#Motion Capture Magic

[here-be-dragons-and-whatnot]

Forgot to upload it, but I was able to get a couple frames of my dynamic fur simulation out of Eevee. It will take more work (and a GPU) to get a more realistic result, but I love that it took maybe three hours tops to make this (and a good portion of that was wrangling a node-generated texture).

[gingerbreadmonsters]

its so important to me that you know how much ive already cried over this wip and its literally only been two days

[blumoonfiction-blog]

#ShowsWeLove: The Polar Express

Some movies become more than just holiday entertainment—they transform into magical experiences. The Polar Express, directed by Robert Zemeckis and released in 2004, is one such film. Based on Chris Van Allsburg’s beloved children’s book, this groundbreaking animated movie takes viewers on an unforgettable journey to the North Pole. With its innovative motion-capture animation, heartfelt story,…

[luvinaeverdene]

The Polar Express (2004)

Directed by Robert Zemeckis

[tteotlma]

craving control

— neither of you could resist what was always meant to happen.

alpha!bucky x omega!reader (9.2kw)

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, dubcon a/b/o dynamics, possessive behavior, biting/marking, power dynamics, including praise kink, size kink, rough intimacy, physical restraint, sexual tension, emotional dependency, desperation, and themes "feral, uncontrollable need.", elements of mating/claiming, explores intense feelings of vulnerability and submission.

a/n: honestly,, i have no words -- weeks in the making and im not satisfied w how this turned out. like when you stare at something for too long. and it starts to look weird

———

On the day of Bucky’s arrival, it was safe to say the only one truly excited was Steve. The air in the compound felt charged, heavy with anticipation and unspoken tension.  

Tony walked up beside you and Nat by the massive window, the sharp scent of machine oil mingling with his expensive cologne as he wiped stubborn grease from his hands. Years of working together had made their commanding presence familiar and comfortable, like the steady hum of lab equipment around you.  

The window shook as debris kicked up from the descending helicopter, which was landing in the middle of the field. Tony inhaled deeply, his dark eyes meeting yours and Nat’s with a characteristic assessing look that instinctively made others straighten their spines. Nat smirked and raised an eyebrow, prompting a small smile from you, though you couldn't fully shake the flutter of nerves in your stomach.  

The helicopter door slid open in slow motion as Steve emerged, his broad shoulders and confident stride capturing every gaze in the vicinity. He turned and, stepping out behind him, a dark figure followed—a stark contrast, night to Steve's day. The moment Bucky appeared, the air seemed to shift—a raw, untamed energy that made your breath catch and your pulse quicken. Even from a distance, there was something different, something dangerous about him, that made your skin prickle with awareness, and your fingers curl tightly around the tablet in your hands.  

"Disperse, disperse," Tony muttered, his natural authority causing everyone to instinctively move as he turned away. The others followed suit, including an omega technician who stumbled in their haste to appear busy at their station.  

You turned back to your workstation, pressing your palms to the cool steel table to ground yourself. You could feel Steve and his companion approaching—Steve’s familiar warmth contrasting sharply with the newcomer’s intensity.  

The familiar scents of solder and circuitry should have been calming, but they couldn't quite mask the oncoming storm of Steve’s sunlit warmth mixed with something darker and wilder—like pine needles and leather and crisp winter air.  

When the main doors opened, the room was flooded with alpha energy, subtle yet impossible to ignore, like fog rolling in at dawn. "Guys, this is Buck," Steve said, the sound of his hand landing on leather echoing in the sudden quiet.  

"Bucky," came the correction—a voice like gravel over silk, sending a shiver down your spine as you gripped your soldering iron tighter, the metal warm against your suddenly trembling fingers. It wasn’t their presence that unsettled you; it was the way your instincts responded before you could think.  

Nat’s silent approach gave her the air of a predator as she circled closer. "Barnes," she acknowledged, her voice cold and steely. The space between them crackled with unspoken assessment, neither yielding nor challenging.  

"Good to see you again, Robocop," Tony called out, his voice cutting through the tension. His hologram's blue glow cast shadows over his face as he peered over his glasses. "Make yourself comfortable, but not too comfortable." His words, casual yet sharp as ozone before a storm, hung in the air.  

“The rest of you, back to work—we have a deadline,” Tony added with a wave of his pen, and like magic, the lab resumed its rhythm, though the atmosphere had fundamentally shifted.  

You bent over your work, hyper-focused on the tiny components scattered across your station, but every nerve seemed attuned to Bucky’s presence. The familiar lab scents—hot metal, coffee, and sharp electronics—were muted beneath this new awareness.  

"Y/n~" Steve’s warm, knowing voice rolled through the space, and your fingers stilled on the circuit board, your heart stuttering. The approaching footsteps seemed to echo with your pulse, each step tightening the coil in your shoulders. That scent—leather and pine now mixed with something metallic and sharp—grew stronger, drying your mouth.  

You managed a confident smile and turned, only for Steve to pull you into an embrace, lifting you slightly off your feet. His familiar scent—soap and sunshine—wrapped around you like a blanket, momentarily drowning everything else.  

"Missed ya, kiddo," he murmured, affection coloring his tone. Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you relaxed into his comforting presence.  

"Missed you too, Cap," you managed with a breathless laugh as he set you down. Movement caught your eye—Bucky shifting behind Steve—and that new awareness crashed back like a wave. You met his gaze for a split second before he looked away, but that brief connection felt electric. His storm-gray eyes held something untamed that made your knees weak.  

“Buck, this is Y/n,” Steve introduced. “Y/n, Buck.” The contrast between them was dizzying—Steve's golden warmth beside Bucky's winter-sharp presence. Suddenly, your workspace felt too small, the air heavy with unspoken things.  

"Bucky," he repeated, his voice rougher up close, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. He stepped closer, hands at his sides, yet his presence seemed to fill the entire space around you. The fluorescent lights reflected off the plates of his metal arm, casting shifting shadows. Your throat felt dry, and you resisted the urge to fidget with your tools.  

Steve’s voice cut through the thick tension, either unaware of it or ignoring it. "Listen, I tried the magnets again," he said, the sound of leather hitting steel making you jump slightly as he tossed his gloves onto your workstation. His worn leather scent mingled with Bucky’s, making focus difficult.  

You raised an eyebrow, grateful for the distraction. "And...?"  

"And I hate it." He rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the tension. "It's just not the same."  

You glanced between the gloves and Steve's sheepish expression, ignoring how Bucky’s gaze seemed to track your every movement. Even without looking directly at him, you felt his attention like static electricity, raising goosebumps along your arms.  

"Think you could just yank 'em out for me?" Steve asked with that irresistible smile, though your attention kept drifting to Bucky, who stood silent and watchful.  

You scoffed and shook your head, stepping around the counter to switch on the table light. Sitting on the stool across from Steve, you shot him a look.  

“Fine, fine,” you said, picking up the gloves. “Guess you still have a chance to dread the day I say no.”  

Steve grinned. “I don’t even wanna think about it.” He gestured subtly towards Bucky. “Figured you could handle this too. Bucky’s got some gear that might need adjustments.” It wasn’t a command, just Steve’s assumption that Bucky would be sticking close.  

“Sounds good. I’ll find some time this week to schedule you in, so we can see what I’m working with,” you said, motioning to his arm.  

“Okay,” Bucky replied, his voice low with a hint of warmth.  

---

That was two weeks ago. Since then, you’d been buried in projects with Tony and Banner, testing prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark’s tech.  

Missions came and went, but you mostly stayed at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and keeping Stark's experiments from exploding (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet lately, your normally steady hands trembled at unexpected moments, your concentration slipping at the sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor.  

There wasn’t much time for that one-on-one work with Bucky you’d promised, though you occasionally glimpsed him around the compound. Still finding his footing here, he was a shadow at Steve’s side, quiet and watchful. Tony would drag him into the lab occasionally to discuss modifications—if he wanted any.  

You tried not to notice how his eyes found you whenever he was in the lab, lingering until you accidentally met his gaze. At first, he’d look away, jaw tightening as he focused on whatever Tony was explaining. But minutes later, you’d feel it again—his attention like a compass pointing north.  

In brief hallway encounters, your greetings came out softer than intended, his response a quiet rumble that stayed with you long after he walked away. One time, both of you reached for the lab door handle simultaneously. His fingers brushed yours, sending electricity up your arm. He pulled back, muttering an apology before disappearing around the corner, abandoning whatever awaited him in the lab.  

It was ridiculous how such small moments left you distracted for hours.  

Then one morning, Tony burst into the lab, with Steve following closely behind, practically dragging a reluctant Bucky.  

“Hey, kid,” Tony called out, startling you. You lifted the magnifying goggles off your face, welcoming the cool air. Banner, hunched across the table with identical goggles, glanced up briefly.  

“Please tell me we have Barnes’ baseline readings from when he got here,” Tony said, his tone implying a slight scolding. You looked at Banner, embarrassed. When you shook your head, Tony groaned dramatically.  

“Seriously? Three weeks and—“ He took a deep breath, hands on his hips as he surveyed the cluttered lab, evidence of recent activity. “Okay, that’s on me. Fixed. Now.” He practically pushed Bucky onto the stool beside your workstation.  

“Do your thing. Science, data, all that—" Tony trailed off, looking at Banner, who took the cue and clumsily exited, engaging Tony in a transparently forced conversation about a new gadget. Steve left shortly after, flashing an encouraging smile that made your cheeks burn.

The moment they left, the lab felt impossibly smaller. Bucky shifted slightly behind you, and though he was quieter than quiet, his presence seemed to fill every inch of space around you. He kept a respectful distance, but it didn’t matter—you could feel him, each breath and subtle movement stirring the air, making your skin prickle with awareness.

Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled up the diagnostic programs. "I'll need to..." you began, voice softer than you intended, "run some basic tests first. It might take a while." Turning toward him, you found his storm-grey eyes already fixed on you, dark and intent.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze heavy and unrelenting, as though he was trying to read the thoughts you couldn’t quite form. Your throat tightened under the weight of his stare, and your hands instinctively curled into fists to ground yourself.

“I’ll need you to…” You gestured vaguely, your voice catching. “You’re gonna have to take off your sh-shirt. Just... so I can get a better look.” Your voice faltered, and heat bloomed across your cheeks.

For a beat, Bucky didn’t move. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached behind his neck, tugging the navy henley over his head. The fabric slid away, revealing his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, veiled by the thin fabric of his white tank. The subtle shift of his muscles as he moved sent a quiet jolt through your system, making your breath catch.

He tossed the henley carelessly over his shoulder, and you tried—desperately—to stay focused.

“Extend your arm for me,” you murmured, the words coming out softer than intended. He complied with that same quiet grace, his frame stiffening as you gently adjusted his arm.

Without thinking, you stepped between his legs, close enough that your hips grazed his thighs. The heat of his body radiated toward you, and the scent of pine, winter air, and leather curled around you, heavy and dizzying.

Bucky shifted again—a slow, unconscious movement as he spread his legs a little wider, as if making room for you without realizing it. The gesture was likely nothing, but to you, it felt far too intimate, and it took all your willpower not to react to the heat pooling in your belly.

You focused on the smooth metal of his arm, running your fingers along the seams and joints, marveling at the precision of its construction. His hand found your waist. The touch was light at first, perhaps just to steady himself, but his palm lingered, broad and warm over your lab coat.

The weight of his hand sent a shiver up your spine, your pulse fluttering beneath your skin. His thumb brushed the hem of your coat where the white fabric met your wine-colored shirt, as if testing its texture. Your breath caught involuntarily.

Slowly, your gaze traveled from his fingertips up the seams of his arm to his face. When you looked up, his eyes were already on you—dark, intense, unreadable, but consuming. His gaze dropped briefly to the curve of your collarbones peeking through your shirt before flicking back to meet your eyes, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

The room shrank around you, the tension pulling taut—an invisible thread tugging you closer. Neither of you spoke; neither of you moved.

The air between you stretched, heavy and charged, the weight of his hand on your waist making it impossible to focus on anything but him. His thumb grazed the edge of your shirt again—soft, deliberate—and you swore the world slowed down, teetering on the edge of something inevitable.

The comm system beeped, loud and sudden, shattering the moment. Both of you jerked slightly, like surfacing from deep water.

"Y/N?" Tony’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Banner needs you in the main lab—now."

Bucky’s hand slipped from your waist, his jaw clenching as though grounding himself. You took a step back, heart pounding, the absence of his touch making the space between you feel colder and emptier than it should.

Clearing your throat, you looked anywhere but at him. “I–uh, I should go.”

He nodded once, slow and unreadable, as you turned quickly, your hand dragging hesitantly down his arm, slipping out of the room before the tension could pull you back in.

You slipped out of the room, heart still racing, Bucky’s presence clinging to you like static electricity. Even as you tossed and turned in bed later that night, the moment lingered—his hand on your waist, his scent in your lungs, and the weight of his gaze heavy on your mind.

That evening clung to you like a live wire beneath your skin, but the next few days brought subtle shifts in the compound's atmosphere. Where Bucky once moved like a shadow, now he inhabited spaces differently. During morning briefings, you noticed him leaning against workbenches instead of standing guard by the wall, his gaze still watchful but carrying something new—curiosity, maybe.

Since that evening in the lab, you buried yourself in projects with Tony and Banner, testing new prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark's tech. Small out-of-town missions came and went, but you remained rooted at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and preventing Stark's experiments from turning into full-blown disasters (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, focus had become a luxury you couldn't afford. Your usually steady hands betrayed you, trembling at the worst moments, especially whenever familiar footsteps echoed down the corridor.

If Bucky did come into the lab, there weren’t many opportunities for one-on-one work, though you’d catch fleeting glimpses of him. He still seemed to be finding his footing, a shadow at Steve’s side—quiet and observant, as if measuring every person and place before stepping too close. Occasionally, Tony would bring him into the lab to discuss possible modifications, though Bucky seemed reluctant, deflecting with grunts and unreadable glances.

But it was impossible to ignore how his eyes always sought you out. Whenever he entered the room, your senses sharpened, drawn to him without permission. His gaze lingered a second too long—enough to make your stomach flip, your pulse flutter beneath your skin. But whenever you met his eyes, he’d glance away, his jaw tightening as if wrestling with something unspoken. Yet, moments later, you’d feel the pull again—his attention returning like a compass that couldn’t help but point north.

This awareness began to happen outside the lab too, in brief, inconsequential encounters that left you unraveled. Once, passing each other in the hallway, your soft greeting was met by his low, rumbling reply, curling around your senses long after he’d disappeared. Another time, reaching for the same door handle, his fingers brushed yours, the shock of contact sending electricity racing up your arm. He pulled back as though burned, muttering an apology before vanishing without explanation. You stood there, stunned, wondering how such a fleeting touch could leave you restless for hours.

Each day made it harder to maintain composure. It was as if your body had developed a traitorous awareness of him—heart stuttering beneath your ribs, skin flushing at the slightest thought of him, senses sharpening to track his movements before your mind even registered he was near. No matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in work, even Tony’s endless stream of projects couldn’t silence the way your pulse leapt whenever Bucky’s footsteps echoed down the corridor.

These changes appeared in fragments—a barely-there smile when Tony's prototype backfired, sparks shooting across the lab; the way his shoulders lost their rigid set when Steve drew out his dry humor during mission prep. Each small victory revealed another layer beneath the soldier’s facade.

Your paths began crossing more often. Sometimes, he’d appear in the kitchen during your late-night tea runs, nursing coffee while reading news on a tablet. His silent nods evolved into a new half-smile that never failed to make your heart race. His scent—pine and leather—began to carry warmer notes, softening from sharp winter to something more approachable.

Then, when Sam suggested movie night, every instinct screamed at you to decline. The thought of being in an enclosed space with Bucky—away from the clinical safety of the lab, surrounded by comfortable, dim intimacy—made your stomach flutter with anxious energy. But before you could find an excuse, Nat flashed you a knowing smile, firmly pulling you from your workstation. You barely had time to protest.

Now, nestled between Nat and Sam on the couch, you tried to focus on the movie, but your attention kept drifting across the room to him. Bucky sat in an armchair like he owned the space, his relaxed body only making him look more dangerous. His legs were spread wide, one arm draped over the back, the other resting on his thigh—a casual pose that somehow felt deliberate.

You told yourself to stay present, to engage with Nat and Sam’s easy banter, but Bucky’s presence made it impossible. His scent—faint but unmistakable—hovered at the edge of your awareness, a mix of pine, leather, and something deeper that spoke to a part of you beyond reason.

Then it happened. During a lull in the movie, when everything fell quiet, you felt it—his gaze.

A pulse of heat spread through your chest, as if an invisible thread had tugged you toward him. You risked a glance, only to find him already watching you. Even in the dim light, his storm-gray eyes were locked on yours, intense and unwavering. His expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his stare that made your pulse stutter and breath catch in your throat.

The flickering blue light of the TV softened the sharp lines of his face, but it did nothing to dull the tension humming between you. For a moment, it felt like the room had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in the dark—silent, secret, caught in a moment neither dared to acknowledge.

You tried convincing yourself he wasn’t really looking at you, that maybe he was watching Sam or had drifted off into thought. But the flip in your stomach, the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin, told a different story.

Bucky didn’t look away. His stare held steady, as if something deep and instinctual was keeping him tethered to you—as though he was drawn to you in the same way you were to him. The connection between you wasn’t just a passing glance. It felt ancient, inevitable, as if some unseen force had been guiding you to this moment long before either of you realized it.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define, and you were certain that even if you could name it, neither of you was ready. Your scent, warm and sweet, had changed in subtle ways—just enough for Bucky to notice, to make his chest tighten with a growing certainty. This wasn’t just attraction; it was recognition. Instinct. Raw instinct clawed through him, responding to the quiet, subtle shift in yours. You were close—too close—and every part of him, from the deepest part of his mind to the tension winding through his muscles, felt it.

The spell broke when Steve shifted on the couch beside him, dragging you both back to reality. You blinked, heart hammering as you tore your gaze away, heat blooming beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire, a faint sheen of sweat on your brow.

You swallowed hard, trying to refocus on the movie, but the moment lingered like a phantom touch. Even as you stared straight ahead, you could feel the weight of his gaze, its memory humming along your nerves, leaving you restless and aching in ways you didn’t understand.

When the movie ended, you escaped as quickly as you could, muttering a rushed “good night” and fleeing to your room, hoping the familiar comfort of your own space would ground you. But even surrounded by your belongings, wrapped in your own scent, you couldn't quiet the hum of awareness thrumming beneath your skin.

Bucky's scent clung to you, lodged in your senses like a memory you couldn’t shake. Pine, leather, and something darker—something wild that kept teetering you on the brink of losing control. There was something building inside you, a slow-burning awareness you weren’t ready to acknowledge, hoping no one else could sense the change taking hold of you.

Each encounter with him pulled at something deep within you, like a tide responding to the moon. His scent overshadowed everything, lingering in your senses long after he was gone.

And Bucky—you noticed everything now, every detail sharp and vivid, though you tried to convince yourself you were reading too much into it. The way his eyes lingered a second too long—but of course, people always stared at him. The slight flex of his fingers when you passed by—a habit, surely. The barely audible catch in his breath when you were near—probably just your imagination, heightened by whatever was happening to your body.

Maybe you were imagining the way his carefully controlled demeanor seemed to slip around you—those tiny cracks in his composure you couldn't stop noticing. After all, a man like him, always so disciplined, wouldn’t be affected by someone like you… would he? Yet, something raw beneath his surface called to you, making your heart race whenever he was close. The air felt electric between you, crackling with possibility—even as you tried to tell yourself it was just his effect on everyone, that you weren’t special, that it was just your body playing tricks.

After tonight, you couldn’t deny it any longer. During movie night, his stare had lingered like phantom touches, and your skin had felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents, you couldn’t escape the memory of pine and leather.

And as days passed, it only seemed to worsen. When Fury assigned you to oversee the team’s training equipment and Tony ensured you continued working with Steve, observing Bucky was already inevitable. Watching him felt different than those first weeks. You’d glimpsed the man beneath the careful control—caught fragments of dry humor in mission briefings, witnessed quiet camaraderie with Steve. The dangerous edge remained, but now it felt more… intentional. Like he was choosing to let people see beyond the soldier’s facade, revealing glimpses of the man underneath.

These glimpses made training observation even more daunting. Because now you knew what lay beneath his cool exterior—had witnessed the subtle humor in his eyes, the careful way he was learning to exist in spaces without defending them.

Your fingers trembled against the tablet's smooth surface at the thought of watching him work. Being that close to him during combat training, with his presence at its most intense… The thought alone made your mouth go dry.

Training sessions became their own kind of exquisite torture. Your role was simple—monitor the team’s gear, run diagnostics, and ensure everything functioned. But watching Bucky spar was anything but simple.

Between rounds, you brought him water—a straightforward task that became anything but as his eyes tracked your movement across the training room. Your fitted jacket clung to your curves, and you felt the weight of his stare as you approached. It was refreshing, seeing him like this. The quiet, brooding soldier was still there, but lately, there had been glimpses of something else—a playful charm that felt both dangerous and irresistible.

"Tryna’ keep me hydrated, doc?" His voice was rough from exertion, teasing in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach. This was the Bucky emerging more and more lately—the one who’d somehow found his footing again, letting his guard down just enough to allow a trace of Brooklyn charm to slip through.

"Can’t have our best asset passing out from dehydration," you managed to reply, proud of how steady your voice remained. When you handed him the bottle, his fingers brushed yours, sending electricity skittering across your skin.

"Our best asset, huh?" He tipped his head back to drink, and you couldn’t help but watch his throat work, beads of sweat trailing down his neck. His eyes met yours over the bottle, darkening as they drifted to where your jacket dipped low. "Like what you see?"

This was dangerous territory—this newfound confidence of his, the way he was testing the waters between playful and flirtatious. "Just making sure you’re drinking enough water," you murmured, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. You wondered if he could hear how your heart stumbled in your chest, if he sensed the hitch in your breath when he licked a stray drop from his lower lip.

He moved with a predator’s grace—smooth, controlled, and lethal. Each punch, each fluid shift of his body, sent a pulse of heat through you. Your throat felt dry as you watched the muscles in his back ripple beneath his fitted shirt, the metal of his arm gleaming under the lights. You told yourself this was normal, that anyone would be affected watching him move like this—but deep down, you knew this was different.

At one point, he had Steve pinned to the mat, his arm flexed, holding Steve in place with ease, chest heaving with exertion. His gaze flicked to you, locking eyes for a split second that sent butterflies surging in your stomach—and a darker, more primal flutter somewhere lower. That slow-burning awareness inside you flared hot and urgent.

Your fingers slipped, and your tablet clattered to the floor with a loud thunk. Everyone turned to look, including Steve, but all you could focus on was the faint grin curling at the edge of Bucky’s mouth. Your face burned with embarrassment, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes—a look that made you wonder if he could sense the changes in you, if he could feel how your body was betraying every attempt at control.

You couldn’t bear to face the team after that display—after dropping your tablet like some starry-eyed recruit. Your skin felt too tight, too warm, your body thrumming with an energy you couldn’t contain. You retreated to your room, but even buried in your own blankets, you couldn’t escape the memory of his knowing smirk, the way his eyes held yours like he knew exactly what was happening to you.

The next few days passed in a haze of mounting tension. Your skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents and belongings, you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was shifting inside you. Sleep became elusive, your body alternating between feverish and chilled, leaving you restless and aching for... something.

By the time you wandered to the kitchen at 3 AM, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, but sleep remained just out of reach. The compound was eerily quiet at this hour, the hum of electronics the only sound as your slippers whispered across the cool tile.

You sat at the kitchen island, elbows resting on the countertop as you flipped through your options—tea or coffee. Settling on tea, you rose to grab your favorite mug from the cabinet. The dim lighting softened everything, making the space feel smaller, more intimate, as if the night itself carried a promise of something unspoken.

You were so focused on your task that you didn’t hear him approach.

"Can't sleep?"

His voice, low and rough with sleep, startled you enough to make you gasp softly. You whirled around to find him emerging from the shadows, stepping into a sanctuary—one where, in this moment, it felt like only you and he existed. The dim light traced the sharp lines of his face, deepening the shadows beneath his cheekbones and along his jaw.

He wore soft sleep pants that rested low on his hips, and the black shirt clung to his frame, leaving little to the imagination. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with something you couldn't name—something that thrummed between you, waiting to be acknowledged.

"I…" Your voice faltered, throat dry under his gaze. You cleared your throat and tried again. "Just wanted some tea."

Bucky stepped further into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like a wolf closing in. For someone so large, he moved with unsettling grace—silent and fluid. "Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, though his question held a depth, as if he were offering more than conversation.

You turned back to the cabinet, reaching for your mug, but your fingers trembled. Before it could slip from your grasp, his hand wrapped around your wrist, steadying you.

"You okay?" His voice was closer now, concern threading through the rough edges.

"Yeah, I’m—" you began, but stopped as you felt his thumb pressing unconsciously against your pulse. The gentle pressure sent electricity dancing up your arm, and you couldn’t help but track how his throat worked as he swallowed.

"Hey," he murmured, voice low. His eyes darkened as they searched your face, and you watched something shift in his expression—recognition, maybe, or realization. His nostrils flared slightly. "You’ve seemed… off lately."

"I'm fine," you managed, but your voice came out breathy, unconvincing. "Just haven’t been sleeping well."

He held your gaze a moment longer, then stepped back slowly, as if it took effort to put distance between you. The absence of his touch left your skin tingling, aching for contact you couldn’t afford to want.

"Maybe some chamomile, then," he suggested, his voice rougher than before. You noticed his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched as he worked to maintain the distance.

You managed a small nod, turning back to the cabinet with unsteady hands. Though he’d released your wrist, he hadn’t moved back far—still standing between you and the island, leaving you caught between his body and the counter. His presence lingered, heavy and warm, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

The small space between you crackled with electricity, making it impossible to focus on the simple task of making tea. The kettle felt too loud in the silence, steam rising like a physical manifestation of the tension thickening the air.

When you finally turned back around, gripping your mug like an anchor, you found his eyes stormy, his jaw set as if he was fighting something within himself. He took a deliberate step back, creating distance that somehow made the air feel even heavier.

"I should…" he started, voice rough. "Let you get some rest." But he didn’t move immediately, as if reluctant to leave.

Something in you wanted to tell him to stay, but the words stuck in your throat. The space between you felt charged, like the air before a storm. His scent—pine and leather—wrapped around you, stronger now, making your head spin.

He moved first, turning toward the entryway with careful control, his movements almost rigid. But he paused at the threshold, his metal hand gripping the wall frame with enough force to make the material creak softly.

"Get some sleep, doll," he said without looking back, his voice carrying something dark and hungry that made your skin prickle with heat. Then he was gone, leaving you alone with the cooling tea and the phantom sensation of his touch still burning around your wrist.

After standing frozen in the kitchen for what felt like hours, you finally forced yourself back to your room. Your skin felt too tight, every nerve hypersensitive as you stumbled through the doorway. The trek down the hallway was torture—his lingering scent clung to your clothes, your skin, leaving you dizzy with desire.

You barely made it to your bed before your legs gave out. The sheets felt rough against your fevered skin, and you kicked them off with a frustrated whimper. Your wrist still burned where he touched you, the memory of his thumb against your pulse making your breath hitch.

Rolling onto your back, you pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to ground yourself. But behind closed lids, all you could see was the way his eyes had darkened in the kitchen, the tension in his jaw barely contained. Your body thrummed with awareness, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as waves of heat washed over you.

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, counting each inhale like Banner had taught you during training. One breath, then another, even as your skin prickled with need. The steady hum of the air conditioning became your focus, not the memory of Bucky's voice, rough and low in the darkness.

Slowly, exhaustion won over the fever burning through your veins. Your muscles ached from fighting against the tension, and eventually, your body surrendered to the pull of sleep. The last thing you registered was the ghost of pine and leather clinging to your shirt before darkness claimed you.

Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing you registered was warmth on your face—sunlight streaming through your windows, casting everything in hues of honey and gold. Your room looked almost dreamlike, dust motes dancing in the amber rays.

As your vision focused, you noticed signs of Banner’s care—a bowl of soup on your nightstand, now cold; several water bottles arranged within reach; and a damp cloth on your forehead, long since losing its coolness. The quiet thoughtfulness of it made your chest tighten with gratitude.

You sat up gingerly, testing your body’s response. The fever hadn’t broken—if anything, it burned hotter now—but the rest had given you enough strength to make you restless, to make the walls of your room feel like they were closing in.

The water bottles mocked you, lukewarm and useless against the heat coursing through your veins. Ice. You needed ice. The thought became an obsession, driving you to your feet despite shaky legs. You pulled on a thin robe over your sleep clothes, ignoring how even the silky material felt too rough against your sensitized skin.

The hallway stretched before you, bathed in that same golden light that made everything feel surreal. Your slipper-clad feet made no sound on the cool floor as you made your way toward the kitchen. The compound felt different—eerily still, as if everyone had vanished. No voices from the labs, no footsteps down corridors. Just silence, with the strange amber glow making everything look softened, dreamlike.

You moved as if in a trance, your body feeling both heavy and weightless. The fever made everything hazy, like you were watching yourself from a distance. Each breath drew in air that felt too thick, too warm, despite the steady climate control.

Your feet carried you forward without conscious thought, your path wavering slightly as you trailed a hand along the wall for balance. The golden light streaming through the windows turned the hallway into something otherworldly, making the simple journey feel infinite.

Then it hit you—pine and leather, winter air and something darker. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, drawn to his scent like a moth to flame.

As you reach the living room, your destination becomes hazy, forgotten. The room opens before you, bathed in honeyed light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows. The hardwood floor gleams like liquid amber, stretching toward where Bucky sits, his broad frame sunk deep into the plush sofa, seeming to melt into the cushions.

His eyes lock onto yours over the book he’d been reading, and even through your fevered haze, you see the way they darken, storm-gray deepening into something darker. Neither of you moves. The air between you feels charged, heavy with unspoken words.

"Y/N," he breathes, your name a warning. His whole body tenses as if to rise, but something keeps him frozen, fingers white-knuckled around the forgotten book. You watch his throat work as he swallows hard. "You shouldn’t—you need to go back to your room."

To him, you must look like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on his self-control. Your silk robe catches the light as you move, revealing glimpses of your tank top and shorts underneath. One sock has slipped down your ankle, and your hair falls messily around your face. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted in shallow breaths.

You take an unsteady step into the room, looking as if you’re floating across the hardwood, each faltering step a deliberate tease. When you reach the armchair, your robe slips further off one shoulder as you grip the chair for support. "I needed…" The words trail off. Did you need ice? Water? Everything feels secondary to the pull you feel toward him.

The room sways slightly beneath your feet. Bucky shifts, fighting the instinct to reach for you. You watch his chest rise with a sharp breath as your scent reaches him, sweet and heavy in the golden air. A bead of sweat trails down your neck, disappearing beneath your tank top.

"You're burning up," he says roughly, his voice holding a darker edge that makes a heat pool in your stomach. His pupils are blown wide as he tracks every small movement of your body.

You attempt to lower yourself into the armchair, but the world tilts. Your knee catches the edge of the coffee table as you stumble, a breathless giggle escaping your lips at your own clumsiness, and your robe slips down to reveal more of your shoulders.

"Shit," Bucky mutters, finally breaking his careful stillness. "You're gonna hurt yourself." He rises in one fluid motion, crossing the space between you in two strides. His hands hover near your arms, not quite touching. "Let’s get you situated."

"M’okay," you insist, though your legs feel like jelly, and you sway into him unconsciously as your robe slips off completely. His hands finally make contact with your bare arms, and the touch sends electricity racing across your fevered skin. "Just needed to sit..."

"Yeah, I can see that." His voice is strained, almost amused, but you hear the concern underneath. He tries to steady you, guiding you toward the chair, but your knees buckle in that moment.

"Alright—" He catches you against his chest, the sudden contact drawing a small huff from you. You feel more than hear his sharp intake of breath. “You alright?” he asks, peeling you off him, holding you at arm's length.

“Mm—” Your body aches at the loss of heat, eyebrows scrunching in annoyance. You sigh, dragging your gaze up Bucky’s large frame until you meet his darkened eyes. “Yeah, m’fine.” Huffing, you look away.

“Don’t lie.” He steps closer, pulling you in. Your breath hitches.

“I’m not…” Sweat beads on the back of your neck, and a lump forms in your throat. You try to take a deep breath, but with Bucky so close, it’s unbearable. Unknowingly, you grab at Bucky’s shirt, fisting the fabric in your hand.

“Tell the truth.” His gaze drops to where your hand grips his shirt, and something unreadable flickers across his face. He gently pries your fingers from the fabric, his own hands lingering on yours a moment too long. His voice is low, almost a growl. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, doll.”

The nickname makes your throat tighten, pulse jumping, skin prickling with awareness. You should step back, say something to break the magnetic pull between you, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you lean in closer, closing the small distance between you. God, you wanted him so badly, and it was excruciating.

He inhales sharply, his hands settling on your shoulders, as if to steady you—or maybe himself. “Doll…” The word escapes him again, rough and raw, like he’s barely holding back. “Say something—tell me to leave.” The command is more a plea, his voice thick with barely contained desperation, brows drawn tight in concern.

He watches you, his words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You feel their weight pressing down, his warning wrapped within the plea. Your mind races, considering every reason to step back, every way this could complicate things.

“I—” You rake your hands up his torso, fingers dragging lightly against the fabric of his shirt. Snaking your arms around his neck, you pull him impossibly close, sharing the air between you. Neither of you speaks, neither of you moves. You feel his chest heaving against yours.

“Y/N…” he whispers, almost painfully. His hand, still warm on your arm, travels up to cradle your neck, thumb on your jaw as he tilts your head. His hooded eyes linger on your lips, and you unconsciously lick them. He sucks in a sharp breath.

The golden light streaming through the windows catches in his dark hair, turning the loose strands framing his face into threads of amber. Your hands slide up, fingertips brushing the back of his neck, where his shoulder-length hair falls free, some pieces tucked carelessly behind his ear. You let your fingers tangle in the soft strands, feeling them slip like silk between your fingers. You hesitate for only a second before you whisper, “I need to know I’m not the only one.”

For a heartbeat, he’s utterly still, his eyes searching yours, and then his hand tightens just slightly on your waist, with a tenderness that steals your breath. “You’re not,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against yours, his voice rough and honest. “Not even close.”

The moment his words register, your last thread of control snaps. You finally, finally meet his lips with all the desperation that’s been building for weeks. A rough sound escapes him, vibrating through your chest as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss is devastating in its intensity—wild, demanding, and absolutely consuming, like you’re both trying to devour each other whole.

His lips press firmly against yours, the scrape of his stubble rough on your heated skin, and a pained whine escapes your mouth—whether from pain or need, neither of you can tell, but it spurs Bucky on. He deepens the kiss, his hands pressing you closer, tighter.

Your fingers, tangled in his hair, tug at the strands as you push yourself up on your toes, arching into him, your body ignited by his touch. A wave of need crashes through you, driven by every instinct you’ve been holding back, and you’re already pushing him back toward the sofa, your movements frenzied as his hands trace the curve of your waist, his fingers firm and possessive.

As you push him toward the sofa, a flicker of guilt pierces through the fog clouding your mind. It’s quick but sharp, cutting through the pull that’s been building for weeks. Everything’s moving too fast, crossing boundaries you haven’t even had time to define, and the uncertainty knots inside you. But your body refuses to listen, as though it recognizes him in a way your mind can’t fully grasp, holding you close.

You stumble back with him until his legs hit the edge of the sofa, and he sinks down, pulling you with him until you’re straddling his lap. His hands slide up to grip your hips, steadying you as you settle over him. The moment you feel his body beneath you, hard and solid, a fresh wave of heat surges through you, causing you to grind your hips against his slowly, testing the waters.

The guilt slips through the haze once more, cutting into your thoughts like a knife. You press your hands to his chest, fingers splaying over his muscles, and pull back enough to see concern flicker in his eyes.

“Buck,” you whisper, caught between confession and apology. “I wanted us to take our time…” Your hands drift lower, grazing just beneath his shirt’s hem, brushing over the coarse hair trailing downward. The warmth of his skin under your fingertips makes your breath hitch, and a shiver runs through you as you continue, voice softer, more vulnerable. “To let this mean something.”

Your fingers trace over the waistband of his pajama pants, then dip lightly between the open buttons, your touch featherlight, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. His body jolts beneath you, jaw clenching in response. His hands flex on your hips, holding you steady, his gaze dark and hungry, struggling for restraint.

“I can’t… I can’t stop myself,” you murmur, voice thick with need. Yet, your hands betray any hesitation, moving slowly, steadily, opening each button, exposing his skin inch by inch, the heat radiating from him only spurring you on. The admission escapes your lips, almost a whimper. “I feel like I’m losing control.”

Bucky’s breath comes out ragged, his fingers pressing into your skin as he fights to stay steady beneath your touch. “Then lose it,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hipbone, sending warmth through you. “Take control, baby.” His tone is a low, commanding murmur, yet open, a willing offering beneath you. “I’m here to give you exactly what you need… use me, all of me.”

“God, you’re unbelievable…” You laugh breathlessly, but with his words, all your anxieties dissolve, the tight knot inside loosening as he smirks and pulls you down for another heated kiss.

With his permission, something inside you snaps, all restraint dissolving as his hands guide your hips down onto his, pulling you in close. You both let out a guttural moan as you sink into his lap, the thin layers of fabric between you doing nothing to dull the intense pressure of his thick length pressing up against you. Heat radiates from him, his arousal straining beneath his pants, sending a dizzying surge of need through you, leaving you breathless.

With each roll of your hips, you’re consumed by him, the ache pulsing through your core, tethering you to the warmth of his body and the intoxicating pull of his scent. He presses against you, hard and unyielding, a promise of everything you crave, every inch of him driving you closer to surrender. A shiver runs down your spine, every nerve alive with anticipation; it’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

A low chuckle escapes him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as he watches you grind on him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His hands wrap firmly around your hips, guiding your movements in a possessive grip that leaves no doubt he’s claiming you in every way. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich, gaze sweeping over every inch of you. “Such a needy little omega, strung out and desperate, aren’t you?” The words ripple through you, sparking heat that surges through your body, making your heart pound, filling you with a warmth that blurs your vision.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, each grind amplifying the tension clawing through your chest, and it’s overwhelming—almost too much. You’re losing yourself, each moan growing louder, desperate, until Bucky’s thumb presses over your lips, quieting you.

Bucky’s hand covers your mouth gently, a warning smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep it down, sweetheart,” he whispers, his tone edged with danger, but you can’t help the needy sound that slips past his hand, your body bucking in response. You pull back slightly, eyes wide, voice a breathless murmur as you ask, “Where is everyone?”

The gleam in his eyes darkens, and he grabs your jaw, pulling you close until his breath brushes your lips. “Forget them,” he growls, voice low and possessive, “Focus on me. Eyes on me, omega.” His grip tightens, his words sending a rush of warmth through you, making your hips grind harder, a needy whimper spilling out as he pulls you into a hungry, messy kiss. Teeth graze, tongues tangle, his control evident in the way his hand holds you in place, claiming every shiver, every gasp.

“Alpha… please…” you gasp, voice cracking as you press yourself harder against him, slick soaking through the fabric, feeling the thick, throbbing bulge of his knot beneath you. “Need you… need it so bad.” Your words spill out, desperation lacing every syllable, your body responding to his presence in a way that both thrills and terrifies you. The pressure, the heat, his intensity—it’s everything, almost too much, yet somehow not nearly enough.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he growls, voice dark with possession as his hands slide up to grip your waist, fingers pressing with a force that makes your skin burn. “You’re mine, all mine… dripping for me just from grinding on me.” His words spark something wild and primal, your body moving without thought, surrendering to the rhythm, feeling yourself unravel beneath his gaze.

But as the tension mounts, something inside you starts to break. It’s overwhelming, an aching need so intense that your chest tightens, a gasp escaping as tears begin to blur your vision. It’s too much—the pressure, the pleasure, the helplessness of being so completely in his hands, needing him but unable to take it all just yet. A single tear slips down your cheek, and then another, and soon you’re trembling in his hold, soft, helpless sounds falling from you as you press closer, uncertain if it’s pain or pleasure overtaking you.

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he notices, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his gaze softening for a moment. “Look at you, all worked up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, yet laced with something almost tender. “Can’t handle it, can you? My little omega, so sensitive.” His words make the ache worse, the tears coming faster as he leans in, pressing a possessive kiss against your lips, swallowing the soft, broken sounds you make.

“Shh… you’re okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich in your ear, a shiver coursing through you as his hand steadies you, grounding you in his hold. “Not yet, but soon. I’m going to give you everything,” he promises, his tone thick with possession as he presses you firmly to him. “Fill you, claim you, mark every inch of you until there’s nothing left but us, nothing left but me inside you.” His grip tightens, his words a dark promise, and your pulse quickens.

Slowly, Bucky shifts, guiding you back as he leans forward, tilting you until your neck is exposed. Your breath hitches, anticipation winding tight within you, thinking for a split second he’s going to mark you. But instead, he presses a hot, lingering kiss to your collarbone, his lips grazing down your skin as his hand holds you steady. Each soft kiss along your collar sends a thrill through you, his mouth tracing up to the nape of your neck, where he lets his teeth graze lightly, nipping just enough to make you shiver.

Then, with a low growl, he pulls you closer, thrusting hard against you as his teeth sink into your skin, just shy of a mark. The sharp bite sends you over the edge, your body trembling, every nerve igniting as you come undone in his arms, shaking as he holds you steady, his possessive touch grounding you through each wave of pleasure.

Your body quakes in his hold, tremors rolling through you as you cling to him, breathless, every pulse of pleasure leaving you weightless, completely taken. Bucky’s arms stay wrapped around you, grounding you, his lips brushing tenderly over the spot he just bit, his tongue soothing the faint sting as you gasp softly against him.

“There we go… that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick and velvety as he strokes your back, one hand pressing into the small of your spine, holding you close as your breaths slow. His eyes are dark, filled with satisfaction as he watches you, savoring the sight of you so vulnerable, so utterly his.

Your body settles against him, the intense high fading into a soft, hazy warmth. Almost instinctively, you continue to move your hips in slow, gentle circles, soft whimpers escaping as you melt into his shoulder, eyelids growing heavy, drifting somewhere between bliss and sleep.

His hand strokes up your spine, grounding you with each possessive touch. “You feel that?” he whispers, his mouth brushing your ear, his words sending another shiver through you. “This is just the beginning, sweetheart. You’re mine, and I’m far from done with you.”

A small, needy sound slips from your lips as your hips press against him, despite the exhaustion pulling at you. He smirks, fingers tracing slow, possessive patterns along your waist. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied growl. His hand grazes your hip, drawing gentle circles. “But I want more. Think you can handle that?”

You manage a nod, a sleepy, eager response, melting further into him as your eyelids flutter shut. Just as you’re drifting toward sleep, he chuckles softly, pressing a warm kiss to the top of your head. “First, let’s get some rest, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice a gentle command as he lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

The golden hour light that once bathed the room has deepened into the cool, quiet blue of night, shadows settling around you as he carries you to the bed. The ache in your body has softened, replaced by a warmth, a certainty that relaxes you in his hold, knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

As he lowers you onto the sheets, your fingers instinctively curl into his shirt, needing to keep him close even in your drowsy haze. His hand brushes tenderly over your cheek, the glint in his gaze a promise that makes your heart race yet leaves you calm, knowing he’s yours, that you’re meant to be right here in his arms. The last thing you feel is the weight of his touch grounding you, a promise of what’s to come as sleep finally pulls you under.

---

a/n: all i feel is frustration

[witchesverse]

witchy fight.

pairing: dark!rio x fem!reader

summary: rio and you fight in the middle of the forest and then have sex.

content: magic use, fighting, degrading, knife play, blood, cutting, dubcon, fingering, clit rubbing, cutting clothes off, pain kink, nipple tugging/licking, cum eating, finger sucking.

a/n: idk much about witch powers so i just wrote about whatever powers i wanted them to use

masterlist

"I don't remember you being this pathetic."

Her laughter was sickening and mocking and seemed to echo around the forest. The dim light that the forest provided made it difficult to see.

Another blast of magic hit you in the back, shoving you into the dirt floor.

More laughter.

You barred your teeth and stood. You held your palms out, your magic surrounding them.

"You're the one hiding in the shadows, Rio."

You heard a twig snap and immediately shot a ball of magic in that direction, scowling when you heard more laughter at your miss.

"Most witches can actually hit their targets." Her voice sounded closer now "So, I'm embarrassed that you can't."

You took a deep breath in, then shot another magic ball. You grinned at the sound of Rio groaning and hitting the floor.

"You were saying?"

Suddenly, you're slammed into the floor and pinned down. Rio straddled your waist and held a dagger to your cheek. She softly trailed the dagger down, stopping at your neck.

You tried to wiggle away, but she grabbed your hair and tsked.

"I don't want to have to cut you, baby."

You started to form another ball of energy, but Rio pushed the tip of the dagger into your neck. An evil smile spread across her face as blood trickled down.

Rio continued to drag the dagger down and with one quick motion, she sliced your shirt and bra in half, revealing your bare chest. You gasped and made Rio laugh.

"I missed this." Her fingers tugged at your nipple, pulling a whimper from you.

"Of course, you did, whore."

You laughed as Rio's hand met your cheek. The slap hurt and would probably bruise.

"So aggressive already." You muttered.

Rio ignored your comment; you always had a smart mouth. She licked a long strip up your sternum before wrapping her lips around your nipple.

You moaned and arched your back, pushing your chest further into her.

She pulled away, a string of spit following her. Her magic wrapped around your wrists, bounding your hands above your head. She swiftly removed your pants.

"No panties?" Rio questioned, "Looks like you came prepared, huh?"

You shivered as the cold air swept over your naked body.

Her fingers rubbed your clit in small circles and her lips brushed against yours. She collected your leaking slick on one finger and suck her finger, moaning at the taste.

"Hurry up." You snapped.

Rio rolled her eyes but complied. Two fingers returned and she covered them in slick before slowly pushing them inside. You moaned at the intrusion and stretch.

Her fingers continued to pump inside of you and her thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles. She leant down, capturing your lips with hers in a heated kiss.

There was a small fight for dominance, which you lost. Your teeth clashed together and your tongues interlocked.

Her fingers felt heavenly in you. She touched places you didn't even know existed and made you see stars. You were convinced that you were leaking down her arm from how wet you were.

Rio broke the kiss. She bit your earlobe before biting your neck. You whimpered.

"Rio, I'm gonna-"

"Already? How slutty." She snickered.

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes fluttered closed as your orgasm hit you. Pleasure bursts throughout your entire body and your legs shake.

You're pulled out of your high by the sound of Rio's fingers popping out of her mouth. She leaned forward and wiped away tears you didn't even know existed on your cheek.

Rio stood and you finally realised how naked you were compared to Rio. You felt your face go hot in embarrassment.

"I'll see you next time, hm?"

You nodded, still processing everything that had just happened.

"Good girl."

[ijustwannabecool]

Drive to Survive – Episode 3: Family Mode

Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader

Summary... The world knows Lewis Hamilton for his speed. But in Monaco, Drive to Survive captures a side no one’s ever seen before: the chaotic, adorable magic of the Hamilton family—through the voices of his three biggest fans.

Trigger Warnings: Pure fluff, children with microphones, soft dad Lewis, emotional overload, very light language from the kids that will make you giggle.

A/N: hope you guys enjoy this fic. Please let me know what you guys wanna see next. Request are open!! Happy reading and have a beautiful rest of your day!!

Like, share, comment, reblog!

-----

The paddock is buzzing with race-day energy—teams in motion, engines roaring, broadcasters perched, cameras flashing. But Y/N’s entire world is bundled on the couch of the Mercedes suite.

Mateo is hanging halfway off her lap, Leo is sitting cross-legged on a beanbag in front of the screen, and baby Sofia is snuggled to her chest in a wrap, a pacifier bobbing gently as she hums.

Netflix producers are circling, politely attaching clip mics to the boys' shirts.

“I don’t know if I love this,” Y/N murmurs to Lewis, who is already half-suited and crouched next to them, one hand balancing Sofia’s head for a kiss.

“You don’t have to do it,” he says immediately, his voice low and warm. “One word from you and I’ll tell them to shut it down.”

“No, no,” she smiles, brushing his curls from his forehead. “I’m just being protective. This is the first time people are going to see them. Like... really hear them.”

Lewis leans in, nuzzles the side of her face and whispers, “They’re gonna love them. They’re gonna see what I see every day.”

She rolls her eyes, but it softens into a grin.

“Alright,” he says, standing up and pressing kisses to all three of their heads. “Wish me luck, superstars.”

---

MIC’D UP CHAOS: “THE HAMILTON KIDS AT MONACO GP”

Leo (7): “Mum, is Daddy gonna beat Verstappen today?” You (laughing): “You say that like it’s a video game.” Mateo (4): “I beat Max in Mario Kart yesterday.” Leo: “That was me, Teo.” Mateo: “Liar.”

---

Leo (pointing at the TV): “Look! Daddy’s waving! That’s for us!” Mateo (squinting): “No it’s not. That’s for the tires.”

---

Mateo (gasps): “Why did Daddy say that word! That’s a BAD word!” You (whispering): “Yeah, and we don’t repeat it.” Leo (grinning): “He only says it when he’s behind someone slow.” Mateo: “So Max is slow?” You: “Oh my God.”

---

Sofia (9 months): [happy squeal] Mateo: “Sofiiiiii, stop yelling. I’m listening to Daddy’s car.”

---

Leo (dramatically): “If Daddy doesn’t win, I’m never eating broccoli again.” You: “Wow. Revolutionary protest.” Mateo: “I already don’t eat broccoli. I’m winning.”

---

Mateo (whines): “Mum, Leo took my popcorn!” Leo: “You dropped it!” Mateo: “IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

---

Sofia (fusses quietly) You: “I know, I know. You miss Daddy too.” Leo (softly): “He always kisses her forehead before he races. Maybe she knows.”

---

AFTER LEWIS’S LAST-LAP OVERTAKE FOR P2

Leo (standing): “GOOOOOOO DADDY!” Mateo (screaming): “ZOOM ZOOM ZOOMMMMMMM!” Sofia: [Claps] You (cheering): “That’s it! That’s our guy!”

But the cheering turns to panic for a split second when Lewis swerves on the final corner to block a late overtake.

Mateo (voice trembling): “Is Daddy okay? Is his car broken?” You (squeezing his hand): “He’s fine, love. That was just… some spicy defending.” Leo: “Daddy’s got the grip of God, that’s what Uncle Nico said!”

---

POST-RACE: THE REUNION

Lewis skips press. Walks right past the crew. The helmet comes off, the smile is tired but real—and it grows tenfold when he sees them.

He jogs to the suite, rips off his gloves.

Leo runs straight into him, launching into a hug. Lewis swoops him up, spins once before grabbing Mateo in his other arm. Sofia is still wrapped on your chest, and he presses a kiss to her cheek before kissing you right on the mouth—sweat, adrenaline and all.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, breathless.

“I know,” he says, grinning. “But did you see that move?”

“They all saw it. And heard your entire potty-mouth symphony too.”

Leo: “Daddy, you said the F-word three times!”

Lewis: “Three? That’s all?”

Mateo (serious): “I’m telling Grandma.”

Lewis (laughing): “You traitor.”

---

CUT TO THE FINAL MOMENTS OF THE EPISODE

The family is on the couch later that evening in the motorhome, Netflix crew wrapping up.

Sofia’s finally asleep.

Leo is laying half-on Lewis’s chest. Mateo is holding the remote like it’s a championship trophy.

The race replay is on. The audio is off.

But the family noise? Oh, it’s all still there.

Mateo: “Next time, can I wear Daddy’s helmet?” Lewis: “Only if you want to get helmet hair.” Leo: “He already has helmet hair.”

You (laughing): “He was born with helmet hair.”

Lewis looks at all of them—his wife, his kids, this moment. And he whispers it low so only the mics can catch:

“Best podium I’ve ever had.”

---

BONUS SCENE: THE LAST CLIP OF THE EPISODE

“MIC CHECK: LEO AND MATEO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS” (Filmed post-race, aired during the closing credits)

The screen fades from the on-track footage to a quieter room inside the paddock hospitality area. Two chairs. A backdrop with the Ferrari logo. Two small boys—Leo and Mateo—sit with juice boxes, clip mics still taped to their shirts, legs swinging in rhythm.

-

A Netflix producer off-screen asks, “Okay boys, ready?”

Leo (nodding seriously): “We’re always ready.”

Mateo (confused): “Ready for what? Are we fighting?”

---

Producer: “What’s it like having Lewis Hamilton as your dad?”

Leo: “He’s just… our dad. He makes pancakes on Sundays. They’re okay.”

Mateo: “He lets me eat cookie dough when Mum says no.”

Leo: “He also yells a lot when people drive slow.”

---

Producer: “What does he say when he’s mad?”

Mateo (smirking): “I’m not allowed to say.”

Leo: “But it starts with F.”

---

Producer (laughing): “Who do you think is his biggest fan?”

Leo: “Me.”

Mateo (gasps): “No, it’s me!”

Leo: “You didn’t even know what DRS was until last week!”

Mateo: “Well you cried when he lost in Baku!”

Leo (shrugs): “It was emotional.”

---

Producer: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leo: “Race engineer. I want to help Daddy win.”

Mateo: “I wanna drive faster than Daddy.”

Leo: “That’s impossible.”

Mateo (grinning): “I’m gonna do it in reverse.”

---

Producer (last question): “If your dad could hear you right now, what would you tell him?”

Leo: “We’re proud of you.”

Mateo: “Love you, Daddy. You’re the best vroom vroom.”

Both (together): “And can we get ice cream now?”

The camera lingers on their faces for just a second longer—Leo’s confident grin, Mateo’s wide-eyed innocence—before the screen fades to black and the episode credits roll to the sound of a faint baby squeal in the background.

[whoreforsexymen]

Love Me (Bar)Tender | NSFW Flash 🫗

(GIF cred: me <3)

Y’all see what I did there? With the title? Hehe. Ok, sorry, I’ll leave.

(I know the gif is technically a sad scene, but y’all can’t tell me you aren’t imagining him pressing his forehead against yours like that in the heat of the moment 😩)

Anyways…

Pairings: Vander x Reader

Pronouns: Female Identifying/AFAB!Reader

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!!

Word Count: 498

Tags: Riding, Fluffy Smut, Vander being pussywhipped (kinda), Poetic Smut, Vander is smitten by you (as he should be 😉), Tooth Decayingly Sweet Smut

Notes: I guess I’m just on a roll today. Haven’t touched this account in like 5 years and now here I am— Posting 8 things in one day. Go, me!

(I can see you, minors. Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

“Fuck— Yeah. Like that, pretty girl.” Vander huffs out. Barely able to breathe, like a fish out of water. With practiced grace, you roll your hips, the fluidity of your movement reminiscent of a seasoned dancer lost in the rhythm, every shift a seamless blend of control and expression.

Vander’s head can no longer bear the weight of how you were making him feel—tilting backward as his neck gives way. It falls against the headboard, the movement slow and weary, a silent surrender to the beckoning of pleasure.

His eyes fall shut, and his breathing becomes erratic—quick, needy, shallow gasps. The only sounds he can manage are strained grunts, desperate groans, and breathless utterances of your name.

Your hips swirl, bearing your weight down on his thighs with your hands. You lean back into them, your movements slow but insistent, each one designed to draw him further into the frenzy—relentless in your pursuit to push him beyond control.

Your own insistent whining mixes with his, a symphonic blend of desperation between the two of you.

His hands are kneading your hips inexorably. Almost as if he’s scared to let go. His nails feel desperate to burrow under your skin with the way he’s clawing at you.

“You’ve got magic in these hips, love,” he says, his voice hushed, as if your motions had cast a spell— urging him to speak.

You can’t speak, your breath ragged and uneven as you picked up the pace, leaving you too consumed by the urgency to form a single word. You needed more. Not just of his words, or the deliciously whiny way he spoke. You were already stretched to the limit, every inch of you aching, yet the hunger within you refused to be sated. You craved more—more of him, as a whole.

If you could, you’d dissolve into him, merging into one single being, where every pulse, every breath, is shared between the two of you—inseparable, bound by desire.

“So good, pretty girl. You’re doing so good. Don’t think I can take much more, love.” He grunts, his eyes fluttering open to find you again, the sight of you cutting through the hazy state of desire he’d been gliding through.

He had been a fool to ever look away—how could he ever let himself look away? You weren’t just beautiful; you were everything a masterpiece could never capture, an intoxicating blend of grace and fire, more captivating than any sculpture or painting, alive and burning with an allure that consumed him whole.

“Fuck.” He grunts, unable to form a single coherent thought, let alone words. Every impulse in him screamed to voice the things he couldn’t hold back, to tell you what was racing through his mind. But your movements—each one more demanding than the last—silenced him, keeping his voice captive, lost in the frenzy of the moment.

“My girl. My pretty girl.” Is all he can muster before you’re both crashing into each others like waves against a cliff.

[yeonzzzn]

♱ A VAMPIRE ENHYPEN SERIES ♱

PART 1: VAMPIRES BLEEDING

⤥ when the daily lives of seven vampires drastically changes when one of the younger ones get hurt and starting a war when the first mate in the pack gets her life threatened. The boys fight to protect what becomes theirs while ending a war that apparently was in motion years before the first event…

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

jungwon ; killer date

jay ; dark waters

jake ; luna nova

sunghoon ; capturing magic

sunoo ; even closer

niki ; let it go

heeseung ; mirrors

PART 2: YOU COMPLETE ME

⤥ with the war finally being over, the seven vampires and their seven mates get to spend their everyday lives back to normal and freely.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

sunghoon ; snow & candles

niki ; beside you

heeseung ; spend my life

jungwon ; sweet venom (literally)

jake ; straight to me

jay ; just bite me, idiot

sunoo ; champagne and sunshine

PART 3: BREAK THE CHAIN

⤥ the seven vampires and their seven mates finally start to relax and live somewhat a normal life until disaster hits once again…causing the boys and their mates to rush to the vampire castle for not only their safety, but to join forces with the vampire king’s army to stop the next upcoming war…

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

heeseung ; time to play god

jake ; another beginning

jungwon ; second in command

sunghoon ; anything and everything

sunoo ; unbreakable

niki ; confrontation

jay ; the ending

[deminetly]

˖˙ ART CLASS ASSIGNMENT IDEAS FOR SCHOOL DR SHIFTERS

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

design a tattoo you would get and explain the meaning behind it

“my world” collage

stop motion film

alter ego portrait

draw/paint your favourite song

create something from trash

food art

make up a fairy tale

invent a mythical creature

make something with the most minimal tools possible

create a map of a fictional world

redesign a movie poster / album cover

short film about magic

draw the same thing in 4 different styles

recreate a famous painting/sculpture

try to draw textures/sounds

describe a famous painting and your classmates have to try and guess which one it is

design your chair/table (paint on it for example)

draw your childhood plushie as a person

draw a portrait with your non dominant hand

try to capture a dream you have had in a painting / drawing

make up a new 8th wonder of the world and the backstory behind it

design a fun uniform for the school

design a new plant and explain how it works

draw yourself as a superhero and explain your superpower

switch art styles with any student from your class and draw each other

make a sculpture of the weirdest foot possible

get a drawing of a monster that a little kid drew and make it into a sculpture

draw a portrait of your inner child 

research project about an artist

create something beautiful then destroy it (this helps with not getting attached to your art)

[wonderjanga]

Alien abduction story, the aliens scientific curiosity turns to fear when this recently acquired human is not panicking like the others. In fact this recent human does not seem to be even slightly nervous. This small human appears to be AMUSED. (I don't know which marvel kid this is, I just know it's not Billy and those aliens are in danger because he is on the way. Whether he is on the way to rescue the kid from the aliens or the aliens from the kid depends on which one you pick. )

They’ve finally done it. They’ve captured a Homosapien, and a child no less! They could watch it grow and study it as it matured! Not to mention, it was adorable! It was playing with a tiny, unmoving, creature? The head researcher discovered it was called a unicorn upon further probing of the homosapien child.

The best part? unlike most creatures kidnapped for study. This one wasn’t showing any rises in Epinephrine and was instead staying calm and playing with the probably dead unicorn! She ate the genetic material provided, meat, she called it, though she wanted it warmed up for some reason, she’s done all the intelligence tests as well as the physicality tests too.

The perfect subject!

Though… the reason for her compliance, when asked about it, was slightly confusing. She said her brother (when asked what that meant, it apparently meant that was someone who came from the same womb as another) would come and get her. The head researcher told her that was impossible as humans couldn’t breathe in space for that long. The child simply did a strange motion with her shoulders and insisted he would.

…and boy he did.

They weren’t expecting a full grown Homosapien to knock on one of their airlocks and politely asked to be let in so he could pick up his sister (when prompted on what a sister is, it was the same as a brother, but for female Homosapiens)

When we didn’t let him in…

Marvel: *rips open the air lock and steps in*

Aliens: *aliens start flying the fuck out*

Marvel: “Darla! Where are you? I told you not to wander too far from us while we were at the park!”

Darla: *scampers over* “Billyyyyyy! :D”

Marvel: *picks her up and pats her back* “Yes, it’s good to see you too.” *looks at the remaining aliens that patch up the hole* “Were your captors good to you?”

Darla: “Yeah! They gave me food!”

Marvel: “That’s nice, Darla.”

Head Researcher Alien: *quivering*

Marvel: *slowly looks over to him* “I trust this will never happen again?”

Head Researcher Alien: “No sir.” *recognizes that the lightning bolt means this guy is the FUCKING champion of magic*

Marvel: “That’s what thought.”

With that, the CHAMPION OF MAGIC left with its little sister.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One thing I've seen a lot of people talking about is that all the SSR cards are actually pictures that Yuu took with their ghost camera. Is this actually confirmed in-canon or is this just a fan headcanon?

Wellllll, that depends on how you interpret Crowley's explanation of the ghost camera in prologue-19: "[The ghost camera] enables the user to photograph not just the subject's physical form, but parts of their soul itself. They're called Memories. Here's the thing: when the soulbond between photographer and subject deepens... The Memories captured in this magic camera's photos come jumping out! When the photographer and subject grow closer, their photographs grow animated like videos... And sometimes the photographs take on corporeal form and slip out."

The manga and light novel have similar descriptions about the camera "[capturing] parts of a subject's soul". However, Crowley does not mention the image slipping out in the light novel. This is true of both the JP text and the EN text.

To me, this reads as an in-universe explanation for game mechanics like being able to put an alternate version of a boy on your homescreen or reading vignettes rather than indicating that Yuu takes pictures that become the SSR cards (but it can definitely also be interpreted that way as well). This in-universe explanation also helps to feed the self-insert or parasocial aspect of Twst, as Crowley stresses that only by deepening your (the player's) bond (ie Vignette Level) with the subjects (ie the boys) can you glean more information about them. This is also supported by the fact that non-interactive mediums like the manga and light novel have no mention of the ghost camera’s images coming to life and slipping out. Outside of Crowley's explanation in the prologue, there's little suggesting or confirming that the SSR cards are photos that Yuu themselves took.

The Groovies are typically associated with vignettes, most of which don't involve Yuu or, if Yuu does appear, not in a major capacity or in a context in which they would be taking a photograph. (Then again, I guess you could argue the Groovies are the Memories in motion or replaying and technically would not require being still photos by Yuu.) The initial card artworks are more likely to be images that Yuu took, since those are less attached to a vignette and more to an event (where Yuu typically does appear).

We do explicitly see Yuu using the camera to take pictures of Mickey and fellow students like Rook (in Port Fest), as well as in promotional materials like the second year anniversary video. Various artists like to draw fan art of how Yuu is able to take the pictures (with increasingly silly methods and angles). Yuu being a photographer and documenting their memories at NRC is an important and recurring concept and a rare point or characterization for the blank slate, so it makes sense why the fandom would want to flesh it out more.

[imagine-it-was-us]

when am I gonna lose you? || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Local Natives "When am I gonna lose you?"

Author's note: Had a real block – purely because I wanted to write something about love. Not the meet-cute. Not the breakup. Just that heart-wrecking, honest kind of love where you’re so happy, you almost can’t believe it’s real. And trust me, it was a struggle to find a song in my playlist that captured just that. But I found it – so here’s a little glimpse into my mind (and my playlist).

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: some angst and one swear word.

Summary: A quiet evening on the coast turns into something deeper when two anxious hearts confront their shared fear. It's not a story about falling in love – it's about choosing it, keeping it, and learning to trust that it’s real.

Word count: 1.4k+

She felt it mid-movie – his hand suddenly tensing around her thigh, even though the scene on the screen wasn’t meant to stir anything dramatic. She turned to him, catching him stealing a glance her way before he quickly snapped his gaze back to the TV, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What?” she prodded, half-laughing. It wasn’t often she caught him staring. Whenever she did, it always set off a cascade of anxious thoughts. Maybe there was an eyelash on her cheek. Maybe her mascara had smudged, and she looked like a raccoon. Maybe–

He gave a tiny shake of his head, eyes still trained on the screen. “Nevermind.”

“Nah, you’re not doing this to me,” she said, laughing as she reached for the remote and paused the film. These kinds of quiet, uninterrupted moments were rare. Even rarer was Lando choosing silence over commentary. He always had something to say – a thought, a theory, a stupid pun. So when he didn’t speak, it meant something. It meant everything.

With the screen frozen in mid-frame, he leaned back against the sofa and turned his head slightly toward her. And there it was again — the exact moment that had caught him off guard before. The sun was melting into the sea, casting golden slits of light through the blinds, painting lines across her face, her collarbone, her shoulder like some divine stencil.

He let out a quiet breath. “Don’t you ever get that feeling… when everything’s perfect, and you just know something’s going to come along and fuck it up?”

The words hit her like lightning out of a clear sky – sudden, sharp, strangely poetic. But she didn’t flinch. She just nodded slowly, like some part of her had always been waiting for this exact question.

“I do, sometimes,” she said softly. “But… why now?”

“I don’t know. I just love this moment.”

His hand found hers, fingers gently fidgeting with hers — not restless, not anxious, just… soothing. Like the motion might slow his thoughts down enough to catch them.

He was used to his mind running laps. Constantly. Overthinking things that didn’t need thinking about. Race results. Snide comments online. Whether thirteen spring rolls were the magic number to feel full or just too much. The cute golden retriever he saw at the paddock last weekend, the one he’d probably never see again. He’d gotten used to that kind of mental noise – the static that never turned off.

So when there was stillness, when there was peace – real, earned, golden-hour kind of peace – his brain didn’t quite know what to do. It reached for the nearest thing to worry about. And it always landed on her.

What if he lost this?  What if he lost her?

She was more like him than he ever expected. A year in, long-distance and late-night calls, airport reunions and sleepy goodbyes, and somehow they’d figured each other out pretty well. They both had restless minds – sharp, hungry, buzzing. They could spiral in sync. They could reassure each other just by existing. It made their bond easier in a way. But it also meant that peace felt like walking a tightrope, always half-waiting for the fall.

“But…?” she said, already sensing it. There was always a “but” with him.

He glanced sideways at her, cheeks slightly pink now in the fading light.

“But I was sitting there, just looking at you… thinking about how pretty you are. How lucky I am that you chose me – even with everything that comes with me. All the noise. And then I thought–”

His voice faltered for a second.

“–when am I gonna lose you?”

Her heart shuddered at the words he said. She hadn’t expected that kind of vulnerability from him tonight – not here, not now, with the ocean humming outside and the world finally leaving them alone. And yet, she knew exactly where it came from.

Because she had felt it too.

Their relationship, from the outside looking in, probably never should have worked. On paper, it was ridiculous. She was – for all intents and purposes – a nobody. Just a student who’d gotten separated from her university tour group while wandering through the endless corridors of MTC. He’d been on a break, taking a breather from a wall of sponsor commitments. She’d made some half-sarcastic remark about the building layout – something like “Hard to believe you’ve got all these engineers and no one thought of a better floor plan.”

He laughed. Not just a polite chuckle. A real, head-tilted-back, god-I-needed-that laugh.

He helped her find her coursemates. They walked maybe ten minutes, tops. But in those ten minutes, something clicked – fast, easy, effortless. By the time they reached the others, he was practically pleading for her number. Just in case, he said.

Now here they were, a year and a half later. Sitting in a cabin tucked between the trees and the sea, miles from anyone, basking in quiet. Days of decompressing behind them. Long talks about futures they both secretly hoped would intertwine. It was surreal.

She looked over at him. His hand was still playing with hers absentmindedly, his eyes on their fingers instead of her face – like he wasn’t sure he could handle eye contact after saying something that raw.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” she said gently.

He glanced up, cautious hope flickering across his features.

She exhaled. “But I get it. I do. Sometimes when you call me after a race and you’re so tired you don’t even sound like you – I get this ache. Like, what if this life of yours pulls you so far away I can’t reach you anymore?”

He opened his mouth to protest – to say no, never, that’s not how it’ll be – but stopped himself almost immediately. Because how could he argue against what he’d just admitted feeling himself? It would’ve been hypocritical. Even worse – unfair. Her fear was valid. 

Their worlds had collided in the most unlikely way, and he was still keeping her tucked away from the spotlight – not because he was ashamed, but because he wanted something that was just theirs, untouched by the noise.

“But we keep showing up for each other, yeah?” she went on, voice steadier now. “In the little ways – the answered calls, the random surprises I hide in your luggage. The voice notes when the time zones don’t match up. The flowers that you order every time an older bouquet starts to waste away. Every person we let into our shared world.”

He looked at her then, how her face softened when she talked about them, how she said “shared world” like it was sacred.

“There’s this thing about people like us,” she continued. “We expect good things to vanish. We prepare ourselves for it. But maybe… maybe this is one of the rare things that’s actually built to stay.”

For a moment, all he could do was sit with it – the weight and the lightness of her words, the quiet miracle of being known so well. Then, he squeezed her hand, gently but with purpose.

“You know what I think?” he murmured.

She tilted her head toward him, a question in her eyes.

“I think we don’t give ourselves enough credit,” he said. “This? What we’ve made – it’s not just luck. It's an effort. Intention. It’s staying up at 3 a.m. just to hear your voice, even if I’ve only got five words in me. It’s you reading the same boring post-race summary just to tell me I sounded confident. It’s both of us choosing this. Every day.”

Her lips parted slightly, the corners lifting, and he could see the words landing – not as a grand gesture, but as truth. And the most amazing thing for her was how in reality he was talking himself out of the spiral. 

“I’m not afraid of losing you because something out there takes you away,” he added. “I’m afraid of losing you by accident. Letting something slip. Not fighting hard enough.”

“But you are,” she whispered. “Fighting for it, I mean.”

She cuddled into him, light slowly slipping away.

“And if we keep doing just that, we will never lose each other. So let’s keep it that way. And whenever that curly little head of yours starts telling you these kinds of things, remember us here,” she murmured.

He couldn’t stop smiling, even as he gently kissed the top of her head.

“I will.”

Neither of them said anything else for a while. She unpaused the film, and they eased back into the cushions, limbs tangled, breaths in sync. The dialogue from the screen filled the silence between them, but something had shifted – something small, steady, and unshakeable.

They watched the rest of the movie just like that: closer, lighter, stronger. And this time, neither of them was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Heyyy Can you write a Dad!lewis where he’s getting ready for a race, but his little daughter insists on helping him. Maybe she tries to zip up his suit, hands him his helmet, or gives him a “good luck” kiss before he heads to the grid. The team finds it absolutely adorable, and he makes sure to let her know she’s his lucky charm.

Good luck charm

The rain tapped gently against the roof of the Ferrari garage, a soft, rhythmic patter that filled the air while the team bustled around, preparing for the upcoming race. It was one of those unpredictable race weekends where the weather refused to cooperate, but for a three-year-old girl named Yn, it was nothing short of magical.

Yn stood near the edge of the garage, her tiny hands clutching a bright red Ferrari flag that one of the engineers had given her earlier. Her eyes sparkled with wonder as she watched the sleek, red car sitting proudly in the center of the garage. It was her dad’s car, and to her, it was the coolest thing in the whole world.

"Wow," she whispered, as the tires were swapped and checked with impressive speed. Everything felt so big, loud, and important, but Yn wasn’t scared. Not when everyone around her was so kind.

A soft chuckle came from beside her. "Do you like it, Yn?" Angela asked, crouching down to her level. She had a warm smile, the kind that made Yn feel safe and comfortable.

Yn nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing with the motion. "It’s so fast!" she exclaimed, making Angela laugh quietly.

Across the garage, Lewis stood in his fireproofs, stretching his arms as he chatted with one of the engineers. Even when he was busy, his eyes would flick over to Yn, making sure she was okay. He loved having her at the track. It was something special, sharing this world with his little girl.

"Daddy is fast," Yn declared proudly, watching as the team moved around him.

"He is," Angela agreed, giving her a little squeeze on the shoulder. "He’s one of the fastest."

The Ferrari crew adored Yn. From the moment she had toddled into the garage with Lewis earlier that morning, she had captured all their hearts. It was impossible not to smile when she was around, especially when she clapped her hands excitedly every time she heard the roar of an engine.

"Yn, bambina!" One of the mechanics called out, holding up a small red cap with the team logo. "Want to try this on?"

Yn's eyes lit up. She let Angela guide her over, and she giggled as the mechanic gently placed the cap on her head. It was a little too big, but she loved it anyway. "Look!" she said, turning toward Angela. "I match Daddy!"

"You do," Angela agreed, brushing a curl out of her face. "You’re his little good luck charm."

Across the garage, Lewis caught sight of his daughter in the oversized cap and smiled to himself. She was having the time of her life, and honestly, it made all the rain and the delays worth it.

"Alright, let’s get started," Angela said softly to Lewis as she walked over. "Race time."

As Angela began to help him with his gear, Yn's curious eyes followed every movement. She watched as Angela picked up the balaclava and handed it to Lewis. Without thinking, Yn rushed over, her little feet tapping against the floor.

"I help!" she announced, her hands outstretched.

Lewis turned, a little surprised but immediately softened when he saw her eager expression. "You want to help me get ready, sweetheart?" he asked gently.

Yn nodded, her face serious with concentration. "I do it," she said firmly.

Angela laughed softly and handed YN the balaclava. "Alright, you can help."

Yn clutched the soft fabric and held it up to her dad. "Here, Daddy. You need this."

Lewis knelt down slightly so she could reach him easier. "Thank you, baby girl," he said, letting her place it in his hands. "You’re so helpful."

Her chest puffed out with pride as she returned to Angela, her eyes scanning the equipment. Next were the gloves, which Angela passed to her with a knowing smile. Yn took her job very seriously, toddling back to her father and handing him each glove carefully.

"Gloves, Daddy," she announced, watching as he pulled them on.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," Lewis said playfully, wiggling his fingers in the gloves.

When Angela picked up the earpiece, Yn held her hands out again. She carried it carefully to her dad, who crouched down in front of her. "This too," she said, her voice soft but confident.

"You’re amazing," Lewis told her, letting her tuck a braid behind his ear as she handed it over.

Finally, Angela handed her his helmet, but Yn knew it was heavy, so she carried it slowly to him, setting it down gently on the floor. She stood back, tapping her chin as if she was thinking very hard.

"Daddy, you need to kneel," she instructed seriously.

Lewis blinked in surprise, exchanging a curious glance with Angela, who only shrugged with amusement. "Okay," he said, lowering himself down onto one knee. "Like this?"

Yn nodded decisively before stepping forward and placing a soft, warm kiss on his cheek. "Good luck kiss," she whispered, her voice as sweet as honey.

For a moment, Lewis forgot all about the race. His heart melted at the gesture, and he couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, baby," he murmured, pulling her into a hug. " You are the best good luck charm ever."

She giggled softly, and as he released her, she picked up his helmet and handed it to him. "Now you ready," she declared.

"I am now," Lewis agreed, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. "You did such a good job helping."

The Ferrari crew, who had been quietly watching the whole interaction, exchanged smiles and soft chuckles. The sight of their star driver being so soft with his little girl was almost too much. Even in the chaos of a race weekend, moments like this felt like magic.

Angela scooped Yn up into her arms, rocking her gently as Lewis stood up and adjusted his helmet. "You were amazing, Yn," Angela whispered. "Dad’s going to win with your good luck."

"He will?" Yn asked, eyes wide with wonder.

"Of course," Angela assured her. "Because you helped."

Before climbing into the car, Lewis turned back toward them. With a smile, he sent Yn a playful blow kiss.

YN's eyes lit up, and with a delighted giggle, she clapped her hands together, catching the invisible kiss. She held her closed fist to her heart, looking up at Angela proudly. "I caught it!"

Angela kissed the top of her head, swaying gently. "You did so good today, sweetheart."

The engines roared to life, the vibrations filling the garage as Lewis rolled out onto the wet track. But for Yn, the loud noises didn’t matter. She was too busy watching her dad, knowing deep down that he would win, because her good luck kiss was the most powerful thing in the world.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: I hope you all enjoyed this little piece. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[gingersxng]

Forced To Pleasure

REQUEST: forced sex with SH

Pairing: f!reader x Seonghwa

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: a tall man gets his eyes on you walking all alone and let’s just say you’re an excellent target.

Notes: consensual, sub!reader, reader is very shy and timid, dom!seonghwa, seonghwa is rough, perv seonghwa, manhandling, forced blowjob, forced sex, public sex kinda, unprotected sex (DONT), pet names (sweetheart, doll, baby), groping, fingering, kissing, dacryphilia, marking, one slap, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degrading (slut, whore), lots of cum, breeding kink, pure nasty. may have forgot something!

Words: 1.2k

As the sun began to set, casting an orange hue over the city, you found yourself walking home alone 10pm from a party, your heart were pounding in your chest. It was cold and you were tired (since you weren’t that kind of a party animal) everything was silent, only the night wind and the dry orange leaves made calming sounds. Getting closer to home you walked by a disgusting tight and dark alley, you always got the chills walking past it cause it was a part of the city with lots of creepy stories about it.

Hurrying fast past it, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing. It was Seonghwa, a man known for his dark allure and mysterious charm. His black hair fell perfectly across his forehead, framing his intense gaze. He gave you a nasty look and you felt a shiver run down your spine as your eyes met.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Seonghwa's deep voice resonated, echoing off the nearby buildings. His presence was commanding, and you could feel your shyness amplify tenfold. You stuttered, trying to find your voice.

"I... I'm just heading home," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You tried to run away, feeling yourself getting very uncomfortable in this situation. Without a warning, Seonghwa grabbed your wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. "Not so fast, sweetheart, I’ve got something for you” His breath was hot against your ear, sending tingles down your body. You struggled to get out of his grip, but his strength was overpowering.

Dragging you into the alleyway, Seonghwa pressed you against the cold brick wall, his body trapping you. "You know you want this," he growled, his eyes flashing with desire. Your heart was racing, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through your veins. You tried to protest, but your words were weak against his assertive nature.

Seonghwa's hand slid up your thigh, lifting your short skirt exposing your delicate white lace panties. "Such a tease," he whispered, his fingers traced the outline of your pussy. You felt your breath quickening, your body betraying you as it responded to his touch. You squirmed trying to resist but your efforts only seemed to fuel his passion.

With a swift motion, he ripped your panties aside, his fingers plunging into your wetness. You gasped, your body arching against the wall, unable to deny the pleasure he was inflicting. "Please..." you moaned, your voice laced with both protest and desire. Seonghwa's thumb found your clit rubbing it roughly sending shocks of pleasure through your body.

"You like that, don't you?" he taunted, his free hand pinning your wrists above your head. "You're so wet for me doll." His words were like poison, intoxicating your senses. Your body trembled as he worked his magic, bringing you closer to the edge.

As your moans grew louder filling the alley Seonghwa leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a fierce kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the roughness of his fingers. You responded, your innocence melting away under his skilled touch.

Pulling away Seonghwa smirked, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Now, let's see what else you can do." He released your wrists and roughly pushed you to your knees, his cock straining against his zipper.

Your eyes widened as you realised what he wanted. You hesitated, but Seonghwa's hand tangled in your hair, guiding you closer. "Suck it, baby," he demanded his voice laced with authority.

With trembling hands, you unzipped his pants, freeing his length. His dick was impressive, long and veiny, already glistening with pre-cum. You hesitated and glanced up at him, your shyness returning, but Seonghwa's patience had worn thin.

"Take it, or I'll make you," he threatened, his voice low and raspy.

Your mouth enveloped the head of his cock, tongue swirling around the tip. You moaned softly, the taste of him filling your senses. Seonghwa's hands gripped your hair, guiding your rhythm as he thrusted his hips forward, fucking your mouth with abandon.

"Yeah, that's it, take it all," he grunted, his eyes rolling back as pleasure consumed him. You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, tears forming in your eyes but you persevered, determined to please him. Your hands roamed his thighs, fingers digging into his flesh as you sucked him off.

Seonghwa's control finally snapped. He pulled you to your feet, pressing you against the wall once more. "I need to be inside you," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. In one swift motion, he lifted you up positioning your bare legs around his tiny waist.

You cried out as he entered you, filling you completely. Seonghwa's cock pounded into your pussy, his pace relentless. Your body shook with each powerful stroke, your cries echoing off the alley walls.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his lips found your neck, biting down gently. Your hands clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you surrendered to the intense sensations.

The roughness of the brick wall against your back heightened your pleasure and your body tensed as you felt your orgasm build up. Seonghwa sensed your impending release, his fingers finding your clit rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

"Cum for me, baby," he commanded, his voice thick with desire. Your screams filled the night as your body shattered, your pussy clenching around his cock, he slapped your cheek and covered your mouth for making too much noise, making you whine instead. Seonghwa's own release was imminent, his thrusts becoming more urgent.

With a final powerful stroke, Seonghwa buried himself deep inside you, his hot cum filling your little pussy. Your body convulsed around him, your orgasm burning as you felt his warmth inside of you. When he slid out of you he put your panties back in their place and his own cock in his pants, you’d hoped he was done and would let you carry on but you were so wrong. Seonghwa lived in the same building as you just two floors apart, so he dragged you with him to continue his filthy game on you.

—

Seonghwa pushed you back down onto his bed, he forced you to ride him even if the pain and fear in your eyes told him otherwise. he kept making you bounce on his cock for hours "you're gonna ride my cock like a good little slut and you're gonna cum all over it for me and i'll cum in your tight little pussy, you're gonna be such a good whore for me"

He pulled out of you and told you to bend over for him so he could breed you but when you refused he flipped you over himself and spread your legs wide, he told you that if you want him to make you cum and breed your pussy you better start begging for it, but you didn’t want it, that was the problem, your body melted from his nasty games but your mind was screaming at you to get out of there.

You cried when you finally came but he continued to fuck you hard, he made sure you took his whole cock and all his cum. Seonghwa didn’t pull out yet, he growled at you to lay down so he could keep his cum inside you so you could sleep with your pussy filled with his load. He whispered in your ear how you now belongs to him and he's going to continue treat you like the whore you are.

“you’re stuck here now”

[dilfstarr]

24 Carat Magic

⟢✮⟣ Toji x Black Reader

⟢✮⟣ A/N: i was tryin to give them a lil Twilight moment. Toji is a softie at heart. unfortunately i couldn’t find a link that captured this work of art. kk bye!

⟢✮⟣ Warning: mating press, hair pulling, passionate-ish lovin, soft!toji, needy!toji??!, rawwww [ zont zo it ], creampie, biting, implied marathons

The moon was full and fell center in the open patio doors. Waves moved in ripples under the bright circle of light—clashing to and from the shore. A gentle breeze whistled softly in the air, causing the white curtains draped over the doors to flow left and right in a hypnotic motion.

Your engagement ring; a seven carat princess cut diamond with not one, but two blinged out bands, sparkled bright even in the soft glow of the moon light.

With the help of Shiu, Toji personally handcrafted the most beautiful engagement ring. He dropped band after band to make sure every single diamond was real, and shined as bright as you. After four weeks of the endless sketches, AI generated pictures, and twelve long weeks of the jeweler crafting the piece, it was completed.

“She’s goin’ to love this.”

Oh, you loved the ring alright.

Both of his hands were tangled deep in your coils, tugging at your hair from the roots. He caged you in with his arms, having each of his elbows comfortably laid next to your head. Your chocolate thighs were flat against his shoulders with the heel of your feet occasionally hitting the top of his back. You had nowhere else to put your hands, so they were wrapped tightly around the back of his neck.

Even with the occasional breeze, it was still so hot between your sweaty bodies.

His head was tucked tightly between your shoulder and your head. You both exchanged moans and hushed whispers amongst each other as if someone could hear.

“You wettin’ this dick uppp baby. Go-goddamn.”

Neither of you had to look down to see the mess creating where your bodies connected, because it was being echoed throughout the spacious room. Each drop of his hips were slow, but very much effective—pulling orgasm after orgasm from your body as the night progressed.

His name left your lips in a long desperate moan. “My godd! I feel it c-coming again. Tojjjjii!” Your arms began to squeeze his neck in preparation for your unfolding. Legs shook increasingly against his hot skin, pulling a grin from his lips.

“S’okay baby. Don’t run from it. Let it out. Let it allll out. Imma catch it, I promise.”

You nodded at him showing that you understood, also encouraging him to keep going. To not slow down, speed up, or shift—to Stay. Right. There. Mirroring your actions, he nodded along with you to show that he was on the same page.

“You’re so cloooose mama. I feel you. Y’feel me? Hm? F-feel me in your stomach?”

“Yeahhh y’soo deep. Y-you fuck me sooo good T-toji. Mmm!”

“I knooow it.”

Your breathing became shallow—in sync with the mean thrusts of your fiancé. Seeing you fucked out and at his mercy had his dick ready to fill you with his entire bloodline. He watched from above as your face contorted with pleasure—you looked so fucking beautiful. His wet tongue traced along your collarbone, slowly up your neck, and meeting its destination at your ear—pinching your lobe in between his teeth. Your breathing got heavier while your limbs grew more stiff.

“Ooohhmyy—Tojiaughhhh!”

“Mhhhm. Theeere she is. There is my baby. Give it to me. Give it Toji baby.”

It took lucky the number seven to stroke you to your orgasm. You were in complete silence when you came. Body tensing up from every slow drag of his dick. Your ears rang while your eyes crossed—brimmed with salty tears falling towards your ears. You clenched rhythmically around him, causing him to tighten his hold on your hair.

Your breath was held hostage in your lungs and your lack of sound was an issue—he needed to hear you.

“S-stop holdin’ your breath. What I tell you about that shit? Hm?” His words were followed by a gentle blow to your nose.

“Breathe through that shit. C’mon.”

With the gush of air rushing your nostrils, your body instinctively begins to breathe. It was a struggle, but the relief was everything. With your exhale, came the stronger end of your orgasm. The sounds you produced were a mix of moaning and deep growls. You clenched around him more frequently, milking him.

“Fuuuuckk meee! T-tojii!”

“Mmm Shit baby! Y’gonna make me…. Fuck! Y’gonna make me cum.” He gritted his teeth and descend lower back to the crook of your neck. Moving your hands from around him, he grabbed them and interlocked them—placing them above your head. His breath was hot against your already burning skin. You could tell from his breathing pattern that he was close.

“Jus’ like that daddy. D-don’t rush it m’yours forever. Forever baby.”

“Mhmm Promise it.”

“I prom-ise. I p-promise Toji!”

His hips dropped faster with more force behind them. He breathed more heavily into the crook of your neck. Groans and cussing left his lips and onto your open skin. His brows were furrowed together with his mouth slightly agape.

“Ooo shhiit—b-babymm!”

You yelped as his teeth sunk deep into your shoulder. His hips stilled as ropes of his warm nut filled you for the second time tonight. He jolted and twitched from the intensity of his orgasm.

“I l-love you s’fuckin much. Sooo fuckin’ much. My wife.” He confessed.

“I love you more.”

The kiss was filled with hunger and desperation. His tongue was so deep in your mouth, it threatened to touch your uvula. You struggled to keep up with his yearning for you. His hips began to slowly shift, fucking his cum deeper inside of you.

“I need you s’bad right now.” He slurred into your gasping, open mouth.

“You h-have me. Forever Toji. My husband.”

“Mmm I love the sound of that.”

He pushed himself off the bed, lifting himself with ease. His cock slowly exited your dripping pussy—both of you groaning from the sensation. He watched intensely as your mixed fluids leaked out of your hole, down to your tight rim, and lastly onto the crumpled sheets.

“Turn ‘round wife.” He grabbed your ankle and forcefully twisted you around. You landed with a huff—not expecting to be moved. “Two down, five more to go. A nut for each carat.”

“Yea, if you can keep up.”

“Y’said forever, ‘member?”