#he deserves to be fucked..... just not by me

[dippyfresh6]

now's that his run's and considering it all i can very confidently say he's my favourite doctor

the one i connected to the most, the was that was the most important to me

and we were absolutely robbed

anyone else, regardless of the billie piper of it all, really fucking upset that ncuti gatwa isn't the doctor anymore

he was SUCH a good one. SO good. we had nowhere NEAR enough time with him with two short ass series.

[reissancesstuff]

“WHO are you?”

sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.

warnings: alcohol (reader is drunk), swearing.

featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, sukuna ryomen.

Gojo

You are absolutely, unapologetically, undeniably wasted.

You don’t even remember how many drinks you’ve had. All you know is that the room is spinning, your heels are in your hand, and you’re sitting outside the club on the curb with a pout that could kill a man.

“Satoru,” you mumble, squinting at your phone. “Why hasn’t he called me back? That bastard.”

You’re just about to text him for the eighth time (your phone is upside down, for the record) when a familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“There you are,” the voice says, amused. “You’re lucky I’m sexy and patient.”

You blink up, shielding your eyes from the moonlight—or maybe it’s the streetlight, or maybe it's the glowing aura of the man standing in front of you.

He’s tall. White-haired. Wearing a black coat and sunglasses, at night, like a menace.

You frown.

“Who,” you say seriously, “the fuck are you?”

He freezes.

You narrow your eyes further, wobbling to your feet and poking his chest.

“Back off, handsome stranger,” you declare. “I already have a boyfriend.”

He sputters. “Handsome? Wait—”

“He’s the love of my life,” you say proudly. “Six feet of nonsense. White hair. Smug face. He’s so annoying. But like, in a hot way.”

“…That’s literally just me,” he deadpans.

“Nooo,” you slur. “Satoru’s prettier.”

His jaw drops. “Excuse me?! I AM SATORU!”

You gasp. Loudly.

“Oh my god. You’re one of those crazy fans.”

“What???”

You stumble back, dramatically offended. “You wanna be him, don’t you? Is that why you dyed your hair? Is this cosplay?!”

Gojo stares at you, dumbfounded.

You wave your heel in the air like a sword. “Back off! I’m loyal!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Sweetheart—”

You cut him off, whispering, “Don’t call me that. Only Satoru calls me sweetheart.”

“…I am Satoru!”

A pause. Then, suddenly, you gasp again—like your brain has rebooted.

“Wait… You sound like him,” you say slowly, brows furrowing. “Say something only Satoru would say.”

He leans in, lips grazing your ear.

“I know how you like it when I kiss that one spot on your thigh.”

You shriek, smacking his chest. “Okay you’re him!!”

He laughs—loud, stupid, proud.

“I hate you,” you mumble into his coat as he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

“You said I was hot,” he hums smugly. “I’m never letting that go.”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, snuggling into him anyway. “Still prettier in my head.”

He kisses your forehead. “Good thing I’m also prettier in real life.”

---

By the time he gets you home, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

You wake up the next morning with a hangover, a glass of water on your nightstand, and a sticky note on your forehead.

"Handsome Stranger says hi. —Your boyfriend 💙"

You groan, burying your face in the pillow.

God, he’s never gonna let this go.

But honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Geto

You’re drunk.

Like, embarrassingly drunk.

Like, sitting outside the izakaya barefoot with your shoes in your lap and a half-eaten skewer in your hand, slurring into your phone like it’s your long-lost best friend.

“Where the hell is Suguru?” you mumble. “I’m cold. And also beautiful. I deserve a ride.”

A shadow falls over you.

You look up—slowly, dramatically—and see a tall, broad figure standing above you, dark hair in a low bun, wearing all black like he’s auditioning to be a villain in a slow-burn romance anime.

“Get up,” he says. Calm. Deep. Familiar.

You squint. “Oh my god.”

He raises a brow. “Yes?”

“You’re hot,” you whisper.

He sighs. “Baby, it’s me.”

“No,” you say, pointing a threatening skewer at him. “My boyfriend is nicer. He’s sweet. And warm. And smells like sandalwood and chaos. You look like a mafia boss. You probably steal hearts and credit cards.”

Suguru stares at you like he’s questioning all his life choices.

You stand up—well, try to—and nearly fall into him. His arms catch you effortlessly, like it’s muscle memory.

You shove a finger in his chest. “I’m taken. My boyfriend will kill you.”

“Will he?” he asks, humoring you. “Violent type?”

“The worst,” you say proudly. “He once glared at a guy so hard his hairline receded.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“He is,” you nod seriously. “And he calls me ‘sweetheart’ when he wants something.”

Suguru exhales a laugh, something low and fond. “Okay. What if I prove I’m him?”

You blink at him, considering. “…Fine. Do it.”

He steps close, close enough that his chest brushes yours.

“Two weeks ago, you said if I didn’t let you adopt a cat, you’d put glitter in my shampoo.”

Your jaw drops. “How did you—?!”

“Three days ago, you cried because a dog in a TikTok wore boots.”

“And last night,” he leans in, brushing his lips by your ear, “you told me I’m your favorite ‘tall dark and dangerous’ man, but you’d leave me instantly for Keanu Reeves.”

You gasp. “Suguru?!”

“Yes.”

“OH MY GOD.” You slap his arm. “Why didn’t you say so earlier!?”

“I did.”

You cling to him, dramatic as ever. “I missed you. You smell good. Don’t ever leave me again.”

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you bridal style toward the car, shaking his head with the softest smile.

“You’re gonna regret all of this in the morning,” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I regret nothing,” you slur. Then squint up at him. “Wait. Did you really glare a guy’s hairline off?”

“…That one might’ve been a little exaggerated.”

“Still hot.”

---

The next morning, you wake up in Suguru’s hoodie, with water, painkillers, and a sticky note on your phone:

“Mafia Boss says thank you for your compliments. You’re under permanent protection now. —Your real boyfriend 💌”

You bury your face in the pillow.

He’s never letting this go.

And honestly? You’re kind of glad.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Nanami

You’re sitting on a curb, absolutely wasted.

There’s glitter on your eyelids, chicken nuggets in your purse, and a girl from the bar sobbing beside you because her ex posted a gym selfie.

You offer her a nugget.

“You deserve better,” you tell her. “You’re gorgeous. Your eyebrows are, like, symmetrical. I’d marry you.”

She sniffles, then stares behind you. “Uhh… is that your boyfriend?”

You turn.

And see a tall, broad man walking up, sleeves rolled, tie loose, face unreadable—like God sent a male model from a finance firm to collect wayward souls off the street.

You frown.

“You look expensive,” you say slowly. “Are you one of those… high-end butlers?”

He stops in front of you. “You’re drunk.”

You blink. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend.”

Your jaw drops. “No you’re not. My boyfriend is… emotionally repressed. Wears beige. Has a sexy office job and a judgmental stare.”

Nanami sighs. “That’s me.”

You squint suspiciously. “Okay, if you’re really my boyfriend… what’s my weirdest habit?”

He looks down at you, voice flat. “You talk to plants. You name them. One is called Baby Groot. You cried when he lost a leaf.”

Your lips part. “Only he would know that…”

You wobble to your feet and nearly fall, catching yourself on his very firm chest. You clutch his shirt.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “You are my sexy office man.”

“Let’s go home,” he mutters, guiding you gently toward his car.

You dig your heels into the ground. “Wait! Waitwaitwait—don’t kidnap me! I have a boyfriend!”

“You just admitted I am your boyfriend.”

“…Oh. Right.” You giggle. “Lucky me.”

He helps you into the passenger seat like you’re fragile cargo. Once seated, you stare at him as he buckles you in.

“You’re so handsome,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“And patient.”

“I have no choice.”

“You’re gonna marry me one day.”

His hands still for half a second.

Then: “I already plan to.”

You pass out smiling.

---

The next morning, you wake up in bed, dressed in your comfiest pajamas, with a glass of water, aspirin, and a note:

"In case you forget: yes, I am your boyfriend. No, I am not a butler. Please hydrate. —Kento"

You giggle into the pillow.

You’re definitely going to marry that man.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Toji

You are sitting on a barstool, double fisting two very illegally strong cocktails, laughing at absolutely nothing.

You're also very certain that a hot man is trying to kidnap you.

“Ma’am,” the man says, standing in front of you like an irritated wall of muscle. “It’s me.”

You look him up and down.

Black hair. Green eyes. Tall. Scary aura. Tight shirt. Very very hot.

But no. You're loyal.

You squint. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “I picked you up from karaoke an hour ago.”

“Impossible,” you say dramatically. “My boyfriend would never show up to karaoke. He thinks fun is ‘a scam made by broke people.’”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he grunts.

You gasp. “You are hot though. Like, really hot. But listen—my boyfriend? He’s kinda mean, super strong, and terrifying. He could totally kill you.”

He stares.

You continue: “He’s also soooo good in bed. Real monster. Demon behavior. But he’s mine, so—”

Toji grabs your wrist. “Get your ass up.”

You gasp again. “You’re aggressive. Just like him. But he’d never touch me like that in public unless I pissed him off.”

“Oh?” he says, voice flat. “You mean like getting blackout drunk, threatening the DJ, and petting strangers' dogs without asking?”

You tilt your head. “So you do know me...”

“I live with you.”

You lean forward, squinting hard, then grab his face between your hands. “Say something only my boyfriend would say.”

He deadpans, “If you puke in my car again, I’m charging you five grand.”

Your mouth drops open. “Toji?!”

“Finally.”

You throw your arms around his neck. “Where have you been all night?!”

“Chasing your drunk ass down. Again.”

He tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking to his car.

“Wait,” you slur. “You’re not gonna murder me, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“But I’m your babygirl…”

He opens the car door. “You’re my goddamn headache.”

“Love you too!”

---

The next morning, you wake up with a hangover and a bruise on your hip that looks suspiciously like the edge of Toji’s shoulder.

You check your phone.

1 New Message from Toji

📸 [photo of you passed out face-first in his passenger seat, drooling]

Toji: Don’t drink again unless I’m there. Dumbass.

You smile.

Your murderous, scary, mean boyfriend is the best.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Sukuna

You’re absolutely, irreparably hammered.

How do you know?

Because there is a gorgeous man standing in front of you with piercings, tattoos, and arms you’d like to sit on — and instead of flirting with him, you’re loudly sobbing to your friend.

“He’s gonna kill him. He’s gonna kill the hot guy,” you sniff.

“Who?”

“That guy,” you point at the very man you’re talking about. “He’s hot but he’s not my boyfriend. But he’s gonna die. My boyfriend is crazy.”

The man in question — the hot one — drags a hand down his face. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

You nod solemnly. “Yes. And you should leave before he finds you.”

“I am your boyfriend.”

You blink. “Noooo, my boyfriend has tattoos—”

He lifts his shirt.

“—oh my god you have tattoos,” you whisper.

“And piercings.”

You stare at the twin bars through his eyebrow and the silver glint on his tongue as he smirks.

“My boyfriend has those too!” you giggle. “But also, he’s terrifying. He’d murder you in an alley for touching me.”

He steps closer. “You mean like this?”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you flush against him.

You freeze. “Bold of you, hot stranger.”

He leans in, voice low and dark in your ear. “You bit me last time I tried to wake you up from a drunk nap.”

You gasp. “Sukuna?!”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.” He presses a kiss to your jaw, sharp canines grazing your skin. “Now let’s get you in the damn car before I dump you in a gutter.”

You wrap your arms around him, eyes wide. “You’re so mean. I love you.”

“I know you do, dumbass.”

---

The next morning, you wake up to an ice pack on your head and a water bottle on your nightstand. Sukuna is sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone.

“…Did I threaten you again last night?” you mumble.

“You told me you’d report me to the FBI if I didn’t prove I was your boyfriend.”

“Oh god.”

“You also called me ‘Mr. Jail Tattoos’ and asked if I knew I was hot.”

“I hate myself.”

He glances at you with that lazy smirk. “You said, and I quote, ‘I wanna kiss you but my boyfriend’s gonna beat your ass.’”

You pull a pillow over your face. “Did you beat your own ass?”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “But I did let you tackle me onto the bed. You drooled on my neck.”

“…Love you?”

He flicks your forehead. “Be less dumb next time.”

You grin. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Jail Tattoos.”

And he does, in fact, tackle you right back.

[firingstars]

mission partners [one-shot]

bucky barnes x avengers!reader

summary: you have no idea why bucky has a deep rooted hatred for you. you two are paired up for a mission, and you find yourself facing the demons of your past while having to deal with bucky's mood swings.

warnings: smut, 18+, mdni, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers kinda, misunderstandings (?), reader is lowk very depressed here, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, mentions of sa (not in detail), kidnapping, mentions of torture, consume media at your own risk

word count: 14.9k

a/n: im ngl idk what this is i just woke up the other day and kept writing this. i hope this keeps you guys happy while i try to figure out how i want neighborly advice to progress </3 -- also there's a lot of story building in here bc i like giving reader a backstory whoops.

masterlist

The wind was knocked out of your lungs before you could register the pain radiating through your body. You groan, shifting over to your side to force yourself up.

“On your feet,” he grunts from above you. 

If this were any other moment, any other scene, the sight of the man before you– hovering above you– would have your heart beating fast for a different reason. A man made of both metal and flesh, strong, rough around the edges. He’s calculating, hard, and smells faintly of cedarwood and gunpowder most of the time. On rare occasions, you catch the scent of fresh linen and cotton. 

Right now though, your heart is thumping against your rib cage angrily. This is the fifth time he’s had you on your back within the hour, and he’s not pinning you down in the way that you would secretly hope for. Not that you would ever admit or voice your delusions to anyone else. Just your own little secret to fester in the back of your mind when you think no one’s watching.

You bite back the curse bubbling in your throat, and slam your fist into the mat. You find yourself upright once more, ignoring the sudden rush of blood going through your head— the dizziness. 

“You keep falling for the same damn thing,” Bucky clicks his tongue, bringing his hands up, ready to strike again.

“Not my fault you come at me like you’re trying to kill me,” you say with a frown, barely having the time to duck your head as his fist comes at your head quickly. You can't help but feel the shock that rushes through your body in that moment— he would’ve knocked you out with that swing. 

“Everyone on the field will be trying to kill you,” he reminds you with a shake of his head. You know he's right, and it pisses you off. “What’s the point of training if you’re not prepared for the real thing?”

You dodge once more, but his wingspan is too large. He grabs onto your hair– the low ponytail that you had it in– and you let out a yelp of pain as you grab at his wrist, trying to claw his hand away. 

“Your hair is too long,” he says, frowning. “You either need to cut it or figure something else out otherwise shit like this is going to keep happening to you. It’s always fucking down. Doesn’t it bother you, getting in your way like this?”

You don’t answer him. You don’t want to answer him– you don’t believe that he deserves to know the truth. You grit your teeth, and shift on your feet— one swift movement to slam your heel into the side of his head. 

It doesn’t connect. He easily deflects, grabbing your ankle, and throwing you down. This time, a groan of pain escapes your throat. Bucky lets out a sigh above your head, and doesn’t even look at you, but you can feel the energy radiating off of him without looking at his face. Disappointment. 

“I’m calling it for today,” he says. You open your eyes, finding him already walking away, leaving you on the mat. 

You stay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath with your eyes shut. Slowly but surely, the rise and fall of your chest evens out, and the room is no longer spinning. You open your eyes to stare at the fluorescent gym lights overhead, glaring. 

What the fuck was his problem?

You’d joined the team as a healer. You weren’t necessarily first on the field— you spent most of your time hanging back and waiting for everyone else to come back to the jet. If anything, he needed to be training with Steve to get better at making sure no one would be able to get to you. 

You were decent with guns, knew your way around regular hand to hand combat, and stealth wasn’t that big of an issue for you. You had more than enough qualifications to land you in your current position, and the backstory to match. You were brought into the team after spending most of your life under the radar, but you should’ve known you couldn’t have hidden for too long. 

You fit in well with the rest of the team. They didn’t ask questions about your origins, and you never shared.

Steve and Sam had originally been mentoring you before Bucky took you under his deranged wing. At first, it was all business. Eventually, both men would start talking to you more outside of the gym and the shooting ranges. Sam started including you on his jokes whenever he picked on Steve.

The girls opened up to you faster, Natasha and Wanda including you on girl nights almost immediately. They mentioned something abiout needing more women on the team, and being more than happy to welcome you with open arms.

Where Natasha went, Clint went, which meant the sharp shooter had also taken a liking to you and often gave you various snacks whenever he came back from whatever mission he returned from. He reminded you of a dad, if you were being honest.

You had spent some time with Bruce in the lab. At first, it started with him examining your blood to understand what about your biological structure made you be able to heal, but then it progressed into a kind of bond. You found that your healing had a calming side effect that managed to keep the big guy away during tough days.

Tony's banter made you misunderstand him at first. He opened up right away with strange nicknames like magic hands. He once called you doctor once. Natasha had to explain that it meant he had taken a liking to you- he only joked and poked fun at those he thought were worth his time.

Thor sung your praises all the way to Asgard. Apparently, healers were rare and very precious back on his planet. He stated they were often targeted first as they were seen as the biggest threat to any war. Every time you were on a mission with him, you found yourself feeling ten times safer than usual.

It was only Bucky. Bucky fucking hated you, and you had no idea why. You didn’t even necessarily hate the man. In fact, you held a great deal of respect for him. His fighting styles, his command that he held in a room… All of it was something that you held with awe. You would never tell him that though. With how often he puts you down, your pride would never allow you to compliment him. You were certain that he would only scoff at you and dismiss you without another thought.

If you were really being truthful, you harbored the 'smallest' of crushes on him. You enjoyed watching him from afar. When he shut the fuck up and stopped arguing with you, he was handsome. When he didn’t pick apart every single aspect of your skillset, you thought he was smart. Your eyes would follow him more often than you would like to admit. Your heart would jump when you found out that he had gotten hurt on a mission, and relax to find out it was nothing major. 

Your feelings betrayed your mind– which made all of his comments hurt tenfold. You didn’t know if he had any respect for you as a member of the team. If he found out you were on a mission, he would argue it. Say he didn’t need you there, that you were a liability to deal with if things ever went sideways. 

It’s what led to these private training moments. Steve was fed up with his best friend’s anger, and proposed these borderline workplace abuse sessions. 

“If it bothers you so much, you train her then,” Steve had said. Your eyes damn near bulged out of your skull.

“Cap?” you said cautiously. 

“Just indulge him,” he said with a sigh. “If it gets him to stop complaining, then it’s better for you, too.”

You quietly hoped there was some part of Bucky that did hold a bit of respect for you. That the reason he even bothered with these training sessions was for your own good. You’d watched him long enough to know that he wouldn’t do anything he thought wasn’t worth his time. Yet, here you were, nursing your own injuries that you couldn’t heal on your own— well, that wasn’t the truth. You could. But there was always a price that came with that. 

“He did a number on you,” Natasha says with a grin, coming into view. You sigh, and watch as she sticks her hand out for you to take. You take her hand with a grunt, allowing her to yank you up to your feet. Every muscle in your body protests at the sudden movement. 

“It’s like he’s trying to kill me before anyone else can,” you murmur, rolling your shoulders experimentally. Nothing is dislodged or broken, thankfully.

“I mean, he does have a point,” Natasha shrugs, patting your back. You two went over to the benches, and she handed you a bottle of ice cold water. “If our enemies find out that we have a healer on our team, they’re gonna start surpassing the rest of us to get to you.”

You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips as you take the water. You stare at it, knowing she’s right– knowing that Bucky’s right. “Doesn’t mean that he gotta act like that,” you murmur stubbornly. 

“Maybe he doesn’t have to come at you like you have years of training under your belt, but it comes from a good place.”

You give her a look, and she smiles in return. “A good place?” you repeat, your voice dry.

“You don’t see him dragging Tony’s ass in here to do hand to hand,” Natasha said, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow.

“Stark has a metal suit with rockets,” you respond. “There’s no reason for him to need to do hand to hand.”

“What if the tech fails? Then what? Can’t rely on gadgets all the time. Just like you can’t rely on us to be your shield all the time,” she hums. “He’s only looking out for you, even if he’s doing it in the wrong way.”

“You know so much about him, huh?” you ask, eyeing her strangely.

“I’m observant,” she corrects, shaking her head. “Which means I also see the way he looks for you in every single room when he thinks no one is watching.”

“Yeah, probably to take out his anger on me,” you grunt, ignoring what she’s trying to hint at.

“And,” Natasha continues, “I see the way you stare at him.”

“With hatred and anger? I know the feeling all too well.”

“More like you don’t know whether or not you want to kiss him or fuck him.” She’s grinning now, and you can feel a heat begin to crawl up your neck and face. 

You hate assassins, you decide at that moment. You hate them and how easy they can read people. You hate Natasha, and you hate Bucky. You clear your throat, intent on distancing yourself from the situation at hand. However, you don’t correct her. You don’t deny her statement either.

“I’m off to shower. We have a meeting soon– something about another mission?” You stand, taking a deep gulp of the water before you grab your bag.

Natasha sighs, “It’s always another mission.”

“I’m not going on a mission with her.”

You drop your chin to your chest, closing your eyes tight. You can feel the headache coming on and pulsing from behind your eyes. Your body still aches from the training session this morning– and the training sessions that you’d had together every day for the past two and a half weeks. It has been hell on Earth, and Bucky still refuses. The constant rejection is starting to wear you down.

“Barnes, the mission calls for the two of you. I need you to watch her front, and she’ll watch your six,” Fury says, eyes narrowing at the super soldier. He’s fed up. Everyone in this room is fed up. “In the event that you are injured–”

“Unlikely,” Bucky cut him off, dismissing the thought like it could never happen to him. Which, truthfully– it rarely has. Out of everyone on the team, you’d only seen him severely injured a couple of times. Other times were the normal scrapes and bruises that were sustained in battle; but he never even came over to you for those like the rest of the team did.

“If you get injured,” Fury sighs, correcting himself just to placate him, “she will be there to help you.”

“I don’t need deadweight with me. It’ll only slow me down,” Bucky argues, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your jaw clenches at the words, and you suck in a deep breath. Deadweight? You’ve been on more than a handful of missions yourself at this point. You’ve gained the respect of the other Avengers and worked alongside them easily. Your solo missions may never be a straight battle, but you have other strengths. 

“Gonna keep talking about me like I’m not even here?” you demand, finally lifting your head to look at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, the nickname coming out of his lips almost mockingly. You could feel your blood begin to boil under your skin at the patronizing tone. The anger that you’d been feeling the past couple weeks is coming to the surface, bubbling and rolling over. You’re about to burst.

“What’s your fucking problem?” you start, standing up.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Steve cut in, slamming his hands on the table. Steve’s giving you a look, telling you with his eyes to back down. Reluctantly, you sit back in your seat. “Buck, she’s going on that mission with you. Bottom line– obviously you two are paired together because she needs to be there.”

Fury nodded slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat, grabbing your attention once more.

“You’re going undercover.”

“Undercover,” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yes, which is why you need to be his partner.” Fury says before he looks at Bucky, and sighs. “She’s familiar with the area and the situation– she’s been there before, and she has the information necessary in order to make this operation go smoothly. You two will be infiltrating a charity gala that's being used to front a human trafficking scheme for enhanced individuals, and she needs a dance partner.”

“Why the hell can’t it be Steve?” Bucky grunts, frowning deeply.

“Because Steve can’t dance, now can he?” Fury snaps. “I suggest you brush up on your forties’ charm, Barnes. You need to be one hell of a convincing partner if you want to fool the other guests."

The room goes silent. There's no room for fighting, not with the tone your boss just gave you. With the lack of argument, he nods.

"This meeting is over, no objections. I’ll have the mission details be sent to your rooms by the end of the day, and you two will report to leave in the morning. You are all dismissed.”

Chairs are scraped against the carpet as everyone shifts. You listen as footsteps start shuffling out of the room, but you stay planted in your seat. Dread is building up in your gut, and you might throw up if you move too fast. It’s overshadowing the ache in your muscles, the pain and anger you felt just moments ago.

Wanda stops beside you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey… you okay?” she whispered, a hand touching your shoulder.

No. You’re not okay. You know this gala. You know why you’re going there– and what’s waiting for you. The argument, the blow up you had with Bucky in front of everyone is no longer important to you right now. You have to suck it up, and go back into where it all began for you. You let out a shaky breath, then give Wanda your most convincing smile.

“I’m okay,” you tell her, standing. “Head just hurts from all the yelling.”

You force your feet to move, to walk. You have to pack.

You do your best to hide your anxiety on the jet as you sit opposite from Bucky. The aircraft is being operated by F.R.I.D.A.Y., and you were already informed that it would be back at the rendezvous point to pick you two up in one week's time. If you missed the loading time, you two would be shit outta luck and need to get back to base on your own, or at least contact back to let everyone know that you needed more time for the operation.

“Romanoff said you often did espionage. Why do you look so nervous?” Bucky questions, making you look up. You blink at him, pausing. He doesn’t look indifferent. In fact, he looks curious. 

“Why do you care?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You watch as his face immediately turns sour at your response, and he looks away. Uncharacteristically, there’s no response. He doesn’t say anything to piss you off. Instead, there’s only silence. You wonder if Steve made him promise to be nice to you during this trip.

This would be the first mission you go on with Bucky by yourself. Usually, there would be another person here with you to act as a buffer– to shield you from him. He usually stayed in his own head during missions, but if interaction was necessary, he would avoid talking to you. You laced your fingers together and squeezed your hands tight. This would be a long week.

You’re dropped off to the safehouse soon, and Bucky mutters something about checking the perimeter while you check the indoors. Firearm in hand, you go inside to inspect. Just as the report said, it’s a fully furnished home.

It’s an unsuspecting cabin in the outskirts of a suburban town, and you two would need to drive into the city to get into the gala. It’s small, with just a living room, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Just the bare necessities. Everything else you two could possibly need is yourselves.

After deeming the inside secure, you check the amenities. Running water, working electricity. Someone back at the base must have updated the safehouse recently– a lot of the furniture was new. Either that, or this place was recently built and only made to look old and rundown from the outside. You find even the pantry and fridge has enough food for the week.

“Tomorrow night is the gala’s first night,” you say as you hear Bucky enter through the door, closing the door of the fridge. “Our outfits should already be in the closet.”

“Perimeter secure,” he reports, ignoring your own comments. 

“I assumed, otherwise I would’ve heard fighting out there.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with raised eyebrows. Bucky lets out a deep sigh of annoyance in response.

“You take the bed.”

“We can switch off every night,” you propose. Now, he looks surprised. “We’re here for a week, and that couch looks small. I’m sure you won’t complain, but I don’t necessarily think dancing will be easy if you’re stiff from poor sleep for a week.”

Bucky lets out a breath, then nods once. “Fine.”

You turn towards the hall, ready to turn in for the night, when you stop. “Barnes.”

“What?” he asks, slight annoyance coming through.

“I know you hate me, but I really need you to hide it when we’re in front of everyone tomorrow,” you say, looking over his shoulder. He pauses, and you continue, “I can’t do my job and let you do your job if you mess me up. Just follow my lead.”

His lack of response is the only answer you get from him, pushing you into the soft mattress in the bedroom.

Bucky tosses the keys to the luxury vehicle to the valet driver as another staff member opens your door, and offers you a hand. You smile graciously– practiced, perfect. This is second nature. Nothing that you learned during your time with the Avengers. This was already instilled in your bones way before you were ever recruited. 

When Bucky rounds the car and comes to your side, you slip your arm through his, and feel as his body tenses slightly. You smile and lean closer into him as you two walk up the stairs. 

“Act like you tolerate me or we’re both going to get gunned down before we even pass the doors,” you whisper into his ear, still smiling.

“There are no guns aimed at us,” he whispers back. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Did he even read the mission report? There were enhanced individuals all around, all being forced to work for the handler– and you had no idea who the enhanced were.

“Not yet,” you remind him, and he takes a deep breath, but ultimately relaxes beside you. He even rests his opposite hand on yours, leading you through the threshold and into the lion's den.

The gala is exactly as you remember it.

The dazzling chandeliers that hang overhead, lighting up the ballroom to ensure no one could hide in the shadows. The bustle of servants and staff members whose eyes are constantly watching you to ensure that every movement gets reported to upper management. The live band, playing at a volume just loud enough to ensure the screams from the tortured below are not heard by unsuspecting guests that have no idea that this is not a charity ball at all. The whispers and gossip of the elite members of the gala, all those who know why they are really here and are buzzing with excitement for the auction to begin on the last day of the party. 

All of it makes you want to throw up just the same.

You two find a space on the side of the floor– not too out of the way that makes you both look suspicious, but not directly in the middle of all the action. Today is about scouting. Finding information. If you two could get an invitation to the auction, then you could forgo the next three nights of the gala, and only show up for the last night. 

You’re sipping slowly on a flute of champagne as you let your eyes wash over the crowd. 

“The servants are most likely enhanced,” Bucky whispers, leaning down from behind you. The action startles you briefly– the proximity. It makes your heart beat just a tiny bit faster, and you’re glad he’s behind you and unable to see your face. His chest is touching your back, his lips so close to you that you can feel his breath fanning against your neck as he whispers. “Their movements are too sharp, too calculated. They’re looking around as if they’re waiting for something.”

“They’re not,” you whisper back, getting a hold of yourself. You lean into him a little more as you notice someone glance over at the two of you. Bucky stiffens for just a second before relaxing, a hand coming to rest on your hip. He was adapting quickly to the part you two were supposed to be playing.

“What makes you say that?” he murmurs.

“The enhanced would be branded. Numbers on the back of their necks. Like merchandise to scan and check out when they’re bought.” It’s hard to conceal the bitterness that comes through your voice.

“How do you know that?” he asks, the hand on your hip squeezing you a bit tighter. 

You freeze in place. You swallow down the remainder of the champagne and turn in his arms to smile at him. “Didn’t you read the report?” you ask, tilting your head. You watch as his eyebrows furrow, and his lips part to respond, but he never gets the chance. 

The host comes out– he comes out– and calls for everyone’s attention at the front of the room. Everyone turns to look, the music quieting down but never stopping. Just played above a hush. He has no microphone, there are no speakers, but somehow his voice is amplified and can be heard by everyone in the ballroom.

“Thank you for coming tonight. I am your host, William Talbot,” the host grins, holding his arms out wide. Applause erupts from everywhere, you and Bucky joining in. “I am delighted to have you all here this week. All your donations are being put to a good cause; research towards children and young adults' infectious diseases and developmental studies. I beseech you to enjoy yourselves this week as we continue to celebrate each and every single one of you. We would not be able to save as many lives as we do at our lab if not for each of the guests in this room!”

Cheers and whistles join in on the applause as Talbot takes a deep bow, crossing one hand over his chest as he does. After he rises, he turns, disappearing back into the hallway that he came out from, the music one again increasing in volume. People start mingling around the two of you, and there are some that begin to float onto the dance floor with their partners. 

“Piece of shit,” Bucky mutters, making you snort. “That’s our guy, isn’t it?”

You nod, and take a deep breath. “I didn’t expect to see him on the first night, though. We need him or his assistants– someone to get an invitation from.”

The plan had already been set– the two of you had finalized it in the car. After spending some time together in the beginning of the night to establish that you were a couple, you would end up breaking off naturally to find other people to mingle with to feel out the crowd. Find out who was close to Talbot, see who had the connection to get you into the auction.

Worst case scenario, the two of you would attend all nights of the gala trying to get the invitation and have to do this same song and dance. If, on the off chance, you didn’t get an invitation, you two would stake out the place and find the auction. It would be a lot messier, but it needed to happen. 

So, you started. Bucky disappeared into the crowd and you hung out on the outskirts of the dance floor. You knew you looked lonely, nursing another flute of champagne with no one to talk to– it would give someone the perfect opportunity to approach you. These people always wanted to bite the bait, and it was only a matter of time until someone did.

“All alone tonight?” a voice came from your side. You turned, and paused. You knew this man– and you knew he had no idea who you were. 

“My partner saw someone familiar and ended up heading off,” you say with a smile, “I’m just waiting.”

He let out a small scoff, shaking his head. Then, he offered you a hand. “Benjamin Talbot. You dance?”

“Talbot? That was your father up there?” you ask, placing your drink down on the table behind you. You take his hand, your smile widening despite the bile burning in your stomach.

“My old man is a little embarrassing at times. I try not to be associated, but unfortunately I am his flesh and blood,” he answers with a grin. Benjamin leads you to the floor, then stands directly in front of you. His hands fall to your waist as yours go to his shoulders. You feel that tingle under your skin– the power threatening to take over, to do what it did to save you all those years ago.

You push it away.

“You must be proud,” you laugh, shaking your head as he starts to lead you in a dance. “Your family is doing very revolutionary things.”

“What can I say?” he hums, standing a bit taller now. Boastful– and you realize this is a good angle. 

“Can I assume that you’ll be taking over once your father decides to rest?” you hum. “You must be studying under him, if not already his right hand man.”

“The time may be sooner than later,” he says, his grin only growing larger. “We have a lot of amazing things planned. You’ll be blown away once you see it all.”

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “Like what?”

His lips part briefly, and there’s a look in his eyes. You know you’ve got him. 

“Have you been invited to the fifth night of the gala yet?” he asks.

“There’s a fifth night?” you ask, feigning innocence.

He grins at you, nodding. “We’ll show off our best merchandise there– it’s much less a gala night and more of a business night. If you’re interested, I can get you and your partner an invite.”

You brighten at the words, and nod excitedly. “I would love that! It’s always a pleasure to see what the Talbots have in store!”

“Wonderful,” he chuckles, nodding. The music comes to an end, and he lets go of you. You quickly let go of him as well, watching as he pulls out two business cards from his pockets. “Address is on the back– don’t lose this. This is your ticket.”

“Honestly, you’re amazing, Benjamin. Really,” you smile at him. He pauses, then pulls out a pen from his breast pocket, scribbling something on it. Then, he hands it to you, leaning close.

“My number,” he whispers into your ear as he presses the card into your hand. “In case you and your partner don’t work out.”

A shiver runs down your spine– one of disgust. You mask it quickly, turning to him with a smirk before giving him a wink. He chuckles darkly before walking off. You wait until he’s far enough away before you turn to look for Bucky. The second you move, there’s a grip on your arm that makes you jump.

“We’re leaving,” he grunts.

“What? Bucky–!” you exclaim, shocked.

He’s all but dragging you towards the exit, and you’re barely able to stop yourself from tripping over your heels and dress. Bucky doesn’t stop even when you get to the exit, his grip on you strong enough to bruise. The valet is quick, your car pulling up in record time– and you’re thrown into the damn car, the door slammed shut behind you.

“Barnes, what the fuck?!” you scream at him once he gets in. 

He doesn’t answer, and hits the gas, the two of you taking off. Bucky keeps his eyes on the road, and you see his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. You pause for a second. His jaw is clenched tight, there’s a vein popping in his neck.

“Bucky?” you ask slowly. “What happened? Who did you talk to?”

There’s no response again. He only takes a slow, controlled, deep inhale. You swallow before you settle in your seat, turning to face the road. Despite the anger he’s feeling, he’s not driving like a maniac. You’re not even sure why he’s angry right now. 

Once you reach the cabin, you move to get your stuff out of the bedroom. It’s his turn to sleep on the bed tonight, after all. He must need it, after whatever he’s been through tonight. When you come out into the living room, Bucky’s just standing in the middle of it. His frame is taking up the space, and he’s staring at the wall like he wants to punch it down.

“What happened back there?” you try again, frowning. “I got us the invitations, so we don’t need to go back until auction night. We’re fine to lay low or scout out the area prior to the auction–”

“Show me the back of your neck,” Bucky cuts you off, turning to look at you. Your breath catches in your throat.

“What?” you whisper.

“Your neck. Show me the back of it,” he repeats, taking a few steps closer. You instinctively take a few steps back. 

“Why the hell do you need to see my neck?” you ask, trying to will your voice to be even. It takes everything in you to not cover the area with your hand.

“I read the report. There was no information about numbers on the enhanced,” he said. You were backed into a wall. Nowhere to run. “Show me your neck.”

“What does this have to do with anything–”

“I need to know if you’re too damn close to this mission to think rationally. If you’re compromised, I’m sending you home,” he cut you off again. “Show me your fucking neck.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” you whisper.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you with those same steely eyes. You know he’s serious. His body is rigid, and he’s one second away from spinning you around and pinning you to the wall to move your hair out of the way to check your neck himself. You can only feel bitterness begin to build.

“You go on every single H.Y.D.R.A. related mission,” you say with a swallow, shaking your head. “How are you not too closely related to that?”

“That’s different,” he dismisses.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How?!” you exclaim, placing your hands on his chest to push him back, reclaiming some space for yourself. To your surprise, he gives in. “It’s exactly the same!”

Once again, Bucky chooses to not answer you. Whether it’s because he doesn’t have a good enough reason to tell you why it’s different, or if it’s because he has decided that you’re not worthy of knowing why he does what he does– you don’t care. You just want to get away from him. The night has been tiring enough, and you barely were out and about. 

You know he won’t let you go too far without confirming his suspicions. 

With a shaking hand, you turn, pulling your hair to the side.

“Are you fucking happy? There’s nothing,” you spit, staring into the wall. 

You can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your neck– your skin. Even in the low light, you know that he’s searching for something that isn’t there. Numbers that were already gone, numbers that you removed yourself.

The touch of cold metal brushing against your skin makes your breath hitch and your body straighten. Goosebumps rise where his fingers touch, and you swallow thickly. The grip on your hair tightens. You’re trembling slightly.

“There’s a scar,” he whispers. There’s a thread of concern in his voice. “From what?”

You take a deep breath and tear yourself away from his touch. You push your hair back into place, covering your neck once more and turn to face him.

“I was sent here for a reason,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “You have your orders, I have mine. Stay out of my way, soldier.”

You shove past him, going into the bathroom. The door slams behind you with a resounding thud.

The next couple days are filled with silence. Neither of you are talking to each other, much less speaking to one another. What he does during the day doesn’t concern you, but you assume he’s trailing your targets and checking out the auction site. Meanwhile, you’ve been running scans on the auction perimeter to see if everything is set up the same way it was before. If it was, then you know exactly where the ‘merchandise’ will be located.

Bucky needs to take in Talbot– that is his mission. Yours is to evacuate and get the enhanced out of there– as many as you can, safely, without having the kill switch in their necks get activated. 

You can still feel the phantom ache in your own neck, from when you ripped out the small bomb before stealing the life out of your buyer to heal yourself before you bled out. 

The location may be different, the country may have changed, but nothing has really been stopped. After you escaped all those years ago, they just went into hiding. You thought they’d put an end to the program after realizing that it was possible for their enhanced to rebel against their systems. 

Bucky might be right, as much as you hate to admit it. You may be way too close to this operation. It’s personal. They took everything from you. The years of pain and suffering that you endured under their scalpels and bright lights and teams of scientists meant nothing– Benjamin Talbot didn’t even recognize you all these years later. How could he? You were no longer malnourished, covered in scars and bruises, and struggling to survive.

You let out a shaky breath, and buried your face in your hands. You were trembling. It was only two more days until the auction. The invitation cards were on the coffee table, staring at you with malice. You wanted to burn the place down. 

A clink of ceramic covered the cards, making you pause. You looked up, seeing Bucky placing a bowl down in front of you while holding one for himself.

“Soup,” he says, nodding towards it. Your eyes narrow at the liquid.

“Did you poison it?”

“What good would it do for me for my partner to be dead, sweetheart?” he says with a sigh as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You watched as he ate from his bowl first, gulping down the contents of what looked like chicken noodle soup– then he stopped. He reached over to swap it with the bowl he had given you, and started eating from that one as well to prove that both bowls were safe.

“Thank you,” you mutter, beginning to eat as well.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday. You need to keep your energy up for whatever’s going to happen in a couple days.”

“I know,” you say with a deep sigh. The soup is warm, flavorful. “Was this from one of the cans?”

“Hell no,” he scoffs, offended. “I had to go into the city and get this. Whatever they stock this place with is just for war rations in the middle of winter.”

“What, and you’re unable to stomach that?”

“I have learned to enjoy the better things in life, doll.” Bucky gives you a shrug that’s almost nonchalant.

“Thought you still struggled with all of that. Enjoying things.”

“I did,” he says slowly. His next words are softer, quiet. A hint of vulnerability attached to them. “I still do.”

The three words hang between the two of you in a heavy silence. It takes a few moments before the sound of a spoon hitting the edge of ceramic fills your ears again as you two attempt to eat more of the soup, pretending that his confession didn’t just break something inside of you. 

“I don’t hate you,” he finally says, breaking the silence. It makes you pause.

“What?”

“You said it on the first night. And I can feel it in the way that you look at me. I… I don’t hate you,” he confesses. 

“Are you sure?” you ask dryly, staring into the soup. There’s a slight layer of oil on top of the water. “You didn’t want me on this mission, and you already tried sending me back home on a single suspicion. Not to mention, you make it abundantly clear that you think I’m too damn weak for this job.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him wince. Bucky lets out a deep sigh, and reaches to place his bowl on the coffee table to free his hands, and runs them through his hair before he speaks again.

“I look at you and I see me.”

“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrow, and you look at him. He’s serious. 

“You’re angry. Unsure. You have no idea where to put your energy to, and you’re just going through the motions of everything around you. You didn’t even join this team because you wanted to. You joined because you were tired of running from everyone and everything and this was the first opportunity that gave you a chance to go straight,” Bucky said, your jaw clenching in response.

“You don’t know a damn thing,” you whisper, hands tightening around your bowl.

You hate it. You hate him. You hate how he's able to read you so easily, and he's never even had a full conversation with you before. Were you this predictable? Was it this noticeable?

“I see you during every single mission we’re put on together,” he continues, sitting up straight. “You look like how I used to be. You don’t care if you die today, tomorrow, or the next day. You’re going through the motions–”

“Barnes. I suggest you stop talking.”

“This is the first mission that I have ever seen you be so worked up for,” he says, shaking his head. “When I went off into the gala, I slipped into one of the backrooms. I found files of the enhanced. I had enough time to go through some of them, and there were the successful cases at the very top. I read one of them- fully read one. About an A0-92.”

Your blood ran cold. You felt your heart stop in your chest. The world must’ve stopped spinning around you at this exact moment.

“There was a picture in the file… It was a kid,” he whispers, then swallows thickly before meeting your eyes. “You were a kid.”

You stood quickly, dropping the bowl of soup in your hands. The liquid was hot, burning at your skin, and the ceramic shattered on impact as it hit the ground. Your knee hit the coffee table, his own bowl of soup sloshing around with the jostle. You needed to get out here. Fresh air. The walls were closing in on you– your neck was hurting, throbbing. You could almost feel the white hot pain of the bomb beginning to detonate just moments before you took a knife to claw it out of your own body. You could feel the brand being burned into your skin again. A0-92.

You ran out of the cabin, and into the dark woods that surrounded it. Everywhere you went, it felt like you were trapped. The bite of the cold air reminded you of the cold cells, the steel tables you used to be strapped on as you were injected and cut open multiple times. The sounds of the wind sounded like the soft begs of the other children pleading you not to bleed their life away from them to heal your own wounds– but it was kill or be killed. 

You ignored the pain in your feet, every scrape and stab of rock and branch that the woods gave you. None of it hurt compared to the ghosts that haunted your every waking moment. Everything that you tried to shoot down– everything that you tried to ignore and pretend that didn’t exist. Because he was right.

You were tired of running away. You wanted to go straight, do something that mattered to other people. If it meant that you were weak, by deciding to not go into the fray– by not hurting other people again, then so be it. You would heal others, offering them the endless life force that you had cultivated over your years of torture for the auction house. One day, in the distant future, it would run out. The supply you took from others would be depleted, and your task would be done. Your debt would be paid. 

When your lungs couldn’t handle your sprint, and your legs gave up, you finally stopped. You didn’t notice the hot tears that were streaming down your face until you realized your vision was blurry. You leaned against a tree, covering your mouth with a hand as you slowly slid down to your knees, trying to suppress the sob. 

A twig snapped from behind you– a clear indicator that he had been behind you the entire time. Bucky was letting you know he was there. You knew that he could have appeared without a single sound if he didn’t want you to know of his presence. 

Slowly, you’re lifted off the ground. You don’t find the energy to fight back as he holds you against his chest, and begins the walk back towards the cabin. He doesn’t say a single word, and neither do you. The only noise between the two of you is the sound of his steady heartbeat under your ear as you listen, while trying to calm the raging storm inside of you.

Once inside, he brings you to the bedroom. The living room is still a mess from your outburst. He sits you down on the edge of the bed, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels down at your feet, making your heart stutter as he takes a foot in his hand.

“Wait– I can do that,” you whisper, reaching out to stop him.

“It’s my fault for approaching the situation like that.” Bucky shakes his head, gently pushing your hands away, and back onto your lap. “You wouldn’t have ran out and burnt yourself if I didn’t pry. Just sit still.”

You watch as he begins to quietly remove the debris off of your bare feet. His touch is careful, afraid of making the wounds worse. You don’t tell him that this is nothing compared to what you’ve felt before, and part of you wants to make a joke that he must know what that feels like. The look on his face makes you think twice.

He looks pained. Upset– not at you, but at himself.

“I don’t hate you,” he says again, then murmurs an apology when you flinch at the sting of the antiseptic.

“I’m starting to realize that,” you whisper back.

“I don’t… know how to comfort people,” he says slowly, clenching his jaw briefly before relaxing it. “I pulled you out of the gala after I saw the file– I took it back with me. It’s in my stuff. I didn’t want them to have anything on you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You could cry more, if you didn’t already dehydrate your entire body of tears. You only gave him a wordless nod.

“I was afraid someone there might recognize you,” he continues. “So I needed you out of there.”

“It’s been years. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t look like that, you know,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.

“I recognized your photo at first glance,” he argues. “You were smaller, maybe a little starved, but you look exactly the same.”

“Natasha says you spend a lot of time staring at me. Probably why you could recognize me,” you say with a soft laugh. His hands still, just for a moment, before he continues– moving on to spread ointment on your feet. 

“Romanoff said that, huh?” he grunts, shaking his head.

“Do you? Look at me a lot?”

“I do,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes. You stare back. “Like I said– I don’t hate you.”

“You have a funny way of showing that you don’t hate me,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing at him. At the insinuation.

He lets out a breath, and smiles slightly. “That’s my bad.”

You shake your head, and don’t fight the faint smile that comes onto your face as well. You continue to watch him as he moves carefully. It’s almost strange. Such a large man made of both flesh and metal, treating you as if you were the most delicate thing in the universe. His touch is barely a whisper against your skin, almost as if he is afraid pressure would make it all worse. Yet, he’s methodical. You suspect it has to do with his own experience from way before everything happened to him, when he was just a soldier fighting in a war for his country. Basic medical training for the field. 

“The soup didn’t burn you too bad,” he murmurs as he finishes up wrapping your feet. “Your skin is a bit angry right now, but it’s just irritated. It’ll go away. Should use a wet cloth to soothe though.”

“I’ll do that,” you say with a nod. 

Bucky’s no longer touching you, beginning to pack up the med kit and clean up the soiled materials that he used to fix you up. You find yourself missing the warmth that he previously had you wrapped in. Right now, he looks different from all the other times you have seen him. Is it the confession? The sudden heart to heart? You’re coming to realize the man in front of you isn’t so bad after all.

“I cut the numbers off of me,” you tell him. He pauses in his clean up, looking up at you once more. “There’s a small bomb in each enhanced’s neck. It’s what makes us unable to fight back. It’s why we’re stuck down there, in the auction, and why we get sold off. We rebel, our heads get blown off. Some of the kids down there decided that dying was better than being a slave.”

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he whispers, and your hands clenched into fists– just to give yourself a reminder that you’re real. To ground yourself back to reality. “You cut it out of yourself– of your neck?”

You let out a shaky breath, and swallowed. “Girls get sold for higher prices… and I wasn’t bought just for the enhancements. One day, my buyer messed up. Fell asleep in front of me, and had their weapons at the bedside table. I cut it out of my neck. With my last bits of remaining strength before I died, I took his life to heal myself. I was a kid. Couldn’t see or feel how deep the implant was. Then, free– I killed a lot of people fighting to get out of that mansion.”

Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. You blinked down at your hands, letting them relax. You examined the crescent shaped indents you left behind on the palms. You took one more breath before meeting his eyes, and forcing a smile on your face.

“I might be too close to this mission, but I need to see this auction burned to the ground,” you whisper. 

“I’ll hand you the match, then,” he answers, placing a hand on top of yours. He gently squeezes. The comfort that rushes through your body is almost immediate.

The next two days are filled with planning. The kids are underground, and from the scans that Bucky was able to acquire, he counts there are about fifty kids. Less than what you thought, but it still makes your heart ache all the same. Only fifty made it to this point– there were countless others that were still in the lab, or died on those tables.

You would attend the auction, and have F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan each and every single guest to be sent back to base. When the time was right, each of them would be arrested and incarcerated. No one would be left without punishment here. 

The children would be rescued by you and other agents on standby outside the perimeter, waiting for your instructions to go in. They wouldn’t move unless they got the green light. No one wants to risk the bombs going off.

“Would you tell anyone if I killed Talbot?” you asked him the night before the auction. 

Since that night in the forest, the tension between the two of you had basically disappeared. Coupled with the fact that you two were speaking to each other, and eating every meal together– you were comfortable. It was scary how comfortable you got with him. 

You’d be lying if you said these two days weren’t filled with a strange tension. You were acutely aware of him. You always were, but this was different. You saw the way his eyes watched you, the way they scanned over your body slowly when you walked out of the bathroom after a shower. When you would look at him, and catch him staring– he wouldn’t look away. 

You noticed how his voice was softer now. More gentle. He wasn’t speaking down at you, but rather approaching you at a different angle. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t doing something to you. After him speaking to you in such an authoritative voice for so long, the quiet hush of his words brought a comfort to you that you didn’t know you would be able to feel with him. Then again– you were always at ease whenever you knew he was around. 

There were multiple times in the last couple days where the two of you brushed against each other. Whether or not it was a mistake or on purpose, it left goosebumps on your skin wherever he touched. 

Bucky took a long drink of his beer– one that you learned didn’t even do anything to him. He told you that he simply drank for the taste and nostalgia. The serum pumping through his veins made his metabolism burn through the alcohol.

“No,” he answered.

“You don’t think it makes me a bad person?” you press, tilting your head. Bucky snorts, shaking his head.

“If you’re a bad person, doll, then what am I?” he asks, rolling his eyes. You can only smile, then take your own drink of beer.

“Sweetheart. Doll. What else will you call me?” you ask, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Hate it?” he shoots right back, glancing at you.

“Not as much as you supposedly hate me,” you tease. He groans.

“Enough of that.” Bucky sighs deeply.

“You would say those nicknames with such malice, too,” you continue. “Really thought you were patronizing me or something.”

“My Ma’ would kill me if she ever heard I was talking to a lady like that,” he grunts, frowning.

“You’re a mama’s boy?” you ask, surprised.

“No,” he says, looking at you. “I had a little sister. I had to be a good example of what a gentleman was like. So, I treated women with respect and care– that way my sister had a nice foundation to use when she grew up and went out into the world to find herself a husband one day.”

You made a face. “I don’t think you respect me by calling me weak.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes as he admits defeat. “I had an awful way of trying to get you out of the line of fire. You’re a walking 51-50 waiting to happen.”

“I don’t think you should be the one talking right now,” you point out, fighting the smile that was threatening to grow on your face.

“Well. Takes crazy to know crazy.” Bucky shrugs without a care. There’s a smile playing on his lips as well. “I’m surprised they don’t have you in some sort of mandated therapy.”

“Unlike you, I didn’t commit war crimes against the entire world, so,” you remind him. You watch as he contemplates your words, then nods in agreement. “Therapy may be helpful though.”

“Nah,” he denies immediately. “Don’t do it. Well– maybe my therapist just sucked.” 

“Ever thought about getting an emotional support animal instead?” you suggest. “You’re good at taking care of people, so maybe having a little kitten around would be more healing than trying to talk out your feelings with a stranger.”

“Me? Taking care of people? You’re really good at jokes, you know that?”

“I mean, I can count all the civil conversations we’ve had on one hand, but after we’ve cleared our misunderstanding, I think you’re a pretty decent person. Besides that, you’re not the only one that can observe the other.”

Bucky let out a small laugh, and smiled down at his bottle. “I noticed. Except, you were always killing me in your head when you looked at me. I guess I can’t blame you.”

The air between the two of you was nice. Comfortable. Both of you were sitting on the couch together. On the coffee table were the plans and maps of the auction house, a reminder of what was the beginning of the end of this madness. Beside it were remnants of the Chinese food that Bucky had picked up in the city, once again proclaiming that the safehouse food was too shitty to consume. You quickly realized that he was lying to you. Bucky just wanted to feed you good food.

“Don’t get hurt tomorrow,” Bucky says, making you look back at him. He’s already looking at you. There’s something soft in his eyes when he says the words, almost pleading.

“You can get hurt tomorrow,” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood once more. “I’ll put you back to normal if you do.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I need you to steel your emotions tomorrow. There’s a chance we might not be able to save them all.”

“... I know,” you whisper, and nod once at him. 

“Don’t go trying to die in there either,” he warns. “I’ll yank you out of there before you can detonate with any fucking bomb.”

You crack a smile. “How romantic. Is this how you used to flirt with girls in the forties? Were you raised on the belief that boys who were mean to girls had a crush on them?”

“You’re not as dense as I thought,” he grunts.

“You’re not denying it, you know?" You raise an eyebrow at him then clarify, "That you hold a candle for me in your heart.”

“I’m not a liar, doll.”

“I get a free pass to throw you on the mat when we get back home. To make up for all the times you had me on my back,” you say, and down the rest of your beer. It’s a flimsy attempt to try and distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach. “Let’s call it the start of your courtship.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Just because I have the smallest crush on you doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you. I push you hard for your own safety.”

“Fine. I’ll just go back to avoiding and ignoring you when we get back,” you huff, turning away from him again. You can see him tense out of the corner of your eye. 

“One time,” he finally relents. “Just once.”

You grin and look at him. “Only a small crush?” you ask, tilting your head. Bucky stares at you for a few moments before clearing his throat and looking away. You swear there’s a slight tint of pink on his cheeks that you know cannot be blamed on the alcohol.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Can’t admit how much you like me, Barnes?” you ask, humming. “Should I text Nat and ask her how often you stare at me when I’m in the room?”

“Yeah?” Bucky sits up straighter. “I don’t recall you denying her question when she asked you whether you’re trying to decide if you wanna make out with me or fuck me.”

The grin is wiped off your face and transferred onto his. He looks smug now, enjoying your reaction.

“I hate assassins,” you whisper in disbelief. “You were listening? I thought you fucking left!”

“You were having an abnormally loud conversation,” he says with a shrug. “And if I’m not mistaken– you’ve also been quite mean to me. Seems that I’m not the only one with a crush. I might be the only one between the two of us to admit it, though.”

You could only stare at him, feeling your face warm. You could say it was the alcohol– something that he couldn’t do. Your pride was getting in the way again. There was something in his voice that irritated you to no end.

“I never not said it,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not a liar either, Sergeant.”

“Sergeant, huh?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you teasingly. 

You roll your eyes at him. “Shut the hell up, Barnes. I really could just go back to pretending you don’t exist. Maybe I’ll pick fights with you again. For fun this time, since I know how you feel.”

“Yeah? And how do I feel?”

“You like me. Romantically. Maybe you wanna kiss me as much as I do,” you challenged.

“Oh, sweetheart, I wanna do more than just kiss you,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Then why don’t you?” you ask, tilting your head. It’s his turn to pause, to stare at you. You know you’re daring him– pushing him now. And you’re waiting with bated breath to see if he pulls through. 

Part of you wonders if he actually does like you, or if you've been somehow misinterpreting his words this entire time. That was always the possibility. After all, it was only last week that you were cursing out the man into hell.

After a few more beats pass between you two without any movement, you let out a small huff and stand. You grab your plate and your empty bottle, heading towards the kitchen.

“Knew you were full of shit, Barnes,” you say, throwing the tease over your shoulder as you go to clean up your mess. 

You often forget how quiet Bucky is when he wants to be. You barely got the plate in the sink before he’s behind you— both hands on either side of your body, caging you in against the sink as he presses his chest to your back. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating against yours, the thump of his heartbeat. Then, his lips are near your ear.

“Would you let me?” 

His voice is barely above a whisper. If he wasn’t so close, you wouldn’t have heard him. You wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the husk of the words, the slight desperation behind it. You can only swallow before you nod once. A metal hand slides over your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.

“Gotta hear you say it,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder.

“Yes.”

A moment passes between you before his lips press against the side of your neck. You let out a sigh at the feel. It’s exactly like when he tended to your wounds– a ghost of a touch, barely brushing against your skin. Almost as if he’s afraid to hold you closer. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nod again, leaning into him. Bucky hums, and then he shifts a little. He moves your hair out of the way, and presses a soft kiss to the scar on the back of your neck. You tense slightly at the feeling, and he feels it. Immediately, he rubs circles into your waist with his fingers, trying to comfort you. You let out a shaky breath, and allow him a few more kisses at the sensitive spot before turning in his arms.

“All you’re gonna do is kiss my neck?” you ask quietly, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“If that’s all you want,” he replies, and you know he means it. He won't go any further if you tell him not to. You shake your head.

“No. Want more,” you tell him, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. He’s hesitating, and you can feel it. You decide to move forward, to close the remaining distance between the two of you.

His lips are soft, just as you thought they would be. They feel even better against your own. You give him one soft kiss, just to test the waters, but he comes back for another one. Bucky fully crowds your space, his flesh hand cupping your face as he tilts your head upwards to him, to make it easier for him to deepen the kiss. 

You sigh against him, relaxing in his embrace. He’s warm. This is the same warmth you felt in the forest, the same warmth he gave you when he wrapped your wounds. You were certain he would continue to wrap you in this warmth if you gave him the chance.

Bucky’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, just slightly, quietly asking for entry. You grant it, and meet his tongue with your own. He lets out a soft groan against your mouth, and the feel and sound of him sends shockwaves through your body. You want more of him– you want him closer to you. 

He seems to feel the same, both hands reaching to pull you upwards, easily taking you into his arms. Your legs rest on either side of him now, and your ankles lock behind his back to help hold yourself in place as he begins to move out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. 

All the while, he never stops kissing you. Your lips, your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. By the end of the night, you’re certain that there will no longer be a part of your body that Bucky has not claimed as his.

You’re gently laid down onto your back with such care it almost makes you want to cry. He hovers above you, a hand stopping just below the hem of your shirt. He’s touching your skin directly, but not moving any further. He’s pressing himself onto you, and you can feel his growing length against your thigh. You need more of him. You push on his chest, freeing yourself momentarily.

“Shit– I’m sorry–” he quickly scrambles to say, but you cut him off with the swift removal of your shirt. 

“Your turn,” you tell him, tugging on his t-shirt. His eyes trail over you, the exposed skin you graced him with, and he wets his lips before nodding wordlessly. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally speaks when he finds his words. You smile– Bucky’s a soldier through and through. 

After discarding his shirt somewhere behind him, he descends upon you once more. His hands are touching you again, this time without anything stopping him. The metal has already warmed up from its constant tracing of your body, from kneading your breast while his mouth takes hold of the opposite. You let out a needy whine, hands threading through his hair as you close your eyes.

He nips at your skin, making you jump briefly before looking back down at him.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he whispers to you. His eyes seem darker– pupils blown out and swallowing the steely blue eyes that you adore. The pure need all over his face makes you shudder, and your heart jumps in your chest again as you nod at him. 

You feel him before you see him. His hand trailing down to the waistband of your shorts, then dipping down and beneath the fabric. 

“Bucky,” you sigh as his fingers come into contact with your core. He’s ghosting again; simply spreading your slick over your folds to get a feel of your arousal. He lets out a soft moan, and swallows thickly.

“All this for me? I’m flattered,” he tells you with a small smirk.

“Bucky,” you say again, with more desperation. 

“I could probably slide right in without even doing anything to prepare you,” he continues, trailing kisses up your chest. “You want that? You want me to stretch you and fill you with my cock?”

Despite his words, he presses a single digit into your entrance. You let out a gasp, your hips bucking to meet his hand. Bucky coos in your ear, the heel of his palm pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves to stimulate it just a little as you grind against his hand.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, though relishing in the way he nips at the space just below your ear. 

“Need you to tell me you want me, doll,” he hums.

“Your hand is in my shorts, and you still need me to say it?” you ask, dumbfounded. 

“What’s with the sudden attitude?” Bucky clicks his tongue in disapproval, and a second finger joins in, making you moan. He hums, satisfied with your reaction. “I like you better when you’re like this.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers find a slow, lazy pace to thrust in and out of you.

“That’s the plan. Did you forget–” Bucky pulls out his fingers until only the tips are left inside, before slamming them hard inside of you. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, and you grab onto his arms for support. "-to keep your eyes on me?”

You comply because what else are you supposed to do? He has you under him, at his mercy, and you simply need more of him. Bucky can see it on your face, the way you’ll fall apart for him. He’s craving it.

“Good girl,” he whispers, humming with approval now.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you tell him, though your body is betraying your words. Bucky only smiles in response, and catches your lips with his own. His fingers leave you moments later, and you find yourself regretting your comment. You’re about to pull away, and take it back when he starts sliding both your shorts and underwear down your legs in one fluid motion. 

You didn’t even realize he had taken off his sweatpants earlier. 

“Not so annoying now, huh, sweetheart?” he chuckles against your lips.

“Can you shut the fuck up and fuck me?” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Bucky pulls away from you. You’re breathless, confused, and looking at him. He has his hands planted on either side of your head, and he’s staring at you. His face is suddenly serious. It makes your heart stutter with anxiety.

“This can’t be a one time thing,” he whispers, his jaw clenching. “If you don’t feel the same about me– I can’t do this.”

“Wouldn’t even let you touch me like this if I didn’t feel the same way,” you tell him, reaching to touch his face. Bucky lets out a breath, one of relief, as he leans into your touch. His eyes close as his head drops just slightly, like the weight of the world had just been lifted off of his shoulders. “You still need to let me throw you on the mat. Want you on your back.”

“You can have me on my back anytime you want, doll. Right now, you’re staying on yours,” he replies, and comes back down to you.

He’s warm. Extremely warm. His skin is on fire, but you’re not sure if that’s heat that’s radiating off of him or if it’s you. Either way, you feel like you’re about to explode when he finally presses into you. Bucky’s forehead presses against yours, mouth agape as he slowly stretches through your walls. 

“Tight,” he grunts, hands on your hips tightening, “so fuckin’ hot and wet– God, doll. You tryna kill me here?”

“Maybe,” you manage to answer him. You’re struggling as much as he is. The stretch is delicious. He’s just as long as he is girthy, and he really didn’t do much to prepare you earlier– but it makes it all the more pleasurable. 

He takes a few moments to breathe when he finally bottoms out, pelvis pressed right against yours before he sets the pace. It’s slow, calculated. He’s savoring every inch of you, not wanting to miss a single moment. It’s driving you insane in the best way possible. You can feel every vein in every thrust, every twitch and every jump of his cock as you clench around him.

Bucky never stops praising you throughout. 

“So pretty,” he says, eyes roaming all over your body as one hand lets go of your hip to begin to thumb at your clit. You gasp at the feeling– the contrast of tight, quick, small circles being rubbed against the slow and controlled movements of his hips. “So good for me.”

“Shit, Bucky,” you moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. He groans at the feeling, eyes closing briefly before he opens them and looks between you two– looks at the connecting point where one of you starts and the other ends. 

There’s nothing rough or hard about the moment. He doesn’t take you like a wild animal– he’s cradling you in his arms and holding you tight, letting you feel exactly what you do to him. You feel warm under his gaze. 

It’s only a matter of time before your release catches up to you, and threatens to shove you over the edge. Bucky can feel it– the fluttering of your walls and the way your body is beginning to tense under his. 

“There you go, doll,” he urges, panting. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body as he swallows, taking in the full sight of you. “Let go. Wanna see you fall apart under me.”

You can’t deny him what he asks you so nicely for. 

Moments after, Bucky follows you right off the same cliff. You feel his thrusts grow sloppier, hear his breaths go ragged, and then the warmth of his orgasm filling you completely full. 

He’s kissing you throughout the whole thing, continuing to sing your praises as he rides out his high before he pulls you into his arms with his cock softening inside you. You almost whimper at the feeling of him leaving you. 

Bucky’s hand is in your hair, massaging your scalp and the base of your skull as he holds you to his chest. You sigh into him, closing your eyes as you let his warmth once again wrap around you and keep you safe. 

“I like you,” you finally confess to him, your voice just barely above a whisper. Bucky lets out a laugh, the rumble of his chest comforting you as you listen.

“I figured,” he chuckles. “I like you, too.”

“Mhm. I know,” you say with a grin. Bucky shakes his head, but you’re certain that there’s a smile on his face.

“Rest up, sweetheart. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Your ears are ringing, and the world is spinning around you. You can’t see properly. Everything seems blurred for some reason. There’s two, maybe four of everything around you. In the distance, you can hear the sound of crackling and fire, and someone screaming out your name. You blink slowly, or at least you think you are. Time is moving at an unnatural speed.

All at once, everything comes crashing back to you, just as you are brought back to your feet, hands on your arms. Bucky is in front of you, a gash on his head with blood rushing down the side of his temple. Worry is painted all over his features, and you’re unsure why. He’s saying things to you, but you can’t understand him. You can’t hear him over the ringing. From the shape of his lips, it looks like he’s saying your name.

Bucky gets increasingly frustrated, but you do have to admit he still looks handsome even like this. There’s dirt and soot on him, along with sweat on his brow from how he must have been fighting his way down to you, down to the cells.

Fighting?

You gasp sharply as reality hits you once more, steadying yourself in his grasp. 

“You back with me, doll?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod quickly, and immediately regret the movement. You close your eyes tight, trying to will away the dizzy spell that comes over you.

“Fuck happened here?” Bucky whispers, looking around. “Where are the enhanced–”

Bucky cuts himself off, and looks back at you. Your jaw is clenched as you stare down at your feet. Your breath is ragged. You’re trembling in his arms. You’re injured in several areas, but you’re alive. That’s more than you can say for the fifty children that you came down here for.

“Where’s Talbot?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Apprehended,” Bucky answers. “He… mentioned another kill switch. I ran down here to try to warn you, but I heard the explosion...”

You laugh dryly, nodding. Just moments ago, the kids were crying to you. You were telling them you had the release on their necks– that they were free. They were safe now. One of them asked about the one in their hearts. Your blood ran cold, and you froze. You didn’t even have time to turn around and search. The first child exploded in front of your eyes, and the rest followed like a chain reaction.

“There was another one. In their chest. They put another fucking one.” 

“It’s not your fault, doll,” he whispers, and you shake your head. You don’t want to hear it right now. You can’t do this.

“We need to get out of here,” you say, changing the topic. “We’re several feet underground and that explosion definitely fucked up the infastructure. We’ll be buried if we don’t leave soon.”

Bucky doesn’t waste a second before scooping you in his arms, and sprinting to where he came from. You don’t fight him this time, either. Your body is protesting from just his movements alone as he carries you. There has to be a broken rib or two in your body, along with another fracture somewhere in your leg. You were too close to the explosion. Whether you like it or not, your enhancements wouldn’t let you die so easily. 

The lights above ground let you know the operation was a success, all things considered. The mastermind was taken in. Now, they would be able to go through his personal assets and find out where his labs were and put an end to everything. Maybe they would be able to free those children.

You don’t think you would ever be free of the faces of the kids that you saw down there.

You’re carried into the jet, and you vaguely hear Bucky say that your part of the mission is over with. The two of you would be heading home now– you both sustained injuries that require immediate attention. It’s only then that you snap out of your own head.

You look at him– really look at him. There’s more than just the blood on his head. There’s a bruise and cut on his cheek. His tactical gear is ripped and cut open in some places. There’s dark spots on his body that could or could not be his own blood. You see the slight limp in his walk when he finally sets you down in a seat. 

The two of you are in the air before you know it, a heavy silence between the two of you. Bucky’s across from you. His eyes are closed shut, head leaning back against the wall of the jet. You know what he’s thinking of, too. 

Then, you shift. You ignore the sharp pain in your body screaming at you, and you sit down next to him. He opens his eyes to look at you, questioning. Then, he sees it. The soft golden glow from under your palms, and the change of colors in your irises.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head as he tries to lower your hands. “Save your energy. Your injuries are a hell of a lot worse than mine.”

“Let me help someone tonight,” you whisper– no, you beg him. Bucky’s lips part, and he lets out a shaky breath before he relaxes in his seat. He doesn’t make a move to argue with you again.

You let your hands hover over his temples first, concentrating your powers on the gash on his head while also reaching for the rest of his body. You can see it. The broken rib, the fractured wrist, the sprained ankle. There’s multiple, deep cuts on his body from when he must’ve gone against several armed guards, and maybe a few older enhanced humans. 

Slowly but surely, each pathway to the injury closes off. You can see the stiffness in his body disappear, the crease in his forehead begin to smooth out as you take his pain away. You reverse the damage that had been done to him, and you save one person tonight.

When he opens his eyes, you watch as his face softens. He reaches for you now, hands cupping your face. His thumbs brush right under your eyes, wiping away tears that you didn’t know had fallen.

Just like that, you crumble and fall apart in his arms. He holds you tight on the way home, careful of the injuries that he isn’t sure you have, but keeps his hold strong to ground you all the same. He’s the only one listening as you wail in the jet, and no words pass between the two of you.

When you arrived at the base, there was already a gurney and team of medical staff waiting for your landing. Bucky carried you out of the jet, and laid you there, barking out orders to hurry up and get you examined. 

You spent a week in the medical ward. Dr. Cho was flown out from Seoul to take care of you, and get you back into shape as soon as possible. 

“It’s not what you can do, but it’s the next best thing,” she told you with a gentle smile.

In that same week, you denied all visitors to your room. You wanted to be alone. You got alerts from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that each of the team members had tried visiting at least once, but you didn’t allow access. Even to Bucky– who came by every single day. Sometimes, he came multiple times a day. It was only Fury who came in, the only person that you couldn’t just turn away without proper reason. 

“The labs have been found,” he informed you as you stared at the pristine white sheets you were under. “Another hundred kids were taken in, all under the age of twelve. All of them are alive, as they haven’t had the final stage of the experiments done to them yet. They’re in recovery in a safe location to rehabilitate.”

“And their parents?” you asked him, your voice small.

“We’re working on locating all of them,” Fury said. “Along with all the parents of the deceased.”

You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I want to quit.”

“Rejected,” he denied immediately. Your head snapped up to him, and he’s staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “Those kids need someone that understands what they have been through to teach them how to live. How to survive the shit they’ve been through.”

You pause, the words weighing in your mind. “I killed them, Fury,” you whispered, desperation in your voice. You feel like crying again. “I– I don’t even know how to survive the shit that I’ve been through!” 

“Give it some thought. If you really want to quit, come talk to me after you’re discharged,” he told you, then turned to leave.

You’re discharged within another week. In that same week, Tony bypasses the order you gave to F.R.I.D.A.Y. and storms into your room with a gown in hand. He’s throwing another party– one to celebrate you and Bucky’s successful mission and to gather donations for the rehabilitation center for the children.

You really tried to skip out of it, tell him that you weren’t interested in a party after everything that you’d been through. You even asked him if he read the mission report. 

“I did,” he said with a nod. “And all I can say is that I’ve fucked up, too. I have blood on my hands that I’ll never be able to wash away. You, me– all of us on this team. We’re all the same.”

“Tony, please,” you begged. “I can’t just go to a party after that.”

“Then, don’t think of it as a party for your honor,” Tony said, and hung the dress up across from your hospital bed. “Think of it as a distraction. One night to get away from the demons in your head, to enjoy yourself. You deserve a break, too.”

You couldn’t fight against him on that. Not when you realize that he was just trying to cheer you up in the only way that he knew how to. 

The party is the first time you see the rest of the team since your departure for the mission. Once again, no one asks questions. No one pries. You’re certain they all read the mission report, and they know why you requested for the time to be alone while you healed. 

The girls greeted you with a smile, Natasha immediately mixing you a drink of something fruity that was strong, but not strong enough to make you dull the ache in your chest as you watched the world continue to spin around you without you moving in it. 

“Barnes has been distracted these past two weeks,” Natasha says, bumping your hip with her as you stand at the bar in between her and Wanda. “He jumps at the mention of your name.”

“Just worried,” you say with a sigh.

“Sure, but he never was like that before. Did something happen while you two were out on the field?” Wanda grins at you. 

You want to smile at them. You really do. You want to indulge in the girl talk. You want to feel the embarrassment and shyness as you confess that you do have feelings for Bucky and that you both had acted upon those feelings, but you just can’t.

It was nothing against Bucky, or anything that he did. You don’t feel worthy of those feelings for him. The last two weeks of silence, of being in your own head– you realize that the words he used to spit at you with fire may have been more true than you wanted to admit.

You were a liability. You were too close to the mission. You were emotional and reckless– you didn’t double, triple check the situation. You wanted to be a hero, to save lives. At the end of it, you didn’t even walk out of there on your own two feet. 

You didn’t even succeed in your own mission– to save the hostages. He succeeded in his– to apprehend Talbot. He was right, at the end of the day. You knew he was. Even if he had already reassured you, whispered to you in your ear that he didn’t mean it like that, you were starting to believe there was someone out there that did. 

How could you face him now?

You excuse yourself, murmuring something about fresh air. You ignore the way both of the girls share a look with each other, and let your feet carry you out the door to the rooftop. 

You sat out on the terrace, watching the skyline. The compound was far away from the city, but you were still able to see the twinkling lights in the distance.

Here, you thought about everything. Your place. Your thoughts were taking a dangerous turn. You no longer felt worthy of this team. Of having these powers that could help people when nothing you did aided. You didn’t feel worthy of the feelings that Bucky had for you– the respect and care and worry that he secretly held all this time.

“Been waiting everyday at the gym for you to throw me, you know?” 

Just his voice alone was enough to melt away the self loathing that you threw yourself into. You looked over your shoulder, seeing him walk towards you, a hand in his pocket, a whiskey glass in the other. 

“Been drafting up my resignation letter,” you respond softly. “Don’t think we need to continue training anymore.”

Bucky comes up beside you, placing his glass beside yours on the ledge. He lets out a breath as he leans against the stone, and looks at you.

“I’m really not good at comforting people, doll. Can you help me out here?” he asks. He’s trying to make the tone light. Trying to cheer you up.

You give him a tight smile, and shake your head. “I couldn’t save them.”

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. My earpiece– it broke. Got knocked out. I couldn’t reach you fast enough. If I was more careful–”

“I should’ve done more research,” you cut him off. Bucky looks helpless at your words. “It was my mission. Not yours… And it will haunt me forever.”

Bucky lets out a deep breath through his nose, then wets his lips. Thinking. Then, he reaches for your hand, tugging on it. He’s pulling you away– bringing you somewhere else.

“What are you doing?” you ask. Your voice sounds tired. It doesn’t sound like you.

“I can’t make the nightmares go away,” he whispers, looking down briefly as he continues to lead you away from the edge of the terrace. “I can’t make it all stop hurting, but I was sent on that mission with you as your dance partner. We didn’t even dance. You're gonna let me fail at the mission given to me, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the laugh that exits your lips as he brings you to the middle of the rooftop. He smiles at the sound, and stops before you. He guides your hands onto his shoulders, then comfortably rests his on your waist.

“Just for right now, you and I can forget all the bad stuff,” he says.

“Is that really okay?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to meet his. He shrugs a little, and smiles more.

“They’re playing our song right now, doll. Can’t be sad when we’re together,” he tells you, and leads you in a dance. 

The music from inside is loud enough to carry outdoors, to where the two of you are. At this moment, you let Bucky take the lead. He holds you against him as you sway together, breaking away only for a moment so he can take your hand and spin you around like a princess in a movie. The action makes you giggle just a little bit, and you miss the soft look in his eyes as he watches you. 

You don’t know how much time has passed like this– with him. All you know is your head is against his chest, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. He’s humming along to the song as he leans his own head against yours. You can feel his heart beating, and distinctly realize yours is beating in the same time. 

“Stay here. Stay with me,” he finally speaks, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

You’re quiet for a few moments. The pain won’t go away in one night. Bucky isn’t claiming that he can make it disappear, either… but being in his arms dulls the ache in a way that you know that you can’t do by yourself.

“Will you complain if I go on a mission with you again?”

Bucky lets out a small laugh before lifting his head, pulling back to look at your face. A hand comes to cup your face. “How long will you be holding that against me?”

“Depends on how long you think we have together,” you respond, leaning into his touch. 

“Forever, then,” he confirms, smiling down at you before the familiar feel of his lips press against yours. 

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens **let me know if you would like to be added to a general bucky taglist for whenever i post a fic for him :)**

[sebsxphia]

thinking about bob (reynolds) thinking he doesn't deserve a blowjob :(( he just wants you to feel good and thank you for loving him!!! then one day you convince him, and he can't help but protest, even as your lips are wrapping around him and his hand is winding into your hair :(( my pookieeeeeeee

the pleasure dilemma.

robert reynolds x reader.

￫ summary: you convince robert reynolds that it’s okay to receive pleasure.

￫ word count: 2K.

￫ warnings: blowjobs, deep throating, smut and fluff.

￫ authors notes: this is my first time writing for robert reynolds! i hope i’ve done him justice 🥹 my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

He was always so caring and considerate. You gave him warmth and comfort. In return, he gave you sweet little acts of service to show you how truly grateful he was that you were kind and patient with him. 

He would make your food, even if he had little energy that day. A pot of instant noodles was presented with love. He would buy you small craft sets for whatever hobby you were into. He would wait up all evening if he knew you were coming back late, so that he could listen to what you had to say. 

But most of all, he practically demanded to be comfortably nestled between your thighs, his warm mouth on your cunt and pushing you to the brink of overstimulation every time. 

You loved exploring each other's sexuality together, but the one thing he always denied you was giving him head.

“What is it, Bob, hm?” You asked him tenderly as you sat on his lap at the edge of his bed. You hooked your finger under his chin, causing him to look at you. “Is it that you’ve never had one before? Are you nervous?”

“No—” he half heartedly laughed. “I have… I just don’t feel like I deserve it, y’ know? You do so much for me, and I want to show you how much I love and appreciate you.” His large palms were on your waist, holding you against him as you sat on his lap. He pulled you in tighter; that underlying force that bellowed inside of him was ready to flip you over and spread your thighs before him.

“Bob…” You let out a giggle as he returned to kissing your neck to distract you. “You do so much for me!” You protested back at him, but it fell on deaf ears as he pressed kisses down your neck and shoulders.

Your fingers found their way through his soft curls and tugged a little as his lips sucked on your tender flesh. 

“Bob!” You protested again with laughter. You lifted his face to meet yours, and he wore a smug smile due to his attempt at distracting you. “Tell me. Why?”

His eyes shifted from yours to stare at the ground, and his fingers played with the hem of your t-shirt.

“It’s fucking stupid.” He mumbled out.

“I can promise you, it won’t be.” You reassured him with a soft smile and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his warm ear. 

“I don’t… I don’t want to be a burden, or be a hassle, or be annoying—”

“A blowjob is annoying to you?” You raised your eyebrows at him with a smirk. 

“No!” Bob laughed and brushed it off. “It’s not that. I don’t think I deserve it because you do so much for me, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to, and then I don’t want you to stop being so kind to me because—” 

A flurry of words left his mouth in a panicked rush, and you could see how his chest was beginning to rise and fall faster with each breath. 

“Bob. Bob.” You stopped him mid-rambling and directed his worried gaze back to yours. “You do deserve it. I want to give you a blowjob, and I will always, always love you and want to care for you, my sweetheart.” 

He didn’t say anything in return; he just nodded. You pressed down harder on his lap and slowly began moving your hips across his clothed cock. He drew his bottom lip in between his teeth and hummed. 

“Please let me, Robby?” You lilted with a sweet and pleading tone.

“O—Okay.” He swallowed thickly. A rosy flush crept up his neck and blossomed on his cheeks. 

Truth be told, Bob had played out this exact scenario countless times when he was alone in the shower. His cock hardened beneath you as he pictured how pretty you would look on your knees and took his cock to the hilt. 

You pressed your lips to his and kissed him slowly. Your hands found their way back into his curls and pulled gently, causing him to groan against your mouth. 

You continued to move your hips against his lap, and you mumbled against him. “Remember, you can tell me to stop anytime, baby.”

He hummed in agreement and squeezed his palms tighter against your hips, feeling the last draw of your ass over his cock before you shifted off him and knelt between his thighs.

His hands naturally found their way into your hair as you ran yours up and down his clothed thighs. You littered teasing kisses over the fabric, but when you pressed firmer kisses to his growing bulge, he let out a loud moan.

Your fingers messily found the waistband of his sweats and pulled them down and off, followed by his underwear. You let out a whimper when you saw how achingly hard Bob was already. His cock was pressing against his torso, which was littered with the soft and messy curls of his pubic hair. 

You had seen his cock plenty of times, but knowing that Bob was baring himself to you like this for you to give him pleasure, caused a surge of pleasure to rip through your stomach. Your cunt twitched momentarily, and you ached to be filled with him.

You were holding back from burying his cock in your mouth to the hilt so quickly.

You placed your hands on his bare thighs and gently squeezed at them, trailing kisses along his warm flesh. He shuddered and let out a whimper. You wrapped your hand around his shaft. It was hot under the touch, and it throbbed as you firmly palmed at it. Your lips met his tip with a soft kiss, and another whimper escaped him.

“A—Are you sure, baby?” He was questioning you with his words, but his body reacted entirely differently. His hands were winding tighter into your hair and tugging at your scalp. It was a subconscious twitch to pull you down onto his cock and chase that feeling he so desperately craved.

“I’m positive, Robby.” You convinced him between a flurry of kisses to his shaft.

Your lips wrapped around his tip, and you sank lower down his shaft. He bucked his hips forward, and a longing groan left his lips, his secret pleasure daydream now becoming a wild reality.

You moved your tongue along the base of his cock, and a more resounding groan tore from his throat.

“Fuck!” Hearing him curse your name above caused your stomach to twist, and arousal seep through your underwear.

His fingers entangled deeper into your hair as you sank lower. You moved your head along his shaft at a rhythmic pace, with your tongue drawing long strokes against his base. Your palms spread across his thighs to steady yourself, with the aid of Bob’s hand messily in your hair to guide you.

Your body bounced rhythmically in time, and with a deep swallow, you took his cock to the hilt, burying your nose into the base of his curls. His swollen tip hit the back of your throat, and he choked out a groan, startled by the sudden movement. His sweet noises of contentment turned into breathy whimpers as your warm mouth took him whole. You mercilessly continued to push his tip to the back of his throat, and a curse of your name tore from his throat.

“Shit! O— Oh my fuckin’ God! You feel so fucking good, m— my sweet girl.” He stumbled over his words with breathy moans.

You pulled back momentarily, and his eyes fell on the string of saliva connecting his tip to your bottom lip. You ran your thumb across your lips, collecting the saliva into your mouth with a smirk. He cursed again.

You took his length back into your warm mouth, but this time, removed your hand from his thigh and gently cupped at his swollen balls.

“O—Oh…” He gasped with relief.

You drew yourself off his cock to ask, “Does that feel nice?”

“Yeah… Please… Keep going.” He was asking politely, but his voice had a heavy sense of demand. You were firmly reminded of the weight of his powers that rumbled and coursed through his veins.

You placed your mouth back around his cock, and your hand massaged his balls. You kept a continuous pace, sliding your lips up and around his cock, and slowly added a firm pressure to the grasp on his balls. He continued to let out a string of hurried curses of your name, groaning every time his pulsing tip hit the back of your throat. 

You gently bounced on your knees against the carpet. You were pathetically humping the air in an attempt to gain any friction against your clit that was throbbing against your underwear.

“Let me look at you, please, baby.” He murmured. One of his hands left your head to cup at your jaw and tilt your gaze upwards. Tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes from the continuous deep throating. A sheen of salvia was drooling down your chin, and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson colour.

Bob had envisioned this moment countless times, but nothing compared to the pretty sight below him. 

Your eyes directly met his. His gaze bore into yours, and you saw the shimmery, golden speckles flutter around his pupils. 

It caused a shudder to spread down your spine. 

“I’d like to experience this more often, please. You look so pretty for me.” He breathed out with shaky breaths but with a sure smile. 

He was always so damned polite.

You did your best attempt at a smile but hummed in agreement. The vibrations sent around his cock caused him to stutter out another moan, and you took that as your sign to continue your ministrations.

You repeated the same rhythmic actions, and Bob couldn’t hold on for much longer. His hips were starting to buck impossibly closer to your face, and the grip on your hair grew tighter.

“I think… M’ gonna…” He blurted it out so suddenly that his taste in your mouth caught you off guard. “D— Don’t stop… Please! Oh fuck!” He groaned out with shaky breaths as he spilt into your mouth, and his head rolled backwards. 

You continued to pulse your mouth around his twitching cock, causing him to whine as his thighs trembled beneath you. Another flurry of curses left his lips, pushing him further into overstimulation.

You licked along the base of his sticky shaft twice more before removing your mouth completely. 

You gazed up at him and watched how the golden sparkles thrummed around his pupils before dissolving completely.

His cock was sheened with a mix of his cum and your saliva. A rosy flush was blossoming across his cheeks, and a pleasure-induced smile spread on his face.

He was such a beautiful sight to behold. 

You wiped your thumb over your bottom lip, collecting the final droplets of his spend into your mouth. 

You placed yourself back on his lap, and your hands found his hair again. As you placed a kiss on his lips, he let out a muffled groan as he tasted himself. 

Bob pulled back from the kiss and let out a gasp when he felt your arousal seeping through your underwear and coating his softening cock.

“Have you been this wet the entire time, baby?!”

You blushed and hid your face in the crook of his neck. “Yeah.” You mumbled as you mouthed at his flesh. 

“Can I give you head now, please?” He politely asked with a playful tone. You pulled back and nodded eagerly. 

“You can, but I’m giving you another blowjob late—” You let out a yelp, followed by bubbles of laughter as Bob used his underlying force to pick you up so effortlessly and lay you out on the bed.

He grinned as he towered above you and drew his hands up your ankles to part your thighs. “Fine by me, my sweet girl.” 

taglist: @floydsmuse @beachbabey @tallrock35 @unmistakablyunknown @kmc1989

tagging those who may be interested: @becks-things @peachystenbrough @lewmagoo @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @rhettmotel @mustaaarrd @beautifulandvoid @auroralightsthesky

[23victoria]

my hair

pairing: 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word count: 1.6k

synopsis: 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓, 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒆𝒙

warnings: 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒚, 𝒅𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒚, 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒖𝒉𝒉𝒉 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒔

authors note: 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈. 𝒊 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒏𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔. 𝒊. 𝒂𝒎. 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓. 𝒊𝒕. 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓. 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒉𝒐, 𝒆𝒏𝒋��𝒚! 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅!

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕?! CLICK HERE!

F1 MASTERLIST

Oscar’s hand slid slowly down your thigh, his fingers tracing every curve like he was trying to memorize you by feel. His lips never left your skin for long — kissing your jaw, your collarbone, the soft dip of your throat, working lower with every passing breath.

Your body was already humming, buzzing beneath his touch like static before a storm.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice low and full of awe. “Spread out under me… skin warm, eyes all soft… You have no idea what you do to me.”

You tilted your head back when his fingers traced up your ribcage, brushing the underside of your bra before he reached behind you, unclipping it in one smooth motion. He watched it fall away like it was the unveiling of art, like your body was a masterpiece he didn’t feel worthy to touch.

But he did touch you.

Carefully at first. Reverently. His palm smoothed over your breast, thumb brushing gently over your nipple as he leaned in and kissed the other, lips warm and wet and achingly slow.

Your breath caught.

He looked up when he heard it, eyes dark with heat and affection. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

You nodded, too breathless to speak, fingers tightening in the soft fabric beneath you.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, teasing you with another flick of his tongue. “I wanna hear it.”

“It—yes,” you whispered, cheeks flushed. “God, Oscar, yes.”

That satisfied look spread across his face — that boyish, cheeky grin he always gave after a great overtake or a pole position — except this time, it was for you. Just you.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice husky now.

He took his time, trailing kisses down your stomach like each inch deserved attention. When he reached the waistband of your panties, his hands slipped under, fingers tightening slightly against your hips.

“Still okay?” he asked, breath warm against your skin.

You nodded quickly, chest rising and falling with anticipation. “Yes. Please.”

He slid them down in one slow, fluid motion, eyes never leaving yours — even as he settled between your thighs.

And then he kissed you again.

This time, it wasn’t on your lips.

You gasped his name, one hand flying to his curls, and he groaned in response, like your voice alone was enough to undo him. He didn’t rush. He never rushed with you. He let you writhe beneath him, thighs tightening around his shoulders, your hips rising up on instinct as he kept his mouth on your clit — licking, sucking, kissing with deep, deliberate care.

He made you feel everything.

The gentleness. The focus. The heat.

When your voice cracked and your body arched, he didn’t stop until he felt your release roll through you, your fingers tightening in his hair, your legs trembling slightly around his head.

Only then did he lift his gaze, mouth slick, eyes molten.

You were glowing.

He kissed his way back up your body, lips dragging across your skin, murmuring soft praises between every breath.

“So fucking good for me…”

“You’re everything, baby…”

“Can’t believe you’re mine…”

You caught his face in your hands when he reached you again, pulling him in for a deep kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, but more than that — you tasted how much he wanted you.

“Now you,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He swallowed hard. “You want me, baby?”

You nodded, pulling at the waistband of his sweatpants.

He groaned into your mouth when you slipped your hand beneath them, fingers brushing over his big throbbing cock. He was hard, hot, pulsing — and he bucked into your touch with a quiet curse.

“God, sweetheart…”

He nudged his nose against yours, panting slightly.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered. “You already have.”

You smiled and pulled him closer.

“Good.”

Oscar kissed you fiercely, and with a swift movement, he took off the rest of his clothes and pressed his body to yours again. You both moaned at the contact — skin on skin, no barriers between you now, just warmth and heat and love in every touch.

He reached between you, guiding his hard cock to your aching hole, teasing your entrance.

You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His forehead pressed to yours.

“I’ll go slow, baby” he promised. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

And when he pushed in, inch by inch, he watched your face the whole time — making sure you were with him. Every breath. Every sound. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips again, whispering sweet nothings that melted into your skin.

“You feel so good…”

“So perfect…”

“Mine.”

The stretch burned in the best way, and the fullness of him had your eyes fluttering shut.

Oscar groaned, hips stilling as he bottomed out. “Fuck. Baby. You’re—fuck—God.”

You tightened your legs around his waist. “Move, baby. I want all of you.”

And he gave it.

Slowly at first — a rhythm that built heat in your belly, his hips rolling against yours in waves. He kissed you through every moan, every shift, every time your body trembled under his.

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice rough. “Let me see those eyes.”

You did.

And when your eyes locked, it felt like the whole world narrowed to this moment — this rhythm, this man, this overwhelming wave of love and pleasure that pulled you under, over and over again.

You came with his name on your lips, your body pulsing around him.

Oscar followed with a low, broken sound, spilling into you with a shudder as he buried his face in your neck, panting, trembling.

For a brief moment, the room was quiet, save for your breathing.

Then he kissed you.

Soft. Gentle. Slower now.

He didn’t pull away.

Just stayed there, inside you, wrapped around you.

“Baby, you think you can give me one more?” he whispered. “For me, please.”

You smiled, stroking his damp curls. “Ohh, once wasn’t enough for you baby, huh.” You say teasingly, sliding yourself over him to straddle his waist.

He laughed softly, chest still heaving.

“No ma’am.” he groaned looking up at you with lust filled eyes. His hands gripping your waist before slapping your ass softly. "I can never get enough of you baby. I'd want you anywhere, anytime, anyplace. Doesn't matter where we are—if it's you, I need it." he says in your ear sending chills through your body.

Oscar’s hand slid up the side of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it until he gave a soft, instinctual tug — pulling your head back gently to expose more of your throat as he kissed down your jaw.

You gasped, hips rolling up to meet his. He kissed you roughly, you moaned into his mouth, his tongue touching yours. “Fuck.” he says pulling away from you as flips your body onto all fours, back arched, ass in the air.

The sound you made went straight to his head. But just as quickly, he froze.

“Shit, baby—sorry,” he breathed against your skin, loosening his grip. “I didn’t mean to mess up your hair—baby, I didn’t even think—”

You cupped the side of his face, panting softly, your lips swollen from his kisses, your skin glowing.

“Oscar,” you whispered, a teasing smile curling at your mouth. “Don’t stop.

“I liked it,” you added, voice low and breathless. “Baby, it’s okay. I like it when you do that.”

His eyes darkened instantly. Something inside him clicked.

“You sure, baby?”

You nodded, coming up a little, your back against his chest as you pull his hair a bit. “Pull my hair as you fuck me, baby. Just… not too hard.”

He groaned deep in his chest — the sound of a man pushed right to the edge.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice suddenly wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He was on you again — his mouth hot on your throat, sucking a trail of kisses down your neck. His fingers returned to your hair, gripping just enough to tilt your head, just enough to make you whimper for him as he kissed along the delicate line of your throat.

“Like this, baby?” he whispered, tugging gently as he rolled his hips into yours.

“Yes,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Oscar, fuck—yes, yes—just like that…”

He kissed the underside of your jaw, then your collarbone, all while keeping that pressure in your hair — giving him control, giving you bliss. His other hand was pushed you back on your elbows, his hands gripping your hip now, holding you in place as he guides his hot thick cock into your pussy. He bottoms out quickly, thrusting hard, fast and deliberate, fucking you into the mattress, he was claiming every inch of you.

“Fuck. You sound so good, baby…” he groaned against your skin. “You feel so good.”

He pulled your hair again, just a little firmer this time, and your mouth fell open with a moan that had him biting down gently on your neck, soothing it with his tongue immediately after.

The tension between pain and pleasure had you arching up into him, and he took advantage — fucking into you even harder and deep. He pulled on your hair making your body move closer to his chest as he continues to fuck you, his lips meeting yours as his body moved with yours in perfect rhythm.

One hand pulled at the bed sheets, while the other hand clung to his waist, your nails digging into him.

“Mhpmm! Oh fuck! Oscar—fuck—don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he rasped, voice low and raw. “Not ‘til I make you come apart all over again.”

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Oscar groans, his voice ragged with pleasure. His pace doesn’t slow, his body moving with precision and desire. You can feel the heat building between you both, the tension winding tighter with every thrust until it feels like you’re going to break.

“Shit, baby, your pussy is squeezing me so tightly. Fuck.” he says as he thrusts into harder, the pleasure is too much. Now your face is against the pillow, your body trembling.

“Oh, sweetheart. You gonna come baby, huh?”

“Ohh…yes! Fu-ck, y-yes! Baby, I’m—”, you say feeling yourself come undone, completely fucked out in total bliss.

“Mhm. Yeah, I know baby—fuck—come for me, baby”, he groans as he messily fucks into about to come himself.

His words send shivers through your body as you come undone, Oscar staying inside you, groaning as he fills you up. You shudder, completely fucked out, collapsing onto your chest on the bed. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, his chest pressed against your back, both of you catching your breath. Then, his hands slide to your waist, and with a firm but gentle grip, he flips you both over. Now you’re on top of him, still buried deep within you, and you gasp at the unexpected movement.

You guys stay like that for a minute. Comfortable. He smiles at you, eyes soft and full of adoration, completely in love. His fingers gently brush your hair back as he murmurs, “Don’t fall asleep yet, baby. You know you have to pee—I don’t want you catching a UTI.”

“Mph… nooo,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “I’m tired. Just wanna sleep.”

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “I know, baby, I do. But your safety and health come first, okay? Go pee, and I’ll clean you up, change the sheets, and then we can go to sleep. How does that sound?”

You huff dramatically, eyes still closed. “…Okay.”

“That’s my girl,” he says with a soft smile, kissing you on the lips.

✰༞𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!࿎✰@ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @revolutionsingingintherain @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @armystay89 @paucubarsisimp

[houseofaegon]

LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU ╱  BOB REYNOLDS X READER

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪  no use of y/n, first time oral m!receiving, praise, overstimulation, eye contact, spitting on it (yummy) . light dom!reader

author's note: i just can't stop thinking about how much bob would love getting his dick sucked for the first time after a long day of training—so i had to write this short little drabble 'cause i can't get the picture out of my head. just him being so vocal and a whimpering needy mess. gawwwddd i want him so bad. me next me next!!!

BOB was still trying his best to catch his breath, sweat slick on his skin, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven waves. The training session with YOU had been brutal. Not just physically—it was the way you barked at him, pushed him harder than usual. You hadn't meant to be so sharp. You hadn't meant to scream at him the way you did. But you had to. Someone had to. You just wanted him to be better, to get stronger. Not that he wasn’t—god, he was. He was strong and powerful, but always holding back so much. And you say the way he hesitated in the field. The way he second-guessed his own strength. Overthinking. Doubting. You needed to shake him out of it. You needed him alive.

And now—now he was here, still trembling, sitting at the edge of his bed like he’s not sure if he did good or if he fucked up beyond repair.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice softening. "You didn't deserve that. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

He looked up at you slowly. “I... I get it,” he says, voice rough. “You were just—trying to help.”

“Still,” you murmured, stepping in close, standing between his legs as he looked up at you with those big, blue eyes. “Let me make it up to you, Bob. Please.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. Just a shaky breath as you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. His training pants were already loose, and when you pulled the waistband down, he gasped.

He was already half-hard—like his body was waiting for you. Like it knew what was coming before he did.

“W-wait, I—” he stammered, hands lifting like he’s not sure whether to stop you or hold on for dear life.

You cut him off with a look. “Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you.”

And then you spit into your hand.

He moaned—a shocked, punched-out sound that made your core throb. His cock twitched, leaking already, and you wrapped your slick palm around him, slow and steady, dragging it from the base to the tip.

“Oh shit,” he breathed out, hips twitching. “That feels really good.”

You smiled teasingly, just a little. “Yeah? I barely just started.”

He groaned, head falling back, breath coming faster as your strokes picked up. Your mouth hovered just above the flushed head of his cock, your spit glistening on him.

“You’ve never had this before?” you asked, voice low, teasing.

He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “N-no. Not like—fuck—”

“Then relax,” you whisper. “I’m gonna blow your mind. No pun intended,” you winked.

He chuckled softly. And then your mouth was on him—wet, warm, slow—his moan hitting the walls like a prayer.

“Fuck,” he gasped, voice shaking, fingers curling into the sheets behind him. “Oh fuck—oh my god—”

You hummed around him, tongue teasing under the head before you sank lower, slowly, steadily, letting your lips stretch and slide until he hit the back of your throat.

He choked on a groan, thighs trembling. “Shit, that feels—oh god—it feels so good—”

His hand hovered near your head, hesitant, not quite touching you. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Doesn’t know if he’ll survive it if he does.

You pull back with a slick sound, stroking him with your fist as you meet his eyes.

“You can touch me, Bob,” you said, breath hot against his spit-slick cock. “It's okay.”

That’s all he needed.

His hand sank into your hair, shaking as he held on—not rough, not guiding, just anchored. Like he might float out of his body if he didn't.

You take him again, deeper this time, your spit mixing with his precum, dripping down over your knuckles as you stroked the base.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—please—yes,” he groaned softly. “You’re—fuck, you’re so good at—oh my fucking god—”

His voice cracked on a moan, breath catching, every muscle in his body straining like he’s holding on for dear life.

“Feels like—shit—feels so good. Fuck. I can’t—I can’t—”

You kept going. No mercy. Sucking and stroking and swallowing him down like you’ve got nowhere else to be but here, with him falling apart under your mouth.

He whimpered

Actually fucking whimpered.

“Fuuuuuuck, oh god—oh god—shit, you gotta slow down, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You pull back just enough to speak, voice raspy and thick with heat. "Shut up and take it."

He moaned—high and wrecked and gone.

“Fuck fuck shit, okay, okay I’ll shut u—oh my fucking god, yes, just like that—just like that—”

His head fell back, mouth open, whole body twitching with the effort of not thrusting into your throat. You looked up at him, eyes wide and teasing as you hollowed your cheeks around him.

“Holy shit, if you keep doing that I’m gonna come—ah shit—yes! Fuck, I’m gonna come—”

He’s panting, begging, voice shredded with desperation.

“Please, please, can I come? Fuck, fuck, oh shit—”

You didn't stop. You just hummed with his cock in your mouth, the vibrations making his entire body shiver.

And Bob fucking broke.

You kept sucking, stroking, moaning around him—because you want it. You want all of him.

“Fuckfuckfuck, oh my god—yes—” he screams, high and raw, hips jolting despite himself. “I’m coming—I’m—fuck—I’m coming—oh shit—”

His hand tightened in your hair. He came hard, spilling down your throat in hot, messy spurts, sobbing out moans as he trembled under your mouth. His thighs shook. His abs clenched. He sounded wrecked—wild, feral, like he’s never felt anything this good in his entire life.

You kept sucking. Kept milking him through it.

“Ahh—fuck—fuck please—too much—oh god—” he whimpered, eyes wide and wet and desperate. “Too good—fuck, baby, please—please—I can’t—”

You finally pulled off, spit and cum dripping down your chin, and he was still twitching, still panting like he ran a marathon. His cock twitched again when you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, watching him like you own him.

He looked at you like you had just destroyed him—and rebuilt him better. He was still shaking. Eyes glazed. Lips parted.

“…Is this your way of saying sorry?” he rasped, hoarse and completely gone.

You crawl up his lap, straddling him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Yeah, it is," you whispered. "Next time, I'll really blow your mind."

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans @menrsluts (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[wonubby]

obsessed - k! bakugo

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

intro (you're here) - masterlist - next

a bubbly laugh came from your phone, followed by a sweet, dolce voice and cheers from an audience. "I appreciate the question, sizuku. actually, one of my favourite songs these days has been obsessed by olivia rodrigo! i resonate with the song a lot, especially since some people have really been keeping tabs on me." another carefree laugh.

that fucking bitch.

the twitter video came to an abrupt end, having over a thousand likes, with the caption being absolutely absurd.

'did pro hero dynamight's ex-girlfriend just confirm that y/n's stalking her...? oh, that crazy bitch.'

it took every fibre of your being to not reply to the tweet; you knew what she was doing. having been katsuki's ex two years prior, she was much loved by his fans. they were painted as 'Japan's sweethearts', and when the relationship ended, fans were in shambles.

people began posting conspiracies, claiming katsuki had cheated on her or that he'd been abusing her. despite the heinous claims from fans, his ex, amira, played into the role of a distressed woman, earning sympathies from the public.

sympathy she didn't even deserve.

however, when you came into the picture, the situation blew up even more. fans were livid; they hated you, claiming you were the reason for the split, ignoring the fact that you and katsuki began dating almost seven months after their relationship.

"you see it?" his voice was low, dangerous even.

lifting your head, you locked eyes with your now fiancé. "tch, it's quite hard to miss, given that everyone's slut-shaming me in my comments." you rolled your eyes at him, giving him a nasty attitude you know he hated.

"watch it," he said. "i hate it too, but don't give me any shit, doll."

"whatever, kats. she does this shit all the damn time, and your fans eat it up like shit. it's about time they accept you aren't getting back with her." you grumbled, clearly upset by the ordeal.

"i know sweets, it's not your fault. you know how many times i've spoken up about it. they don't give a fucking damn or respect me." he sighs, placing a hand over yours.

you hold on to him tightly, nails digging into his skin unintentionally. "you know, i really wish i could say something, but they don't care! they never will, and she just keeps egging it on."

the two of you sat in silence for a while. maybe if she weren't a bitch, you'd like her. unfortunately, she acts like a prissy princess, always making snide remarks and playing the victim.

selena gomez who? at least she knows how to keep it classy.

a few hours had passed, and your rage had settled into a fuzzy feeling in your stomach. katsuki had left to tend to some hero business while you were left alone with your thoughts, and that's where you came up with the plan.

the 'shove-my-happiness-in-their-faces-so-she-can-cry' plan.

you smirked to yourself, pleased with the idea and immediately getting to work on how to execute it.

HOW TO GET BACK AT HER

make sure katsuki leaves the house in a questionable state

hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday

go on an interview show together

flaunt your proposal in her face.

recreate a moment from their relationship, and i mean the same place, similar outfit and same pose.

heated and messy livestream on Instagram

do tiktok trend ft obsessed by olivia as the sound

even messier podcast

soft launch the wedding, in a colour that she claims is hers.

you let out a laugh, dark and spiteful, ready to see that witch melt.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[saiintofawe]

actually we don't talk enough about kiriona killing crux and how heartbreaking that scene it is. imagine growing up being beaten and kicked and kept prisoner and being locked away and told that you are nothing if not a big mistake. now imagine then finding out that it is just untrue. not because you have found your value as a person and bla bla bla but because it turns out that you're the child of like, the most important guy in the whole universe. you go back home and you finally, finally get to prove your abuser wrong! you did all of that to me and yet look! i'm actually so very important and i deserved to live amd you were wrong all along!

and yet that is not enough. you show to your abuser that they were wrong, like, you treated me like shit when i am a big deal, and they say, i don't care, that doesn't change anything. you are still something that deserved to get beaten and kicked and locked away. but, hey, since you're a big fucking deal, you get to kill this guy. you get to kill the man that has abused you all your life. you get to give the man that has been terrorizing you since childhood what he deserves. sweet revenge. it doesn't feel good. you are a big fucking deal and he is dead. you still were beaten and kicked and kept like prisoner. you still have been nothing if not a big mistake for much longer than you have been the child of the emperor.

[zorya-reads]

To quote some reactions to this post I found in the first few seconds:

"Greg is genuinely 10x more desirable" "I am 100% a gregma male" "Greg sounds like a fun guy to hang out with" "I'd ride at dawn for Greg" "Greg is the real lady's man"

This has been bothering me for a while. (rant / essay below cut)

What we’re seeing here is really just the male equivalent of the old “pick-me girl” trope from 2018. Something like, “He wanted to be in this meme to show off his new Warhammer mini” — it’s not a far cry from, “She only agreed to be in this meme if she could pose next to her motorbike.” It’s the same kind of signalling. And frankly, I’m tired of it.

Lately, I’ve heard a lot men in media lament how they wish they were complimented more. And that’s completely fair. But somehow, it never seems to occur to them to actually compliment each other. No, they want it from women. That’s the currency: female affirmation.

And that’s exactly what this post is about. It may present itself as wholesome — “Greg” might come across as endearing — but the underlying function is the same as the “pick-me” pattern. It’s still built on positioning oneself as uniquely deserving of attention or approval; it’s about performing it in a way that still seeks external sexual validation.

Let me be clear: I’m not criticising men who are more sensitive and soft spoken, or who have niche hobbies, or who don’t fit into rigid masculine ideals. That’s not the issue. The problem arises when someone makes a personality out of being “different” at the expense and opposition of other men, — using that difference to claim moral or emotional superiority. Fucking insecure egos.

But "Pick-me” is not an empowering term. Calling someone a “pick-me” doesn’t make you more genuine, more feminist, or more grounded. It just replicates the same judgmental dynamics we claim to want to escape.

In the end, society begins in the mind — in how we perceive and frame each other. If we want things to change, maybe the first step is to stop villainising people for acting out roles we’ve all, at some point, been encouraged to play.

[alygator77]

look at them. just look at them.

their smiles. look at satorus toothy grin. this picture gives me life—i can’t. he looks so pure. he looks so happy. his eyes are shining with so much life.

the peace sign ✌️ the fucking track uniforms. this is sending me. them acting like literal high schoolers for once instead of child weapons trained to carry the weight of a cursed world??? omfg they are such goofs posing like this together. i’m so fucking unwell.

bro. the fact that this picture is blurry just screams chaos and i am living for this. it’s giving class clown energy and i will protect it with my life.

-

these photos are devastating in the softest way. they capture a version of satoru that is so pure—a version who wasn’t yet the strongest, who wasn’t carrying the world on his back, who wasn’t alone. his eyes are gleaming. he looks alive. carefree. whole. it’s like a memory we shouldn’t be allowed to hold. a love letter to what they could’ve been if the world had been kinder. if time had frozen right here.

and that’s what wrecks me the most. he fucking deserves this. so istg i will fucking write him with all the love he is owed. gege… when i catch you gege 😭

[redlinespeedster]

how about teammate reader 👀

Like taking out frustration on the teammate!reader after today's race

DOWNFORCE !!

mad max 𝒙 teammate!fem reader ⡡

[summary] the spanish grand prix couldn’t have gone any worse—at least not for Max. After losing his podium and receiving a well-deserved penalty, an uncontrollable rage begins to build inside him. But there’s one outlet for all that anger: his teammate.

[warnings] smut !! rough sex, degrading dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, spitting, hair pulling, oral sex (male receiving) & face fucking, max is mean. Just a heads up, this fic might have some language mistakes. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes.

[notes] I’ll admit it, Mad Max is my not-so-guilty pleasure. 🤭 The angrier he gets, the more I just want him to fuck me senseless. By the way, I’m a huge fan of Max x teammate reader!! How about we turn it into an au? Drop your naughty ideas for the next parts.

It had been a tough race week for Red Bull… Well, for everyone—except you.

You spent all sixty-six laps fighting for the lead, going wheel-to-wheel with Oscar Piastri, who never stopped challenging for first place. The cars overtook each other several times until the safety car was deployed. From that moment on, your job was to hold position, right behind Oscar.

Throughout the entire weekend, you did everything perfectly. Flawless qualifying, flawless overtakes. You even took home a nice little trophy for pole position, adding another one to your growing collection. Winning was inevitable; you were the favorite to fight for the race, and by the final laps, you had already been voted Driver of the Day. The race was going well—truly great, actually… at least, until the very end.

The drama began as soon as the green flag was waved again in the final laps. Max, your teammate who was running in third place, was forced to make a risky move that allowed Charles Leclerc to overtake him. As if that wasn’t enough, Max unfairly took the position from George Russell, which led the team to pressure him into giving it back. Amid protests and frustration, the Dutchman intentionally caused a minor collision with the Mercedes driver, effectively ruining his race. He received a ten-second penalty that dropped him to the last spot within the points.

Max couldn’t have been angrier. A large part of his fury stemmed from the unbearable envy that rose from deep within him as he watched his teammate get far luckier than he had.

You didn’t even see him storm out of his car—you were too busy celebrating a back-to-back victory that bumped you up in the standings, now nearly tied with Max in points.

He would never be happy for you. Never. His only desire is to defeat you, no matter the cost. He can’t stand having to compete with you. He knows he’s better than you, and he makes sure you know it every time you’re alone — even when you’re disoriented — because his hands between your legs silence any attempt at protest.

And that’s how it’s been since you joined the team, unfortunately. For him, it was easy to throw hurtful words at you, wait for your protest, and then break you down for reacting “rudely.” You had to settle for anything less than what he had—because otherwise, he’d use you until you couldn’t even stand. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t stolen positions from him on purpose at least once, just to piss him off. His irritating side scared you, but at the same time, it attracted you in a strange way.

You’d lie with shameless ease if you said you weren’t fascinated by him.

He stormed into the team’s motorhome with indescribable rage. Deep down, you expected it. You were sipping from your bottle when the door slammed shut with force, leaving you stunned… just like so many other times. You wished you could say you’d never seen him like this, but this scene had played out more times than you’d like to admit.

But before you could complain or tell him to calm down, he grabbed your arm with a grip that burned against your skin. In one swift movement, he pushed you against the wall, his body practically pinning yours. With his height, build, and weight, he looked imposing… even intimidating, especially to your eyes that shone like those of a cornered puppy.

“Don’t you got anything to say to me?” he asked, and your mind filled with questions. Did you have to say something? Offer your condolences, maybe? But it hadn’t even been your fault. You were just faster, and that’s why you ended up in first place.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked, your face serious, almost like you were spitting it out. “That you screwed up your own race ’cause of your fucking selfish ass? That now you’ve got the noose around your neck ’cause you’re just one point away from getting banned and not being able to race?”

And you almost let out a moan when he tangled a hand in your hair and pulled it with little delicacy, tearing a whimper of pain from you. Max had many flaws, and one of the most obvious was that he couldn’t stand being told things as they were.

Another of his problems — and no less serious — was his inability to control how irritable he could get. He was like a harmless matchstick until it fell on four gasoline tanks. Because when he got angry, he exploded in ways you had never witnessed before. It was almost as if he completely lost control, as if something inside him was unleashed without restraint.

“What did we say about being cheeky?” he says seriously, barely opening his eyes, a spark of annoyance burning in his gaze. His other hand slowly descends, tracing your torso over the fireproof suit. The tips of his fingers barely brush your navel, and just the thought that he might keep going down makes you shiver uncontrollably.

With the same hand that just caressed you moments ago, he roughly squeezes your cheeks, enough to make your face ache.

“I’m gettin’ tired of havin’ to shut that little bitchy mouth of yours,” he spits out, and you could swear you hear his teeth grinding as he speaks.

He watches your face, how your pupils dilate, and for a moment, his anger fades away. But it’s just that: a moment. Then it returns, dragging him like a relentless wave, and it seems like he can only unleash it on you.

Suddenly, he’s kissing you. He does it with intensity, with force, even with an almost rough, dirty edge. There’s no trace of tenderness on his lips, only unrestrained desire as they move over yours. As always, you try to keep up with his pace. Your breath catches, your heart pounds violently against your chest, and a pleasurable sensation spreads through your whole body as he melts his mouth with yours.

According to him, it was the best way to let off steam. Every time a race didn’t go as he expected, he came back to you: to your lips, the way your body fit perfectly against his, and how well you welcomed him. You were almost like a drug, an addiction he always ended up relapsing into.

His tongue invades your mouth with an almost arrogant confidence, moving with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. You barely manage to keep up, softly gasping against his lips as he dominates you with every touch. If his tongue is already hard to bear, you don’t know how you’ll handle something much bigger pushing inside you. The thought makes you tremble, just as his tongue curls around yours—wet, firm, caressing it as if already rehearsing for something much deeper.

You feel your pussy throbbing. Well… actually, it wasn’t unexpected at all. The way he kissed you, how he grabbed your hair roughly and let slip degrading comments, without a doubt, triggered an immediate reaction between your legs. Your skin burned. You unconsciously squeeze your thighs as you hyperventilate, and yet you keep kissing him, even when it’s already hard to breathe.

Suddenly, he breaks the kiss that had you completely dazed and grabs your hair firmly again, while strands of saliva still hang from your lips. It was no longer just pain you felt: now it was rough, almost cruel. You softly moan, squinting your eyes from the discomfort.

“Get on your knees, liefje.” He orders, with an almost annihilating look, one of those that don’t need words to warn: do what I say or face the consequences.

And who were you to contradict one of his orders?

You can feel how hard he is beneath his clothes. He knew you would always be there to satisfy his desires, and he wasn’t wrong. Because you always were. Your hands slowly trace the edge of his fireproof pants, as if you were drawing a map you already knew by heart. His cock drips pre-cum, clearly visible through the thin fabric of his clothing.

However, his impatience betrays him, and he hates to see you make him wait, especially when he is consumed by desperation. As soon as his cock is free, you choke as you feel him push it all the way down your throat. For a moment, a gag reflex threatens to escape, but you manage to control it.

Max pants softly. He feels overwhelmed with pleasure from the simple touch of your lips wrapping around him. But it’s not enough, not even when he sees you choke, your eyes full of tears from not being able to take it. He shamelessly mocks you while guiding your movements with his hands, practically fucking your mouth. Your tongue precisely reaches every sensitive spot it traces on his cock, igniting every nerve along the way.

You could feel the pre-cum sliding and dripping over your tongue. Its taste was strange, but not unpleasant to you. His grip on your hair grows firmer as your head moves in a constant sway. He can feel your tongue in every corner, a wet mess of saliva and desire, but he melts when he notices your gaze fixed on his. Then, he pulls away from you for a moment.

He doesn't want to cum until he's inside you. That’s something he never says out loud, but you know it. He likes it—especially when there’s time to spare.

Your racing suit is almost on the floor now, sliding down around your ankles. Your cheeks flush; you’re not sure if it’s from the heat or if shyness suddenly crept in. He, however, only seems to care just enough to tease you about it.

"Really, you get shy after sucking my cock like a complete slut?" He says it with a dry laugh as he lifts you up and sits you on the table. His hand runs along the inside of your thighs until he spreads your legs, making you feel exposed. “Oh, look at that little pussy. Hard to believe I’ve filled it more times than you can count on your fingers.”

His fingers gently trace the line of your folds, and you are so sensitive that the wet, sticky sound of his fingers touching you makes you shiver. You’re already worked up just thinking he might bring his mouth closer; eyes locked on his, you’re practically begging for it.

But it was all just a cruel tease. After getting you all riled up, close enough to make you believe he was finally gonna devour you—he doesn’t. Instead, he spits on you. No warning. Just lets his saliva drip onto your throbbing clit… and that alone pulls a broken, desperate moan from your lips—messy and completely involuntary.

“Max, fuck…” you arch your back, unable to hold in the sound that escapes you. “That’s so unfair…” But before you can complain again, his hand wraps firmly around your neck—dominant, unforgiving—cutting your breath just enough to make you shiver. And the heat between your legs only gets worse, burning under the weight of his dark, hungry gaze.

“Life ain’t fair, mijn kleine hoer.” He says it with a smug little grin, tightening his grip around your neck. His body’s already damn near on top of yours, pinning you to the table. For a second, you actually thought he might stay like that, enjoying having all the power…

But then—rough, almost wild—he flips you over and slams you down against the cold wood, your cheek pressed flat to the surface as the air rushes out of your lungs.

He’s got a perfect view of your half-naked body now, all exposed for him. He doesn’t even bother looking at your face—he’s still mad. Seeing you won’t calm him down. But maybe, just maybe, being deep inside you will take the edge off that rage burning in him.

“You’re dripping, liefje. Missed me that bad, huh?” With his fingers, he spreads open your ass cheeks, so that your wetness is staining your thighs. "Wanna fuck you?”

You nod desperately, again and again, while your whole body trembles with need; you had been waiting for this the last half hour, and the anticipation was devouring you from the inside, like fire under your skin. But since not a single word escapes your mouth, he punishes you mercilessly: the blow echoes against the skin of your ass, leaving it burning, red. Then you can’t hold back anymore, and you moan loudly: “Yes, fuck!”

He gently slides his cock through your wet folds, almost effortlessly driving you wild. His tip slams against your clit, causing you to arch your back and moan, begging for more. Your legs tremble; he has to hold you up so you don’t fall sitting to the floor.

"I’m gonna fuck your fucking pussy until you’re so obsessed you can’t even focus on racing ‘cause you’re thinking about my cock.” He murmurs aggressively. Your hole tightens around nothing just from hearing him speak like that.

He slides inside you without the courtesy of warning. The force of his thrusts borders on brutal, striking with precision that sensitive spot inside you that makes you see stars.

Your hands grasp the edge of the table, trying to find something to hold onto. His large, firm hand grips your head, pressing your cheek against the surface. You’re overflowing with pleasure, not even bothering to hold back your moans. The sound of your bodies colliding echoes inside the small room.

“Fuck… you’re so damn tight, schat,” he groans, head falling back as he keeps pounding into you, each thrust deeper than the last. The way you’re gripping him is driving him absolutely crazy—nothing else feels like this. You’re addictive. Hypnotic. “You take me so fucking good.”

By squeezing it harder than necessary, your hole manages to squeeze out every last drop of his thick, sticky cum. The semen drips out of your pussy in sticky strands, creating a complete mess all over.

You have an orgasm just seconds later. The sensation crashes over you mercilessly, tearing through everything in its path. It hits you in the stomach with such force that the pleasure consumes you from the inside out. You want to moan, scream his name, give in completely… but you can’t. He presses his hand over your mouth, muffling your sounds. Only a few desperate whimpers manage to escape through his fingers, laced with lust and surrender.

Max withdraws from inside you, fully satisfied. But you remain there, collapsed over that wooden table, while a wave of intense pleasure slowly drains every last drop of your energy. Exhaustion wraps around you completely.

He laughs at you with that dry, mocking chuckle he always uses to ridicule you. This time? He’s amused, as always, by how shattered you look when he’s done using you. His hand tangles in your hair again, pulling until your torso arches and your back is pressed against his chest. You’re still so shaken from what just happened that when he scatters kisses and bites along your neck, you can barely breathe.

“You’re so good, mijn sletje. Doesn’t matter if I win or lose—only thing I ever think about is how I’m gonna ruin you the second I get off that podium.”

[neeeooon]

shut me up ;

35 | i want to be loved

ft. fem!reader x kaiser (nagi, shidou, bachira mentioned)

cw. cussing, moreeee hurt-comfort, brief mention of self-harm, mention of past abuse, suggestive after the 🎸

the door was propped open before you could even think about knocking.

"kaiser?" you practically whispered as you poked your head into his apartment. his back was to you, a simple white t-shirt stretched over his muscles as he fiddled with something on the counter. he whipped around when he heard your voice, as if he hadn't expected you so soon despite liking your "i'm omw" message.

immediately, kaiser was on his feet. his eyes flitted haphazardly over your face, honing in on the bruises along your nose. you watched his hands form fists so tight you worried he'd break skin.

"i'm okay," you rushed when one of his hands went up to his hair.

kaiser let out a harsh breath that sounded more strangled than anything else. he trembled. "he put his hands on you." you followed the harsh line of his throat as he swallowed down his rage. "i... i let him."

"i chose to put myself in that situation," you explained lightly. "there wasn't anything you could have done."

kaiser shook his head and wobbled slightly on his feet. his hand slid down to the collar of his shirt, which he tugged anxiously as he tried to look anywhere but your bruised face. "don't lie to make me feel better. this is my fault, and we both know it. i'm a piece of shit, just like him."

only when your cheek began to sting did you realize you were biting it. "you're not like him." your words didn't come out soft like you'd planned. they were rough and raw, near-pleading as you tried to get him to understand.

kaiser's eyes shook when they met yours. "how would you know? you don't know me..." and before you could stop yourself, you were caught in a rant.

"i do know you. i know you like pretzels, but prefer bread crust husks. i know your eyes light up when you’re on stage. i know you don't like to call the people you sleep with by name, because that makes it too personal for you. i know your past is shitty, i know you're a bit of a mess, but despite all that, i know that i want to know you. i want the chance to really, truly know and understand you, michael kaiser."

kaiser was flustered, you knew by the slackness of his jaw and the flush in his cheeks. you could tell that it was too much for him by the steady quickening of his breath, and you would have left him to calm without the pressure of your presence if you hadn’t noticed his fingers inching toward the fingerprints bruised into his throat.

mindlessly, instinctively, you stepped forward and snatched his hand in yours, holding it tight to your chest as you let your wild eyes scan his features. "don't. don't do that to yourself, ever." you'd done such a good job of respecting his boundaries, of giving him space, but you wouldn't watch him harm himself. you couldn't.

kaiser's eyes lingered on the dark spots beneath your eyes as he calmly said, "i deserve it."

you shook your head before he was finished speaking. "shut up. you're hurt. you deserve to heal. i'm here, kaiser."

he tried to pull his hand from between yours, but you tightened your grip, placing his closed fist over your heart. kaiser tried once more before giving up, his brows knitting with unshed emotion. "i tried to cut him out of my life. i told him to fuck off and leave me alone, that i wasn't giving him any more money..." he paused, blond hair falling over his eyes as his chin tipped toward you eversoslightly. "it is my fault. i was a coward. i knew he would retaliate; he always does."

"he's gone now, though," you explained in the softest voice you could muster. "he's far away from here. he can't hurt you anymore."

the scoff kaiser let out sounded like it physically pained him. "it always hurts. the only time it doesn't is when... is when i'm with you." kaiser finally managed to pull himself from you and step away, letting his head fall against the wall with a soft thud. "but when i'm around, you get hurt."

you fought the urge to sigh as you took a slow step forward, as if approaching a wounded animal. "that wasn't you. it was him. and he isn't around anymore." you stopped moving when kaiser looked at you. "when you're around, i feel like i'm on the verge of cardiac arrest with how fast my heart races. i didn't even know butterflies were real until meeting you, so don't you dare minimize yourself to this one accident. it happened, it's over, and i don't want it to hang over your head for the rest of your life."

the fact that he was comfortable enough to tell you about his father, even after everything that happened, felt like a win. you didn't want to push him any further than you already had and rocked back on your heels. "i'll be down the hall if you need anything."

☆ 🎸

you couldn't even think about falling asleep after whatever transpired in kaiser's apartment, but it wouldn't have mattered, because nagi took up your entire bed in your absence, anyway. you sat at the desk in your room, a cup of tea in your hands as you mindlessly flicked through your twitter, which was full of fans freaking out over the bastardz.

debating knocking on bachira and shidou's door, since they were often up late and always willing to hang out, you jolted when something banged against your bedroom wall. thankfully, nagi was a deep sleeper and didn't even flinch as the banging continued. it was heavy and steady, not like something being thrown, but like a fist or a head. like someone was knocking, trying to get your attention.

your socks slipped across the hard floors as you slid from your living room into the hallway, where you found kaiser's door unlocked. he was waiting for you.

you froze in the doorway when you spotted a chair flipped over, something you should have heard when it happened. your breath caught when a head of wild blond hair caught your eye. "kai—"

his hands reached for you, one finding your waist while the other slipped into your hair, and kaiser pulled you into his chest. the hand on the back of your head pushed your face into his collar, but you didn't think as you wrapped yourself around him, clinging desperately to him through his shirt, which was slightly damp with sweat. you could feel his heart hammering against your body.

"i want to be loved," he blurted out desperately, so suddenly it made you feel weak. he was shaking so hard, you didn't know how he was standing upright, even with your support. "i want to be loved. i want to be admired. it's why i chose this path for myself, y/n." your name caught on his tongue, but it hardly did anything to slow him down as he pulled you impossibly closer to him. "i thought the fans, the fame, the lovers, would satisfy me. be enough to fill whatever black hole sits in my chest. but it didn't. it doesn't."

kaiser released his grip on your hair to pull you away and slide his hands over your face, cupping your cheeks and jaw, forcing you to meet his glittering blue eyes. "the only thing that makes me feel human is you."

you barely had time to process what he'd said before his mouth was on yours, a searing heat that spread through you like wildfire. you clutched at his shirt, grip tight and trembling as you melted into him, desperate to get him even closer. you pressed your body against his, shivering despite the heat that bled through your clothes.

every press of his lips against yours, every nip of his teeth, conveyed how much kaiser wanted, needed, craved you.

your fingers found his hair and tangled themselves at the roots, tugging enough to release a throaty groan from the man. you kissed him harder, taking advantage of the moment to sink your teeth into his lip. all thoughts of your prior conversation fled from your mind, and you decided it'd be something to focus on later.

kaiser's grip on your hips was bruising, but you didn't mind it until his fingers began toying with the helm of your shirt. the tips just barely grazed the hot flesh of your naked ribs when you grabbed his wrist.

kaiser pulled away, his eyes hooded but confused and a little sad that you stopped him. when you saw that, you slipped your grip from his wrist to his hand and interlocked your fingers together.

"not yet," you explained gently, voice hoarse from the noises his kisses drew from you. "not after... not tonight." everything was still new, and you didn't want him to group you in with a way of ignoring his struggles.

kaiser still had you caged between his body and the wall, but he didn't make another move upon hearing your rejection. "i want to make you feel good, too."

you blushed so hard, and the butterflies in your stomach were so violent, you thought you might throw up. you brought your intertwined hands to your lips and placed a kiss against his knuckles. "stay with me, then. let me hold you instead."

after a tense moment of hesitation, kaiser slowly nodded his head and let you lead him into his bedroom, where the sheets were a mess. you didn't care as you crawled in, scooting over to make room for him. kaiser anxiously followed, as if he hadn't had dozens of people over before you. this was different. you were different. the thought of messing this up made him—

kaiser sank against the mattress and leaned his head against your stomach. your fingers immediately carded through his hair as he looped his arms around your waist like you were a pillow.

"this is strange," kaiser admitted in a gravelly voice, and though he didn't say more, you felt a tiny drop of water seep through your shirt where his face pressed into you. you wished earnestly you could take all of his pain away, but this was enough for now.

you fought back tears of your own when kaiser asked in a quiet, sleepy voice, "don't leave before i wake up..?"

you nodded, then, when you realized he couldn't see you, said, "i'll stay. i promsie."

masterlist // previous (ch 34) // next (ch 36)

notes -> KAISYN KISS KAISYN KISS. idk why they bring such angst out of me

tags -> @x3nafix @n0tbelle @nensi @ohagiyoo @tired-child00 @melinana @chaoslibra @kaidostwin @bubybubsters @miss-aesthetic-13 @ihsoti @arwawawa2 @lonigiri @realrintaro @mivqko @sorasushik1 @pookalicious-hq @higuchislut @tofumiarchives @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @rainychi2 @ch4rstxr @sapph1r3x @sagging-saging @5-laska @tuna-toes @seinuis @sindulgent666 @evilari111 @newinhalerpls @kisses2kanao @sugacor3 @meizumi @90s-belladonna @meowstertruck420 @kyutiipie @ranzess @cookiesandcreammy @nevvynev @stwberri @mikeymyfav @dontmindtheevie @kaikaidenkai @mizukiblogs @ravenbc @yvanllie @cyberasterrr @lily-isalittlegirl @yourlocaleffy @hanamatopoeia

© neeeooon, 2025

[worlds-we-write]

Hii, I adore your writing. Can you please do one where Joelxreader had a fight, he didn't feel good enough, old and went to sleep angry. He woke up in the middle of the night, didn't see you there and even noticed your side was cold, which meant you hadn't been there for a while. He panicked and thought you left him.

In the end he did find you in the house and you made up. Some fluff please, smut if you want. Thanks :)

Only You

Word Count: 1,830

Tags: Angst, insecurity, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, soft making up, light smut (mildly descriptive, f!reader, oral f receiving), age-gap themes, language

AN: Thank you so much for this request! Hope you like it! As always, my inbox is always open for requests for anything specific you wanna read <3

My Masterlist

“You can’t just shut me out every time something scares you, Joel!”

Your voice cracked as it bounced off the walls of the cabin. Joel didn’t flinch. He stood near the table, arms crossed, face like stone.

“I ain’t shut you out.”

“You have,” you insisted, eyes shining. “For days. You’ve been in your head, pushing me away, barely talking, barely looking at me. And when I try to ask—when I try to love you through it—you act like I’m the one hurting you.”

Joel’s jaw flexed.

You took a step closer. “What is going on?”

His voice was low. Bitter. “What’s goin’ on is that you’re finally seein’ me for what I am.”

You blinked. “Joel—”

“I’m tired, baby. Tired of pretendin’ like this is easy. Like I ain’t constantly waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. You’re young, you’re kind, you got a whole damn life ahead of you, and I’m just—” He shook his head. “I’m just some old man clingin’ to somethin’ that don’t belong to him.”

Your heart shattered right in your chest.

“Don’t do that,” you whispered. “Don’t take what we have and twist it into somethin’ ugly just ‘cause you’re scared.”

“I ain’t twistin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ the truth.”

“Well, it’s a shitty truth,” you snapped, tears brimming. “And it isn’t mine.”

Joel stared for a beat—then turned. “I’m done talkin’.”

He walked out.

Not a slammed door. Not a final word. Just silence. Like he’d already decided.

You stood there in the stillness, breath shaky, limbs buzzing with frustration. He didn’t even look back.

You didn’t go after him.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed a blanket from the closet and curled up on the couch. You couldn’t cry again. You were too angry. Too heartbroken. Joel had this way of building walls and convincing himself he was protecting you by doing it. But all it did was make you feel like a stranger in your own home.

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, blinking up at the darkened beams as the clock ticked on. He didn’t come back out. You didn’t go in.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed you.

Joel’s eyes snapped open.

The room was pitch black, save for the faint glow of moonlight through the curtains. His body was still warm with sleep, but something felt wrong.

He reached out instinctively for you—cold sheets. Empty space.

His hand searched again, heart beginning to race. Your side of the bed wasn’t just empty—it had been that way for a while.

“Fuck,” he muttered, bolting upright.

The fight came rushing back in pieces—your voice trembling, the look in your eyes when he said you deserved better. The way he walked away like a coward, thinking silence would protect you both.

But now?

Now all he felt was dread.

“Baby?” he called into the dark, voice rasping from sleep and guilt. No answer.

He got up fast, pulling on the first hoodie he found and moving through the house, bare feet padding softly across the wood floor.

No sign of you in the kitchen.

Bathroom light off.

Coat still hanging by the door, shoes untouched.

His chest clenched.

Maybe you left anyway. Maybe it had taken a few hours to decide, but you realized he wasn’t worth it after all.

He deserved that.

But it would ruin him.

The fear took over, clawing up his throat as he stumbled into the living room—and stopped.

There you were.

Curled into a ball on the couch, blanket twisted around your legs, a crease between your brows even in sleep.

His knees nearly gave out with relief.

He moved slowly, crouching beside the couch and brushing a piece of hair away from your forehead.

You stirred at the touch, eyes fluttering open.

“Joel?” Your voice was groggy, confused.

His face was crumpled in guilt. “I thought you were gone.”

You sat up a little. “Why would I leave?”

Joel looked down. “’Cause I gave you every damn reason to.”

There it was—cracked and raw. All his worry, all his anger, all his fear that you were too good for him, poured out like floodwater from a broken dam.

You reached for his hand. “I needed space, Joel. I wasn’t leavin’. I was hurt.”

“I know,” he rasped, voice thick. “I—fuck—I didn’t mean any of it. You were right. I pulled away and then got mad when you noticed. That ain’t fair.”

You squeezed his fingers gently.

“I didn’t want to sleep without you,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Woke up and you weren’t there and... I lost it.”

His eyes were glassy. The vulnerability in them made your chest ache.

“Come here,” you said softly, shifting over to give him space on the couch.

He settled beside you, slow and careful like he didn’t think he deserved to. You pulled the blanket over both of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice barely audible against your temple. “I feel like I ain’t enough sometimes. Like you’ll wake up one day and see what I see.”

You looked up at him, gently guiding his face to meet your gaze.

“You wanna know what I see?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“I see a man who has survived things most people wouldn’t. I see someone who carries so much pain but still chooses love. I see someone who protects what he loves with everything he’s got.”

Joel’s eyes shone in the low light.

“I see someone I want. Someone I love. Exactly as he is.”

A shaky breath escaped him. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” you whispered. “Stop sayin’ that.”

You kissed him then—soft and slow, mouths moving like they’d missed each other all night.

Joel deepened it, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat. His hand settled on your waist, pulling you closer.

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling him beneath the blanket, hands cupping his face.

He kissed you like he was trying to make up for all the words he didn’t know how to say.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You didn’t.”

“Never wanna go to sleep mad again.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his. “Then don’t be an ass next time.”

That earned a breathy laugh from him. “Fair.”

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms skimming the soft skin of your back. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his touch still made your stomach flutter.

You rocked gently against him, your forehead resting against his, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

Joel kissed down your neck, warm lips lingering at your pulse point. One hand slipped between your thighs, fingers teasing gently through your sleep shorts.

You let out a soft moan as he touched you, his name a breath on your lips.

“You always so wet for me, baby?” he murmured, fingers stroking slow, deliberate.

You whimpered. “Only for you.”

He slid a finger inside, then another, curling them just right. His thumb circled your clit with practiced care, watching your face the whole time.

“You’re perfect,” he said, voice gravel and reverence. “Every part of you.”

You bucked against his hand, breath catching. “Joel—”

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, kissing you again, slower this time. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your body trembled as he worked you open, fingers stroking deep until your thighs shook around him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said against your neck. “Let go.”

You fell apart with a soft cry, clinging to him as the wave washed over you.

He held you through it, murmuring sweet nothings as you came down, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your lips.

When your breathing slowed, you looked up at him. “Can we go to bed now?”

He smiled. “Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Joel carried you back to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, setting you gently under the covers before crawling in beside you.

You curled into his side, his arm wrapped tight around your waist.

This time, the sheets were warm on both sides.

[el4ise]

get it away from me !

fishapplecrow’s reactions to you getting scared because of a bug! (specifically a spider. ik it’s not a bug but idgaf) ✦ pure fluff, crack, swearing

𝗿𝗮𝗳𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗹

he was peacefully painting in his studio when he hears a particularly loud scream from the other side. one that seems as if they’re being brutally murdered.

he storms inside the room and sees you standing on the bed, blanket covering your whole body as you looked at him with pure fear in your eyes. “cutie, what happened?!” he asked, genuinely concerned. you shakily point towards the corner.

he turns and sees a medium-sized spider. he chuckles. “jeez, you scared me. I thought something was wro–” he was stopped in his tracks when the spider ran a few meters closer to him in a blink of an eye. he quickly stood on top of the bed, wide-eyed.

“okay, what the actual fuck.” he stands infront of you. pulling out his phone and calling thomas. really? rafayel wasn’t that scared of spiders. but with a speed like that he might as well die.

thomas came a few minutes on and killed the spider for you both. he wonders what did he do for him to deserve babysitting two grown children.

𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗯

he was finishing up the dishes when he heard you scream so loud, louder than ever before. he wasted no time in sprinting up in your shared room— just to find you shaking in a corner as you stare into a creature... a spider.

he laughs, “god pips. I forgot how much you hated these things. especially when we were kids.” caleb effortlessly stilled the spider with his evol, killing it with his hard slipper. he turns towards you and ruffles your hair. “there. all gone now, yeah?”

you thought it was over until caleb said “it’s not that bad.” and lifted the dead spider into the air, closer to you.

you let out an angry yell, a small tear escaping your eyes. caleb then realised that was a bad idea and flung the dead creature out the window. then hugging you right after, apologizing. whilst secretly laughing lightly because of how silly you are.

caleb compensated you with snacks and a tight cuddle right after in your spider-free room.

𝘀𝘆𝗹𝘂𝘀

sylus was quietly packing things up after a deal in the n109 zone. he gets a buzz on his phone and he picks up before the second ring.

: what’s up, sweetie? I’m almost done here. I’d be home in a few—

“come home quick, please!” your tone was eager, but he could sense there was no actual threat in it.

: is something the matter that I need to urgently come home?

“there’s a spider in the room. please sy! you know I hate these things!” he laughs, his voice echoes through your speaker.

: alright, kitten. but why won’t you ask help from the twins?

“..I did. they were scared of it too.” you hear sylus sigh, and he replies with a quick okay before ending the call. not long after you hear his footsteps from downstairs, and he comes up ready.

he kills the spider with ease and throws it out. he then wastes no time to embrace you. “never thought my feisty kitten who faces big bad wanderers could shiver in a presence of a creature smaller than her.”

you hit him lightly on the back. “I hate you.”

“mm. I love you too.”

© el4ise ✦ do not repost or translate.

tags ──── @nishikio, @jeondyy, @ruenaie

[moki-dokie]

and i'm gonna say something wildly unpopular here but frankly even the worst human beings alive deserve rights and bodily autonomy. yes, even if they took it away from someone else. saying otherwise is the same fucking rhetoric as saying rapists deserve to be raped and thus wanting MORE rape and rapists in the world.

i say this as someone who has been sexually assaulted, many times, as a child, by both family and strangers. i say this as someone whose sister was violently raped and murdered as a child.

if i can have a shred of decent human empathy, what the fuck is yalls excuse for calling for more harm and more abuse and more trauma and more ways to fuck up an already fucked up person?

chemical castration is nothing short of barbaric, long-term, slow torture. it's state-sponsored assault. and it does absolutely fuckall to stop that person from raping or assaulting someone again. like, you think lowered testosterone and a low libido is gonna stop someone? really? you think THATS the answer? you think you're safer around a sex offender because he has a hard time getting it up?? newsflash, assholes, you don't need a boner to rape someone. you don't need a penis to rape someone. you don't even need to be aroused to rape someone. but if you really really REALLY require an offenders sex drive be policed, a motherfucking chastity belt secured like an ankle monitor would be just as effective and more humane. and i'm so serious about that too. there are PLENTY of chastity cage/belt designs made specifically for hygienic 24/7 wear. implementing the same monitoring system and fasteners as ankle monitors have would be ridiculously easy. also cheaper. and it would do the exact same thing, which is basically fucking nothing except making it harder for that person to have genital-based intercourse. but at least it wouldn't inflict lifelong, debilitating medical and mental issues on the human being you're going to put back into the public. but see the thing is none of these institutions give a single shit about the human being behind the offender. they don't care about making anyone safer. they don't care. period. nor do the people who advocate for chemical castration. if yall actually cared, yall would be pushing for prisons to be rehabilitation centers and continued support after release and programs to properly integrate people back into society.

"what about those who volunteer to get it" i hear the fascists shouting as if they have a point. you cannot get proper informed consent under the conditions prisoners are kept, so "voluntary" use of it is extremely dubious at best. I'm sure there are quite a few who do actually truly and authentically consent to it and all of the problems that come with it. but until prisons stop being torture and trauma factories where most inmates will do just about anything to get out sooner and lawyers are always pushing for some sort of deal, i don't trust the decision was really voluntary at all. i don't think it should even be an option at all, though.

let us also not forget this was once used for the crime of being gay as recently as the 1950s in the UK. and as cavegirlpoems before me said, Once you've decided that there's a class of people it's okay to do this to, there's no clean line in the sand anymore.

[rafessecret]

⋆˚࿔ strawberry¡ reader && older¡rafe cameron

BOYFRIEND.

You’ve never had a boyfriend before.

Rafe makes sure of that.

He doesn’t like the idea of anyone else getting to you first. Anyone else seeing you the way he does—soft, sweet, made just for him. You’re his, even before you knew it. No one else deserves your firsts. No one else could ever handle you the way he can. So he keeps you close. Keeps you untouched. Keeps you his.

One night, curled up in his lap, your voice is soft when you murmur, ❝You’re my first boyfriend, you know.❞ Rafe groans, burying his face against your throat, arms tightening around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. ❝Fuck, angel. You know what that does to me?❞

You just giggle, tucking your head under his chin. You’re always like this—always warm, always happy just to be near him. It makes his chest ache, makes something dark and possessive snap inside him. You don’t even realise what you do to him—how you undo him with a smile, a sigh, a soft little touch.

Rafe takes you on real dates—the kind other girls dream about. He buys you whatever you glance at, whatever makes you giggle and twirl for him. Dresses, shoes, jewellery—he wants to see you shining. Wants everyone to look and know you belong to him. He doesn’t care what it costs. He only cares about the way your eyes light up, the way you run to him, and the way you kiss him like he’s given you the whole world.

At dinner, you sit in his lap instead of your own chair, like it’s second nature. You steal little bites of his dessert, giggling when he pretends to scold you. You play with his fingers absentmindedly, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, slotting your smaller palm against his, whispering, ❝You’re so much bigger than me.❞ Rafe swallows hard, his jaw clenching. ❝Yeah, strawberry, I am.❞ You look up at him, lashes fluttering, voice as sweet as sugar. ❝That’s why I feel so safe with you.❞ And fuck, he’s done for.

He keeps you wrapped in silk, tucked into the passenger seat of his car, folded against his chest at night, and bundled up in his bed. You’re so trusting. So good. So completely his. You kiss him with a kind of innocence that makes his stomach clench and his head spin. It makes him rough sometimes—makes him kiss you harder, pull you closer, like he could somehow crawl inside you and live there.

You don’t mind. You never mind. You just giggle against his lips, tugging at the hem of his shirt, sighing when his hands knead your thighs. And then one night, you say it. ❝I love you.❞

Soft. Simple. Sure. He almost doesn’t believe it. He blinks down at you, his breath heavy, his heart pounding like he’s been hit. ❝You do?❞ His voice is rough, wrecked. He wasn’t ready for this. He’s never ready for you.

You nod, biting your lip, smiling like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. ❝Mhm. So much. You’re my first everything, Rafe.❞ And that’s it. That’s what breaks him. Because he knows what you mean, even if you don’t. You’ve never been kissed like this before. Never been touched like this before. Never been someone's before.

He groans, dragging you onto his lap, pressing you close, closer, hands shaking as they grip your hips and roam up your back, tangling in your hair. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s drowning, like you’re the air he’s been desperate for his entire life. His hands are everywhere, greedy and careful at the same time—like you’re precious, breakable, and sacred. And you are. His perfect girl. His first and only. His.

You whimper into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, and God, he wants to ruin you. Wants to keep you like this forever—soft, untouched, his. Wants to make sure no one else ever gets the chance to even look at you the way he does. But for now, he just holds you. Kisses you. Memorises the way you fit against him, the way you sigh into his mouth, and the way you whisper his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Because you are his first real love.

And he’s never, ever letting you go.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : hey angels. i need to start posting present tense fics for this au, but i hope you're all doing good in the meantime. 

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle @loverliner @delicatelyquiet @rafeysbrat @amelialovesrafe

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