#and of course i'm open to comments and thoughts

[danysdaughter]

Lost

pairing | lost!au!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 10.2k words

summary | you and bucky were supposed to be going home—then your plane crashed, and you were left to survive the island thinking he didn’t make it.

tags | lost!au, plane crash survival, angst, hurt/comfort, post-crash trauma, emotional whiplash, “they thought the other was dead” trope, protective!bucky, bucky is a war vet, survival-related violence, trauma and ptsd, grief and emotional breakdowns

a/n | chat, I started watching lost, and unfortunately that's my hyperfixation, and like any show I watch, I always have to imagine bucky in it 😬 it's a sickness I swear (apologies to the requests sitting in my asks and my wips ☹️)

you do NOT need to have watched Lost to understand, chat, don't worry, I'm chill like that

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

September 22, 2004

“Final boarding call for Oceanic Flight 815 to Los Angeles. All passengers, please proceed to Gate 23. I repeat, final boarding call—”

You could already feel the migraine settling in behind your eyes.

“Tell me you’re joking,” you said flatly, arms crossed, standing dead still in the middle of the terminal. “Tell me you didn’t leave my jacket at the hotel.”

Bucky looked at you, jaw tense, backpack slung over one shoulder. “I—I thought you packed it.”

“I packed everything else, James.” You threw a hand out toward the chaos of Sydney International. “The least you could’ve remembered was one damn jacket.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor like he was doing mental math. “I can go back for it. The hotel’s only—what, ten minutes? If I catch a cab—”

You scoffed. Loudly. “The flight leaves in thirty. You wanna miss it over a jacket?”

“It’s your favorite.”

“No, Bucky, my favorite thing is not missing international flights.”

You didn’t yell, but you didn’t need to. The edge in your voice was sharp enough to draw blood. A Korean couple across from you glanced over before pretending not to notice. You shifted your weight, arms tightening across your chest.

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. He gave a short, frustrated sigh and looked off toward the windows, where the sun poured onto the tarmac like it had the nerve to be cheerful.

You watched him. He wasn’t mad—not really. Just tired. You saw it in the way his shoulders sat too low, like he was always bracing for something that never came. You used to think it was from the Army—some echo of everything he didn’t talk about. Now, it just felt like a thing between you he wouldn’t fix.

And you were too pissed to fix it either.

“Look,” he muttered finally, “I’ll buy you a new one in L.A.”

You exhaled, not quite laughing. “Oh good. I love buying knockoffs to replace the one jacket I’ve had since college.”

He didn’t reply. Just nodded once, eyes distant, and stepped into the line forming at Gate 23.

You stood there for another few seconds, staring at his back. Then at the screen above the gate. Then at the boarding agent, calling out names with the kind of chipper indifference you wanted to punch.

When you finally stepped up to the counter, the woman smiled like this was a good day.

“Hi there! Just you two?”

You nodded stiffly.

She tapped her keyboard, then frowned.

“Oh—huh. Looks like we had to shift some seat assignments. Maintenance on a row in the middle of the cabin.” She tilted the screen. “Mrs. Barnes, you're now in seat 12B, and your husband is in… 42F.”

You blinked. “We’re not sitting together?”

The gate agent gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s a full flight.”

You blinked. “Right. Of course it is.”

Your tone was short. Not full-volume rude—but enough for the woman’s smile to falter. You could feel that familiar frustration building in your chest, the kind that had nowhere to go.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, not even trying to hide it. “You’d think after paying how much for international flights they could at least keep our seats intact.”

“Hey,” Bucky said low, stepping up behind you, voice cautious. “It’s not her fault, doll. Just… let it go.”

You turned toward him slowly. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not,” he said, hands raised slightly. “I’m just saying, it’s not worth—”

“Don’t tell me what it’s worth,” you snapped, too sharply.

His brows knit together, and your voice dropped just enough be spiteful, “At least I don’t have to see your face for the next twenty hours.”

It was mean. You knew it. You said it anyway.

He stared at you for a second, jaw flexing. Then he looked away, back toward the gate. You thought that was the end of it—until you heard him mumble under his breath.

“Guess everything’s my fault now.”

You didn’t respond.

The gate agent cleared her throat awkwardly and handed over your boarding passes. Bucky took his and walked off without another word. You followed a few steps behind, silent.

Somewhere between the counter and the jet bridge, you swallowed the lump in your throat and told yourself it didn’t matter. You’d be in the air soon. You’d land in LA, get some sleep, and maybe by the time you got back to New York, you wouldn’t hate each other anymore.

That’s what you told yourself.

And you believed it—right up until the sky split open.

────────────────────────

Day 1

You came to with your cheek pressed against something warm and coarse. Sand.

Your ears were ringing.

At first, there was nothing but the sound in your head—like TV static turned all the way up—but then it cracked open: screaming. Somewhere close. Metal groaning. Wind. Fire.

Smoke stung your nose before your eyes even opened. You coughed once, hard, and pain shot down your neck into your chest. Your whole body felt like it had been rattled in a paint can.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arm buckled.

More yelling.

A man’s voice—"We need water!"—someone crying, a child maybe. The sharp hiss of flames. Somewhere behind it all: waves. Close. Rhythmic.

You blinked hard. The light was too bright. Your head throbbed—deep and hot, pulsing behind your left temple.

You reached up and your fingers came back sticky.

Blood. A lot of it.

You turned your head slowly. Your mouth tasted like smoke and sand. Everything around you was blurred at the edges—burning wreckage, people staggering, someone running past with their hands over their face. There was half a plane twenty feet from where you lay, nose-first in the beach like a dropped toy. Smoke poured from the engine. The other half—

Was gone.

You pushed yourself up on shaky hands, coughing again. A scream tore from your throat before you realized it was his name.

“Bucky!”

It came out hoarse and desperate. You looked wildly around. Ash stuck to your skin, your clothes. Your legs didn’t want to work right, but you forced yourself upright.

“Bucky—!”

No answer.

You staggered toward the fuselage, tripping over torn luggage and pieces of seatback. A man passed you shouting for help. Someone else was trying CPR on a limp body near the water.

You grabbed a woman by the shoulder—her face streaked with blood. “Tail section,” you said. “Was he—do you know if it—?”

She just shook her head and kept walking.

“Bucky!”

You shouted again, louder this time, throat burning. Still nothing. Just the fire. Just the wind.

A man rushed past you—dark hair, blazer and button-down shirt streaked with blood and sand. He barely slowed.

“Hey—hey, you need to sit down. You’re bleeding.”

“My husband—he was in the back—”

“I’ll come back to you, okay? Just stay here, press on that cut.” He grabbed your wrist, moved your hand to your temple. “Hold pressure. You’re probably concussed.”

And then he was gone—off to the next screaming voice.

You sat there dazed, hand to your head, heartbeat pounding in your ears. The heat. The noise. The smoke. People yelling. Somewhere, someone was screaming names—none of them his.

You turned slowly, looking back at the wreckage. The tail end wasn’t there. No sign of it. No seats. No Bucky.

You didn’t know what that meant. You couldn’t make yourself think it through.

You just sat there, blinking through the ash, holding your head together with one shaky hand.

────────────────────────

You hadn’t moved from that spot all day.

The sun was setting now—orange bleeding into red, casting long shadows across the beach. Smoke still curled from the engine somewhere behind you, but the noise had quieted. Most of the screaming had stopped. Now there were only quiet sobs, the rustle of wind through palm trees, and the occasional clang of metal being dragged into a pile.

You didn’t feel the cold settling in your skin until someone crouched beside you.

“Hey,” the voice said, calm and careful. “Still with me?”

You turned slowly.

It was the same man from before. Sweat on his brow, sleeves rolled up, shirt even more stained than before. He had a small black case in his hands.

“I’ve been trying to make rounds all day,” he said. “Sorry it took so long.”

You blinked at him, like your eyes were still adjusting. “You… know what you’re doing.”

He glanced up as he opened the kit. “I’m a doctor.”

That made sense. Somehow.

You watched as he pulled out a small suture kit—thread, needle, forceps. All small. Travel-sized. Maybe from one of those plane emergency boxes. His hands were steady, but his eyes were tired.

You flinched when he pressed a wipe to your forehead.

“Concussed, probably. The cut’s deep,” he murmured. “But you’re lucky. Could’ve cracked your skull wide open.”

You didn’t say anything. Just let him work.

After a few seconds, he said, “I’m Jack, by the way.”

You swallowed, then murmured your name under your breath. It came out quieter than you meant.

Jack nodded, threading the needle.

He was quiet for a moment. Then:

“Any dizziness?”

You didn’t answer that.

“My husband,” you said slowly instead. “He was in the tail section.”

Jack paused for half a second—but not long enough to stop.

“He switched seats,” you added, almost to yourself. “Last minute. They moved us.”

He kept working. Slower now.

“Do you… do you know what happened?”

He paused—again—before pulling the thread.

“The tail broke off before we crashed.”

You nodded. Slowly. Like your brain was trying to digest it but hadn’t figured out how.

“But we don’t know where it is,” Jack added quickly. “Could’ve landed somewhere else.”

“Do you think…” You took a shaky breath. “Do you think the people in the tail section are okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Tied off the last stitch. Sat back on his heels.

“I don’t know,” he said softly.

You nodded, like that was enough. Like any answer would’ve felt the same.

────────────────────────

Day 4

You sat about thirty feet from camp.

Close enough to hear them. Far enough to feel like you weren’t part of it.

Someone was arguing over a tarp. Someone else was trying to start a second fire. Voices moved around in low rhythms—half-hopeful, half-bored. Settling in.

You didn’t like how comfortable it sounded.

Your hands were dirty. You’d been digging through sand for the past hour, pulling out scraps—seat cushions, wrappers, a broken pair of sunglasses. Looking for what, you didn’t know. You’d stopped trying to explain it to yourself.

“Hey.”

You looked up. Kate stood a few feet away, holding something wrapped in torn fabric—half a mango, maybe, or papaya. Whatever it was, it looked vaguely edible.

She offered it out with a small nod. “Figured you hadn’t eaten.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just not hungry.”

She crouched a little, still holding the fruit.

“I’m not mad,” you said before she could say anything else. “I’m not having a breakdown. You don’t need to check on me.”

Kate shrugged, casual. “Didn’t say you were. But you’ve been sitting out here for a while.”

You looked back toward the ocean. Still no tail section. Still no rescue boats. Just endless blue and the same ache behind your eyes.

“I’m fine here.”

“Closer to camp’s safer. At night, especially.”

You let out a slow breath. “What’s the point? Everyone already thinks I’m the crazy one.”

She didn’t deny it. Just shifted her weight.

You glanced at her. “They do. I know how they look at me.”

“No one thinks you’re crazy.”

You gave a flat, humorless laugh. “Sure.”

Kate finally set the fruit down beside you. Didn’t push.

You didn’t reach for it.

A minute passed.

You stared at the water, quiet.

“He’s not dead.”

Kate didn’t respond.

You kept your voice low. “I would know. If he was.”

She looked at you for a moment, then nodded like she understood—even if she didn’t. She didn’t say anything for a while, either.

Just sat beside you, close but not too close, legs folded, arms resting loosely over her knees. You both looked out at the water. The waves came in steady. Familiar now.

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

You didn’t look at her when you finally spoke. Your voice came out quiet. Careful.

“We were coming back from our honeymoon.”

Kate looked over, but you kept your eyes ahead, fingers absently toying with the ring on your left hand. Turning it, loosening it, pushing it back down.

“Got married two weeks ago. In Vermont. Just the two of us and his best friends, Sam and Steve.” You paused. “Felt like the right kind of quiet.”

Your thumb pushed against the edge of the ring again. You weren’t even thinking about it. Just moving it. Like it would remind you he was still out there.

“We spent the first few days in Sydney. Didn’t see half the stuff we said we would.” You gave a faint shrug. “Mostly just slept in, fought about directions, tried weird food. He hated Vegemite.”

Kate smiled slightly. You didn’t.

“We had a fight. Right before we left the hotel.” You stopped twirling the ring for a second. “Stupid, loud one. One of those fights where you both act like you're winning, but really you're just saying shit to make it sting.”

You scoffed under your breath. “I don’t even remember what it was about. Just… snapped at each other. The airline moved our seats, and I was glad. Didn’t want to sit next to him for twenty hours.”

You shook your head slowly.

“I was so mean to him.”

The burn started behind your eyes first. Then your nose. But you didn’t let the tears fall. You just kept your gaze fixed straight ahead, mouth tight.

“I was pissed about a jacket. That’s the last thing thing we argued about. A damn jacket.”

Kate looked down. Still silent. Letting you have the space.

You wiped your nose with the back of your wrist, angry at yourself for even doing that much. You weren’t going to cry. You’d already decided that. Crying felt too final. Like giving up.

You just kept spinning the ring, gently, like if you stopped, the weight of everything would finally hit.

Two Weeks Ago

The hotel room was nicer than you expected.

You stepped inside first, dragging your carry-on behind you, one hand reaching to flick on the lights. It lit up soft and golden, the kind of warm tone that made everything feel expensive, even though you'd booked it on a discount site three months ago.

“Okay, not bad for something with three and a half stars,” you said, kicking your shoes off immediately.

Bucky stepped in behind you, hauling both your suitcases like a mule. He gave a low whistle as he looked around. “Damn. They even folded the towels into swans. That’s how you know it’s fancy, baby.”

You glanced back at him with a grin. “You sure it’s not because we’re on our honeymoon?”

“Oh, right,” he said dryly. “Guess I should start acting like your husband or somethin’.”

He dropped the suitcases and crossed the room in a few strides, arms wrapping around you from behind. You let out a small yelp as he buried his face in your neck.

“Bucky,” you laughed, “we’ve been in this country for all of two hours—”

“Exactly. Jetlag,” he mumbled against your skin. “Terrible condition. You should probably lie down. Maybe take off some clothes.”

“Right,” you said, turning your head just enough to catch his smirk. “We’ve got a tour scheduled in two hours. Harbor walk. You wanna miss that?”

“You wanna leave this room?” he countered, pressing a kiss just under your jaw. “You wanna go talk to strangers and walk around in the sun and look at birds or bridges or whatever the hell the brochure said?”

You hummed, pretending to think. “Well, when you put it like that…”

He kissed your shoulder. “Exactly.”

You pulled away just enough to turn and face him. His hair was a mess from the flight, his shirt wrinkled, and he still had a paper airline tag stuck to his wrist. You tugged it off and flicked it onto the nightstand.

“Let me guess,” you said, arms around his neck. “You wanna stay in, order food, and have me all to yourself for twelve hours.”

He tilted his head slightly, mock-serious. “Just twelve?”

You raised an eyebrow.

He leaned in, voice low. “Baby, we just got married. I got plans.”

You kissed him before he could get cockier. His hands settled on your waist like he was still surprised he got to hold you at all.

And for the first time in weeks—after the chaos of the wedding, the flights, the packing—it hit you. You were here. Married. With him.

You pulled back, just barely. “This is real, right?”

Bucky’s smile softened. That crooked, lopsided thing you loved.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s real.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time. Like he had nowhere else to be. But he didn’t give you time to get sentimental at all.

One second you were kissing him, the next—his hands were on the backs of your thighs, and with no warning, he lifted you clean off the floor.

You shrieked, laughing as your arms wrapped instinctively around his shoulders.

“Bucky—!”

“Shh,” he grinned. “Mr. Barnes is carrying his blushing bride across the threshold.”

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure the ‘threshold’ was back at the elevator, dumbass.”

“Details,” he muttered, and then dropped you onto the bed.

You bounced once with a laugh, hair splaying across the pillows. He followed, toeing off his shoes, then peeling his shirt over his head as he climbed onto the mattress with you.

“God, you’re such a dog,” you said through a grin, breathless.

“Excuse you,” he said, settling over you with a hand braced beside your head. “I am a husband. A respectable, married man now.”

He leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time, hands bracketing your waist like he couldn’t believe you were really there. Like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“Mrs. Barnes,” he murmured against your mouth.

You smiled into the kiss. “Say it again.”

“Mrs. Barnes,” he repeated, dragging his lips down to your neck, voice lower now. “Mrs. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes—”

You swatted at him, laughing. “Okay, you can stop.”

“Nope,” he said, grinning against your skin. “You said ‘I do’. You’re stuck with me.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging gently. “Guess I am.”

He looked at you for a second then—really looked—eyes soft and a little awed. You reached up and touched his cheek with the backs of your fingers.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

He just leaned in and kissed you, like he wanted to memorize the shape of you.

And for a little while, the world was small. Just this room, this bed, the sounds of the city tucked far below you. No future to worry about.

Just him. And you.

Day 10

You found him near the edge of the jungle, crouched low beside a makeshift trap.

John Locke.

You didn’t know much about the old man—only that he seemed to know exactly what he was doing out here. More than anyone else. Quiet, strange sometimes, but… useful. Capable. He moved with intention, and people didn’t ask questions when he spoke. You respected that.

He heard you coming, but didn’t look up.

“Need something?” he asked, adjusting something on the snare.

You shoved your hands into your pockets. “Yeah. I wanna help.”

That got his attention.

He looked up, eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure out if you were joking.

“I’m serious,” you added. “I’m not gonna sit around camp watching everyone slowly lose their minds. I’m not good at making polite conversation over papayas.”

His brow lifted slightly. “You want to hunt?”

You shrugged. “I want to not be useless.”

Your gaze drifted past him, toward the beach. The blonde girl—Shannon, you thought her name was—lay flat on a towel someone had fashioned out of a jacket, sunglasses on, limbs stretched like she was poolside in Malibu.

You looked back at him. “Unlike some people.”

Locke followed your gaze, then looked back at you. He didn’t comment.

Instead, he stood slowly, brushing sand from his knees.

“You ever held a knife?” he asked.

“Not the kind that matters.”

He smiled—small, unreadable. “That’s alright. Everyone starts somewhere.”

You nodded once. “So? You gonna teach me or not?”

He handed you one of the smaller knives from his belt. Nothing dramatic. Just a basic handle and a duller edge than you expected. You tested the weight of it in your hand.

“I’ll show you how to track first,” he said, already turning into the trees. “The killing part comes later.”

You followed him without hesitation.

You weren’t thinking about food.

You were thinking about movement. Purpose. Distraction. Something other than the sound of your own voice reminding you, over and over, that Bucky might be dead.

The jungle was quiet, except for the sound of your boots grinding into wet soil and the occasional rustle of leaves ahead.

You’d now been tracking the damn boar for what felt like hours. Maybe more. The sun had shifted position without you noticing, dipping somewhere behind the thick canopy. You hadn’t eaten. Barely drank anything. You didn’t care.

John walked ahead of you, patient but steady, eyes scanning the ground like it was a map only he could read.

“There,” he said quietly, pointing to a disturbance in the dirt. “See that line? Tusk drag.”

You crouched beside him, sweat dripping down the side of your temple. You squinted at the line. “You sure?”

He glanced at you. “It’s not a guess.”

You nodded, jaw tight.

He kept walking, slower now. Careful. You followed, knife gripped loosely in one hand.

“So,” Locke said after a stretch of silence, voice low, “you ever kill anything before?”

“Do bugs count?” you muttered, eyes still on the ground.

He huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “Spiders?”

“Big ones,” you said. “Real vicious.”

“Guess it’s a start.”

You didn’t smile.

Branches scraped your arms as you ducked under a low-hanging limb. Your body ached—back tight, legs heavy—but you ignored it. You were used to this kind of ache. The kind that settled in when your brain refused to stop moving.

Locke kept talking.

“This isn’t about brute strength. It’s about patience. Precision.”

“Cool,” you said flatly. “I’ve got both. In abundance.”

He glanced back at you, as if to check whether you were being sarcastic. You didn’t offer clarification.

Another set of tracks appeared, deeper this time, fresher. Your breath hitched.

“You see that?” you asked, voice quieter now.

John nodded. “We’re close.”

You tightened your grip on the knife. Not because you thought you’d need it—John was doing all the actual tracking—but because your fingers wouldn’t stop twitching otherwise.

You weren’t thinking about food.

You were thinking about the moment the knife would hit something real. The moment something would give. Flesh, bone, anything.

And maybe, for just a second, you’d feel something else besides this constant, gnawing guilt.

────────────────────────

The sun was gone.

What little light was left filtered through the trees in fading streaks, turning the jungle into a wall of black shapes and rustling sound. The heat hadn’t left with the sun—it hung around like breath on your neck, heavy and damp.

You pushed a branch out of the way and squinted at the ground. Nothing. Just more dirt. More leaves. More nothing.

Behind you, John exhaled.

“That’s it,” he said. “We’re done for tonight.”

You didn’t turn. “No.”

He took a step forward. “We can pick up the trail in the morning. Boar’s not going anywhere.”

You didn’t stop. You kept scanning the ground, eyes darting, breath shallow.

“We’re close,” you muttered.

“We were,” he corrected. “Now it’s too dark to see anything. No tracks. No direction.”

You crouched anyway, brushing your fingers through damp leaves, looking for any hint of a trail. Your hands were shaking a little, but you ignored that.

“We can keep going.”

“No, we can’t.”

“We can find it,” you insisted. “We just have to keep looking.”

Your voice cracked a little at the end, and you hated it. Hated how thin it sounded.

He stepped up beside you now, close enough that you could feel him studying you. Not the way others did, with wariness or pity. This was different.

“You haven’t eaten,” he said quietly. “I offered you water three times today. You’re dehydrated, your hands are shaking, and you’ve nearly tripped over your own feet twice in the last hour.”

You stood slowly, back stiff, shoulders tense. “I said I’m fine.”

He tilted his head, watching you for a second. Quiet. Calculating.

“You’re punishing yourself.”

Your breath caught, barely.

“I don’t know what for,” Locke continued, voice low but steady. “But that’s what this is. You’ve been chasing something that isn’t here. Not tonight. And you’re wearing yourself down because it hurts less than sitting still.”

You didn’t look at him. You stared at the trees instead, fists clenched, jaw locked.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “it won’t get better like this.”

Your lip was raw from where you’d been biting it all day. You tasted blood now, coppery and warm. Your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. You wouldn’t let them.

Your fingers curled tighter around the knife handle. Like maybe if you just held onto something hard enough, it’d hold you together too.

He didn’t move closer. Just stayed where he was, voice softer this time.

“Let’s go back,” John said, quiet now. “We’ll rest. First light tomorrow—we’ll find it.”

You stood there a moment longer.

Then finally—finally—you nodded.

You didn’t speak the whole way back.

And he didn’t make you.

────────────────────────

Day 11

You left before the light had fully cracked the trees.

Camp was still half-asleep—murmurs of movement, someone coughing near the firepit, a pot clinking against stone. No one saw you take the knife.

Locke’s bigger blade had been tucked beneath his gear, under a folded tarp and spare shirt. You knew where to look.

The hunting knife was heavy in your hand as you stepped into the treeline, the camp falling away behind you. The forest swallowed the noise almost immediately. No fire crackling. No Locke's voice. No one telling you to slow down or think it through.

Just breath. And branches.

You moved fast at first, driven by that early surge of clarity—the kind that always came just before you crashed. You didn’t stop to check your direction. Didn’t second-guess if this was the same route you and Locke had taken yesterday. The ground was wet and uneven, littered with tracks that could’ve been anything. You chose the ones that looked right. Even if they weren’t.

Ten minutes in, your body reminded you how long it’d been since you’d actually eaten something real. Your limbs felt lead-heavy. Your head fogged. But you kept moving, boots slipping through mud, hand tight around the knife handle like it grounded you to something.

You tried not to think.

Tried to fix your focus to one thing.

The boar.

Not the guilt. Not the ring on your hand. Not the fact that you hadn’t said goodbye.

Just that damn boar.

You crouched near a patch of overturned leaves, running your fingers through the mess. Something had moved here. Big, fast. It had a path. And it was smarter than you gave it credit for yesterday.

You let out a slow breath.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself. “You want to play? Let’s play.”

You weren’t a tracker. You weren’t a hunter. For God’s sake, you were a journalist. A city girl with coffee shop habits and terrible knees, who paid for parking and wore boots for fashion, not for this. You hadn’t gone camping since high school, and that trip ended with bug bites and passive-aggressive tears.

And yet—here you were.

Crouched in the jungle like some deranged amateur survivalist, trying to outsmart a wild animal that had been playing you all day yesterday. An animal that didn’t care about your grief or your wedding ring or the fact that you hadn’t slept properly in days.

The boar didn’t care. But you did.

You tracked it for what felt like hours. Doubled back once when you realized it had circled you. Clever bastard. It moved with purpose—pacing, maybe, or leading you. Trying to exhaust you.

You were already there.

Your mouth was dry. Your arms ached from holding the knife, fingers cramping. The heat pressed down on your skin like a blanket soaked in your own sweat. Every sound made your pulse jump—twigs snapping, birds scattering, wind hitting the back of your neck like breath.

But you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

You started thinking like it. If it was tired, where would it go? Where was cover? Where was water? You remembered things Locke told you—bits and pieces you hadn’t listened to at the time. They came back now in strange flashes.

You saw another set of tracks. Fresh this time. Clear. You crouched low, scanned the clearing ahead.

And there it was.

Just beyond the brush.

Massive. Dark bristled fur. Mud-caked tusks. Snorting into the roots of a tree like it didn’t know—or didn’t care—that you were there.

Your hands trembled around the knife.

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You were going to do it. You were going to charge something three times your size with absolutely no plan, because the thought of doing nothing was so much worse.

You inched forward. One foot. Then another.

The boar turned slightly. Still unaware. You could almost—

Snap.

A branch cracked beneath your boot.

It froze. Ears twitching. Head snapping in your direction.

You had half a second to react.

And then it bolted.

One second, the boar was running, all blur and muscle. The next—it clipped you with a tusk on the way through the trees. A quick, sharp pain across your thigh. You went down hard, breath knocked from your lungs, the knife skidding from your hand into the brush.

You stayed on the ground for a second. Just breathing. Letting your vision come back.

The gash wasn’t deep. It didn’t matter. You were already standing again before the sting fully set in, limping slightly as you hobbled toward the knife and picked it up.

You didn’t go back to camp. You didn’t turn around. Instead, you found a clearing and started building.

It was a half-assed trap. You remembered the basics from watching Locke. Bent branches, a pit barely deep enough to hold a body. You sharpened some sticks. You used vines and what little patience you had left.

By the time you finished, the sky was high and hot, and your vest stuck to your back with sweat. Your leg ached. You’d stopped bleeding, mostly. Or maybe you hadn’t looked closely enough.

You crouched in the trees, knife clutched to your chest, and waited.

Waited for the thing that didn’t care about your pain or your memories. Waited for it to come back.

And it did.

It stumbled into the trap sometime in the late afternoon. A loud crack, a screech of surprise and pain—then silence. You ran toward the sound without thinking, heart in your throat, stumbling on shaky legs until you reached the edge and looked down.

There it was.

Breathing heavy. Caught. One leg bloodied. Tusks still twitching. Pinned.

Alive.

The knife felt different in your hand now.

You stood there a long time, staring at it. You could’ve left. You could’ve walked back to camp, told Locke you lost the trail. Let him finish it off tomorrow.

But this was your kill.

This was the thing you had to do. Not because it made sense, but because something in you needed it. Needed to win. Needed to take something down. Make something pay.

You stepped closer. Slid into the pit.

The boar was making a sound—low, pained, somewhere between a growl and a cry. The noise was awful—low, panicked squeals, the kind that didn’t sound real. You didn’t look at its eyes.

All you had to do was kill it.

All you had to do was kill it.

You stood over it, breathing hard, every inch of you sore. You gripped the knife so tight your knuckles turned white.

The boar writhed. It was trapped. It wasn’t going anywhere.

Its eyes were wild, terrified.

And you—you—froze.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a boar.

It was a thing. Alive. Real. And you’d caught it. You’d won.

And it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

You swallowed, but your throat was too dry. Your body shook from something deeper than fatigue.

The knife wouldn’t move. Your arm wouldn’t move.

It cried out again, that high-pitched, choked squeal—and something in you snapped.

You dropped to your knees and did it. You didn’t know how many times. You didn’t count.

But when it was done, the jungle was silent.

You sat back, blood on your hands, your arms, your top. The boar’s body twitched once, then stilled.

And you waited.

Waited for the feeling. The release. The proof that you’d done something right. That this meant something. That now, now, you could stop punishing yourself.

But there was nothing.

No relief. No pride. No peace.

Just silence. And the slow, hollow crawl of something cold settling in your chest.

You looked at your hands. At the carcass. And suddenly, it was all too clear.

He was gone.

Bucky was gone.

There’d been no sign. No noise. No whisper from the jungle. Just ten days of silence, and now this.

You’d wasted your last moment with him being cruel.

At least I won’t have to look at your face for the next twenty hours.

And now you were never going to see his face again.

The knife slipped from your fingers as your body folded in. First your shoulders, then your spine, collapsing inward like paper in the rain.

You dropped beside the boar, blood cooling on your skin, your hands digging into the earth just to stay grounded.

And you broke.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just—broke.

Like glass under pressure. Like something you didn’t know you’d been holding finally gave out.

Your fingers curled around the dirt.

And for the first time in ten days, you let yourself cry.

You sobbed like it hurt to breathe.

Not loud. Not messy. Just broken. Your forehead pressed to your hands. Shoulders shaking with the effort of trying not to fall apart—and failing.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whispered.

Your voice sounded small. Childish.

“I didn’t mean it.”

But he couldn’t hear you now. And that was the worst part.

You stayed there beside the body, knees in the blood-wet dirt, breath catching again and again. There was no catharsis. No answers. Just you. And silence.

And the unbearable fact that he was gone.

Day 1

Salt water burned the inside of his mouth before he knew he was awake.

He gasped, choked, came up coughing as another wave slammed into him. The roar of the ocean was deafening. His limbs flailed in the current, legs kicking to stay above water as something heavy dragged at his foot—seatbelt? Bag? He didn’t know.

Voices. Screaming.

His ears rang, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything. The rush of waves, the panicked yells, the tearing metal creak of wreckage still sinking nearby.

The tail section.

It was gone—broken off midair. He remembered the drop. The violent jolt. The sound no one should ever hear on a plane.

He spat out seawater, turned, bobbing just enough to get his bearings.

People were drowning.

He could see them—arms thrashing, eyes wide. Some had life vests. Some didn’t. A man was clinging to a floating drink cart. A woman was screaming, her head barely above water.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

He swam.

One hand on the woman’s shoulder, flipping her onto her back. “Breathe,” he said—calm, automatic. “Breathe, you’re okay—hold onto me.”

She clawed at him in panic. He took it. Hooked her arm over his and kicked harder.

Another scream behind him. Closer now.

He turned—saw a boy, maybe ten, slipping under.

Shit.

“Hold on,” he barked at the woman. “Keep floating—keep breathing.” He swam hard toward the kid, just barely catching the arm as it went under.

Pulled him up. Spun him around. “You’re alright, I got you.”

The kid sobbed into his shirt.

Bucky turned again, scanning.

Bodies. Wreckage. Screams. Someone floating face down.

His brain went quiet. Focused.

He didn’t think about the crash. Or where they were. Or the fact that he hadn’t seen you since before takeoff. He couldn’t. That would break him.

So he saved who he could.

One after another. A woman with a gash on her leg. A man too stunned to move. Another kid someone handed off with shaking hands.

He didn’t ask names. He didn’t speak unless he had to.

Just pulled. Held. Kicked. Hauled.

One more. Just one more.

The sun was higher now, casting gold across the water like it had any right to be beautiful.

Bodies floated in it.

Dozens, maybe. Spaced out like debris. Like trash. Some face up, some not. Some with eyes still open.

Bucky was half in the water, half out—arms aching, shirt clinging to him, knees cut open from dragging himself across jagged reef.

His breathing was shallow. Not from panic. Not yet.

Just… catching up.

His muscles were slow now, like they were only just realizing they’d carried too much. His brain kept flashing—woman, kid, crying, gashed leg, another one sinking—and looping back to the ones he didn’t reach in time.

Too many.

He heard the others before he saw them.

A heavy splash. The thud of footsteps in the surf.

Eko.

Bigger than everyone else. Quiet. Calm in that strange, unshakable way. He was already pulling another man from the water, arms locked around the torso like it was second nature.

Bucky moved to help without a word.

One body at a time. Line them up. Check pulses, even if you know. Cover the faces with whatever you can find. Bits of seat fabric. Shirts.

Don’t look too long. Don’t memorize them. And through all of it, his eyes kept scanning.

Not the wreckage. Not the horizon.

The faces.

It wasn’t even conscious at first. Just… instinct. An itch behind his eyes that wouldn’t go away.

He kept thinking he’d spot you. Sitting up somewhere. Wrapped in a life vest. Calling his name.

But you weren’t there.

Another body floated toward shore. A woman. Younger. Not you.

Bucky blinked hard. Refused to let his mind spiral.

Maybe you were on the other side. Maybe the front half of the plane landed somewhere safer. Maybe you made it inland.

He wouldn’t panic. Not until he had a reason to.

He moved to help Eko again, this time with a younger guy—early twenties. Didn’t make it. Didn’t even look hurt. Just gone.

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

He dragged the body onto the sand and wiped his hands on his soaked pants.

Then he looked back out at the ocean.

Still searching. Still hoping.

Still not saying your name.

────────────────────────

He didn’t sleep the first night.

None of them really did.

They built a fire with scraps of wreckage and whatever driftwood they could gather. It didn’t give off much heat, but it lit the beach just enough to make the dark look less infinite.

Bucky sat at the edge of it, soaked through, jaw clenched. Eyes scanning the trees. Back straight. Shoulders set.

He hadn’t changed clothes. He hadn’t eaten. He didn’t even think about either. His hands still smelled like saltwater and blood. His fingers ached from pulling bodies out of the ocean.

Someone was crying behind him. A kid. Someone else pacing, muttering about rescue flights.

He stared into the trees.

Too quiet.

Too still.

He knew that feeling. He’d felt it before. Just before ambushes. Just before landmines.

Movement, barely visible. Between the palms.

Bucky was on his feet before his brain caught up.

Then the screaming started.

The first man went down before he could yell—just a shadow dragging him into the trees.

Then chaos.

Flashlights swinging. Yells. A woman gone from the fire before anyone realized. Someone running, screaming. Another dragged into the jungle.

The camp fractured. People scattered.

Bucky didn’t run.

He moved into the trees.

The first one came at him from the side—fast, silent, knife in hand.

Bucky ducked low, pivoted. Elbow to the throat. Twist. Snap.

No hesitation.

The second grabbed him from behind. He threw them over his shoulder and drove a fist into their jaw hard enough to feel something crack.

Breathing heavy now. Vision sharp.

A third one rushed him with a blade. He stepped into the attack, grabbed the wrist, snapped it, and drove his knee into the guy’s ribs before choking him out cold.

The sounds around him blurred—screams, shouting, leaves rustling, feet pounding.

But he was locked in. Present. Brutal.

Automatic.

By the time they were gone—whoever the hell they were—Bucky was standing at the edge of the jungle, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles.

Three bodies at his feet.

The beach behind him was scattered with broken branches, panic, and silence. People were crying. Eko was checking the wounded. Someone asked if they were safe now.

Bucky didn’t answer.

He just sat back down by the fire, hands resting on his knees, jaw still tight.

He didn't say a word for the rest of the night.

And still—still—his eyes scanned the tree line.

Not for the Others this time.

For you.

────────────────────────

Day 27

Twenty-seven days.

That’s how long they’d been on this godforsaken island.

No rescue. No planes overhead. No signal. No boats.

No front half of the damn plane.

And no sign of you.

Bucky didn’t let himself dwell on it. Not really. There wasn’t time. There wasn’t space. They were always moving—deep into the jungle now, far from the crash site, far from the beach, far from where they started.

It was safer this way. The Others hadn’t found them again. Not yet. But they all knew the drill. Never stay in one place. Never light a fire too big. Take shifts. Watch each other’s backs.

There were six of them left.

Ana Lucia walked ahead, machete in hand, clearing branches with angry swipes. Always angry, always looking for control. It made sense to him.

Eko kept close to the back, silent as ever, a quiet kind of anchor that nobody questioned.

Libby, Bernard and Cindy moved in the middle, quiet but present. Not dead weight. They pulled what they could. Helped when they needed to.

And him.

Bucky.

He walked behind Ana. Always alert. Always scanning.

Not because he expected rescue anymore—but because he expected more violence.

He hadn’t slept a full night since the crash. Ate just enough to keep his legs moving. Water when someone handed it to him. He kept his hands busy, sharpening blades, tying knots, scavenging. Every task served a purpose.

Because when he didn’t have a job, that’s when his mind tried to go places.

Like where you were. Or if you were even alive.

The odds weren’t good. He knew that. He wasn’t stupid.

If the front section was still out there, it would’ve found them by now. Or they’d have found it.

He didn’t know how to sit with that. Didn’t know how to even begin to think about it. About you sinking in the ocean. About your seatbelt stuck. About you calling his name and no one hearing it.

So he didn’t. He just kept walking.

────────────────────────

Day 28

The radio was old. Cracked along the edges. One of the last things they'd salvaged before abandoning what was left of the fuselage.

Bernard had been tinkering with it for days—adjusting wires, re-wrapping it in cloth when it rained. Most of the time it was silent, static and dead air.

Until it wasn’t.

That morning, as the sun bled through the treetops and everyone sat clustered in the dense shade, the radio clicked.

Then a male voice.

”Hello. Hello, anybody out there? Mayday. Mayday.”

Everyone froze.

Bernard fumbled with the frequency, eyes wide. “Is there someone there?“ he said into the mic. “Hello?“

The voice came through again—clear this time, alive with urgency.

”Hello! Hello!“

Bucky was on his feet before he realized it. Everyone had gathered around Bernard now, Eko leaning in, Libby clutching the strap of her bag like it might hold her steady.

And then it came:

”Hello. We’re survivors of the crash of Oceanic flight 815! Please copy!“

The world tipped sideways.

Bucky’s heart stopped. Just for a second.

Bernard’s brow furrowed. “We’re the survivors of flight 815.”

Then Ana Lucia stepped forward, fast and clean, and snapped the radio off.

The silence afterward was louder than the voice had been.

Bucky rounded on her, jaw clenched. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ana didn’t flinch. “It’s them. The Others. It’s a trap.”

“You don’t know that.”

“They’ve been watching us. Picking us off. You really think it’s just some nice group on the other end of that radio?”

Bernard stepped forward, voice stumbling. “No, but—what if—what if it is them? What if there are other survivors?”

Ana looked at him, eyes hard. Tired.

“There are no survivors,” she said. “This is our life now. Get used to it.”

The words hung there. Cold. Final.

Bucky’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak.

He didn’t argue.

He just stood still, the weight of her words settling into his chest like wet cement.

His hands slowly curled into fists.

And that last little thread—the one he’d been holding onto without even realizing—snapped.

He didn’t let it show. Not to them.

But inside, something cracked open and emptied out.

He turned away from the group without a word, walked back into the trees, and sat alone—back pressed against a trunk, eyes fixed on nothing.

And for the first time since the crash, he stopped looking for you.

────────────────────────

Day 45

They found them in the jungle.

Three men. One with a busted arm, one shouting in a language none of them spoke, and the third—lanky, loud, all attitude and blood in his teeth. Said his name was Sawyer. Bucky didn’t know what to make of them yet, but the way they looked—exhausted, scraped up, sunburned to hell—they didn’t read like Others.

Didn’t matter to Ana. She tied them up anyway.

“You see how clean that one's shirt is?“ she muttered, pointing. "They’ve been watching us. Studying us. Now they’re testing us.”

“They’re lost,” Bucky said. “Same as we are.”

“They’re spies.”

“They’re survivors.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” Bucky snapped, voice sharp, “but you don’t either.”

The rest of the group was silent. Eko looked between them but didn’t speak. Bernard stayed close to Libby and Cindy, uneasy.

The guy named Michael had gone hoarse trying to explain—they’d crashed on the same plane. They’d heard the radio. They had people. A camp.

But Ana didn’t want to hear it. She stood like a soldier, arms crossed, already made up her mind.

Bucky stepped closer, jaw tight.

“You think the Others are gonna send three men into our camp, without weapons, limping and half-dead, just to what? Get tied up and beaten?”

She didn’t blink. “It’s what they want us to think.”

“This isn’t war, Ana.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Feels like it.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re so set on being right, you’d rather tie up your own people than take a risk.”

She stepped forward. “I’d rather keep us alive.”

“And what if they’re telling the truth?” he shot back. “What if they are from the front of the plane? What if we finally found them, and you’re too scared to believe it?”

Silence. Even the jungle went still.

Sawyer looked up from where he was tied, bloody lip curled. “Well, shit,” he muttered. “Didn’t realize we stumbled into the Spanish Inquisition.”

Bucky didn’t laugh. Didn’t even look at him.

He was looking at Ana.

Waiting.

She didn’t say anything. Just turned her back and walked off.

Bucky stood there a moment longer. Then crouched beside the prisoners, reaching to untie the tightest loop around the Korean man's wrists. The man flinched.

“I’m not here to hurt you, guys,” Bucky said quietly. “Just… talk.”

He crouched there for a long time.

Just watching. Listening.

Michael was still trying to explain—something about building a raft, about his son, about how they thought they were the only ones left. Bernard had gone pale when he heard his wife's name. Libby sat down next to him, quietly stunned.

But Bucky… he hadn’t said anything in a while.

He stared at the dirt.

Then, finally, almost too quiet: “Did any of you… when you crashed. Did you meet a woman?”

Sawyer scoffed. “Brother, you’re gonna have to narrow that down.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look up. Just said it.

Said your name.

Michael paused.

Sawyer tilted his head slightly. Then glanced at Michael.

And Bucky saw it. That flash between them. That flicker of recognition.

Sawyer leaned back against the tree, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if this was funny or terrifying.

“Hot chick?” he asked, brow raised. “Sarcastic? Real sharp tongue? Throws a punch like she’s trying to break your jaw?”

Bucky’s head shot up, “You know her?”

Sawyer gave a low whistle. “Damn. You're her husband?”

Michael nodded slowly, eyes still wide. “She’s alive, man. She’s with our people.“

Bucky didn’t breathe.

“If you let us go,” Michael added, voice steadier now, “we can take you back to our camp.”

The knife in Bucky’s hand dropped slightly. His knees locked.

Forty-five days of silence. Of sleeping in dirt. Of burying people. Of listening to the jungle scream at night. Of telling himself hope was dangerous.

And now, in the middle of all that rot and noise—someone finally said it.

You were alive.

Bucky stared at him like he didn’t know how to live with that truth. Like it physically hurt to believe.

But he did. He believed it. And it changed everything.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

He dropped to one knee and started untying the knots around Michael’s wrists.

Ana’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

“Bucky,” she snapped. “Stop.”

Then he untied Sawyer, who muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “‘Bout damn time.”

“You can’t trust them—we can’t trust them.”

Libby, Bernard and Cindy stood frozen. Eko watched quietly, like he’d seen this kind of thing before and knew there was no stopping it.

“They’re telling the truth,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “She’s alive.”

“You don’t know that,” she snapped, grabbing his arm. “They’re lying! You think they just know about her by chance? They’ve been spying on us—watching us! That’s how they know her name—”

He shook her off, harder than he meant to. Stood to his full height, knife still in one hand, gaze fixed and cold.

“I’m going to find my wife.”

Ana stared at him like he’d just said he was walking into the ocean.

“We don’t split up,” she said, jaw tight. “All we’ve had, this whole time—was each other.”

Bucky didn’t even blink.

“I didn’t survive this long just to sit here while she’s alive.”

“You don’t know it’s her—”

“I do.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

His tone cut through the noise, final and grounded. It wasn't hope now—it was conviction.

And Ana knew she’d lost him.

Sawyer rubbed his wrists, grinning faintly. “Well, hell. That was kinda romantic.”

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered.

He looked at Michael.

“Lead the way.”

────────────────────────

Day 48

Three days.

It felt longer. Like time had stretched itself thin just to mock him.

They moved slow, carefully, weaving through the jungle—always watching, always listening. No fires. No loud voices. Every snapped branch sounded like a warning.

Michael led, when Ana allowed it. Bucky kept close behind.

He didn’t talk much. Neither did Jin.

Sawyer did, of course, until Bucky snapped at him on day two and the man finally got the message.

The only person he spoke to with any consistency was Eko. Quiet man, strong presence. Didn’t trust easily, but he listened. And when Bucky told him he believed the men were telling the truth, Eko didn’t argue.

“Sometimes you know something,” he said. “Even if it doesn’t make sense.”

Bernard agreed too. But he had his own reasons—his wife. Rose. Bucky watched the way his eyes lit up every time Michael said her name. The way he walked faster. Stood straighter. Like love could pull a man through hell.

Bucky understood it now.

Michael had said you were alive. Safe.

But Bucky couldn’t believe it. Not fully. Not really.

Not until he saw your face.

His hands stayed busy. Always gripping a knife. Checking the edges. Watching Ana.

Because if there was one thing more exhausting than moving through the jungle, it was stopping Ana Lucia from trying to kill someone every time they stopped.

“They’re leading us into a trap,” she muttered more than once. “You’ll see.”

“We’ve been walking in circles,” she accused. “They’re stalling.”

“This ends with us dead, just like the others.”

She said it like she wanted it to be true. Like hope was the real threat.

Bucky didn’t answer her anymore. Didn’t waste the breath. He didn’t care what she thought.

He just kept walking.

Three days of silence, of overgrown brush, of half-rations and soaked clothes.

Three days of fighting down the fear that maybe—just maybe—Michael was lying.

Three days of you at the edge of every thought.

The sound of your voice. The way you used to tug at his sleeve when you wanted his attention without saying anything. Your laugh. That cheeky grin. Your fists balled up in anger. Your legs tangled with his under the sheets.

Three days of imagining all the things he’d forgotten to memorize. By the end of it, Bucky felt like a man stretched too thin to hold himself together.

But he kept walking. Because you were somewhere on this island.

And he wasn’t going to stop until he found you.

────────────────────────

Day 49

The trees thinned.

And then they were there.

The camp.

It didn’t look like anything Bucky expected. It looked… functional. Organized. There were tents—real tents, patched together with tarps and bamboo. A fire pit at the center. Makeshift tables. Clotheslines strung between trees. People laughing. Cooking.

It looked like a community.

He stopped at the edge of the trees for a second, just to stare.

Forty-nine days of dragging bodies, of tying vines into shelter, of sleeping with one eye open—and here these people were, with lean-tos and food and some sense of peace. It didn’t make sense.

And it didn’t matter.

Because as soon as they stepped into the clearing, heads started turning. Voices rose. People ran.

Someone shouted Michael’s name.

A crowd gathered fast, fast, fast.

Sawyer was grinning like a man returning from war. Jin had already been pulled into a woman's arms. Michael was surrounded.

And Bucky?

He was scanning every face. Every movement. Every figure that stepped forward.

You weren’t there.

He stepped closer to Michael, shoulder tense. “Where is she?”

Michael blinked, still breathless from hugs. “What?”

Bucky grabbed his arm, eyes sharp. “Where is she? You said she was here.”

Michael blinked, still catching his breath. “She’s here, I swear—she is…”

Then he turned, scanning the camp. “Hurley!” he called out over the noise.

A big guy in a ratty tank top looked up from where he was stacking something near the fire pit. “Yo!”

“Hey—uh, have you seen…” Michael said your name, barely heard above the noise of the camp.

Hurley blinked, confused. “Oh, uh—yeah. She was over at the beach, dude. Few hours ago. I think she—”

But Bucky didn’t wait to hear the rest.

He was already moving.

Through the crowd, past the tents, through the narrow trail that cut between the trees toward the rocks and sand. Heart pounding. Legs aching. Breathing too hard.

He didn’t care.

He just ran.

Because if you were real—if you were right there—he wasn’t going to waste another second.

────────────────────────

The net was heavier than you expected.

Saltwater soaked through the rope, tugging at your shoulders with every step as you dragged it over the rocks. Your fingers ached from gripping the mesh, skin rough from days of sun and sea.

The tide was low. The sun was sharp. Everything felt normal—or what counted as normal now. You'd done this a dozen times by now. Haul the net. Clean the fish. Bring them back to camp. Maybe argue with Charlie about the seasoning. Maybe steal a mango on the way from Sawyer's old stash.

You didn’t know what was happening back at camp.

Didn’t know what was coming.

You dropped the net near a tide pool and crouched beside it, pulling a stubborn fish free. You were humming something under your breath. Something stupid and old. Bowie maybe. Or something your mom used to play when you were too young to care.

The world was quiet.

Until someone yelled your name.

Sharp. Familiar. Ripped from the chest of someone you hadn’t heard in forty-nine goddamn days.

Your whole body locked. Every muscle, every nerve, frozen. Your hands were still tangled in the net. Your knees dug into the sand. But your ears—

They rang.

Because it wasn’t just anyone shouting.

It was him.

That voice you’d heard in dreams, in half-asleep dazes, in the middle of the night when the wind sounded just close enough to pretend.

And now—here it was.

Real.

You turned slowly.

Breath caught. Eyes wide.

And there he was.

Standing on the rocks, chest rising fast, shirt torn, hair longer, face hardened, sharper—but still him.

Still Bucky.

Your mouth opened. But no sound came out. Because you were staring at a ghost.

And he was staring at you. Like you were the only real thing in the world.

He didn’t wait.

And neither did you.

The second your eyes locked, your feet moved. Faster than your brain could keep up. Faster than your heart could beat.

You sprinted across the rocks, barely feeling the scrape of stone on your feet, barely seeing anything but him. And he was already coming toward you—full speed, wide-eyed, desperate, like the breath had left his body the second he saw your face.

And then—contact.

You hit him like a wave, arms flinging around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist before either of you could think. He caught you without a stutter, without a sound of protest, like his body had been waiting for this weight again. Like he was built to hold you.

His hands locked around you—one splayed across your back, the other cradling the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. His forehead pressed hard to your shoulder as he held you like hell itself wouldn’t tear you away again.

You sobbed into the curve of his neck, breath hitting skin. You couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t even breathe properly.

“You’re alive,” you gasped, voice breaking. “You’re alive—oh my god—”

“I am,” he whispered, over and over. “I am. I’m here.”

“I thought—I thought you died—on the plane—on the water—I thought—”

“I know,” he murmured, arms tightening. “I know. I thought you were gone too.”

And then it hit you.

The last thing you said to him.

The last damn thing.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, the words spilling out of you like a flood. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, Bucky—I didn’t mean what I said—I didn’t mean it—I didn’t—”

“Hey—hey,” he said quickly, firmly, pulling back just enough to cup your face in both hands. “Stop. Don’t. You don’t have to—”

“I do,” you cried. “That fight—that stupid fight—I was so mean—I told you I didn’t want to see your face, and then—then you were gone—”

He kissed you.

Just once.

Quick and desperate, like he needed to shut you up and keep breathing at the same time.

“And now I’m here,” he said, voice cracking, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m here, okay? We made it.”

You gripped the fabric of his shirt like it might vanish if you let go.

He held you like he’d die if he didn’t.

And for the first time in forty-nine days, the ache in your chest stopped growing.

Because he was real.

Your fingers curled in his hair, trembling. You pulled back just enough to see his face—bruised, sunburned, beautiful.

“You found me,” you said, voice breaking all over again.

Bucky looked at you, eyes wet, a half-broken smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

And then he kissed you again—full and sure—like he’d never let you go again.

a/n | lowkey my propaganda for you guys to watch Lost. I'm only on season 3 btw

Anyway to help you guys, and put faces to names, here's the ones I named in the fic:

Jack, Kate & Locke

Michael, Sawyer & Jin

Ana Lucia, Eko & Bernard

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@xamapolax @gilwm @shereadzzz @princeescalus @onlyheretowastetime @Madlyinlovewithmattmurdockk @holycastoroli @s-sh-ne @Finnickodairslut @macbaetwo @xoxoloverb @ashpeace888 @bethjs-2005 @theewiselionessss @bythecloset @rougettq @herejustforbuckybarnes @deedzreads @novaslov @luminousvenomvagrant @sgtjbbhasmyheart @avivarougestan @shoutingcardinal @shellsbae00 @sired4urmama @aoi-targaryen @winchestert101 @n3ptoonz @jeongiegram @fckmebarnes @excusememrbarnes @thealloveru2 @avgdestitute @millercontracting @ellierosed18 @buckmybarnes @lilac13 @fayeatheart @c3liaaaaa @ozwriterchick

those who couldn't be tagged are in bold :(

[softestqueeen]

current forever boyfriend

pairing: clark kent x gn!reader summary: you try a new trend on your boyfriend, clark kent, calling him your current boyfriend. how will he react? warnings: none, just a bit of fluff I wc: 574 words a/n: this is a request from the lovely @hughjackmanadict! i hope it lives uo to your expectations, i've noticed that i always write kent to be kinda pathetic but- that's kinda the vibe he gives me? it might be kinda similiar to my other superman fic, but anyways. enjoy <3

superman masterlist I masterlist overview

"Today, me and my current boyfriend," here you pointed at Clark, who's eybrows raised suddenly once he registered your words,"are going to try Metropolis' new donut shop and-"

Current boyfriend, Clark thought to himself. Current? His brows furrowed even more before he interrupted you.

"Uhm, sorry. Could we maybe take a short break? What did you just say?"

You really had to concentrate, trying not to laugh.

"I just said, that we were trying that new donut shop, like we discussed," you tried to sound and look as earnest as possible, even tilting your head a bit and frowning.

"No, no, I heard that part. But what did you call me?" Clarks voice sounded almost desperate, going up towards the end of his sentence.

"My boyfriend? Did I say something else?"

Had you not even realised that you called him your current boyfriend? Was this relationship just temporary for you? Did you plan on leaving him? Before Clark could get completely lost in his thoughts, you touched his hand and softly called his name.

"Are you alright? Tell me, what's going on in that pretty head?" you were surprised with how earnest you sounded, especially because you were slowly starting to feel bad for him. And, of course, you already knew exactly what was wrong.

"It's nothing, really. Just- I dunno, you called me your current 'boyfriend'? What did you mean by that? he sounded so sad and genuinely confused, almost as if trying to solve a puzzle with only hald of it's pieces.

You turned off the camera before reassuring him, "Oh, I must have not realised that. I just meant that, in this moment, you are my boyfriend. Obviously."

Clark didn't seem all that happy with your answer, a frown still apparent on his face.

"It just sounded like- You're not leaving me are you? When you say 'current boyfriend' you're not already thinking about the next one, are you?" before you could interrupt him, to tell him that that was definetely not what you meant, he continues, "Because, I know we haven't been together that long, but i love you so much. And you are definetely it for me.

"Not just currently, but forever. And if I'm not the same for you, then that's okay, but I just want you to be honest with me and tell me," towards the end of his little speech his voice grew silent, almost as if anticipating you to do exactly that - telling him that you don't want him to be your forever.

Which could not be further from the truth.

"Oh Clark, oh baby, I didn't mean it like that at all! I love you so much and you make me so incredibly happy, I don't know what I'd do without you. I want forever with you too, and I never want you to think otherwise, do you understand?" You turn completely towards him now, hands reaching up to cup his face.

You could immediately when the words registered, the spark returning to his blue eyes.

"Really?" he asked, voice just above a whisper. The way his voice still sounded so sad and fragile almost borke your heart.

You didn't answer him, just leaned up, connecting your lips with his. His reaction was instand, hands reaching down, grabbing you rhips while he let his tongue glide between his lips.

Safe to say, you did not review that new donut shop in the end.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open! (now also for superman)

taglist:@silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@mmmmokdok

[tastesoftamriel]

Something Talviel this way comes....maybe...

Hi everyone, it's been a while and I hope you're all keeping well! Since I was last properly active here on Tastes of Tamriel, a lot (and I mean a LOT) has changed in my life; some for the better, some for the worse.

Instead of writing a 2km-long post though, I'm just putting feelers out there about your thoughts on Twitch streaming. There'll be the opportunity for catchup Q&A, book/paper reviews, maybe some snack reviews, and of course maybe a smattering of gaming (if I can get out of my current gaming rut).

I have no idea what to do, when I'm starting, or anything like that. All I know is that recently a lot of people have been bugging me to start streaming, and since I don't have a huge amount going on at the moment, it's worth a shot innit?

Anyway, would love to hear some feedback on what sort of content you Twitch people enjoy because the last time I streamed was ESO for a grand total of two weeks in 2021. Unfortunately, I will not be able to do any cooking streams as I simply don't have the right space and equipment for it, but I'm open to any other suggestions! Inbox is still closed so drop your thoughts in the comments.

Stay safe, eat well, be kind. ~Tal

[3hks]

concerning question but do u have advice on how to write physical and emotional abuse? 😓 i dont want to offend readers or anything with how i portray it and terribly need help.

Heyyyy! Abuse is a difficult topic to talk and write about, so I strongly respect your willingness to study the topic in order to accurately represent it within your story.

Physical abuse is the more straightforward of the two. It's a character harming, hurting, abusing, another character physically. You can see the bruise. The scar. The cut. I'm not saying it doesn't leave an impact on their mental health, but it's primarily characterized by the bodily harm upon a character.

You might see that an abused character isn't exactly getting abused every day. If they're living with an abusive parent, for example, the parent may only harm their child when they're in a bad mood or inebriated, creating a sense of fragile unpredictability in which your character is nearly always tense and expecting to get hit.

Abuse, physical or non-physical, thrives off of fear. It's impossible not to fear the abuser when they're harming and threatening you, which makes it all the harder to escape such a relationship. This is why it's crucial to depict emotions such as fear, anxiety, and even desperation--because they're life-altering byproducts from such experiences.

These feelings can be depicted in small reactions. A flinch when the character hears someone open the door. Holding their breath when they pass their oppressor. Avoiding eye contact.

You can even show these effects outside of their relationship with their abuser. It might be the way they want to but can't fully trust someone. It might be the way they subtly recoil when someone raises their hand--even in a playful manner. They react to actions.

Emotional abuse, however, is more difficult to fully capture. This is because emotional abuse often comes in forms of manipulation. Where physical abuse injures the body, emotional abuse targets the mind and normally occurs verbally.

It's backhanded comments. It's the unexpected yet harsh criticism. It's words twisted to sound like love.

Not everyone falls victim to verbal abuse immediately. Unlike physical abuse, where one or two scenes can traumatize someone, some people don't believe manipulation as easily.

One comment about your character's weight might temporarily make them feel self-conscious, but it's likely going to fade in a day. Two comments could also lead to the same outcome. Maybe even three.

Emotional abuse is about repetition. These comments keep flying at your character until they can't help but begin to believe in something they were against.

This creates confusion, doubt, hopelessness, and self-consciousness. Your character is suddenly aware of all the "flaws" that's been brought up and thinks that they have to change because they aren't good enough.

Ultimately, emotional abuse leads to someone questioning and doubting their self-worth. They don't think they're valuable, they think they're too imperfect, causing them to fall down the rabbit hole of negative thoughts and perceptions. This makes it difficult for them to escape from the abuse, especially if the perpetrator is utilizing manipulation tactics such as gaslighting.

Of course, these hurtful thoughts also impact the character's actions, similarly to how physical abuse does too. Perhaps they were told that they talk too much--that they talk too loudly, causing them to speak less with others despite wanting to share their opinions.

Overall, abuse--physical and mental--is haunting. It sticks forever, lingering in your character's conscious and subconscious mind and shows itself through subtle statements, thoughts, and actions.

I hope this has helped! I wouldn't say there's only one "right" way to portray abuse, but as long as you understand the foundations of abuse and the effects of it, I believe you're at a good place to begin working from!

Thank you for your request!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[halfetirosie]

💐 Important info from the [Wilting Flowers, Burning Dreams] PV! 💐 (Reaction post)

Finally, we're back to having interesting backgrounds! (The last couple event didn't give me much to work with, comment-wise.)

1) 😮 Umbrella lamps??

I've never seen this before! What a neat concept! (Maybe this is a thing in other parts of the world and I just don't know about it, but this is really cool!) I really love interesting/unique decoration choices!

2) Gorgeous background, but more importantly----

Father getting his own swagged-out perch!!!! ✨✨✨

Most of the time, Father's perches are more on the scrappy/ramshackle side. It's nice to see him get a really high-quality one like Topper always does! ♡♡♡

3) I wonder if Rei's rooms will somehow be connected to the 1000 Origami Cranes for a Wish thing??

Of course, this might just be a bird-themes design choice. But since the SSR teaser mentions "remembering things from long ago," I wonder if he recalls trying to make a wish this way when he was a kid????---Shoutout to Rei's sad childhood....

4) NO BOOZE IN DANTE'S ROOM????? 😱😱😱😱😱

Don't look at me like that! Day-Drinker Dante is one of my favorite running jokes!

*Sigh*

Well, at least there's mysterious bottles and sus incense... And the shibari rope...

Ah, but from the looks of the scrolls and brushes on the table, will his rooms have something to do with calligraphy? Or maybe art, since there's a little Sooley drawing on the open scroll on the table?

₍^. .^₎⟆ ♡ ♡ ♡

5) FUCK! I wish I knew more about flowers so I could identify all of these!!! (๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭💢

The only one I immediately know is Kuya's---of course Kuya's theme flower is the toxic spider lily 😂---but I'm not sure about the others.

I thought Dante's might be a certain type of rose? And Rei's might be a cherry blossom? But I really don't know. 😔

6) 🎉🎉🎉 TOPLESS KUYA!!!!! YES BITCHESSSSS!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

Has anyone else noticed that Kuya has been very clothed in his intimacy rooms for like, a long time?

We haven't seen his bare chest since Sunburt Fever!!!! What's up with that?! Does Peepaw Kuya get cold too easily?

Kuya may be a Deplorable Bastard Man™, but at least he's pretty, and [MOST of] his intimacy rooms are good shit. 🔥🔥🔥

This one looks extra promising, since we'll be able to see the booba. ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

7) OH FUCK, THE LIL' SQUINT MAKES HIS SMIRK EVEN MORE DEVIOUS....❤️🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

(⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)

---PFFFFT!!!

Why did he smack the flute against his hand like it's a club??? Is he gonna use it as a weapon???

Dante, you're such a dork! ꉂ (≧ヮ≦)

8) 🎉🎉🎉 HELL YEAH, TOPLESS DANTE!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

Love it when he get a good view of his tattoos!!!! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

That shoulder be lookin very chomp-able...

And the head-cradle is so good!!!! Get loved on, idiot!!!! ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

9) This little animation of Rei lifting Father up higher is so funny to me!!! 🤣🤣🤣

You'd think he'd do that to show off Father doing some little stunt/special action, but all he does is just push up his glasses.

So then why???? 🤔

Is Rei showing off how cool his owl buddy is just for existing? Kinda like when a proud parent is showing off their normal-ass kid, but in reverse?

Or is Father's lil' glasses-adjusting animation supposed to be threatening? Like Rei's saying, "Don't mess with me, because my dad is right here"????

I NEED ANSWERS!

10) H-HOLY SHIT....

(⸝⸝⸝ ◉﹃ ◉ ⸝⸝⸝) 

HOLY SHIT

(⸝⸝⸝ ◉ 〇 ◉ ⸝⸝⸝)

TOPLESS REI TOO?!!!!!!!

🎉🎉🎉 WE'RE 3 FOR 3!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

(You know, for a porn game, the character don't get naked nearly enough. I'm really happy to see so much skin in this PV!)

Bondage Enjoyers being fed well! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

---And FUCK, REI IS SO GADDAMN PRETTY....

💐 End of report! 💐

[kirain]

@falesiastuff A little something to hopefully cheer you up! 💜

Another morning at the Academy, but far from calm. Sunlight flickered across the desk in restless waves, shadows crawling along the edges of crumpled parchment and torn-out pages. Kate sat hunched in the chair, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the mess in front of her as if she might piece together something salvageable from the chaos. She growled under her breath and pressed the graphite stylus to the paper—too hard.

The tip snapped with a sharp crack.

"Of course," she muttered bitterly, flinging the broken piece aside.

Another ruined sentence, another failure. The letters never looked right. The curves of the Nevarran dialect eluded her, somehow both too elegant and too rigid. It danced fluidly in speech, but when she tried to write it, it turned to gravel in her hands.

The Baroness would sneer.

You must be pleasing to him, my dear. Wile and beguile him. If you cannot manage a simple letter, what use are you to anyone?

Kate snatched the journal with a trembling hand, holding it aloft—ready to throw it across the room, out the window, into the hearth, anywhere—but the soft sound of the door opening froze her mid-motion.

And who should stand before her but the one man she didn't want to see her frustrated—Professor Emmrich Volkarin. His eyes landed on her instantly, taking in the tense shoulders, the quivering hands, the look of someone cornered by their expectations.

"Lady Erilan?"

She hastily set the journal down, eyes darting away, embarrassment blooming hot in her cheeks.

He didn't scold. Didn't comment on the broken stylus or the mess atop her desk. He simply walked towards her, his voice bright and cordial.

"Are you all right?"

She hesitated, shame sharp in her throat, but the words pushed through nonetheless.

"Forgive me. I'm... struggling with the dialect," she admitted. "I can understand it, but writing it—structuring it—I just can't get it right."

She left the rest unspoken.

If you can't master Nevarran, my little Kirkwall rat, she heard the Baroness hiss, I'll have to punish you. Again.

A tender expression touched Emmrich's brow, as though he could sense her distress. He stepped closer, brushed the broken writing tool aside, and took her hand with disarming reverence.

"May I?" he asked.

Kate stiffened, wary of his intentions, but gave a small nod.

"Excellent."

He reached for another stylus and, rather unselfconsciously, guided her fingers around the base. His hand enveloped hers, firm but gentle, and together they pressed the tip to a fresh page. Slowly, carefully, he helped her shape the letters—one by one—explaining the proper verb conjugations as they wrote.

"You see?" he whispered. "You're not far off. Your instincts are good. Here—just a bit more curve. Yes, like that."

He loosened his grip, giving her more control.

"Yes, that sentence is beautiful. No, no—that word goes before 'away', not after. Sometimes it helps to speak it aloud as you write. There you go. Perfect."

Kate said nothing. She could hardly breathe. The warmth of his hand over hers, the humble confidence in his voice, the patience—it made her chest ache in a way she couldn't allow.

But Maker, she wanted to.

She watched the graphite glide across the paper, his encouragement a melody in her ear, his chest resting against her back—and for a moment, the Baroness faded from her thoughts.

When they'd finished a few neat lines, Emmrich gave a delighted hum of approval and, much to Kate's dismay, withdrew—the space between them vast and unexpectedly cold.

"Writing is no contest of speed, Lady Erilan," he said, his voice comforting. "It takes time. You should be proud of how much you've accomplished already. As for myself, I only speak Nevarran and the common tongue. You're a very impressive young woman."

Kate blinked, the tightness in her chest easing ever so slightly. She looked up at him, eyes wide with something soft and restrained. Gratitude, yes—and something more dangerous. Something she had never dared to feel.

Safe.

"...Thank you," she said quietly.

He smiled. "Anytime, my dear."

Random drawing of Kate. I needed something simple cause I felt down. Writing the story it's obviously difficult and it takes time, ok, but I always think that is so dumb DX.

I need to build up my patience.

[parameciam]

on Quan Yizhen, autism, and autistic characterization

Let me preface this by saying that this post is my own interpretation + some headcanons, all based on my own experiences as an autistic person, or the experiences of other autistic friends. And this is also my way to fight back on the constant slander/ableist treatment that Quan Yizhen tends to receive. The other day I was too mad to actually elaborate on this topic. I am still mad though xD

Also, again: autism is a spectrum, that’s why I prefaced this by saying that this comes from my own experiences, those are what informs my reading of his character in the book and what dictates how I extrapolate the things I do when I write him in my fics. Most people who follow me already know, but I am a late diagnosed, audhd afab, from latam c: Therefore my opinions are coming from the western side of fandom, and I cannot (nor i’m not trying to) speak about the chinese side of fandom or their views on autism: i don't know anything about it.

Gentle suggestion: if you are a “it’s really not that deep” truther, stop reading this now :3 

So, now to the points. Which will be: I. infantilization and other common autistic struggles and how those are shown in canon; II. ableism and mischaracterization; and III. the positive sides of Quan Yizhen’s character and how those also relate to autism. (After a cut, since this is a REALLY long post)

small note: any excerpts included in this post are taken from 7seas official english translation of TGCF. I have not read the revised edition, so I don't know if/how Quan Yizhen's characterization changed there :)

I. On infantilization and other common autistic struggles

The fact that Quan Yizhen is used as a bit of comical relief in the novel probably doesn’t help people to try and read beyond his apparent “goofiness”, and I’ve also seen a lot of infantilization directed at him, based on the few things we see him do / act interested in during canon. And yes, it’s easy to latch onto those funny/cute details and forget that he is actually 

An accomplished martial artist, considered a prodigy way before ascending,

An accomplished martial god, who ranks in the top ten during the battle of the lanterns,

A martial god with a strong base of believers even while he’s working on his own and without the help of any deputies,

An adult, who has lived for at least two centuries,

Above all, an actual human being, with complex feelings and thoughts, just like the rest of the cast.

Sadly, infantilization is an issue that most autistic people have faced at some point in their lives. There’s a lot of reasons to explain why that happens: 

Needing support with a variety of things (because of executive dysfunction, struggles with social communication, and a long et cetera), which makes others perceive autistic people as less capable, immature, or directly childlike, be it out of pity or a misdirected “benevolence”.

Having strong, specific and intense interests, especially when those interests are not aligned with the societal expectations for your age, or are not “productive” and therefore seen as less valuable.

Defiance against social rules — be it explicit or unspoken rules — (I will elaborate on this later)

The societal bias that associates autism with being “mentally challenged” to put it gently. No need to elaborate on this one -.- 

And too many other equally fucked up things. 

Now back to our blorbo. During canon, Quan Yizhen is shown to struggle with understanding the world around him during his disciple days, requiring the help of his shixiong to navigate his experience in the sect (and in life in general). Yin Yu himself ends up infantilizing Quan Yizhen, something that negatively affects both of them in the long run, by denying Quan Yizhen the opportunity to learn healthy coping mechanisms and strategies that would allow him to fit better in the world, or at least to get a better grasp of the expectations placed on him, so he could manage his behaviors in a different way. 

I don’t mean that Quan Yizhen should have been forced to mask, or taught how to placate other people even when he doesn’t want to. Just that if the consequences of his attitude had been explained to him, he would have a better understanding (as a child) of what was expected of him, and why. That doesn’t mean he would have necessarily changed, but he would have a different understanding of his own actions, and how those affect other people. Because he wasn’t intending to hurt others or be inconsiderate on purpose! 

But making constant exceptions for him and justifying all his actions was not helpful for him to understand other people, or social expectations, or how to interact with others in positive ways without being rejected, or even how to make himself understood by others. 

Yin Yu refused to ask him to change, or even to admit that Quan Yizhen was annoying in some way. That refusal is not a bad thing in and of itself, but by shielding him in that manner, Quan Yizhen doesn’t have any incentive to grow as a person, leaving him stagnant when it comes to dealing with other people. Of course Yin Yu never intended for his attitude to be detrimental to Quan Yizhen! He himself was still very young when Quan Yizhen joined the sect, and clearly was not completely equipped for dealing with such a big responsibility. He still did his best, and all he did came from a deep love and acceptance of who his shidi was. 

But that doesn’t erase the negative consequences of doing so, sadly :c

Now, let’s talk about some other things that Quan Yizhen is shown to struggle with during the novel: 

Keeping himself clean, and dealing with his bodily needs:

“Yin Yu-shixiong, the way Quan Yizhen eats is unbearable! He sprays his rice everywhere at mealtimes, and he eats three times as much as everyone else! It’s like he’s a starving ghost or something. No one can eat well with him hogging the rice bucket like that!”

This clumsy way of eating can be related to things like dyspraxia, issues with proprioception, and a disconnection with his own body and needs — all common in neurodivergent people —. 

Regarding his hunger: I myself tend to forget to eat and drink until I’m already starving and dehydrated. I genuinely won’t notice the signals my body is giving me. And with his intense focus on training, he definitely needed to eat a lot (especially at first, to compensate for his malnutrition after living in the streets, and then, to sustain his growth! He was just at that age where you start growing a lot!). Food insecurity is a very traumatic experience and it’s hard to grow out of it: not knowing when your next meal will be or if there will be enough food for you can cause reactions like the one he has.

Of course you could also say that this “it’s just from his upbringing in the streets”, but I do think it’s deeper and more interesting than that, given all the ways he’s shown to act during the novel.

Regulating his body and his emotions: 

“That jerk never cooperates with others, and he’s so inconsiderate of everyone! He only cares about showing off and randomly throwing his fists around. I’d rather be paired with the weakest shidi than with him”

“He’s always so cranky in the mornings—I worry every day that he’ll kick me and break my ribs!”

Important to note that these are both outsider accounts of his behavior, coming from people who hate him. But even this can help us understand how he usually acts: i.e. I interpret that he doesn’t like relying on others, gives his best whenever he fights, and that is taken as being an inconsiderate showoff. 

Also, he has trouble waking up and acts aggressively when his rest is interrupted, which may be explained by how tired he is everyday, both from training so intensely and from having to deal with other people who actively despise him + being constantly rejected. Those things pile up, and with how sleepy he is shown to be later, I headcanon him as someone who is suffering from constant autistic burnout later on. 

Emotional regulation is a struggle for neurodivergent people in general, and autistic people also struggle with it. Some of us also have a deep disconnection with our own emotions, or have trouble naming them, distinguishing them or understanding them at all. Strong reactions like the one Quan Yizhen exhibited as a child when waking up are not uncommon (and since this account comes from the disciples who hate him, we just see one half of it. It wouldn’t be surprising if they routinely woke him up in a mean way)

Understanding social cues and hidden meanings:

Any normal person would’ve picked up on how forced the words were, but Quan Yizhen seemed to take them at face value.

This is a constant problem for many autistic people (including me). Being literal in our understanding of conversations and not realizing there’s another layer of meaning causes many problems. This can happen with serious topics, with jokes, and to be honest with any kind of interaction. It can be very humiliating sometimes. I routinely don’t realize people are not being serious about something and take a joke as a real statement and then go Oh. And I’m someone who grew up undiagnosed and with a constant need to mask + doing my best to understand other people, literally studying every interaction and making a constant effort about it. I still make many social blunders despite how much I care.

Quan Yizhen had no reason to not trust Yin Yu or look for second meanings in their interactions. Why would he doubt him? If no one points it out to you, it can be very hard or outright impossible to know that you did not understand. 

Yin Yu found him both exasperating and a little funny. “What do you mean, it’s no big deal?! Why don’t you give it a try, then?”

Once again, Quan Yizhen took those words at face value, assumed Yin Yu actually wanted him to ascend, and then did exactly that in less than six months. 

Accepting social rules and hierarchies, especially when those go against his own, strong sense of justice

Emphasis on accepting and not understanding. It’s not that autistic people don’t understand rules, it’s that frequently those rules don’t make sense to us and many times go against fairness; same thing with hierarchies. We see the rules, we understand what they mean, and then refuse to follow them, or to just accept them without pointing out the inconsistencies or injustices they represent.

“They cussed at me first. I don’t even know them. They said I was a low-ranking heavenly official and yelled at me for no reason, then they laughed at me and told me to scram and not to block their way. I told them to apologize, and they wouldn’t, so I beat them up. They only shut up when I beat them up, otherwise I wouldn’t have hit them.”

He told them to apologize before beating them up, and they didn’t, and only then he defended himself in the only way that ever worked. He is trying to behave in a way that doesn’t cause problems, but when they kept bullying him, he disregarded the rules he previously tried to comply with, and defended himself. Why should he place those rules above his own well being? And, by the way, let's remember that he's 19 at most here, he was constantly bullied by adult people. Whole ass grown adults picked on him, and he still managed to try to keep his composure and talk before getting to violence.

For the bullies, being a low ranking heavenly official meant that person was inherently beneath them. But for Quan Yizhen such hierarchy existing does not mean that he finds people higher up to be inherently more important or worthy. 

“Are low-ranked heavenly officials beneath other people?” Quan Yizhen asked. “No,” Yin Yu replied. Was that true? It was obvious that he didn’t believe his own words, and Quan Yizhen noticed.

He asks Yin Yu — the person that has always helped him understand the ways of the world — to try to make sense of this situation. Maybe shixiong can explain. But Yin Yu falters, and when that happens, it’s when Quan Yizhen openly says that he doesn’t like the heavens. If those are the rules he’s supposed to follow and not even shixiong can make it right, it’s not worth it.

“He’s never one to take a beating without fighting back. It’s not that they don’t pick on anyone else, it’s that everyone else understands how to endure that kind of provocation, but he doesn’t.”

It’s not that he doesn’t understand! It’s that he won’t let others stomp all over him just because there’s some expectation of it based on some externally imposed hierarchy. It’s unfair, and therefore wrong, so he won’t stand by that.

Disclaimer before the next paragraph: justice is subjective, if you read the next thing in bad faith I will shoot a laser beam at you, etc. Anyways. Many autistic people report that they feel they have a strong sense of justice / high justice sensitivity, which is usually related to diagnostic criteria like “mental rigidity” and “black and white thinking”. And personally, I hate how diagnostic criteria are always focused on deficits. But this is not the place to discuss the semantics of it. Whatever the reasons for this justice sensitivity, it often results in conflicts coming from pointing out situations and attitudes that others would rather not, and from fighting back against the norm whenever there’s a perceived injustice being reinforced by norms or authorities. Emphasis on perceived injustice: again, justice is subjective. And also: autistic people can have shit moral takes and a skewed moral compass. I'm not saying that autistic people have flawless and objectively better sense of justice.

“I don’t know about any worshippers,” Quan Yizhen replied. “I’ve just been doing my own thing, and they came crowding into my temples for some weird reason. I killed a wolf yao the other day.”

This bit also shows how it’s quite evident that either: no one has explained to him how things are supposed to work in the Heavenly Court once you’ve ascended, or he’s deliberately ignoring those rules and expectations because those don’t make sense to him anyway. Especially if we consider how, not long ago, he was being mistreated and bullied constantly and then suddenly, as soon as he ascended, everyone treated him as if he was the best thing ever. Of course Quan Yizhen has no respect for such people and such arbitrary things! 

The disregard for hierarchies doesn’t mean Quan Yizhen doesn’t understand them or is not aware that those exist. i.e. regarding the iconic scene where he throws a bed at Pei Ming, and in the words of another friend:

Pei Ming is an elder due to being so much older. Pei Ming is also a senior due to being a god much longer. Pei Ming is also someone of higher social status due to his number of followers. 

And yet Quan Yizhen still threw a bed at his head.  

I think Quan Yizhen definitely has a personal social hierarchy, but it's like... Yin Yu at the top, Xie Lian next, and then everybody else. Which Hua Cheng can totally relate to.

Paying attention to things outside of his own “narrow” interests

“Before, I could train at least sixteen hours a day. Now half of that time is taken up by talking and listening to nonsense, by greeting and visiting people.”

Whatever businesses he has to attend now (this is from his time as Yin Yu’s deputy) is nonsense in comparison with what he wishes to be doing. His only focus in life were martial arts and shixiong, basically, so having to pay attention to other things is difficult for him. 

This was made worse by, again, his elders in the sect constant coddling and enabling: in the sect, he was allowed to skip lessons + Yin Yu’s soft spot for him prevented him from putting healthier boundaries in place. Who would not have difficulties with such an abrupt change in expectations? And even though he’s not enjoying it, he’s trying to do his best to do his job. He’s not constantly looking for conflicts, either: he’s picked on and outright bullied by other people, which is not the same at all. 

And, by the way, autistic people tend to have trouble with changes in general, and unexpected ones are worse. Routines are important and help maintain a sense of safety: you know what to expect and have less chances to be unprepared to respond to the things happening around you — a source of anxiety for many autistic people, used to fucking up accidentally or ending up in the middle of some misunderstanding or Unwanted Situation (™) —. 

Special interests and hyperfixations are not only an interest, by the way, but a source of comfort, recharging and safety for neurodivergent people. It’s not “a hobby” but something that helps us in many different ways.

Social communication, empathy, and understanding other people’s feelings

Yin Yu tried instead, “It’s…because ascension is really hard. Since it didn’t come easily and we finally made it here, I want to try to do better.” Quan Yizhen, however, didn’t think much of that reason. “Ascension isn’t that big of a deal! It doesn’t matter if you don’t ascend.”

This exchange is quite painful ;A; Quan Yizhen is being honest and blunt — yet another common trait for autistic people, who tend to have a straightforward and literal style of communication — and has no ill intentions, but of course, that doesn’t take into account his counterpart feelings. 

Getting to understand other people’s feelings and developing empathy (be it in a cognitive or an emotional manner of understanding) can be difficult but it’s not impossible. Even if you’re unable to directly relate to someone emotionally, you can learn a lot about other people’s emotions and thoughts in an intellectual / cognitive way. But guess what: that requires practice, it doesn’t come for free, and it can also be very exhausting.

Empathy is also one of those spectrum things for autistic people: some will find it really hard to feel it and others experience such a hyper level of empathy that it’s hard to listen to traumatic stories or watch a sad commercial.

Quan Yizhen had no way to learn how to do that in between everyone else's constant rejections + Yin Yu’s refusal to be more honest about his own feelings (by that, I mean things like his annoyance, frustration, etc.) 

Usually, constant rejection makes you either overcompensate a lot or close off completely. Hypervigilance of other people’s reactions and microexpressions, overanalyzing every interaction… Or just “not giving a fuck” (and suffer inside, because you, actually, do care)

Also, it’s important to understand that, during this interaction, Quan Yizhen was not trying to be dismissive about Yin Yu’s feelings on ascension: he’s just trying to say that Yin Yu was already special, with or without ascending. In the words of a friend, he wanted to encourage Yin Yu to throw off this burden that was not making him happy. As autistic I see no neglecting here, he truly cares about Yin Yu. But he didn't know that Yin Yu has different values, because Yin Yu didn't speak about that.  What’s important to Quan Yizhen is Yin Yu’s happiness. Yin Yu doesn’t have to prove anything to Quan Yizhen: in his eyes, he’s already worthy. Ascension is not what makes him so great in his eyes. But Yin Yu does not think the same… and didn’t explain his reasons.

Again: none of this came out of malice or ill intentions. It’s just unfortunate miscommunication.

Quan Yizhen nodded. “Someone told me it was because they greeted you as the wrong person.” Yin Yu’s face dropped at this. But Quan Yizhen didn’t notice at all, his lips curving upward. “That’s too funny—so stupid!”

Yet another example of how easy it is to unintentionally hurt other people’s feelings because of this. And Yin Yu, once again (be it out of pride, exhaustion, resignation, frustration, a mix of all that maybe) won’t tell Quan Yizhen that his feelings were hurt. And thus, Quan Yizhen has no reason to change his behavior nor a chance to reflect on it!

Which is particularly sad, because the least he would want to do, ever, would be hurting Yin Yu.

“What is wrong with you?!” Yin Yu yelled. This was the very first time Quan Yizhen had seen Yin Yu so angry, and he blinked as confusion colored his face. A few heavenly officials who were passing by also snuck glances at them. [...] Quan Yizhen didn’t understand at all. He probably thought he had done a good deed. He had mentioned Yin Yu, and that was all. He didn’t think there could be problems beyond that. However, Yin Yu looked truly furious, and for the first time Quan Yizhen seemed to want to say something—but he stopped, looking like he didn’t dare. A moment later, he managed to mumble, “Shixiong, why are you mad? Did I do something wrong?”

To me, one of the most painful parts of QuanYin’s dynamic is that none of their issues with miscommunication are intentional nor come from ill will. Things progress to this extreme in their story out of love. Yin Yu was patient, protective and doting to the point he couldn’t correct Quan Yizhen when it would have been better to do so. And Quan Yizhen’s admiration, love and trust for his shixiong renders him blind to everything else, so he doesn’t realize that shixiong was hiding things from him until it’s too late. 

He never intended to hurt Yin Yu, and since Yin Yu never pointed out that it was happening, he had no way to behave in a different way. If you don’t know you’re making a mistake, you cannot correct it!

He has no way to understand what it is that he did wrong, or why Yin Yu had distanced himself from him so much. He has no way to make sense of what’s happening, and it’s unfair to expect him to be able to do so without help, when all his life he was kept from being able to do so (even if it wasn’t with the intent of hurting him).

II. Ableism and mischaracterization

Several characters are guilty of treating Quan Yizhen in ableist ways (being condescending, infantilizing him, acting as if he was mentally challenged, etc). This, coupled with the way Quan Yizhen’s character is presented through the words of other characters or through rumors, makes it easier for people to misunderstand his character, or to take as truth some statements that are meant to be contested as we get to know more about him and his backstory.

Some examples of the ableist treatment he gets:

During his time at the sect, his fellow disciples and notoriously, Jian Yu, spoke of him as if he was brainless or insane:

Jian Yu said. “So what if he ascended? His brain won’t get any smarter no matter how many centuries he lives.”

Another example, this time coming from Pei Ming:

“...” Pei Ming’s expression seemed to indicate that he couldn’t be bothered with children, and he turned to Xie Lian.

And also from other characters:

Quan Yizhen was suddenly filled with awe and respect. “So he really was borrowing spiritual power just now! He got stronger so fast.” “Complete bullshit. What do you know—” Mu Qing couldn’t help but exclaim, but he quickly stopped himself and forcibly changed his tune, likely deciding there was no need to explain this to a man-child like Quan Yizhen. “Yes, that’s right, he was borrowing spiritual power.” Pei Ming laughed heartily. “That’s right, indeed. But you can’t borrow spiritual power like that so casually. Understand, Qi Ying?” Feng Xin gaped. “What are you all saying?! Do you actually believe him?!”

This particular instance is hilarious, considering how quickly Quan Yizhen understands what’s happening, while the others insist he’s wrong or keep treating him as if he was a child.

Even from Jun Wu:

“It is because his mind is simple—he is ignorant and foolish, blunt and savage, and incapable of earning anyone’s respect.” 

There’s a comment that Pei Ming makes that’s not directed at Quan Yizhen, but that’s interesting in the overall context of how the term “normal” is used along the novel, and how anything outside of the norm is seen as negative:

Pei Ming lowered his voice. “Where there is abnormality, there is evil. Everyone, be careful.”

And in regards to being “normal”, a friend made a comment to me that sums up a lot of the struggles autistic people have to endure: They tell me to be normal, but they don’t explain to me how to do it. Which is also something Quan Yizhen experiences along the story: people demand of him to act differently, but no one has the patience to try to explain things to him! More words coming from the same friend: "Autistics try to copy the behavior of others like colorblind chameleons, but they get it wrong." I bet those words would resonate with many others. I know they resonate with my own experience u.u

On a different note: the play related to Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu, that was shown during the banquet for the Mid-Autumn Festival, was clearly not humorous and very uncomfortable and humiliating for Quan Yizhen to watch, while the ones played for other Officials were mostly sexual jokes (also uncomfortable, but not outright hurtful and cruel towards them.) And many of the ones attending the banquet were laughing hysterically at this display, even when Quan Yizhen was so clearly having a bad time, and trying to not lose control. Again, he’s not one to just jump into violence with complete lack of self control!

Another suspicious instance is the lack of a trial previous to Yin Yu’s banishment, which means Quan Yizhen never got "justice" for the terrible crime "committed" against him (quotes, because we know the truth of what happened, but of course the other Officials didn't). I believe part of the reason there wasn't a trial is probably ableism towards Quan Yizhen, and no one really caring that much beyond the drama of the situation. 

Going to the start of this section, some of the descriptions along the novel portray him as a “simple minded fool”, “obsessed”, and incapable of complex thinking. But this is all disproved by getting to know his backstory and his personality. There are reasons for his actions, an explanation for how he’s still looking for his shixiong and defending his honor, and evidence of how smart he actually is. As with many other characters in MXTX novels, you’re supposed to build your own perspective by doubting the rumors and the slander and piecing together the evidence on your own. Some examples of this:

In some of his first descriptions it is stated that he beats up his own followers, in a way that seems to be him not caring about them, but when you have more context it is because those followers portray Yin Yu in an inaccurate and disrespectful way. He’s not constantly beating up all his followers, and much less doing so for no reason at all! And again, we see how he has a strong base of believers, which proves that he actually does his job as a god, otherwise, he would not be ranked in the top ten!

People assume he is "a simple minded fool" in how he dedicates himself to his shixiong even when his shixiong "betrayed him". But actually this is because he can understand how multifaceted his shixiong is so there must be some explanation, which is a more nuanced way of thinking than "someone did a bad thing so they are only bad" or "someone did something good so they are only good". I would argue it is that exact black and white thinking that is the problem with how heaven and the ghost realms are dealt with in the story before the truth is all unraveled, but Quan Yizhen questions this more than the average character in the novel. 

III. On the fun, cute and positive sides of his character (and how many of them relate to autism)

I have a deep love for Quan Yizhen as a character. Even if I don’t think his characterization was intentionally written as autistic, I do believe he must be inspired on someone who is: there’s too many elements in how he’s written that scream autism/neurodivergence, and I love writing him in my fics because it gives me a chance to turn all those small details into something even deeper.

One of my favorite things about Quan Yizhen is his sense of childish wonder. We get to see this side of him in scenes like the iconic golden skeleton steplitter, or how he’s happily catching frogs and climbing trees in Puqi Shrine. Many people use this fact to argue that he’s actually a man-child, and it makes me so sad to see it. I have several friends who enjoy frogs and nature very much, one of them I’m sure actually spends part of her time actively looking for frogs. They’re also what society would deem “functional adults”, with “respectable jobs” and a “normal life.” Finding joy in the simple things shouldn’t automatically be equated with being a child. And imo, it’s quite healthy to be able to be excited about nature, beauty, or silly things. I also think it’s criminal that Quan Yizhen was not allowed in the steplitter. Only crime that Hua Cheng ever committed uwu (for legal reasons, this is a joke) 

Another important element of Quan Yizhen as a character is how he repays the kindness of those who treat him well. We see how after Xie Lian helps him during the Mid-Autumn Festival, he fills the donation box in Puqi Shrine with gold ingots. My headcanon to explain this (yes I have headcanons for everything and I’m not sorry) is that Yin Yu must have taught him that "A favor of a drop of water should be repaid with a surging spring" and Quan Yizhen never forgot about it.

This also can be tied with the iconic bed throwing scene, that shows us more of how grateful he is to Xie Lian and how loyal he is. When he bonds with someone, it’s in a strong and long-term way. He’s not shy about his love and appreciation. And in this case, even if he had known Xie Lian for a short time, he already had judged his character and decided he liked him a lot, and so, he was going to help him whenever he needed his help. And I love how in this scene, Quan Yizhen just waved him away XD Like, I got you bro, go do your thing, no need to explain, I got this. And let’s not forget the fact that… they break into his palace AND Pei Ming is ordering him around as if he wasn’t his equal! (I already delved into Pei Ming's treatment of him previously so I will not repeat myself here)

He’s straightforward and honest, two traits that I already mentioned before that can be a bit of a struggle for autistic people when we have to communicate with others. (And no, this doesn't mean that he cannot lie or that autistic people cannot lie, btw. A shame that I feel the need to clarify this ugh.) He says what he thinks, and doesn't mince his words. Something that, during his time in the sect, probably added to the many other reasons people bullied him; while he was Yin Yu’s deputy, meant that he was constantly in trouble, and as a Heavenly Official, makes him an outlier and keeps him isolated. In Jun Wu’s (horrible) words:

“Why is Qi Ying now alone in the Upper Court, with neither aid nor support? It is because his mind is simple—he is ignorant and foolish, blunt and savage, and incapable of earning anyone’s respect.”

His honesty is a double-edged sword: he’s true to himself and he gives the impression of not caring about what other people think of him, but that’s simply not true. It was shown to us while he was still a disciple:

Quan Yizhen was perched on the windowsill. His head drooped. (...) Quan Yizhen suddenly asked, “Shixiong, am I annoying?”

And his reaction during the humiliating moment he suffered at the Mid-Autumn Banquet attest to it too, in my opinion. I don’t think his reaction comes solely because he’s mad about his shixiong’s name being sullied again. This comes from me as an autistic person who has suffered bullying all their fucking life: no matter how much time passes, it hurts. No matter how well you cope, it hurts. It leaves a mark. Whether you defend yourself or not, whether you endure or go away, it’s something that changes you deeply. Isolation hurts. And autistic loneliness hurts even deeper.

Another thing that I love about him is how analytical and observant he is, even from a very young age! This is shown in how he is able to replicate the sects martial arts by observation without being instructed:

Yin Yu stood, thoughtful for a moment. “That’s an attack stance from our sect. Who taught you?” (...) “And that throwing posture also came from our sect. Did you climb the walls to spy and learn in secret every day…?”

Even how he is able to catch frogs: I imagine him analyzing their movements in order to be able to catch them before they can escape. 

This is also tied to how talented he is: he’s a strong martial artist who ascended as a martial god. But it’s not because of his talent only that he got to ascend. It’s because of his dedication and devotion to his craft, something that Xie Lian himself recognized and related to!

Even though everyone else thought Quan Yizhen was an insane child, Xie Lian felt like he could relate. An obsession like this was necessary to achieve godhood. A person who could understand this feeling of obsession had potential; they had a chance, even if slim. Those who couldn’t understand—who would only mock and jeer these “insane idiots”—had no hope of walking this path from the very start.

He is indeed naturally gifted, but also dedicated enough to perfect those talents. 

“Before, I could train at least sixteen hours a day (...)”

Martial arts are the one thing that he pays complete attention to… along with Yin Yu. I believe that Quan Yizhen remembers every single thing Yin Yu has ever told him or taught him, that he treasures every single one of those memories. And with how gifted he is, I love to headcanon that he actually has eidetic memory, which coupled with his analytical nature, would help him when training on his own, before he arrived to the sect. 

Now that Xie Lian thought about it, Quan Yizhen would be extremely familiar with Yin Yu’s habit of pacing while thinking, the way he spoke, and his strength when he struck. Perhaps he already knew who was behind the mask the moment Yin Yu’s shovel swung down. But it was inconceivable that Quan Yizhen even understood how to deceive someone—who would’ve thought they’d ever see the day? It was the simplest of tricks, but when he used it, it was completely unexpected. No one was prepared.

I adore this moment. Just another small moment that shows us he is perfectly capable of very normal things. Like deceiving someone with a silly trick. But people keep acting as if he was wholly unable of complex thought! People just constantly underestimate him.

Another example of how cool he is:

As they sailed, Quan Yizhen perched on his heels on the ship’s railing, maintaining the high-difficulty position with ease. Suddenly, he asked a question. “There’s a black island ahead. Is that the one?”

I’m so proud of him :’D 

Quan Yizhen is also more attentive than people give him credit for. People think he doesn’t pay attention to the spiritual communication array ever, but he does! He just has a tendency to ignore it out of disinterest, but he actually pays attention to what’s happening there:

“It’s amazing that anyone showed up at all,” Quan Yizhen said. “When they heard it was to save you, suddenly no one had time.”

Even if he doesn’t interact with too many people and is mostly isolated from the rest of the Heavenly Court (from all the reasons we have already discussed), he’s not ignorant of what’s happening around him. And because he doesn't say everything he thinks out loud, and does not use the same body language that other people use, he ends up being misinterpreted. I think of the brocade immortal introduction:

“Your Highness Qi Ying? Your Highness? Are you listening?” Xie Lian reached out and waved his hand in front of Quan Yizhen. Quan Yizhen seemed to have spaced out, and only then did his spirit return to this body. “Oh.” It would appear he wasn’t listening, but it wasn’t Xie Lian’s place to say much about that kind of behavior. Instead, he said, “So our current main priority is to find the brocade robe, I suppose? Its original form is…”  “A sleeveless, headless, sack-like robe stained with blood,” Quan Yizhen finished the statement.

Xie Lian believed that Quan Yizhen was not paying attention, when he actually was, but since he was not using the “right” body language, Xie Lian did not notice and started overexplaining. 

Having difficulties with body language and emoting it’s also a common autistic struggle. Not looking at the other person’s face/eyes, not making the “right” facial expressions at the “right” time, moving our bodies too much/not enough… Things that other people tend to misinterpret as disinterest, disrespect or outright rudeness, when it’s just a simple difference in how we communicate, that isn’t hiding any ill intentions! I cannot look at people’s eyes without feeling wildly uncomfortable, for example. Some people feel deeply offended by that, so I have trained myself to appear as if I’m looking at them but I’m not actually doing so. People sometimes think I’m bored because I move too much or play with things in my hands while we talk, but it’s just that I need the constant stimming to feel comfortable or I would implode. And those are my needs: other people have different ones (just like Quan Yizhen!) 

And this is leaving behind the most obvious thing: he’s most likely dissociating heavily because of how the Brocade Immortal is tied to the most traumatic experience in his whole life. Which adds to the cruelty on Jun Wu’s part sending him to deal with this. 

Two other examples of this (which I find quite humorous btw):

Xie Lian inclined his head to greet him. Quan Yizhen didn’t understand that he should return the courtesy, but Xie Lian hardly minded. 

and

Seated next to Xie Lian was a young man of eighteen or nineteen; his nose was tall, his brows deep, and his raven hair slightly curly. Xie Lian didn’t know him, and the young man didn’t know Xie Lian, so they both felt a little lost as they stared at each other. The awkward staring contest ended after Xie Lian offered a random greeting. 

The staring contest makes me laugh so much XD It’s such a silly moment, and though I won’t go into it here, I do believe Xie Lian is also very neurodivergent and that they would have a great time together as friends, both from shared interests and because he would not need to keep any pretenses c:

Finally, I love how deeply devoted Quan Yizhen is. When he loves something, he does so with all his heart. This was valid for martial arts in the first place, and then, for shixiong. And no matter if we go for a filial or a romantic interpretation (you all know I ship them and I’m insane about them, but that’s not relevant to the point I’m making) it’s still true that he was determined to get to know the truth and to understand what happened. Some people may see him as someone who’s obsessed (negative), but in my opinion, that’s not what it is at all.

He just cares. He cares about Yin Yu, he knows him, he knows that something is missing, and he will not rest until he finds Yin Yu again and they have that pending conversation, and he can apologize for the things he did wrong. and maybe have shixiong back in his life. All his persistence comes from a place of love and care; of realizing that Yin Yu’s true, honest feelings were much more complicated than he ever knew, and wanting deeply to understand.

And he tried his best to always honor the things Yin Yu taught him, and to be good. To make him proud. Even after Yin Yu died: instead of giving up and letting himself crumble, he kept fighting, helped in the battle against Jun Wu until he just couldn’t keep going, did his best to save people even when basically no one up there ever gave a shit about him or helped him at all. 

Which brings me to my final comment about Quan Yizhen as a character. He’s strong, dedicated, persistent, fierce and passionate. He has deep convictions. He’s someone who wants to understand the world around him, who looks at it with eyes bright and open, that even after more than two centuries and so much suffering and rejection, still opens his heart to find beauty in the small things. Someone who others will call a brute and a fool, but deep inside his heart just wants to understand and be understood. 

[quatregats]

I'm rereading Master and Commander and I'm deeply in danger of just posting every single passage from it ever but I did love the way that the capture of the prize in Chapter 6 was framed on either side by the logbook's entry, and also the way he transitions out of it to set the scene and tone:

Sunday, July 1 … Mustered the ship’s company by divisions read the Articles of War performed Divine Service and committed the body of Henry Gouges to the deep. At noon dº weather. Ditto weather: but the sun sank towards a livid, purple, tumescent cloud-bank piled deep on the western horizon, and it was clear to every seaman aboard that it was not going to remain ditto much longer. The seamen, sprawling abroad on the fo’c’sle and combing out their long hair or plaiting it up again for one another, kindly explained to the landmen that this long swell from the south and east, this strange sticky heat that came both from the sky and the glassy surface of the heaving sea, and this horribly threatening appearance of the sun, meant that there was to be a coming dissolution of all natural bonds, an apocalyptic upheaval, a right dirty night ahead. The sailormen had plenty of time to depress their hearers, already low in their spirits because of the unnatural death of Henry Gouges (had said, ‘Ha, ha, mates, I am fifty years old this day. Oh dear,’ and had died sitting there, still holding his untasted grog) – they had plenty of time, for this was Sunday afternoon, when in the course of nature the fo’c’sle was covered with sailors at their ease, their pigtails undone. Some of the more gifted had queues they could tuck into their belts; and now that these ornaments were loosened and combed out, lank when still wet, or bushy when dry and as yet ungreased, they gave their owners a strangely awful and foreboding look, like oracles; which added to the landmen’s uneasiness.

[...]

Jack leant back against the curved run of the stern-window and let Killick’s version of coffee down by gulps into his grateful stomach; and at the same time that its warmth spread through him, so there ran a lively tide of settled, pure, unfevered happiness – a happiness that another commander (remembering his own first prize) might have discerned from the log-entry, although it was not specifically mentioned there: 1/2 past 10 tacked, 11 in courses, reefed topsail. AM cloudy and rain. 1/2 past 4 chase observed E by S, distance 1/2 mile. Bore up and took possession of dº, which proved to be L’Aimable Louise, French polacre laden with corn and general merchandise for Cette, of about 200 tons, 6 guns and 19 men. Sent her with an officer and eight men to Mahon.

[intromortal]

⭑ INCH BY INCH ⸻ park sunghoon ◜teaser◞

OUT NOW: read here

you have a boyfriend gifted with a pornstar cock, but he refuses to use it on you, too scared he'll end up hurting you. so your best shot is to devise a plan to get him to crumble, and even if things don't unfold quite as expected, what matters is the result anyway... right?

starring ⋆ f!reader x park sunghoon

this work contains ⋆ smut, minors so not interact. multiple smut scenes, sunghoon being diabolically hung, my extremely poor attempts at humor, besties jaykewon, established relationship, nasty nasty shit... brat tamer sunghoon sorta kinda, some degradation but nothing crazy (i think. maybe i'm just a freak), alcohol consumption, implied driving under the influence, jealousy, slutshaming (not from hoon), a tiny bit if violence, blood, injury, and patching up said injury :3 ⸻ rules m.list

length ⋆ teaser ⸻ 1.2k words. full fic ⸻ around 15k words. hopefully less but it's me so :p

taglist ⋆ (closed!) either comment here or send me an ask! please make sure to have a visible age somewhere or i won't be able to add you.

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

[...]

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers.

You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases.

Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon has known both of you all his life.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge.

You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

[heavenstrvck]

moira chuckled, knowing that were tripp not driving, she'd be bumping her shoulder against hers. but for some reason, she didn't dare to touch her best friend in that confined space. as if it could lead to anything more just because they were traveling together. god, she was acting ridiculous. "yeah, well. i didn't have a choice, did i? you said there would be a broken window for us to enter through and there wasn't. but don't worry, i've got my boots on." she grinned, shuffling to show one of them at the blonde with a chuckle.

"evidence? you promised you would delete that video. i swear to god, i will kill you if you ever show it to anyone. that'll be your big mysterious death. dismembered by your best friend because you opened your mouth." moira replied, the words you're cute lingering in her mind even as she tried to think of something else.

her brows furrowed as tripp described some new kind of nightmare. "where do you even find this? like some creature who'd pretend to be you? i'm sorry babe, but if you act weird, i'm hitting you, whether it's the real you or the mimicking thing." she didn't bother commenting on the ghost threesome again, wanting those kind of thoughts away from her brain as they were driving to a destination that sounded just as terrifying.

"are you jealous of my music, tripp? that's real cute but last time, you picked and we ended up listening to some weird podcast about haunted forests and i'm not doing it again. guess you gotta be more interesting than metallica for a bit." she teased, her tone softer as her eyes glanced at the blonde. "but of course i came. like i told you about a dozen times. you're not allowed to die, but you're especially not allowed to die alone in the woods like some weird future netflix documentary. nope." before she could stop herself, she was pushing some hair away from her best friend's eyes, pulling back her hand as her cheeks turned slightly pink. "so how long are we staying this time?"

tripp practically vibrated with joy the second moira laughed—like every joke landed just right, like she’d just unlocked a hidden level of the day. she covered it with a cocky smirk, but her fingers drummed a little faster on the steering wheel, like her body didn’t know how to handle the dopamine hit of moira agreeing to be here with her. again. still. after all these years.

“okay, first of all,” she started, nose scrunching slightly as she tried to sound offended and not giddy, “i didn’t hide, i tactically repositioned myself behind the tall one with combat boots and zero hesitation about kicking open doors.”

she wiggled her brows at moira. “which, by the way, is hot. so if you wanna keep doing that, i won’t stop you.”

but the second moira’s hand slapped her thigh—and lingered, even a beat too long—tripp’s brain turned into white noise. she didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second, just felt it, and then blinked forward again like she’d shorted out and had to reboot.

“…anyway,” she said, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter, “you absolutely scream. i’ve got evidence. it’s fine, it’s cute, you’re cute, i accept you.”

too much, reel it in, idiot, her brain chanted, but her mouth was already running.

“besides, if anything does go down out there? my money’s on something weird. like—okay, hear me out—what if it’s not some standard ‘rawr i eat humans’ cryptid, but like… a mimic? like something that pretends to be someone you trust. freaky eye-glitch, wrong laugh, too many teeth kind of thing. and it lures you in by sounding like me.” she turned to moira, grinning wide. “creepy, right? sexy and cursed. just like i promised.”

she tossed her a wink, then nodded decisively like she’d solved a math problem. “and no, you weren’t gonna be in the ghost threesome, obviously. you were the bait for the ghost. so i could do my dramatic rescue moment and look cool as hell.”

tripp tried to keep it jokey, light, same banter they always had—but her eyes lingered too long on moira’s profile again. jacket half-zipped, hair brushing her shoulder, eyes focused on the road. her hand twitched near the wheel, like it wanted to do something—touch her wrist, maybe. just for a second.

she didn’t.

instead, she pulled her gaze back to the road and added, a little softer, like it just slipped out: “glad you came, though. like… really glad.” a beat. then: “even if i have to compete with your apocalypse playlist for your attention.”

and she bumped her shoulder into moira’s with the gentlest nudge. stupid grin still tucked at the corners of her mouth like she didn’t know what to do with it. like maybe she didn’t want to.

[nanamisgirly]

⊹₊。꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ you wanna try on me, nerd? ˖ 𑣲 comments and reblogs are always appreciated ma girliiies <333

SERIES

virgin!nerdjo, ever the diligent student, stumbles upon tutorial on nipple sucking—so what does he do? he goes to the nearest pharmacy and buy a baby bottle to practice on. he got a baddie to please, after all. one who's already let him come inside her by the way and in record time. but also one who's experienced. and he's…well, him.

virgin!nerdjo frowns at the taste the moment he tries it, straight-up plastic. but still, he follows the video instructions step by step, phone in one hand, bottle nipple in his mouth, trying his best to mimic the motions—rewinding it over and over determined to get it right.

but of course, he's super bad at hiding stuff :( so the next time you're in his room you spot it on his desk, half-hidden behind his clutter of notebooks and cables. it's sightly chewed at the tip. and it definitely got your attention. “satoru…is this…yours?”

virgin!nerdjo goes red in seconds—like a cartoon character caught with porn.  “w-what? n-no…” he tries, voice already cracking. you look at him, eyebrows lifted, tilting your head in amusement as a smirk tugs at your lips like you knowevery single embarrassing thought he's ever had. 

he groans in defeat, “yes…it is.” his eyes are glued to the floor, cheeks blazing. he feels like if the ground could just swallow him whole right now, that'd be great. but for some reasons, his mouth had other plans, seems like it can't just shut up for his own good, “there was this video. a bunch of them, actually. about,um…nipple technique.” he stammers, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, eyes still avoiding yours “y'know like…oral stuff. and one of the top comments said it helps to practice on biberon because…it's kind of squishy? and it has resistance…” 

you just stare at virgin!nerdjo, blank and expressionless. he feels so so dump. even dumper than when he cum in two seconds top-chrono in you. “i wanted to do it right!” he blurts, tugging his collar, desperately trying to get himself out of this. “last time i—uh—i lasted like one second. inside you. and you were so nice about it, but i wanna be better. I wanna make you feel good, not just…blow in my pants and cry.”

you walk slowly to him, eyes soft, voice lower. “so you practiced. on a baby bottle.” he nods, mortified. “and did it help?”

“no…it tasted like a melted barbie leg. i almost threw up.”

the next thing virgin!nerdjo knows, you're pushing him onto the bed as you pull off your top—he freezes in place, mouth open, glasses fogging like he's in the middle of a hentai scene he never thought he'd survive. and from where you stand between his thighs, you can see the bulge tenting his pants. poor baby probably got hard just thinking about this moment :(

virgin!nerdjo has his big hands clutching your ass, as your fingers tighten in his white soft hair—pushing his face to one of your nipple. “c'mon, nerd, show me what you've learned.” 

virgin!nerdjo starts so awkwardly. there's too much tongue, too wet and sloppy—his teeth scrape a little too hard and you flinch. “ah—! ‘toru…gentle, you’re not chewing gum.” he recoils instantly, looking like he just failed a final exam. “shit! i'm sorry—i didn't mean to—fuck, i'm such an idiot, i—”

“heyy, baby," you coo, cupping his cheek, brushing his hair from his eyes. "it's okay. try again, would you?” he nods quickly at your words, blinking hard. you swear there are tears building in those pretty blue eyes but you don't have time to think about it as this time he goes slower, sucking tentatively, trying to remember the tutorial steps : tongue flat, lips soft, light suction—add it progressively. he's shaking with focus, sweat dotting his brow as if he's taking an exam worth his entire GPA.

but it seems to work because your whimpers grow louder, virgin!nerdjo's tongue turns messy, fast. he's drooling and panting as his hand clutch to your ass like he might float off the bed. every gasp you make goes straight to his cock. he grinds on your lap helplessly, every moan from you like a five-star rating on his progress. he groans, mouthing at your other nipple, “you taste so much better,” he muffle, tongue flicking on the neglected nipple.

virgin!nerdjo is leaking through his boxers, one hand going to the nipple covered in spit—massaging with his thumb, watching it shine. the other hand drops to your upper thigh, where he humps like a dog in heat.

“you're doing so good, such a good boy, aren't you?” virgin!nerdjo moans your name like a prayer, sucking harder, hips stuttering against your thigh—he's leaking all over himself, so desperate and clumsy.

your sweet virgin nerd couldn't help himself. he had to make a sticky mess in his boxer :(

✩*:.⸝⸝>o<⸝⸝.:*✩

[madamechrissy]

Step-Daddy Issues?

pairings- Toji Fushiguro x F! reader- Toji early 40s, reader early 20s

summary- oneshot PWP- You're staying at your old home for a night while your mom's out of town, you both never have gotten along but you need to get out after a nasty breakup. Toji and your mom have been hooking up on and off but she blew him off again, and he's there to make her forget she's mad with his dick... but instead mistakes you for your mom (after sticking his fingers inside you)

warnings- so many lol- Pure filth fr, age gap (20 years) He's not ACTUALLY your step dad. Toji is nasty, spitting, slapping, oral sex (both receiving), Toji calls reader 'doll and slutty, she calls him old man and daddy lmaoo, daddy kink, reader's mom is a bitch fr lol, but even so this is shady asf. Creampie, cum drinking/cum spitting-talking shit about reader's mom lol- reader fr has MOMMY issues (I'm prob going to hell for this one) WC- 4k - Comment/reblogs if you enjoy nasty ass daddy Toji lol

Tracks for this oneshot: Daddy Issues // Often // Favorite

You were not one to ever come home, you hadn’t even seen your mom in over a year because of how much of a bitch she really was. The day you moved out, she’d already turned your room into some office, and had all your shit put in storage, there was no ‘childhood room’ or memories to come home to. Since she left your dad especially, you’ve really not talked to her.

But tonight was a bad night, and you caved, messaging her, asking if you could come over. She gives you the go ahead and tells you where the spare key is. You are exhausted after a nasty breakup with your boyfriend, and you’re for once thankful for your mom’s existence… kind of.

Ever since she left your dad she was a grade a bitch, and she had boyfriends in and out from what you hear, some your age, but one in particular irritated your dad, some felon who used to run with the Zenin, the most notorious mafia family there was. You’d never met him or seen him on her Facebook, but everyone seemed pretty concerned at her taste.

The house is nice and clean as you remember it, as you lock up and let out another yawn, take off your shoes and jacket, it’s dark aside from the little stove light, you open the fridge, you find a whole case of beer, smiling. Mom’s good for that at least, you muse, bending over to grab one from the bottom, when you get a firm smack on your ass, making you yelp.

“Finally come back, huh? Thought you were fucking furious at me, ma?” You gasp as two fingers slip under your skirt, tense, half bent over in this fridge. “And what are you wearing, so fuckin slutty? F-fuck…”

“Ngh!’ You cover your cry up, when two rough pads of fingers prod under your slick panties, cunt dripping down his fingers, your heart racing, eyes rolling back when one presses into your entrance.

“Ya doing kegels? Why you so tight… mmm, c’mere…” He pulls your back against him in the dark room, you assume this must be Toji, whose finger sinks and stretches your tight little cunt, making you cry out. “Oh my god… mmm, she missed me huh?”

You can’t speak, not when the fridge shuts, leaving you both in the dark, and he’s pumping his two fingers in, other arm wrapping around you, pressing your back against him. He moans, vibrating his chest, before tilting your chin, slamming his lips down on yours. You wriggle, half in fright but half out of instinct, only earning him pressing you against the stainless steel fridge.

“You’re this wet f’me?” He huffs, amazed at how tight you feel, how soaked you are, the squelching sound loud in the kitchen, Toji’s cock straining against his sweats as he pictures sinking into you. “Not running that bitch mouth, huh?”

“Wh-what the fuck!?” Your voice halts him then, as you elbow him, making him hunch over, glaring in the dark at you, shock hitting him brutally.

You’re far prettier than your mom, and of course younger but that’s not what it is, it’s this look you have, these eyes that just end him, lips parted and inviting, your face is a little softer than hers, too. You look like her a bit, but there’s not much there similar aside from you both are the same height and about the same body size, your hair isn’t even the same now that he focuses.

He’s standing there dumb right now as you cross your arms, glaring up at him furiously, and he realizes now why that cunt felt so tight, why you were so wet for him. Your mom had been stringing Toji around for months, fucking around with this guy and that when she was mad at him, but he did it too, they were both toxic and awful to each other.

And he never even heard her mention you. He only knew about you from seeing a picture of your high school graduation, though you look more mature now, it’s unmistakable. Toji Fushiguro just had his fingers inside his girlfriend’s (ex girlfriend’s!?_ daughter’s pussy.

“Mom isn’t home.”

“Well, no shit… I… the fuck are you doing here?” He demands then, fighting the desire to suck you off his fingers.

“Bad breakup, last resort was coming here.” You sigh now, adjusting your skirt, color heating up your cheeks even in the dark. “You call her a bitch?”

“She is one. Shit she never even talked about you before, even when I asked, ya know that?”

You falter, emotions hitting then, and Toji’s face falls a bit. “Yeah I know, we don’t talk, ever.”

“That was a dick thing to say, m’sorry.”

“No worries, it’s true.” You open the fridge back up, taking out two beers, handing it to him, finally getting a good look at his face, handsome and rugged, some five o'clock shadow, a scar on his lip. He’s got dark, inky black locks all messy, and what appears to be lidded dark green eyes. “Do I really look like her from the back?”

“Same size and shit, I… fuck I had my fingers in you!?” He takes the beer, opening it and downing a bunch. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” You hop up on the counter then, and his eyes dart across your bare legs, cock leaking precum as he thinks of your sweet cunt. “No worries, more action than I’ve gotten in a while.”

“Psh, what? Look at you. Doubt it.”

“What because I have a slutty skirt?” You muse, smiling a bit.

“Nah, you’re drop dead gorgeous. So I don’t buy it.”

“That’s a compliment… from you?” You manage, nervous now, and Toji smirks, enjoying how the blush spreads across your cheeks. “Prettier than mom, Step dad?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, yuck.” You snort in laughter now, as Toji runs a hand through his hair. “We just fuck a lot, never put a label on it. But she’s been blowing me off for a month, so I came to town and thought I’d surprise her.”

“Well you surprised one of us.”

“So who broke up with you?”

“Boyfriend since high school.”

“Ouch.” You nod a bit, blinking back odd emotions. For some reason this random stranger who fingered you, thinking that you’re someone else, listens better than most people lately. “Well fuck him.”

“Yeah?” He nods, and you giggle. “Fuck him. I like that.”

“Shit, want another drink?” You nod, and he bends down, opening them both, standing between your thighs as he hands you the cool bottle, condensation seeping against your overheated skin. “Your mom really is something else though.”

“You’re telling me. You know you’re on her roster, yeah? Dad said she’s got a fantasy league.”

“Well fuck her too.”

“Fuck both of them.” You agree, giggling again, as you study him. “You’re kinda hot, for an old man.”

Toji glares now, only making your heart flutter, as you observe his strong, jacked muscles, he’s insanely buff, veins popping out of his strong arms, his neck, the shirt he’s wearing hiding damn near nothing. “Old man?”

“Mmm, you gotta be her age, older?”

“You’re a little fuckin brat. I look old to you?” Toji leans close, hands pressing against your bare thighs now, and you feel your cunt fluttering around nothing, breath quickening when he leans close. “Asked ya a question, doll.”

“Doll? Old man shit.” You whisper back, he grins then, a flash of white teeth, setting down your beer on the counter, big body completely overtaking your every sense, every thought. The only sounds then are of both of your breaths, coming quicker as your heart pounds in your ears, when a big hand cups your face, thumb pressing on your pulse point, feeling it flutter.

“Say that one more time, doll. Couldn’t fuckin hear ya?” You bite your lower lip, as he drags your panties down, smirking as he eyes them. “Should’ve known you’re not your mom, what kinda panties are these? My little fuckin pony!?”

“Fuck yourself, old man.” You earn his devious scowl, you see the vein in his temple throb now. “Are you stealing them!?”

He has them shoved in his pants as he shoves you back, head pressed against the cool backsplash of your kitchen, as he eyes your pussy hungrily, moaning now as your breasts heave up and down, heart pounding. He’s eyeing you like you’re some meal and he’s fucking starved, thumbs slipping down your puffy lips, spreading your pussy wide for his view.

“Oh my… fucking… your…” He is at a loss for words, gulping now as he eyes your pretty face, seeing how dilated those pretty eyes are, opening you to watch the arousal pool out of your tiny hole.

“Nicer than my mom’s, step daddy?” He glares, and you barely giggle before he smacks your pussy, making you cry out. “The fuck!?”

“You’re such a brat. They’re not teaching ya’ll shit in college anymore, huh? Should I give you a fuckin’ lesson?” He demands, smacking your pussy again, making it sting so good, you’re nodding eagerly, gasping when he spits right on your pussy, watching as the white bubbly liquid oozes down your pretty pussy. “Hah- would ya look at that…”

“D-didn’t answer.”

“You really got some mommy issues, huh?” He demands, raising a brow as he slides two thick fingers through your slick, sticky cunt, watching as trails of saliva and arousal leave little stringy trails.

“Maybe I need daddy issues, too.” You whisper, earning his fingers shoving deep in your cunt this time, the stretch too much, you’re struggling to even take his fingers, when they press up inside your slick walls and hit that spongy spots, you scream out, a sound you’ve never even heard.

“Daddy issues too, huh? You’re a freaky little brat, aren’t ya?” He leans close, lips hovering, you taste the alcohol on his breath, fingers curling in your soppy little cunt, making you whine. “Pathetic, can’t fucking talk?”

“P-please…” He moans then, kissing you desperately, while his fingers find you better than your years-long boyfriend ever could, making your tummy fill with pressure as he works you quicker and quicker.

“So sweet now, huh? Guess what, doll?” He murmurs, sloppy as he bites your lower lip, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth, you mouth the word ‘what’ as he pulls his fingers out, sucking on them, moaning. “That pussy is prettier, and yummier, but you sure are fucked up, aren’t ya?”

“Beyond fucked up.” You manage to whisper, he moans again, because your version of fucked up fits his so well. Soon he is picking you up like you’re nothing, carrying you over to your mom’s bed now, he has you on all fours, shoving your skirt up, your thighs are trembling.

“Wonder if she feels better, huh? M’gonna find out.” He whispers, before burying his face in your cunt, and drinking you up, his cock throbbing now, you’re way sweeter than your mom, your pussy is so yummy he could eat it for hours, for days. He grips your firm ass, pulling your thighs apart to shove his tongue deeper.

“Oh my g-god…” You whine out, trying to close your thighs, to pull back. “Just fuck me… what’re you…”

“Ha, I like to eat first, brat.” He shoves you on your back now, yanking your top off, moaning as your pretty tits bounce out of it, leaving you just in a slutty school girl skirt that makes him think filthy things. “Hold these fucking thighs open, or I won’t even fuck you, I’ll just eat it.”

“You want to!? Wh-what- I- ah!” You’re screaming out as he bites on your clit now, your hands yanking on his silky hair, trying to pull him off you, but he’s latched a hungry mouth on your clit, moaning then. You’re dripping down onto your mom’s blankets, you’d feel bad about that later -maybe- for now you’re too lost in the way he’s looking up at you, while his tongue licks a stripe up your slit.

“So fuckin yummy. Yeah I wanna, shit how pathetic are these college boys, huh? Ain't ate you out right?” You shake your head nervously, as he picks your little body up and shoves you where he needs you, he takes you over with his big grip, smirking against your inner thighs. “Cum f’me doll, like a pretty lil slut.”

“Little… slut!?... you- ah!” Your walls flutter around his tongue now as he fucks you with it, nose bumping your clit, chin digging in right against your little ass as he drinks you up, messy slurping sounds mixing with your cries.

Toju Fushiguro drinks every bit of you up as he spreads you wide, shoving your thighs up now. “Hold em.”

You eagerly obey, holding up your thighs so he has even better access, now flicking his tongue in little circles, finger back inside you, using both until you’re cumming all over his face, drenching him with your slick. He licks you through it, watching you arch your back, watching you scream out in pleasure, shaking and panting.

“Mmm, that’s it, doll. Cum so much more than her, don’t ya? Messy lil fuckin’ slut.” His words should irritate you, but they edge you on, as he flicks his tongue on the underside of your clit, teeth grinning against it as it twitches, as you cum more, until you’re soaking everything, screaming and trembling. “There ya fuckin go.”

“What even… a-are you!?” You whisper weakly, blinking back stars, making your vision so blurry, Toji leans over you, face glistening with you, he licks the scar on the corner of his mouth, smirking at you.

“Not an old man, am I?” You bite your lower lip.

“You are-”

“Open, brat. Now.” You nervously do, then he’s spitting in your mouth, smirking as you choke on it, shutting your jaw closed. “Mommy didn’t let me spit in her mouth, you’re nasty aren’t ya?”

“Oh fuck you!? Ah!” He’s standing now, yanking you to where you’re bent over, mouth against his cock that he’s pulling out, watching it smack on his tummy, as you eagerly shove up his shirt.

“Gonna shut that pretty mouth the fuck up.” He yanks off his shirt as you hungrily start lapping at his salty precum, drooling from his reddened tip, he hisses then. “Ya that cock hungry?”

“Fuck my mouth.” At that Toji loses his mind, while you’re bent over the bed, sucking him as deep as you can, saliva pooling as you deep throat him, ending him with how you worship his cock.

“Cock hungry…. Lil fuckin… what the… holy f-fuck! Doll…” Toji’s a mess for you, somthing he’s never been, as you’re working his cock with your mouth hungrily, and he’s pulling your hair into a pony tail, fucking up into your hungry, slutty throat.

You’re breathing through your nose, trying to take more and more of him as he wrecks your esophagus, you can’t wait for him inside you, you think as you’re sucking him as hard as you can, tears in your eyes. Toji’s groaning, not even moving you, just gently holding your hair back as you work his cock up and down, until he can’t take anymore.

He yanks you off him, shoving you on your back, pulling a thigh up over his arm as he lines his tip with your slutty little hole, and you whimper just from his thick, mushroom tip pressing. “You’re not a…”

You giggle, breathless. “No, not a virgin, why ya want me to be? Wanna fuck your girlfriend’s virgin daughter, pervy old- ah!” Toji’s glaring, shoving his thick cock so deep in you then, you scream out.

“Why ya feel this fucking tight!? Loosen the fuck up, slutty brat.” He huffs now, you’re gripping him way too tight, walls pulsing like you’re trying to milk him, while your pretty face screws up.

“You’re t-too big- shit!” You’re wincing now, legs shaking when he smirks, earning your little glare.

“Can’t handle me doll? Where’s all that talk?”

“Give me a second.” You’re struggling to breathe when he pulls his cock out, slapping it on your overheated cunt, slathering it in more of your slick before shoving it back inside, filling your pussy up so good he can see himself in your tummy. He moans now, pulling back.

“Look at that, fucking up your guts, brat- ha!” Toji jerks his cock in deep now, hands gripping your hips as you look down, gasping as you see the enormous bulge moving in your tummy. “Gonna fuckin ruin ya doll, for anyone.”

“Wh-what- ngh! Oh my god, Toji!” You’re whimpering as he moves, eyeing that bulge hungrily, his dark green eyes glinting, so dilated they’re black.

“Nah, don’t call me that.” He fucks into you now, thrusts wrecking your cunt as his tip bruises your cervix, bed creaking with the force of his thrusts. He has sweat dripping down onto your skin just a bit as he watches your pretty face. “You feel s’much better than any… oh my… pussy s’fucking tight, feel her…”

He’s shoving harder, faster, thick tip dragging on your walls, hitting some spot that makes you scream, Toji grins when he notices, pressing the spot again and again as he fucks into your soppy cunt. His balls smack your little ass, with arousal drooling down that hole, as you hear the ‘pap-pap-pap’ sound mix with the smacking of your skin.

“There, ya wanna cum all over this cock, huh lil girl?” Your brain short circuits, you’re pulsing around his cock as he pushes you over the edge, cumming so hard it makes the oral he gave you look like nothing. You’re weakly clinging to him, mouth opening and closing, eyes rolling back in your skull. “Look at you, cockdrunk, aren’t ya slutty girl?”

You can’t answer, not when he’s balls deep in your cunt, stuffing you so full, his big brutal hands digging into your waist. After your orgasm wracks you he yanks his cock out, making you whimper. “Back in…”

“Slutty lil brat, wait a minute.” He flips you on your tummy now, shoving back in you, so deep like this you’re a drooling mess, so fucked out you have no thoughts, you can’t remember you’re in your mom’s bed with her ex, a man twice your age, not when he’s wrecking your cunt so good.

Toji can’t remember ever even fucking anyone else, not when he’s buried in your tight little hole, you’re taking him so good. “Ngh! Toji…”

“Ha, no. What’d I say?” Toji pulls you by your hair, arching your ass up as he slips his cock so deep in your hole, pounding you over and over, licking up your neck, all the way to your chin, before he lands on your lips. “What ya gonna call me?”

“Old man? Ow!” Toji shoves his cock so deep it’s brutal, mean tip bullying your sore little pussy, you whine pathetically, head falling back as he makes you face him.

“Nah, answer right or I’ll pull out.”

“D-don’t!”

“So desperate, huh?” You just whine, as he wraps a hand around your throat, fingers so long they take you over. “Answer me, doll.”

“Desperate f’you…” You’re whispering the words, closer and closer while he’s pressing your throat, sucking your oxygen away while your pussy makes a bigger mess, leaving a huge wet spot on the blankets, now rumpled from him flipping you like a doll.

“Then how ya gonna address me, brat?” He huffs, and you look into his eyes then, reflecting how fucked out yours are.

“Daddy.” You whisper, and it ends him then, he lifts your ass up, shoving your face into the soft matress, fucking into you with hard, brutal strokes, smacking your ass over and over as you tremble, cumming down his veiny length until it’s so messy he almost slips out.

“That’s it, no one’s fucked you like this, huh doll? No one beat this pretty lil pussy up like that?” You weakly whine, nodding as he rocks his cock into you over and over. “Feel so fuckin good, best pussy I ever… oh like she’s made to take me? F-fuck… milking my cock…”

The sounds of his slapping skin and cock wrecking your sloppy pussy are ridiculous, mixing with your muffle moans and his stuttered gasps, as you clench him so good he can’t remember another pussy. As he fucks you so good you forgot you had a boyfriend, fucking every thought you ever had out of your dumb, fucked out brain.

“That’s it, taking me like that, good lil fuckin girl…” You’re pathetic and dumb at his words, nodding weakly when he pulls you back up on your knees, yanking you by your hair, pricking pain that makes your eyes water. “Want me to fill this pussy up? Knock you up? Get your mommy so fuckin mad?”

“P-please daddy…” You’re whimpering, speaking insane. “M’on the… p-pill… s’okay, please…”

“Fuck…” Toji slams up in your pussy now, tip hitting over and over until you feel him pulsing then, big hands brutally gripping you, rippling the skirt still slung up on your hips. “Oh my god… gonna fill your pretty pussy s’good…”

You’re shuddering when he pumps his hot, endless load in you, whining out a pathetic- ‘d-daddy…’

“That’s it, no one filled ya like this, huh?” You shake your head weakly, as his hot gooey cum fills your cavern, all over every inch of your walls, so much it’s dripping out in blotches, all slick with you, down his balls, down the bed. He moans, shuddering and then leaning over you, pulling your chin to him. “Perfect pussy, she’s just so full of me, huh?”

You nod weakly, letting him kiss you, nasty and messy, as he slows his thrusts, pushing his cum further and further in your soppy hole, so deep. “Too much…”

“Oh, doll, I got so much more for ya.” He flips you again, smirking down at the mess you are, smacking your pretty titties as his cock drips down. “So, am I old to you, hmm?” You shake your head quickly. “Good girl, gonna reward ya, finally keeping your pretty mouth shut.”

He unzips the skirt finally, showcasing your entire body to his hungry eyes, he smacks your titties again and again as you struggle to come to, before kissing down between the valley of your breasts, lower down your tummy, until he pulls your lips apart, smirking. You’re whimpering, so sore, while he eyes your pussy, watching his white semen pour from your abused entrance.

“That’s it, look at ya doll, took m’cum so good.” He shoves your shaking thighs apart, lapping at his own cum, you gasp.

“You’re… n-nasty I swear… the fuck- mmm!”

He’s chuckling, lapping all his cum that’s pouring now, you’re so sensitive you’re twitching, when he leans back over you, grabbing you under your chin. “Nasty, doll? You’re getting fucked in your mom’s bed, this old man’s cum pouring out, makin a whole goddamn mess.”

You gasp out when he spits his own cum in your mouth again, making out so sloppy and nasty, but you’re rolling your hips up, earning his soft laugh. “T-Toji-”

“Ah-ah.” He smacks your cheek, you inhale sharply.

“Daddy.”

“Whaddaya want daddy to do now?”

You blink a bit, taking a breath. “Eat all your cum outta me, put more in me.” He moans now, diving back down, licking your cunt clean as he drinks you both together, his salty, bitter cum, your sweet pussy all on his tongue, his big hands pressing into your thighs, bruising them. “Daddy! Daddy… Fuck me…”

Toji moans against your cunt, you’re screaming out then, as he has his face buried between your thighs, right when the door opens, but you’re both too fucked out to hear as your mom walks right in. She gasps then, watching her ex-boyfriend licking his lips, leaning over her own daughter.

“Toji Fushiguro, what the fuck!? My daughter!?” Your mom’s trill voice sobers you both up, you gasp, trying to cover yourself up with a cum soaked blanket, as Toji grins, licking you off his lips, scar stretched in a smirk.

“Well, shit.”

Well I know I'm going to hell for this one lol

Perma tags- @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy - Toji tags - @rie-star @lavenderdaydream97 @xd3pr3ss3dx @winterautumn @g00seg1rl @lastsubstance - @getoisinnocent requested Toji, and @airandyeah wanted more Toji (sry this is so filthy loves lmaooo)

Toji Masterlist

[oscpstri]

born to ride | grid

ft. verstappen, norris, leclerc, sainz, piastri (fem!reader)

the perks of dating a formula 1 driver was that they had an arsenal of cars at their disposal and they knew how to drive them. but what if you took the wheel this time?

INCLUDES: fluff, its funny ok please laugh, use of y/n, use of endearments for certain drivers, they're cute, not proof read

NOTE: born to ride or wtv lana said. I GOT CARRIED AWAY W MAX AND LANDO SO IF YOU WANT MORE DRIVERS ILL GET TO IT IN ANOTHER POST !!!! these were the first ones i did before it got WAY TOO LONG

( masterlist | more grid )

★ MAX VERSTAPPEN

You should've known better.

Your boyfriend being a Formula 1 driver had its perks, one of them being the fact that you had a personal chauffeur whenever you had anywhere to be.

Ever since you and Max started living together, you had created a schedule to follow during the summer breaks. The both of you would run errands on Saturday morning, cook lunch together, then cuddle all day until the sun falls over the horizon. Simple enough.

Today was different, though. It was the first day off of the summer break and Max had spent the entirety of yesterday getting as much training as possible before putting his phone on Do Not Disturb. Because of this, he got home quite late and was absolutely exhausted. Poor guy didn't even get a chance to properly change out of his clothes.

You felt bad having to wake him up early, so you did what you thought was best. You took the car keys off the wall and started heading out as quietly as possible. As you turn the car on, you scroll through your phone to try and find the best music to fit the vibe. You were so lost in trying to find the perfect playlist that you didn't notice the blue-eyed blondie walking towards your side of the car.

A knock is what brings you out of your trance. You jump in your seat, startled at the sound before snapping your head towards your door. You could only sigh in relief as you saw the familiar face of your beloved in a hoodie.

He opens the door before you could even put your phone down, a deadpan look on his face. "I'm driving."

You stay frozen in your seat for a beat, before getting up and heading to the passengers side of the car. By the time you had settled in to your usual spot, Max immediately brings the car to life.

The both of you drive in silence for a few minutes. You would glance every so often towards your boyfriend but he only looked straight ahead.

You slump in your seat, a tinge of disappointment coursing through you as you start overthinking if you had fucked up. Max seems to notice this as he leans over to grab your hand from your lap, intertwining your fingers like you always do.

"I'm not mad. Just wake me up next time," he comments, glancing over to you with a gentle smile. You nod at this, muttering a 'sorry' in return.

"Schat, I literally drive for a living," he starts. "No matter how tired I am, I will always drive you. Always. As long as it's you."

"I'm sorry," you muster up, throwing him a sheepish grin. He smiles warmly at this, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

"No need to be sorry. I'm sorry if you thought I was mad." You chuckle at this, bringing your connected hands to your mouth and planting a kiss on top of his knuckles.

"But seriously, you have a four-time world champion at your service and you decide you want to drive yourself?" he starts, energy slowly coming in. "Schat, I literally won at driving. Four times!"

★ LANDO NORRIS

You had accepted the invite to your boyfriend dragging you around while they filmed for Quadrant all day. It was always a rare occurrence whenever Lando would be free to join in on his company's shenanigans, so you decided to come along.

It was lunch time and everyone was scattered around the area, munching away and socializing with the team. Although Lando had urged you to eat earlier on, you just didn't feel like eating anything. It was that time of the month and your appetite was never much for actual food during it. So while there was a good buffet in front of you fit for the whole team, you wanted cupcakes. But not just any cupcakes, Cecil's Cupcakes. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that Cecil's was an hour drive from where you were filming, and with only 20 minutes left before they start production again, you knew you couldn't drag Lando to drive you there.

So what did you do? You silently grab his car keys, sneak out of the huge building, and trudge towards the car park. It wasn't until you reached the door when you notice someone following you. And it wasn't until they got closer when you realized that it was the lovable face of Lando Norris doing so, one hand still holding on to his plate of food and the other shoving nutrients into his mouth.

Your eyes narrow upon seeing this, Lando stopping in his tracks when he notices that you've seen him. A boyish grin creeps up onto his face, still chewing on his food. "Where are we going?"

"We? You have to film in," you glance at your watch before looking back up at him. "15 minutes."

He swallows harshly, throwing away the plastic plate and utensils. "So? Not like they'll fire me."

You scoffed at his response, "Unbelievable."

Lando seems to hear this, walking towards the drivers side and stopping beside you. "So... where are we going?"

A smile creeps up onto your face, shaking your head in disbelief. "Cecil's."

Lando's eyes go wide at the bakery, stealing the car keys from your hand. "You were about to drive an hour to get cupcakes by yourself?"

He places his hands on your shoulders, pushing you towards the passengers side. You giggle at his actions. He opens the car door, pushing you down on the seat while muttering something under his breath. You couldn't make out what he said, but you heard the phrase 'did she forget?'

When Lando plops down onto the driver's seat, you laugh at the sulky look on his face. He looks at you like a hurt puppy before bringing the car to life. "Have you forgotten what I do for a living?"

You try to stifle your laugh, looking forward. "Lan, I didn't wanna disturb—"

Out of nowhere the car comes to a halt, your eyes go wide as you grip the seat. You turn to look at your boyfriend who was already looking at you with a crazed expression: eyes wide, mouth agape, "Is this your way of telling me I suck?"

Your facial features fall. You exhale loudly at the antics of your boyfriend, blinking at him with a deadpan look. "Seriously?"

He purses his lips, putting the car into drive again as you make your journey towards fluffy cupcakes. "I don't suck..."

"No you don't, my love."

★ CHARLES LECLERC

"Oh my god!" You get up from your position on the couch, head shot up from Charles' arms. He looks at you with both eyebrows raised, both concerned and shocked from your excitement.

You turn to look at him, shoving your phone screen in his face. "It's open! It's here!"

Charles raises an eyebrow at your happiness, taking your wrist and adjusting the screen so he could read what you were showing him. It was an Instagram post from your favorite coffee shop back in Spain. You and Charles had discovered the place when you went with him for the Barcelona Grand Prix and you were constantly praying for the day it would open a chain near you. And it finally did.

"Do you wanna go get some right now?" Charles asks, an endearing look on his face as he watches your eyes light up in delight. "Yes! Yes please!"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, and before he knew it, you bounced off the couch and went to go get ready. Charles stayed on the couch, scrolling through his phone when he looked up as he felt your presence near him. When he met your figure though, his eyes went wide and it was his turn to bounce up off the couch.

"Why are you holding that?!" He exclaims, snatching the car keys that you were twirling around your finger. You blink in confusion, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"I'm gonna drive, duh." You said that like it was a given— like it was the most obvious answer in the world. This situation could have passed immediately, but Charles needed to be dramatic.

"What?! What do you mean drive yourself?!" He grabs you by the shoulders, eyes still wide like a crazed person. "Do you forget what I do for a living?!"

You laugh at this, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're seriously going crazy over the fact that I offered to drive?"

Charles shakes his head profusely in reply, grabbing your hands in his. "Mon amour, when I'm around, I drive."

"But you drive all the time!"

Charles starts stuttering, head still shaking like this was the stupidest concern in the world. "And? I drive. No questions asked."

You giggle as he grabs your hand, heading towards the door. "I drive. I always drive. I drive all the time. You should never drive."

"Charles, I get it—"

"I always drive you! Never do that ever again!"

★ OSCAR PIASTRI

You and Oscar had gotten home from the airport early and jet lag hit you two like a rocket. So as soon as the both of you got home, you dropped everything and headed straight to bed. Early enough that the sun was still setting and the two of you were already halfway to dreamland.

Here's the thing— you two never had dinner. So when you woke up at midnight, stomach grumbling like a lion, you weren't exactly surprised. You weren't surprised either that your boyfriend was still asleep next to you, the different time zones affecting him more than the lack of food.

You slowly got out of bed and trudged sleepily to the kitchen. Your eyes were barely open and your hair was the standard definition of bedhead.

You rummage through the refrigerator like a mad man, trying to find anything that could satisfy you. Upon finding nothing, you slump into a chair, head in your hands as you try to fend off both the sleep and the hunger. You thought that this was it, you were about to fall back asleep at the kitchen table in the dead of night, until a glint of silver catches your eye.

Oscar's car keys.

It lay perfectly by the end of the table, shining in all its glory. It was practically calling out to you, screaming your name, directly hit by the kitchen light like it was put there for you.

So what did you do? You got up and took it. You pocketed it in your pajama pants and headed back into the bedroom, making a beeline for the first hoodie you saw lying about. As you put it on, you could instantly tell it was Oscar's.

You thought you were being quiet, pacing around the room trying to find a clip, hair tie, anything to make your hair not look like it was ran over by a train. But apparently you weren't, because as you turn around to open the door and leave, you stop dead in your tracks when you hear—

"Y/N?"

You turn on your heel, slowly taking in the tired appearance of your boyfriend on your bed. He was sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking at you with a worried expression.

"Where are you going? It's—," he reaches for his phone, blinking profusely when the light from the screen practically jolts him awake. "It's midnight."

You walk over to him, sitting on the bed. "I'm hungry."

He blinks, eyebrows furrowing. "Okay. Is there nothing in the kitchen?"

You shake your head in response. Oscar starts getting out of bed, also pulling a hoodie on. He takes your hand and you follow as you both head out. He seems to notice that his car keys weren't where they usually were. He doesn't say anything, probably not to alarm you, but you already knew he was panicking deep down.

You fish the keys out of your pocket, poking his arm and dangling it in his face. He blinks comically, "You were about to drive yourself to get food?"

Now it was your turn to blink, a sheepish smile now on your face. You lower the car keys, nodding slowly. "Yeah?"

Oscar was surprised, you knew that for a fact. He was normally the one that drove you around. He treated you like a queen— never letting you even touch the steering wheel like his life depended on it.

He nods slowly, "Okay."

The both of you stand there for a minute, not really knowing what to do or say. You shift uncomfortably under your boyfriend's gaze, not exactly knowing what he was feeling in that moment.

"Do you want to drive?" He softly asks, taking your hand in his. Your mouth is slightly agape, barely stuttering out a reply. "Yeah. Why? Do you wanna drive?"

"No, it's fine," he shakes his head, pulling you closer to him. "Well, that's my job but... you can do whatever you want to do."

You smile softly at this, looking up into his eyes.

"But," he starts, piquing your interest. "Can I come with you?"

You laugh at this, resting your forehead on his chest. "Of course."

★ CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos insists that Monaco is too chaotic for you to be driving yourself and that you're too pretty to be doing any hard labor. Which is why no matter the time and the date, he always insists on driving you everywhere.

Until today.

You were getting ready to go out. One of your close friends was flying into Monaco and you were going to give them the privilege of showing them around. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend was out training so you had to drive yourself. This wasn't really ever a problem, Carlos just always made it out be one.

You had texted him an hour ago about the arrangements you had made. You informed him that you would be gone for the day and not to be surprised if he came home to an empty house. He was busy so you weren't surprised that he never replied.

You grab your car keys on the way out and take one last final look in the mirror. As you open the door though, you're surprised to see the love of your life standing outside. Your eyes go wide at this, mouth slightly agape. Why was he here?

"Amor?"

He smiles when he sees you. His eyes drop down to what you were holding and his eyes narrow. "Ay, you're not supposed to be holding this."

He takes the keys from your hand and replaces it with his hand instead, grinning at you from ear to ear when you look at him with a done expression. "What are you doing?"

He perks up at this, heading into the house and closing the door behind him. "I'm driving you, of course."

He says it like it was an obvious answer, immediately darting to change out of his sweaty clothes into a fresh set. You follow after him, shaking your head at your boyfriend's antics.

"Seriously, Carlos? You dropped halfway through training to drive me?"

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you, a mischievous smile on his face. "Of course, cariño."

"Your trainer is going to kill me."

He walks up to you adjusting his shirt and bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead. "He'll have to get through me first."

You're weak in the knees from his actions, accepting his hand as he drags you out of the room. "I can drive myself, you know?"

He stops when you reach the living room, turning his body to look at you. "Eh? Drive yourself? Your hands cannot be damaged by hard leather."

You quirk an eyebrow at his words, "Hard leather?"

"Yeah," he smiles. "Of the steering wheel, duh."

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the smile that forced its way onto your face. Upon seeing this, Carlos smiles even more. He squeezes your hand before leading you both towards and out of the door.

"Road rage does not suit you, amor. Let me handle the driving."

[ovaryacted]

SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[toasterkoi]

Still your jaded shadow was forced to look upon

Sights not even a ghost should have to see

And as he slumps so listed, he cannot bear to watch

And yet he cannot draw his gaze away and flee

The reason why there's a white baby fuzz Shadow there holding current Shadow's hand is because it went with my headcannon from that one post I did where he originally had that coat color before he was injected with Black Doom's DNA. (VERY briefly, though)

A homage to what he could've been without the impurity that attached itself to him, the alien dna. Which is ironic in a sense, as Shadow is who he is as an indirect result of Doom's influence.

I really liked a comment on that previous post about the headcannon that said something akin to how his white fur that was left over represented the only place Black Doom failed to corrupt: his heart. Like YES!!! PREACH!!!

And, he has all this chaos energy and some kind of alien power that has dangerous consequences if not kept in check (he didn't know this he was like...10 minutes old) Gerald, of course, was aware of this about Shadow, but paid no mind to warn the hedgehog of his capabilities, as he was sure he had the means to control such a consequence. A fatal flaw of his part. So maybe he had crafted the inhibitor rings beforehand but kept them as a failsafe of sorts.

I imagine that Maria was looking to spend time with newly-released Shadow on a regular morning where she was feeling better, show him some of her favourite songs, or create fun mischief around their space-home, but oddly couldn't find him anywhere. Gerald was probably off doing further research for how to link Shadow to Maria's illness. She found herself peeking into an old storage room where the lights were off, and the door slightly pushed open as if someone had entered but not returned. And then... there's a horrifying and mutated elderich horror in the corner that's growling in pain. It's Shadow, and Maria knew that despite the melting and mutating figure in front of her appearing nothing like a small hedgehog. Because, despite the horrid and dark goup, deep down, it was still Shadow.

She was awfully calm about the entire encounter, too, and managed to get Shadow the help he needed to come back to his hedgehog form. I feel like this says alot about their closeness and relationship, because I bet if a rookie, overworked, below minimum wage employee and scientist walked in on mandela catalog Shadow like that, they would've screamed, peed their pants, and run away. They are NOT getting paid enough for this. (Unless they're used to stuff like that, but idk I'm not a scientist on the ARK guys). Just my thought dump herherher

[navybrat817]

Chokehold

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You have a crush on Bucky and start to bond with him over coffee in the break room, but there's no way he could possibly feel the same way about you... right?

Word Count: Over 11k (yep!)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected v. sex (wrap it before you tap it!), dirty talk, fluff, longing, minor angst, insecurities, feels, sparring, swearing, confessions, getting together, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I've been sitting on this one (thanks for listening to my back and forth on this @targaryenvampireslayer), and I hope you all enjoy. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by the talented @enchanthings-a. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You fell for Bucky Barnes the moment you met. Something dangerous lurked in his steel blue eyes when you introduced yourself to him, but beneath the surface was pain and loneliness that you wanted to take away. Of course, that could've been you projecting and wanting to justify having a crush on a guy who hadn't spoken a word to you.

“Bucky,” was all he said to you, entrancing you with the deep baritone of his voice.

You wished you could say it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but you could count on one hand the number of times he spoke to you in the months that followed. You tried not to take it personally. Maybe he wasn't interested in making new friends since he seemed to stay close to Steve, Sam, and their small group. Or maybe he just didn't see a reason to trust you. Trust likely wasn't easy for him and what reason did he have to open up to you?

“Hi!” you exclaimed when Bucky walked into the break room, your echoing voice making you wince. “Sorry. I didn't mean to greet you at that decibel.”

“It’s okay,” he said, your eyes on him as he strode to the coffee machine with ease.

Bucky wasn't your friend, but it didn't stop you from greeting him whenever you saw him throughout the building, a warm feeling spreading in your chest every time he acknowledged you with a slight head nod or grunt. That had to mean something since he didn't outright ignore you. Not being his friend also didn't keep you from learning little things about him, like how he took his coffee.

Which you decided to surprise him with today.

“Wait! I made you some coffee,” you told him, going to get the mug you had ready for him. “I hope you like it.”

You had a reputation around S.H.I.E.L.D. for being kind to others ever since you joined. You didn't mind that being your signature since you liked putting a bit of kindness out into the world. Besides the tough work you did, your coworkers and teammates fought other battles every day that you knew nothing about. So why not try to lift others up? It costs you nothing.

Being nice, however, had a downside or two. Some thought that kindness was insincere or a weakness. It also didn't get you a lot of dates. Or maybe you didn't pay attention to other guys since you had eyes for one man.

You couldn't get a read on him as you carefully handed it to him. “You made me coffee?” he asked in disbelief, a soft look in his eyes before he blinked it away.

“Yep! With cream and sugar.”

Your smile faltered when he raised an eyebrow and glanced suspiciously at the liquid, like he was trying to assess if something was off with it as you wrung your fingers together. “This is really for me?” he asked.

You couldn't detect any anger or annoyance in his tone, but you wouldn't say he sounded happy either. Which only made your smile fall more. “Yeah. I just, I thought you liked it that way and maybe it would help you kickstart the morning, but I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry. And you don't have to drink it. I can just dump it out,” you rambled.

He held the mug a bit closer when you tried to take it away, the steam rising from it as his eyes met yours. It was almost as if the heat melted the ice from his stare. “Not gonna let you dump this out after you went to the trouble of making it for me,” he said, gently blowing on it before he took a sip. You reminded yourself not to whimper when he licked a drop away from his lip, wondering just what else he could do with that tongue. “Especially since you know how I like it.”

You avoided his gaze, hoping he didn't question why you knew since there was a chance you’d blurt out that you like him and that was the last thing you needed. You owed him some sort of explanation though, right? “Well, we’re both here some mornings and I saw you make it that way,” you said, your brain overanalyzing how that sounded. “Not that I'm watching you or anything like that. I… I’m not a creep.”

Bucky stared with unreadable eyes as you sighed and shook your head. Leave it to you to fumble over your words with your crush. Was that why they called it a crush? Because it crushed your hopes and dreams?

In a small voice, you said, “I was just trying to be nice.”

“It’s a very nice gesture, so thanks,” he said, taking another sip. “I appreciate it.”

Doing your best not to preen like a peacock at the renewed sliver of hope, you released the breath you were holding and nodded. At least he didn't question why you cared enough to remember how he took his coffee. “You’re welcome,” you said, wishing you could hang around and chat more, but you had work to do and didn't want to smother him. “I hope you have a good day.”

“You, too,” he said, his eyes on you as you headed toward the door. “Maybe I’ll see you here at the same time tomorrow?”

You came to a stop, your heart thudding as you faced him. “You… want me to make you coffee tomorrow?”

He chuckled before he took another sip. “I meant maybe we would just bump into each other, but I won’t turn down another coffee if you’re offering.”

Of course that was what he meant. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Maybe,” you said, backing up and hitting your elbow against the doorframe.

His brows furrowed as you gave him a strained smile. “You okay?” he asked, your cheeks hot as you rubbed your elbow.

“I’m fine! Enjoy your coffee,” you said, wishing the ground would swallow you up as you bolted from the room.

You were a competent agent. A strong woman on top of your kindness. Why did you have to act like an idiot in front of him? There was no chance you’d see him in the break room after that. It was a shame, too. It was the most he had ever spoken to you.

A higher being either took pity on you or wanted to play a trick on you since you did see Bucky the next day. Not only that, no one else was in the break room. Granted, most people used the main break room since this room was much smaller and on a floor most didn't go to. But how was it possible that you were so lucky?

“Morning, Bucky.”

“Morning.” He hesitated before he took a seat at the same table as you. If you were dreaming, you didn’t want anyone to wake you up. “Sorry. I should've asked…”

“It’s fine,” you smiled. “You're welcome to sit with me.”

“Thanks.” His cheek twitched and you wondered if it was a nervous tick or something leftover from the hell he endured. “You know, that coffee yesterday was probably the best I’ve ever had from this place.”

You perked up more. “Really? Wow, thanks. It was nothing,” you smiled, your pulse quickening. Not only was Bucky talking to you again, but he complimented you. It was slightly pathetic how much you enjoyed that. “You did say you wouldn’t turn down another coffee if I offered. Would you like one?”

“Sure,” he replied with a smile. He actually smiled at you. It was a good morning. “Thanks.”

“You know, you have a really nice smile,” you complimented him, proud that you said the words without your voice cracking.

“You think so?” He leaned back in his seat and you tried to move around the room like normal as his gaze followed your movements. “I think it scares some more than my glare does.”

You busied yourself with getting his coffee ready, the urge to defend him rising. “There’s nothing scary about your smile and anyone who says otherwise can deal with me.”

“They can deal with you, huh? Awfully kind of you.” His chuckle was so unexpected that you almost dropped the mug. The small talk was unexpected, too, but you weren't about to tell him to stop. “But you’re so sweet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you glare at anyone.”

“Oh, I can have resting bitch face when I want to,” you teased before your heart skipped a beat. He looked at you enough that he hadn’t seen you glare at anyone? He thought you were sweet? No, it was probably just an offhand comment. “And I wouldn’t just glare at anyone to defend you. I can fight, too. Words or fists.”

“You’d fight for me, too? You really know how to flatter a man.” His gaze warmed before some of the usual strain reappeared, your heart lurching at the sight. “But you shouldn’t have to fight for me.”

You took a seat across from him again once you set the mug down. “Why not?”

“Because you just shouldn’t.” He shrugged. You recognized that he was closing part of himself off and you weren't about to kick open that door. “If I’m being honest, I’m kind of shocked you’re talking to me.”

“And why’s that?”

He tapped a finger against his mug as he considered his words. “I haven’t really said much to you since we met, but you’ve still been nice to me. Always saying hi and smiling. And now this,” he said, gesturing to the coffee. “Some people have ulterior motives when they do nice things for no reason, but I don't get that feeling with you.”

“There are people who have ulterior motives. You’re right about that,” you agreed. The world could be a dark place with terrible people. “And I guess that's one of the reasons I try to lead with kindness. Putting a bit more optimism and joy into the world might not make it change overnight, but it could make a difference to someone.”

“That makes sense,” he said, his brows pinching. “But why continue to be nice to me when I've been standoffish with you? I don't think I deserve it.”

You let the words sink in. You expected Bucky would be apprehensive of people in general when his autonomy was taken away from him for so long. Trust couldn’t be easy. People had to earn it. What you didn't expect was that he didn't think he deserved your kindness.

“Everyone is different. We all have various personalities and comfort zones. Some people hit it off right away and others don't. Some need a bit more time to open up,” you answered, an earnest smile on your face. “I guess I figured you fell into the latter. Even if you didn't, I wouldn't take it personally or hold it against you. I hope you know that.”

Bucky may have had you in a chokehold, but he didn't owe you a thing.

His shoulders sagged as he let out a breath and you wished you could wrap him up in a hug. “Thanks for being so understanding.” He observed you with a thoughtful gaze. “And you are right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your kindness made a difference for me yesterday. And you’re really easy to talk to.” He smiled, genuine affection in his eyes as your heart raced. Was it possible to faint while sitting? “I don't usually talk this much anymore.”

“I’m glad it did. You can always talk to me, you know. I’m happy to listen or even give advice if you want it,” you said sincerely. It meant a lot that he took the time to speak to you today, and if it were up to you he’d only have good things in his life going forward. No one deserved that more than him. “And if I’m ever too much for you, don't be afraid to tell me.”

His brows pinched again. “Too much? How?” he asked, his tone not as light as it was a moment ago.

You tensed, gripping your mug as you mulled over past things you heard from others. “Well, I’ve been told before that I’m too perky and too optimistic some days. That my kindness is fake and it can get on people’s nerves,” you explained carefully, swallowing a little. Yeah, you had a reputation for being kind, but some didn’t care for it. “Not that I think you would find me annoying or anything like that. It’s just how it is for some people.”

“So because you choose to be nice instead of acting bitter or rude people don’t like that?” Bucky looked at you with a mix of confusion and anger. “What the fuck is wrong with them?”

You were utterly silent from his reaction. Your heart also fluttered because he seemed upset on your behalf. “So many things, I’m sure,” you teased, hoping to make him smile a little. It was nice when he smiled at you. “But it’s okay. Really. It doesn't change who I am. I'm still going to be me.”

Cheesy, but true. You couldn't control the actions and emotions of others. You knew in your core who you were and you would continue to put that energy out into the world.

His jaw ticked, but he gazed at you with what you guessed was admiration. “Kind and steadfast,” he whispered, making your heart swell all over again. “Listen. If anyone around here does give you a hard time, will you let me know?”

The determination in his eyes took you aback. He went from hardly speaking to you to opening up a bit and now wanting to look out for you. It was nice, to say the least. “That’s okay, Bucky. You said I didn't have to fight for you, so you don't have to for me.”

“I want to.” He reached forward and hovered his hand over yours. Before he touched you though, he pulled away. You longed to know what his touch felt like. “Please?”

You couldn't resist his gaze. “Okay, but only if you let me know if anyone gives you a hard time.”

“Yeah. I got a name for you. Sam Wilson,” he deadpanned.

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth so the sound wouldn’t echo in the room or bother him. “Oh, Sam. I’ll give him a talking to,” you teased, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

“I made you laugh,” he pointed out softly, almost in disbelief. It was another moment where you wanted to wrap him up in a hug.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Wow,” he whispered, smiling before his face fell. “Fuck. I have to go.” He went to stand, but paused to look at you. “Do you ever go to the main break room?”

“I prefer this one,” you said, lightly tapping the table. “It’s quieter.”

“Me, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, maybe I’ll see you here again tomorrow? Same time?

Warmth spread in your heart at the hope in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

You’d always be there if he asked.

For the next several weeks, seeing Bucky in the small break room became part of your normal morning routine. You made coffee for both of you before you sat together and talked. Some chats were casual, while others went a little deeper. Both ends of the spectrum helped you get to know each other.

He spoke fondly about a cat he found in an alley and took into his home. He named her Alpine and even showed you a photo of her on his phone. It tugged at your heartstrings seeing the ball of white fur curled up in his metal arm. How could it not?

Bucky spoke about Steve and Sam and how they tried to meet up once a week for dinner. They took turns picking the place. It was nice that he had them to lean on. Both men were always friendly toward you, but you noticed they seemed to smile at you even more since you and Bucky started talking. You assumed they were happy that their friend had someone else in his corner.

“Steve is a punk and Sam is worse,” he said once with nothing but affection in his eyes.

He explained that he was in therapy, which he wasn't ashamed of. He had no reason to be. It was a work in progress, building trust not just with the therapist but building trust within himself. He didn't get into specifics regarding what they talked about as it wasn't your business to begin with, though he did casually throw in that he had trouble sleeping some nights. You mentioned that you sometimes wrote your thoughts and feelings down if they got too loud. He told you the next day that he got himself a new notebook to try that out and you had a spring in your step the whole morning.

You didn't talk about anything particularly exciting. You told him that you didn't have a lot of family close by, but loved your job because you got to help people in some capacity. And that you enjoyed reading and watching movies when you stayed at home, but also enjoyed going out with a couple of close friends. Bucky didn't need to know that they loved teasing you about your crush. You mentioned little things, too, like how you needed to go shopping soon for a new sofa and how you hoped to see the new science exhibit at the nearby museum.

The bulk of your conversations took place in the break room, minus occasionally bumping into him around the building which didn't leave much time for chatter. It wasn't a bad thing. It was nice just to talk to him.

And while you didn't think any of the topics you brought up were interesting, Bucky listened intently every time, his eyes on you as he hung on your every word. The attention felt nice. Though you hadn't mustered up the courage to ask him to hang out outside of work, it felt like the two of you were friends because of those mornings together.

Maybe he thought you were friends, too, since he asked one day, “Do you know anything about dating apps?”

You almost spilled his coffee, but quickly recovered and avoided his concerned gaze as you sat down. “Um, no, not much. I haven’t really used them. I haven’t dated in a few months either,” you answered honestly, hoping your tone didn’t sound as bitter as the taste in your mouth. You weren’t embarrassed by your romantic status, but your heart sank just the same. “Are you… Why are you asking? Just out of curiosity.” It wasn’t your business, but it was the first time he brought up anything concerning dating or relationships.

“Sam mentioned setting me up and I brushed that off, so he mentioned using a dating app. I don’t know.” He shrugged as you hung your head.

Something settled within your chest, a heavy feeling that made it difficult to take a steady breath. But you couldn't feel sorry for yourself. Bucky was kind, good looking, and trying to adjust to a sense of normalcy. Of course he’d want to try dating again and what kind of person would you be if you didn't support him?

“Well, I can help you research some apps if you’d like. See if any may be a good fit?”

“Really? You’d do that?” he asked softly.

Your eyes drifted up and you did your best to smile. You couldn't let him see that the mere thought of him dating someone else hurt you. It was pathetic. “Yeah, I would,” you answered. You refused to let your crush on him stop you from helping him if he wanted to meet someone.

Bucky stared at you for a few seconds and you almost squirmed in your chair. “But you said you haven't really used them. Why not?”

The unexpected question did make you squirm. You couldn't blurt out that he was one of the reasons. “Well, not to be a downer or anything, but some apps almost seem to set people up for rejection. It just isn’t possible to match every single person up. And there’s also rapid judgment with some based on appearance and it makes it easy to objectify people,” you explained. It was sad, but true. “It does work for some and I’m happy for those people, but I don't know. I’d rather just meet someone and…”

“Connect with them naturally?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” you said, a sad smile touching your lips. “Is it wishful thinking to want something like that?”

“I don’t think it is at all. In fact, that’s a good reason why I probably won’t use an app,” he said. You hoped your sigh of relief wasn’t audible, but the weight lifting from your shoulders felt palpable. “Besides, what would I say if I tried to set up a profile? ‘Hi, I’m a previously brainwashed assassin over 100 years old’?”

“It would be a conversation starter,” you teased, the playful banter bringing a warm smile to his face. “And I know I brought up rapid judgment, but I’m sure one look at your profile picture and people would line out the door just to get your attention,” you smiled and gestured to his face, but his gaze dropped, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “I’m sorry. I…”

He shook his head, and you caught a hint of a smile that made your heart flutter. “No, it’s… It’s kind of nice to hear that,” he admitted, his gaze drifting away like he was lost in thought. “Dating came easy to me years ago and I don’t think I really appreciated it back then. The thought of trying again is a little scary.”

His voice was soft, almost reflective, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. You felt a swell of empathy for the weight of his past. “Well, whenever your next date happens? I hope they know how lucky they are,” you said, your heart aching to convey how deserving he was of genuine connection.

You just wished that connection was with you.

The warm smile returned to his face as he gazed at you. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Your heart ached in your chest. “Anytime,” you whispered back, quickly standing up before tears pricked your eyes. “I should get to work. Have a good day, okay?”

“Oh. You, too.” He looked like he wanted to stop you, but he hung back. It was all in your head anyway. He didn't want to stop you. Why would he?

You wiped your eyes once you were out of the break room. Rushing away was cowardly and you knew it. It was silly, too.

You wondered if the coffee talks would continue once he found his dream girl. Would he tell you about her? Would bile rise to your throat when he sang their praises or smiled a soft smile not reserved for you? You had to stop thinking about it. You couldn't fall apart just because Bucky wasn't yours, and it was something you’d need to come to terms with when he found someone else.

And maybe tomorrow it wouldn't hurt so much.

Bucky looked a little tired when he joined you the next morning, not saying a word. He still offered you a smile. You didn't speak either, but you gave him a small smile in return.

The night before, you wrestled with the idea of telling him how you felt. All you had to do was get the words out. But the words froze in your throat like ice and you kept quiet, both of you sipping your coffee as the seconds passed by.

You almost wanted to fill the void with more chatter, but it didn’t feel necessary. The silence was oddly comforting. Silence was also safe. He seemed content just to sit there with you, and you were afraid you’d blurt something out that you couldn’t take back.

“Did I do something to upset you yesterday?” he asked suddenly. His gaze was so gentle, yet deep, looking for an answer you couldn't fully give him. “You rushed out without finishing your coffee, and you always finish your coffee, so I had to have done something.”

Your heart breaks from his words. Rushing off made him think it was his fault, and you never wanted to imply that. “No, you didn't upset me,” you replied. That was true. Bucky didn't do anything to upset you. It was your own mind and feelings that did that. “I just had work to do.”

He didn't look convinced, and you couldn't blame him. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” You put a smile on your face, but you felt terrible. “And I don't think you could do anything to upset me.”

“Then you wouldn't mind sparring with me tomorrow morning by any chance, would you?” he asked.

You inhaled, not expecting him to ask you that. “You want to spar with me?” You discreetly pinched yourself, testing to see if you were dreaming or not. He was asking you to hang out with him outside of the break room. Kind of. “Really?” you added, your heart racing when he nodded.

“Yeah. What do you say?” he asked. Oh, it was a bad idea to spar with Bucky Barnes. Not because you couldn't learn from him, but what the hell were you going to do to reign in your sexual frustration? “Unless you're busy.”

“Yes!” you blurted out quickly, clearing your throat as you tried to regain some of your composure. You swore his cheek twitched like he was trying not to smile. “I mean, no, I'm not busy. I’m totally free and I'd love to spar with you,” you said, praying you sounded normal and not like some lovesick woman with an overgrowing crush.

Which was exactly what you were.

But you weren't about to turn down a chance to spar with him. Who in their right mind would? How many times had you imagined him slamming your body against the mats and pinning you down? Both of you breathing heavily, his face shining from the perspiration. You were thankful the super soldier couldn't read minds because now all you could think about was him tearing your clothes away and spearing you open with his cock and-

“Okay then,” he said, finishing his coffee before he took the mug to the sink. “Second floor gym. Room 2. 6 am.”

“6 am. I’ll be there,” you promised, gazing after him as he walked toward the door. “See you then, Sergeant.”

His entire body went rigid before he looked back at you, the metal fingers of his left arm twitching. Your heart sank, worried that you said something wrong. Would he take back his offer?

You stood up from the table. “Bucky, I-”

An agent walked through the door and bumped Bucky out of the way. At least he tried to. The super soldier didn't budge.

“Excuse me,” Bucky said.

“Watch it,” the agent sneered, bumping his shoulder again. He still didn't budge. “Think you're special because you got some serum in your veins and Rogers wanted to save your ass? You’re nothing.”

You gasped. You could handle people saying things about you, but people you cared about? It made you see red. How dare this guy say anything like that to Bucky?

“Nothing but HYDRA’s little bitch.”

Bucky glared and looked about two seconds away from smacking the guy across the room, but he hung his head after a second and didn't breathe a word. Maybe he didn't want to make a big deal out of it or didn't think it was worth it. You, however, wouldn't put up with it. Not for a second.

“Hey! Agent asshole,” you snapped, marching over until you were between Bucky and the agent. “Apologize to him.”

The agent cackled at you and you heard Bucky’s metal fingers curl. “Apologize? He was in my way.” He reached out a hand to pat your head. “But it’s kind of cute to see you defending the Winter Soldier. That's-” You grabbed his wrist and twisted it. “Ow, fuck!”

“And now I’m in your way,” you said sweetly, twisting a bit more until his knees buckled. “Apologize, now.”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry!” he shouted.

Bucky had a look of awe on his face when you looked back at him. “It’s okay,” he said above a whisper.

You released the guy and pointed at the door. “Whatever you need you can get it later,” you said, satisfied when the agent scrambled out the door.

Bucky stared at you when you faced him, silence hanging in the air. “You okay?” you finally asked. Was twisting the guy’s wrist too much?

“I…” Bucky blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. “You defended me.”

“Well, yeah. I told you if anyone gave you a hard time they could deal with me,” you smiled. It didn't matter how small the matter was, you’d stick up for him. People like that guy often mistook your kindness for weakness. “And what he said was completely out of line.”

“Thank you.” His fingers reached out and touched yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Really. Thank you.”

“Don't need to thank me,” you said, giddy from his small touch. “And, listen, before he rudely interrupted, I was going to ask if it bothered you that I called you Sergeant.”

You thought you saw his fingers twitch again, but he shook his head. “No. I… kind of like hearing that from you.”

“Oh.” You dipped your head to hide your smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then? 6 am?”

“Yeah, you will,” he said softly, meeting your gaze as you lifted your head again.

“Have a good day then, Sergeant.”

He inhaled sharply. “Don’t be late tomorrow,” he gruffly spoke before he left the room without another word, hearts in your eyes as you stayed rooted to the spot.

You mentally jumped for joy from how excited you were. You couldn't keep the smile off your face the rest of the day. Bucky could've asked anyone in the building to spar with him, but he chose you. And he stuck up for you because some guy bumped into you. Now you just had to make sure you wouldn't make a fool of yourself in the morning.

Easy enough, right?

You spent more time than you cared picking out the perfect exercise outfit. It didn't matter what you wore since he only asked you to practice with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date. Still, you were hopeful that the matching black set would make him look at least once.

If anything, it was a confidence booster for yourself since you liked how you looked in it.

“Confidence is sexy,” you smiled before you grabbed your bag to go.

You got to the gym in record time, not wanting to be late or keep him waiting. Nodding to a few people on machines before you made it to the second floor, you had to pause and take a breath before you entered Room 2. The air was a bit cooler in the sparring area, which was good considering you’d likely work up a sweat.

Dropping your bag near the door, you nearly jumped when you spotted Bucky a few feet away staring at you. “Right on time,” he said, your throat dry as he nodded to the mat. “I stretched before you got here.”

“Hey,” you said, removing your jacket, the zipper loud in the quiet room. You gave him what you hoped was a nice smile when you went to the mat. “Shouldn't take me long.”

The Sergeant stood against the wall with his arms crossed as you began to stretch, one foot pressed against it as his eyes slid over to you. Quickly averting your gaze, you tried to concentrate on warming up instead of how good he looked in his workout gear. While his sweatpants hung low on his hips, the dark short sleeved shirt clung to him like a second skin. He had his hair pulled back, too, which only enhanced how bright his eyes looked under the ceiling lights.

You refused to get aroused just from looking at him.

Too. Fucking. Late.

“You good? You don't seem as chipper as usual,” he said.

“Yeah, I…” What were you even going to say? That his mere presence in his current attire made you wet? “I didn't have my coffee before I left, so no caffeine. This might wake me up.”

He didn't seem convinced, but he nodded after a moment. “I know the feeling,” he said with a soft smile. “Thanks for joining me so early. And sorry if it threw off your routine.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Morning exercises are good for the mind and body,” you said, standing once you finished stretching. He probably had a full schedule ahead of him. “I have to admit though, just like you were surprised I was nice to you a while back, I'm a little surprised you asked me to spar with you.”

“And why is that?” he asked as he approached the mat, all confidence as he took his spot.

Your throat went dry again before you cleared it. “Because someone like Steve is more evenly matched,” you said. Super soldier to super soldier, you could go for hours. “And chances of me beating you are also pretty slim.”

Way to downplay yourself.

“You nearly brought that agent to his knees yesterday and you didn't break a sweat.” His head tilted a fraction, his eyes carefully taking you in from head to toe. “You don't think you can take me?”

Your next breath came out in a rush. If you didn't know any better, you would've said he asked that on purpose. Oh, you had imagined Bucky telling you how well you'd take him, but not like this. You'd take what you can get.

“I can take you,” you stated.

You could only describe the look in his eyes as feral as he got into position. “I'm sure you can,” he said, your only warning before he rushed at you.

Blocking Bucky’s hit, you told yourself not to smile and focused on dodging another hit. He had advantages on his side, like his strength with the serum in his veins, but you were determined to show him that you were a worthy opponent. You also knew he wouldn't try to harm you. Anything he threw your way would be to help you improve.

Bucky grinned when he blocked your kick and you almost let it distract you. “I think you're giving me a run for my money,” he said before he performed a back full twisting layout to dodge another kick. Was that the proper term? Whatever it was, the move was more agile than you could comprehend.

“And I think you’re showing off,” you teased, extending your leg for a sweep instead. You huffed when he flipped away again. “Either that or Steve’s theatrics have rubbed off on you.”

“Don't tell him that. Wouldn't want him to get a big head,” he winked.

The back and forth went on for a few minutes, your breathing heavier and heart racing. Part of you wondered if he was pulling punches for your sake, but he didn't let up. It was exhilarating. You hoped he asked you to spar with him again.

“Tell me something.” Bucky brushed some of the loose hair back with the back of his hand, both of you panting lightly as the motions stopped for a second. “Why are you single?”

Your eyes widened at the question. “W-What?” you breathed, almost losing your footing as you stepped back. Why would he ask you that and why now?

“You told me why you don't use dating apps and you want to make a genuine connection, but you haven't mentioned anyone special,” he shrugged, tilting his head when he stepped forward. “You know you can tell me if there’s someone you like, right?”

“Maybe we can have this conversation when we’re done sparring?” you suggested. It would give you a chance to collect yourself.

He shook his head. “No, I think we should have this conversation now, if that’s okay.”

“I guess. If you insist.” You blocked his swing, barely. “There’s… someone I like, but I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

His cheek twitched, like he wasn't expecting that answer. “Who is he? Do I know him?”

That question threw you off a bit more. Why did he want to know who? “Yeah. Yeah, you do,” you said.

“Is it Steve? Sam?” he pressed, a hint of anger in his eyes. “Some other agent?”

“No, no, and no,” you replied, sighing as you dropped your arms. “Listen, do we really-”

Bucky swept your legs out from under you. The air left your lungs when your back hit the mat and he settled over you before you could get up, pinning your arms at your side. You tried to twist out of his hold and couldn't even use your thighs to roll him off you since he had those pinned, too.

“You let your guard down,” he said.

“Yep,” you said, the word clipped as you tried to look anywhere but at him. It was impossible. He was everywhere.

“Now this guy you like,” he started with a tilt of his head. He wasn't letting this go, was he? “If it’s someone I know and he isn't Steve, Sam, or another agent, who is he?”

You bit your lip, wishing you a chance to hide or bolt.

“Tell me,” he begged, his eyes staring into yours. “Please.”

Oh, God. Did he have any clue how you felt? At the very least, could he sense how he affected you by laying on top of you? How hard your nipples were against your top or the wetness that gathered between your thighs?

Now wasn't the time to focus on being horny.

He sighed when you didn’t speak. “Answer this then: Is there even the slightest chance that it’s me?” he asked, the question hanging in the air between you.

“I…” You swallowed hard as he waited patiently for your answer with an expectant gaze. He was so close and the position was too vulnerable, but you had to bite the bullet and tell him the truth. “It isn't a slight chance. It's one hundred percent you.”

“What?” he whispered.

Super soldier hearing, he should've heard you perfectly clear, right? “I like you, Bucky. I care about you. I pretty much have since I met you,” you finished, the quiet admittance making your chest burn.

It was out in the open now and no longer suppressing your feelings was a good thing.

He stared straight into your eyes, your heart picking up a notch. “You like me?” The weight of him left your thighs, but you couldn't breathe when he settled between them. “At the risk of sounding like an arrogant prick, are you single because you’ve been waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, swallowing again. “And you aren’t arrogant. Far from it.”

“So, every morning we’ve had coffee together and even before that, you cared about me? And when I brought up the dating app a couple of days ago and you offered to help me, you had feelings for me? And when you defended me?” He tilted his head further when you nodded. “And you didn't say anything until now?” It didn't feel like an accusation, but your eyes welled up anyway.

“Yes, the whole time. I didn't want to tell you and make things weird if you didn't feel the same way and I would've rather have you as a friend than nothing at all. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you rambled as a tear slid from the corner of your eye. You weren't trying to deceive him by keeping your crush on him a secret. “We are kind of friends, right?”

The two of you hadn’t hung out outside of work, but there was something there. At the very least, there was a comradery. After this, who knew if he’d even want to speak to you again.

“I don't want to be your friend,” he said with conviction, your heart shattering. It was like he punched you right in the gut and maybe you deserved that. He smiled softly, something beautifully tragic when you struggled beneath him. Why wasn't he letting you up? “Wait, no, no. That’s not what I meant.”

You went limp when you couldn't break his hold. “Then what do you mean?!”

“I want to be so much more than that.”

“You…” the rest of the words died on your lips because what did he say?

A metal finger moved down your cheek, the touch cool against your warm skin as he wiped another tear away. The finger then tipped your chin before his mouth descended on yours. You weren't sure why you expected it to be a rough kiss, but it was anything but. His lips teased yours along with his tongue, coaxing you to open your mouth to his. It was demanding in the gentlest of ways.

It wasn't a rushed kiss either. It was thorough, slow, like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Did he have any idea of the spark he ignited within you? It was something hot, needy, out of control. Fire raced through your veins. You'd go up in flames if he kept kissing you like that. Like you meant something to him.

“I care about you, too,” he whispered. You inhaled sharply when he trailed kisses along your face. “I’ve liked you since we met.”

“You have?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he smiled, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I hoped you might feel the same, but I’m a bit rusty when it comes to this and I couldn't get a read on you when I mentioned the dating app. I figured this approach might be better.”

“Well,” you gasped when you felt something hard pressed against you. “It worked,” you said. You were glad he took the leap of faith.

“I’ll always remember the first time you smiled at me. I won't let anyone take that memory away from me,” he groaned against your skin, your eyes tearing up again. “And the way you stuck up for me… I don’t deserve you. I don't know if I ever will.”

“Don't say that,” you begged when he released your other wrist, giving you the chance to wrap your arms around him. “You deserve every bit of happiness.”

He smiled as his kisses moved down to your neck and you could only whimper when he licked and sucked over your pulse. “You're so caring. So good,” he said, rocking his hips forward. The sweet words combined with the sensual movements of his body fueled your desire. You also bit your lip to keep from bursting into tears from his praise. “And you're so beautiful, you know that? Inside and out.”

“You keep talking like that, I’ll keep crying,” you tried to joke.

He lifted his head to wipe another tear away. “Happy tears?”

“Very happy,” you promised, shifting underneath him and brushing his crotch again.

His mouth fell open as his eyes shut. It was one of the sexiest looks you had ever seen. “If you keep doing that, I’ll embarrass myself,” he said in a strained voice.

“Is that a bad thing?” you smiled innocently.

“Maybe not. I have a quick rebound rate if I do,” he teased, frowning when your smile slipped. “Shit, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m fine. You didn’t say anything wrong,” you promised, touching his cheek. “I just… Am I dreaming?”

His lips touched yours again, You would’ve melted into the mat if you weren’t already underneath him. “You’re not dreaming,” he whispered. The groan he let out when you moved beneath him again reminded you that he really was settled between your legs. And hard. “I wanted to take you out on a nice date before I even touched you, but I don’t know if I can wait. You’re driving me crazy.”

Well, nothing had happened quite yet. Just a confession of feelings. And some kissing. And grinding.

“You’re driving me crazy, too, but if you want to stop, I understand,” you said. It didn't have to go further if he didn't want to, especially since it was fast.

His forehead touched yours. “Do you?”

You nearly shouted that you didn’t want him to stop, would never want him to stop, but this wasn’t just about you. “I don’t, but I get it if you do,” you said. You were kind of in a public place and consent went both ways. If he was the slightest bit uncomfortable, you were fine with stopping.

It seemed to be all he needed to hear since he kissed you again, eagerly licking into your mouth. Your heart was still racing out of control, the high from the exercise running through your veins. You wondered if he felt that adrenaline, too. If the confession of your feelings was the water against the dam, admitting that you wanted him physically, too, was the thing to break it.

“It’s just… I don’t…” He lifted his head to look around before he smiled. “Wait, hold on.”

He pushed himself up, your body cold from the sudden lack of heat. The tent he sported in his pants sent a surge of pride through you as he went as gracefully as he could to the door. Locking it, he went to his bag next and dug out a towel.

“What are you doing?” you asked when he came back quickly.

“Trying to be a gentleman,” he smiled, lifting your hips to place the towel underneath. “Sorry, the mat’s just kind of dirty and I think you deserve a little better than that.”

“You certainly are a gentleman,” you smiled back.

“The things I want to do to you are far from gentlemanly,” he said, reaching for the waistband of your pants and peeling them down with your underwear. You were sweaty and gross, but if he didn’t care, you wouldn’t either. “I wish I could lay you out and kiss every inch of your body.”

“Maybe after I shower,” you teased, both of you chuckling as you helped push his pants and underwear down. Once all was said and done the two of you could talk and figure out a date and him properly taking you to bed, but having him take you then and there was perfect. “Oh…”

Words left your mind when you saw his hard and heavy cock. A bead of precum dripped from the head and you wished you could have a taste. There was a good chance he’d split you in half, but it would be worth feeling him for days on end.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, opening your legs more as an offering. You didn’t care if it made you look desperate for him, which you were. You just hoped it looked enticing.

With blown pupils and a small growl, he shook his head. It was enough to make you want to cry. “I need to stretch you first, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment made you smile even when you argued, “I don’t need you to stretch me. I can take it.”

He narrowed his eyes, but gave you a smile, too, as he brought his hand to your scorching heat. “We’re both desperate for this, but I’m going to stretch your pretty cunt to make room for my cock. Got it?”

Shivering at his tone, you nodded. “Yes, Sergeant,” you answered, biting your lip when you saw his cock twitch. “You really like me saying that, don't you?”

“Yes,” he groaned. You’d have to keep calling him that in and out of bed then.

He rubbed along your folds slowly, like he was memorizing the feel. Deep down, he was a gentleman. Badly wanting you, but making sure he wouldn’t hurt you. What more could you ask for?

“Can I confess something?” he asked gently as the first finger sank into you, gently exploring. Gasping at the welcomed intrusion, you nodded. He could say anything he wanted. “I've imagined you just like this,” he stated, pulling his finger out before pushing it in deeper.

“You have?” you asked before he pushed a second finger in, both of them curling slightly. It sent sparks of pleasure down your spine.

“It almost felt wrong because I hadn’t even asked you to go out with me, but I couldn’t help myself.” His voice was huskier as he pumped his fingers, your hand fisting in his shirt. You throbbed with need, a kind of need you couldn’t ever remember feeling. “I wondered what kind of sounds you’d make and how you’d feel around me if you ever let me have you.”

More heat pooled in your core as you spread your legs wider for him.

“Making such pretty sounds for me already. And your pussy, it feels like heaven. Might even make me see God once I have my cock in you.” He glanced down to watch his fingers slide in and out of your tight passage, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Fuck, you’re so warm. And tight. And wet,” he continued, an almost cocky smile on his face when his thumb swiped over your clit and drew a small whimper from you. "Guess I haven’t completely lost my touch.”

“That is both hot and…” you had to pause when he added a third finger, making you stretch around the digits. He was going to be the death of you. “Is it bad if I’m a little jealous because I don’t want to think about you touching anyone else?”

Something sparked in his pretty blue eyes. “Does my girl have a jealous streak?” He slid a fourth finger in, your back arching with a small cry. “I’m flattered, but you have nothing to worry about. You’re the only one I want.”

Your breaths were shallow from his touch alone, but the sweet words got under your skin. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else either,” you exhaled. He knew you weren’t seeing anyone, but you felt the need to assure him. “And I like that.”

“Like what?”

Your hand twisted in his shirt more. “The idea of being your girl,” you managed to answer, your body writhing as he moved his fingers in a beautifully torturous motion. “Enough, Bucky, please.”

“Enough what?”

“I’m stretched. I’m on the pill. Just… put your cock in me, please!” Panting by the end of your begging rant with mist in your eyes, you added, “Can I at least touch you if you won’t fuck me?”

The beautiful bastard had the nerve to laugh when he took his fingers out. “Kind and steadfast, even when you’re begging to get fucked,” he said, his eyes slipping shut for a second as he licked the first two fingers clean. “I promise you can touch me later if you let me get a proper taste of your sweet cunt.”

Your cheeks got so hot it shocked you that you didn’t catch on fire. “Yes, please,” you whispered, the promise of later making you quiver.

The room felt like it was spinning when he stared down at you and licked his fingers again. He kept his eyes on you when he wrapped them around his cock and guided it to your waiting hole. You tried to calm the beating of your heart when he slipped the blunt head in, but you were powerless to do anything but feel as he kept pushing in. You trembled and gripped his shoulders once his hips were flush against yours, throbbing around his thickness already when hadn't started thrusting.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasped, dropping his forehead to yours again as he trembled, too. “I need…” he breathed against your lips. “I just need a second, please.”

“Okay,” you whispered, wondering if he was as overwhelmed as you were. Maybe moreso. You weren’t sure exactly how long it had been for him. And being enhanced, you didn’t know if the sensations felt different or stronger. You just hoped he felt good. And happy.

His metal hand framed your cheek, so gentle in contrast to the damage he could do with it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, tilting your head up to kiss him. “I can take it,” you promised. Your body had adjusted to his size and now you wanted him to move, to feel all of him.

He finally began to thrust, moaning against your lips. You lifted your hips, trying to take him in more. The hand on your face slid down your body before it moved to your hip, keeping you in place so you could feel him nice and deep. He pulled his cock out almost completely before he thrust back in, making you cry out as you quivered around him. You wanted to soak his cock, consume him the way he was consuming you.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praised as you bit your lip. “No, lemme hear those pretty sounds. C’mon,” he said, changing his angle slightly so you moaned loudly. He moaned, too, as he kept thrusting. “There you go. So beautiful.”

You wanted to scream for him. You also wondered what it would feel like to have his hand around your throat or over your mouth to smother those very sounds if you ever snuck off during work to fool around. There were so many things you wanted to try with him.

“Bucky,” you whined, digging your nails into his shoulders as he moved faster. Piercing pleasure built from your core and spread slowly throughout your body. You felt like you couldn’t breathe from how good it felt, how he felt.

The intensity in his turbulent eyes was similar to when he listened to you talk in the break room, but with much more heat. Had he looked at you like that all along? “Wanna mark you up one day. Let everyone see that you’re my girl,” he grunted, dragging his mouth from your face to your neck. He lightly bit down, smirking when you whined again. “Would you let me?”

“Yes,” you moaned, tilting your head to give him more access. You’d feel so proud to wear his mark. There wouldn’t be any shame if people saw or asked because you’d get to say you belonged to Bucky.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped, surging into you over and over, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls with your cries. “Sweetheart, I’m not gonna last.”

The term of endearment again. It had your heart clenching along with your pussy. “Neither am I,” you breathed, bringing his head back to yours. You framed his cheeks, ecstasy close to crashing over you. From the strain in his handsome face, he was on the edge, too. “Come with me? Mark me up inside?”

It was a question and not a demand because you wouldn’t demand anything from the man who somehow stole your heart.

Through the pleasure twisting his face, he smiled. “Come with me.”

The heightened pleasure crashing over you was powerful enough that you almost screamed, your walls spasming around him. Shudders wracked your body as your breath ceased, trying to hold his gaze as the heat engulfed you. Your release coated him, just like you wanted it to. And it was only a few more thrusts from him before he tipped over the edge, filling you up in return. You both marked each other in the best possible way.

You laid limp beneath him, both of you panting. Your slick, wet heat still burned around him as released your hips and pushed himself up, a bead of sweat from his skin dripping onto yours. You gazed at each other, something tender passing between you. You wished the moment didn't have to end.

He leaned back down to nuzzle your nose and you couldn’t help but giggle breathlessly at the affectionate move. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, still dazed. “You?”

“Better than okay,” he said, smiling when you tucked some of his hair back. He looked good like this.

“I don't think I can move,” you teased.

“We have to, sadly,” he sighed, sliding himself from the warmth of your body. You whined at the loss, your hole clenching around nothing as your mixed release seeped onto the towel beneath you. “I know, but in case the next group that uses this room gets here early, I don’t want them to see you with your pants down,” he told you as he sat back and looked over you. You took a moment to look over him as well, getting a glance at his glorious thighs. You longed for the chance for you both to truly explore each other’s bodies. “And we could both use a shower.”

You inhaled when he used the clean part of the towel to gently wipe you both down. “Mmm. Together?”

He chuckled, helping you pull your underwear and pants back up. His hands lingered on your hips and you were two seconds from shoving the fabric back down. “If I get you in the shower, we won’t make it to work on time.”

“I don’t mind being late.” You tried to lift your arms to help him pull up his pants, too, but he beat you to it. It was a shame he had to cover up. “Or we could call in? I still have a lot of days off to use.”

“Yeah? You want to call in?”

“Yeah,” you said eagerly. Too eagerly. “Maybe?”

You almost shrank in on yourself when he raised an eyebrow. He told you he cared about you and he sure as hell just fucked you like he craved you, but you didn’t want to come across as clingy, especially so soon. The two of you still needed to figure things out.

And what if the things said were just from the heat of the moment? You weren't sure if your heart could take it if he walked away without another thought. He wouldn't do that though, right?

His gaze softened, helping you sit up, his face inches from yours as he rubbed your arms. “Hey. What’s the matter?” he asked, your heart in your throat when he smiled again. “Was I that bad?”

“No, not at all. You were amazing, holy shit, and telling you how I feel was long overdue,” you promised, his smile softer. “It’s just…”

His brows pinched. “It’s just what?”

You took a breath. “I've wanted to hear for so long that you had feelings for me, too. And now that it’s really sinking in, I guess I still feel like I’m dreaming a bit. That none of this happened,” you admitted, placing your hand on his chest. His heart was still beating fast, like yours. “That tomorrow I’ll just go back to being the girl who has a crush on you and nothing more.”

“What?” His face slowly fell. Why did you open your mouth? “No, that's not going to happen.”

“We just went from work friends to whatever just transpired, and I don’t want it to be too much or too fast for you or for you to regret this,” you blurted out, biting your lip hard. “I don't want to be too much for you,” you added in a whisper. Your insecurity surfaced more as the post-sex haze faded and you wished it hadn't. “I’m sorry. I don't know why I’m ruining the moment.”

It was stupid. Where had your optimism gone? He told you he cared about you. He gazed at you like you meant something to him. It was everything you wanted, so why were you questioning it?

“You didn't ruin anything.”

“Are you sure?” you asked softly.

Bucky placed his hand over yours, the other going to the back of your head so you couldn't move away. “I’m sure, now listen to me: Whatever is going on between us isn’t too much and you are not too much. You are never too much,” he said with fierceness akin to a growling wolf. “I want you and I want to be with you. I wouldn’t joke about that,” he assured you, your lips tugging in a small smile. “I get feeling like it's a dream, believe me, but it isn't. It's real and what just happened was real.”

Hearing him declare his feelings again made your heart soar. “I know you wouldn’t joke about that,” you said. He wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t toy with your feelings like that. “I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?”

“I do and I am happy,” he said, his eyes full of longing. He experienced so much pain and loss and deserved happiness. “I’ve lost so much of my life, so much time, and I don't want to waste another second. So believe me when I say I want you to be my girl.”

A sob threatened to work its way up. “Oh, Bucky,” you whispered, your head dipping down before he lifted it back up.

“That connection you’ve talked about wanting, I feel that with you. I trust you. That’s why I’ve been able to open up to you. The person who made me coffee and offered me kindness and understanding and just let me be me,” he said, making you smile more. You wished you could wrap each word around your heart. “I want to hold your hand in the break room and kiss you in the halls. I want you today and I’ll want you tomorrow and the day after that. And the only thing I regret from any of this is not asking you to be my girl sooner.”

His words, his stare, his touch, they healed the senseless wound your insecurity put on your heart. “I’m yours.” You surged forward, your lips crashing against his. He sighed before he returned the kiss, likely feeling the same relief you had. You wished you could put into words how much his assurance meant, but you hoped your kiss expressed it. “Thank you for both coaxing my feelings out of me and assuring me that you want this.”

“Anytime.” He brushed another kiss across your lips. “You know how you said you hoped the next person who dated me knew how lucky they were?” he asked. You remembered. “I'm the lucky one because you’re taking a chance on me.”

“You’re a smooth talker.” You had no clue how you kept the tears at bay. It meant everything that he wanted to be with you. “I think we’re both lucky.”

He smiled at that. “Yeah, but I still don’t deserve you,” he whispered, kissing you again before you could argue that he was more than worthy. “So, you want to spend the day with me?”

“Yeah, I do. We can go on a day date or just talk some more at my place or yours,” you answered, not feeling the need to hide anymore. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“Sweetheart, you just let me fuck you on a sparring mat. You can ask me for anything you want,” he smirked, catching your face between his hands. “But this day date doesn’t count as the nice date I want to take you on. My girl deserves something special.”

Your heart tightened in your chest, your emotions starting to run high again before you took a calming breath. “Then how about after that shower we call in, go to a cafe, get a cup of coffee, and figure out that date together? Maybe I’ll even convince you that you do deserve me.”

He huffed, taking your hands and helping you both up. You’d never be able to look at a pair of sweatpants again without thinking of what transpired there. “Okay, but I’m warning you right now that I probably won’t like the coffee.”

“Why not?”

“Because you didn’t make it,” he smiled. “Maybe we can check out that science exhibit you mentioned.”

You giggled. He remembered. “That would be nice,” you said, leaning close when he slipped his arm around you and guided you toward your bag. “You know, I can make more than just coffee. Just say the word and I’ll cook for you,” you said. You’d love to cook him a nice meal.

“Word,” he deadpanned.

You giggled again. “Later,” you promised. You’d make him something special. “Do you think Alpine will like me?”

“She’ll love you,” he promised, giving you a sheepish smile. “I told her all about you. And I think the last few dinners with Steve and Sam all I talked about was you.”

“You told your cat about me? You're adorable,” you smiled. It was really sweet. “And… Will Steve and Sam be happy?” They were his friends and you hoped they approved.

“Steve will be thrilled.” He huffed again. “But Sam’s opinion doesn't matter. Fuck him.”

With a teasing smile, you asked, “Wait, I thought I was supposed to give Sam a talking to. Are you offering for me to fuck him?” You shrieked when he growled and picked you up, placing you over his shoulder. “Bucky!”

“You’re not fucking anyone but me. You’re my girl and I’ll mark you up to prove it if I have to,” he said, keeping a firm hand on you as he carried you away. “But for now, let’s shower before we call in.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

Bucky didn’t have to prove anything. He had you in a chokehold from the start and always would. And you were proud to finally be his girl.

Woohoo! You made it! I like to think this reader has bits of Smartie and Mrs. Barnes, and she deserves her man! I know these two will have wonderful times ahead! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

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