witch with Vampires by the way, so we're in a long ride (or you are, because I already know the story)

Word Count: 2294 words

General warning: I used some religious references in this story so read with caution if you're not so keen into reading that

TW for this chapter: None

PM or Comment to be added on the taglist for this one!

Masterlist

A full year had passed since the Cullens returned to Forks, now acting as grownups instead of some teenager studying in Forks high school, minus Renesmee, to her dismay. Carlisle received a warm welcome back to the hospital, where he encountered new faces introduced to him since his departure.

“Good morning Doctor Cullen.” A nurse with red hair greeted politely to him, he was around his height and had brown eyes, a face that he doesn’t remember during his time there

“I’m nurse Sean, not the chief nurse but I think Eunice is getting her out now.” Sean informed him “You’ll like her I think, she’s professional as fuck.”

A girl with her chestnut hair tied up in a bun walked out of a room. At that moment, all Carlisle could think about was how captivating the woman was, everything about her screamed authority, he knew then and there that she was the chief nurse.

Time felt like it slowed down when they locked eyes, this woman has plagued over his mind. Carlisle subtly admired her face, she had eyes that matched the shade of her hair and pale pink lips that complimented her fair complexions.

“Celine Wright, chief nurse here.” Celine introduced herself with a prim and proper tone. She offered her hand in a handshake and Carlisle accepted it, feeling the warmth of her hand against the coldness of his

“Carlisle Cullen, former chief doctor here.” Carlisle introduced back, pulling his hand away from the handshake “Pleasure to meet you.”

From the stories that Carlisle has heard, Celine was 25 years old when she assumed the position and has demonstrated remarkable competence, excelling in her role for a year prior his return with unparalleled precision and skill.

But it was distracting him, she was distracting him. Despite her undeniable competence, it was her blood that proved to be the real challenge for Carlisle. The tantalizing scent of it often left Carlisle struggling to focus, forcing him to endure long stretches without breathing just to filter out the temptation.

But even after leaving work, her scent lingered in his mind, infiltrating every aspect of his life. Something as harmless as a report file with a hint of her scent could drive him to the brink of madness.

It’s been a year since Carlisle has been working with Celine, a year of extreme caution over his thirst. He was always making sure that he was fed before going to the hospital, making sure that there was always some distance between them. However, as the chief nurse, their interactions were inevitable, presenting a constant challenge to Carlisle's restraint.

It also didn’t help that Celine’s kind and caring nature was growing on him in ways that he didn’t expect that it’ll do so. Her smile became a source of motivation for him, brightening his day with a single glance. He found himself instinctively seeking her out upon arriving at work, drawn to her presence like a magnet.

Celine was growing on him, as a person, as a friend, as someone that he wishes he could pursue openly.

“She’s your blood singer and mate.” Edward concluded, having experienced a similar scenario before “You’re dealing with what I’ve dealt with when Bella was still human.”

“Great,” Rosalie scoffed, crossing her arm “Another human.”

“Carlisle won’t pressure her into something that she doesn’t want to partake herself in.” Esme assured everyone

“We would never know if he doesn’t pursue her.” Alice said, holding on from having another vision whether Celine Wright was in their future or not

“Would we rob Carlisle a chance to finally be with his mate?” Edward argued to Rosalie

“Would you rob another girl’s humanity for an uncertainty?” Rosalie asked him back; the tension was growing between the two

“Enough with the arguing.” Carlisle said, a decision set in his head

“I’ve figured out that she’s my mate. But I will not pressure her into anything.” He stated at once to everyone that was listening to him “Nor will I pursue her whatsoever. Let the future play how it has planned to be. Alice, Edward, no attempting to manipulate it to one of your visions.”

Just in time, his alarm has rung, notifying him that he has a shift to get ready for. He bids his goodbye, going to his office to get ready.

He was painfully slow, questioning whether his choice was the right one, plagued by uncertainty and the fear of denying himself a chance at happiness.

But underneath his own desires was the concern for Celine's well-being. He couldn't bear the thought of forcing her into a life she didn't want, no matter how difficult it was for him to accept the possibility of letting her go.

“Are you sure of your decision?” Esme asked him, walking into his office “Do you really want to just give up like that already?”

“She deserves a long, happy life.” Carlisle spoke softly, grabbing his briefcase with all the reports that he’s brought home “Not be damned for eternity.”

“And if she asks for a long, happy life with you, then what?” Esme asked him, making Carlisle ponder at her question. She was right, what certainty did he have that Celine wouldn’t welcome this life?

‘The risk is too high.’ He thought to himself

He left without answering her question.

It was another late-night shift that Celine accepted. Having heard another alibi from one of her co-nurses. Lying and saying that “they have some important matters to deal with,” only to see them by the bar as she drives by, drunk beyond their capabilities.

‘I have nothing to do anyways, so why not just earn more so I could leave this shitty town.’ She always used that to convince herself

In all honesty, Celine's financial status was not a factor in her decision. She had inherited a comfortable sum from when her parents died, ensuring that she was shielded from any financial struggles. But she’s heard that Doctor Cullen always took a night shift, working perfectly for their family’s set up of needing someone to be at home at all times.

What’s wrong if she was to indulge herself and the tiny crush that she had for him? After all, he wasn't married, a fact his hand had subtly conveyed to her.

“Nurse Celine, good to see you…again.” Carlisle greeted, walking in her office (which technically, is his office too) with a disposable cup of coffee “I thought your shift was over?”

“Yeah, Nurse Alex had to bail, said something along the lines of dealing with some personal stuff.” Celine answered “Made sure to give him the morning shift though, just as some sort of revenge.”

“I do not condone that behavior, but frankly, I would say that you deserve the rest.” Carlisle said, sitting next to her. It was dangerous, he knew. But he didn’t want to leave her alone.

“It’s a slow night.” Celine reported “Just one rush to the E.R. thinking that they were dying because of some spots they saw on their face. After doing some checking on it, it was just some questionably large pimples. Scary? Yes. But not fatal.”

“At least it has been slow so you won’t tire yourself too much.” Carlisle said, pushing the coffee near her

“Why don’t you just say to your sister that you don’t actually enjoy the coffee she makes? It just feels like a waste, giving away your coffee every time.” Celine asked, accepting the cup and drinking it

Carlisle was asked by Celine one time why he wasn’t drinking the coffee that he had, noticing that the cup was left untouched until he throws it away just after his shift. In panic, he fabricated a story, claiming that his sister Esme, who worked night shifts at her own job, often made coffee for herself and would give the extras to him.

He had offered it to her then, hoping that the coffee Esme made because she has missed the aroma of coffee was in Celine’s taste. Celine didn’t answer that time if she had enjoyed the coffee or not, but every time he would offer her the coffee, she would accept it.

This silent acceptance fueled Carlisle's hope that perhaps, in some small way, they were connecting through these shared moments over coffee.

From then, he asked Esme about the recipe and continued to make it from the comfort of his car before he walked in the hospital, using the coffee as a conversation starter, a way to engage with her, hoping to deepen their connection through these small interactions.

“You enjoy it.” Carlisle answered almost immediately. Celine looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion

“I mean, she always makes it at night for her work. Offers some to me, even though I don’t drink coffee, I’m just too shy to not accept it. And besides, you deserve some coffee yourself too.” Carlisle explained further, giving Celine the satisfaction of getting an answer

“Thanks. I owe you one.” Celine said, lifting the coffee and drinking some more of it “How do you even get the energy to do night shifts? Ever since you got here, you’ve like made it your thing to be the one for night shifts.”

“I sleep in the morning.” Carlisle answered, having prepared an alibi for when that question inevitably gets asked to him “Did kind of take a toll on my social life though, I’ll tell you. But I have accepted this way when I decided to step into the field of medicine.”

“Really?” Celine asked, piqued with how he was opening up “Why prefer night shift then? You could easily be transferred to morning shift if you’d just ask.”

“I prefer it this way.” Carlisle answered, Celine pondered if someone has asked him this question before “Besides, who will give you your daily coffee if I don’t join you with the night shifts?”

“I can get myself coffee, thank you very much.” Celine answered, fake insult in her tone and playfully rolling her eyes at him

“I know you can, I do enjoy it just as much to be the one to give you your coffees.” Carlisle said, a smile on his face

‘He looked like a Ken doll.’ She thought, looking at Carlisle and admiring his seemingly perfect features. His eyes was shining golden, a shade she never thought was possible for a human to have. The pale pink tint of his lips stirred a fleeting curiosity about their softness, though she quickly brushed aside any thoughts of how they might feel against her own.

“Some of the nurses are getting jealous, you should give them coffee sometimes.” Celine teased him. Carlisle looked at her, his eyebrows raised at her teasing. He did not want to give anyone else some sort of affection.

His undead heart was with hers before she even knew it.

“That’s if they’ll like 5 teaspoons of sugar and 3 teaspoons of creamer in their coffee.” Carlisle teased her back, watching as she finishes the coffee that he has prepared

“Well, anything that you would give to them, they’ll accept really.” She answered, before going back to reading some reports that the morning shift nurses has prepared for them

The night was long, the comforting silence joining them as they read through. Fortunately, there were no urgent emergencies demanding their attention. It wasn’t until Carlisle heard Celine stifle a yawn that made him check his watch, the small screen showing 8:17 AM.

“Shift over.” Carlisle announced, standing up and faking a stretch

He could have stayed there forever had she been able to do the same.

“Finally.” Celine mumbled, the aftermath of the coffee finally taking a toll on her as she slumps herself on the seat that she’s been on for the past 12 hours “So tired.”

“Need a ride home?” Carlisle asked, seeing that she wasn’t awake enough to go home on her own

Despite his declaration not to pursue Celine, Carlisle found himself engaging in behaviors that seemed to contradict his words. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was unintentionally leading her on, even though she hadn't explicitly expressed interest in him, neither through her words nor her body language.

“I’m fine, brought my car with me.” Celine murmured; her eyes closed as she rests her head on the chair “Just need a few minutes to close my eyes.”

“Okay then.” Carlisle answered, sitting down on the chair where he was sitting earlier, grabbing a bit more reports to read as he accompanies her

The few minutes became an hour. Then the hour became two hours. Carlisle then slowly realized that Celine was beginning to doze off in the chair she was sitting in. He looked at her with a small smile on his face.

He didn’t need to be a vampire or a doctor to know that she was in an uncomfortable position. Her whole torso was slouched down and her head was down, giving the look that she was uncomfortably bowing.

Carlisle moved his seat closer to hers, feeling the warmth of her arm against the coldness of his. With tender care, he lifted her head, cradling it on his shoulder. Though not as plush as a pillow, he knew it would be far more comfortable than where her head had previously rested.

As he sat there, Carlisle gazed at Celine, closing his eyes and synchronizing his faux breathing with hers, attuned to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Carlisle knew that it was temptation, being this close to her. And a sin to indulge himself in such temptation. But if he was to be damned today, he would be happy to have indulged himself with the existence of Celine.

[mysticalmaximoff]

Bleed Me Dry | C. Cullen | 01

𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.

Warnings: This chapter contains content that is intended to be consumed by those who are at least eighteen years old, such as strong language, discussions/thoughts about death, descriptions of an incurable disease that will ultimately lead to death, medical inaccuracies, an inappropriate relationship, an age gap and other mature content. Minors do not interact. Please take care of yourself before reading.

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist

It’s cold in here.

And not just any kind of cold either, but the kind that has got shivers running down the length of your spine in what seems to be a never-ending stream, and that makes you pull the sleeves of your white doctor’s coat down to shield your hands from the chilled air that is surrounding you without you even noticing it yourself — brain working in hopes of the action bringing some warmth to those poor limbs of yours that have been cold to the touch for the better part of the day.

It’s not like you haven’t been to a hospital before, because you have — and hundreds of times too, for what it’s worth —, but judging from the past few days you’ve spent running around the premises of Forks Hospital, you figure that they must keep this hospital just a tad bit colder than the ones you have worked at before. You wonder if it’s because the people here are used to the cold — used to the endless rain and gloom that greet them every single time they step outside.

The cold is something you most certainly will never get used to. You’re sure of it.

The heels of your shoes clank against the concrete flooring in a rather loud manner as you make your way through one crowded corridor after another. Dodging people to the best of your ability as you go — trying your absolute hardest to keep from accidentally nudging them with your elbows when pushing past them.

Realizing that you’re not really getting anywhere, you knit your eyebrows together and pick up your pace.

You’re on a mission. A mission that was supposed to be a quick and easy thing, but that turned out to be much more difficult than what you originally thought it’d be, though, you’re pretty sure that that has got something to do with the fact that there really is a pair of nice, black heels adorning your feet instead of a pair of those comfy-looking sneakers that most of this hospital’s staff seem to opt for each day when choosing what shoes to wear to work.

But seriously, first tracing down Dr. Cullen, and now trying to catch up with him — damn if it isn’t nearly impossible in those shoes.

Even though you have not gotten the chance to work with him yet — or, to have any other kind of a conversation with him either, for that matter —, you have seen him around enough times to recognize the back of that head full of blonde hair you’ve been chasing for a good ten minutes now to be his.

Finally close enough to know that he is able to hear you, you call after him, “Dr. Cullen!”

He already knows you’re there — of course he does. And not just because the loud clanking of your shoes is practically impossible for one to miss, but because the scent of you is too strong, too overpowering for it to get mixed up with the scents of others — too intoxicating for him to not pick up on it even in a space like this; a space that is brimming with humans, each of them which is constructed of nothing but flesh, blood and bone.

He stops and turns around, a kind smile climbing to adorn his lips the second he lays those golden brown eyes of his on you.

You’re beautiful — there’s no denying that. Speed walking over to where he is standing like that, a patient file tucked tight beneat your arm. Dark, high-waisted dress pants and a pale blue turtleneck hugging your figure just right, a white doctor’s coat with your last name embroidered to its breast pocket resting on top of your shoulders, tying the whole look together — making you look like you belong, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“I don’t think that we have properly met yet,” you start, sounding like you’re a little out of breath; all the speed walking you did just to be able to catch up with him is clearly taking its toll on your lungs too, not just on your feet. Stretching an arm out and offering it for him to shake, you proceed to introduce yourself to him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, not catching a hold of your hand like most people would. You don’t think much of it — many doctors aren’t really ones to shake hands with others upon meeting them for the first time, anyway.

“You as well,” you tell him, really meaning it.

Having overheard a few surgeons speak very highly of Dr. Cullen in the cafeteria a couple of days ago during your lunchbreak, you know now that the doctor who is standing right in front of you is one Hell of a good one, and really — to you, there is no other honor quite like getting to meet a world-class doctor, no matter how many of them you have already had the pleasure of meeting.

He hums in an answer.

Now, finally getting to look at him from this close, you’re beginning to understand what all the nurses have been gushing about; Dr. Carlisle Cullen really is one, insanely beautiful creature. Perhaps the most beautiful creature you’ve ever laid your eyes on, even.

Thick, blonde hair of which not a singular strand has fallen out of place. Pale skin that is seemingly free of all imperfections — a smooth canvas, that you don’t know just yet, but is untouched by the beams of sunlight. Sharp features that look like they have been carefully carved out of clay, by someone whose touch is nothing less but ever so perfect and precise.

And for reasons completely understandable, for a little while you just stand there, not saying a thing, only staring at him like a fool. Lost somewhere deep in the gold dust of his eyes and the pale of his skin because God, how could you not be?

“Was there something I could help you with?”

Those words of his, that are laced with nothing but kindness and patience, pull you from your thoughts. “Yes. I, uh—,” you stutter, giving your head a slight shake in an attempt to gather yourself before continuing, “I need your opinion on something.”

“Alright,” he says, pulling his hands out of the pockets of his white doctor’s coat. “What have you got?”

Catching a hold of the patient file that has been sitting in the snug embrace of your underarm for a while now and handing it over to Dr. Cullen, you begin explaining, “It’s this girl, Jamie. She’s nineteen years old, and came here for the first time a couple of months ago after experiencing immense pain in both of her legs after swimming practice. She was discharged then, after they found nothing to be wrong with her.”

“Mhm,” Dr. Cullen hummus in aknowledgement, golden brown eyes rummaging through the pages he is being presented with.

“She tells me that she still experiences this pain every now and then, and that she’s got this odd twitch in her left thigh that just won’t go away,” you tell him, watching the way there are now a few little lines appearing in between his eyebrows, making it evident that he is really concentrating on what you’re telling him. “Odd, right? I mean — she’s so young… Anyway, I ordered an EMG for her and the results just… I just… I was hoping to get your opinion on them.”

EMG, formally known as electromyography, is a test that is used to evaluate the electrical activity that is produced by the patient’s skeletal muscles. This particular test is often conducted in situations where the patient is showing symptoms that may indicate, for example, ALS — an incurable disease, in which the patient’s voluntary muscles will, in time, atrophy, ultimately resulting in death.

Dr. Cullen stays silent for a while, clearly deep in thought.

ALS is a rare disease, especially among those who are under sixty years of age. And this poor little girl — Jamie, as you said her name was —, is only nineteen years old. She still has got a whole lot of life yet to live, a whole lot of things to learn.

This is something that doesn’t happen all that often — you wishing that you weren’t right. You wishing that whatever it was that you thought you saw in those damned test results, would turn out to be anything, but what you think it is — what you know it is.

It’s when you swallow, hard and awfully loud, that Dr. Cullen finally tears his eyes away from the stack of papers he is still holding onto. His serious gaze soon meeting your nervous one — one, that worry is so very evidently veiling.

“Hm…?”

“You needed my opinion on these results?” he asks, eyebrows raising in question just ever so slightly. You are a smart woman. He knows you are — he can tell. Which is precisely why he also knows that you are able to see the exact same thing on these results that he is, and very evidently so too.

Letting your teeth sink into the soft flesh of your lower lip, you think about it for a while — think about what it is, that you want to say.

Figuring that there is no way around the truth, you end up telling him, “I guess I was hoping that you’d tell me I’m crazy — that you aren’t seeing what I’m seeing, and that there’s no need for me to page neuro.”

There is the smallest, yet still the most apologetic smile you’ve ever seen tugging the corners of Dr. Cullen’s mouth upwards. He has been there, too, more times than he cares to count. And he knows that it never gets easier — not for people like you; for people that have spent years studying medicine because they truly, wholeheartedly want nothing more than to help others.

“You know I can’t do that,” he then says, stretching his arm out and handing the patient file back to you.

“Yeah. I guess I do,” you sigh, the audible exhale unbeknownst to you carrying the scent of the fresh blood that is now leaking from your bottom lip on its back.

All the little muscles that adorn the length of Dr. Cullen’s neck tense visibly as the scent of your blood floods his nostrils — driving him absolutely mad in a matter of only a couple of seconds with the way the iron-like tang there is to your blood seems to be stronger, more intoxicating to him than anyone else’s.

He swallows, hard.

Dr. Cullen isn’t one to lose his self control. He hasn’t ever, nor will he ever. But goddamn if he ever was to, the reason behind it would need to be someone whose blood smells at least as good as yours does, because God, he hasn’t smelled anything like you throughout the almost four hundred years he has spent roaming the Earth.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I mean — things like this happen, right?”

Dr. Cullen nods. “And they’ll keep happening.”

For someone so insanely good-looking, there is a lot of sympathy in Dr. Cullen’s eyes. You wonder if it’s because under all that beauty, there’s a heart full of gold that has been through more than it ever should have — which, for a doctor, is kinda rare —, or because he wants you to know that even though you are new here, there are people that are here for you.

“It’s just… God, she’s so young,” you speak your mind out loud, perhaps more to yourself than to him. “It’s so unfair.”

“I know.”

It’s actually quite a nice moment that the two of you share right here, in the middle of one of the many crowded corridors of Forks Hospital. It’s a moment of mutual understanding, of things of all sorts — understanding of each other, even.

Offering Dr. Cullen a kind smile in hopes of portraying yourself as someone who is a little less affected by these kinds of things than what you are, you proceed to excuse yourself, “Thank you for your time, Dr. Cullen. I’m sorry I’ve kept you from your patients.”

“No need for apologies,” he promises. “It was nice meeting you. I’ll see you around.”

You nod. “See you.”

It’s when you turn around on your heels and start walking away from him, those pretty heels of yours clanking against the concrete flooring just as loud as they did when you were chasing him down not too long ago, that Dr. Cullen brings his hand up and runs it along his features, wondering what on Earth should he do with you — how on Earth will he be able to work alongside you until the end of your residency, when you smell and look like that.

Next Chapter

Authors note: Thank you for reading! :)

I have not yet decided on whether or not Esme will make an appearance in this series, so please help your girl out! Is Esme around at all? And if so, is Carlisle married to her? Or was he married to her? What do you think...? 👀

Taglist: @hungrhay @itsmytimetoodream @glimmering-darling-dolly @stardust-and-snickerdoodles

[mysticalmaximoff]

Bleed Me Dry | C. Cullen | Prologue

𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.

Warnings: This entire story is intended to be read by those who are at least eighteen years old. This chapter itself doesn’t contain any mature content, but I will block all ageless and underage blogs who interact with this post.

It’s still early — too fucking early. The sun has not risen above the horizon just yet, though from what you have been told, you figure that it wouldn’t really make the scene look any different even if it had, since there’s a thick, dark curtain of clouds veiling the skies of Forks more often than not.

Glancing outside, you take a brief moment to appreciate the beauty of the picture that opens right behind that steamy, clearly never-washed window of the Forks Hospital’s break room. It’s something you’re not used to viewing as beautiful, but now — looking at the endless sea of dark green and gloom, and seeing how both of those elements tie the picture together whilst somehow only adding to one another’s beauty —, you’re beginning to think you’ve never seen anything as beautiful in your life.

“I would like for all of you to meet the newest addition to the team.”

It’s one of the board directors — one of those four people, who actually have a say in what goes on inside the walls of Forks Hospital these days —, who introduces you to the entire staff.

You’re not quite sure what kind of a welcome it was that you were expecting to be greeted with upon arriving, but it surely wasn’t anything like this.

A couple dozen pairs of tired, still half-closed eyes staring back at you. Unimpressed, perhaps even a little bored expressions carved onto the features of what seems that is literally every single person present. Coffee cups in the hands of most — the smoky aroma of that freshly brewed, nearly black liquid that is supposed to knock some life into the employees of this hospital now lingering in the air.

Forcing an awkward smile onto those cherry-red painted lips of yours, you say, “Hi.”

It’s not that you’re shy, or not-that-good with people, because really you’re not either of those things — you’re quite the opposite, actually —, but something about seeing those nonchalant, ‘Can we go now?’ looks on the faces of your new colleagues seems to shove every single thing you thought you could say to them down your throat — making sure that this situation is way more awkward than what it needs to be.

The board director, Samuel White, gives his throat a rather loud clear, making it evident to everyone present that he doesn’t approve of this being the kind of a welcome new employees are greeted with here, at Forks Hospital.

Noticing that his efforts don’t really make a difference — noticing that not a singular person straightens their spine, or even tries to fix the look on their face —, he sighs, the audible exhale loud enough to be heard over the steady humming of the air conditioning unit that you’re sure runs on full speed all day and all night, just to be able to keep the humidity of this rainy city outside the hospital’s walls.

“Anyway…,” he then says, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “She’ll be with us until the end of her residency. She’s a damn good doctor and surely a great addition to the team, so… Be nice.”

It almost feels as if you were eleven years old again. Standing in front of the classroom, with a backpack full of heavy books resting on your shoulder. An awkward smile tugging the corners of your mouth upwards, while waving at your new classmates — something that the teacher insisted you do.

Come to think of it, the situation which you’re in now isn’t that much different, actually. Only now you’re standing in front of a hospital’s break room instead of a classroom. Only now the room is brimming with highly educated adults instead of kids whose parents have spoiled them rotten — who they either don’t seem to give a flying fuck that you’re here.

Though it is something you don’t notice, at one of those flimsy-looking, white cafeteria tables that someone with poor taste has decided to decorate the break room with, sits Dr. Carlisle Cullen. There is no coffee cup in his hand like there is in the hands of many others, but instead a few patient files sitting in a nice and neat pile before him, patiently waiting for him to start his day by going through them.

With both of his elbows resting on top of that god-awful table, and with one hand’s fingers curled into a loose fist that is now positioned right before his nose and mouth, he sits still — not really having it in himself to do anything else because God, that’s how good you smell. And though every single person in this room kind of does smell good to him, this is different. You are different.

He has been around for a while. He has treated more patients with open wounds than he cares to count, and thus has become very familiar with the scent of fresh blood and the iron-like tang there is to it that tickles his nostrils each time he allows air to flow into his lungs at work.

Yet still, right here and now — with the air conditioning unit circling the air that to him now smells like a mixture of fresh coffee, you and the scent of that sweet, floral perfume of yours —, he feels the need to excuse himself.

God, it’s going to be a hell of a long next few years.

[mysticalmaximoff]

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When you're both exposed to an unknown chemical in the field, things go from bad to worse.

Warnings: prelude to obvious smut, talk of masturbation, talk of unprotected sex, profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires more warnings.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author's Note: Just messing around on here and seeing where I end up. I want to write an absolutely filthy part 2 but if this doesn't get anywhere I may scrap it lmao.

            Every. Damn. Time. Something goes sideways every damn time. You want to blame Fury for making the two of you partners to begin with. What the hell did he see between the two of you that made him think missions would ever end in anything other than the two of you butting heads? You sigh deeply and rub your temples with the pads of your left thumb and middle finger, squeezing your eyes shut as you will yourself not to kick Bucky clear across the lab. You know what Fury saw between the two of you, and as much as you hate to admit it, when you’re in absolute life-or-death situations, you and Bucky work together better than any other partner you’ve ever had in the field. Even Nat.

            Dropping your hand from your face and opening your eyes, your gaze lands on Bucky. He stands at one of the lab benchtops in the center of the room, his eyes narrowing as he examines an array of monitor screens before him. You can make out an organized table of data along with a few charts on the monitor to his left, but that’s not what draws your attention. The second monitor, the one right in front of him, displays a few words that have you on edge.

            Confirmed nitric oxide stimulant capabilities. New formula contains increased quantity of aqueous extract of dried tuberous roots of C. borivilianum.

            Shit. This can’t be what you think it is, but with your medical background and your old medical microbiology classes from before joining SHIELD and the Avengers, you know that there’s a very slim chance that you’re misinterpreting what you’re reading. You step forward now, gently pushing Bucky’s arm to move him away from the monitors so you can get a better look at the data. He begins snapping pictures and immediately sending them back to the team. You can feel his eyes on you as you study the graphs and tables. He’s not used to you being this quiet, he knows something’s up.

            “What are we looking at?” He finally speaks up, his gaze drawn to the colorful graph displayed on one of the monitors.

            “I don’t know.” You lie straight through your teeth, reaching for the keyboard that controls the monitors. You press the right-facing arrow key and the page that said something about nitric oxide disappears, quickly replaced being replaced by a row of video clips, each one titled with a trial number and date. It looks like HYDRA was running trials in this experiment for months.

            “Bullshit. Why won’t you tell me what it is?” Bucky asks. His tone is sharp, impatient. He isn’t used to being the one who doesn’t know what’s going on, and it’s bothering him. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek and waits in silence for you to say something, to say anything. You hover the cursor over the first video clip, dated three months ago from today, Trial #1. Everything in you is screaming not to watch it, not to click on it and confirm your suspicions, but you’re here for a reason. You have an easy job here today: break into the HYDRA facility, collect samples and any data that goes along with what they’ve been working on for the past few months, and then destroy the facility on your way out. Sam and Torres planned it out so perfectly, making sure it would be vacant for the next 13 hours so you and Bucky could slip in and get the job done under the radar. They planned it for two months, doing recon and coming up with contingency plan after contingency plan. You need to confirm your suspicions and get as much evidence as possible before blowing the place to bits.

            You glance over your shoulder at Bucky, and his blue eyes meet yours with a hint of concern. He hates when you’re quiet like this, he hates those rare moments in the field when he can’t read your mind. What the hell are you thinking? What aren’t you telling him? He knows you well enough to know that you’re nervous about whatever you’re seeing here.

            You click the video link and a slightly grainy image of a padded square room fills the screen. The floor and walls are gray and there isn’t any furniture in the room, only what looks to be a set of shackles on the back wall. A shiver runs down your spine and you pull your phone out, typing up a message to Bruce Banner while you wait for something to happen on screen.

You: A chemical compound that stimulates NO and uses aqueous extract of C. borivilianum…is it going to be what I think it is?

            As your message sends, Bucky reaches around you, his chest brushing against your back, and he uses the mouse to fast forward the video until people are appearing on screen. You watch as presumably a HYDRA agent shoves a woman into the room, obviously an unwilling participant in the experiment. She doesn’t fight much as she’s placed in the shackles on the wall, but it’s obvious that she’s weak and likely drugged. The HYDRA agent briefly steps out of view of the camera, before returning with a second captive, a man this time. He’s large, muscular, and has a dark look in his eye. You feel Bucky stiffen up behind you, realizing at the same time as you that this man is a super soldier. Your phone vibrates in your hand and you steal a look at the response from Banner.

Banner: Yes.

            Fuck. The next two minutes of the video are pure horror, even though nothing particularly horrific happens before you slam your hand down on the spacebar, pausing the clip abruptly. You both watched on as a cloudy vapor was pumped into the room through vents, and then watched on as the super soldier became more and more restless, sweaty, and crazed. As soon as the female captive began whimpering and pulling against her shackles, with her eyes trained on the super soldier a few feet to her left, you couldn’t let the video play any longer.

            “Tell me what it is.” Bucky says evenly from behind you. You swallow hard and reach into one of the pockets of your tactical pants, pulling out a device similar to a USB and plugging it into the computer before you. As all of the data and video clips begin to transmit through the device, back to Sam and Torres, you turn around and face your partner.

            “HYDRA hasn’t been able to recreate the super soldier serum. They haven’t made any progress at all since Zemo killed Dr. Nagel.” You say slowly, choosing your tone and words carefully. You don’t want to say too much and leave Bucky as terrified as you are right now, but you also know you can’t keep this from him. Not when you need him to understand how fucking careful you’re both going to have to be from now until the end of this mission.

            “I know that. What are we here for, y/n?” His tone is growing more and more impatient, his jaw ticking as he stares down at you. God, he can’t ever just shut up and listen. You put your hand on his chest, shoving him a few steps back and walking across the lab, to the glass refrigerator in the far corner. It’s full of vials of a clear liquid, each sealed at the top and marked with a label full of scientific terms.

            “They got desperate, and turned to even more barbaric methods of creating super soldiers. They started experimenting with chemical compounds that induce a primal need in those exposed.” You explain carefully. You pause now, turning to look back at Bucky once more. You see realization spread across his face and he quickly comes to understand what you’re saying. It’s a fucking sex pollen.

            Static crackles in your in-ear briefly before Sam’s voice reaches you both.

            “Banner and Stark just finished reviewing some of the data you shared. This is not something that either of you want to be exposed to.” Sam advises, and you can hear Torres in the background typing away on a keyboard.

            “Yeah, no shit.” You mutter, retrieving a pair of nitrile gloves from a box on the benchtop nearby and setting up the small lockbox that you brought for samples. You open it to reveal a padded interior, with enough room for three vials. The rest will have to be destroyed.

            “Just grab the samples, rig the place to blow, and get the hell out of there. I don’t want you in there any longer than you have to be.” Sam’s orders spur Bucky into action, and he starts setting up explosives around the corners of the lab while you get ready to retrieve the samples from the fridge. If only you’d known that HYDRA was one step ahead.

            It happened so fast that you didn’t even have time to try to protect yourself. The moment that you pulled open the small door to the fridge full of samples, that same cloudy vapor you saw in the video clip began to rush in from every air vent in the lab.

            “Shit.” You mumble, reaching into the fridge and grabbing three vials. You quickly place them into the lockbox and seal it, knowing that you’ll definitely need samples to test now that you’ve both been exposed.

            “Sam, we’ve got a problem.” Bucky is as calm as ever, though his voice comes out slightly annoyed. Of course he’d sound annoyed in this moment. He’s been exposed to a sex pollen alongside the partner that he can only get along with when they’re staring death right in the face. He heaves a weighty sigh before stalking over to you and snatching the lockbox from the benchtop. He quickly slides his backpack off, shoving it inside, and then heading for the exit, without checking to see if you’re on his heels or not. You strip off your gloves and bound after him. The gravity of the situation hasn’t hit either of you yet, but oh, it will soon enough.

--

            Bucky weaves his motorcycle in and out of traffic almost recklessly, with your arms clutched around his abdomen. It’s only been fifteen minutes since you were both exposed but you swear that you’re starting to feel the effects. Your cheeks are hot and flushed under your helmet, your hands are shaking as adrenaline courses through your veins, and your heart is racing. If you hadn’t been on the back of a motorcycle with Bucky so many times in the past, you would’ve chalked your symptoms up to this experience, but it’s definitely not that.

            “Loosen up, are you trying to do the Heimlich on me or something?” Bucky spits out, his voice playing in your helmet. You do as he says, loosening your hold and taking a deep breath in. You don’t say anything in response, which furthers the tension between you both. It’s been fifteen minutes of stressful silence and Bucky’s losing his damn mind. He wants you to give him shit like you usually would when a mission goes sideways. He wants you to lash out, tell him to stop driving like an ass, he wants you to say anything so he knows you’re okay. He can’t fucking stand the silence.

            He guides the bike down the long dirt road to the safe house you stayed in last night, and you hop off before he’s even put the kickstand down. He watches as you rush up the steps of the small cobblestone house, yanking off your helmet in one swift movement before you key the code into the door and force it open. You’re feeling the effects of the chemical pulsing through your veins, you’re feeling it and you’re trying to keep it from him.

--

            “It’s a very complex compound. A nitric oxide stimulant, utilizing both natural and man-made components. It’s basically a super soldier version of Viagra and ecstasy all in one.” Bruce says, addressing both you and Bucky through the video call. Concern and stress are etched into his soft features as he stands in the lab of the Avengers compound, his arms crossed and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to have to look out for the negative effects, which from the video clips of their experiments, are extremely strong. Take the side effects of ecstasy and multiply their intensity by a hundred.”

            “So, sweating, hypertension and tachycardia, jaw pain…” Your voice trails off as you list off the side effects of ecstasy that you know from your previous pharmacology classes. Bruce nods slowly.

            “Basically, you’ll feel like you’re having a heart attack, unless you’re able to relieve yourselves.” He summarizes.

            “What do you mean relieve yourselves?” Bucky questions. He’s seated on the couch next to you, his brow is furrowed and a sheen of sweat is becoming apparent along the side of his neck. You try not to look at him for too long, already feeling yourself longing for touch and physical contact of any kind.

            “If you’re able to achieve a postcoital state, you should have temporary relief of your symptoms. You might have to achieve that state more than once, until the chemical is out of your system.” You can almost hear the wheels turning in Bucky’s head as he works out what postcoital means. You have to reach an orgasm to feel any relief, but bless Banner for trying to put it in a more professional way.

            “Have you tested the half-life of the chemical yet?” You ponder, wanting to know exactly how long you’ll both be suffering through this. You wipe a bead of sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

            “Yeah, it seems like it can last anywhere from eight to ten hours in a non-super soldier, but it was designed specifically to work in conjunction with the serum, so it lasts eight to twelve hours in a super soldier.” Bruce’s words are starting to jumble together in your head, adding to the slightly throbbing headache that’s forming behind your eyes. You squeeze them shut and rub your temples just like you did in the lab earlier, zoning out as Tony and Bruce both start discussing the pharmacokinetics behind the compound currently wrecking your body.

            “What are our options here?” Bucky asks quietly, directing his question to you alone. You turn to look at him and see his cheeks flushed like yours now, his pupils dilated a minute amount, and his hands clasped together over his knees. There’s no hiding that it’s affecting you both now.

            “I don’t know. The only thing I can think to do is lock ourselves in different rooms and try to ride it out.” You say, rubbing your aching thighs through your tactical pants with the palms of your hands. Your bones are starting to hurt in a deep, consuming way, and all you want to do is give yourself a few doses of propofol to knock yourself out for the next eight hours. It’s going to be hell trying to get through this without having sex, especially if pain is setting in only an hour after the initial exposure.

            “Okay, so we do that. We each lock ourselves in a bedroom and fight it.” Bucky sounds sure and resolved, like he has total faith that your only plan available will work out fine. All it took to bring out his optimistic side was being doused with a sex pollen and stuck in a safe house.

            “I want to monitor both of your vitals through the night.” Bruce calls out, gaining your attention again.

            “No.” You and Bucky both speak firmly at the same time, quick to reject the idea. You don’t need a medical record showing how aroused you end up being tonight, you don’t need Bruce or any of the SHIELD lab staff watching your heart rate increase as you touch yourself, watching your blood pressure spike as you near your climax alone. Bucky is thinking the same thing, shit, his heart rate is probably already through the roof as it is, just from sitting next to you. He tries to focus on whatever else you, Bruce, and Tony are discussing but his jaw is clenched in pain and he’s fighting the urge to rip off his tactical suit right there. It feels like it’s fucking ninety degrees inside. The only thing he catches in the last bit of the conversation is from Tony.

            “There’s a chance you won’t find any relief in an orgasm alone, Y/n. Bucky will, because his body won’t know the difference between finishing himself off vs. finishing inside of a fertile woman, but this compound is meant to make your reproductive system go into overdrive. You won’t feel relief until your body thinks it has a chance of reproducing, until semen is introduced into your system.”

            “Fuck.” You inhale sharply, doubling over in pain both at Tony’s unfortunate conclusion and at the cramping sensation you’ve suddenly felt deep in your stomach. Fucking hell.

Next Part

[mysticalmaximoff]

Strawberry Scented Dreams

Overview: The 3 Times Todoroki Falls Asleep On You + The 1 Time You Fall Asleep On Him. Shouto is always sleepy and needs some rest, and your shoulder just happens to be the comfiest place to get it.

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Word Count: 3,697

Warning(s): Language, tooth-rotting fluff.

Author’s Note: This is so self-indulgent I literally have no words, LOL. I just wish Shouto were real so this could happen. *cries* A girl can dream.

1ST TIME: DURING A CLASS 1-A MOVIE NIGHT

“All in favor of a Twilight movie marathon say I!”

“No way in hell, Raccoon Eyes,” roared Bakugou, voicing the general consensus of Class 1-A.

Keep reading

[mysticalmaximoff]

Animal Instincts

Overview: With your shapeshifting quirk, you take on the duty of becoming the resident undercover therapy cat for Class 1-A. One day, you see Todoroki restless in the middle of the night and try to comfort him in cat form. But what happens when he confides in you his feelings you weren’t meant to hear?

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Shapeshifter!Reader

Word Count: 3,129

Warning(s): None, just lots of fluff and cat mischief and cutely awkward moments.

Author’s Note: Hey, y’all! This is my first BNHA fic and I had tons of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy! P.S. A Tododeku fic will most likely come out next + requests are open. :)

As Class 1-A’s self-proclaimed undercover therapy cat, you took it upon yourself to comfort your fellow classmates in need. And with the constant chaos that happened to surround U.A., you found that particular need to be quite substantial.

Keep reading

[mysticalmaximoff]

I think about the line from the Muppet Movie, “there’s not a word yet, for old friends who just met” constantly. Sometimes I’ll hear a song or see a piece of art, and I had just found it, never seen or heard it before, but I’ll be overcome with such intense emotion cause it feels like it’s a beloved memory from my childhood that I never had. Like I just met you, but it feels like I haven’t seen you in years and we’re finally meeting again and I’ve missed you so much. I know “having nostalgia for something you’re just now seeing” is basically “just liking it.” But I don’t know, I wish there was a word for “something I felt like I’ve known forever but I’m just now experiencing it.”

[mysticalmaximoff]

How I think Aizawa Sounds in Bed (Shouta Aizawa Moaning Headcanons + NSFW AUDIO)

NSFW Warning: 18+ PLEASE!!!, Daddy pet name, Sir honorific, video audio of moaning + people doing the deed (WEAR HEADPHONES)

A/N: Y/N is Gender Neutral for this one! (+ No distinct descriptions of genitalia) the audio video is right here below :) enjoy chile

YALLLLLLLL:

Sooooooo I've explored the unholy sites of the internet and found someone I think's voice would represent Shouta's very well when he...🥴let me briefly explain:

Those low rumbles and hums that build up in his chest when he locks eyes with you while you suck his cock so well, bobbing your cute head and wrapping your soft lips around him. Your tears well in your eyes and spill over, running down your cheeks as you gag on him.

Those audible gruff grunts and husky huffs Shouta makes when he's pounding your tight, squelching hole as you whine his name, practically weeping for him to fill you up.

Those few but perfectly tuned baritone pants of praise he smoothly passes in your ear for being so good for him, knowing how to make him cum so beautifully, how to behave so obediently for him, how to give him the best pleasurable climax he's had in ages. His head is damn near close to blowing off when you whine for him to keep going, those adorable sobs, pleas and responses of 'yes sir', 'please daddy' and 'please let me cum'. The shudders and jagged breaths he exerts while he cums are impeccable. He simply can't take it all, especially when you finally release against him, shaking and clawing at his animalistic form. You're his little baby tending to his needs, giving him your sweet little hole to fill over and over, all day if he wanted to, so he could blow off steam.

He surely lets you know he's enjoying himself with his ♡︎𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒♥︎ the audio examples of such are compiled at the beginning of the post as a video!

Audio cred to WickedFellow on PH or XVids!

I'm unsure of the artist for the art/picture but pls comment if you know who it is so I can give them cred!

[mysticalmaximoff]

we should just kiss!

.・. ✫・. ✭ head masterlist

✭.・✫ .・. bnha masterlist

inspired by @/lookslikeleese’s nurse office scene in Notice. 🥴 i’ve been obsessed with making out w bakugou since

-ˏˋ ATTENTION! ˊˎ-

➥ 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐌

❝Oh,” Bakugou says flatly, “it’s you.”

Smeared mascara cascades your cheeks in long talons of black. Stray tears blink pass your eyelashes despite your effort to contain them.

At this new revelation, Bakugou is absolutely distraught. Floored. Flabbergasted. “You can cry?”

You take a deep, measured sniff. “Eat my ass.❞

Keep reading

[mysticalmaximoff]

how high. bakugou katsuki

request; n/a i was just really in my bakugou feels bc i missed him and need more him (written by me) on my blog so keep an eye out because he’s coming back

pairing; bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warning/s; mild swearing, some lighthearted bullying, just complete angst to fluff i think

word count; 3.3k

summary; you think bakugou rejected you and kirishima offers his services to help you move on, but bakugou’s not having it.

➤ join my fandom family? ➤ rules for requesting ➤ prompt list ➤ my hero academia masterlist

“katsu, i’m in lo—”

Keep reading

[mysticalmaximoff]

— 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆.

characters: midoriya, todoroki, bakugo, tamaki, kaminari, kirishima, jirou, mina, momo, uraraka, toga, monoma, sero.

word count: 1.6k

content: fluff, big/little spoon debate (thats it thats the post), mild cursing.

𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧.

look. look. izuku just needs to be held actually. he's out there breaking bones all day, all he wants when he has a minute to relax is to slump into your arms and not think for a while. he gets shy when he does it - but not enough to stop, so he'll just bury his face in your neck so he doesn't have to look at you. this boy has a lot of pressure on his shoulders, you know? sometimes he likes just feeling small. loves it when you card your fingers gently through his hair as well, it puts him out like a light in minutes. pls hold him <3

tamaki loves loves loves being held and feeling small and safe in your arms are you kidding? it makes him so secure and eases his anxiety a lot, just lying there whilst you hold him :') it takes a minute for him to relax - he's scared of crushing you or making you uncomfortable rip, but after a while he's unconsciously lean into your warmth n just. stay there. sometimes he's so content he ends up dozing off, and sometimes he's so full of love he just tears up, but you don't say anything about it, just let him lie there and press a kiss to his head and let him know you've got him.

jirou is the kind of girl where if you ask if she's the big or little spoon, she'll tell you she's a knife. but whatever we know she's just flustered and very much wants to be held. literally malfunctions when she receives soft affection so pls press kisses to her hair and fiddle with her fingers, it makes her feel so loved n her insecurities are put to rest for a while. sometimes she tries to be the big spoon when she's feeling stubborn but it always ends up making her feel more lonely so she'll just wordlessly flip you both around and burrow into your arms.

please because all momo wants is to feel safe n secure n drown in ur love n adoration :(. she's a huge cuddler once she gets comfy with you, it's definitely a love language of hers and she loves it when you absently run your hands over her skin and play with her hair mindlessly, she could literally conk out to the rhythm of your oblivious touch. when you're lying together she likes to take one of your hands and hold it to her lips or under her cheek!! and when you've been holding her for a while she gets a bit shy n just thanks you quietly for doing this for her. momo hand in marriage now <3

shouto just follows your lead, rip. he has to be walked through many aspects of dating and intimacy and romance and at first the idea of being sprawled so casually with someone makes his hackles raise - like, it's a lot of trust to put in someone. but if there's anyone he trusts, it's you, so?? you let him be the big spoon the first time to try and put his nerves at ease but he finds it uncomfortable and he's not sure what to do with his hands. so next time, you coax him into being the little spoon and holy shit. holy shit. yes, this, good, he thinks, he's literally sinking into your soft arms whilst one of your hands cards gently through his hair and he feels so loved and safe he could cry. he'll still be the big spoon occasionally if you prefer but he loves the feeling of being held.

𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡/𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

denki is literally down for whatever. before you get together he thinks he's the big spoon because, like, why wouldn't he be? of course he's the big spoon! but then one night he's super tired after a long day n kinda just slumps down into ur arms and right before he falls asleep he's like huh. this is. this is kinda nice. and next time you both lie down together he throws a hissy fit and clambers all over you like a fussy housecat until he's lying on you like a weighted blanket with your arms over his back. since the epiphany, he's either the big or little spoon, depending on his mood and what you want. but if he's the little spoon he likes little, soft affections - stuff like little praises or running your finger over his knuckles has him melting into you.

monoma wants everyone to think he's the big spoon. if anyone ever asks, he bristles n his eyes narrow and he starts boasting loudly about 'of course i'm the big spoon! why would you think otherwise! have you seen me???' but you know the truth. it's true he likes the feeling of protection he gives when he's the big spoon, and likes being able to pull you closer or wriggle around at whim but sometimes. sometimes. he gets tired or exhausted or it's been one bad day too many and he just wants you to hold him tightly enough to keep those cracks breaking him apart. murmur into his hair and hold him very close to you and just tell him he's enough, please. he will not acknowledge it the next day but you know he loves it.

sero never goes into any relationship with many expectations, and he's secure enough to just wanna do whatever makes his partner happy, you know? if you wanna be the big spoon, cool, he has absolutely no qualms squirming up to you, and if you wanna be the little spoon, great, therapy is expensive but holding you in his arms and calling you beautiful fondly is free! the only catch is he is cuddly all the time and gets pouty if you peel yourself away for any reason. pretends to give you the cold shoulder after but he can't stay mad at you.

uraraka's brain is all abt compromise for her partner - as long as someone is being held, she doesn't care which way round it is. uraraka comes across as fairly confident for all her moments of doubt, but i still think she'd enjoy being held tight and having someone affirm that she is beautiful and powerful and brilliant, especially because she does have flashes of insecurity. but oh my god sometimes she literally feels like she could topple the world in her wedged boots and there's nothing she loves more in those moments than tackling you in a hug and pressing a hundred tiny kisses to the back of your head or neck. ugh i love her.

𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧.

katsuki. are we surprised? no. lol this man cannot give up control for one moment of his life but i promise it is about more than that. look. this boy has been through the wringer whether he wants to admit it or not. you don't just ... not get affected by things like the sludge villain and getting kidnapped and held hostage, you know? he's been confronted with harsh reality quite quickly and it makes him afraid! of course it does! he's a kid. but then there are his friends and you and he wants to protect you all but now he doesn't know if he can. being in charge when you lie down together is just a good way for him to feel like he can actually help and protect you from the cruel world. he means well, really. and sometimes - very, very occasionally - he might crack a little bit and let you hold him for once.

mina has so much energy!! she just doesn't have the capacity to sit still and let someone hold her for extended periods of time, even if she's so tired she's almost falling over. she's so stubborn about never being the little spoon, you don't know why and at this point you're too afraid to ask. she's so wriggly!! even after she's yanked you down to lie with her and is pulling you by your stomach to lie against her, she's nuzzling between your shoulder blades and kicking her legs to tangle them with yours. she's literally like a cat that can't get comfy. but whatever, she's cute, and she calls you adorable when you're spooning so i guess you can put up with it <3

toga would literally rather eat teeth than relinquish her hold on you for one second. she's so clingy when she's awake - if you're walking through a crowd she's got a fistful of your sleeve in her hand so you don't slip away, if you have free time she's playing with your hair or painting your nails or begging you to let her draw on your skin with pen or eyeliner, and if you're meeting new people she has both arms around your waist and her head on your shoulder. did you think this was gonna change when you laid down to sleep? ur a fool. she holds you so close she's practically on top of you. she's smothering you in her love n you better accept it.

it just makes sense that kirishima is naturally drawn to being a big spoon. like. he's pretty protective of you, despite knowing you can take care of yourself very well without him, because he's compensating for his own insecurity. he loves feeling big and strong enough to protect you because he knows he would've faltered when he was younger. he makes you feel so safe as well, it doesn't even merit protesting because then what?? ur gonna get the puppy dog eyes?? no get urself back in bed and let the sweet boy be the big spoon.

[mysticalmaximoff]

LOVE LANGUAGES

characters: midoriya, todoroki, bakugo, tamaki, mirio, nejire, uraraka, yaoyorozu, jirou, ashido, tsuyu, sero, kaminari, kirishima, iida, monoma, shinsou

word count: 2.5k

content: i think some light cursing? food mention, gender neutral reader.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

kirishima is your biggest hypeman. every little thing you do expect him to be there cheering you on! he thinks there's no better way to show his adoration for you than by shouting it loud and proud for everyone to hear. no room for embarrassment if you're this guy's s/o because he'll be telling everyone and their mother how amazing you are. he has his quiet moments too, of course, peppering your face with kisses and mumbling how beautiful you are into your hairline, or clapping you on the shoulder when you finally finish that project you've been procrastinating with a huge smile and telling you, "i knew you could do it! you wanna get something to eat?"

mirio is encouragement incarnate. he's so positive and sincere with everything he says you find it rubbing off on you. if you need a confidence boost this is your man - he'll literally grab your shoulders and babble about everything he loves about you until you physically make him stop. he's so good at navigating unsure, anxious people and lifting them up as best he can. he believes so earnestly in your potential and nothing makes him happier than seeing his words have an effect on you. anything you accomplish that you're proud of, guess what, he's ten times prouder. ace that english test? he'll haul you to him with his strong arms and a huge smile and exclaim, "what'd i tell you? you'll smash the next one too, kid!"

ashido's favourite pastime is showering you in compliments to fluster you. she tells you immediately when she thinks you look good, which is always of course. and she means it too! she'll exclaim how a certain colour really makes your eyes pop, or you should have your hair this way more often because it suits your face. drops very casual "i love you"'s, like tell her you're going for a shower and she'll smile up and you and say "alright, love you. don't use all the shower gel!" and it makes your heart stop every time. she's such an endlessly sweet, reassuring s/o. she'll always whine about how cool she thinks you are to her friends and amp it up to a hundred if you overhear.

ACTS OF SERVICE

you can pry words of affirmation out of bakugo's cold, dead hands - he shows his affection silently and discriminately, but he does show it. he's for sure the type of person to cook you food if you skipped a meal to study, bitching loudly the whole time - but he'll linger at the table to make sure you eat it all, and whisk the plate away once you're done so it doesn't distract you. rarely compliments you - maybe a gruff "nice," if you pull off an exceptional move during training, but you know when he's proud of you when he lets you hug him close or run your hands through his hair. he'll for sure appoint himself as your personal tutor, even if he grumbles about it and berates you for getting the wrong answer, he'll walk you through it with a surprising amount of patience until you get it right, because he wants you to succeed.

jirou is another individual who has trouble expressing her emotions. if she tries, she just gets all stammery and flustered, and then she's angry at herself for screwing it up so she'll be sullen for the rest of the day. better to just let her show you how much she appreciates you. she actually loves when you watch her play her instruments, though she'd vehemently deny it if you asked, so if you're content to just watch your amazing talented girlfriend do her thing for a while, she'll melt. also the type to buy two of anything she's buying - vending machine snacks, coffees, socks - so you don't feel left out. never lets you pay her back, either, so you might as well get used to it.

QUALITY TIME

midoriya is not a picky guy when it comes to you. everything is a date - absolutely a guy who would be down to take you out somewhere fancy, if you asked, or plan out intricate dates meticulously, but he's equally as happy to kick back in pyjamas with junk food and a movie. he's just happy to spend time with you! if he has free time he's spending it with you - the library at lunch for a bit of quiet, and homework dates in the evening (which usually just devolve into him staring at you over a textbook, eyes wide and mouth parted, wondering dazedly how he got so lucky). he's a busy boy, so indoor dates will probably be a more common occurrence, but he always plans around important events. he has your birthday and anniversaries in bold pen circled three times in his notebook, and he's brainstorming weeks in advance, so expect something super fun for every special occasion!

todoroki is so happy to just indulge in your company, though he sometimes worries to himself that it's not enough for you. you seem content enough to spend a good amount of your free time in his room, usually in comfortable silence, but all the research he'd done - yes, he did research, you know he would - seemed to conclude that most people enjoyed going out with their significant others. it's just that he likes being in your company, because you give it to him unthinkingly, and he doesn't have to second guess anything when he's with you. occasionally he takes you out on lovely, romantic dates that he's planned down to the second, paid for with endeavour's credit card of course, and it's worth it to see the bright, happy shine in your eyes. you two also have a lot of homework and study dates to maintain his meticulous grades. he'll often just swing by and if you're busy at the time he'll totally just be like "oh okay i'll wait" and pull up a seat and watch you. it's not in a creepy way, he just likes being around you. makes him feel safe :)

tamaki is not good with words, and he's generally not comfy in hugely public places, so traditional dates aren't terribly common. he feels terrible about it, wishing he could choke his anxiety down to give you the date you deserve, so please give him a kiss and assure him the most important thing to you is spending time with him. at first he'll be like huh. why. doesn't compute. but he grows to love your little dates, especially cuddling on the couch with his head in your lap as you run your hands through his hair. he really likes cooking you guys a meal and eating together too, it just makes his heart thud happily watching you enjoy something he's created!! one of his favourite things to do after a long patrol is just go boneless in your arms and have you haul him into bed and be the little spoon and fall asleep with his head in your neck because it makes him feel so loved and safe. he may cry but you pretend not to notice.

shinsou loves quiet evenings together. he's really into study dates and lunchtime spent in the library because it allows for peace and quiet, but it also allows him to gaze at you in quiet disbelief at how amazing he thinks you are for putting up with him. he does also like going out to eat, but not in really crowded places. he has a stunning ability of finding great hole-in-the-wall joints with really good, cheap food where nobody else really frequents. it's not like he doesn't like showing you off! he does - he just prefers to be undisturbed by anyone else and focus all his attention on you. he savours every moment he has alone with you because he can't quite believe you're real sometimes, and he's not too great at expressing his feelings so he just becomes kind of adorably clingy. he'll watch you train with a proud little smile and look on as you prepare food in silent contentment.

sero is a very chill person to hang out with. he's down for whatever - if you wanna stay in and play videogames, cool, he'll make some food and break out the soda. he loves going to the arcade and he gets weirdly competitive over the claw machines and will keep putting money in until he wins you a prize. also enjoys long walks or hikes or whatever, and he's a spontaneous person - will just swing by one day and tell you he's planned a day out for you guys. i mean this guy is down for anything at all - i headcanon him as an ambivert so he's totally content just staying in and playing games or studying together if you want. he's mostly just concerned with making sure you're content, but he does love to go all-out sometimes.

GIVING GIFTS

uraraka loves buying you little trinkets that remind you of her when she's out!! she lives for the surprised on your face when she presents them to you. she won't set out with the intention of buying you anything - but then she'll just feel it calling to her and she thinks how happy it would make you and she can't resist! you better treasure all the little things she buys for you because it ends up amounting to a lot. very much also the type of girl to rush out and buy you an emergency snack or bottle of water if she thinks you're not sustaining yourself enough because she wants you to take care of yourself.

yaoyorozu is very much the type to spoil her significant other without even realising it. totally breezes in to wherever you are and casually tosses some expensive piece of jewellery like "hey darling i saw this and thought of you! i think i have the size right but i can get you another if it's wrong." meanwhile you're holding a watch that could pay off your student debt in your hand. she also loves swinging by if you're eating at a cafe or restaurant alone and discreetly paying for your bill just so she can see the surprise on your face. if she sees you glance at anything in a store window is turns up at your door in a box the next day and she'll just shrug and beam at you and beg you to try it on for her. she loves spoiling you and she has the money to do it! make her pockets hurt!

PLEASE because tsuyu would literally pick you little flowers off the field and just give them to you. i headcanon that she knows a lot about flowers because she spends a lot of time by water and in nature, very much cottagecore vibes, and flowers and such are her favourite things to give you. if you're eating outside together she'll totally make you a little daisy chain flower crown and you better put the damn thing on your head. if you want to make her cry keep all the flowers she gives you and keep them pressed and preserved in a book so you can look back on them fondly. will also give you cool-looking pebbles, shells and bits of seaglass too after making sure you wouldn't cut yourself on it. one time she found a four-leaf clover and put it right in your hand with such a happy look it made you want to cry.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

iida is actually a lot touchier than people believe - though not in a very casual way, as expected of the class president. he's not the type to sling an arm around your shoulder or anything, but he does love holding your hand in public. he likes showing you off! he's so proud to call you his s/o! i see him as a kind of old-school romantic who will do cheesy things like kiss your knuckles so sincerely. he's full of helpful, guiding touches too, helping you up after a sparring session with a hand in yours and another on your elbow, or coaxing you to sit up in bed with by tapping on your waist to get you to move. very respectful boy, will not let his hands wander ever, you must give him the go-ahead to touch you anywhere - but once you do he can't get enough! running his fingers over your shoulders and arms helps him relax. gives the best massages because he has good strong hands and he loves helping you unwind after a long day.

kaminari is always. touching. you. he just can't get enough! always has an arm round you in public, half to show you off like - look! look how lucky i am! hell yeah! - and half to keep you close to him because for all his bravado he really can't believe his luck sometimes, and he wants to make sure you don't run away from him. he's such a sappy romantic underneath it all - he loves having you close to him always, on his lap, spooning, an arm round your waist, fingers in the base of your hair. he loves flustering you by peppering your face and neck with kisses until you're laughing because nothing makes him feel better about himself than seeing your smile and knowing he put it there. he has a lot of energy usually, but when he's burnt out there's loves little more than being the little spoon and nuzzling into your neck whilst you card your fingers through his hair.

nejire is super affectionate and indiscriminate with it. everyone is a lucky receptor of her casual hugs and fluttery kisses. she just adores physical contact with the people she loves, and you are no exception. she is so casual with her kisses - on your temple lovingly when you lay together, on your cheek proudly when you accomplish something, on your mouth when the love she feels for you comes bursting out of her in waves. she'll always have an arm linked with yours and will kind of drag you around a bit if you don't keep up with her energy, but it's worth it because she'll have this bright, beaming smile on her face the whole time that gives you butterflies.

monoma's words never seem to come out the way he wants, and he's not great at working out gifts for you, so he tries to show his affection through touch. he's actually pretty flustered about it at first - he'll start of just linking your hands together and refusing to look at you, waiting for the teasing or the laughing, but you just smile and lock your fingers together firmly. he grows to love and rely on holding you - holding hands makes him feel grounded and reel in his emotions. he's a fan of just knocking his head against yours gently when he's annoyed or flustered like a feral dog banging his head on a wall but he just finds it comforting. if he's feeling particularly frustrated he likes to just bury his head in your chest and scream for a minute, and then he'll snap his head up with a demure smile and just ask if you want to go out and get some food. unhinged little man.

[mysticalmaximoff]

haloo, it's me again :> can i request prompt 8 w/ shoto? istg i love your writing as it brings me to a place of joy & tranquility ùwú keep up the great work and have a nice day^^

shoto todoroki + ‘buying them something unrequested because it makes you think of them.’

prompt list

a/n: that’s ... so sweet oh my gosh thank you so much. this was quite a challenge bc i struggle with shoto’s characterisation and i had to rewrite it a few times, but i hope you enjoy 🥺

shoto thinks he realises his feelings for you at something utterly inconsequential.

it's the end of semester. you're all at the mall - him, you, midoriya, iida, uraraka, tsuyu, and it seems most other students had the same idea, because the place is absolutely heaving. iida has to haul tsuyu bodily around with them to stop her getting lost, and for the last five minutes shoto has been gripping the back of your sleeve to keep you anchored to him. it's a tiny, familiar gesture that he's grown to expect - and adore, though he'd never admit it. you're one of the few people in his life that offers safety and solidarity to him without a catch, without condition, and it's taken some getting used to, but he thinks, with the help of these people who have grown achingly familiar to him, he thinks he might be learning.

friends. he's never had them before.

it began with midoriya, of course. the sports festival - that aching press of noise, the bite of his ice beginning to dig into his skin, and the trembling flare of his fire side coming to life for the first time in years. and after that he just stuck to the boy. he didn't plan on it - and some part of him still wavered, unsure, distrustful, but midoriya only ever offers kindness and warmth when shoto expects coldness and punishment, and so he eases himself into midoriya's life, slowly, trustingly, terrifyingly.

you'd already been friends with the others before shoto came along. he'd seen you, briefly, but truth be told you weren't entirely on his radar before he began to get to know you. you were evidently smart, being in class 1a, and you had a decent control of your quirk - but it wasn't something immensely powerful, or anything. you were sort of just... ordinary.

he didn't realise how much he'd been aching for ordinary. all his life, he'd been surrounded by the most - a father who was the second-rated hero in the world, an undeniably powerful quirk, more money than he could spend in his life, a past that woke him at night with a face damp with tears and his scar stinging.

it began with tea.

shoto had always liked tea, and he drank it when he couldn't sleep. so on an occasion, after everyone had been shuttled into their dorms, he made his way down to the kitchen, the action familiar - only to find you learning on the counter as the kettle came to a boil, looking at him with faint surprise.

a beat of silence. "hey."

"hello," he replied, blinking twice. you coughed slightly, lips twisting into a slight frown.

"do you... want some tea?"

his eyes flicked from you to the kettle, spewing steam. "yes."

he made for the cupboard holding the mugs, but you surprised him, stepping in front of him and patting his shoulder gently. he thinks he'd recoiled at the touch, but you only looked up at him tiredly and said, "sit down. i'll do it."

uncomprehending, he frowned. "i don't mind."

"neither do i. sit down," you replied, nodding at the row of stools lounging by the counter and reaching up to grab two mugs. slowly, nonplussed, he pulled up a chair and watched you as you set about making two drinks. he watched the fussing of your hands, opening draws, splaying over the tiny strainer. the laser focus of your eyes roving over different jars. the curve of your mouth when you asked him which kind of tea he liked, and the slight nod when he replied jasmine. he hadn't meant to stare. he was just kind of confused at this simple kindness.

you were doing something for him, even though you didn't have to. he was... still accommodating to that.

when you slide him his mug and pull up a stool beside him, a respectful distance between the two of you, you don't talk. you don't ask what's wrong, or why he's awake, and he affords you the same courtesy. the two of you sip in a silence that doesn't leave him on edge, and when he's done you gently pry the mug from his hands and take them both over to the sink. he makes to leave - but hovers at the doorway, unsure. how is he to repay this kindness? do you expect him to, even? midoriya hadn't expected a thing when he saved him at the sports festival, not even a victory, not even his companionship, but he doesn't like feeling like he's in your debt.

it's just tea, he told himself firmly. but it wasn't.

so the next time you both find yourselves in the kitchen, chasing slumber in the bottom of a boiling cup, he tells you to sit down, and you don't argue. you merely press your hands together and watch as he brews, as he did, and when you're both done he rinses the cups at the sink. you pause at the doorway.

"goodnight, todoroki," you call softly, and he looks over at you.

"goodnight," he replies. "sleep well."

"you too." it's not an order, in the same way his wasn't. it's a request, a plea. it's concern. it's thoughtless kindness, as though you have so much of it to dish out, as though it's second nature to you.

shoto feels uniquely privileged to be a recipient of it, as cold water runs over his hands.

when shoto jerks back to the present with a blink, he realises you're gone.

his grip must've slackened; he grasps at empty air with his fingers for a second or so as reality seeps in around him, and then a jump of panic makes his heart bang painfully in his chest. he comes to a complete stop, thoughtless of the seething crowd around him, peering every which way, but you're nowhere to be found.

"midoriya," he calls, and the boy stops trying to shove his way through two bulky men and turns. "[y/n]'s gone."

"what?" uraraka cries. "where did they go?"

"i - i don't know," shoto admits, feeling shame curl at him, cursing his absent-mindedness. had you been carried away by the crowd? where you panicking? his hand feels gapingly empty.

"i think we should find somewhere less - excuse me, don't barge into me! - less crowded and try and think of what to do then!" iida calls. shoto bites his lip, casting another look around, and hates to admit that iida is right. midoriya looks torn, and tsuyu and uraraka equally concerned, but the group acquiesces to iida's command and make their way to a small plaza around a fountain, where there is room enough to breathe. shoto reaches a hand into his jacket to bring out his phone, already thinking with dread that you mightn't even be able to hear him calling you in the dense crowd, when -

"there you guys are!"

you push your way past a group of middle-schoolers, and all shoto can do is blink foolishly at you as uraraka grabs your hands and iida launches into a lecture about not wandering off. you grin sheepishly, and shoto silently slips his phone back into his pocket, relief seeping through him. he knows he's overreacting - and so, apparently, does midoriya, judging by the tiny confused frown he's shooting at him.

"sorry, sorry!" you laugh. "i was only gone for a minute. it's just i saw - " inexplicably, your eyes flick over to shoto, and you cut yourself off. are you flushing? it must be the heat from the crowd. he probably also shouldn't be staring this intensely at you. you make your way over to him and thrust a tiny paper bag under his nose. "here."

he blinks owlishly at it. it's crumpled, small and slightly torn from where your fingernails had dug in as you clutched it to you. for a moment he's uncomprehending - did you... buy him something? he's still staring at it when your hand starts to falter and droop, and shakes himself back to reality, reaching up to take the small bag. you step back and watch, uncharacteristically flustered, as the rest of the group peer on, curious and bewildered.

when his fingers slide under the paper, he feels something small and hard. he brings it out into the light and squints at the lettering.

it's a jar, around the size of the palm of his hand. the label tells him that it's tea, a blend meant to induce drowsiness for sleepless nights. he reads this, but still he stares at it, letting it sink in.

when he looks up at you, you're wringing your hands and refusing to look at him. "you... did you - buy this for me?"

you grow, impossibly, more agitated. "i - i know it's nothing much. i mean, you could probably buy that entire teashop, so... but i just thought it might be nice."

thoughtless kindness. shoto stares at you, feels his own face grow hot even as he presses his mouth into a line. "it's - i - thank you," he manages. why is his voice so strangled? his hands are shaking, too. maybe he's coming down with something. a pleased look climbs over your face, and when you smile his heart jerks in his chest and his fingers tighten over the jar like it's a lifeline.

oh, he realises. oh.

it's just tea, he tells himself. but it isn't.

[mysticalmaximoff]

how they talk about you

— ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦ 4k followers milestone

character(s) : multiple characters (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] gender neutral, quirk’s not specific

headcanon type : lots of fluff (x reader)

note(s) : again, thank you all for 4k‼️ as an additional thank you, i decided to write this 😼 i wrote two versions so,, if you’re seeing this i posted this one instead. this is the first part of my 4k celebration! also, i tried to add more characters but if i did, i would’ve cried myself to sleep in the editing process💀

bakugou katsuki

“Y/N?— oh, you meant the dweeb. they’re fine, of course they’d fuckin’ be. now stop pressing on that shit.”

“tch, i don’t know where they are.. that idiot told me they’d be here in 5 minutes.. it’s getting agitating now. them? annoying? who the fuck do you think you are— who said you could agree with me?”

↛ he prefers not talking about you, and it’s not because he’s keeping you a secret, but once katsuki starts talking— he’s sure people won’t stop asking him, and the last thing the explosive quirk user wants is for people to meddle in business that’s not theirs. also only talks about you in full sentences to kirishima (from here and there) when he needs a little advice. nonetheless, he talks about you like you annoy him so much, just by remembering something you did a few moments ago. but expect him to be throwing hands if people actually find you annoying. they don’t have permission to genuinely agree with him, not on his watch. he scoffs before speaking about you, but gosh— he wishes his voice didn’t betray him whenever he spoke about you. though his voice still contains it’s usual roughness, anyone can tell that something’s quite different. his features (and i mean eyes) relax ever so slightly, and he has to dig his nails into his palms to prevent him from showing off that barely there, and soft, soft smile in front of other people. it’s all because of the thought of you, and you ought to be grateful that he even spoke the bare minimum.

todoroki shouto

↛ on the outside, shouto doesn’t talk to you overly— like.. he won’t randomly mention something you did, if the topic wasn’t already about s/os or just you overall. but literally, once his siblings, mother, or just anyone that’s a friend asks about you, he won’t shut up about your qualities, speaking about you so in such a fond manner. he obviously won’t suddenly covert into a chatterbox like kaminari, but he speaks a lot more than what’s ‘usual’. people even notice that the corners of his lips have been lifted slightly. so yeah, the change is there. shouto prefers keeping the close details of your relationship disclosed, with that being said— he doesn’t need to speak a lot to be saying a lot, you get what i mean? so little words, have so much meaning when it’s shouto that’s speaking. despite the fact that he’s not a chatterbox, his immediate family remembered who you are, because well.. when shouto speaks, they remember all of the details— they haven’t seen him talk so much in forever. like the time he called you pretty (and quite normally, like he was reading a grocery’s list) in front of his siblings during dinner, and natsuo was contemplating if someone replaced their shouto with a doppelgänger. it still amazed them regardless. shouto’s always kept to himself, and he’s usually the listener in conversations, but when it comes to you— he doesn’t mind speaking a few sentences of the purest adoration.

“Y/N told me they enjoyed the recipe for yesterday’s lunch. oh, i’ll tell them you said thanks. next time, can we make [your 2nd favorite food]? i believe that’d be a nice surprise for them.”

“i really like looking at them, i’m not exactly sure why but.. they’re nice to look at, really nice, actually. oh, you think i find them pretty? well.. if you put it that way, i suppose i do.”

midoriya izuku

↛ when he talks about you, izuku briefly closes his eyes first, and smiles softly at himself— just by thinking about you. at this point, people aren’t sure if he’s a hero fanatic, or if he’s your fanboy (there are no wrong answers here) and good grief, once he starts, this man won’t stop talking. talks about you so often, that his mom knows A LOT about you, despite not even seeing you in person, and she automatically takes a liking to you, because he’s said the kindest things. it’s cute that his expression brightens up, just at the mention of your name— and the way he beams whenever he remembers important details about your fighting style / quirk mid-thought. not a bad thing is said about you, and it’s just that— people don’t know if it’s adorable when he talks about you, or if they’ve made a big mistake. if not stopped, he could go on for hours. of course, there comes a time izuku has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from rambling too much, because he’d rot of embarrassment if you discovered how much he spoke about you, especially when you’re not around. but, he does get exceptionally red when he talks about something else that’s not your fighting style, or quirk. his friends know not to ask him about your most attractive feature— but his reaction makes things amusing, and downright sweet

↛ “Y/N’s new move was practiced to perfection, was i the only one that saw that? i really hope not, it would be a shame!— wait.. their new costume? uhm.. it’s great! it’s great, suuuper nice oh my i hope that didn’t sound weird. heard it’s waterproof, which is a cool feat!”

“what i think of Y/N? they’re amazing, so amazing. where do i even begin with this, it’s just that— uhm! before that, you don’t mind me talking about them, right?”

shinsou hitoshi

“oh, how’s Y/N? they’re.. fine. you could’ve asked them yourselves but.. they’re doing fine. i don’t doubt that they’re doing way better than me though.”

“you saw them wearing my sweater? oh.. of course you would. i lost it a while ago, so of course they’d have it.. they always have my sweaters, yeah.. what? kaminari, you literally brought them up— ugh.”

↛ also another person that prefers keeping details about your relationship between you and him, but if asked politely, he might slip in a little comment. though, if someone like aizawa asks about you, he’ll obviously be more comfortable with talking about you, because it’s not like his mentor’s gonna tell you his student mentioned something funny you did. whenever your name’s mentioned, he lets out a deep sigh before he talks about you— people don’t know why, but it’s mainly because he’s remembering something ridiculous you did, and hitoshi has to do that to not chuckle infront of people for no clear reason, and he allows himself to slip in a cute, teasing nickname like “pipsqueak” and something similar. though he doesn’t babble like how midoriya does— talking about is almost therapeutic to him, the way your face flashes in his mind when he talks about you in such a calm matter, it’s interesting to everyone around him. secondly, hitoshi always manages to sprinkle in a few subtle praises, because he still can’t believe that you’re actually with him. when you’re told that hitoshi looks whipped whenever he talks about you, he’ll be everything but ashamed. he was asked, and he told them— so what? plus, the flustered expression on your face is indeed cute.

↛ that doesn’t mean he won’t feel bashful— how do people know, you may ask? it’s definitely the hand that’s resting against his nape. he absolutely knows that people sometimes ask him about you to get a reaction out of him. and it works everytime

kirishima eijirou

↛ talks about you like you built the entire world with your two hands. the amount of respect that’s present when eijirou talks about you. always manages to talk about how manly you are— doesn’t matter if you’re in touch with your feminine side a lot, or even if you’re the most ambiguous person. i mean, he calls everyone he respects ‘manly’ but the difference with you is that a faint blush on his cheeks. talks about you pretty often, when asked— he’ll say you’re doing well, or if you’re not— you’ll be okay, definitely. he might not be speaking like his usual self, a tad bit quieter than usual, but that’s because of how fuzzy you make him feel. despite that, he’s proud about all of your progress in whatever you’re passionate about, because “that makes them manly” but he definitely knows where to stop, in order to not accidentally say something you wouldn’t be happy about later. when the topic’s about significant others, eijirou will gladly add on with pride. if you do find out about it, he’ll definitely be shy that you found out. but every time, eijirou ask you if what he said was alright— and obviously, you say yes every time.

“they’re so manly! and so what if i call everything i like manly— they really are, i promise! i don’t really see how i’d lie about that though.”

“do i have anything else to say about them besides manly? uh.. i guess now that you’ve mentioned it, yeah. i guess i shouldn’t just reduce them to just that! they’re awesome at catching tiny details, and amazing at coloring my roots! i guess they’re everything i’m lacking, haha”

kaminari denki

↛ talks about you in such light, airy matter— but it’s all flooded with pure infatuation. it sounds cheesy, and it is really— can’t really dilute it. whenever this would happen, people thought denki was just going through one of his puppy crush phases yet again— where he’d talk fondly about someone for a moment, before he was rejected or found someone else to admire, since things ‘weren’t too serious’. then, everyone near and close to him realized that he was dead serious. the way he’d always have the cheesiest things to say, and the way he’d hype you up to his friends, and to everyone near him really, excitingly talking about something you did or said. when you get word that he was talking about you, he’ll laugh it off, shooting you a flirty remark before you roll your eyes in faux annoyance, asking once again. but then, there are times where he’d solemnly speak about you to those close. he always found himself making jokes, but denki’s quite grateful to have someone that can play along with his jokes, so he expresses that very well with words— especially when you’re not around to see him talk about you in such way, because he’d probably morph the mood into something light-hearted which isn’t bad, mostly.

“omg did you see what Y/N did? it was totally hilarious! i think their joke’s execution was better than mine by thousands!”

“but really though, i’m not sure if i express this enough— but i’m so glad i have someone like Y/N, i am seriously winning at life here. tape spider man, i am serious!”

amajiki tamaki

“why oh why are people asking me about them uh.. t-they’re fine, they’re doing well— right now i think they’re training, and they just told me to wait for a bit..”

“..sometimes i’m truly amazed, i think i’m actually always just amazed by them. in some way, being around them makes me feel like.. something. i admire that about them, it’s not just that quality, if i’m being honest. wait, i said that out loud, didn’t i?”

↛ tamaki was never articulate with saying the words he wanted to say. the execution was always a concern for him, on top of that, public speaking was never his forté, so he usually expressed himself through subtle actions, whispered phrases, and gifts— you can almost say it felt like he was walking on egg shells, whenever someone made inquiries about anything unexpected. but, when the topic’s you— it feels like tamaki can say nothing ‘incorrect’ or ‘weird’ because of the fact that he nearly knows you like the back of his hand. there’s that part of him that’s concerned about saying something incorrect. then again, it’s not like you haven’t reassured him that he wouldn’t mess up. so because of that, tamaki feels like he could actually speak paragraphs (if he wanted to, but because it’s you— he genuinely does) and it honestly took mirio and nejire by surprise when they heard him speak of you so intricately for the first time, after discovering his crush on you. sure, being asked about you flusters him at first, because he’s aware he’s being put on the spot— but for once, tamaki speaks not because he’s required to, but because he can’t find himself worrying about the execution of words. he just.. loves talking about you, okay? but he’ll probably revert back to normal when you ask him about him talking about you— so maybe turn a blind eye for now.

aizawa shouta

↛ okay okay, if there’s someone that’s definitely articulate with words, it’ll be him— shouta. i headcanon shouta to be the teenager that was just professional and formal about his speech at all times. not that it’s terrible, it definitely helped him when he transitioned into his adult years, and suddenly needed to make formal speeches in front of classes of students. the teacher’s also the type to keep details of his relationship confidential, but will share when he’s in a closed space, or when it’s necessary for him to speak (ex : when he’s with eri, and she asks about you, he can’t say no) with that being said, whenever he does speaks about you, it’s almost poetic, i think sophisticated is more proper, but poetic also works. talks about you like he’s making a video analysis about why you’re way too good for him, if you want to feel complimented with words, then shouta’s your man. though he speaks so carefully, and as professionally as he feasibly can— whenever he talks about you, his eyes soften, and the corners of his lips will be tugged up into a tired smile for a few seconds at most. he’s usually spectacular at keeping a neutral upfront— but he allowed it to slip in front of present mic once, and the blond had to wipe his eyes clean to make sure he saw that correctly.

“Y/N’s fine. they’re just down the hall, if you’d like to see them. now— i believe we’re getting off track.”

“Y/N is always exceptional when it comes to their handy work, and performance in their line of work. an honor to work with, really. working with them is anything but a sore, i cannot imagine standing by anyone else… i hope that wasn’t too hard to understand, i’ve always been told i spoke too formally, eri. ‘if Y/N likes the way you talk, then keep doing it’? i.. don’t think i can oppose to that.”

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

taglist ‼️ (bold cannot be tagged, so please tag them ‼️ 😔) @baku6o @kmbnoir @anactualfuckingnerd @kitsuji @tamewkii @astridismissing @sweethcnvy @why-couldnt-it-be @kioyoki @pebblegwn @givingeraserhead @uxavity @snowymaltese @escapenightmare @taurus852 @han-the-fanboy @crack-squirrels @hourlyhate @vdoesthings @gravity-gacha @blxck-hxney @electronicpainterwobblergoop @nopenotallie @mhasimp666 @shelteredheart @lovingshoto

[mysticalmaximoff]

— 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒

summary: you and izuku kiss - but don’t worry it’s just for practise definitely.

wc: 1.3k

content: mild cursing, food mention.

notes: based on honeys drabble bc it’s been on my mind for a week <3 @honey-desires

izuku midoriya is selfish.

he knows this, though nobody else seems to. ask anybody else in his life - his mom, all might, his friends, you - and they'd all tell you staunchly that he is the most selfless person they know, that he won’t keep to himself if he can heroically interfere, that he has less preservation instinct than a bird hurling itself at a window - but izuku knows the truth.

he is selfish.

otherwise, why would he be here? i mean, not literally - he's in his bedroom on a saturday night, which is a perfectly normal place for him to be. there's music playing in the background but he can't focus, because you're sitting in front of him with your hands clasped in your lap, looking at him with uncharacteristic nervousness. the script you're supposed to be working your way through has been discarded at the foot of his bed, because the whole thing had come to a bit of a standstill, due to - well.

you'd asked him to help go through your lines, and he'd done so, of course. the play was a little ridiculous, but it was a big role and he knew you were excited for it. it’s probably best that monoma's mess of a play never left the light of their enclosed school festival, because some of the lines you had to read had made the both of you cringe and bury your faces in your hands on multiple occasions. the saccharine declarations of love feel awkward and stilted coming from your lips; not because you’re a bad actor, but because izuku knows it isn’t the kind of thing you do.

you don't... go around waxing poetic about how much you loved people. you just did it. it's something he admires about you the most.

still, you'd waded through most of the lines - and then came that one little stage direction that had you biting your nail and heat pooling to your cheeks. you had to kiss your stagemate.

and, okay, maybe you shouldn't have signed up for a play that was at least partly inspired by romeo and juliet if you were so averse to the idea of kissing someone onstage, but - you just hadn't put much thought into it at the time, really. and as inko cooked dinner in the next room you were pacing and fretting and working yourself up to the point that tears were beading in your eyes, and izuku -

izuku can't stand it. you're always the one coaxing the tears out of his eyes, the one wiping them gently away.

so he does... something stupid.

you ask him, "are you sure?"

he nods before he can even think. selfish. "y-yeah, i'm sure. if - um - if you're still okay with it, of course!"

"i am," you reply easily, smiling, which soothes his fizzing nerves a little. he can feel himself spasming with anxiety, like his blood has caught alight beneath his skin, and he can't help that his eyes keeping darting down to your lips when you talk. was this actually happening?

he jumps when you reach out and wrap your hands over his own; he hadn't even realised he'd been fiddling with his fingers, and he watched, entranced, mouth parted, as you carefully unwind each of them until his palms are spread wide. as you begin to talk, your fingers walk down the jagged paths of his scars, and he can't help the shudder that passes through him. you're so... gentle with him. like you're really afraid of hurting him.

you always have been, really. it's why this is happening - because you're kind, and he is selfish.

"thanks," you whisper, the words barely catching, and he shakes his head. you don't move your hands from his, stroking over jagged skin, and he feels both of your heartbeat in the circlets of your thumb, feels the quiver of your breath ghost over his face. you're so close.

he can't do this. why did he suggest this? you're thirty centimeters away from his face, he can smell the mint from the gum you were chewing and your citrus bodywash, and you're looking at him like it's the first time you've ever seen him. the sharp intensity in your eyes is almost too much for him to handle - his heartbeat is practically humming. he can't do this, he can't do this, he can't do this -

"i'm going to kiss you now," you tell him gently, and the world stops. "okay?"

for a split-second, he thinks about calling the whole thing off. it's a stupid idea, when he knows how he feels and how you don't, that he's just hurting himself in the long run, that this kiss means something entirely different for the both of you - for you, it's practise, and for him it's what he's been dreaming about since he was old enough to dream. it's what he's wondered about when he'd idly sketch the outline of your face, pencil stuttering when it came to your mouth because he'd start to wonder what it would feel like pressed to his own. it's slow-acting poison, the way your hands are so warm and gentle on his own and the way you're murmuring so softly. he wants to back out. he's selfish and a coward to boot, and he wants to call it off.

and then he thinks of you on that stage having to kiss someone else. he thinks of the nervous flutter of your pulse, and the panic you'd be feeling as you melted under the stinging fluorescent lights when you kissed someone you knew a little bit but not enough, and he changes his mind.

breath hitching, izuku nods. you smile, and it's over for him.

one of your hands drifts up to trace along the jut of his jaw; his breath trembles because he's an idiot, he's thought about the kiss but never this - this tender before, he's melting like candle wax as you look at him like he's the only boy in the world and you stroke over his freckles. your other hand cups his cheek and you're holding his face, and then there's the slow push as you guide him down - giving him one more chance to back out.

but izuku midoriya is selfish, so his eyes flutter shut and he lets you pull him toward you.

he'd let you pull him straight off a cliff, if you did it with your hand in his.

your lips meet, at first with a brush so soft he almost misses it; in that instant he's panicked, tenses, ready to reel back and apologise profusely, but then you murmur - "it's okay," - and you're so close that your voice hums through him and he freezes.

he's yours. he knows that so deeply in his heart. he's yours for the taking, he always has been.

you tilt your head this time, brush your lips again - and this time you sink into it, swallowing, and izuku forgets to breathe. even as your eyes close, he forces his own open for a half-second, needing to confirm that this is real, it's happening, and he's trembling as he lets himself be consumed by it. it's brief - cut short by your nerves, no doubt, but you don't jerk back when you break the contact. you stay there, hover in front of him with your eyes closed, just... breathing. you're so close still, he can feel the heat radiating from you, and the minute trembling of your hands on his face.

yours eyes blink open, and something wells in the back of his throat when he sees the wonder in them. the kiss is over but you're still looking at him like that, like he's been peeled away and presented to you shiny and new and beautiful. izuku wants to drown in that look. what did he ever do to deserve this, he wonders?

"was - was that okay?" he can't resist asking; his voice, without his knowledge, comes out tiny and unsure, and you breathe out a laugh.

"yeah," you whisper. finally, you pull back a little, and izuku inhales cool air again. you keep your hands on his face, like you're cradling him, and he wonders how red he is. he'd been flushed since his suggestion, of course, and he thinks he must be boiling to the touch, but you keep your hands there, shaky as they may be. "thank you."

you shouldn't thank him. he is so selfish. if you knew the real reason he'd offered, he's sure you'd hate him. he hates himself a little already, now that the euphoria has ebbed. this is all he's going to think about for weeks, he's sure, another thing to taunt himself with and he did it all to himself.

he really is reprehensible.

"dinner's ready!"

inko's shout is muffled through the wall, but it's like a gunshot in the silence. your hands shoot back to their sides, and now he sees your expression waver, your eyes widen, like the realisation of what you've done is just sinking in. he waits, shaking, dreading that you'll suddenly realise how awful he is and start yelling - but instead your eyes skitter away from him, your fingers curl at your sides and your mouth presses into a thin line.

you look almost as nervous and flushed as he does.

"s-so, um..." he ventures. his mouth is drier than paper. "we should - dinner -"

"right!" you latch onto this with eagerness, scrabbling for the handle and flinging the door open. izuku allows himself a minute, brings a hand up to touch his own mouth. he still can't believe it's real, that it happened, that you really were as perfect as he'd thought for so long.

and then the gloom returns, because it was only for practise, wasn't it?

in the kitchen, mind spinning, you ask yourself the same question. it was only practise, right?

right.

... right?

[mysticalmaximoff]

The Makeover (Shoto Todoroki x Reader)

Request: I read the All Might dad imagine and it was so good djdkdjjd what about Shoto Todoroki dating a girl who is a total tomboy. And they’ve been dating for a few months and didn’t tell anyone, but an event happens where everyone should dress nicely and the reader wears a cute dress and some of the classmates are like??Wow that’s hot and Todoroki gets reallyy jealous and just without even thinking goes and puts an arm around y/n and kisses her in front of everyone and the whole class is SHOOK

REQUESTS OPEN!

Todoroki would have been the last person anyone assumed had a girlfriend.

Not because he couldn’t get one, but more so because he seemed like someone who wouldn’t be interested in having one. When he first came to UA, he was so consumed by his hatred of his father that he distanced himself from his classmates and actively tried to not befriend any of them. 

So, no one was looking between the lines of every interaction they had. Perhaps if they didn’t all have it fixated in their minds that Todoroki would never be interested in dating, than perhaps they would have noticed the softness in his voice when he spoke to her, the fondness in his eyes, the way he searched for her in a crowd, how he sat with her at lunch, how close they were. It would have been so obvious to see how much he adored her despite his stoicism. 

Todoroki and (Y/N) never intended to have a secret relationship. He was a private person by nature, and so their relationship was low key for the first few weeks, neither of them were fond of public displays of affection, and no one ever questioned if they were in a relationship and assumed they were friends.

(Y/N), also, didn’t seem like the person who would want a boyfriend.

Keep reading