#The children of Captain Grant | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rockingbytheseaside · 3 months

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Hiii I really love the one with the harbingers where reader calls them words of endearment from their homeland, can you do one where reader cooks for them food from their homeland? pantalone's part was so cute <33

✦ You cook them their favorite home meal, based on their homeland

(Or trying to guess what food the not-yet-playable characters might like based on their region, culture, or language. )

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

✧ It is to no one’s surprise that Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, would easily drop everything to grant your needs. Just blink and the world’s spoils are at your feet, bestowed by your beloved. Expensive clothing, jewelry, art pieces, weaponry, or lavish dishes. With his money and status, plus being a connoisseur of the ancient lores of Teyvat, The Jester can easily acquire anything you require on a silver platter.

But this time, it was you who tried to gift him something on a silver platter.

On an unsuspecting day, Pierro returned home only to be greeted with a strong scent of baked goods. The smell wafted all around the living quarters, warm and sugary. Glancing curiously, the Jester marched to the kitchen, where he found you grumbling to yourself. You stood with your oven mittens, a tray of voluptuous Kanelbullar presented in front of him; some were cut as you tried to take an analytical bite of the cinnamon rolls.

“Trying your hands at familiar recipes, my cherished?” - The man asked with a welcoming glance while you mulled and judged the taste of your cooked goods.

“Ah, Pierro, you’re right on time. Here, try this one for me. Does it resemble traditional cinnamon rolls?”

When the Jester took a bite, even his icy eye widened for a moment. A wave of nostalgia and warmth lanced his memories, ones he thought were long forgotten. The cinnamon rolls you baked were not the average confectionaries one could easily purchase, as the taste resembled traditional Khaenri’ahn Kanelbullar. A simple treat that all children and adults used to enjoy in their free time.

“Well…? Oh no, don’t tell me it’s that bad?” - you awaited his response, but Pierro quickly shook his head.

“It’s rich and potent in taste, but not too sugary. Just like the ones in our Homeland… I didn’t think replicating such intricacies was possible. What did you add this time?”

Your eyes light up. Finally, some progress. “Really? I’ve been mulling over it for hours, I thought my taste pallet was going numb. I tried to find any local ingredients that might add the flavor of saffron and cardamon.”

“Like the golden Saffron…? They were a local specialty back in Khaenri’ah. Although some variants exist in Teyvat’s soil, they are not used as cooking ingredients here.” - Pierro pondered, amazed at your ability to combine other local spices to imitate the taste of the past.

As both of you mulled over how to achieve the most accurate results for these traditional Cinnamon Rolls, half of the tray was already gone.

“Although now that I think about it, my divine, I don’t think it would be an issue to send an expedition to obtain that rare spice for you. Especially if the result is such exquisite home pastry.”

✧ In this house, Il Capitano is the master chef. The man is proficient in the art of survival, thus, his skills in outdoor cooking are especially shown. From simple meat and vegetables, the Captain can come up with the best meat skewers you ever ate. Not to mention the topic of sustenance and growth is intertwined with a good diet. A man his size and capabilities puts immense care into outdoor survival and health.

But even a strong Captain deserves some spoiling for his hard work.

After a wearying day spent honing the skills of his Fatui troops, a group of soldiers that will prepare for an upcoming expedition, Il Capitano was greeted with a surprise visit from you. You arrived right on time for their break, and as always, the Fatui soldiers couldn't help but eavesdrop on the Harbinger’s exchange with his beloved…

“I brought you your meal for today, Bife de chorizo. You need lots of protein.”

“Thank you.” - The Captain stood obediently, holding the lunchbox you brought.

“With Pico de Gallo and avocados. I also put some almonds and walnuts as a snack.”

“I understand.”

“You are preparing for another important expedition. You must take care of your body after such intensive training, Cappy.”

“You are right, you are right.”

“And I don’t want to see anything left from the lunch boxes. Make sure to eat all of it, okay?”

“Understood!”

It sure was a sight. One would think the Harbinger was the student as he stood nodding vehemently while you scolded him. With one hand on your hip, you gave him an earful as you checked up on him, generously providing him a full-course meal neatly packed in a mealbox.

The Fatui soldiers were slightly jealous. Even they could easily tell that behind that pitch-black helmet, Il Capitano was absolutely joyous to have his beloved visit him and provide such mouthwatering nourishment.

✧ Today, you were ready to tackle and kill Il Dottore. Why? Because that man barged into your kitchen and confidently announced himself as the culinarian for today’s dinner. A simple and kind gesture, right? You would rather starve than have The Doctor implode your kitchen again.

“Stop exaggerating as if I let your Serenitea Pot house crumble. It was just a little fire.” - Dottore defended himself, watching closely as you made him stand back from the stove.

“I had to replace the whole walls, Zandik!”

The two of you stood in the kitchen, with the Harbinger peeking from behind your shoulders as you claimed dominion over the frying pan. The whole day, he was made watching you prepare Sumeru Kibbeh meatballs, since the last time he decided to dabble in the art of cooking, your house was put at stake.

He was a scholar, not a chef, unfortunately. But The Doctor is not ashamed to admit his impatience and lack of skill in the kitchen. Hence, he helped you as much as he could while you diligently taught him how Kibbeh is properly made. He remained silent but pleasantly subservient. The sight of your sleeves raised, hands tactfully molding the Kibbeh was oddly amiable. Especially when your face was so focused on the task, he couldn’t help but stare.

Yet every time you fried the meatballs and set them aside on a pan lined with paper towels to drain, a sneaky hand would try to steal some. You’d slap his hand away.

“Nope. Hands off! Wait till dinner”

“They’ll end up being consumed anyway. I’ll just have a small tas-”

Slap!

And it continued for a long while, all the way to the end once you finished cooking. When the two of you finally sat down and began eating, Dottore would often remain silent. You were too busy relishing the dish, unaware of the Harbinger’s appreciation for your home-cooked meal. Sustenance is just a waste of time that the human body must go through to gain its energy. But it’s not the same when he is sitting with you casually, the warm afternoon sunlight wrapping the dining table, and the warm food steaming with an appetizing aroma.

For him, eating with you was different. It was simple, but it was home.

✧ Scaramouche may huff and scoff all he wants, but when it comes to appraising your Unagi Chazuke, no master can compete with you. Perhaps because he is a puppet, but Scaramouche has a delicate pallet. He despises strong flavors and always preferred simpler dishes, to appreciate the unique flavor of a singular ingredient. He would never admit it vocally, but he would often crave your chazukes, and it was easily written on his grumbling face.

“Come on, just say it.”

The Balladeer lamented.

“Say it. My home cooking is the best, and you just want me to cook for you today.”

“...I won’t. I don’t have use in consuming any human meals.” - he mumbled in response, arms crossed. You sighed and with a wide smile, you turned away.

“Oh well. Guess you don’t want any, huh…? And here I thought I could prepare your favorite Unagi Chazuke today. But I guess it’s foolish-”

“No, Wait-!” - The Harbinger wished to bite his tongue but it was too late. He already called out to you in a moment of weakness, and your goofy grin only widened with his desperation.

He gave up. With reluctant embarrassment, the Balladeer admitted your victory - “If you may… Can you prepare another one of your signature Chazuke? Please.”

And that’s how you two ended up by the dinner table. You couldn’t just deny him after such a heartfelt request. You prepared the unagi meat and rice diligently, showing him how to prepare green tea to add mild bitterness to the salted rice. Topping off with some dried Nori leaves, and sesame - two bows of Unagi Chazuke were ready and looking artistically grandiose.

Light and sublime, that’s what Scaramouche thought. A true definition of soul food, as he held his bowl and chopsticks close. A rare but sincere smile would always grace his features whenever he ate your cooking, but he of course would conceal it by clearing his throat.

“Hm, okay fine. Maybe your cooking is adequate after all. Especially when you don’t make it too sweet.”

You’d laugh at his reaction. At the end of the day, it was you who taught him how to cook what later would become his signature dish, even if his identity as a Harbinger was wiped away.

✧ Being the richest man in Teyvat like Pantalone means dealing with lots of bureaucracies and business. Sometimes, after a prolonged day in the office, the sight of stacked papers becomes dreadful and negotiations with the Snezhnayan elites may go fruitless. Thus, The Regrator would often slum by his desk, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sigh in exhaustion.

Now what would the richest man in Teyvat do to relax after a bad day at work? Go to the most expensive five-star restaurant? Perhaps purchase a fancy drink that costs more than his subordinates' monthly salary? No. He would head straight back home, where he knows you are awaiting him with open arms.

A single look at him and you would know he is fatigued. Leaning up to embrace him, you plant a tender kiss on his cheek - “How about I make us a quick snack, hm? You can go and take a shower in the meantime.”

Pantalone would try to conjure up a faint smile and nod. As he winds down for the day, subconsciously he knows your home cooking is like a balm to his soul. No matter how many exquisite restaurants he tried, he’d easily sacrifice all of them for a bite-full of your culinary.

And here you are, merrily handing him his childhood favorite - Mora Meat Roujiamo. A simple meat sandwich, but a staple street food in Liyue’s culture. That’s all the Harbinger desires after a tough day at work, as he gobbles the sandwich wrapped with a paper towel.

“Made your favorites. I added some extra meat since I know you like it juicy.” - you gave Pantalone soothing pats on the back as he ate up.

“You’re a lifesaver, honey. You would not believe how frustrating work has been today,”

Pantalone would rant and confide in you about his work. He would rather do that than delve into the nostalgic feeling that Mora Meat sandwiches gave him. It was indeed his childhood favorite. Yet it also reminded him how in the distant past, when food or money was scarce, starvation and desperation were his only companions as a lowly child. Thus, on better days when he acquired some change just to purchase simple Mora Meat - these sandwiches felt like a king’s feast.

Such an unadorned dish, but one that brought warmth and sustenance to a starved child, telling him that everything would be okay. Today, this starved child is the richest man in Snezhnayan. Nevertheless, he still relished these sandwiches from your hands like divine wealth, telling himself once more that everything would be okay.

✧ Tartaglia was bedbound for some while, bandaged heavily after a massive battle he faced during one of his missions. The young Harbinger would never tell his family where his scars hail from, except for you and his father maybe. But after an earful of scolding, you took care of your reckless boyfriend and sighed.

“You made me worried, you know. I don’t want to see you move a muscle around the house these days, are we clear? You must recover first.”

“Y-yes, captain.” - Childe chuckled humorously, suppressing the soreness his cuts provided around his body. “It’s just… there is only one remedy that could save a fallen soldier like me.”

“Hm? What is it? Do you need something, Ajax?”

“Please, dear… come closer.” - he said with a pained expression.

You did so he could whisper to you what he wanted. Your concern was only heightened, oblivious that his dramatic words were playing you - “The secret to my healing… is…”

“Yes?” - you leaned even closer.

“... Some yummy food.”

You blinked at him, and Tartaglia immediately gained a comically “passed out” expression on his face, as if your cooking were his last death wish. You let him plop to the pillow and gritted your teeth - “Why you little-...! Ugh, you’re lucky I am worried about you. You just want me to pamper you.”

“Oh, come on, is that such an unrealistic request? You told me not to move a muscle and I would receive your scolding no matter what. Please, sweetheart, just anything you would like - cook it and I would happily gobble it up!”

You crossed your arms. You hate to admit it, but his puppy eyes were working effectively and if his appetite was returning, that means he is on a good path of recovery anyway.

“Fine… I’ll make something nutritious and easy for your stomach.”

Tartaglia's eyes lightened up in an instant. He was a simple man - if you cooked him something, he would drop on his knees for you instantly. That day, you pondered whether you’d make him some Piroshki or Borscht, but he needed something light. His health was your priority, after all. Even though Childe fancied himself a master at concealing his painful whinces, you are no fool. You always notice them.

Thus, your beloved was presented with Ukha fish soup. A warm bowl with fresh herbs, imported calla lily, and nutritious fish.

“Easy now, I know you like Calla Lily Seafood Soup, since you often had it in Liyue… So I decided to go with the local version of it. Now make sure to eat all of it, or you won’t feel better.”

Like an obedient child, Ajax felt pampered and delighted. Lunch by the bed? His sweetheart feeding him? The injuries were worth it as he happily ate the Ukha fish soup.

“If getting injured makes me taste food more worthy than the gods themselves, maybe I should get wounded more often, haha- Ow!”

Your response was another fistful nudge to his shoulder.

Kanelbullar - in Swedish, Cinnamon Rolls Bife de chorizo - in Spanish, Argentinian beef cut Pico de Gallo - in Spanish, Mexican salsa/dip Kibbeh - in Arabic, bulgur parcel stuffed with minced meat filling (in Genshin, they just called it meatballs lol) Chazuke - in Japanese, green tea poured over a rice meal (Scara's signature dish) Mora Meat - had to look this one up, apparently Genshin is referencing RouJiaMo (肉夹馍) meaning “meat in a bun". Ukha fish soup - in Russian, also known as fisherman’s soup. Childe’s signature Calla Lily Seafood Soup is probably a variation made with Gēng found in Chinese cuisine. But there is a Slavic variation that reminded me of his signature dish.

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mrsparrasblog · 4 months

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Bridgerton x COD crossover

I had so much fun writing this, and TW there will be historical inacurence.

"So what makes you stand out, Miss Lacington?" he asked while he spun the red-haired woman around. She was indeed beautiful, but her dress made her look like a runaway circus animal. However, proper dress code was something he could teach a lady. He knew he couldn’t be too picky; he was a stained viscount, tarnished by the war he had seen and attended. Yet, he didn't regret a second of his life. Being a captain was more important to him than being Viscount Price, but now that his mama was sick, he knew he needed to find a proper lady to grant her the last wish of seeing him married. Perhaps she hoped for a marriage of love, but he already knew that wasn’t for him. Love is for fools. He would marry a woman who could provide him with an heir and fulfill the duty of being Viscountess Price without getting involved in any of Lady Whistledown's scandals.

"I'm skilled at stitching and the pianoforte," she replied. Another one of them, he sighed before walking away, seeking someone more exciting. He saw Miss Winston; at least she had better looks, looks worthy of a viscountess.

"So, Miss Winston, what do you think of children?"

"They’re cute to look at," the young woman smiled, and her eager mama smiled even more.

"Children are not cute to watch; they are to care for, Miss."

"But that’s what maids are for?"

That was enough for him. If it weren’t for his mother, he would have stormed out immediately, but he allowed himself the luxury of hiding on the sidelines. "How is it possible that one cannot find a fitting lady in a room full of them?" he cursed under his breath, not realizing he was being watched until he heard a soft chuckle. When he turned around, he was in denial that you were even real. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Not the ladies in Paris, Milan, or Edinburgh could compare to such a beautiful woman like you, dressed in the finest blue fabric, with curves that were to die for, so unlikely for a woman in England. You held your mouth shut, trying to hide your laughter at his outburst. Another man might have been offended, but he was intrigued. You were bold and beautiful—a dangerous combination. "What is so amusing, Miss?"

Instead of blushing or getting anxious, you just replied with a proper apology.

“No need to apologize, miss…?”

"Miss L/N, daughter of the Earl of Sussex," you replied confidently.

John’s eyebrow perked up at the mention of your father's title, but otherwise, he said nothing in reply, keeping his expression neutral. He was certainly not used to ladies with such confidence who held titles. “Miss L/N,” he repeated as if committing it to memory. “And what do you think of the suitors of the ton so far? Did you come to try your luck on the London marriage mart?”

"I made my debut last year, and indeed I seek a husband."

"Surely, you will be successful at such a task with your beauty; you are certainly not lacking in that area,” he complimented you genuinely. He knew he should leave already; you were unfitting for him. He tried hard not to seek someone like you, who had the chance of finding a devoted husband, someone who wasn’t scarred by war, too close to his cigars, and went to every brothel in London. Only Prince MacTavish was a bigger rake than him. You’d be better off with one of the Bridgerton brothers.

"Excuse me, my lord, may I speak freely?"

John’s eyebrow raised again, this time with mild concern. It was quite rare to be asked for permission to speak by someone in the ton. But he granted your request, intrigued by what you had to say. “Of course, you may speak freely, Miss L/N.”

“If a suitor only seeks me out for my looks, he isn’t a proper candidate for a husband,” this was singlehandedly the smartest thing he had ever heard from a lady of the ton.

John's expression shifted from one of concern to mild, amused confusion at your response, surprised that you said something he actually had to agree with. You were not wrong, after all. Any man would be a fool not to be drawn to your looks, but only a proper match would see past your beauty. He gave a short nod of agreement. “An astute observation, Miss L/N. Yes, only a proper suitor would see past the first impression and see you for everything you have to offer.” It was time to go, he thought, but he wasn’t able to move. He enjoyed an intelligent conversation. Of course, he had them at the club with Garrick, Riley, and MacTavish, but this was different.

"And you, Mister Price, why do the London debutantes not appeal to you?" He was good-looking, a bit too old perhaps, but not older than 32, which was still younger than some of the men who tried to court you. He could clearly have anyone here, maybe even the diamond of the season. Why was he complaining and even listening to your nonsense?

“I suppose...I am looking for a rather specific type in the woman I plan to have as my viscountess. She must be intelligent, capable of holding a proper conversation, and also willing to provide me with heirs. I have little interest in the simpering debutantes who cannot do much more than curtsy, smile prettily, and fawn over me.”

A small chuckle escaped your lips as you heard the crotchety man. "Don’t forget, my lord, they can also wave fans."

"Ah, how could I forget? How important would the ton be without fans," he commented with a sarcastic tone, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "However will I remember all of the intricate signals they flutter in my direction? Will this catch my attention?"

"That's a question you need to ask yourself, Mister Price."

"Perhaps it is a question I have been pondering for some time," he remarked with a shrug before tilting his head and observing you for a second. "And what of you, Miss L/N? What type of suitor are you looking for in a husband? Surely you have a list prepared as well.” He could curse himself for asking, but maybe you would say an unfitting description, and he could move away in the direction of the eager mothers and their dense debutantes.

"I seek a suitor who isn’t shallow, who is kind and isn’t a rake, who can provide for me and our future kids, and if I may dream, someone I would fall in love with,” you answered truthfully, as you always did, a bit too openly for your mother's liking. But she couldn’t really complain about that when you had suitors waiting in line to court you. You promised your mother that you would marry after this season. If you didn’t find love, it would be a political marriage.

Your list mirrored his own almost perfectly, and yet the mention of falling in love with your match was something out of reach for him. "An admirable list, indeed. If only more young ladies in the ton were this grounded," he said with a hint of melancholy before giving you another compliment. "Miss L/N, you surprise me each time you open your mouth."

"Most suitors are negatively surprised when I open my mouth."

"Oh really now? I find that rather unfortunate. A woman of your intellect should be celebrated, not shunned. How many ladies can hold their own during a conversation or even converse on a topic that isn’t a dress? I have had more than my fair share of mindless conversations with the debutantes and their mothers. It is quite…dull."

"Well, maybe you need to improve your search, Mr. Price, when all the ladies on your dance card are this simple-minded." You couldn’t be more direct. Didn't he notice how you hoped he would ask you for a dance? You would gladly throw your dance card away for the prospect of courtship with him.

"But pray tell me, what would your recommendations be for me to improve my search, since you seem to be more clever than the entire room," he said mockingly towards you. He didn’t get the hint. Maybe he was the simple-minded man you thought.

"I wouldn’t call myself clever, Mr. Price. Please, just call me observant. You need to look for a woman who isn’t eager to talk to you with her mama, who isn't aware of your title." You didn’t care that he was a viscount; your father was an earl. That title alone made you able to marry most men in the ton, maybe not Prince MacTavish, despite his efforts for several seasons to find a woman to love.

"I commend your observational and quite sound advice, miss. I suppose I will have to go with a different approach than the one I have used previously," he commented, somewhat amused. "I'm sure my mother would be quite happy to have me take it in a different direction. How you have managed to surprise me twice in the same conversation baffles me."

"Maybe your conversations are mostly blunt."

Oh, you had a way too big mouth for a lady of the ton, but it was refreshing. He already looked for different debutantes who seemed less sophisticated than the previous ones. When he noticed Lord Riley approaching you to ask you for a dance, of course, you agreed like a proper lady would. He couldn't help but feel just a teensy bit jealous of the man he shared many war stories with. He wasn't often jealous, but there was something about how quickly you accepted the offer and seemed willing to flutter your eyelashes and smile at him. "Lord Riley is quite the lucky man," he muttered to himself.

"Found any interesting lassie?" That accent he recognized out of a million people. He bowed in front of the younger prince whom he had taught how to use the archer and ride a horse.

"No, indeed...there are no ladies this season that have caught my eye," he added before he glanced back across the room to where you were dancing with Lord Riley, a hint of a frown on his face.

"I saw your conversation with Miss L/N."

"I did have a rather stimulating conversation with her, indeed." He then tilted his head slightly. "You were watching us, your highness? How unlike you to be paying attention to something like that," he added with a hint of humor in his voice, having to admit the prince caught him somewhat off guard.

"She would make a stunning viscountess."

John knew better than to argue with the prince on the matter, especially at such a public event, so he instead chose to reply with a short nod of agreement to indicate he would entertain the suggestion, even if it was something he had no genuine interest in doing. As he did so, he could not bring himself to look back across the room where you were, having caught sight of the way you batted your lashes at Lord Riley and laughed at something he said.

As the ball finally came to an end, John's relief was immediate. He could finally depart from the room full of debutantes and eager mamas. He couldn't have been more keen to leave, but he did find himself pausing for a moment upon exiting the room—glancing back in hopes of catching another glimpse of the elusive Miss L/N. He couldn't help but find his gaze lingering on you for a moment as you stood chatting with the other girls, your gaze shifting between the ones speaking as you tried to look as though you were interested in their conversation. He found himself watching you for a moment before his head shook slightly, breaking the momentary trance. "Get a hold of yourself, Price," he muttered under his breath, his fingers fiddling with the cufflinks of his suit before he finally departed the room.

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20kmemesunderthesea · 2 months

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Not to be dramatic,

But I would die for Jacques Eliacin François Marie Paganel, Secretary of the geographical Society of Paris.

#jules verne #classic literature #steampunk #in search of the castaways #the children of captain grant #paganel #jaques paganel #isotc #tcocg

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motorcop · 4 months

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REALLY - ?

Hello, Captain Dan here from your local fire department. Just a quick update as I see our "friends" from the local PD have been sharing some of their behind the scenes activities with you, so thought you might enjoy this.

Granted, we have been less than respectful to them for years, but it plays both ways. They come by our stations, make themselves at home, are pretty much pigs (meant as leaving a mess). I think the only reason we tolerated it this long is because they are just so damn good looking and have killer bodies. BUT, whatever made them think they could do what they did to us? Making us "fall in line like the rest of them, we will obey and even worship them, as well as making each one of us their bitches in a sexual way" is what I remember hearing when they stuck me in one of those tubes after they called us out to that fake haz-mat call. Well, Surprise Surprise! I wont go into the details, but apparently this happened several years ago, and our department was prepared just incase these overgrown children tried it again.

So, here we are, we're on the outside and the police are now on the inside of the tubes...all i can say is "Paybacks are a bitch!"....

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blingblong55 · 1 year

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Maybe I need it- 141 +König

Based on a request:

hi!! im here to make a request!! ignore this request if it makes u uncomfortable!! milf/dilf reader x 141 + konig or whoever u want!! maybe they had a few kids from an old marriage or adopted a few children and love them dearly!! then along comes 141 seeing sweet n caring mom/dad readers when they’re on break from their messy and chaotic lives in the military!! seeing readers being so loving and gentle towards their children makes them realize how much they need that domesticity in their lives <3 just an idea hehehe

F!Reader, Milf!reader, Mum!Reader, fluff

A/N: Bc it is race weekend here in Silverstone...I had to include F1 into this...sorry (not really)

You are a mother to 3 precious little kids. After finding out through your last marriage you wouldn't be able to conceive, your husband divorced you and you adopted these three kids later after the divorce was finalised. They have become your absolute world, always the little giggles around base, soldiers have grown fond of your children, always bringing them little toys for when they visit base or asking if they can go the football field and play some friendly game with them. All under your supervision of course. When you made the move to a new base, you found it hard for your kids to visit, always keeping them off base unlike in the previous one.

The men you work with know you have children and are a single mum. They can walk into your office and immediately spot at least three pictures of your children. None of them, or at least him, cared to even think of having kids, considering his job and what he lives through, he'd never want his own mind to ruin something that is so precious and innocent.

This past week, Laswell granted them all a small break. He of course went back to his flat, the same old empty flat, nothing special to hold. By morning on a Sunday, you and your children were sitting on the grass of the local public park, where they'd host watch parties for F1. He had heard about it, but never took much part in anything like that until he saw you four. Two of your children at your sides, tiny hands on your back as the youngest rested on your lap, talking some nonsense that made you chuckle. It was a sight for sure.

-------

Price:

he was the one who said didn't want anything romantic because he wouldn't want anyone to mourn for him (thinks he doesn't deserve it)

The second he saw you, something in him stirred. You were an attractive mum, always happy and interested in what your children had to say/do/show you.

He watched from afar, how this view from afar looked like those romantic movie scenes.

When he saw you and your children cheer on for some driver and how happy the four of you looked, that's when he wanted to approach.

Realised he needed this, the sense of a home, a wife and three kids he can spoil rotten. It was a hidden dream of his, wanted to wake up Saturday mornings, go to the kitchen and find you there, wrap his arms around you and kiss your neck, kids running to the both of you.

Maybe he was meant for more than being a captain, perhaps he could be a dad and a husband, go to races or take your kids carting, have some activity where he can show how much of a dad he is.

Gaz:

Always ran away when he saw signs of love, never needed any reason to come home, and always had his head on the next mission.

He has gotten so used to being a soldier and when he saw you, it was a weird feeling, he wanted that, no, he needed it. He sat far, not paying much attention to the sport on the screen but you four, how good you looked in a cap, wanted to give you his for a change.

Wants to sit on the grass, chase the kids when one would run off, hear your giggles, and have a picnic. Wants to listen to your kids ramble on and on over Ferrari or listen to you when you'd make a strategy for them to overtake the Red Bulls.

It was strange, for the first time in his adult life, he didn't want to run from it, wanted to hold it and never let go of it, wanted to have someone. Wanted to finally settle down, and marry the girl that makes him this excited to be so...domestic

When your kids would jump and chant some driver's name, he would chuckle, what a different life you and he lived. He would wake up to new missions, and you'd wake up to three little kids. He had a cold and boring breakfast, you warm pancakes and little dinos on the table, apple or orange juice as you poured the syrup.

He needed that change, wanted a warm kiss, trip over some car toys and then wake up early to watch some 20 guys go in complicated circles as your three children and you yelled at the tv, "C'mon, you could've used that DRS to your advantage!" you'd stand up. He'd just watch and admire.

Soap:

He is a player, always jumping from warm arms to cold blankets.

He is a young lad, doesn't need to be thinking of a girl to wife or where to live to give your kids a comfortable space to grow in. The second he sees you and your children, made him feel like he was missing something. A child in your arms as you try your best to split your time between your two children.

Maybe he wanted it? maybe he just found you attractive and seeing this side of you stirred something in him? He just can't be honest with himself.

He knows you are divorced, knows you give your kids all the attention you can give and what if he wanted that attention too? would it be bad if your kids had a stepdad?

Seeing how your figure didn't scream 'mum of three' made him want you more, made him want to move into a home, wake up Sundays and do this, sit on the grass and watch some people drive around, just wanted you and kids included.

Perhaps if he does move from where he is, he can for a second pretend he is a father, and make all the other men around jealous. He knows what he should do, but what if you don't need him? König:

He wasn't a fan of the sport but he was bored and needed to just get out of his place. The AustrainGP was happening, of course, he would support the only team that was Austrian.

When he saw your kids wearing orange and cheering for Red Bull, that's when his mind wandered. What would it be of him if he had that?

Sundays with you four, cheering for the team every race weekend, watching your children jump when the drivers would win, watching you watch them, how in love you are with being a mother.

Maybe being a soldier isn't all he could be. Having you there, how lucky he'd be if he had a literal milf as his wife, how attractive you were in civilian clothes, how your kids proved you loved them, and maybe if he was lucky, he could also receive some of your love.

The way you always encouraged your children, gave them so much love and helped them pursue their dreams. Maybe he wanted to be a dad to them, on the weekends stay up and show them how to do things, build and help them destroy them all whilst having you by his side, kissing your cheek anytime he gets so excited.

A weekend full of giggles, cuddles, tea parties and dress-up time. A whole weekend where war, criminals, guns and power had no place in his home...your home. He now yearns for it.

Ghost:

(he is Terminator...y'know..the big buffy Russian guy)

of course, he wouldn't want a family, preferred it that way.

But when he saw you there, kids in arms or at arms reach, the way they clung to you, something deep in him wanted that. It was a scary thought for him to even have. Always finds his pleasure in some woman from time to time(we've seen the comics let's be real)

His mind wandered to Tommy and his family, how he would tell him it was time to settle down, and he'd just brush that off, maybe this was Tommy's sick way of haunting him, making him want a family.

Christmas dinners at your parents, him wearing something to impress them, wrapping paper scattered on the floor the morning of. You, on his lap, as you watched your children unwrap their gifts and how excited he'd be to play with them after breakfast.

Maybe after all the running he had done, life was ready to repay him, give him something to come home to. Fridays after picking the kids up from school, heading to Johnny's, drinks and laughter, kids messing with his vinyl collection, he told them to do that.

He wanted you the most, to wake up and have you wrapped in his arms, morning kisses and how he would have to give himself an extra five minutes to just cuddle you before heading to base. liked how you got all excited and smiled with your children, being a dad, maybe this would be what he needed. Being a husband, the best there could be.

A/N: Anyways, i really hope ya liked it!

Tags: @kiamewrites

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theromanticscrooge · 7 months

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The Shipping Corner: Voxman, A Balm for Capitalist-Induced Angst

Note: I'm sorry this took as long as it did. I've been in a pretty bad slump recently and am just now coming out of it.

youtube

Lord Boxman is the black sheep among his peers. This is first established with Professor Venomous' initial distaste towards him and the later reactions he gets when he unexpectedly shows up at Billiam Milliam's villain yacht party. The only kinds of relationships Boxman has with other villains amount to strictly business transactions to create their robot minions. The shareholders that directly fund Boxmore are especially skeptic of Boxman's destroy the Plaza side venture and see this as a misguided, Snidely Whiplash-esque escapade. He's just a Saturday morning cartoon villain and they're the respectable big leagues. When Boxman funnels so much time, effort, energy, and resources towards the Plaza attacks, it takes precious time away from robot production; the one thing he does they consider valuable or worthwhile. They threaten to cut off their support if Boxman's production doesn't increase and then gladly replace him with Darrell when the opportunity arises. Darrell fits the exact mold they need for a CEO: he focuses exclusively on production.

There's no respect. There's no interest in or concern for Lord Boxman as an individual. The dislike is mutual. Of course Boxman doesn't get along with other villains. Most of the known names and faces on screen hold the purse strings and by extension, the fate of Boxman's entire operation. He feels like he has to put on his best face and performance to keep his business afloat. Without Boxmore, he seemingly has nothing and loses everything material. After Boxman was fired by the shareholders, he becomes absolutely depressed and floats around for awhile until Venomous finds him in his trash can. As much as he hates answering to corporate interests, he's locked in as a "robot manufacturer" as much as an Average Joe is stuck at a 9-5 job because of bills, a mortgage; and most frustratingly, how easily someone can fall into the trappings of letting a job define their self-worth or sense of self.

When Professor Venomous gets introduced, he's partly in Boxman's mental bucket of shareholder/necessary business relationships. Boxman goes to great lengths to hide K.O., Rad, and Enid after accidentally booking his business dinner on the same night as an antagonize the Plaza event. He's scared that his 'hobby' would dissuade Venomous from buying any more of his robots and break their already tenuous business deal. Instead, Venomous starts to see Boxman through literal rose-tinted glasses and becomes interested in Boxman's ongoing Plaza rivalry but uses the robots as a continued excuse to check in again on this weird, intriguing man.

Another interesting precedent is that Boxman is more fond of Venomous from the jump. When interacting with other business partners, Boxman is over-the-top and eager to please in video calls and plays the oblivious idiot in casual settings, but behind closed doors, he's bitter towards them. Boxman won't hug his own children and scoffs at open displays of affection. Yet he wants to touch or hug Venomous as often as he can reasonably get away with. Part of his behavior is the same eager to please facade he gives other interested business parties, but the bigger part is a legitimate interest in developing a more personal relationship with Venomous.

The pink shoujo sparkles and elevator eyes Boxman has for Venomous are a blatant indicator he finds him attractive. That's a surprisingly huge part of what kicks off his interest. Look at how he reacts to Dr. Blight in the Captain Planet crossover. Boxman initially shows skepticism and disinterest towards her crazy plans, but the second she flirts with him, the flip switches. The promise of romantic interest grants her access to the full power and force of Boxmore. When she leaves at the end of the episode, Boxman is disappointed. He wanted to continue their partnership, especially their potential interpersonal one.

In Venomous' case, he gets extra points for joining in the fight after the Plaza brats interrupt dinner. He asks about the design and Lego brick-esque connectivity of the Boxbots. He's not above participating in the Saturday morning cartoon skirmish. Rather, he misses that kind of fight and yearns to experience more exploits like it. Venomous is the only on-screen character outside of Boxman's kids that shows a willingness to listen to, try to understand, and engage with Boxman in a more personable, intimate way.

Professor Venomous fell into villainy after he lost his powers and realized how overbearing he found the moral code heroes have. Being a villain comes naturally to him; he likes the fruits of his labor in the vast amounts of wealth, prestige, and material power that he could gain. Fast forward to present-day in the series and he's the picture of a successful villain. He figures out the easy button for amassing stupid amounts of money by threatening a Congresswoman with a death ray. He's sought out for deals involving his scientific prowess. He's respected and liked among other villains to the point he's invited to Billiam's parties. Though while he has a comfortable position, he's become jaded.

Enter Lord Boxman. Compared to the villains Venomous is used to, Boxman dances to the beat of his own drum. He's more interested in defeating the Plaza than an endless vie for prestige, wealth, or power. He says he doesn't care what the other villains think of him and how he does things. No matter what happens, he's going to carve out his own path as a villain and do what he wants to with his life. Somehow, Venomous got tied up in a new, different kind of bureaucratic process as a villain. As a hero, he felt like an outcast and a loser everybody looked down on without super powers. As a villain, he has everything he thought he wanted but it was more of a means to make up for what he lost. It was more compensating and filling in an existential hole vs actually taking meaningful control of his life. In stark contrast to that, Boxman knows exactly what he wants and puts his all into every pursuit, consequences and obstacles be damned.

Collaborating with Boxman is an epiphany. Dreaming up new schemes and plots to challenge the Plaza is fun. It's fulfilling and satisfying to Venomous in a way that heroics and solo villain ventures weren't. There's one scene in particular after Boxman and Venomous join forces for the first time and lose spectacularly. Both of them are smiling; it's joyous. Boxman was down and out without Boxmore, but building Fink's attack trike was a spark of hope that he can rebuild even if its from the ground-up. Venomous just lost his nice house and all of his current material possessions because Boxman blew everything up. But then Boxman turned around and presented the exact existential solution Venomous didn't know he needed by suggesting attacking the Plaza. It's the dinner party attack, but this time, Venomous was a full part of the planning phases. He gets to share in and fully experience the devil-may-care and more whimsical parts of being a villain he thought were long gone.

Venomous offers to buy out Boxmore and root out the shareholders. Finally, Boxman is free of one of the bigger obstacles between him and his all-time favorite venture. Not only does Boxman have free reign, but also the equal partner he so desperately desired; someone that's on his same wavelength and as invested in his kind of villainy as he is.

Another important dimension to Venomous' character is his destructive spiral as Shadowy Venomous. Finding that 'missing piece' in Boxman and Boxmore respectively isn't a magic solution. There's significant baggage in how much emphasis Venomous placed on his need for power. This was such a huge quest and chunk of his life that its difficult to give up on the idea entirely. Its similar to how some people spend so much time chasing after a specific job title or promotion that this elusive thing becomes an important part of what defines them or contributes to their sense of self worth. Venomous left Carol because of a gross misunderstanding that she saw him as weak. He was missing the value he assigned to super powers for so long that every new solution was always a band-aid or a stop gap.

Someone can find a thing or circumstances that significantly improves their life, but they need to see and recognize this psychologically too for it to be completely effective. In other words, Venomous needed to recognize the real-time changes and results from joining Boxmore, then figure out how to weigh those continued changes with his own self-discovery or improvement.

Boxman started improving on being a more proactive parent. Unfortunately, Venomous started getting lost in his own head and pulling away from his other responsibilities or general life. A change as big as a new partner, surroundings, and blended family would be enough to kickstart depression; especially because Venomous hadn't appropriately addressed why he needed this abstract concept of what it meant to be the 'most powerful being.' Success and self-actualization weren't included with the previous accolades he achieved as a villain. It wasn't obvious and forthcoming with Boxman either. The lack of introspection and vulnerable talks with Boxman or anyone else is exactly what led to the wind-up and eventual "I'll destroy everything if it means getting rid of the years of resentment and frustration."

Both Venomous and Boxman have some sort of adult trapped in the shitty corporate world element to their character writing. In a nutshell, Boxman struggles with the existential threat of losing who he is to one specific job he performs; Venomous finds villainy gratifying as more of a hobby or extracurricular activity vs a full-time job. He's successful at it but the version he's successful at is more of a distraction or a means to fill in a missing part of himself than true interest in his corporate role. Boxman's approach to villainy is considered juvenile and worthless. Venomous still loves villainy but he wants the freedom to have fun and go all-out without worrying about reputation or meeting the specific standards that comes with his current position.

In 2024, after the various rise of corporate buzzwords trying to guilt employees back to pre-pandemic work standards and inflation vs stagnant wages, there's new weight to the Boxman and Venomous character allegories respectively. These two are that success story of Boxman giving the middle finger to a crappy boss and Venomous making that leap of faith from an empty, soul-sucking job to the more wild, out of pocket thing. Venomous' ill-obtained funds becomes that treasured pile of "fuck you" money that so many people dream about having and using to take a risk on something personally, meaningfully valuable to them. Or just having a window of opportunity to enjoy life the way they want to without having to worry about bills and necessities.

More importantly though, while they describe themselves as business partners, it's two single, lonely men building a life and trying to healthfully blend their families together. Part of this life is making space for someone new that makes the other man want to work on becoming a better, more thoughtful person. Regardless of where a person sits in their job hunt or even at the height of personal achievement, the most important part is the support network they come home to or regularly interact with.

Thematically, Boxman and Venomous are the opposite side of the coin to the more straightforward found family K.O. builds and maintains. It's a reminder that no one has to be lonely. They can and will find someone that brings meaningful, valuable things to their life; someone that makes them want to change and grow. While this is about an explicitly romantic pair, the message applies whether that hypothetical person and relationship is romantic, platonic, or a new addition to a found family.

#voxman #ok ko voxman #ship analysis #ok ko let's be heroes #ok ko #ok ko professor venomous #ok ko lord boxman #character analysis #ship discussion #shipping analysis #shipping #the shipping corner #theromancescrooge #i'm back bitches #Youtube

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pizzalover1999 · 2 years

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#jules verne #vernetober #captain grants children #in search of castaways #paganel #jacques paganel #major McNabbs #major #this orange gigantosaurus #gah dayum #animatic #fanimation #McNabbs/Paganel #Its CANON SHUT UP

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

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OCTOBER 29TH. THE WINTER SOLDIER

“who the hell is bucky?”

♱ — eijirou kirishima + non-con/dub-con.

♱ — synopsis; he’s not a bad man, he promises you that. it doesn’t matter how many people he’s killed with his bare and metal hands…kirishima will make sure you know how sorry he is by the time he’s done with you.

♱ —length; 5.2K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, dark content, mentions of murder, assasinations, stalking, non-con to. dub-con, drugging, phallophilia, begging, manipulation, virginity loss, cherry chasing, power dynamics, breath play, temperature play, fingering ( fem!receiving ), strength!kink, softt fem!reader, yandere!kirishima, winter soldier!kirishima. not beta read !

♱ — notes; happy saturday angels!! we’re so close to the end of kinktober waaah!! i kinda like this one, it’s a bit dark so please be careful when reading !! check the warnings as well… tbh ive had kiri brain rot all this week, so this makes sense !! as usual, hope you enjoy <3 - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

people make mistakes every single day— they can be simple and mundane, like tiny little white lies when you forget something important to someone though it might hurt their feelings. the burn of embarrassment whenever you’d messed up in front of an entire class.

mistakes were common. everybody made them, eijirou kirishima made them— they were out of his control.

the winter soldier was a man lost in his own mind, watching his life go by behind vermillion eyes— taking others with hands that no longer loved or felt like his own. to them, hydra, his creators…kirishima was the ideal weapon, a blank canvas to turn into something sinister and evil. a good natured, strong man carved into the perfect shape to be a killer. behind his own soft, once expressive ruby eyes; eijirou was forced to watch the life drain from the corpses of others— people who had families waiting for them back home with home cooked meals they’d taken for granted, people with children they’d wished they’d raised right or friends that hadn’t quite forgiven them.

kirishima had heard it all, the pleas for him to let them live and do better right before they died by his hands in the most brutal way. each time he ended a life, a piece of his soul went with them, years internal torture following him like a dark fog— weighing down on him like heavy rainfall, soaking him to the bone with red. it’s caked against his skin, ingrained deep under his nails no matter how much he scrubs at them with a bar of soap and water.

death follows kirishima everywhere, aches in his bones and the creaking silver metal of the winter soldier’s arm. it was a curse, a burden that he couldn’t bare to carry on his shoulders— the serum in his veins like a poison that had stolen his memories, the happy soldier boy he used to be.

he hates the way people look at him now, breaking free from hydra— the sympathy shining in their eyes, he hates the way you look at him too. part of kirishima’s recovery, as suggested by his therapist, was to make amends with every person impacted by his crimes as the winter soldier, and you, the sweet girl next door were next.

kirishima killed your father years ago, before you could probably spell your own name without sounding it out— he had been a kind diplomat wanting nothing but peace. after his release from cyro, eijirou had tracked you down, only to discover he’d taken your mother’s life too, in a tampered car crash. you’d been alone ever since.

the winter soldier had taken a happy childhood from you, made you the cute little recluse next door who hid in her stuffy parchment scented apartment— with books stacked high, romance your favourite genre, what you found your fantasies in. kirishima couldn’t deny the way his heart fluttered, but guilt edged itself over the expanse of his brain whenever you pitied him in the coridoors between your tiny rented apartments ( though from his recent hero work and inheritance from captain america, he could probably afford to buy tha building out ). your shiny doe eyes would pity him, see the pain in the winter soldier’s own as well as that breaking in the vibranium laced in the arm that wasn’t really his.

in his one hundred plus years of living, kirishima had probably been on more dates than you had knowledge on boys and the reality of romance in general.

you’d been made that way because of eijirou.

because of the winter solider.

and he would make it up to you, he would. it was a promise and the least he could do.

years of training had made it easy for kirishima to slip into your apartment that night— silly you, poor little you for having left your window wide open, letting the bulky ex assassin slip through as if he was a silent Siamese cat being welcomed home. footsteps carrying no sound effortlessly slipped into your bedroom just for a peek at you.

kirishima could have watched you forever, drawn to the way your lips twitch as you sleep and your eyes screw shut even tighter as if you’re being drowned in your own worst nightmare. you’re adorable.

you have no idea what’s about to come next.

it makes the winter soldier’s cock twitch beneath his clothing, leaking fat globs of precum against his inner thighs. he aches to be inside of you, feel you blossom around him like a flower in the spring for the first time— ‘cause god you’re so innocent and inviting.

there’s an instinctual chill down your spine, one that breaks you from your heavy slumber and has your shooting up— doe eyes wide like a deer in headlights while you search for the figure that had been looming over you in the dark. “e-eiji?” your whisper sits hoarse in your throat, voice laced with cute little wisps of sleep, the nickname you’d given him shooting straight to his erection. “what are you doing here?”

“oh nothin’,” eijirou lies, “just the neighbourly thing and asking for a cup of sugar?” the smile that he gives you is quick, not quite reaching his eyes that usually hold such kindness… there’s something off about kirishima tonight, something that makes you feel sick to your stomach and makes you want to run.

you can’t scramble from the sheets fast enough, for the winter soldier has been trained to move faster— bulky arms swinging around your waist before your feet even hit the floor, throwing you back into feathery pillows of your bed despite your kicks and screams. it’s frightful how kirishima can just manhandle you any way that he wishes, using the bulk of his body to get you onto your stomach like it’s nothing, like the winter soldier would and not your soft, mellow companion who laughs with his gut and grins with the ruby in his eyes. the one who pulled you out of your house for walks to the library late at night.

this version of the man who lives next door, who told you he was recovering from war wounds long before your time, growls deeply as he grabs you by the back of you throat and tugs your head to rest on his shoulder— breathing deep from where you’ve put up a fight, hissing from where your trimmed nails scratch at his one good and fleshy arm. “don’t fight it, please,” he comments, nosing under your earlobe, breathing in the scent of vanilla and money milk from your body wash. “i just want to make it up to you, for what i did to your parents. for taking your childhood away from you.”

hairs on your neck stand on end, you don’t know if it’s from the mention of your dead relatives or from the way kirishima’s belt clinks as if he’s been undoing it— his metal hand, the perfect killing weapon, folds coolly against your neck and with one wrong move it could crush your windpipe in a second. “e-eijirou what are you—?” you stutter, voice spiking with fear, lodged in the dry ridges of your throat. “m-my parents—“ eyes widening, the realisation hits, you know exactly what he means.

you know that it’s him who murdered them.

“baby,” the winter soldier coos as you thrash dangerously in his grip, a second away from having your neck snapped. lunging forward, your hot and teary face is stuffed into the pillows to the point where you almost can't breathe, kirishima straddling your hips while simultaneously pushing more of his clothes away. “‘m sorry… s-sorry for what i did to you.” for what he’s doing to you— pushing your flimsy nightshirt up your back, over the curve of your fleshy ass.

a pleaful whimper lays on your sweet lips, tears welling in your eyes as you practically scream for the ‘hero’ to get off of you— let you go. you’re devastated, trust betrayed by a friend you thought you’d made, a friend now using your body for his own selfish gain. the red head squeezes at the flesh now exposed to his heated hungry stare, running his metal arm over your curves, precious thighs and cute ass—revelling in the way your entire body reacts just for him, goosebumps rising across your back like chicken skin.

“you’ll forgive me, right?” he goes on, words broken up by shuddered breaths as eijirou’s metal fingers slip between your thighs from behind— spreading apart pretty pussy lips that glimmer with slick, evidence to you of your body’s betrayal , but to him of anticipation, excitement. forgiveness. “just wanna make it up to you,” he murmurs almost empathetically, voice thick with lust— it feels like the war hero is making fun of you, pinning you down against your will between muscular thighs. “i’ll make it feel so good, baby. promise. i’ll make it worth your while, make you forgive me.”

tears are hot on your cheeks, burning down the apples of them in salty tracks— you don’t want this, you don’t want him, the man who supposedly gave his life to save Captain America, to take something so precious to you. your virginity— not after finding out he killed your parents in cold blood. you feel almost sick for having found kirishima attractive before, for dreaming of situations a little similar to now, where you’d cry out his name as he made love to you and made you feel seen. eijirou mistakes the wince of your body as he circles a cold digit around your tiny entrance for a twitch of pleasure, grinning to himself as he adds a thumb to your clit to draw slow, salacious circles around the swelling nub— the coldness sending shockwaves up your spine.

it feels nice, good— but that doesn’t make you resist it any less, make you want him anymore. small whispers of ‘p-please eiji—‘ hiccuped into the sheets soaked with both your arousal and tears. a fresh wave of unexpected slick gushes from your virgin cunt when kirishima slaps his bare cock against the length of your slit, as if he’s going to take you with little to no preparation. he’s big, throbbing and soaked with his own milky arousal, his veins fitting snug between your pussy lips, fat and blue while his tip blares an angry shade of red.

if this were any other time, you’d be happy to have your mouth water— filling with thick drool at the thought of having the winter soldier’s massive girth split you open and be your first. yet, as eijirou grinds his meaty cock into your filthy, embarrassingly soaked virgin mound, you remember that he’s not so nice. trapping you between strong thighs, a metal arm and a frightening snarl.

“eijirou please—“ you try again, wiggling your hips to get away from him as he ruts his achy tip through your sweet lips, bumping your clit, until he reaches right between your ass cheeks. “p-please don’t do this. i’ll…i’ll do anything you want! i’ll forgive you!”

“jus’ let me do this,” the winter soldier slurs over the spit pooling on his tongue, dazed by the way the clear strings of your juices cling to every vein of his cock— make it shine even in the dark. kirishima feels feverish, the scent of your innocent cunt driving him insane, on the brink of forgetting his mission— making it up to you. sweat drips from his hairline, even though he’s barely started, hitting the small of your back. “it’ll be okay, she’s… your pussy… she’s dripping for me.” he says like he’s in disbelief, grabbing hold of his dick and nuzzling it against your swollen pleasure nub to hear you whine like a pretty bird song. “she wants this, you want this. i’ll do what’s right, make it up to you.”

tiny fingers grip the blankets below as kirishima makes a move to push his precum loaded cockhead past your tight little entrance, moaning breathily while hunched over you. you’re sure you’ve bitten your lip to the point of bleeding, red and raw at the slightly painful intrusion of the winter soldier’s dick past your virgin entrance. “‘shima,” you shake your head, watery eyes stinging. “it hurts,” you add weakly.

pulling back with a deep groan, eijirou runs his human hand through his sweaty mane. the last thing he wants to do is hurt you more— add to the heartache of losing your parents. “fuck baby...didn’t mean to hurt ya, we’ll try something else okay?” it’s almost sick how kind he sounds, even if there’s a wobble to what he says. there’s a shift behind you, and you almost miss the heat of his cock against you, only for it to be replaced with the frozen temperatures of his vibranium fingers prodding against your spasming hole.

against your own will, your thighs twitch apart instinctively— making room for kirishima between them as he circles the rim of your entrance, living up his fingers with the salacious pool of your arousal before pushing against the resistance of your unclaimed walls. “stay still baby, s’gonna sting for a bit,” he comments, choking on a depraved, corrupt gasp at how warm you are inside. the redhead stuffs you full of two fingers, sliding them into you with the aid of your honeyed cunt, and immediately scissors them, curling them to map and get a feel of your velvet walls.

you’re untouched territory, an empty playground of innocence and purity and now…kirishima’s for the taking. he’ll teach you things, he thinks while stretching open your hot little cunt to prepare you for his cock. he’ll teach you real pleasure, real love, all the things you missed out on after he ruined your life.

“eiji—!“ your cry is needy, amorous as you claw at your pink pillow cases, hips jutting back clumsily at the first shocks of ecstasy to flitter into your blood stream. you’ve never felt like this before.

“how’s this, baby? better than before?” the winter soldier drawls, practically as needy as you with a pout on his lips, red brows furrowed in concentration for making amends with you and your pretty pussy. his gaze of blood rubies falls to how your creamy sex sucks in his two metal digits, pressing coldly against new spots inside of you, curled against spongey walls until you’re cross eyed and the room spins.

“s’oh my god,” comes your muffled, sweet grouse— the adorable sound tearing in your throat. “s’better… oh, eiji!”

he needs you to understand that this is all for you, every calculated drag of his thumb over your sticky swelling clit, every stroke of his vibranium fingers rapaciously pumping in and out of succulent unused mound is meant to bring you to the high heavens and help you forgive him. kirishima’s chest swells with pride knowing he’s the first to have you like this, seeing you clamp down on him as he pleasures you, thumb glued to your little nub, writing apologies into it. “i need you to know, baby,” he says in awe of how you take him, even if you squirm and pretend to resist. “that ‘m so sorry, that i’ll do my best t’take care of you like this…”

a weird feeling in your lower belly starts to build up, in slow stacks like building a house from the beginning— all of the new sensations that come with it having distracted you from the reality of the situation. you can’t trust the winter soldier anymore, not to protect you and not to look out for you— especially when he’s ravaging your puffy pussy while pinning you in place. you hate that it feels good, making your brain tingle and happy hormones crash across it in heavy waves but you can’t help it. your hips buck back onto eijirou’s fast paced fingers which move along your slippery walls at an impressive speed, collecting your juices in the seat of his silver palm.

somewhere, a voice in the back of your head tells you to scream and cry and kick eijirou off— but all you can do is whimper and whine for more as he whispers sinisterly sweet nothings into the shell of your ear. ‘is this enough, baby?’ he’d sigh. ‘can you take more?’ or ‘i hope this makes it up to you’, each candied word sending sparks of ecstasy down your spine and flutters through your darling cunt while eijirou moulds you to take his cock.

“need ya to cum for me sweetheart, you’ve taken me so well,” he chuckles from behind you, gentle as his fingertips brush against your g-spot. the praises are warm, familiar to the real eijirou kirishima you know lives next door. before you knew the harm he’d done to your family. “can you do that for me, please? then i can fill you up so good, make you truly forgive me. please baby— i fuckin’ need it.” there’s an air desperation about the big burly man finger fucking you to his hearts content, and you think that if you let him keep talking— if you give him this, he might leave you alone.

“i think—‘shima, it feels weird…t-think ‘m gonna c-cum?” you squeak, unsure despite the impending feeling of the rope twisting in your lower tummy that burns as thick metal digits curl against your gummy insides, doused in your syrupy juices. kirishima doesn’t let up, breathing ragged from behind you as he jackhammers his fingers deep inside of you until his palm smacks against your bubbly ass with every stroke.

he seems pleased as your thighs begin to shake violently, the grip your angel cunt has on him tightening while his shameless stare shoots down to where your limbs meet and you ooze onto him. “let it go baby, you’re gonna feel so good, lemme see, i wanna see you cum,” eijirou damn near begs in a delighted and devoir sigh. a scream rips through your body, dwarfed beneath the size of the super solider as the winding cord in your tummy finally breaks its tension— the pressure that had been building inside of you coming crashing down and your orgasm tearing through you, spilling in clear liquid from your sticky and squelching sex. your teary and dazzling doe eyes screw shut, rolling back into your skull while you release, tainting your folds with a sugar glaze shine— the sweetest treat in the world to kirishima being making you feel good.

he doesn’t relent on your poor pussy as you shake throughout your very first high, stealing the precious moment from you and any future partner who might really love you— who’s not obsessed with the idea of your forgiveness. eijirou thumbs fast and cruel shaped into your raw clit, overstimulating you until the stream of your release stops seeping through the bedsheets. “good girl, such a good girl,” he hums, slowly pulling out of you while you spasm through the aftershocks of cumming for the first time. “stay here, kay? ‘m gonna get something before we have you try ‘n take my cock.”

the weight of the winter soldier eases off of you, letting air fill your lungs and a clear conscious return to you.

you wait until his footsteps are no longer audible to make your move, shooting up from the bed with no time to think about how sick your favourite hero is— for thinking you’ll forgive the deaths of the people you love most in exchange for him taking away your precious purity.

but you don’t have time to make a run for it, tackled to the bed once more by the stronger, trained killer. “i thought i told you to stay put,” kirishima snarls at you like you’re meek prey to him, forgetting his manners and his mission. “don’t you listen, baby? this is all for you,”

“i don’t want you!” comes your bratty little yell ( at least to the winter soldier ), who only throws you back onto the bed in the same position you were before— sitting heavy on your waist with your face shoved into the sheets. “please eijirou, l-let me go! i won’t tell anyone what you did! i’ll keep quiet! i’ll—“ your words fall away as eijirou grabs you by the back of the neck and you feel a sharp pinprick to your side. “w-what was that?”

a wooziness takes over you, calming your brain like it did when eijirou was making you feel good. “‘m sorry, i didn’t want to have to use it,” he says with what feels like faux sympathy. “but you just wouldn’t listen!” the redhead eases you down onto the bed once more, it’s a little something that’ll make accepting my apology a little easier, baby. so you stop squirming, so it hurts a little less. now be good, yeah?”

“y-yeah, okay,” you reply, slow blinking as your body begins to accept its fate.

using the remnants of your previous orgasm, kirishima slicks himself up again, running the meat of his shaft along the length of your quivering pussy— sending hormones of lust dancing across your brain. you can’t see him; but kirishima’s cheeks are flushed with unadulterated desire, his gaze swimming each time he taps the head of his cock against your souse pulsating hole. “gonna fuck you so good, gorgeous, don’t you worry.” he says, words a little too rushed and too eager, and without warning, the war hero’s hips jump forward to drive his cock into the deepest parts of your sex, fully lubed up with all your piquant juices.

eijirou is bigger than you’d dreamed off before all of this, weighty against the stickiness lining your unclaimed, gummy walls. you can feel every brown wrapped pretty around his girth pressing into pleasure spots you’ve not even had a chance to discover for yourself. his breath is shaky and uneven, prickling at your ears despite the static that crackles across your brain— from lust or from the drug you can’t even tell.

“i wanna move, baby,” the winter soldier gasps, wavering and hips stilling just as he reaches the hilt. this is the least he could do for you, try to be gentle as he completes this last mission— takes your virginity. in all these years of training for hydra, kirishima has never exercised such restrained, barely keeping himself together with every flutter of your sex and ripple of heat from your body around his cream soaked dick. “so tight, you need to be fucked. you need me, s’gonna be okay baby…just lemme take you.”

against your better judgement, the voice in the back of your mind screaming at you to fight back— you roll your ass back to meet kirishima’s hips, pushing your searing cunt further onto his girth as if to coax him to move until eijirou is completely bottomed out and balls deep inside, oozing sweet nectar down his thighs and balls alike. “p-please,” you slur cutely, hating your body for wanting him so bad after everything he’s done to you. “w-wanna forgive you,”

that’s all the motivation the winter soldier needs to go through with it all, you yelp at the pure strength he possesses in manhandling you into the perfect arch— all of his weight dropping onto you with his caramel and sweaty chest pressing to your back. a pathetic hiccup escapes you when kirishima simultaneously latches onto your neck and pulls his cock from you, using teeth and tongue, lolling the pink muscle over your skin, decorating you with lovebites you won’t be able to hide from nosey onlookers. in one powerful thrust, he’s filling you back up to the brim— all the way up in your guts until you feel him in your tummy, making you feel dwarfed by the super soldier above you.

with what little energy you have left, still doped up from whatever he spiked you with— you rock your hips back onto eijirou, letting your cute and ravaged cunt suck more of him into your warmth and aiding him in building up a steady pace to his thrusts.

the bed starts to groan and creak beneath the force of the redhead now brutally ploughing into you— precum in fat drops smearing against your ripe and fertile walls that feel like home to his hardened length. your pussy blossoms for the man like a flower in a spring bloom, ready for the taking, ready for kirishima. only he could do this for you, teach you what seeing stars look like, drag you to cloud nine. it was the least he could do for you, and it made his dick twitch knowing that you were starting to accept him— clenching down on his mushroomed tip ever time it pulls out of you with a wet pop.

you stretch painfully over his creamy cock, though you feel like you’re on cloud nine— overwhelmed with a ravenous ecstasy that shoots from your brain to the tips of your toes, right through the heartbeat in your pussy. “feel amazin’ baby, oh that’s right, take me so fucking well,” eijirou whispers into the skin of your shoulder over sentimentally, the heat of his breath clinging to the sex in the air. his large palms drop to the globes of your ass— pulling them wide apart to spit between them and getting an enticing view of his dick lewdly plunging in and out of your perfect virgin hole. “that’s it…you like this don’t you, you like me doing this to you…”

your mind says no but you can’t help but hump back onto him, still growing used to the burning pleasure as eijirou pushes in and out of you. “y-yes eiji, i-i like it,” he barely leaves your tight heat, with the little proximity between your saltine sweat slicked bodies, prodding at that special spot inside of you that makes you gush sweet nectar.

you hope it’s the drug talking, every time you coo and cry out for the winter soldier— limp body taking the godspeed pace he moves at, filling you up each and every time. “‘h’baby, you really mean that?” metal fingers crawl up your spine, encapsulating your throat as if he can’t crush it within a second. he tugs your head back with a cool grip into a heated kiss, forcing his tongue over yours, mouths slotting together and sharing moans. “never meant for it to be like this, never gonna—fuck… cause you harm e’ver again, yeah?” kirishima’s voice rises in octave as it does in addiction, the handsome soldier succumbing to the mindbreak your gratifying, ichorous cunt had to offer him while he tucks into you.

“yeah…s’okay. o-oh! eijirou!” comes your brainless babble, your sanity falling into a cock-drunk state. eijirou’s own mind is as foggy as yours, plagued by thoughts of painting you white inside and relieving you of his burden— teaching you pleasure, teaching you sin. the slow roll of your hips back onto his mingle with the harsh slap of skin on skin, wet and crude, and hanging nastily in the air.

there’s barely any oxygen for you to breathe between it all— kirishima rhythmically squeezing at the bruised column of your throat in tune with surging hips, assaulting your poor g-spot. “jus relax baby, go’ta sleep,” you swear you think you hear him say when you grow even more light headed. “lemme take care of you.”

he had no idea your little meek mewls could drive him this far up the wall, or that he’d want you to himself even after taking your virginity. kirishima sucks on the pulse point under your ear to sedate himself, keeping you locked in place with his metal arm— licking the beads of sweat from the side of your face while his free hand wraps itself in the fabric of your sweat soaked night shirt and uses it to tug you back onto his aching, pulsating dick.

his sloppy groans echo throughout the lost purity of your bedroom, no longer a safe place— but now a reminder of how your body betrayed you, swaying in a taboo dance with the winter soldier as a crude mix of your arousals swing between both of your sore thighs. “i gotta cum baby, please lemme cum,” eijirou huffs breathily into your ear, grabbing you by the ass while he shifts to his knees and using the pure strength of the super soldier serum and his bionic arm to lift you up and down on his cock, forcing you to match his pace in frantic, hungry movements. “need to cum, need’a make it up to ya, please—oh fuckin’ fuck!”

“e-eiji!” you sob, reaching back to dick crescent moons into his fleisher arm that holds you up— letting the winter soldier fuck into you at his own will. “slow down! please!”

he shakes his head, red locks damp and sticking to his forehead as he tucks his face into the back of your shoulder. “c-can’t, need you close too. ‘m gonna cum,” he tells you, whining profligately— the ex assassin revelling in the way you drip thickly down his balls, heavy with cum, the lewd pap pap pap of your sexes moving together creating a song that echoes in the sex tainted air, matching up perfectly with your erotic choreographed routine against the sheets, tainted with your arousals. “gotta get’cha close, are you there gorgeous? that feeling in your tummy back?”

you nod, simpering out for more even though your brain is too misted to keep up with what’s happening— lust coursing through your veins with whatever drug the winter soldier has put in your system. but the feeling is barely there, and you writhe against kirishima for more…even if you hate it, even if you’re not so sure you hate it anymore.

sleeping with the man that murdered your parents.

however, you don’t need to ask for more, eijirou’s metal fingers releasing your throat and allowing you to breathe again— sliding over your clothed, pebbled nipples and down the softness of your stomach before they coldly reach your hot cunt. they toy with your swollen clit between your throbbing, puffy folds to guide you over the edge once more.

two orgasms for the two people you’d lost.

your second high of the night comes crashing over you in a sudden wave, rendering you even more weak and useless than before— you seize up, trapping kirishima inside your soaked cunt as you gush like a sweet flowing river once more. the red head follows suit, his cock pulsing while his cream lines your raw and abused walls. he doesn’t ever let up, pushing his seed further along your walls until both of you collapse into the bed with exhaustion. your hole burns, cum seeping from your entrance as you swear kirishima feels even bigger when his dick is swollen with his orgasm.

“i’m sorry,” he says hoarsely once you’ve both calmed down— but your mind is running a mile a minute, fuzzy and lagging with a combination of your high and the drugs in your system. “‘m so sorry baby,”

“it’s okay,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering with sleep again.

though you’re not sure what you’re forgiving the winter soldier for this time.

taking your parents, or taking your innocence.

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