#I’m losing my sanity over here

[keyxnxn]

First tumblr post ever and it has to be about @somerandomdudelmao 's comic Marble Sky 🌟

This comic is ALL I’VE HAD IN MY MIND FOR DAYS, the writing is just fricking AMAZING AND THE CHARACTERS?!! I JUST JISHKXAJWHASKAKHXHDCHINA , Istg I will draw them until my hand's bones turn to dust-

[philzokman]

READING PAUL VERLAINE POETRY WORST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — sometimes your boyfriend’s want for you just seems to be insatiable.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, mating press, breeding, biting, he loses control of his technique a teeny tiny bit at the end, im going absolutely insane. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiii this is a lil mix of my gojo thoughts over the past few months, my sanity is slipping as u can tell <3

the way gojo satoru was in bed was exactly how he was in real life, absolutely merciless when he wanted to be, you realise with the dizzy haze in your mind and the pillow he’s shoved under your hips. there’s a pleasurable burn in your thighs where he’s got them folded into you, your ankles dangling by his ears as his hips press into your ass and the way he looks over you is needy, and a little wild.

but he only really got like this on on a few occasions, like after a gruelling mission, a boring mountain of paperwork or maybe you’d been teasing him. sometimes he’s just consumed by the idea of you carrying his kids— he’s so incredibly insatiable.

“you feel me right here, sweet thing, hm?” the snowy haired man above you hisses with a languid roll of his hips, deliberately pressing into the sweet spots inside of you that he always seems to be able to find so easily. but you can barely breathe, nevermind answer with how full you feel — your warm walls twitching around his heavy shaft before he’s giving you a few more thrusts.

“don’t hold out on me, it feels good, right?” gojo goads, chuckles when the next particularly deep kiss of his cock along your insides has your lips parting to moan, eyes squeezing shut as you wriggle underneath him.

“‘ts too deep, satoru! fuck—“ you manage, voice breaking under the weight of your own arousal but shit— he loves you like this. pliant and pretty and all his. you’re basically begging for him to give you his soul, to pour it into your body and your bones until you’re twitching— his stamina was limitless after all, an endless pool of energy.

“oh? but i’m sure you can take more..” gojo’s words are a low drawl as he curls over your folded figure, making your muscles scream for some sort of relief but he still manages to give you more. he begins a pace that’s so deep, so animalistic that you feel like you could black out with the way the pleasure rips through you, making your body clap against his as his balls smack loudly against your ass and suddenly he’s even deeper.

“see, i knew it.” it’s smug despite the the trembling undercurrent to his tone, breaking under the weight of his own arousal as his voice takes an octave higher. but you’re doing so well for him, your eyes are rolled back— lips parted and you’re basically begging for him to go harder when he leans into press his lips against yours, pushing his name between your lips as your hands grab at him for any sort of relief.

“almost there, right?” gojo groans against you with the next quiver of your walls; the next particularly heavy thrust makes your thighs tremble and he’s so deep it almost hurts, making something spark and burn along your inside as he fucks you into the mattress like a wild animal.

you whimper, barely— it’s a desperately pathetic little sound, wound up tight and it makes him pull away to look at you, crystalline eyes cloudy with lust before his lips are stretching into a smirk.

“oh, more?” gojo’s head cocks to the side and you know you’re done for when his pace picks up, every heavy thrust is driven by the muscles in his body and your pussy squelches loudly with every wet connection of his hips.

“oh, i’ll give you more, baby. so greedy f’ me, hm?” despite his teasing, he’s babbling— sweat beading along his skin as the snowy peaks of his hair frame his flushed features and fuck, the pretty sight above you only makes you feel even better. you’re so high off his desperation, every muscle in your body screams under his but the nerves in your body cry even louder with how good you feel— with how much your body craves him.

“‘ts so tight, you milkin’ me, sweet girl? how many you want, huh? give you as many as you need. wanna see you swollen f’ me, you want that, mhm?” gojo’s barely coherent but his words only make you squeeze around him tighter— a silent little invitation as every thrust has you crying more, more, more! satoru, want your cum—please! punched out little gasps and cries as he digs the orgasm out of you.

“oh, you’ll look so pretty f’ me—f-fuck!” his huge body is looming over yours, pressing you into the mattress and the pillows beneath you. your thighs are flush against his abdomen and chest, and your lungs feel like they quake on every exhale as your lips part to moan. he presses himself into you— face nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he grazes his teeth along the skin there, headboard screeching loudly in time with every smack of his hips.

“‘toru, please please please—‘m g’nna,” you tremble as you shake beneath gojo, thighs tensing tight against his body and he knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you as he smirks against your skin. your orgasm hits you so suddenly, so hard and good that your toes curl where they hang over his shoulders, your body stiffening beneath him and the first milking compression of your pussy makes his pace stutter, hugs him so tight he can’t help but bite so hard into the sensitive skin of your neck he draws blood.

“should see h-how pretty you look like this. tell me ‘ts all mine, y’ gonna make me a daddy, yeah? g’nna fill you up so good. oh, this pussy’s made f’ me, ain’t it?”

his body trembles as he pulls back slightly to watch your cream pool around the base of his cock, your slick smeared along his skin and your walls still throb with every unforgiving push of his hips. your orgasm feels like it stretches on forever as you gasp out broken yeah, yours, love you so much ‘toru, waves rolling through your body with the heat you feel pour and sting along your nerves. it only takes a few more clapping thrusts and your choked confessions before hes kissing you, just as he likes as his lips curl into you.

gojo cums hard, thick and heavy inside of you when he feels your tongue push against his, swallowing both of your groans into the kiss as he pushes his load into your puffy cunt. you’re both so lost in bliss, so unaware of the electricity across your boyfriends skin and the uncomfortable pressure that seems to suddenly weigh down on your intertwined bodies.

the bedroom light flickers but you don’t notice, he’s slurring curses against your lips as he almost pins your thighs to your chest completely, the air between you seems tighter— atoms trembling in the finate space. but he’s continuing to fuck into your sensitive pussy with tiny little thrusts you don’t notice the creek of your furniture as it twitches out of place— like it’s being pulled towards you both. the small flickers of purple fizzle out when you’re both spent and he’s collapsing on top of you with a low, breathy chuckle, making you whine with the cramp you feel in your body.

“‘toru! you’re heavy.” you grumble, voice worn and scratchy but it doesn’t move gojo as he cuddles deeper into you, leaving sweet little kisses along your skin with obnoxious kissy noises— a stark contrast to how filthy he was being a second ago.

you’re both breathing deep as you give up trying to escape from underneath him, opting to press your fingers through his damp hair instead before he finally moves. he pulls back, enough for his cock to push his cum out of your pussy as he does, squelching and dripping into the mattress beneath you both as you jolt slightly. “careful, ‘ts messy, ‘toru.”

gojo whistles lowly before he looks at you again, one of your legs still haphazardly thrown over his shoulder before he’s placing a sweet kiss to your ankle, then following it up with a painfully languid, experimental thrust as his crystalline eyes focus on the mess he’s made of you.

“come on, sweet girl. you’re not nearly full enough f’ me yet.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[tonycries]

Exes who…

Synopsis. Showing up to a party looking like that. What's a man to do when he just can't stay away?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, desperate boys, unprotected sex, NSFW, cunnilingus, pet names (my girl, babe), swearing.

Word count. 1.0k

A/N. This was supposed to be shorter, sorry lovelies. Art by @_3aem on Twitter.

Exes who know they should stay away, but one whiff of your perfume at some dingy party and he’s dragging you to the nearest bathroom. 

He’s pathetic, he knows, but right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck as he spreads you on that bathroom counter and dives face-first into your dripping cunt.

Greedily lapping at your juices, the taste of your pussy on his tongue was so addictive. Fuck, he missed this so much. 

He feels feral. Groaning lowly at the tug of your hand on his hair which hurts so good. He flicks his tongue harshly over your throbbing clit. More. He needs more.

“Hah- Fuck- Feels so good!”

“Yeah, jus’ like that, my girl.”

Making out with your pussy was almost as addictive as fucking you. You were a drug he couldn’t let up - he couldn’t get enough of. 

Nose-deep in your cunt, he tastes you over and over the way he imagined when he fucked his fist on those lonely nights.

Fingers digging into your thighs, he moves your legs so that they wrap around his head, bringing him impossibly closer to your hot core. He breathes over it - teasing - mouth watering at the sight of it getting wetter just for him.

He’s pretty sure your sinful moans and the squelching sounds could be heard above the overplayed pop on the other side of the door. Good, let them hear. It’ll teach that scrub outside that was eyeing you a thing or two about what he can’t have.

“Hngh- Baby, I’m gonna-”

Once you cum around his tongue, hips bucking wildly and clit catching on his nose as you ride his face, he thinks he’d be happy to die here if it was in-between your legs. 

A final peck to your quivering cunt - not a goodbye, no, he’ll be seeing this pretty pussy again - but a prelude for what was to come. 

Amidst heated kisses, he lets you taste yourself on his tongue as he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. Fucking trousers - they come with too many fucking buttons. He wants to feel you now. Have your wet cunt pulsing around his painfully hard cock as he gets drunk off of your pretty moans.

So he does.

He only has his flushed tip kissing your folds, but already feels like he’ll fucking pass out. He teases your entrance - willing himself to wait like he did all these past few months. This won’t be the last time - he knows - but he sure as hell is going to treat it like it is. 

“Tell me what you want, my sweet girl.” he huffs out, eyes boring into your dazed ones. Beautiful. You were always so beautiful.

“Please. I need you in me so bad.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Please, baby.”

Your lustful whimpers are what makes him snap. You were going to be the death of him. 

Fully sheathing himself in you, he fucks your pussy with a merciless cadence that has your nails digging into his shoulder at how painfully good you were stretched. Tight. So tight.

He feels himself losing his sanity as your cunt struggles to adjust to his size, walls clenching down on his throbbing erection. It’s animalistic - the way your pussy tries to suck him back in when he pulls out fully, only to ram inside you again.

“Shit- Pussy made jus’ for me. Only me.” he moans. 

One strong arm steadying himself on the counter, and the other with an almost-painful grip on your hip, he keeps up a pace that has his abs burning. Heavy balls stinging as they smack relentlessly against your ass. 

He bites down on your exposed neck to muffle the strangled groans ripping from his throat at the ethereal feel of your snug cunt - he needs to better drink in your fucked out yelps at his harsh thrusts.

His dick twitches inside when you start whining out his name as you reach closer and closer to your climax. He could do this forever. You were heaven on Earth.

In his hazy mind, he distinctly registers the jingle of the doorknob. Annoying fuckers can’t take a hint.

“Fuck off.” he barks out, “I’m fuckin’ my future wife in here.”

His heart clenches as you push your face into the crook of his neck in embarrassment. Pulling you closer to him in response - strings of slick and precum connecting you to him - he hopes whoever’s there up above strikes him down if he doesn’t wife you up. 

Ah…he’s so close.

There isn’t even a hair’s breadth between your two bodies as he fucks into you mindlessly, not even a trace of thought for the poor soul on the other side of the door. He’s got more important things to do - you.

“Baby- Shit. I’m so close.” your exhausted mewls are music to his ears. His balls tighten and cock aches for release. 

Teeth clenched and brows furrowed at how your walls were fluttering around him so perfectly, he grits out “Me too, my girl. Me too.”

Your legs tighten around his toned waist as your cunt clamps down on his thick length - sending both of you over the edge. 

He sees stars as he cums. Thick ropes painting your walls white and shaky whimpers of your name leaving his mouth like a prayer. You really were heaven on Earth.

Cum drips down the side when he slows down to shallow grinds of his hips, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into you. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he pulls his sensitive cock out of you.

With a long finger, he gathers the cum now slowly dripping out of you. Pooling it at his fingertips before popping them into his mouth, half-lidded eyes looking right into your fucked out ones. He moans around them as if tasting a delicacy, elated at the way your mouth drops in disbelief at his lewd act. 

He feels barely lucid as he snaps your panties back on you with a devilish grin and tucks himself back into his trousers. 

Unlocking the door to pointed looks he couldn’t care less about, he can’t keep his eyes off the alluring curve of your hips as you walk away back to the party - pretending like his cum isn’t making a mess of your panties right now. 

Dick twitching to life again, he pulls out his phone - unblocking you once more. 

– GOJO, Choso, Geto, Suna, ATSUMU, KUROO, Oikawa, Sakusa, JEAN, EREN

A/N. …Gimme a min I’m cooking up something for Suguru…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[yueebby]

sooo i read your "indulge me?" piece and that's why i wanted to ask for gojo simping for reader that doesn't really seem him as more as a friend and he's fine with it (lol he's not but he's need to keep the facade you know???) hope you write it at some point! btw loving you writing so far <333

11:34pm — gojo satoru

contents. highschool!gojo, fluff, he’s so in love bye, underage drinking, tokyo and kyoto students have a little get together!

“what’s wrong with him?” utahime watches her white haired underclassman down another can of beer. it was rare to see gojo drinking with the rest of the group, always opting for a soda instead.

shoko takes another swig out of her drink, unsurprised. “[name] is on a date.” 

a pathetic groan leaves gojo’s lips and the upper half of his body is splayed over the kotatsu in shoko’s room, sunglasses long forgotten somewhere. he lets out an unapologetic burp. everyone at the table spares him a glance of pity. 

utahime grimaces and mutters a quiet, “gross”. 

“don’t provoke him,” geto scolds shoko, flicking some ash from his cigarette to the ashtray below. “she’s just dealing with clan matters. arranged marriages and whatnot.” he used his free hand to land a firm pat on gojo’s back. what kind of best friend would he be if he didn’t try to comfort satoru? 

“poor thing. i can keep you company in the meantime,” mei mei’s smile is far from something with good intentions. gojo shakes his head to refuse, but with the way his forehead was pressed to the table, it looked comical. like a child throwing a tantrum. 

the only thing that managed to get gojo satoru out of his drunken slump was a soft knock on the door. he could recognize that pattern anywhere. could it be–? the snow haired boy immediately perks up. his drunk dazed eyes brighten as he quickly makes his way to the door. 

geto snorts at the way his best friend reacts. he thinks he can see an imaginary tail wagging, as if he were a dog. 

“you’re late!” gojo accuses you when he opens the door. you blink.

“are you…okay?” your voice is laced with concern as gojo’s large frame towers over you. gojo preens.

“awww, is my [name] worried about me now? don’t worry, ‘m doing just fine!” there is a goofy grin painted on gojo’s face as he leans against the doorway. all conversation has stopped and every sorcerer was listening attentively to gojo's hopeless conversation with you. utahime can’t help but feel just a little compassion for the boy. he was pining so much it hurt.

“i wasn’t worried. it's just that your words are all slurred– don’t tell me you let shoko talk you into drinking with her again?” you sigh. it was hard to miss the smell of beer on him. gojo and alcohol never mixed well, and the last thing you needed tonight was another lecture from yaga. 

from inside her room, shoko shouts, “it wasn’t me this time! the idiot decided to drown himself in beer after we warned him not to!” it was common knowledge that gojo couldn’t handle his alcohol. 

the male in question pouts.

“can a man not grieve about the love of his life being married to another?” gojo deflates. on the other side of the threshold, you wrinkle your nose.

“who said anything about marriage? like hell i’m going to accept a proposal from naoya zen’in.” you grumble. it had been a long night. dealing with your family and naoya was enough to scare you into staying in jujutsu tech for good. you’d rather lose your sanity to gojo than your dignity to naoya. 

“never mind that though, are mei mei and utahime still here? i was hoping to catch up with them!” you smile, crouching under his arm to make your way into the room. gojo doesn’t hesitate to trail right behind you. 

“[name]!” utahime waves happily at you, her mood no longer sour after she sees you. your wave back is enthusiastic. mei mei acknowledges your presence.

“how was dinner with naoya?” suguru asks. your face pinches up. he laughs before handing you a cold can of soda which you accept graciously.

you hear gojo mutter to himself from behind you.

“what’s up with him?” you whisper to suguru.

“you know how he is when he drinks,” he sighs, ushering you to sit beside him. gojo seemed to have his own agenda though, forcefully squeezing himself between the two of you. you shoot him an annoyed look to which he responds with a grin on his face. 

“‘m tired,” he whines, stretching his arms dramatically while letting out a loud yawn. you grunt when there’s a heavy weight on you; gojo has thrown his entire body on your side.

you don’t bother pushing him off. you’ve learned in the two years you’ve known gojo that he is like a baby when he gets drunk. it’s best if you let him have his way.

“go to sleep then, idiot,” you flick his forehead. he juts his bottom lip childishly, looking up at you with wide eyes. his eyes are captivating and you think you see nervousness through those azure orbs.

“will you come to bed with me too?” he rests his chin on your shoulder. you raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“eh? why would i?”

“because i’m cute.” gojo bats those long eyelashes of his innocently. you roll your eyes playfully before taking another sip out of your soda. 

“you’re weird– that’s what you are.” your lips quirk upward, eyes twinkling with mirth. he sulks, chin still comfortably supported by your shoulder.

“‘m not that bad!” he protests, a frown forming on his lips. you look at him for a long moment. this was the first time you’ve ever gotten to look at gojo this closely. 

his hair was getting longer, you note silently. with your free hand, you slowly move a strand of hair out of his face. gojo watches you earnestly. if his cheeks were not already flushed, they are now. 

“can we stop it with the flirting? let us single folk live in peace.” shoko speaks up. you turn your attention hastily from gojo to the rest of your fellow peers. 

“i feel like i’m intruding on something,” mei mei says scandalously. your eyes widen.

“we are not– no way!” you shake your head repeatedly. no one believes you. especially not while gojo is still resting on your shoulder, eyes watching you, full of love.

“stop giving him all your attention and talk to us! we’re much better company,” utahime scowls, pointing her beer disapprovingly at the white haired boy on you. you think you hear gojo grunt.

“alright, alright,” you concede. 

“i hope you don’t mind me asking again, but do tell us how your night with the zen’in kid went,” suguru snickers. you groan exasperatedly.

“where do i even start?”

the rest of the night goes by pleasantly. you had been so engrossed with retelling your experience with dealing with your family that you had failed to notice what gojo was up to. by the time everyone left their respective dorms (or temporary dorms), you noticed the head of white hair sleeping soundly on your lap.

he mumbles something in his sleep, nuzzling himself closer into your stomach. cute. you giggle at how innocent he looks. 

you don’t know what took over you, but you remember bending down and placing a soft kiss on his forehead. to your surprise, gojo reciprocates your kiss. to the best of his capabilities anyway. you watch as he puckers his lips in his sleep. oh my– how precious.

you suppose he isn't so bad.

notes. THANK U FOR BEING MY FIRST ANON ASK. ily!!! i saw somewhere that gege confirmed gojo would have drunken failures when he was a student haha this is my take on that. hes so bf

also thank you for all the support on my first post?!? you guys are too sweet im crying. i literally giggle and kick my feet reading your feedback ><

[feyascorner]

until I come back alive

summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.

warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏

“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”

Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.

“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.

“The what?”

“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.

He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.

“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”

She appears puzzled. “Why not?”

He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”

“You love each other, don’t you?”

At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”

A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.

Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.

And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.

Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”

“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”

He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.

“Did you call me?”

Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.

“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”

He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”

You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.

Easy, he thinks. Too easy.

He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”

“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”

You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”

“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”

“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”

He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”

Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”

He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”

There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”

He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.

Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.

“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”

You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”

His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.

The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.

He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”

Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”

A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.

He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.

He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”

“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—

“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.

He stops.

Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.

“Astarion?”

He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“But you didn’t even feed?”

“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.

He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.

Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.

And he hates it more than he expected.

——

By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.

He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.

He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.

The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.

There are no third pair of footsteps at all.

Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.

He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.

You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.

His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.

“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.

“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”

Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.

“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”

He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.

“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”

In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.

All he cared about was your life.

Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.

You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.

“Quite the nap, darling.”

You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”

“You nearly died.”

“…how?”

“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”

You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”

“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”

“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”

He raises a brow. ��You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”

Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“

He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.

You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”

“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”

You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”

“For getting poisoned?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”

His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.

You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“

He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”

He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”

You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”

Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”

He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”

As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.

You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.

“I love you.”

[nottsangel]

— new au based on the show new girl

living with three popular, good-looking guys wasn’t always easy, especially when all of them occasionally brought home girls. at first, you didn’t mind, trying to keep your life seperate from theirs, but irritation slowly set in when you couldn’t even get a good goodnight’s sleep due to the loud moans and thumping of beds against the walls which resonated throughout the entire apartment, causing you to groan loudly and wrap your pillow around your head in frustration, cursing them out in your head every night again.

“i can’t do this shit anymore. we need talk about boundaries.” you burst into the shared living room, finding your three roommates mindlessly staring at the tv, sprawled out on the couch, manspreading with a beer in their hand and their eyes not even bothering to look at you. “look. i’m glad you guys are able to have sex every night. that’s really… great for you all, really.” you begin, one hand resting on your hip as their heads now slowly turn towards you, their ears perking up at the mention of sex. “but please, tone it down a notch? i mean, can’t you guys go one night— ONE NIGHT! without sticking your cock in some random woman?!”

“i mean… if you wanna replace them and, y’know, help us out instead then—”

“YOU’RE DISGUSTING, MATTHEO. CUT IT OUT!”

you’re glaring at him with a look of disapproval and disgust, causing the guys to snicker and fist-bump mattheo, and you let out a defeated sigh. “i’m almost begging on my knees at this point, okay? i’m going fucking crazy ‘cause I GET NO FUCKING SLEEP ANYMORE!” you erupt, stomping your feet with clenched fists, your sanity gradually slipping away as a sleep-deprived headache throbs in your head. “well, it’s three against one, so…” theo shrugs, and you scoff in disbelief, your jaw dropping as you stare at them, completely baffled.

“so like, what i want doesn’t matter?!”

“nah.”

“nope.”

“not really, sorry.” all three of them mutter, staring at you with indifferent expressions, occasionally taking sips from their beers and only infuriating you more before their attention shifts back to tv screen, causing you to let out a bitter chuckle.

“oh, you’ll see. im gonna— im gonna bring so many guys over, it’s gonna be a fucking sausage party in here and you guys can’t do shit about it!”

“cool. i’ll get more beer.”

“it’s about time you finally get some dick.”

“well, if she manages to not scare them off… which i doubt.” and that’s the moment you realise that as a girl living with three guys, you will always lose, no matter the circumstances…

ੈ♡˳

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[pickingupmymercedes]

Lewis Masterlist

Series

It comes with the territory p.1 / p.2 / p.3

“This… this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But no love is worth losing my sanity over. Not even ours.”

An Invisible String Theory Story p.1 / p.2 / p.3

"I’ve always felt that string pulling me closer to something. But never, not even in my most beautiful dreams, had I imagined that it was to bind us together."

It was bound to come out p.1 / p.2

"Do I look like I'm joking? This is not a joke! My father has seen a video of us... the one video that couldn’t leave my phone!"

Not just a pretty face p.1 / p.2 / p.3 / bonus

"because even this… even this agonizing dance is better than not having you at all."

Maybe in another life - p.1 / p.2 / p.3

"A what-if that will forever linger in the quiet corners of my mind."

She’s here and she’s ours - p.1 / p.2 / p.3 / p.4 / p.5 / p.6 / p.7

You couldn’t really tell if he was telling you or himself that. "How you feeling dad?" "Amazed, hopeful, scared... in love"

Get me out of here p.1 / p.2

“Why are you defending him?” “Because we need to think this through, babe. Toto’s not one of us anymore, you saw it.”

Your future was Ferrari - p.1 / p.2

Surely, it meant nothing for Lewis and you would probably never see him again. Your future was at Ferrari, somewhere he would never step foot in. Or would he?!

Multichapters

Ways to say “I love you” p.1 / p.2 / p.3(NSFW)

All these little things p.1 / p.2

Small firsts p.1

Firsts - NSFW p.1 / p.2

Ways they show they love each other p.1 / p.2

One-Shots

Angst

It had to be enough - "I’m so fucking tired of fighting, of trying to prove that I still belong here." "I can’t keep watching you tear yourself apart like this. It’s killing me, Lewis."

Home is wherever you are - "You shouldn't have come" "Had to"

An impossible dream - "Don't you ever wonder what could have been?"

I didn't get scared. I'm always scared - “Do you even understand what it’s like for me? To love someone who lives every day like it might be their last?”

Not now, not ever - "You don't have to go through this alone, you know"

I'll come find you - “I’m scared… of how things have been, of how things are going to be.”

If these wings could fly - “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like Sunday. It’s been so long and everyone’s worked so hard for that”

And just like the sun, we will rise - “I can’t promise to have all the answers, but please let me in”

Fluffs

A smile like that -"And he’s out there, posting photos like it’s some romantic movie."

A bit mushy - How Lewis and his wife do in a couple's Interview.

Happy you're home - "And trust me, he adores you. He just doesn't know how to express it."

Later it is - “But that safety pin right there is holding on for dear life.” “I only care about what you think.” “Flatterer.”

Of thorns and blooms - "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread"

He always rises - "Like I knew I'd given it my all, every lap, every strategy meeting. And finally, finally, it’s paying off. It feels… good. It feels so damn good."

R for Roscoe, C for Coco - "You went through all this trouble just for Father's Day with Roscoe?"

Boy from Stevenage - "you don't need to win over that entire room tonight. You just need to make that brave boy from Stevenage proud."

Whispered fairytale - "The point is in the surprise. The joy of meeting them, whoever they are, for the very first time."

A thousand times over - "Since I still don’t believe it’s true… would you marry me, again?"

It sounds silly - "I'm a grown woman who’s achieved success in life, yet… I find myself comparing to those other women."

NSFW (+18 only)

Very First -“I want this. I want you. And I’m not saying that lightly.”

Salty -"Told you” she whispered, her thumb brushing against his bottom lip. "It’s salty."

Damn him -“I believe you’ve got two things that are mine” “My hair tie you took with you this morning. And you babe, you're mine.”

Give yourself some credit - “I’m gonna give you five minutes to mourn that shit qualy” “You think you can handle me, pretty girl?”

What those arms can do - "Let's focus on you for now, love. And what these arms can do to you."

Warm enough - "Did you know there were no doors in this place?" "I might have known. Thought it could be romantic"

It's not just a win - The 104 special - "I just...I needed this. I needed to win. To prove to myself that I still can."

Improvised Compensation - "My plans definitely involve you" he continued, "but they can be done anywhere"

As good as chocolate - "That's a new way to claim your share"

I'm yours, only yours - Vegas special - “You really thought she was any match for you?”

It always points South - “Your compass tattoo, huh?”

My Venus - MET special - "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

I want South - "Hello, miss explorer”

You only need to ask - "Seems like someone's forgotten how we got here in the first place"

It's Mrs. Hamilton - “Mark me, show me who I belong to”

The things we do for fashion - "Like what you see?" "More than you'll ever know."

Show me you care - “I’m asking you to, show me how much you want this, because I know you do”

My mark - “I’m not one to leave things unfinished”

NSFW alphabet

Senna!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Thank you for everything - "It doesn't matter how long it's been" "Grief doesn't have a deadline."

Under an Ipê tree - “He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure."

Drabbles

Do not under any circumstance plagarize, edit, repurpose, or repost any of my original work. this includes all of my works.

copyright © 2024 pickingupmymercedes all right reserved.

[disneyprincemuke]

you don't get to tell me about sad * fem!driver

outtakes of her year that i didn't know where to fit lol so this is the last(ish) angst installment

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver

notes: iM BACK BABYYY

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

so she runs from her garage again. just another weekend where everything has skewed from what was discussed and there is no reasoning to be done.

she finished the race damn near last over a pitstop that ran longer than it should have.

the minute sebastian could not spew an excuse she would hear out was the minute she stopped listening to him during the race. and honestly, it was the only way she could salvage not finishing last of the pack.

“let’s talk about it,” sebastian says, hurriedly chasing her down as she storms into the racing home, her presence immediately silencing the chatter in the room. “let me talk you through what happened. it’s not your fault.”

“i know it’s not!” her distress is made known, echoing in the air of the room. she stops in her tracks and turns to face sebastian still by the door, flinching back. “how could that be my fault? i was doing my end of the bargain as a driver!”

he takes a deep breath. “rocky, just listen to me, okay?”

“it’s not fair! none of this weekend was my fault!” she shrieks, turning back around and trudging up the stairs loudly. “the team fucked me over, that’s what happened! i can’t possibly think of a reason you could come up with to excuse what happened!”

“i’m not excusing it, i’m just–”

“oh, god, sebastian!” she stomps her foot on the ground to demand sebastian’s attention. which surprisingly works. “just admit it — the team fucked me over. point blank period, that’s literally what happened.”

sebastian sucks in a deep breath. “yes, we did. and we’re extremely sorry. but–”

“’but’ again,” she laughs dryly, rolling her eyes. she makes a sharp turn for her driver’s room and holds a hand up to stop the step he tries to take towards her. “take your apology to the headlines being drafted about me as we go in circles over this, sebastian.”

“you know i’m not breaking up with you,” matt says amidst the silence that they’ve been sitting in as he packs his bag. “i just need a break.”

“from me,” she points out shakily, dropping her head low.

“from this cycle.” he lifts his head and sits back to look at her.

she sits on the edge of her bed, feet hovering slightly over the floor. she watches her feet swing slightly, counting in her head, desperate not to lose the last remaining sanity she feels she has.

initially, she sat in the vacant room in tears, refusing to watch him pack up to leave her all alone in her apartment. she wallowed in her woes in a dark corner before she eventually dragged herself back into her bedroom.

she’s been sitting here watching him in silence ever since, trying to find the words in her head to say something to him.

maybe he’ll change his mind; maybe he’ll stay if she says the right thing.

“yeah, i get that.”

“i don’t think you do.” he stands from his position on the ground and walks over to her on the bed. he takes the empty spot next to her, resting his hand above hers that grips the mattress tightly. he feels her grip loosen slightly. “i still love you, bub.”

she shakes her head with a sigh. “i would have stopped a long time ago if i were you. i’m not very nice.”

“it doesn’t work like that,” he squeezes her hand, “you’re having a hard time. i get that and it’s okay. but i want you to want the help i’m giving you. i’m not going to force it on you if you’re just going to keep pushing me away when i try.”

“i don’t know why i keep doing that,” she admits with a scoff. she drops her back on the bed behind her and looks up at the ceiling of her bedroom. “i’m not usually like this, i promise. i’m better than this.”

“i know.” matt mirrors her actions and drops himself on the mattress.

she wants to say she’s sorry and that she’s thankful for him sticking around longer than he had to. it’s at the edge of her tongue but she simply cannot get herself to admit that she’s wrong. that perhaps this time, someone is finally right about her.

“do you, really?” she hums, “i’m the worst.”

“i think you should give yourself a little more credit,” he sighs, reaching out for her hand again. this time, she moves her hand away before he can grab it. “i’ll come home soon, okay? i’ll come back for you, i promise.”

she repeats in her head the gameplan she’d drafted with sebastian. the one that seemed so foolproof all weekend that made her believe she could turn it all around.

instead, she’s standing on the grass next to her wrecked car, another unfortunate mishap she’s sure would make her talk of the town again.

she puts her hands on her hips as her eyes trail over to her blown tyre. then she remembers that her crash wasn’t caused all by herself.

“are you alright?” charles asks softly, slowly approaching her as he takes his helmet off. “unlucky weekend.”

she glances over her shoulder where he approaches her. she forces a small grin to her face and tries to wave his concerns away. “i’m fine.”

her chest starts to hurt slightly, tears prickling at her eyes.

this is not the time and place to be breaking down. especially not at someone like charles because surely, something went wrong with her that caused this.

“it’s my fau–”

surely, it can’t be his fault. there’s no way that the person she’s looked up could cause this crash.

but there’s also a voice in her head telling her to believe charles. he wouldn’t be apologising if he didn’t actually think that he caused it.

“unfortunate,” she chuckles. she swallows the scream threatening to make itself known and shrugs at charles. “i’ll see you in the paddocks, mate.”

“thought i might find you here.”

“fuck off, max.”

the older driver laughs, walking over to her with hands in the pocket of his jeans. he drops himself on the little platform she’s resting on.

“everyone’s looking for you,” max chuckles, innocently taking a sip from his water bottle. “i heard seb panicking and sending out a search party to get you.”

“i know,” she snorts, “i heard him screaming and delegating people to find me.”

the only reason max knew where to find her is because he is the one who introduced her to this place. he had found her holding her tears in at some point last season walking around the paddocks and he whisked her away without another word.

it’s a pretty obscure location in the paddocks, one that max often resided in when it got too chaotic and loud. she’s the only one he’s ever given this sort of information to.

“how’s everything?” he asks with a sigh, leaning back on the wall behind them. “matt flew back to the states already?”

she nods and drops her head, picking at the grass beneath them. while she truly tried to keep her problems to herself, max approached her a week prior when he saw her entering the paddocks all by herself.

he had asked why the man, typically found on her arm every race weekend, was not with her today.

she softly admitted that they’re on a break, prompted by her reactionary behaviour from how her year is going so far. still, she tries to keep the confession minimal.

it’s hard enough to watch your boyfriend pack his things in silence to leave you behind. it’s even harder to admit that there’s nobody else to blame but yourself.

her mishaps every weekend on the paddocks, she can point all the fingers she wants. but when it came to her matt, there was nobody else she could pin it on. there were 2 people in that relationship and she knows that she’s the one that’s burned it down.

“i’m so sorry,” max sighs, resting his cheek in his hand. he props his elbow on his knee as she leans forward. “that must be really hard for you.”

she shrugs. it’s really not that big of a deal. or, at least, it shouldn’t be to somebody else in a happy relationship of his own. “it’s my fault, anyway. i don’t blame him.”

“you can still be upset about it,” he mutters. “i know you love him, so i don’t imagine any of this is making you feel better at all.” he puts a hand on her back and rubs circles, something he honestly wishes someone had done for him when he was younger. “it’s just me, mate.”

“it’s alright, but thanks for trying to be there for me,” she grimaces, turning momentarily to give him a small smile. “but i don’t reckon i get to feel bad for deliberately pushing him over the edge.”

she’d been fine all day. she thought she was genuinely getting better: she’d even gone for a walk in the sun and felt enlightened most of the hours she’d been awake.

that was until she had sat down at her dining table with dinner, consumed whole by the silence and emptiness of her apartment. without understanding why, she lost her appetite as her stomach started to churn.

her heart feels like it’s skipping beats from how unwell she suddenly felt.

she finds herself on the floor of her bedroom, phone pressed up against her ear as the ringing pulls her in and out of her trance.

her world has spinning for the better part of 5 minutes, her chest feeling like it’s closing in on itself and the framed picture in her peripheral vision taunts her.

there’s no climbing out of this rut; she’s almost sure she will be stuck in here forever. she either lives with the fact that she’s a failure or it’ll someday kill her.

“hello? is this really you?”

tears she hadn’t realised were there start to fall out of her eyes. the sob she didn’t know she had in her throat fills the room as she drops her head into her other hand.

“i don’t know why i called,” she pauses with a soft sob, “sorry, i should go.”

“no,” a firm voice demands, “just stay on the line.”

“okay.”

she had just spoken with matt this morning, on a short 5-minute welfare check video call. she told him she was feeling slightly better with the biggest smile on her face.

now she doubts herself if she’d even meant it. if she was truly better, she wouldn’t be here on the floor feeling worse than when she woke up this morning.

going backwards isn’t supposed to be the way she’s going.

it’s always forward. if there’s no progress towards the betterment of her situation, then she’s simply not trying hard enough.

she should try harder. it’s the only way.

“hey,” matt coos softly to catch her attention. “if you need me there, just say the word. i’ll come home.”

she wants to say yes. she even wants to break into a louder sob and admit that she misses him; probably might even be going crazy without his presence as of late.

she hasn’t got anything figured out.

but instead, she says, “i’ll be okay.”

being alone in her hotel room is the last thing she wanted for herself, the silence too overbearing for her to handle. though asking to hang out with her friends she watched leave together to get dinner wasn’t an option either.

so she opted to lock herself in her driver’s room until someone chases her out. perhaps she’ll sleep over without anybody finding out.

she’d coddled herself up in her beanbag under a blanket, reading away furiously on the things people said about her.

sure, she shouldn’t be on these sites speaking ill of her, but there’s nobody to stop her. she’s fallen down the rabbit hole of everyone’s opinions of her once more and she can’t seem to stop.

she’s stooped even lower this time: she’s on social media reading what the public has to say about her.

it’s not just about whoever in the industry is saying now.

she never tried to let anyone’s opinion of her, in forms of tweets and social media posts, get to her much.

but a post highlighting about the two mere instances where she had unintentionally lashed out on matt in the paddocks did it for her. and the one time she had a disagreement with sebastian in her racing home after a pitstop mishap.

“for fuck’s sake,” she cries, throwing the blanket off her.

she can’t throw her ipad. she starts to heave, feeling it all coming down on her once more.

she grabs the closest thing to her. and unfortunately, it’s the very mug she’d gotten 2 years ago as a present for sebastian.

you know, the matching mugs she got as a celebration for scoring points as a race engineer and driver duo on the grid.

and it does what a mug would do if you threw it against the wall: it shatters. into pieces.

it’s repairable if she really thought about it rationally. the handle has popped out along with another large piece straying by its side.

only then she realises what she’s done.

“oh, fuck.” she sits hurriedly and brushes the stray hairs from her face. “oh, no.”

she scrambles from the ground and runs over to the other side of the room where her favourite mug sits in 3 separate pieces, tears prickling at her eyes as she realises what she’s done.

she gathers it into her hands with a heavy cry, dropping her hands into her lap. if she’d known sooner that this mug was what she’d grabbed out of fury, she wouldn’t have chucked it across the room.

“come on,” she whispers to herself, trying to fit the pieces together as if it would magically mend itself. “fix yourself. be a mug again?”

“i thought you were back at the hotel– are you okay?”

“i didn’t mean to do it,” she cries at the familiar voice and accent, lifting her head and hands to show him what she’s done. “i didn’t mean to, i didn’t even realise what i was throwing until it broke into this many pieces.”

“hey,” sebastian coos, softly closing the door behind him. he walks over to where she kneels on the ground and grabs her shoulder. “you’re okay. it’s okay.”

she shakes her head profusely and rests her head on his shoulder. “i didn’t mean it. i didn’t want to break it — i still like you, i promise. you’re like my dad when we’re on the road. i’m s– i didn’t mean it.”

“relax.” he squeezes her shoulder, pressing a firm kiss to her temple. “it’s just a mug. we’ll just get a new one, okay? don’t even worry about it.”

he waits for a second as she processes his words, slightly hesitant to agree with him. she nods slowly, “are you sure? you’re not mad?”

“i’m not mad,” sebastian hums with a smile. “let’s get you back to your hotel room, okay? i was just about to head out.”

“okay.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @c-losur3 @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @tinyhrry @iwilleatyourgod @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[lordprettyflackotara]

till dawn || eyeless jack || the finale

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. this one’s a lil fluffy not gonna hold you guys. i’m so sad to see till dawn end :’) but all good things must come to an end eventually. i think down the line i will create a bonus chapter, but for now this is the end of till dawn. love you all. mwah!

bonus part is here

Knock knock knock!

A groan of annoyance left your lips, your senses resuming as you regained consciousness.

“Wake up fuckers! You owe us waffles!” Ben’s cheery voice flooded your ears, his voice echoing down the hallway outside of Jacks room. You sighed, rolling over and shoving Jack awake. A confused snore escaped his lips, his eye sockets finally opening.

“Huh?”

“Ben wants waffles,” You sighed, flopping back down onto your pillow. Unfortunately you both had lost one too many rounds of mario kart, resorting in a wager of cooking breakfast to end in Ben’s favor. Jack groaned. “Okay Ben give us five minutes!” He called. You rubbed your eyes, looking over at the window. The sun had just reached above the trees, the sunlight beams streaming across the room. A triumphant Ben continued down the hallway, whistling proudly.

“Holy fuck, what time is it?”

Jack chuckled, sitting up against the headboard.

“I told you we’d only have till dawn before someone showed up at our doorstep about breakfast.”

He was right, but converting to rising at the early hours and staying up late was exhausting. You rolled over lazily, your back turned to him. “Have none of them ever heard of sleep schedules?” You grumbled. Jack couldn’t help but chuckle, your settlement into the mansion one that occurred with ease. Your charming personality and ability to cook won everyone over, even the proxies.

“We live in Slender’s mansion babe, we’re lucky the sun even rises here,” Jack replied, pressing a soft kiss against the back of your head. Slenderman’s reaction was a completely different story, the explanation of your existence the longest tale Jack had ever had to explain. Letting humans know about creeps existence was grounds for exile. It was forbidden to make spectacles out of themselves, even if the long term plan was for you to become a creep. (Which, it was not even an option to Jack.)

Becoming one, losing that grasp on sanity or facing an unfortunate fate of torture and death could never be planned though. Unless of course you were Jeff, then you knew how to create an arch nemesis. Jack would never want that for you, which he explained to Slender. Out of all of the mansions residents and outsiders, there was not another creature like Jack. A creature that went into an animalistic heat and needed to mate. Slender knew this and that led to his approval.

Another factor that Slender considered was that Jack was the oldest and wisest. If he was to entrust anyone to bring a human into the house, it was him.

Jack curled up beside you, your back pressing against his chest. “Sleepy this morning are we?” Jack asked teasingly, peppering kisses on your neck and shoulder. You chuckled, moving yourself closer to him. “I would’ve gotten better sleep if someone hadn’t kept me up all night,” You replied. A mischievous smile spread across Jacks lips, his hand slithering down to your hips.

“If it makes you feel any better i’m sure Clockwork didn’t get much sleep either,” Jack said, his lips refusing to stray far from your skin. His hand slithered further up your skin, slipping under your nightgown. You bit your bottom lip, Jacks fingertips lightly tracing your skin. “Thats gonna make a terrible first impression,” You sighed. Clockwork didn’t frequent at the mansion, leading to you never officially meeting her. Having her room be next door and hearing you beg for more? Not exactly the best first impression.

“There have been worse my love. When Jeff first came here Slender tried to make him a proxy. He tried to burn the mansion down,” Jack said, cupping your heart. Your thin panties blocked him from complete access to your cunt. Your breath was becoming shaky, your thighs opening more for him. He inhaled deeply, the smell of your arousal hitting his nostrils. “You just can’t get enough can you?” Jack teased. You groaned softly as he rubbed more harshly against the fabric.

“Of you? Never,” You replied, satisfied to feel Jack push your panties to the side. His lips attached themselves to your neck, his boner poking you from behind. You could feel him suck at your skin harshly, purposefully littering your neck with as many marks as possible. “I’m going to keep looking like a wounded puppy if my neck stays forever purple,” You chuckled, gasping as his fingers rubbed up and down your wet slick. You bit your bottom lip, two of his digits dipping into your cunt.

“My wounded puppy,” Jack snickered. He curled his fingers inside of you, your hand finding its way to his aching cock. He gasped as you palmed at the fabric of his basketball shorts, slipping your hand underneath the waistband. “Not sure if we’re doing to have time for this love,” Jack admitted, even if he didn’t want it to be true. You moaned in response, pumping his shaft as he finger fucked you. “It can be quick,” You offered. You bit the inside of your cheek, refraining from moaning louder.

“Please,” You whimpered, sealing your fate. Jack grinned, the two of you eagerly switching positions. Jacks back hit the soft mattress, licking his lips as you straddled him. Your panties had been discarded, his shorts and boxers pooling at his ankles. Jack was never one to not be in control of sex, even with you riding him. Sometimes he’d let you pretend you were in control, if he was feeling nice enough. But each time you got a bit out of line, Jack was quick to put you in your place. However, he couldn’t deny how ethereal you looked riding him.

You lowered yourself onto his cock, both of you exhaling in relief as he bottomed out inside of you. The shape of his cock bugled from your stomach as it always did, a subtle, very hot reminder that he was much bigger than you. Jacks hands found your hips, leaning forward to kiss you as he guided you. You groaned into his mouth as you rode his cock, his tip hitting your g spot. Playfully you grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed. Jack admired your breast bouncing as you chased your high, riding him like a wild animal.

Your body over time came to crave Jacks almost identically to the way he craved yours. (He couldn’t help but wonder if scientifically his cum had altered your hormones.) You smiled lovingly as you looked down at Jack, his facial expression one of contentment. The sun had risen higher, hitting his face at a flattering angle. It highlighted his sharp jawline and round nose. “What’s so funny?” Jack asked. You shook your head, continuing to hold your sinful noises in the best you could as you rode his cock. “You just look so handsome like this,” You complimented.

Jack blinked, “What, under you?”

You giggled, playfully slapping his shoulder. “No EJ, with the sun shining on your skin,” You replied, rolling your eyes. Jack leaned forward, wrapping his arms around your back. He completely and utterly adored you, your flattery and complimentary of him meaning the world. “You look even better, so beautiful taking my cock like this,” He huffed, snapping his hips upwards. You whined as he began to move faster, taking control. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, biting down on his skin to control your noises.

“Thats it, bite me as hard as you want love. Mark me,” Jack panted, his cock abusing your cervix. He was tempted to say hell to breakfast, flipping you over and fucking you senseless like the animal inside of him craved. But he knew you cared about his roommates opinion of you, even if to Jack he wouldn’t consider them friends five out of seven days of the week. Your teeth sank into Jacks shoulder, a subtle growl escaping his throat.

Something about seeing you so primal, but so desperate to keep quiet made him pound into you harder. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, a trail of saliva dripping down Jacks shoulder as your teeth clenched around his skin. You whimpered, your hands tangling themselves in his hair as you came on his cock. Your walls spasmed around his shaft, a deep grunt escaping his lips as he came inside of you.

You released his shoulder, grimacing down at the bite mark. “Holy fuck, I don’t know where that came from,” You panted. Neither of you had moved, Jacks gaze moving to your breast. “Neither do I, but it was pretty fucking hot,” He admitted, kissing your breast.

‘Waffles! Waffles! Waffles!’

The sound of Toby and Ben chanting from downstairs made you chuckle. Jack could hear them slamming their silverware down on the kitchen table, the sound making his ears twitch. You slowly slid off of you, whimpering as your walls squeezed the air. His cum slowly dripped down your cunt, the sight the most satisfying sight to Jack in the world. He laid back on the bed, propping himself up with his hands behind his head.

He admired you as you brushed your hair, throwing on clothes. You were so focused, Jacks staring going over your head. It wasn’t until you were ready, turning around to find Jack undressed and unbothered. “What are you doing? Ben’s gonna come through our radio any minute now if you don’t get dressed,” You say. Jack rose to his feet, bringing your back against his chest. He towered over you easily, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“How did I ever get so lucky?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. You giggled, examining your stomach. “Do you think you’ll ever get me pregnant one of these days?” You asked curiously. Jacks eyebrows furrowed, his large hands resting on top of yours. “You do know that’s scientifically impossible right?” He asked. Yeah, maybe his cum was seeping into your hormones. Or maybe your brain.

“Yeah it’s still a nice thought though,” You shrug. Turning around you wrapped your arms around his neck, admiring him from below. Your eyes were dancing with curiosity. Tilting your head to the side a simple question left your tongue, “If I somehow did, you’d want to keep it right?”

Millions of thoughts soared through Jacks mind, ones mixed with the joy of parenthood and ones of terror. Would the fetus become a demon just like him? Or would it be as beautiful as you? What would it eat? Would raising a child in a mansion full of monsters from its worst nightmares be sustainable? But as he looked down at your puppy dog eyes, your orbs flickering back and forth as you awaited an answer.

Creeps had never procreated before, successfully anyways. It would be a first for all of them, especially Jack. He wanted to believe there was a piece of him that wasn’t an organ eating monster. One that could raise and love a child that was a mixture with the person he loved the most. He was almost sure he would’ve gotten you pregnant by now, with the amount of times he’d locked you into the mating press alone.

Truth was Jack would give you whatever you wanted, even if it was most likely scientifically impossible. “I want whatever you want my love,” He purred, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

Bang bang bang!

“EJ learn how to keep it in your pants and pour some batter in the waffle maker instead!” Ben called.

You giggled, Jack sighing as he pulled on his pants.

“And in the mean time we have Ben.”

“We most certainly do and that’s enough for me.”

[bad268]

hey! hope you are well. I was thinking of an idea for a Kimi Antonelli x reader story and as you write for him the best I knew you would write it so well.

maybe reader is toto's daughter, and her and kimi are in a relationship. but y/n can't make it to the last race of the season but she ends up surprising him after the race (she was there the whole time) and he runs to her and its all adorable and everyone is clapping?

just a thought!

love your work!

Couldn't Keep Me Away (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Wolff! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I think I cooked too much with this lol...)

Warnings: sick! reader, mentions cough medicine

POV: Second Person (You/your/She/her)

W.C. 1956

Summary: She's never missed a race…until now?

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Kimi’s insta from February 13, 2024)

It all came down to this. Not in the literal sense, more along the lines of it was the last race of the season. The team’s champions and driver’s championship had already been decided, so there was nothing to lose in this race. Well, except his sanity.

You had been at every race this season. Not because of your father, Toto Wolff. Actually, maybe that played a part, but you were always in the Prema garage. He could not remember what it was like to not have you in the garage between practice and qualifying or during pre-race shenanigans. 

When you were not on track for media day, he knew something was up. Yes, he knew you hated media day because it was boring, but it was also the day you had the most time together since the F1 teams and drivers were more popular interviewees. He tried texting and calling you only to receive nothing in response. He knew what he was going to have to do.

Speak to your father. 

He decided to stop by before the sprint race. Walking into the Mercedes garage, he spotted your father immediately and standing beside him, your mother, Susie, and brother, Jack. He suddenly knew that you should have been here too. The only reason you gave him in the past for why you may need to miss a race was to watch your brother. You never did miss a race, but there was always the possibility.

He swallowed his concern, not needing to worry yet, as he walked up to your family. He waited for them to finish their conversation before he tapped on Toto’s shoulder. Immediately, Toto turned around to meet Kimi’s worried eyes.

“Kimi, is there something wrong?” Toto asked, sensing Kimi’s anxiousness, but chalking it up to the upcoming race. “Is it the race?”

“No…I mean, kind of?” Kimi answered but immediately contradicted himself. It was much more different talking to Toto about you than about racing. Despite knowing that both of your parents are aware of your relationship, he tried his best to only talk to Toto about racing whenever they were on the track. This was a first for Kimi, and he just did not know how he wanted to go about asking. Finally, after receiving multiple uneasy looks from Susie and Toto, Kimi took a deep breath before just deciding to go for it. “Do you know where she is? She’s not answering my texts or calls, and I’m getting worried.”

“Oh, Kimi, she’s sick,” Susie jumped in. She knew exactly who he wanted to know about, so she showed him a text from you that said you took some medicine and would try to sleep it off. “She’s been sick almost all week. I thought she told you.”

“Oh, have she sent any updates recently? Do you know how she’s feeling?” Kimi rushed. Looking back, he realized that every time he texted you, it would have been late back at home, so it made sense that you did not respond. Plus, to add the sickness on top of it? He felt like shit for not catching it earlier.

“That was the last text I received,” Susie said, sadly. Toto stepped away as he got a call, leaving Kimi and Susie to talk while Jack was distracted by Mick. “It was sent a few hours ago, so she might be awake now. You could call her?”

“No need,” Toto said as he walked back over, holding out the phone to Kimi. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

Hesitantly, Kimi took the phone and saw your name as the caller ID. He looked back up at Toto and Susie as they turned their backs to him and walked toward the pit wall to give him a little privacy. Immediately, Kimi raised the phone to his ear, “Amore (love)? How are you feeling? I heard you were sick. Are you staying hydrated?”

He gets cut off hearing you giggle lightly before descending into a light coughing fit. He smiled lightly for a second before growing concerned once again when he heard you cough. “Slow down, liebe (love). I am feeling better, just a few coughs here and there.”

“That didn’t sound like ‘a few coughs here and there,’” He mocked lightheartedly but in all seriousness. 

“That’s because you triggered it,” you laughed again. This time, able to hold back the coughs, just needing to clear your throat before you talk again. “I promise, I’m doing better. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“As long as you’re feeling better,” He sighed, knowing you’re alright now. Off to the side, he sees his race engineer looking for him, so he realizes that he needs to wrap up the call with you to race. “Keep resting, amore. I have to go race now, but I’ll call you after, I promise.”

“I’ll be watching, liebe,” you smiled to yourself, and Kimi could hear it too. “Good luck, Kimi. Give the phone back to my dad, please?”

With that, he walked up to Toto again to hand him the phone before disappearing with his engineer. Toto raised the phone, chuckling lightly at Kimi’s rush as he greeted his daughter. 

“Can I be on the first flight out? I feel better.”

~~

Kimi had a horrible sprint race. He was already starting in 10th because he was on pole for the feature race, but he became collateral damage in a fight between a couple of cars further back. It was the last lap too! They were all outside the points, so there really was no point in racing that hard. However, that’s what happened. 

He did his best to hide his disappointment as he walked past the engineers to the driver’s room he shared with Ollie, who was already there because of a tire blowout from one of the earlier laps. Kimi started changing out of his race suit and into his normal clothes, just wanting to sleep the race off. 

“Your phone went off a few minutes ago,” Ollie said, breaking the silence and catching Kimi’s attention as he threw a Mercedes shirt over his head. “And don’t blame yourself. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Plus, it’s not like this race mattered. You already won the championship, we won the team championship, and you have a seat for next year.”

“Thanks, Ollie, but that’s not the point,” Was he lying? Partly, but there was some truth. He was upset at the race result, but he was also still slightly bummed that you were not there. Thinking of you, he wanted to call you.

Kimi looked through his bag for his phone, finding it with no problems. He noticed the number of notifications, but the only one that mattered to him was the one from you. It was a few minutes prior and it read, “I’m so sorry liebe! That crash was nasty, I hope you’re okay. I just took more medicine, so I might be asleep by the time you finish post-race media. I’ll call you when I wake up. Ich liebe dich (I love you).”

He sent a quick response, telling you he was alright and he loved you. Then, he went about the rest of his day. And the rest of his night. And the next morning. At that point, he started getting nervous again since you were not responding again. What kind of medicine were you taking that knocked you out for 12 hours, he thought. 

He wanted to go back to your parents again, but the feature race prep was different compared to the sprint. He did not have the same break he did with the sprint. Ever since he got to the track, he was warming up and prepping for the final race. He was nervous given the result the day before. He did not want to end the season on a double DNF, especially when he was going to get an F1 seat the following season in a Mercedes. He had to score well in the race.

If he had found a way to get to the Mercedes garage, he would have seen you sitting with your brother while your parents had a last-minute meeting. And if Kimi had been in any other starting position, he would have seen you walk into the Prema garage with Jack. Pole position was different though because they needed to do more interviews and promo pictures. If Kimi could have seen around his car from his grid box, he would have seen you sitting on the pit wall.

The race started without a hitch, Kimi was back in his groove, and it was clear to see that he was confident in his moves again. Sure, he was not fighting anyone for position, but there were a couple of times when he had to defend. He did so perfectly, and it made people wonder if the sprint race was just a one-off day for him. It was all worth it when he crossed the finish line first again.

The team immediately ran to Parc Ferme to wait for the cars as they scored a Prema 1-2. Kimi pulled into the first spot, Ollie into the second, and Victor in the third. Ollie and Victor jumped out of their cars immediately, running to their teams, but Kimi took a minute. This win should have felt good, especially after the disaster that was the sprint race, but it didn’t.

It was fun to win, but he was going to have to jump out of the car and celebrate with his team. Just his team. This is the first race you were not going to be there celebrating with him, and he would rather delay the inevitable. 

You could feel his hesitance to get out of the car, so you handed Jack over to your parents as you pulled up your mask and pushed through the people to get to the gate. You got there relatively easily considering you went through the Prema team, and they knew you would be the first person he’d want to see.

Kimi finally climbed out and stood on top of his car, posing for the camera momentarily. Then, his attention shifted to his team, and he froze. You were there! He’d recognize those eyes anywhere! Of course, you made it. He jumped off of the car and flung himself over the barrier to wrap you in his arms.

“You made it. I can’t believe you made it,” He whispered over and over, not even bothering to question if you could hear him through his helmet. That’s when he remembered, so he pulled back to take his helmet and balaclava off as well as his gloves. He put the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature, causing you to laugh. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m seeing if you’ve got a fever.”

“I’m all good, my fever broke yesterday,” You consoled as you pulled his hand off of your forehead to hold it as you kissed his cheek through your mask. “I’m all good. The mask is just a precaution.”

“Screw precaution, I wanna kiss you,” Kimi whined as he pulled the mask down to give you a long kiss. Despite not actually hearing it, the team all started clapping and F1 TV definitely got a good shot of you two. When he pulled away, he put the mask back on for you as he leaned his head against yours. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“You couldn’t keep me away even if you tried,” You whispered back, leaning up to bump your nose against his, “I’ll always find a way to be here for you.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[amongemeraldclouds]

Things I’ll Never Say

Why say things out loud when you can write them all down in a journal? No need to inconvenience everyone else with silly declarations of love that’s only guaranteed to break your heart. So what happens when your enemy - of all people - finds it?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

Thanks to @thatdammchickennugget for the prompt. Here's my official entry for the Hogmarch challenge, prompt one. 1k words.

Author’s note: The way I screamed when this idea came to mind! Journaling is such a big part of my life, I’ll take any and every chance I can to incorporate it to my stories.

Indented text are journal entries.

Warning: Cursing, no use of y/n, slight angst but it’s kinda cute. Fluff express coming through!

✿ Masterlist

“Stop copying my notes!” I hiss at Lorenzo, moving my arm to cover my parchment.

“Come on, I missed class today. I need to catch up,” he says, tugging at the arm of my sweater.

“Go ask your friends,” I retort, moving my arm away from his grasp.

“You know they’re not in that class, just you,” he insists.

“Oh we’re not friends,” I deadpan.

“It won’t take long,” he tries again.

“If you weren’t busy sleeping around with everyone, Berkshire. You would have made it to class this morning.”

 He leans in to my ear and whispers, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

I grab the nearest hardbound book and swing it in his direction. Thwack! It strikes his shoulder.

The librarian looks at us sternly. “Your final warning was just given five minutes ago. No noise in the library!” She points her finger to the exit, “You two, out!”

“Great. Thanks for that, Berkshire. Good luck with your notes.” My face gets hot with embarrassment as I gather my things and rush off to the exit.

Enzo spots a black leather bound journal in the area you just vacated. He takes it with him as he exits the library. She’s always writing in this notebook. I’m sure she won’t mind if I take a peek, I’ll give it back to her anyway.

He damn well knew you would mind. When he reaches a quiet corner of the hallway, he proceeds to turn the cover anyway.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to like Lorenzo Berkshire. Why the fuck did I just draw a heart over the “i”! That’s it. I’m losing my mind! I can’t be caught liking the boy who spewed the word mudblood in my direction our first year. Like it’s my fault I was born into my family. And screw him okay, muggles are awesome. I can break my own heart with my misguided affections, but I’d rather die before I ever let him break my heart. So before I check myself into a mental asylum, I need to just say this somewhere. Anywhere. A last ditch effort to save my sanity.

He’s the intrusive thought I love to entertain in my head.

As a dare, he took off his shirt at the party. My toes curled. I pretended not to notice him.

I heard him laughing with his friends. I love the way it lit up his face.

I saw him enter his dorm hand in hand with a girl. I never wish to be her, another one night stand. Once would never be enough. 

I nearly kissed him again.

He helped me pick up the pile of books I dropped at the library. He seemed kind and concerned. Ha! Who am I kidding?

I count down the hours until I see him again.

Maybe in another lifetime it wouldn’t matter: bloodlines, social status, and hierarchies. So unnecessary.

I noticed the veins in his arm at quidditch practice. I tried not to bite my lip. What must it be like to be wrapped in those arms?

And there he was again with his stupid hair breaking my stupid heart.

Enzo hears determined footsteps approaching and he shuts the journal, hiding it behind him.

“Fine, Berkshire,” I sigh when I reach him. “Here, take my notes,” I say, handing it out to him.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“Weren’t you so desperate to get them earlier?” I fold my arms. “I will not be part of the reason you fail in class.” I point at him, “you and your dumb ass can very well do it yourself. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

My brain short circuits, the fire freezing in my veins. How the hell does he know?

He smirks, pulling out a familiar black journal. My eyes widen.

“On second thought,” I say, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter,” I turn around and walk away. “Fail class for all I care.”

I’m yanked back when I feel Enzo’s grip on my wrist. “Wait.”

My heart thumps in my chest. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. He knows!

“I’m sorry,” he says. What? I turn back, my confused expression directed at him.

“That I called you a mudblood,” he explains. “I was a dumb ass when we were younger.”

“Finally, we agree on something,” I state, trying to mask the tremble in my voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you back then and I was prejudiced. Over the years, I enjoyed watching your passion for magic and studying. How you light up when you talk to your friends about a book you just read. And how you’re always the first to volunteer when someone needs help. You have this fire and warmth in you and I just need to be around it all the time. I’m reduced to being a moth to your flame and I don’t mind it at all.”

I blink, speechless.

He takes a step forward, voice softening. “Why do you think I tease you all the time?”

“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know?” The anger not quite there in my voice.

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you and I thought you hated me.” He brushes the hair from my face and cups my face. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh no, I do hate you.” I falter, “but maybe I kind of, just sort of, like you too.”

He grins. “It seems there are things we need to talk about. Will you go on a date with me?”

My heart stutters. “You already know my answer.”

He laughs, “stubborn as always. I’ll take that as a yes.” He pulls me in for a hug. 

Oh. Being wrapped in his strong arms is even better than I imagined. I rest my head on his shoulder when a thought occurs to me.

“You’re sure this is not just some elaborate ploy for me to keep giving you my notes?”

He sighs, “of course not, just enjoy this moment."

He moves his mouth to my ear, "But if you do, I solemnly swear I will make it worth your while.”

I don't hit him this time.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: For those who get the Avril Lavigne title reference, here's a tight hug for you! ♡

I may or may not have also had a place where I wrote down love confessions for someone I couldn’t have. Some of those may or may not have been included in the journal entries.

Two fics published in one day? Who is she?

[un-lawliet]

“Rough Day?”

— In which Gojo cares quietly.

(or i’m having a bad day and wrote this on a whim)

The slamming of the front door was enough of a warning for Gojo, a warning that today’s mission was bad.

The small sniffles that was heard after only confirmed this, and Gojo found his usually boisterous greeting die in his throat immediately.

You were hunched over, wiping furiously at the tears that fell pathetically from your eyes, determined to keep the remains of your composure as the events of today hit you.

You were bruised, battered and bloody. You felt disgusting and probably looked it too, and all you want to do is cry.

You felt him before you saw him, his hands coaxing yours away from your face, a tiny smile dancing across his lips.

“What’s got my pretty girl all upset like this huh?” Gojo’s head tilted forward, kissing the area under your eye softly, gently. Treating you as if you were made of the finest glass, breakable at any rough handling.

“So fucking tired Toru.” You mumbled back, lying your head unceremoniously on his shoulder in defeat, closing your eyes and embracing the feeling of his gentle hand rubbing your back. Your eyes burning with unshed tears.

A kiss on the top of your head, and your clutching the material of his shirt, pleading with yourself not to start sobbing on your doorstep in the arms of the strongest.

But the tiny hitch in your throat made his eye narrow in concern, his movements becoming daintier, feeling you start to shake in his hold.

You were losing a battle of wills and you could only let out a tiny whimper before you began to weep like a child.

“I know baby, I know.” Gojo whispers, his hands finds your face and he separates from you slightly, his blue eyes finding your watery, bloodshot ones.

His heart clenched at the exhaustion seeping from your frame, faltige plaguing your every movement. There was cuts on your face, tiny but plenty, Gojo didn’t like that, his eye brows furrowed and he made a mental note to clean them and kiss them better.

He kisses your forehead, and then the tip of your nose, a silent reassurance that he is there and that he understands.

Because Satoru Gojo, is loud and unabashedly himself, but he loves in silence, in the quiet shadows behind a large grin and a forgoing of common courtesy.

He wipes your tears away, whispering tiny words of praise, telling you stories of how endlessly proud he is of you, and even causing you to giggle as he tickles under your chin cheekily.

He smiles again at you, cooing at your miserable little pout, before he leans forward and captures your lips on his, a tender kiss that tells you that’s everything is going to be alright.

And you’re holding him tightly, as if afraid he’s going to vanish, the very cusp of your sanity seemingly dependent on him in this moment.

Gojo just chuckles, pulling away and leaving one final peck on your lips again, still cradling your face in his hands.

“Silly girl.” He taps your nose with his own, his eyes soft, “I’m not going anywhere.”

end.

( feel free to leave a request <3 )

masterlist here <3

authors note: omfg the toji and gojo fight animated was absolutely brutal.. it was so much worse that the manga ???? my heart was SHAKING - anyway i love u thank u for reading :)))

[hihhasotherfixations]

I’m thinking about dragon hybrid Price as a dad to little dragon hybrid you.

This is more headcanon style than my usual and a little bit all over the place but I had to get it out because yes >:3

CW: none

Word Count: 1020

Price had always lived a solitary life. Dragon hybrids were relatively rare, and he didn’t exactly go out of his way to find a partner.

Purely by happenstance, he came across another. And almost out of obligation as well as it being mating season, they started a relationship. She quickly fell pregnant, but despite it all, it wasn’t meant to last.

Due to the more solitary nature of dragons, your mother left after you were born. Price didn’t blame her, the two hadn’t been incredibly close after all, only having gotten together during the mating season but not having an amazing connection beyond that. He was grateful she at least communicated her plan in advance so that he could prepare.

But when you were born, oh my. You were everything.

He took you home from the hospital alone, yet before he’d even gotten out of his car and into the house, he knew that a bond had formed that he could never sever.

Dragons were vain and prideful by nature. And for Price? His pride and vanity all poured into you. You were his. His creation, his child. He’d do anything for you, to keep you safe. And if necessary? He would protect you with the world as a shield.

The baby years are tough. Growing horns, wings and fangs is not pleasant. It can hurt and because of it, there are a lot of nights where you’re inconsolable, just crying in his arms as he tries to soothe you.

His wings folding around you seem to work best, creating a sort of cavern-like bubble where his warmth and heartbeat are the main sensations.

But even with that, the growing pains are sometimes too much and the poor captain had to lose sanity in favour of consoling you, rubbing ointment on your horns and massaging your tail and wings the best he could.

Yet the first time he sees your little tail wag when he walks into the baby room to feed you after waking you, all the sleepless nights are worth it.

You were starting to develop into a true dragon.

You stand in your box, holding onto the railing and bouncing excitedly on your feet. Your little horns poking through your unruly mop of hair while your wings are folded on your back.

“Hello, little lizard.” Price smiles, walking over to you. Immediately, you stick up your arms and he takes the hint, grabbing you under your armpits and lifting you up.

Holding you in his arms, he can feel you wiggle, trying to wag your tail - but you can’t.

Because now that your wings have finally started developing in earnest, he has needed to put preventative measures.

Where before your wings were papery and flexible, your tail stumpy and short, now both were getting some volume, the bones in them growing and lengthening - solidifying. And because of it, sleeping becomes dangerous.

In the past, many dragonlings have broken wings or tails by rolling around in their sleep, getting the limbs stuck under themselves and twisting too far.

Because of it, the wing-tail guard was invented. Used to pin said appendages against your body and cushioning them - allowing you to roll to your heart’s content while sleeping.

And now here you sat on his arm, the soft, black coloured cushioning moulded perfectly to fit your wings strapped to your back, your tail stuck between your legs, unable to wiggle or wag it.

“Come on, darling.” Price grinned, setting you down on the changing table and untying the straps, freeing your wings and tail back up.

And when your wings shift and move a little after he takes it off, oh how his heart jumps in excitement.

He’s been so eager, waiting for the day you finally open your wings for the first time.

For most dragonlings it happens around 1,5-2 years old. So you were right around that age.

He tries to encourage you by showing off his own wings. Anytime he has you on his lap, he spreads them wide, and you never fail to be completely mesmerised by it.

Seeing it, he tries to let you know you have your own, to encourage you to use them. He runs his hand down the muscles and bones of your wings, petting them down, getting you used to it by massaging the flesh and muscles, loosening them up.

It takes a lot of coaxing and weeks since you first tried, but finally, you manage to open up your wings and spread them.

And Price couldn’t be more proud.

Your wings are a carbon copy of his, except just a slight shade darker. And he knows that with a lot of training and upkeep, you’ll be just as strong a flier as he is.

Speaking of. Now that you’ve opened your wings for the first time? He can finally take you on your first flight.

Strapped to his chest with a harness, he gently stretches your wings out. It looks a little awkward, to have you dangling from his chest with your wings pancaked between your back and his front, but it’s important to get you used to flying, to using your wings.

The glee and pure joy that radiates off of you when you’re soaring in the clouds is unprecedented. You’re not scared, nervous or hesitant as he feared you might be, no. Instead, you’re kicking your feet, and screeching in delight. You keep tilting your head back to look at your dad and Price grins down at you, uncaring that your horns are stabbing into his sternum as his powerful wings flap, carrying the both of you through the sky.

The 141 know everything about you. Price can’t help himself. As stated before, dragons are proud creatures, and you are his pride.

He cannot help but share with the other most important people in his life.

And oh how they adore you too.

All in all, you are Price’s greatest treasure, and he can’t wait to see you grow up into your own, powerful dragon.

-

I would love to write more for this. If you want something elaborated or have your own idea and wanna see it written, please drop it in my ask box to give me an excuse to do so! ^^

[sunshinemayhem]

second chances - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 807

“Sirius, can we talk?” Remus makes an aborted motion at Sirius’s retreating back. James and Peter have already left, and transfiguration doesn't start for another thirty minutes. It’s the best time to have this conversation.

Sirius pauses, then raises an eyebrow, leaning against the door. His face is unreadable.

Remus nods. He’s grateful, at least, that Sirius hasn’t ignored him. “I’m sorry,” he says, unconsciously twisting the hem of his shirt.

Silence.

Remus takes a deep breath. This is harder than expected, but he promised himself he’d stop running away. He looks up, meeting Sirius’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I screwed up. I didn’t think of how I was hurting you. I.. I was afraid. I was so afraid of losing you –of losing what we had– that I chose to break my own heart before you could do it.” In the back of his head, he questions the Sorting Hat’s sanity for the millionth time.

Remus continues, “It’s not an excuse. I really am sorry.” He swallows. “I’m also sorry that I’m here now, putting you in this position, wanting to make up after I recklessly tore us apart.” He laughs, an ugly thing. “Merlin, I’m a selfish bastard, aren’t I? I’m sorry.” He’s long given up on eye contact. Remus stares at the ground, refusing to blink. He takes a deep breath.

“I.. I think I’m in love with you.” Remus thinks he hears a hitch in Sirius’s throat, but he can’t be sure. The next part is difficult, but it needs to be said. He owes it to the years of friendship between them.

His words come out faster. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I get it. Really, I do. I’m a pessimist, I’m flawed, I get in my own head. I’m trying, but I’m not perfect. And- And if you’d rather stay friends, I’ll be okay. Well, not okay but I’ll be fine-” Now it was Remus’s breath hitching. He blinks, then ducks his head, swiping his arm against his eyes. He’s humiliated himself enough.

There’s silence again, but Remus has finished his daily quota of courage. “I guess that’s all I had to say.” he shuffles his feet, lifts his head, looking anywhere but Sirius. He laughs once, bitter. “You know, I’d really appreciate a response.”

It’s quiet. Remus swallows. “I guess silence is an answer.” He screws his face up, willing himself not to cry. He really had fucked up, hadn’t he? He wonders if he’ll be okay.

“You-” He stops. He wants Sirius to leave. He starts again, “You’ll have to give me some time to deal with it, you understa-” Warm hands cup his face, and his words get stuck in his throat. They gently guide him to look forward, and Remus’s eyes widen as he realizes that Sirius –Sirius, who’d rather be humiliated publicly by Snape than cry– has puffy, red eyes. He still looks gorgeous, the git.

“Don’t cry, Moony.” he croaks, voice cracking after being silent for so long. Remus feels him gently cup his cheek, wiping away tears. Oh. He hadn’t realized that he was crying. He guesses willpower can only do so much. He feels exhausted, suddenly. 

Sirius is still talking, words tumbling over each other, frenetic. “You shouldn’t ever be sad. Never, never, never–” he cuts himself off. “You deserve to be happy. Always.”

Remus looks away, his face still being held hostage by the tenderness in Sirius’s movements. He can’t be comforted. What Sirius isn’t saying cuts like a sharp edge. He can feel acid at the back of his throat, and curses himself for expecting a different answer.

“Look at me,” Sirius says, his voice gentle. It rarely is, and Remus can’t fight it.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” Remus is caught off guard. There’s no way to misinterpret that. The voices in his head can’t contest it. 

“Don’t ever say that you’re not enough.” His voice is steady now. “I’m definitely more flawed than you are. I’m cruel, I’m superficial, I have too many trust issues.” Remus’s eyebrows draw together. He doesn’t agree, but his mouth has decided that that’s enough words for today. Sirius understands, like always. They’d always been like that, having conversations with glances, not needing words. In hindsight, that had become a bad thing when they’d stopped communicating. 

“Shh, let me finish. I’m sorry too. I didn’t know you were feeling like this. I noticed that you were acting differently, but I was too afraid that you were having second thoughts about me. I wanted to pretend everything was alright so that it didn’t end. ” Remus, again, wants to interrupt, but he’s stopped by Sirius’s earnest stare.

Sirius leans in. “I’m selfish too,” he whispers, “how about we try again?”

And just like that, Remus dares to hope.

[wkemeup]

The Bet

summary: The agents at SHIELD have not taken well to Bucky’s pardon. When he’s injured on a mission under suspicious circumstances, you take matters into your own hands.  

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 7.7k

warnings: canon level violence, bucky’s internalized self-punishing issues, shield agents being real pieces of shit, badass reader who would defend bucky to the death

a/n: I know I’ve been really inactive lately (life’s actually been going well so I’ve been busier but that leaves me less time to write unfortunately), but I’m still lurking here! This is a fic I wrote several months ago but finally got around to editing it. Hope you enjoy!

Bucky wasn’t sure how you managed it – the punch to his gut every time you walked in the room. You were dressed in your tactical suit; black fabric draped over every inch of your body, protective layers of Kevlar and technology beyond Bucky’s years, a weapon strapped to your thigh and knives hidden in your belt and at your ankle. Your hair was tugged out of place, sweat beaded on your temple from the sparring match in the gym moments before the two of you were called to service. In your right hand, you carried your combat boots, the laces hanging low enough to touch the ground.  

And still, Bucky held his breath as you approached. Stomach in knots, chest tightening until his heart threatened to stop entirely.

“My offer is fifty this time,” you announced, winking in his direction before you turned to head for the landing bay. “Take it or leave it, Barnes.”

It was a game you’d been playing since your first mission together. A running bet to determine the better combat fighter. You’d insisted on measuring it not by the number of Hydra agents taken down or the bullets left in the magazine at the end of the mission, but by who walked away with the least damage on their body. A competition in the lack of scars.  

He suspected it was your effort to distract him, to center his mind on something other than the crushing weight on his chest as he stepped into yet another Hydra stronghold. With his pardon only coming through the official channels three months prior and the nightly news still debating whether he should be locked in a psychiatric hospital or executed for his crimes, Bucky didn’t mind a little distraction.  

He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first – this woman who cared so little for the eggshells scattered around his wake. Thin, broken pieces shattered under your steps, sharp edges digging into the soles of your feet and you did not flinch. You never hesitated in your teasing, never withdrew a cautious touch from the hardened steel of his left arm, never treated him as though he were fragile or unhinged. Instead, you placed bets on the outcomes of your shared missions as if his lethality was something to respect, to admire.  

Part of him wondered whether it was your attempt to keep him unharmed. The winner would have the least number of cuts and bruises – the least physical pain endured. Bucky had no problem using his body as the weapon it was designed to be, even if it meant being reckless in his own skin. It was what he’d been trained to do for decades; constantly reminded that his body was not his own to command, not his own to protect and shield. The mission came first. The mission always came first. Above his safety. Above his comfort. Above his sanity. Hydra cared little for how damaged he walked away from a fight as long as he did as he was ordered. But not you.  

No, you never could seem to hide the subtle twitch of relief as he won bet after bet. How your shoulders seemed to lose the tension aching in your muscles as you handed over the winnings he did not want. Because it meant you’d lost – that you’d been injured more than he had – and Bucky wanted no part in celebrating such a win.  

“I don’t want your money, Y/n,” Bucky said as he did before each mission. He fell in line beside you as rookies parted down the hallway with each approaching step. Most kept their head down, eyes averted. But not all. Some openly stared at him as if they might bore holes into his tactical suit. 

“Who says I’m paying you shit?” you scoffed, a smirk edging at the corner of your mouth. “Fifty, Barnes. You on or what?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, fine. I’m in.”

You walked with a slight bounce in your step after he agreed and Bucky could not stop the smile as it tugged on his cheeks.  

By the time you reached the quinjet, the team of agents was huddled in the loading dock awaiting orders. Steve stood with a hand leaning against the pilot’s chair, the other hooked on the font of his belt. The rest of the team – a group of highly trained SHIELD agents dressed in full combat gear tensed as Bucky followed you onto the jet.  

“Thanks for joining us,” Steve welcomed sarcastically though there was humor in his grin. You rolled your eyes and held up your unlaced boots as if that would be answer enough that you were caught off guard for the unplanned mission.  

“Not all of us wait eagerly outside Fury’s door for scraps of adrenaline,” you teased and tossed a wink over your shoulder at Bucky.  

Steve bit his tongue to hold back a laugh. He turned to one of the agents lingering by the cockpit. “Get us in the air.”  

“Yes, sir,” the agent responded and quickly jumped into the pilot’s seat.  

Steve made his way to the table at the center of the jet where the building’s schematics were illuminated in three dimensional holographic lasers. Bucky exhaled a heavy breath as he followed, studying the lights as they detailed every inch of the building he would infiltrate in a matter of a few hours. He kept his right hand down by his side in an effort to not reach out and touch the floating blueprints.

“Y/n will lead Team B through the back entrance and up to the second floor,” Steve explained as he widened the schematics with a single swipe of his hand. The floor print zoomed into the level he was describing.

“Meanwhile, I’ll lead Team A through the main floor,” he continued and adjusted the visual to display the path he intended to take. “We’ll come in hot through the primary entrance. Draw as much attention as we can. That’ll give Bucky the time he needs to track down the Berlin files.”

Bucky swallowed as many of the agents turned to look at him. Steve had briefed him ahead of time on the mission so he knew he would be taking this one on his own. He knew the building better than anyone else, better than anyone who had studied the blueprints. He knew Hydra better than anyone else. Whether he was stored in this particular site was irrelevant. He understood how Hydra operated, enough to determine where they’d keep the sort of information that could bring the organization to its knees. It made the most sense.  

Clinical. Rational.  

“He’s going alone?” you questioned, your voice quieter than Bucky was expecting. Your focus was solely on Steve, brows knotted at the center. There was a soft waver of concern in your tone he was sure did not go unnoticed by the rest of the team. You’d seen Bucky’s right-hand curl to an aching fist enough times at the mention of his former captors. You knew the wounds were still fresh, the ink on his pardon barely dried.  

Steve nodded reluctantly. “We’re going to make a lot of noise, but don’t mistake me. This is a stealth op. Giving Bucky a team is only going to slow him down.”

“You could at least give him back up,” you argued, the gentle hesitancy dropped from your tone. Your hands planted firmly on your hips. Tension coated thick into the room.  

Bucky was about to step in, to put a careful hand on your shoulder and tell you he could handle himself just fine, that there was nothing to worry about. Maybe he’d crack a joke. Maybe then he could brush off your concerns and the knots in his stomach as simple worry for a reliable partner. But one of the senior agents – Hanning – cleared his throat first.  

“She’s right, Cap,” Hanning said. “It’s not a good idea to send him in alone.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, looking to Steve with a challenging smirk, but Bucky knew Hanning’s words for what they were. His stomach bottomed as he started to reach for you, to pull you back from the room before you could hear the rest of what Hanning was surely about to say. Bucky could read it on each of the agents’ faces – how they all looked down their noses at him, how thier gazes flickered to the reflection of his left arm in disgust, how they tensed the moment he stepped on board the jet. Humiliation burned hot in his cheeks before Hanning even uttered another word.  

“See!” you hit Steve lightly on the arm. You grinned back in Bucky’s direction and did not see the dread weighing in his eyes. “Just give him two guys. Just enough to make sure he’s—”

“—watched. We all know the Winter Soldier can’t be trusted alone in a Hydra facility.”  

You stilled at Hanning’s words. Bucky watched the edge of your jaw flicker as you clenched the muscle, your hands gripping tight to the edge of the table. Bucky wondered if it might splinter under your hold.  

“Excuse me?” Venom dripped from your tongue on every syllable.  

“You said it yourself,” Hanning replied with a short shrug of his shoulders, as if you had simply misheard him. “The Winter Soldier shouldn’t be left on his own. No telling what he’d do unsupervised. Especially around his old buddies.”

You flinched – actually flinched.  

To Bucky, this wasn’t anything new. The serum has cursed him with heightened senses strong enough to overhear the quiet whispering when he entered the gym, the nervous murmuring of rookie agents who had grown up on ghost stories of his most prolific crimes. He noticed every frantic skip of a frightened heartbeat and every cold, seething glare of an agent whose loathing outweighed that of his fear. There was little room for anything else amongst the agents within SHEILD.  

You – and only a few others among the Avengers – were the exception.  

His pardon was conditional. He couldn’t afford the kind of trouble these agents were egging him into. One step out of line and he’d find himself with a lifetime sentence on the raft. Maybe that was what he deserved, but he couldn’t risk retaliating against the agents, couldn’t so much as chance a bitter word thrown back in their faces. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to admit that it was only in fear of not seeing you again that held his tongue.  

Bucky had grown numb to the taunts and the stares long before he stepped foot in the tower. He knew how to keep his head down, how to swallow back his pride at the expense of his dignity. He learned how to endure the humiliation, the shame. Hydra had taught him well.  

You, however, did not tolerate it.  

“He can’t be trusted, Cap,” Hanning went on, turning to meet Steve’s warning stare. “We’ve lost too many guys to his friends at Hydra. I don’t care what papers the President signed. You can’t let the Winter Soldier—”

“Stop calling him that,” you hissed, pounding a fist against the table. The holographic blueprints flared in response. “I said Bucky should have support in the field. Not a fucking parole officer!”

Hanning rolled his eyes; a dangerous choice to make to mock a superior agent in front of her own team. Steam billowed from your ears as several of the agents behind him began to laugh. Hanning wiped his thumb over his bottom lip, his gaze slipping down the length of your body as if to size you up, but he lingered too long. A power move, Bucky deciphered. A means to belittle you. Bucky gritted his teeth.  

“He’s a war criminal,” Hanning challenged, ignoring Bucky’s calculated step in your direction.  

“He was a prisoner of war!” you shot back, voice raising on every word. “Who was pardoned, by the way!”

“You think that changes anything? A piece of paper doesn’t erase the shit he’s done. Doesn’t bring back any of the SHIELD agents he murdered. Doesn’t make him any less of fuckin’ monster and we shouldn’t have to put up with his—”

“Enough!” Steve ordered, slamming a hand down on the table. The blueprints flickered out until the table powered down. “Hanning, get your men in order. I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of you until we’re back in New York. Y/n, walk it off. We land in an hour.”

Betrayal seethed in your eyes as your gaze whipped to Steve. You expected him to defend Bucky as fiercely as you did, but Bucky knew better, as did Steve. Steve’s involvement would only worsen the division between Bucky and the rest of the team. They’d turn themselves into martyrs; jump on their high horse and twist Steve’s defense to align with what they already believed – that the Winter Soldier was dangerous, untrustworthy, and corrupted everything he touched. Including the Avengers and SHIELD itself.  

And maybe they were right, but it wasn’t a fight you had to be a part of. He worked very hard to ensure you knew little of it at all.  

You clamped your jaw shut to keep yourself from handing Captain America his ass next and quickly turned on your heels. Your hand slid around Bucky’s wrist and without much resistance, you dragged him along with you to the other side of the jet. There, you sank against the bench along the frame of the cargo hold and began sliding your hands along your thighs. As he watched you, Bucky wondered if you might tear the fabric of your suit with how intensely you were digging your palms into the muscle.  

“Hanning’s an asshole,” you grumbled. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know shit.”

You spoke as if you believed it was an isolated incident – a single, rare occurrence he should brush off his shoulders – and perhaps you did. Perhaps you truly believed that no agent would be as brazen as to mock the former Winter Soldier to his face, but you would be wrong. Their confidence grew each time he kept his head down, each time he swallowed back the rage and humiliation at their taunts.  

Bucky sighed, sinking down on the bench beside you. Your hands were still raking against your thighs, your pointed glare still finding its way to the agents huddled on the opposite end of the jet. He figured if he didn’t say something soon, you might lose the battle for your better judgements and take a swing at Hanning before the jet so much as crossed Hydra airspace.  

“Make it a hundred.”

You furrowed your brow, your gaze shifting to him. Already, your features began to soften. Your hands stilled against your knees. “What?”

“The bet,” Bucky clarified, forcing a smile. It didn’t touch his eyes and it ached, but it was all he could muster. “Make it a hundred this time.”

A smirk slowly lifted the corners of your mouth and Bucky felt a weight slip off his chest.  

“You’re on.”

***

“Do you want know what I’m going to do with your money when I win?”

Bucky dug his teeth into his bottom lip to repress a determined smile as your labored voice crackled through his coms. He could hear the static of the radio waves and the frequent draw of your breath as you led your team in combat on the second level. You’d learned early on to switch your coms to an off-channel frequency while you were separated. Steve was the only one who was aware of the isolated channel, but he knew better than to listen in unannounced.  

“Huh, Barnes?” you challenged. He could practically see your smile edging up your cheeks. “Should I tell you how I’m going to spend your hard-earned cash?”

“You do remember you’re the one engaged in combat right now and I’m on an abandoned floor alone, right? Do you hear those odds?” Bucky smirked to himself, imagining the hard roll of your eyes as you scoffed into the coms.  

“You’re not as stealthy as you think, Barnes. Maybe you’ll stub your toe on a desk. Don’t underestimate my skill against these... amateurs,” you spat the last word as if to make a point to the man you were currently barreling a fist into. “Now let me tell you how I’m going to waste your money.”

“Go on,” Bucky chuckled. He stalked through the empty hallway, passing by old offices and labs as he scanned in search of the vault in question. Hydra was rather predictable that way.  

“Well,” you exhaled and clearly threw a punch at your opponent by the grunt that followed, “Sam’s birthday is coming up."

Bucky froze in his tracks; any trace of a grin wiped from his features. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Your laugh echoed in his ears and damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard – took him right out of the Hydra facility he wandered through, out of the memories attached to the lifeless, concrete rooms, and brought levity back to his chest. How you managed to do that while fighting your way through a hoard of Hydra agents was beyond him.  

He turned into a promising office at the end of the hallway. Lavish enough to be one of the higher officer’s, with priceless stolen art on the walls and a desk chair that resembled a small throne. He rolled his eyes.  

“Six ahead! Erikson, McKinley! Go now!” You shot an order at one of your men before returning focus back to your side conversation with Bucky. He smiled at the sharpness of your tone – the authority, the respect you commanded. Just as easily, your tone shifted to the gentle teasing reserved only for him. “Maybe I’ll replace the side camera on Redwing you shattered in Guatamala last month.”

Bucky groaned and drew out your name in a long, exasperated tone as he began fumbling through a pile of stray papers on the messy desk.  You started to laugh again and Bucky couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the ends of his mouth. It was damn near infectious.  

“Fine, fine.” Your voice was breathless; either from the fight or the laughter, Bucky wasn’t sure. “I might venture a trip out to Coney Island. I hear they have life changing soft serve.”

Bucky chuckled just as he tore open a locked drawer, shifting through the contents. “You’d have a hell of a lot of cash left over.”

“Well let’s see,” you began, a short pause followed as you knocked out another combatant. Bucky could hear the thud of the body at your feet. “Two tickets on the train, two world-renown ice cream cones. It adds up, Barnes.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. A sudden unwelcomed pit formed in his stomach as he straightened his back, his hands slipping from their task at the desk. He swallowed, though his throat was dry.  

“Two? Who would you—”

“Are you really telling me you don’t want to show me around your old stomping grounds?” you teased, as if he should have assumed you’d only ever been talking about him. “I can be generous with your money, Buck. I’ll even treat you to a funnel cake if you want.”

Butterflies swarmed in his stomach, his teeth gnawing at his lips to suppress the grin and the flush in his cheeks. He didn’t dare look up at the Hydra symbol painted on the wall ahead of him, but he wondered then if the memory of it might have any effect at all in the wake of your laughter through the coms.

“That so?” he managed to reply, trying to find a piece of himself from the forties that could talk to a woman without stumbling over his words. His heart was pounding. Thundering. His hands gripped the edge of the desk in effort to stop the shaking of adrenaline, but it was such a lovely feeling.  

“I might even win you a stuffed animal.”  

Bucky exhaled as if it might relieve the pleasant aching in his cheeks. “Those games are rigged, you know.”

“I have my tricks.”

A throat cleared at the doorway.  

Bucky jolted, his hand on the trigger and safety unlatched before he got a good look at the face of the man watching him from the hallway. His smile fell as he froze – the sound of your voice calling to him through the coms went unanswered. You must have heard the sudden hitch in his breath, noticed just by the short gasp of air that something was wrong.  

Hanning didn’t so much as flinch as he stared down the barrel of Bucky’s gun. His arms were folded over his chest, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. Bucky didn’t dare wonder how long he’d been there watching. He was losing his edge. Distracted in the one place he was supposed to be clinical above all else.  

Slowly, Bucky lowered the gun and latched the safety. Hanning cracked his neck to the side as six of his men emerged from the hall behind him. Bucky gritted his teeth and raised a hand to his coms.  

“I’m going dark.”

No time at all passed before you argued, “don’t you dare! Not while you’re out there alone.”

Bucky kept clear watch of Hanning and the six agents slowly making their way into the room, knuckles cracking against their hips, stretching their arms. A quiet anger simmered under the surface – boiling in his veins though no steam would release him from the rage it carried.  

“I found the vault,” he said, the lie slipping too easily off his tongue. “It’s heavily armored. It’ll cause interference. I’ll meet you on the jet.”

He didn’t like the short clinical statements he was giving you, as if you were little more than a handler requesting report. It wasn’t like him and you knew it.  

“No. Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.” Desperation clouded into your voice.  

“I said I’ll meet you on the jet,” he replied sharply; harsher than he ever intended to be with you, but Hanning’s patience was wearing thin and Bucky would not stomach you being able to hear what was about to happen.  

“Okay.” You were quieter now, your breaths more labored. Bucky’s stomach wrung in knots. “Just be careful.”

He turned off the coms before regret could sink in.  

“No more Avenger in your ear now, huh?” Hanning jeered, a cockeyed smirk hanging on the left edge of his mouth. He shook his head, a darkness sinking into his features when Bucky refused to answer. “Christ. She’s just as pathetic as the groupie sluts camping outside the tower.”

“Leave her out of this,” Bucky growled. He knew full well of the crowd who chanted his name, holding picket signs in support of an innocence he wasn’t sure belonged to him. Bucky wasn’t convinced they knew much of anything about his crimes. He often wondered if they would still draw hearts around his name if they knew the volume of blood on his hands.  

Hanning scoffed. “She used to be a damn good agent before you started fucking with her head, you know that? Maybe if I take her to bed next, she’ll start defending my honor, too.”

The desk cracked under Bucky’s grip; splintered under his palms. It didn’t matter that he’d never touched you in that way. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t so much as whispered a breath to the torch he carried for you. But reputation and rumor weighed stronger than truth. And Hanning didn’t seem to mind which served him best.

“We both know why you’re here, Hanning,” Bucky said, his voice taunt in the effort. “Stop beating around the bush.”

A vicious smirk warped Hanning’s features as he signaled to his men. Bucky steeled himself – an agonizing, familiar feeling – and he waited for the first blow to land.  

***

Bucky took his time returning to the jet. He didn’t bother turning his coms back on after he begrudgingly tore open the vault door at the back of the office and obtained the files SHIELD was after. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to stomach the onset of questions you’d throw his way, the inevitable concern in your voice, or the lies that would slip too easily from his tongue.  

You and Steve would have already returned to the quinjet by now and he was certain you were wearing a tread into the floor of the debrief room. If he closed his eyes, he might have been able to picture your arms folded tightly across your chest, the scowl creating lines down your forehead, and the hushed grumble as you muttered under your breath, eyes constantly darting back to the door in search of him.

Bucky took no pleasure in his lies. He did not enjoy the slight hitch of concern in your voice as you begged him to stay on coms. No— it tore into his chest in such a way he was left wondering if there would be anything left at all if he continued this way.  

But you couldn’t know.  

You couldn’t know the truth of how far men like Hanning would go to appease their fragile egos. How agents of an organization you dedicated your life to abused their power and a loophole in the system to ensure they could pull one over on the Winter Soldier in favor of bragging rights and a misguided sense of justice. You couldn’t know it wasn’t Hydra that left him bruised and battered after these missions, but instead the agents under your watch.  

Bucky paused as he came up on the ramp to the back of the jet. In the vague reflection of the charcoal surface was a trail of welts and bruising covering most of his face. Red had seeped into the white of his left eye. The center of his bottom lip was split open; blood dripped down his chin and left stray droplets against the chest of his jacket. He quickly brushed his wrist against his mouth, smearing the blood onto his hand instead and made his way inside.  

Hanning was standing at the edge of the debrief room as his team passed behind him. He raised his hand to you in what appeared to be a mocking salute. You did not react; your arms folded over your chest just as Bucky had imagined and an irritable glare compressed most of your features. But your eyes shifted to the bloody and broken skin on Hanning’s knuckles as his lowered his hand back to his side. You turned and watched him as he joined the rest of the agents.  

Bucky swallowed and pressed the button at the mouth of the jet to retract the ramp. While you were distracted by Hanning, Bucky shook his hair into his face, keeping his head down, and made his way to the debrief room as he was required to do. He would not be able to hide the damage to his face for long, but if he could at least conceal your reaction from Hanning and the rest of the team, it might be enough to preserve what remained of his dignity.  

You turned and walked back inside the debrief room and Bucky exhaled a heavy breath. As he followed shortly in behind you, he wasn’t surprised to find you had quickly resumed pacing along the back wall of the room. The carpet was slightly discolored under your path.  

Only when Bucky closed the door behind him did you notice his presence.  

You froze, eyes darting across the room. The relief that sank your shoulders was instant, but brief, because the moment you took in more than just his physical body safe inside the jet, a wash of anger and panic absorbed any traces of solace.  

You rushed across the room to him, hands hovering over his shoulders, his forearms, his torso – as if you were seeking to touch him but would not dare to lay a hand upon his body in fear of shattering him whole. Your eyes frantically scanned the open scarring and bruising on his face, searching for more wounds you could not see.  

“What the hell happened to you?” You made no effort to obscure the panic trembling in your voice.  

“Hydra,” he replied shortly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. He looked across the room to Steve, who was standing with his back leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Reluctance clouded the blues of his eyes but he did not contradict Bucky’s story.

“There shouldn’t have been anyone on that floor. You said it was abandoned! That was the whole point of drawing them all to us. You should have been clear!” you tried to reason and shot a glance at Steve to confirm, but his gaze lowered to the floor. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Did you get the files at least? Since you insisted on turning off your damn coms to get them?”

Your anger was a mask. Bucky could tell that much for certain by how your eyes shifted consistently to the blood in his left eye and the split on his lip. Fear was not an emotion you took kindly to, especially a fear you had no means of controlling.  

Bucky steeled his features the best he could and pulled the rolled file from the inside pocket of his jacket. Blood stained the corners of the crumpled folder and he set it on the table behind you. You did not seem even remotely satisfied by its presence.  

“Why wouldn’t you just tell us you’d been compromised?” you argued, shoving the folder further down the table. “I could have sent back up to you! Dammit Bucky, I would have come to you myself! You know I would have!”

Steve cleared his throat as he stepped away from the wall, a pleading heaviness filling his eyes as his head shifted towards you – a means of begging Bucky to come forward with the truth. You deserved as much, didn’t you? You cared for him for reasons beyond what Bucky could comprehend. But there would always be that sliver of doubt; that sickening voice in the back of his mind that questioned whether you might think he deserved the retaliation he got. Bucky only shook his head at Steve to warn him into silence.  

Your eyes narrowed on him, gaze following his path to Steve and back. Your instincts were not something Bucky should tread lightly around if he was intent on keeping this from you, and yet – there was some ache of relief to see the questions spinning behind your eyes, the stubbornness drawn to the surface to simply accept his ruse and pretend as though he wasn’t beaten into submission.  

Just as you parted your lips, you paused; your attention caught on the monitors just beyond Bucky’s shoulder. Upon one of the screens, Hanning was dramatically mimicking a fight scene to the entertainment of the surrounding agents. The video carried no sound but it was not easy to mistake the arrogant grin upon Hanning’s face as he showed off the bloodied cuts on his knuckles. Bucky resisted touching the bruise along his jawline.  

Bucky watched as you slowly moved closer to the monitor, studying every muscle in your body as you deciphered what you were seeing. Perhaps he might have been able to play it off as another one of Hanning’s pathetic attempts at boosting his ego by dramatizing a basic combat training move against a weak-willed Hydra agent, but while some of the agents looked to Hanning as if he were a god among men, some carefully – fearfully – looked over their shoulders to the debrief room. As if they were awaiting retaliation. Or punishment.  

Bucky swallowed bile as your spine suddenly went taunt. A gasp drew in a sharp breath to your lungs as you quickly turned to Bucky for confirmation. Suddenly he couldn’t speak – not with the way your eyes were pleading with him to deny it. You turned to Steve next and it only took a second before you saw the weight in his eyes, the truth he’d been hiding at the will of his best friend – how it ate away at him until there was little left. Your hand clasped over your mouth.  

“I’ll be outside,” Steve said quietly, sending an apologetic look in Bucky’s direction.

When the door closed behind him, you turned back to Bucky, waiting for him to say something – anything – to help you understand what happened. Hanning was an asshole, but to do something like this was unheard of. To attack a member of their own team under the ruse of a mission...

And maybe he should have confessed everything then and there, but his own fears were too strong – the possibility you might laugh in his face and side with Hanning, that you might believe him to be as vile and violent as the rest of them, undeserving of a second chance.  

So instead of an explanation, he reached into his back pocket and watched as your face contorted into something akin to horror and grief as he handed you a crumbled hundred-dollar bill. His hand trembled as he extended it to you.  

“What are you doing?” Your voice was barely a whisper; gaze fixated on the speckles of blood on the corners and under his nails.  

Bucky released a breath, though it burned on his exhale. “You won.”

You looked as though you might suffocate under the silence that sank into the room. Tears blurred into your eyes as you slowly took the bill from him, your fingertips lingering against his hand, and tossed it onto the table behind you as if the paper had burned you.  

“I don’t care about the stupid bet, Bucky! I don’t... I don’t want your money! I never wanted your money. Not ever,” you told him, voice shaking. You clenched your right hand into a fist as if it might quell the lump building in the back of your throat. “How long has this been happening?”

Bucky’s own throat was coated in gravel. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, it has happened before.”

His stomach bottomed as he realized he’d given himself up. You were always too smart for him, too smart to fall for this pathetic ruse. He should have known better than to think he could keep this from you. He prepared himself for your anger, for your disappointment, for your mockery, but instead something akin to guilt sank into your features and Bucky swore his knees might give out entirely.  

“Our own men have gone after you like this... they’ve beaten you on these missions, reported it off as field injuries, and I... I just didn’t know?”  

You brushed at your tears. Bucky suddenly felt nauseous.  

“This isn’t your fault,” he said quickly, giving up on any attempts at concealing his lies further. He could not stand for you to think that you played a single role in this mess. This was on him. Only him. You were only ever the light in his darkest days. You could not hold an ounce of blame for what happened. He wouldn’t allow it.  

“You were in the med bay last month,” you realized suddenly, an awful mix of remorse and agony coating your features. “You were separated from the team when you were jumped. You said... You said it was Kingpin’s men but... it wasn’t, was it? SHIELD agents put you there. They were the ones who attacked you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his hand curling tightly to a fist as if that might stop the trembling. “This isn’t your burden to carry. I can take care of myself.”

“Not my burden?” you scoffed. “Look at you! Jesus, Buck. How is this even possible? You should be able to take these assholes on without breaking a sweat! I’ve seen you spar. I’ve fought alongside you. I know what you can do! Hanning barely has a scratch on him. You should have been able to knock him on his ass without—”

You froze and slowly, your shoulders sank.  

“God,” you exhaled, the realization shattering every inch inside your chest as you met his eyes. “You don’t fight back. You can’t, can you? Your pardon. It’s—”

“—conditional,” Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair. “One word to the council that I’ve stepped out of line and they could revoke it. I could end up on the raft for the rest of my life. And maybe... maybe I belong there anyway but I’m trying to better. To right the wrongs I’ve done. To... to be on the right side of things again. I can’t do that from behind bars. And if word got out I’m throwing punches at the good guys, that’s exactly where I’ll end up.”

“I won’t let that happen,” you swore, wasting no time in your promise. Before he realized it, you were standing only inches from him, your fingertips gently tracing the golden lines on his left hand. He wondered then how he could have ever feared mockery and disgust from a woman who touched him so tenderly.  

A tired smile tugged at his broken lip. “Steve doesn’t even have the power to intervene if it came to that. Let this go, Y/n. I can take a few punches if it means getting a chance to start over.”  

You winced at his words, clenching your jaw as if to choke back a sob. “You can’t keep letting them do this to you. I won’t let you.”

“What would you have me do?” Bucky asked, his voice absent of anger or challenge. It simply carried the heaviness of defeat, of acceptance. “You know what would happen if I gave the council a single reason to doubt which side I’m on. My hands are tied.”  

He realized his mistake the moment a deadly calm swept over you. Clarity, like standing under the eye of storm. Your gaze darted to the monitor where Hanning was still mimicking his fight with Bucky.

“Y/n, wait!”

But you were already halfway out of the room. You did not turn back at Bucky’s plea as you stormed around the corner of the short stretch of hall and into the primary deck of the quinjet. Steve straightened from his position leaning against the wall, his eyes darting behind you where Bucky was quickly following behind. But it was not Steve you’d come in search of.  

Hanning was laughing with a hoard of his men, gathered around the holograph table worth more than any of their miserable lives combined. He rolled his eyes at the sight of you, making a mockery of the fury raging into every line upon your face as you sought him out as he swatted his buddy on the arm.  

The bastard even had the unearned arrogance to smirk as he foolishly turned his attention to Bucky. “Enlisting your girlfriend to fight your battles for you, huh?”

You did not so much as slow your pace, did not draw in a full breath or acknowledge the slight furrow in Hanning’s brow before you threw a punch directly to his left cheekbone. He cursed as he jolted away from you, hands flying to his face as blood began to gush down his nose.  

“What the fuck is wrong with—”

You didn’t give him time to finish before you grabbed a firm hold of his collar and tossed him to the floor. Agents scrambled out of your warpath as you stalked after him.

Hanning looked up at Steve, holding onto his broken nose. Blood seeped from between his fingers. “Do something!”

Steve did not avert his gaze as he replied, “I didn’t see anything.”

Hanning’s eyes widened as you dropped to your knees beside him and fisted his collar. “Sergeant Barnes may not be able to fight back without breaking his pardon, but I sure as hell can. And unlike you, I don’t need my fights rigged to win. Lay a hand on him again and I’ll ensure you walk away from your next mission on a fucking stretcher!”

Hanning clawed at your grip, fear seeping through every line upon his face. “You can’t threaten me!”  

“Wanna bet?” Your nails nearly tore through the Kevlar fabric of Hanning’s shirt. “I’m an Avenger, asshole. You’re no one. I can make sure you’re transferred to the furthest corner of this planet. You’ll wish you were in space with the tree and the goddamn racoon!”

Hanning’s panicked eyes darted back to Steve who only shrugged and turned his attention to the passing of clouds outside the cockpit windows.

Bucky couldn’t help the smirk as it tugged at his mouth. He folded his arms firmly over his chest, sinking back into his stance. This image of you – baring your teeth, vicious in every muscle, seething in defense of him – was one he would commit to memory. He’d return to it in his darkest hours when he could find no answer for the cruel voices in the back of his mind – to draw upon this moment to chase away his demons with your anger and protection.  

“Are we clear?” you ordered when Hanning was too stunned to respond. He nodded frantically, as did the rest of the crew. You released Hanning’s collar and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He stayed still as stone as you slowly rose to your feet and brushed off his blood on the thighs of your pants.  

Your chest heavy and steady – each breath longer than the last. You did not tear your eyes away from Hanning for even a second, ensuring he felt every ounce of the rage burning inside of you.  

Bucky took a step forward, unbothered by the stares of the agents as he approached you. He set a hand on your shoulder, instantly noting the rigid tension in your muscles.  

“Come with me,” he requested, his voice quiet enough only you could have heard him. You expelled a breath as if it were made of fire and slowly followed him from the room.  

Bucky stepped inside the debriefing room first. He looked to the windows where clouds were passing by below the jetstream. Steady. Even. He took as much of their calm as he could manage and picked up the crumpled hundred dollar bill from the table. When he turned to face you again, he attempted to hand you the money but you held your hands up defensively and took a cautious step backward.  

“Bucky, no. Please, I don’t want it,” you resisted, your voice hollow and pained. “I only made the stupid bet to get you to stop being so reckless. I don’t want your money.”

He smiled at your stubbornness, at your scheming means to keep him safe. Bucky inched closer to you, extending his left palm up until you cautiously set your hand in his. His thumb drew a careful line along your palm and you watched him with such startling precision, he wondered if you might have been committing the feeling to memory.  

“What happened to our plans for Coney Island?” he asked softly.

Tears spilled over your cheekbones as a tired laugh escaped you. He pressed the bill into your palm and closed your grip around it – holding it tight at the center of your hand as gently as you might his own heart.  

“I should have said something the first time it happened,” Bucky said quietly, his gaze still fixated on your closed fist resting on his palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

You shook your head. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“No, I do.” He sighed, concentrating on the smooth skin of your hand. He skimmed his thumb along the tender skin on your knuckles, his heart suddenly heavy in his chest. “You didn’t even hesitate to defend me. Didn’t even second guess why they might have gone after me. You... you didn't question if I deserved it.”

Your face slacked at his admission. “Bucky...”

“I should have told you,” he repeated despite the burden of grief in your voice. He knew now that if he’d offered you a share of this weight from the start, that maybe it wouldn’t have gotten this far. Hanning wouldn’t have planned each mission to ensure he cornered Bucky on his own and got in enough swings to fuel his pathetic, sheltered ego. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t have spent so long believing this was his penance.  

You lifted your free hand to the side of his face, gently settling against the bruising to cup his cheek. He closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling. Your thumb brushed along a tender ache on his cheekbone but there was no pain under your touch.  

“I know now,” you told him softly, “and it won’t ever happen again.”

Bucky smiled though it tugged at the split on his lip. “I know.”

You lowered your hand from his face and gently pushed the hundred-dollar bill back towards him. “Take this back, Buck. Take it back and promise we’ll still go to Coney Island.”

Bucky closed his fist around the crumpled bill and slowly nodded. You did not release his hand. You did not pull away. You only held him – touched him as though you could not stand to pull away from him.  

“I swear it,” he exhaled, his gaze still fixated on your hands.  

You sighed, relief slipping through your body as you smiled at him. “Think you can win me a giant bear?”

Bucky chuckled and he didn’t mind when the split on his lip ached as he smiled. “Should we bet on it?”  

---

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