#and there are moments of genuine brilliance

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Reader x Mydei

You were always there. Always watching. Always loving. And yet-

He never saw you.

From the moment you first laid eyes on Mydei, your world had revolved around him. You watched his struggles, his quiet victories, the loneliness he carried behind that sharp gaze. The world ignored him, but you didn’t. You knew his worth, his brilliance, the fire that burned inside him.

So you helped. From the shadows, where your love belonged.

A whisper in the right ear to push his name forward. A lost item appearing just when he needed it. An obstacle erased before it ever reached his path. You removed his enemies, lifted him up, smoothed the rough edges of his world—all without him ever knowing.

And that was fine.

It was enough to see him flourish, to watch from afar as he stepped closer to greatness, closer to the life he deserved.

Until he looked at her.

She was nothing special. A noble’s daughter, with soft words and kinder eyes than most. She had spoken to him once, twice, perhaps with genuine warmth, nothing more.

Yet, when Mydei began to notice the strange fortune surrounding him, when he started piecing together the way unseen hands had shaped his success, he made a mistake.

He thought it was her.

You watched in silence as he approached her, as he thanked her for things she had never done, as he lingered in her presence with quiet admiration.

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing into skin.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair.

She hadn’t been the one who whispered words of encouragement when no one else believed in him. She hadn’t erased the threats in his path. She hadn’t bled for him.

She didn’t deserve his love.

You were the one who had always been there. You were the one who had watched him struggle, who had lifted him up without ever asking for thanks.

You were the one who loved him most.

And yet, he still hadn’t seen you.

Not yet.

One day, he would turn around and realize who had been there all along. One day, he would understand that no one else could love him like you do. One day, he would look at you the way he looked at her now.

And until that day came…

You would keep watching. Keep waiting.

Because Mydei was yours.

He just didn’t know it yet.

The ballroom was warm, suffocating with conversation. You stood among your noble acquaintances, their laughter and idle chatter blending into meaningless noise. You barely listened. Your mind was elsewhere—on him.

Mydei was here tonight. Somewhere in the crowd.

You had no right to approach him, no excuse to step into his world. Not yet. Not when he still didn’t see you.

Instead, you watched from afar, as you always did. You let your eyes trace the way he held himself, shoulders squared, gaze sharp, his presence an undeniable force despite the way others overlooked him. He was always so composed, so carefully guarded.

But then—he smiled.

At her.

Your stomach twisted, sharp and aching.

She was speaking to him again. And Mydei leaned in, his golden eyes holding something dangerously close to admiration.

A bitter taste filled your mouth.

You turned away, forcing yourself to engage in conversation, to pretend the sight of him didn’t make your chest ache with unspoken longing. Your noble friends prattled on—politics, alliances, meaningless pleasantries, but it all blurred into the background.

Then, in a moment of cruel irony, fate intervened.

Someone moved too close, their dress sweeping against your leg, and before you could steady yourself, your balance faltered—just for a second, just enough for you to stumble back. Straight into someone’s chest.

Firm hands caught your arms, steadying you before you could fall. You barely had time to breathe before a voice spoke just above your ear.

“Careful.”

Slowly, you turned your head, his golden eyes met yours, and for the first time, they were really looking at you. Your heart was pounding so violently you thought he might hear it.

“I…” You struggled for words, something, anything, but your mind had gone blank.

His touch lingered for a moment too long before he stepped back, giving you space.

“I don’t believe we’ve spoken before.” Mydei said.

No, you hadn’t. But you had watched him for years.

Your fingers clenched at your sides, the ache in your chest unbearable. Finally, after all this time, he was looking at you. Finally, you had his attention.

But not in the way you wanted.

You swallowed down the storm inside you and forced a smile, dipping your head slightly. “Perhaps not directly. But I know of you, Lord Mydei.”

His lips curved, faintly amused. “Do you?”

You met his gaze, heart thundering. “Yes.” More than you could ever admit.

For the first time, he was standing before you. Speaking to you.

And for the first time, you weren’t just a shadow in the background.

Mydei did not forget you after that night.

You had expected him to, as he had so many others. He was a man with greater ambitions, a mind too sharp to waste on idle courtly chatter. He was destined for more, for greatness, for a world beyond the fleeting amusement of a single ballroom conversation.

And yet, in the days that followed, you felt his gaze linger.

The next time you attended a gathering, you caught him watching. Not for long, just a glance, just a flicker of curiosity before his attention returned to business, but it was there. Mydei, the man who had never spared you a thought, was now aware of you.

It made your heart pound with something dangerously close to hope.

The problem was, he was getting too close.

Not in the way you had dreamed, no, this was not the sweet surrender of affection, not yet. This was intrigue. Suspicion. Interest.

He sought you out at gatherings now, brief exchanges turning into longer conversations. A casual comment became a measured observation. A passing glance became a moment of study. He was watching you, as if trying to place where he had seen you before, as if something about you didn’t quite make sense.

And that… that was dangerous.

Because the truth was, you had been with him far longer than he realized.

The letters that never reached his enemies. The alliances that crumbled before they could form against him. The quiet disappearances of those who whispered doubts about his rise.

You had done so much for him, unseen, unheard. You had shaped his world, softened his path, ensured his success in ways he would never fully understand.

And if he did understand—if he ever truly uncovered the depth of your devotion, the lengths you had gone to...

Would he be grateful?

Or would he recoil?

The thought haunted you as much as it thrilled you.

You should have stepped back. You should have let his curiosity fade, allowed him to forget your existence like all the others.

But now that his gaze was on you, now that he had finally noticed you, how could you let him look away?

At first, you played your role carefully, engaging but never too eager, distant but never cold. You let him chase, let his intrigue grow. You gave him just enough to keep him wondering.

But Mydei was clever.

He started testing you in small ways. Asking about things he shouldn’t have thought you’d know. Mentioning old enemies, waiting to see if your reaction faltered. Speaking of past betrayals, watching for the flicker of recognition in your eyes.

He was searching for something.

And for the first time, you felt the trap you had so carefully avoided for years begin to close in around you.

The obsession you had kept hidden, the devotion that had lived in the dark corners of your heart, was now exposed to the light.

And Mydei was staring straight into it.

Mydei wasn’t a man prone to paranoia, but he was a man who noticed patterns—subtle shifts, inconsistencies in the grand game of power and influence. And something about you didn’t quite fit.

At first, he brushed it off. You were interesting, yes, but not an immediate concern. A noble with sharp wit and a presence that lingered longer than expected. Nothing more.

But then there were the coincidences.

You always seemed to know the right things to say, even when the topic was something only those entrenched in his struggles should understand. A political maneuver that had been arranged in secrecy, a name that should have been unfamiliar to you, yet you reacted, just for a fraction of a second.

He tested you again.

A casual mention of an old rival, one who had suddenly lost favor and vanished from court. Most nobles would have responded with idle curiosity or feigned ignorance.

But you had blinked.

A slow, measured movement. Just barely there.

It wasn’t proof. Not yet. But it was enough to make him look closer.

And once he started looking, he couldn’t stop.

The disappearances. The unexpected fortunes. The unseen hands that had smoothed his rise to power, eliminating threats before he had even lifted a finger.

It had never made sense before. But now, there was you.

And the question he couldn’t shake: Had you always been there?

He began to watch you, the way you had watched him for years.

And he saw it, the way your gaze followed him when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your fingers curled when he spoke with others, an almost imperceptible tension in your posture. The way your presence, once unnoticed, had always been.

Memories resurfaced. Faint whispers of things he had long overlooked. The gifts that appeared without a sender. The enemies that fell before they could strike. The sense of being watched, always watched, even in his loneliest moments.

The realization settled like a slow-moving storm, creeping through his veins, twisting through his thoughts.

It had been you.

All this time, it had been you.

And yet, you continued to pretend.

You smiled when he approached, feigned innocence when he asked careful questions, danced so gracefully around the truth.

But now, Mydei wasn’t just intrigued.

He was certain.

For all its danger, for all its quiet madness—

Wasn’t it beautiful?

No one else had ever loved him like this.

And Mydei had never been one to turn away an advantage.

So, instead of pulling away, he stepped closer.

And as he studied you, as he traced the shape of your obsession with newfound understanding, he wondered—

How far would you go for him?

The party was suffocating. You had no interest in any of it, least of all in watching her drape herself over Mydei with soft smiles and fluttering lashes.

You had seen enough.

So you slipped away, weaving through the crowd like a ghost, unseen, unheard. The night air was a welcome relief as you stepped onto the balcony, the cool breeze biting at your skin. The world outside stretched before you—vast, dark, endless. You hummed your favorite song.

You had always belonged in the shadows.

Alone, you let out a slow breath, leaning against the marble railing.

But the moment of peace didn’t last.

A presence followed you,

You knew who it was before he even spoke.

“You leave so suddenly” Mydei mused, his voice smooth, measured. “Tired of the party?”

You forced a small smile before turning to face him. He stood just inside the doorway.

“I wasn’t in the mood for… theatrics” you admitted, glancing briefly at the glowing ballroom behind him. The sight of her laughing, of him standing so close to her, it made something in you ache.

He stepped onto the balcony, the door clicking shut behind him. “Is that all?”

You tilted your head slightly. “What else would it be?”

A moment of silence lingered for too long. The night wind stirred, carrying the faint hum of music from inside. Mydei’s gaze never wavered, studying you with that same unsettling intensity he had carried for weeks.

“I know what you’ve done.”

What?

For a heartbeat, you considered feigning ignorance. Pretending you didn’t understand. But the way he was looking at you like pinning you in place, waiting for a reaction—made it clear.

He knew.

Your fingers curled against the cold marble. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re good at hiding” he admitted, stepping closer. “I almost didn’t notice.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to remain still as he closed the space between you.

“The disappearances. The convenient misfortunes of those who opposed me. The way my path has always been… smooth.” He let the words linger before tilting his head slightly. “That wasn’t luck, was it?”

You said nothing.

Because what could you say? Lie? He wouldn’t believe it. Confess? You weren’t ready for that.

His golden eyes searched yours, waiting, expecting. He was giving you a chance—to explain, to unravel, to break beneath his gaze.

But you couldn’t.

So you smiled. “And if it wasn’t luck?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if testing the weight of your words. Then, Mydei did something unexpected. He laughed.

He shook his head, exhaling as if he should have known.

“Of course” he murmured, looking at you not with fear, not with anger—but with understanding.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He wasn’t disgusted.

He was accepting it.

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the sharp gleam in his gaze. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice almost gentle. “How long have you been watching me?”

The truth sat on your tongue, too heavy to speak.

Instead, you let your eyes meet his.

For once, it was he who waited.

For once, it was he who longed for an answer.

And in that moment, standing beneath the moonlight, you knew—

He would never look away again.

Because now, he saw you.

And he wasn’t afraid.

The night air felt heavier now. Mydei stood before you, golden eyes sharp, unblinking, waiting- waiting for you to give yourself away.

You had been careful for years. You had hidden your devotion behind polite smiles and distant glances, behind carefully orchestrated events that led him to where he was now.

But now he knew. And you had a choice.

Deny it. Pretend. Hide.

You took a slow step closer, your voice quiet but unwavering. “Tell me, Mydei.” you murmured, “if I told you I intended to kill her tonight—what would you do?”

The amusement in his expression didn’t falter, but something shifted.

You reached out, brushing a gloved hand against the marble railing. “If I see you dance with her,” you continued, voice softer, “I will slip a blade between her ribs before the night ends. If you laugh at her words, I will have her poisoned before dawn.”

You tilted your head, watching him closely. “I will remove anything that stands in your way. I always have.” A pause, deliberate, lingering. “And I always will.”

The night’s cold wind whispered against your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as chilling as the way Mydei looked at you now.

Not with horror.

Not with revulsion.

But with understanding.

A slow exhale left his lips. He tilted his head, studying you like an unsolved puzzle. “Is that so?” he mused.

You had tested him. And he had not stepped away.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yes.”

For the first time, you wanted him to see. You wanted him to know the depth of your devotion, the lengths you would go for him. If he truly cared, if he truly loved you, he would not turn away.

And he didn’t.

Instead, he did something far more dangerous.

He smiled.

It was faint, barely there, but you saw it.

“Then tell me...” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice almost tender. “What else have you done for me?”

He wasn’t rejecting you.

He was inviting you deeper.

And as his golden eyes bore into yours, you realized

You weren’t the only one testing love tonight.

Mydei’s gaze didn’t waver, nor did yours. You had laid yourself bare before him, stripped of pretense, shrouded only in the devotion that had long festered in the shadows.

And he had not turned away.

But something inside you still trembled.

This is love? This twisted, uncertain thing?

You had loved him for so long, but now, as he knew you, as he smiled at your confessions—doubt whispered in your mind like a curse.

Could you bear it?

Could you bear this kind of love?

Your fingers curled against the cold marble of the balcony railing, and as you shifted your weight ever so slightly, you felt it—

A creak. A subtle groan of aged, rusted metal.

Ah.

Wouldn’t this be fitting?

You leaned back.

For a fleeting moment, you felt nothing but air beneath you, the weight of the world slipping away.

If mortal love is this twisted, if he does not truly love me as I love him—then I do not want to see his face when he turns away. I would rather fall. I would rather disappear.

Wind rushed past your skin as you plunged downward.

Then-

A force crashed into you from above, warmth enveloping you, and the next thing you knew, you were held.

The impact was harsh, jarring, but not fatal. Pain shot through your body as you landed against something firm, something solid—someone.

Mydei.

He had jumped after you.

You lay sprawled against him on the ground, his body cushioning your fall, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts beneath you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of wind rustling through the trees, the distant hum of music from the ballroom above.

Then, his voice- edged with something dangerously close to anger.

“What the hell was that?”

Your fingers trembled against his chest. His heartbeat was rapid beneath your palm, a steady, alive thing. He was here. He had followed you.

You blinked, lips parting, but no words came.

Mydei’s grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your arms as he sat up, keeping you close. His golden eyes burned as they met yours, and in them, you saw something furious.

“You knew it was unstable,” he said, voice sharp, accusing. “You leaned on it anyway.”

You stared at him, dazed, heart pounding against your ribs. “You—”

“I jumped.” His voice was lower now, quieter, but no less intense. “Because I was not going to let you die.”

The weight of his words pressed into you, heavier than the fall, heavier than the years you had spent watching him from the shadows.

He had not hesitated. He had followed, without question, without pause.

He had chosen to fall with you.

“You—” your voice was barely above a whisper. “You caught me.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, his gaze softening for just a fraction of a second. Then, with a wry, bitter chuckle, he muttered

“Of course I did.”

And just like that, your world shattered again.

Your breath was still uneven, heart hammering wildly in your chest. Mydei’s grip on you hadn’t loosened. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

You had tested him—you had leaned into the fall, expecting something, anything, to prove to you that this love was as hopeless as you had always feared.

And yet, instead of letting you break, he had caught you.

The two of you were still lying in a tangled heap beneath the balcony, and if anyone saw.. You couldn’t let this moment be ruined.

With a sudden, desperate urgency, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him up with you, ignoring the dull ache in your limbs as you stumbled toward the darker edges of the garden. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only the two of you existed.

“Mydei—”

His name was a whisper on your lips, but he followed without resistance.

You didn’t stop until you were shrouded in shadows, the only light filtering through the treetops in silver fragments. Only then did you turn to face him, your chest rising and falling as you gathered the last of your resolve.

He was watching you again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then—

“I love you.”

The words fell from your lips like a confession, like a final act of madness, as if speaking them into existence would either set you free or doom you forever.

It was the truth, the one thing you had never dared to say outright. Not like this.

You had spent years proving it in ways he was never meant to see. Through blood. Through silent devotion. Through the careful, careful work of shaping the world around him, removing obstacles before he even noticed they were there.

But now, under the moonlight, stripped of everything but the raw, aching truth, you wanted to see—needed to see what he would do when faced with it.

Mydei exhaled, a slow, measured breath, his expression unreadable. He took a single step forward, closing the space between you.

“And if I hadn’t caught you?” His voice was quiet, yet heavy. “Would you have let yourself die tonight?”

Your throat tightened. “Does it matter?”

His fingers caught your chin, tilting your face up toward him. “It does to me.”

He was too close now. Too close.

He could laugh. He could mock you. He could turn away and leave you in the cold, dragging your love into the grave where it belonged.

But instead—

He kissed you.

It was slow at first, deliberate, as if he were testing the weight of your devotion on his lips. But then his fingers curled into the fabric of your clothes, pulling you closer, and all hesitation burned away.

The world tilted, your mind spiraling, caught in the space between the years you had spent longing for him and the sheer, terrifying reality of having him now.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart pounded.

His fingers traced your jaw, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “how far would you go for me?”

You smiled. He already knew the answer.

----

Requester: @yanderebluelockfan

P/s: I even looked up the subtitles of the song in my own language to see if there are any hints to it. I love the vibe tho, listen quite a few time before your request. Still, I'm not sure if it's related at all to your video hahaha, pardon me if it's not to your liking.

At first, I thought of a setting where reader is a creature like vampire or even powerful beings like some sort of god, but that would be easy to guess. So I picked someone normal but capable of doing something extra/abnormal for their love.

I strived for the yearning/longing type of love where reader didn't receive his attention and even doubt his love later on. So.. yeah, we have this.

Sorry for making you wait!

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 6!

and what a week it's been... idk about you all, but i'm very much looking forward to all the 8b spec fic after seeing That One Leak...

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

a graveyard in blue | moonlightmornings/@moonlight-mornings | 12.9k | GA

After a call goes south because of limited resources and an equipment malfunction, Eddie's brave move to rescue a young girl takes a nasty turn. i love how this captures the energy and vibe of a rescue!! genuinely feels straight out of an episode <3

and i'd do it over and over again | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 4.4k | E

Buck and Eddie hook up at the end of "Confessions". oh when i tell you i savoured this one... such a wonderful fic that captures buddie's first time so so perfectly!! i love how their dynamic is written here <3

everything in between | simplyylupin | 2.1k | T

They’re quiet for a moment, mulling over the unsaid, and then Buck’s bringing his phone closer to his face, eyes squinting. “Are you naked?” the absolute codependency of these two <3 so good!!

hot ghost problems | ebjameston/@ebjameston | 40.9k | T

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind. this was a reread! i was reminded of the magic system here and revisited it - can confirm that magic and ghosts and all that are so very good here, and i love the diaz siblings!!

i'll tell them put me back in it (and i would do it again) | paleredheadinascifi | 4.8k| T

Eddie doesn't know how to make his listening history private. Buck doesn't know what to do with the words in front of his eyes. Chris cannot believe he has to deal with either of them. the sheer brilliance of this concept... such a lovely look at the buckley-diaz dynamics! i was smiling the whole way through <3

it's golden, like daylight | rarakiplin/@hoediaz | 8.7k | T

“Shut up,” fingers dig into his ribs, “I mean, would you want to? Be married again?” such wonderful firefam dynamics!! i read this last week, i think, and already reread it this past week as well. a new favourite for sure <3

lonely little love dog | littleghost/@ghostlandtoo | 24k | M

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much. this is such a fascinating look at buck's character!! and i LOVED the mara scene <3

parabola | semperama/@semperama | 4.6k | T

“Hey, uh. By the way.” Buck’s been thinking about this, and he has to say it now, or it’ll explode out of him at a much worse time, in a much worse way. “Make sure you don’t forget to change your will again.” truly no fic captures the angst with a happy ending tag like this. also this fic is how i learned that there's a special ao3 tag for eddie's will, which sounds about right. anyway, point is, this is wonderful!!

the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love | lemonzestywrites/@lemonzestywrites | 25.7k | E

After the events of 6x13, Buck is worried he's lost his charm in bed. Eddie eagerly offers his services to prove otherwise. a reread of one of my favourite fics <3 there's something about the intersection of smut and feelings realisation and introspection in this fic that just hits so very hard, it's lovely <3

the whale fall principle | fastcardotmp3/@fastcardotmp3 | 95.5k | M

Daniel Buckley lives, but he’s still deciding what that means. Maddie is having a baby, but it isn’t her husband��s. And Evan knows his purpose. Until he doesn’t anymore. okay so definitely heed the creator chose not to use archive warnings tag here (there are specific warnings in the chapter notes) but holy shit, this fic. genuinely the best buckley sibling dynamics i have read, like, maybe ever. such a wonderful eddie and chimney and everyone, and such gorgeous writing!! if this one sounds up your alley, you're in for a treat <3

to ebb and flow | akapeterman/@akapeterman | 5.1k | GA

buck is sick, eddie is worried, and christopher is an angel. they'll be okay. i've really been vibing with sickfics lately, can you tell? this is another lovely lovely fic, such great hurt/comfort/domestic fluff!!

wait for me to come home | written_promises | 1.9k | GA

Eddie comes back home to LA from Texas to find Buck waiting for him… in his bed. Because he’s been living in Eddie’s home. and eddie's bed is exactly where buck should be<3 so soft and sweet and beautiful!!

we return to each other in waves | cozycatwriter/@leon-trans-kennedy | 3.1k | GA

“Yes I do. Of course I do. You saved Chris and looked after him the best you could during a tsunami-and you’re still recovering from an embolism from having your leg crushed on the job. The least I could do is look after you and let you stay the night. Besides, Chris would want you to stay.” post-tsunami fics my beloveds <3 it genuinely makes me so happy to see new ones pop up, and this is truly an excellent one!! i love the bed-sharing especially!

you need a friendly hand (and i need action) | AmZamReads | 13.1k | E

Eddie picks up pottery as a hobby and accidentally blows up on Instagram for "accidentally" posting thirst traps of him throwing on the wheel. Buck stumbles across the account and immediately becomes obsessed with Eddie's hands, and horny shenanigans ensues. this fic makes me wish i could make pottery. i love eddie's pottery friends!! and a lovely buddie dynamic too <3

[mygreatadventurehasbegun]

Just got home from seeing The Brutalist.

I may write something more in-depth later, but I just want to say that it was a wonderful theatrical experience.

This movie is three and a half hours long, shot on VistaVision, with an overture and an intermission. And opening credits, which you rarely, if ever, see anymore!

And it is gorgeously shot, with stunning performances and a sweeping score that gave me chills multiple times.

I believe it is still in limited release right now, but if it's playing near you, I highly recommend seeing this in a theater.

I went in barely knowing anything about the movie...I didn't even know how long it was until I bought the ticket, and didn't know about the intermission until this morning! But I think it made the movie even better, having just seen the trailer...the movie just sort of washes over you...it really is something to see.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Making and Remaking Memories

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[a-really-bad-decision]

For all the hate I give Bethesda, I do genuinely enjoy 3 (and parts of 4) for what they are. They just kinda exist off in a corner I think of as Fallout Land™️, which is a fun place I can take a 60+ hour vacation to occasionally, but doesn’t have any actual bearing on the wider lore.

[il-predestinato]

I'm not your mutual but I would like to hear your thoughts 😬

Just don't put on his tag so people won't see it.

I'm disappointed in his performance on the sprint shoot out as well, but in the sprint was there much more to do?

[goldfades]

TIGHTLING ─── LUKE HUGHES

request: "luke hughes + reader doing tiktok couple trends??"

here is the trend i was doing!

The phone props precariously against a stack of books on the coffee table, its tiny lens trained on you and Luke as he lounges on the couch beside you. His long legs are sprawled out, a stark contrast to your cross-legged position, and he looks completely at ease, a faded Michigan sweatshirt hanging loosely on his broad frame.

It was your idea—of course it was—to rope him into yet another TikTok trend. And honestly, it didn’t take much convincing. Luke, for all his teasing about how “obsessed” you are with the app, has never been one to back down from your antics. You swear he secretly loves these little moments where the two of you can just be goofy together.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” you start, holding your phone up to demonstrate the angle and framing, even though he’s barely paying attention. His eyes flick lazily from your face to the camera. “I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions, and they’re things only girls would know—like, makeup stuff, skincare stuff. You just have to guess what they mean.”

Luke blinks at you, visibly unimpressed. “That’s it? I just guess?”

“Yes.” You grin, wide and mischievous, and he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like this is just a setup to make me look stupid?”

“It's not, I promise.” You say, patting his knee in mock reassurance.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward into the faintest smile. You’ve won, and he knows it. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, grabbing the remote and shoving it out of the frame. “And what exactly do I owe you for a few minutes of your time?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you stop stealing my clothes every time you come over?”

“That’s a deal I’ll never make,” you quip, setting the phone back on its makeshift tripod. “Okay, ready?”

Luke leans forward slightly, brushing his hair out of his face as he flashes you a lopsided grin. “Hit me with it.”

And just like that, you hit record.

You settle back into the couch, phone recording, and glance at Luke, who’s already sitting straighter, his focus zeroed in like this is some kind of high-stakes playoff. The intensity is so out of place that it’s almost impossible not to laugh, but you manage to keep a straight face. Barely.

“Alright,” you say, scrolling through your mental list of girl-specific words. “First question: What does waterline mean?”

Luke blinks. “Waterline?” His brows furrow, and he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees like he’s trying to think through an SAT question. “Like... the edge of a body of water? Or where water stops?”

You gasp dramatically, clapping your hands together. “Oh my God, yes! That’s exactly it. How did you know?”

His face lights up, the corners of his mouth quirking into a self-satisfied grin. “Seriously? I mean, it makes sense, right?”

“Totally,” you nod fervently, resisting the urge to crack up. “You’re so smart.”

He smirks, leaning back against the couch. “Told you. What’s next?”

You bite your lip, stifling a laugh, and move on. “Okay, next question. What’s a cuticle pusher?”

Luke’s face scrunches up, his confusion written all over it. “A... what?”

“Cuticle pusher,” you repeat innocently, as though this is a perfectly normal thing for him to know.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes at you. “Uh... is it like... something you use to push dirt out from under your nails?”

You gasp again, clutching your chest like you’re shocked by his brilliance. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, how do you know these things?”

He lets out a laugh, visibly proud of himself. “I don’t know! It just made sense!”

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head like you’re genuinely impressed. “You’re two for two.”

“Duh,” he quips, leaning forward again, his confidence swelling. “Keep going. I’m on a roll.”

You suppress another laugh and press on. “Okay, what about... baking?”

“Baking?” he repeats, frowning. “Like... cooking?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not that kind of baking. It’s a makeup thing.”

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his leg as he thinks. “Makeup... baking... Does it have something to do with heat? Like, you heat the makeup onto your face or something?”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to break character. “Oh my God, yes! Exactly! You bake it onto your face to, like, set it. You’re literally on fire, Luke. I can’t believe this.”

He laughs again, a full, genuine laugh this time, his cheeks a little pink. “I’m just that good.”

“You really are,” you say with mock awe. “Okay, okay, one more for now. What’s a winged liner?”

Luke doesn’t even pause to think this time. “Easy. It’s eyeliner, but it’s, like... shaped like wings.”

You clap your hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! You’re literally unstoppable!”

“I know, right?” He beams, clearly riding the high of getting “everything” right. “See? I told you I’d win.”

You bite back your laughter, nodding along like you’re his number-one fan. “You’re seriously the best at this. I’ve never seen anyone crush these questions like you.”

Luke leans back, folding his arms across his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, what’s the next round? I’m ready.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter, but he just looks at you, confused but still grinning. “What? Why are you laughing? I’m killing it!”

And the best part? He truly believes it.

You shake your head, waving your hand as if to dismiss your laughter. “Nothing, nothing! You’re just—you’re killing it, Luke. Like, I think you might know more about this stuff than I do.”

He grins, sitting up straighter. “I mean, you said it was trivia. I’m just good at picking stuff up.”

“Right, right,” you say, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye as you compose yourself. “Okay, next question. What’s... double cleansing?”

Luke pauses, his competitive streak kicking back in as he furrows his brow in concentration. “Double cleansing... like, washing your face twice? First to get the dirt off and then... to, I don’t know, make it extra clean?”

You gasp again, clutching his arm this time. “Yes! Oh my God, that’s exactly it. How do you keep doing this?”

He looks so smug now, like he just nailed a game-winning goal. “It just makes sense, you know? Two steps—one for the surface, one for deep cleaning. I’m basically an expert.”

You nod vigorously, stifling another laugh. “Seriously. Like, you should teach a class or something.”

“Maybe I will,” he says with a smirk. “Alright, next one. Hit me.”

You glance at your mental list again, biting your lip to keep from cracking up. “Alright. What’s a dupe?”

Luke tilts his head, confused but determined. “A dupe... like... a duplicate? Something that looks like something else?”

You slap your hand over your mouth, pretending to be floored. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, you’re literally on fire. It’s like a cheaper version of something expensive. How are you so good at this?”

He’s grinning so wide now, his cheeks pink with pride. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a natural instinct for this stuff.”

“Clearly,” you say, barely holding it together. “Okay, okay, next one. What’s a beauty blender?”

“A beauty blender?” He pauses, his competitive edge shining through as he carefully thinks it over. “Uh... like... a machine that mixes stuff? Like makeup or foundation or something?”

You clasp your hands dramatically, your jaw dropping. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, are you kidding me? How do you know this?”

He throws his hands up like it’s no big deal, even though he’s clearly eating up the praise. “What can I say? I’m just built different.”

You double over with laughter, but quickly try to disguise it as a cough when he narrows his eyes. “I’m serious! You’re like... a prodigy.”

“I know,” he says, fully leaning into the role now. “Alright, what’s next? Let’s keep going.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering how far you can push this before he catches on. “Okay, this one’s tricky,” you warn, straightening up. “What’s... tightlining?”

He blinks at you, a little wary but still confident. “Tightlining? Uh... when you line something up really close together? Like... packing it in tight?”

You gasp again, throwing your head back. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! It’s when you line your eyes super close to your lashes! You’re incredible!”

His grin is so wide now, he looks like a kid who just found out he’s getting a puppy for Christmas. “I mean, it’s just logical, right? Tightlining. Tight lines. Easy.”

“Easy for you,” you say, shaking your head in mock amazement. “You’re like a makeup genius.”

“I should probably put that on my résumé,” he jokes, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Luke Hughes: NHL defenseman, trivia champion, and makeup expert.”

You can’t help but laugh again, your chest aching from holding it in for so long. But he still doesn’t catch on—he’s far too busy basking in the glory of his “success.”

“Alright,” you say, wiping a pretend tear from your eye. “One last question, and this one’s a doozy. What’s a halo eye?”

Luke’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he’s clearly not backing down. “Halo eye... uh... is it like... when your eyes look shiny? Like they’re glowing or something?”

You clasp your chest, pretending to be in awe. “Yes! That’s exactly it! How did you know?”

He throws his hands in the air, grinning ear to ear. “I mean, it’s in the name. Halo. Glow. It’s not that hard.”

You’re practically wheezing at this point, barely able to hold yourself together. But Luke? He’s still riding that high, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s been getting it hilariously wrong the entire time.

── COMMENTS

melia 🤍 "halo eye… uh… when your eyes look shiny?" IM SCREAMING ♡ 18k

abby grace 🌸 the gasp after every answer has me CRYING 💀 ♡ 14.5k

lily 🦋 the fact that he’s dead serious makes this even better ♡ 6.3k

viv 🪩 “double cleansing… to make it extra clean?” i can’t breathe 😭 ♡ 292

nj devils enthusiast “baking… does it have something to do with heat?” AND YOU SAID YES 💀💀 ♡ 500

sarah rose ☁️ his face when you said he got it right 😭😭😭 pure joy ♡ 4.2k

ellie ✨ he’s never gonna trust you again when he finds out 😭 ♡ 1.8k

emma 🤍 “tightlining… tight lines… easy” LUKE WHAT ♡ 239

sophia 💕 he’s gonna tell people he’s a skincare guru after this 😭 ♡ 2k

madeline you could’ve asked him anything and he’d still be so proud of himself lmaoo ♡ 103

noah’s gf how is he so wrong yet so sure every time 💀 ♡ 89

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[thebirdsareafterme]

“Was it enough?”

A crackle of radio after the fastest lap in Singapore hangs in the air like a death pronouncement. One final moment in the cockpit, and it’s done. 13 years given, everything left out on the track.

“Was it enough?”

One single lap to end it all. The fastest, for one final dance.

One point taken away, from the team that took everything from him.

It’s quiet. The man who is larger than life, the brilliance of Formula One, the last of the late breakers sits in the cockpit and savours the moment for the last time.

A career that has been filled with laughter, champagne and the roar of engines ends quietly under the Marina Bay lights. Not a sound from the team that claimed to be family, not a word from the man who told him to come home only to toss him out two years later. Red Bull’s prodigal son returned home, and realized that home had changed.

Is it fair? The man who gives everything, broken bones and skin stretched over teeth too widely, has been thrown out for someone shiny and young. Not once, but twice. Kept smiling through it all, and maybe hoped that one day, it will hurt a little less.

A kid from Perth burst into the paddock with all his crooked teeth and curly hair, and instantly charmed the world with his smile. The cutthroat world of Formula One is not prepared for someone to be so kind, so genuine, so positive. He smiles, and the whole world is entranced. The personality that changes everything and the inherent goodness that runs so deep is captivating, and everyone wants more. “I’m Daniel Ricciardo, and I’m a car mechanic.” The world of motorsports stops and stares.

257 races. 8 wins. 32 podiums. It’s a career than most would dream of. Many have come, many have gone. None have changed the trajectory of this old money, uptight sport like he has. An infectious laugh that rang through the paddock week after week chipped away at the rigidity of sports media. Many racers are extraordinary, but not like this. To be known is to be loved, and there is none more beloved than Daniel Ricciardo.

“Was it enough?”

The silence rings out under the track floodlights.

Yes, the world answers. It was enough. It was everything.

Thank you, Daniel.

[lotus-slumbers]

— Yandere! Batfam that hasn't taken their eyes off of you for a moment after coming to terms with their feelings towards you.

— Yandere! Batfam that has always had their little spats with each other and goes back and fourth in many things but never, ever you.

— Yandere! Batfam that can be petty at times by going no contact with one another over what seems like small incidents, stubborn as a mull, but will finally answer the phone if they receive a text about you.

— Yandere! Batfam that could be in shambles, at their make-or-break moment but are reunited, even if just for a night, over finding you the moment they lose track of you. Which should, by no means, never happen. Ever.

— Yandere! Batfam that has a tracker on the bus you regularly take, any car you might have or taxi, and even in your accessories. A necklace, rings, a bag. Hell, if you have glasses, they've even managed to switch them with some with a tracker.

— Yandere! Batfam that will happily take to following you through the streets from building rooftops when another cannot. Day or night, it doesn't matter, and they won't be seen.

— Yandere! Batfam that have mixed feelings of relief and jealousy of one another, constantly swirling around inside their heads. They can trust each other and do, more than any others in the world, but sometimes sharing can be hard.

— Yandere! Batfam that have done things that otherwise would have broken their moral compass, if it weren't all for you. You're now their leading star.

— Yandere! Batfam that sometimes starts to question if they really are a family. A real and genuine family.

— Yandere! Batfam that will claim with an intensity reserved for the most dire of situations that they are a family and you're part of it.

— Yandere! Batfam that need you to be part of their family. That will show you that you are and prove to the others that you are through forced boardgames and family dinners and movie nights.

— Yandere! Batfam that understands that, yes, maybe this is a little different from other families but maybe it's possible to be somewhat like the families they always saw on TV— even if you have to be chained down to do it.

— Yandere! Batfam that, with all of their brilliance and cunning, refuse the true narrative of this story and make it into their own; one of love and family and salvation instead of the invasion, forced submission, and binding that it is.

— Yandere! Batfam that can't even tell the difference within a few years but don't need to because this is exactly how it's meant to be... (Y/n).

[dinosus]

Threads of Devotion⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ ˖

Summary : How each Arcane character might feel if the reader called them their favorite person Pairings : Violet, Ekko, Jayce, Victor, Jinx x Reader Warnings : Too much fluff ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Vi (Violet) ₊˚⊹ ᰔ⭑.ᐟ

Vi stops dead in her tracks. She was mid-conversation, her usual cocky demeanor on full display, but your words—“You’re my favorite person, Vi”—hit her like a sucker punch. Her brows furrow slightly, almost as if she didn’t hear you correctly. “Say that again?” she asks, her voice lower, more serious. You repeat it, softer this time, and it’s like watching a storm give way to sunlight. Her tough exterior crumbles just a little, enough for you to catch the faintest pink rising to her cheeks. She exhales through her nose, shaking her head like she’s trying to brush it off, but her lips curl into an unguarded, lopsided smile. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she mutters, hands finding her hips. Her fingers fidget slightly against her belt, betraying the nerves she rarely lets show.

There’s a pause before she steps closer, her shadow falling over you. Her scarred knuckles brush against yours, hesitant, searching for permission. When you don’t pull away, she grips your hand with a firmness that’s comforting rather than overwhelming. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” she says, her voice rough, almost cracking, “but… thanks. That means more than you know.” For the rest of the day, she’s quieter, stealing glances your way with a softness that’s rare. You notice the way she keeps you within arm’s reach, as if silently claiming you as hers. ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Ekko ₊˚⊹ ᰔ⭑.ᐟ

Ekko stops in the middle of adjusting his goggles, the usual smirk on his lips faltering as your words register. “Wait, wait,” he says, holding up a hand like he needs a moment to process. His brown eyes, bright with youthful energy, widen, and for a split second, he looks utterly vulnerable. “You serious right now?” His voice cracks just a little, his usual smooth confidence giving way to something rawer. When you nod, his grin comes back tenfold, wide enough to rival the light of the sun. He laughs, the sound bubbling out of him uncontrollably. “Man, you really know how to make a guy feel special.” But it doesn’t stop there. Ekko steps closer, his movements brimming with energy, his curls bouncing with each step. He plants himself in front of you, arms crossed, but the playful gleam in his eye is unmistakable. “Favorite person, huh? That’s some serious stuff,” he teases, though his voice softens at the edges. His fingers tug at the chain around his neck—a small, nervous gesture—as he leans in, his tone dropping to a near whisper. “Guess what? You’re mine too.”

Later, you find him tinkering with something in his hideout. It’s a small, intricate pendant, the gears moving in perfect harmony. When he hands it to you, there’s no mistaking the pride in his voice. “A favorite deserves somethin’ special, right?." ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Jayce ₊˚⊹ ᰔ⭑.ᐟ

Jayce freezes, his broad shoulders going rigid as your words sink in. He was mid-laugh, hammer slung over one shoulder, radiating the confidence of someone who’s used to leading and inspiring. But this? This was different. He turns to face you, the sunlight catching the gold accents of his armor and the stray strands of hair falling across his forehead. His dark brown eyes search yours, the vulnerability there stark against his usual bravado. “You mean that?” he asks softly, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. When you nod, his lips part in a smile that’s so genuine it could melt steel. His laugh comes next, warm and boyish, and he shakes his head like he can’t believe his luck. “Wow,” he breathes, rubbing the back of his neck. “That… that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” For all his brilliance and ambition, you can tell your words have touched a part of him he doesn’t often let show.

He sets the hammer down with a soft clink and steps closer, his larger frame almost shielding you. His hand brushes against your shoulder, tentative at first, before it settles there firmly, grounding you both. “You’re something else, you know that?” he says, his tone a mix of admiration and affection. “Guess I’ll have to work extra hard to keep that title.” ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Viktor₊˚⊹ ᰔ⭑.ᐟ

The room goes still. Viktor’s pen stops scratching against the paper, suspended mid-air as if your words had reached out and taken hold of it. His head tilts slightly, golden eyes peering up at you through strands of messy brown hair. “I—what?” he stammers, the faint tremor in his voice betraying his disbelief. It’s rare to see Viktor, the ever-focused genius, so utterly disarmed. He sets the pen down carefully, as though afraid any sudden movement might break the spell. “You’re joking,” he says, though the slight hitch in his tone suggests he desperately hopes you aren’t. When you shake your head, his lips part in a soft, almost boyish smile—one that carries no trace of his usual guardedness. “Your favorite person…” he repeats, testing the words as though they were foreign. His slender fingers, ink-stained and delicate, fiddle nervously with the edge of his sleeve.

“I… don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favorite anything,” he admits quietly, his accent thick with unspoken emotion. There’s a long pause before he meets your gaze fully, his eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. “Thank you. Truly.” Later, you’d find him working late into the night, crafting something small but exquisite. When he finally hands it to you—a delicate charm inscribed with intricate patterns—it’s accompanied by a shy, almost bashful smile. “For my favorite person,” he murmurs, the words soft but heartfelt. ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Jinx ₊˚⊹ ᰔ⭑.ᐟ

Jinx’s entire body reacts to your words. Her head snaps up, her electric blue hair flying as she whirls around to face you, pink eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait, WHAT?!” she screeches, her voice high-pitched and chaotic. She grabs your shoulders with both hands, her grip firm but not painful, as if she’s trying to ground herself in the moment. “Did you just—did you just say I’m your favorite person?” Her face is a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, glee, a flicker of doubt, and then unrestrained joy. She laughs, a sound that’s wild and unhinged but full of genuine delight. “Oh, man, you’re not pulling my leg, are ya? Swear on it! Swear on a cupcake!” When you assure her, she lets out a triumphant whoop, throwing her arms around you in a tight, slightly chaotic hug.

But as the laughter dies down, something softer emerges. Her hands linger on your shoulders, her manic energy settling into something more vulnerable. “I mean… that’s cool and all,” she says, trying to play it off, but her voice wavers. “Didn’t think anyone’d ever say that to me.” She pulls back, her grin still wide but tinged with something deeper, more fragile. “Guess that makes you my favorite, too.”

Later, you find a crumpled piece of paper in your pocket, a messy doodle of you and her, surrounded by stars and hearts. At the bottom, scrawled in her uneven handwriting, are the words: “Faves 4ever". ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Hope you enjoyed >:D !! (yes i edited this post lol) IGNORE THESE <3

[aventurineswife]

hello! platonic aventurine,blade,jing yuan and sunday with a teen!reader like akane kurokawa?

reader is a genius actress specializing in theater, but theyre also like a detective, theyre able to accurately psychoanalyse and understand what happened

The Art of Perception

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Teen!Reader, Actor/Actress and Detective!Reader, Akane Kurosawa based Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mentorship, Psychological Insights, Mystery Solving, Mutual Respect.

Warnings: Themes of moral ambiguity, mentorship dynamic, light tension.

In the dazzling world of high-stakes gambling, where the clatter of roulette wheels and the shuffle of cards formed the rhythm of life, you—a teen with an uncanny gift for psychoanalysis—had caught the eye of none other than Aventurine.

You weren’t just a rising star in the theater world; your ability to dissect human behavior and unravel complex situations had earned you comparisons to seasoned detectives. Aventurine wasn’t drawn by your fame—he was intrigued by your mind. A meeting between the two of you was inevitable.

The setting was an exclusive gala hosted by the IPC. You were invited to entertain the guests, performing an intricate one-act play. Aventurine, lounging by the roulette table, observed you with mild curiosity as you captivated the audience with a performance that seemed almost too real.

After the applause subsided, Aventurine approached you with his trademark grin.

"Bravo! That was a performance worth betting on. But tell me, little star, how much of that was acting, and how much was you?"

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. "Both," you replied with a small smile. "Acting is just another way of understanding people, isn’t it? And you—" Your gaze narrowed. "—you’re a gambler, but you’re not here to win money. You’re here because the stakes are higher than anyone realizes."

Aventurine chuckled, the sound as smooth as a well-played bluff. "Impressive. Few can read me like an open book. What gave it away?"

"The way you observe people," you replied. "You’re not watching for their weaknesses. You’re watching to see if they’ll play the way you want them to."

For the first time in years, Aventurine felt genuinely caught off-guard. He saw potential in you—a spark that reminded him of his own strategic brilliance. What began as a chance encounter turned into a mentorship of sorts, with Aventurine teaching you the art of calculated risk, while you offered him insights into human nature he hadn’t considered before.

A dimly lit alley on a forgotten world was no place for a theater prodigy, but you weren’t here for a performance. You were here to solve a mystery—the disappearance of several citizens. What you didn’t expect was to cross paths with Blade, the Stellaron Hunter.

You had been tracking clues all day, your sharp mind piecing together fragments of the puzzle. When you finally encountered Blade, standing amidst the ruins of an old theater, your first instinct wasn’t fear but curiosity.

"You’re not the one taking them." you said, your voice calm despite Blade’s menacing aura.

Blade turned, his eyes narrowing. "And you’re not afraid of me. Why?"

You stepped closer, your gaze unwavering. "Because you’re not here to harm me. You’re here because you’re looking for someone."

Blade remained silent, intrigued by your audacity. You continued, "You carry guilt. It’s written all over you—in the way you stand, the way you avoid looking at me directly. You think saving these people will make up for something, don’t you?"

Blade’s fist tightened. "You talk too much."

"And you don’t talk enough," you countered. "But that’s okay. I don’t need words to understand you."

Despite himself, Blade found a reluctant respect for your insight. As you worked together to uncover the true culprit behind the disappearances, Blade began to see you as more than just a curious child—you were a mirror, reflecting parts of himself he thought he’d buried long ago.

The grand chambers of the Xianzhou Luofu were no stranger to visitors, but a teen with the reputation of a genius actor/actress was a rare sight. Jing Yuan had invited you personally after hearing of your knack for solving mysteries.

He reclined in his seat, eyes half-lidded as you entered. "Ah, the prodigy arrives. Tell me, do you only act on stage, or is this entire visit a performance?"

You smirked. "That depends. Are you genuinely curious, or are you testing me?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, impressed by your sharpness. "I see the rumors didn’t exaggerate. Let’s skip the pleasantries. I have a problem—someone within the Cloud Knights has been leaking information. I’d like you to uncover who."

You accepted the challenge, diving into the task with meticulous care. As you interviewed suspects and analyzed behavior, Jing Yuan observed you closely, marveling at your ability to draw conclusions from the smallest details.

In the end, you revealed the culprit with a flourish, your explanation as captivating as any play. Jing Yuan smiled, a rare expression of genuine admiration. "You’ve done well. Perhaps the next time we meet, I’ll challenge you to a game of chess."

"I’ll win." you replied confidently, earning another chuckle from the general.

The Charmony Festival was in full swing, a celebration of art and music orchestrated by Sunday himself. Among the performers was you, a teen actor/actress whose fame had reached even the distant skies of Penacony.

Sunday approached you after your performance, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Your talent is remarkable," he said. "But I sense there’s more to you than what you show on stage."

You regarded him carefully, noticing the subtle tension behind his serene demeanor. "And you’re not just a festival organizer. You’re hiding something, aren’t you?"

Sunday’s smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. "Perceptive. I see why they call you a genius."

As the festival continued, you found yourself drawn into Sunday’s world, uncovering the truth behind the Sweetdream Paradise. Your sharp mind clashed with Sunday’s idealism, leading to long debates about humanity’s capacity for growth and the morality of.

Despite your differences, Sunday grew to respect your unwavering determination and intellect. In you, he saw a kindred spirit—someone unafraid to challenge the status quo, even if it meant standing against him.

[reiding-writing]

Can i get a workshop session? How about spencer with a reader who's actually smarter than him? Maybe she's younger too, thanksss

GENIUS² — SPENCER REID!

working alongside another genius was a blessing, in more ways than one.

early!seasons!spencer x reader | fluff | 1.3k | event masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— the genius x genius trope is great i love it

Spencer Reid prided himself on being one of the smartest people in the room.

At 24 years old, he was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs under his belt, and an eidetic memory that made him practically a walking encyclopaedia.

His mind moved faster than 99.7% of the world’s population, processing information, analysing patterns, and solving puzzles with ease.

But none of that prepared him for you.

You were younger than him by two years, and while you didn’t have a wall lined with degrees like Spencer, your intelligence was undeniable.

A bachelor’s degree in Theoretical Physics had been enough to earn you a spot in the BAU, something that had surprised even you.

Hotch had seen something in you—your ability to not only understand the unsub’s behavior but to intuitively connect pieces of information in ways most people couldn’t. It was something the team found invaluable.

And it didn’t take long for Spencer to notice.

Where Spencer excelled in academic brilliance, you had a talent for thinking outside the box. You connected dots faster than most people even realized there were dots to connect.

Spencer was used to being the one with all the answers, the one who could solve problems others struggled with, but you? You were different. You weren’t afraid to speak up, even if it meant contradicting his carefully constructed theories. You didn’t care about bruising egos, least of all his, and it fascinated him.

The first time Spencer realised you were special was during a particularly tough case.

The team had been chasing down a serial killer for weeks—a cryptic unsub who left strange, undecipherable messages at each crime scene.

Spencer had spent hours poring over the notes, scrawling down numbers, symbols, and trying to make sense of the pattern, but nothing clicked. His frustration was palpable; his fingers were tapping restlessly on the desk, and his usually sharp mind felt like it was hitting a wall.

An iron wall, covered in spikes and barbed wire.

Then you had walked in. Quietly, unassuming, you hovered over his shoulder for a moment before making a suggestion that cut through his fog of confusion.

“You might be thinking about this too literally,” You said casually, your voice breaking through the silence.

Spencer looked up, frowning slightly, both intrigued and a bit defensive. “What do you mean?”

You slid into the chair next to him, your eyes scanning the pages spread out across his desk. “You’re trying to solve this like a mathematical puzzle, but uh— the letters in the corners of his notes are literally just spelling out ‘library’, so I went to the nearest library and spoke to the librarian on staff, she gave me this,”

You pull out a scrap piece of paper from your pocket and hold it out towards him, a handwritten poem.

Spencer blinked, the pieces clicking together in his mind with almost audible force as he took the poem from you.

You’d identified the connection instantly, something Spencer would have done himself had his mind not been knotted up in frustration. But instead of feeling defeated, he was astonished.

“How did you-?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You shrugged, as if it were obviousLooking at the bigger picture can be really useful sometimes,”

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you calmly began jotting down more notes, your mind racing ahead as if you’d never even paused for breath. He realised, in that moment, that you weren’t just another member of the team. You were his equal—possibly even more than that.

From then on, Spencer found himself constantly intrigued by you. The two of you often ended up working side by side, bouncing ideas off each other in a way that was both exciting and intimidating for Spencer.

You were quick, your mind moving in a different way than his, and he found himself almost eager to keep up with your train of thought. You saw things he didn’t, caught details he might have missed, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. No one had ever made him feel… not inferior, but challenged in such a unique way.

The conversations between you were often odd. Both of you were too intelligent for typical small talk, so you found yourselves discussing obscure facts or debating over scientific theories in the most random of moments.

Spencer would mention something about a 14th-century mathematician, and you would immediately counter with a parallel discovery made in physics centuries later. Neither of you really knew how to navigate personal conversations, so you stuck to what you both understood—facts, theories, and knowledge.

One evening, after a particularly long day spent on another complex case, the bullpen was empty except for the two of you. The team had gone home, but you stayed behind, just like Spencer always did, combing through the evidence again, searching for a missing piece.

You were seated across from him, your brow furrowed in concentration, scribbling notes onto a pad of paper.

Every few minutes, Spencer found himself glancing at you. It wasn’t something he could control—his curiosity about the way your mind worked was something that pulled him in, a constant mystery to unravel.

You were focused, absorbed in your task, and Spencer couldn’t help but admire how quickly you picked up on things. Sometimes, you were faster than him, and that realization both thrilled and unnerved him.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your voice breaking the silence without even looking up.

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard, and you did it effortlessly. “I—I wasn’t staring. I was just… thinking.”

You finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “What were you thinking about?”

He swallowed, his brain scrambling for an answer that didn’t sound ridiculous. “You’re really good at this,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “You are too.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Compliments weren’t his strong suit, and he wasn’t used to receiving them either. “I mean, you’re younger than me, but you’re just as—no, sometimes more—effective than I am. It’s… impressive.”

For the first time since he’d met you, you looked almost shy. “I’ve always looked up to you, you know,” You admitted quietly. “When I first started here, I thought you were kind of untouchable. Like, how could anyone keep up with a guy who knows literally everything?”

Spencer stared at you, speechless. The idea that you—someone he viewed as his intellectual equal, if not superior—had once looked up to him was almost unbelievable. It made him see you in a different light.

“Well,” he said, after a long pause, “I guess we keep each other on our toes.”

You smiled at that, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. It was a strange dynamic—two people too intelligent for normal conversations, yet too awkward to fully acknowledge the unique bond that had formed between you.

But it worked. You pushed each other, kept each other sharp. Whenever Spencer stumbled over an obscure reference, you were there to catch it. When you went too far into the realm of abstract thinking, Spencer reeled you back in with hard logic.

You were a perfect balance—an unstoppable team, even if neither of you would say it outright. And in a world where people rarely understood either of you, you had found something important in each other, an unlikely equal.

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Reasons why Sylus and MC’s Love is Strong and Enduring

The Front Side

Their relationship may have started in a wrong foot but they gradually (specially MC) come to terms that Sylus will constantly be at her side.

In “No Way Out” and “Radiant Brilliance” Sylus, the ever elusive and strong leader of Onichynus has no problem is showing weakness with MC. This is huge considering Sylus reputation. Being vulnerable and open is not something easy for a man like Sylus, but he let MC see every side of him.

Sylus is the first LaDS men to ever directly tell MC that he loves her and proves it to her in every way possible. (Source: Razor Grip)

Sylus is a man of confidence and conviction. MC is not very fond of him at the beginning (Nor he is fond of her) but I don’t feel that they genuinely hate each other. More like irritated and frustrated. But after all of the things ended in Sylus’ branch of the story, Sylus gradually but firmly makes his way to MC’s life. He always makes sure MC is alright and got everything she needs.

The memory “Wild Gaze” and “Melodic Weave” Is probably where Sylus gets the “sugar daddy” label. He really doesn’t mind spending his fortune with MC.

The Back End

They are on the opposing end of the society. Let’s not forget MC is a Hunter and Sylus is a wanted person of her organization. But romantically involved or not, MC never spilled anything about Sylus upon her return to Linkon from the N109 Zone. From this perspective, MC might be eternally grateful that she was able to return home, but this is huge for her. Considering she is all about being a hunter that not even Zayne is able to stop her from doing dangerous missions, her keeping secrets of Sylus whereabouts ans dealings is no easy feat.

Secret Dates and Escapades Shenanigans. This is one of the best tropes Sylus and MC have. The thrill of not to be caught together adds flavor to their relationship. We can see this on both “Melodic Weave” and voice call “Keep Distance”. Yes, Sylus couldn’t care less about what happened to him but MC is clearly not comfortable in the idea of them being seen together.

Given the conclusion above, they both still makes efforts to be together. And one of my favorite moments of them was during the “Riverbank Scenery” Phone Call. Sylus have to send a”suspicious” letter just to invite her out. And the fact that he called their meeting as a “rendezvous” instead of a date adds to anonymity on it and also heartbreaking. They may not directly say it,but they cannot be seen together. Which is why towards the end of the call, Sylus almost pleadingly ask her to stay with him longer.

The Consequences. By the time the we get to the “Razor Dance” memory, it’s clear that MC already has feelings for Sylus. But they are still keeping things a secret and I feel that the deeper reason for this is MC’s situation. What will happen to her once they are found out? MC might be branded as a traitor and lock her up. I know that Sylus will do anything and literally everything to save her but the real question is, will he risk it? I know for a fact that MC will not die but if the association finds out about it, she might be facing a problem same with what Ever Group is posing. MC has a very valuable asset and there is no guarantee that the Hunters Association will not take advantage of her as well.

The Conclusion

MC do not show any signs of giving up being a hunter or ever leave Linkon. She mentioned it in all the memories under the Wander in Wonder Event. She really hopes to return to Linkon and she misses her home. In the same event in the “Grassland Romance” with Sylus she asks him if he ever consider living in Linkon so they could always meet up and he readily agrees. With this we can assume the extent of Sylus love for her. He is willing to give up everything for her and be anything for her.

But although MC is not ready or willing (Depends how you take it) to give up being a hunter or leave Linkon, we cannot ignore the danger she is putting her self in every time she meets with Sylus. MC inviting him to live in her hometown can be taken as she wants him being in a more peaceful environment to keep him safe.

Their love story ma not be easy flowing but it’s not toxic. It may need a lot of effort, but it doesn’t make it less true. Loving Sylus can be a pain but it’s still rewarding.

[theonottsbxtch]

SET FIRE TO THE RAIN | LN4

an: i'd like to preface this by saying this is purely fictional and i don't believe lando would behave like this, i've been in many situations like this or where i've watched goregous girls be brought down, if you ever find yourself in a situation like this, talk to someone and if you're too scared to do that. my inbox, my messages are open to talk, i know how difficult it is and i'll always be there for you, every step of the way. love you all <3

summary: based off of this request , the story of a girl who manages to set fire to the rain by finally cutting off a pattern.

wc: 2.6k

warnings: toxic relationship

She had sworn off men.

The last one had hollowed her out in ways she hadn’t thought possible. They’d met at university, and from the start, there was an intensity that made her feel alive, as if the world had cracked open just for them. He was charming, magnetic—a rare kind of brilliance that pulled people in without effort. But beneath the surface, there had been something darker. She’d noticed it in small moments at first, like the way he’d make her doubt her own memories or twist her words into knots she couldn’t untangle.

With him, everything good came with a price. A beautiful night could end with his cutting silence, or an ordinary conversation could spiral into accusations and resentment. He knew exactly how to keep her on edge, to keep her second-guessing herself, until she wasn’t sure where her own thoughts ended and his began.

By the time she realised how deeply he’d tangled her sense of self, it felt too late. She was trapped in a constant push and pull, desperate to hold onto the parts of him that had once felt like home, even as they chipped away at her sanity. She left university more bruised and broken than she’d ever been, feeling like a stranger to herself.

For months after, she found herself replaying conversations, picking apart moments, wondering if somehow she had been the problem. She promised herself she’d never let anyone pull her back into that place—she was done with love, or whatever twisted version of it she’d believed in.

But then she met Lando.

And he was different, at the start at least. There were no telltale signs, or maybe there were and she'd missed them all. But with Lando, she felt like a whole new woman.

Meeting him felt like something out of a story she’d stopped believing in. He was bright, alive, a force of nature. She’d been swept up almost instantly, drawn not just to his charm but to the way he seemed to move through the world. Lando was a Formula One driver—a rising star with an infectious grin and the kind of life that felt thrillingly out of reach. He wore his confidence like a second skin, turning heads everywhere he went, and somehow, for reasons she still didn’t fully understand, he’d turned his gaze toward her.

Their first days together were a whirlwind. He flew her out to races, their weekends a blur of city lights, roaring engines, and late-night conversations where he shared his dreams with a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. She felt as if she was breathing for the first time in years. Lando seemed genuinely interested in her—not just in her beauty or her laughter, but in the way she thought, the things that kept her up at night. He listened in a way her ex never had, his attention a gentle but steady presence that quieted the shadows of her past.

With Lando, she was lighter, bolder. She found herself laughing more, breaking free from the cautious habits she'd formed to protect herself. Even the constant travel, the media attention, the risks that came with his career—none of it scared her. If anything, she was excited by it, captivated by his life at full throttle. She told herself that this was what real love must feel like: exhilarating and limitless.

And yet, as the months slipped by, small things began to nag at her—a flicker of irritation in his eyes when she questioned him, a quiet possessiveness in the way he’d tug her closer when others looked her way. They were tiny cracks, the kind of things she could overlook. But her instincts, dulled as they were by the thrill of his attention, began to stir, whispering that all wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.

She brushed off those whispers. She had promised herself she wouldn’t let fear drive her life, wouldn’t let a good thing slip away just because of shadows in her past. Lando was different, after all. He had shown her sides of herself she thought she’d lost forever.

But sometimes, late at night, she couldn’t ignore the familiar tightening in her chest, a flicker of unease she couldn’t explain. It was nothing—just a bad memory she needed to bury, she told herself.

She was safe, she was happy.

And that was all that mattered.

Until it didn’t.

It started in the small, invisible ways. A slight edge to his voice when she couldn’t make it to a race. The way his grip on her hand tightened a fraction too much when she was talking to someone else, even just a friend. She told herself these things were normal, the quirks of a man under constant pressure. Lando’s world was built on speed, danger, and fierce competition. It made sense that he’d be intense, that he might sometimes hold her a little too tightly.

Then came the nights when he’d disappear after races, unreachable, only to return hours later with excuses she could barely piece together. She’d lie in bed, watching the clock, her mind twisting in circles she’d thought she’d left behind. When he finally came back, he’d laugh off her questions, brushing them aside with an easy charm that was starting to feel a bit too practised.

“You worry too much, baby,” he’d say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a smile that was all show and no substance.

She wanted to believe him. She’d fought so hard to let her guard down, to believe that love didn’t have to mean hurt. And for a while, she’d manage to push the doubt aside. After all, wasn’t it better to be with him, flaws and all, than to be haunted by ghosts she couldn’t let go of?

But the cracks widened. One evening, after a long dinner with friends, he pulled her aside, his voice low and edged with irritation. “I don’t like how you were looking at Oscar tonight,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing.

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oscar? He’s your teammate, Lando. We were just talking about your race.”

“I don’t care what you were talking about. You don’t need to give him that much attention.” The words were soft, but there was an edge beneath them that sent a chill through her.

It was like something inside her split open, letting old fears seep through the walls she’d so carefully built. She tried to laugh it off, to remind herself that Lando was nothing like the man from her past, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping, that she was losing her footing on familiar, dangerous ground.

The excuses she made for him started to feel heavier, harder to carry. She was left questioning herself, wondering if maybe she was the problem, if somehow, her history had left her too damaged to hold onto happiness.

But deep down, beneath the doubt and the fear, she knew something was wrong. It wasn’t just her past haunting her this time; it was Lando. The way he seemed to light up her world only to cast shadows over it moments later. The way he made her feel seen and invisible all at once. She could feel herself changing again, growing cautious, careful.

And with each passing day, the Lando she’d once trusted felt more and more like a stranger.

But leaving? That felt impossible.

After all, who else would love her like he did?

No one would.

At least, that’s what her ex had said. It was what Lando insinuated, so it had to be true.

The words echoed in her mind on the quietest nights, when she lay beside him, his arm heavy over her waist, pinning her down in more ways than one. She’d stare at the ceiling, tracing the same lines over and over, feeling trapped in a strange in-between—a place where she was too afraid to stay but too afraid to leave.

When she’d first heard those words from her ex, they’d cut deep, etching a truth she carried like a scar: No one else will love you. No one will understand you the way I do. She’d almost forgotten how it felt to hear them again, subtle and soft, woven into Lando’s comments, his sideways glances, the way he’d sometimes pull her close and murmur, “You’re lucky I put up with you, you know.”

And, to her shame, she’d nod, a small part of her believing it. Maybe she was lucky, she thought, to be wanted by someone as thrilling as him. Who else would have taken her on whirlwind weekends, whisked her away to foreign cities, painted her life in colours she’d only dreamed of? Who else could make her feel this alive and desired? Surely, she should be grateful.

So she stayed, clinging to that fragile, half-real world they’d built together. She ignored the voices of her friends, who’d started to ask if she was okay, if she was happy. She brushed off their concerns with a laugh, told them Lando was just “passionate,” that he had a fire in him, that life with him was thrilling, intense. But the truth was that he didn’t bring just fire; he brought a burn that left her raw, exhausted, a shadow of the woman she’d thought she’d become.

The turning point came one rainy night, it hardly rained in Monaco, after an argument that had started small but escalated, Lando’s anger flaring as she’d barely managed to keep herself from shrinking under his words. He’d stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving her alone in the dim light, the sound of rain pattering against the window like a quiet reminder of everything she was losing.

As she sat there, a familiar sense of dread settled in her chest, mingling with the weight of words she’d heard too many times before. You’re lucky I’m here. No one else would deal with you. No one else would want you.

But this time, she felt something else—a flicker of defiance, an anger that had long been smothered by fear and doubt. She realised, with a clarity that shook her, that these words weren’t truths but weapons. Weapons used to keep her in place, to make her question herself until she couldn’t see straight.

Maybe she was more than what he saw in her. Maybe she was more than the broken woman her ex had left behind.

The rain outside was pouring harder now, pounding against the window, drowning out everything but her own heartbeat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the weight lift, even if only slightly. She didn’t know if she had the strength to leave, but she knew she couldn’t stay—not like this.

Being with Lando felt like trying to set fire to rain.

Every time she reached for warmth, for comfort, her hands came away empty. Every promise he made seemed to evaporate just as quickly, leaving her cold and reaching for something that was never really there. Loving him was an exercise in futility, like trying to hold a flame in a storm, only to be drenched by the downpour of his moods, his shifting affections, his quiet, calculated disapproval.

He came home that night, soaked from the rain, his eyes darker than usual, his expression unreadable. She could smell the sharp tang of whiskey on him, the subtle tremor in his hands as he reached for her. She took a step back, though, bracing herself.

“Where were you?” she asked softly, not even expecting a real answer. She’d stopped expecting those a while ago.

He shrugged, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Out,” he said, as if that was explanation enough. He glanced at her, his eyes sweeping over her with a mix of amusement and something colder, something she couldn’t place. “Why? Did you miss me?”

There was a time when she’d have laughed, played along, swallowed her doubts and insecurities just to keep things smooth between them. But that time was gone. Now, she felt nothing but a quiet emptiness where her laughter used to be.

“Maybe I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But not anymore.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, maybe, or the sting of wounded pride. He scoffed, leaning back, crossing his arms as he studied her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She swallowed, steadying herself. “It means I don’t want to be kept in the dark anymore. It means I’m done waiting for you to be someone you’ll never be. You talk about how lucky I am, Lando, but the truth is, I think I deserve better than… than this.” Her voice cracked, and she felt her face flush with both fear and defiance.

He laughed, a low, mocking sound that sent a chill through her. “You think you can do better than me?”

She met his gaze, her hands trembling as she fought to keep her voice steady. “Yes. I think I can.”

It was a small, simple statement, but as the words left her mouth, she felt something shift inside her, like a flame catching despite the rain. She knew he’d try to reel her back in, try to make her doubt herself, to make her think she’d never be enough for anyone else.

But she’d felt enough of the fire and the rain, the illusion of warmth that left her soaked and freezing. She was done waiting for him to change, done trying to be enough for someone who would never be satisfied.

He watched her for a long, silent moment, his face unreadable. Then, with a harsh, humourless laugh, he turned and walked away into his gaming room, leaving her standing alone in the dim light, the rain pounding against the windows like a heartbeat.

And as she stood there, she realised she’d already begun to let go. For the first time, she wasn’t afraid of the emptiness, the quiet. She was ready to face it, to feel the cold and the rain, knowing that someday she’d find her own warmth again.

This time, she wouldn’t look back.

She packed her bags, and unlike with her ex, she didn’t cry. She didn’t find an excuse to stay.

With each item she folded and placed into her suitcase, a sense of liberation washed over her. Clothes, books, the little mementos she’d collected during their whirlwind romance—all of it felt heavy, like anchors that had dragged her down into a darkness she no longer wished to inhabit. This time, she didn’t hesitate to let go.

The silence in the apartment felt almost deafening, but it was a comforting kind of silence, the kind that echoed with possibilities rather than the suffocating weight of past memories. She moved methodically, her hands steady and sure, and each zip of the suitcase felt like another step toward reclaiming herself.

When she finished, she stood in the middle of the living room, looking around at the remnants of their life together. It felt surreal, like a movie set she’d walked onto without ever really belonging. There were the photos of them at races, beaming smiles and happy moments frozen in time, and the framed poster of him in his racing gear, his helmet in hand, looking ready to conquer the world. But now, instead of warmth, those images filled her with a sense of finality. They were remnants of a story that had come to an end.

Her heart raced as she glanced toward the room he was in, half-expecting Lando to return and confront her, to wrap her in his familiar embrace and whisper sweet words that would lure her back into his web. But she shook the thought away. She wouldn’t fall for that crap again. This was her moment, the beginning of something new, and she refused to let fear creep back in.

Because she loved herself.

And in order to love herself, she had to choose herself.

So she did.

the end.

[itaipava]

— different ways to say 'i love you' with f1 boys.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

the “i love you” that rolls off the tongue so naturally.

the daily i love you between two people who have been together for so long. the kind of i love you said in the morning while rushing around the house, stopping just a brief moment as you pass by each other in the living room, followed by a loving peck on the lips; that sweet little moment before the morning continues.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

the loud “i love you.”

because he wants to let others know just how in love he is with you, let the whole world know, let the trees and the sky know. the kind of i love you, yelled with a gleeful grin on his face as he pokes his head out of the window, the wind rustling his hair, his hand waving at you while the car drives off. perhaps your whole neighborhood heard him but you’re too occupied with smiling and waving back at your idiot to care.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

the wordless “i love you” shown through actions.

his love is felt in that meal he prepared for you on a date night because he found out it’s your favorite recipe and he’s been secretly learning to cook it for the past week. it’s felt in the little things he does for you like when he helps you with your chores without you having to ask. his i love you is not something you hear often but you feel the depths of his love in silence.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

the “i love you” said with subtle touches.

there’s something about the way his fingers roam your body in the morning, even before you wake up. in the way his pinky looks for yours when you walk side by side, and also the way his fingers gently trace every detail of your face when you look at each other; as if he wanted to explore with his fingers every universe in you.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

the “i love you” demonstrated by subtle gestures.

the loving way he brushes your hair out of your face as you speak so he can see you better; the way he gives you his jacket so you can cover your lap when sitting when you’re wearing a skirt/dress; the way he tucks the blankets around you in the middle of the night so you don’t get cold, it’s the warm, comforting hug followed by a beautiful and bright smile he gives you every time he gets home; it’s little things, but that’s how you know how much he loves and cares about you.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

the “i love you” is said through gently messages.

it’s through little things like “let me know when you get home”, “did you sleep well?” “i’ll always be here” “did you eat today?” “how can i help you?” “want something from starbucks?” that’s where he demonstrates his love for you; it is through gentle and subtle messages and words that make your heart race and you fall a little more in love with him.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

the “i love you” said through the look.

the purity and genuineness of his love is visible through the sparkle in his eyes every time he sees you; enchanted by every little detail of yours that he loves so much. for him, you are the most beautiful work of art that exists and that no artist will be able to capture your brilliance and your beauty. and he is so lucky to call this work of art his.

[angelremnants]

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART THREE.⠀FADING IN THE HEAT OF YOU

summary : After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through. Inspired by Heat Waves by Glass Animals.

pairing : James ''Bucky'' Barnes x f!reader

warnings : Mature (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), trauma recovery, emotional tension, mild angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions, pwp (porn with plot—lot of it actually), oral sex (female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), praise/degradation kink, creampie, mutual orgasms, soft dom!bucky/sub!reader, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 21.4k

author's notes : Here we are at the final part of this piece! Despite the horrendous headache I earned from spending way too much time staring at my laptop, it truly has been a blast writing this. For my fellow horny adult readers, here's a little treat to end this chaotic year on a good note—of course, it is mandatory to read the first two parts to understand the context of the following chapter.

Minors, it's not for nothing that I ended the last part on their kiss; please do not engage with this post and be mindful of what you choose to consume on the internet.

Once again, wishing you all a Happy New Year and nothing but amazing things for 2025! With this, I’m officially signing off from writing for the year. It's been an amazing first month here; thank you for all of the constant love and support, dear readers, and I hope to see you soon—next year, probably. :p

(ao3 version)

The days in Wakanda passed in a tranquil rhythm, starkly contrasting to the chaos that had defined much of Bucky Barnes’ life—the relentless missions, the disorienting bursts of violence, and the weight of a mind that was never fully his own. The serenity was almost disarming here, a world away from the harsh clang of metal restraints or the suffocating darkness of Hydra’s labs. The Vibranium-powered chamber, nestled within the heart of Shuri’s state-of-the-art lab, became a sanctuary of sorts. The air was tinged with a faint metallic scent, mixed with the earthy undertones of the herbs Shuri kept in small jars nearby. A soft, rhythmic hum filled the space, blending seamlessly with the occasional chirp of holographic interfaces. The walls shimmered with subtle hues of blue and gold, their glow casting intricate shadows on the sleek, obsidian floors. Touching the chamber’s surface revealed a surprising warmth, a testament to the dynamic energy harnessed for healing. It was a marvel of Wakandan brilliance—walls glowing faintly with soft hues of blue and gold as the nanotechnology worked tirelessly to stabilize Bucky’s brain activity. The hum of advanced machinery was oddly soothing, a constant reminder of the healing taking place within.

You accompanied him daily, sitting quietly on a sleek chair Shuri had graciously provided. She often teased you about your devotion and, more recently, had been ecstatic upon finally hearing what had transpired between you and Bucky. Her teasing was relentless, but there was an unmistakable warmth behind her words, a genuine happiness for the bond you were building. The moments in the chamber were both heavy and hopeful. The technology was doing its job, methodically erasing the remnants of Hydra’s mental conditioning. Still, progress was not without its challenges.

Bucky sat in the center of the chamber, his expression neutral but his fingers twitching ever so slightly. The faint glow of Vibranium circuits danced along his temples, tracing patterns that seemed almost alive. Despite his stoic demeanor, you could see the strain etched in his features—his jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. His fingers twitched restlessly against his thighs, and every so often, his brows would knit together in a fleeting moment of anguish that he couldn’t entirely suppress—signs of an internal battle raging just beneath the surface.

“You okay in there?” you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the quiet hum of the room. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you studied him.

His eyes flickered open, the piercing blue momentarily dulled by exhaustion. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice low and rough. “Just... takes some getting used to.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. It earned you the faintest curve of his lips—a victory in itself.

As the treatments progressed, Hydra’s influence faded bit by bit, but the process was not without its setbacks. There were days when fragments of his past would resurface—flashes of missions, orders barked in harsh tones, and the cold detachment of the Winter Soldier. On those days, he was quieter, his silence heavy with unspoken pain. You knew better than to push him, but you also refused to let him face it alone.

When the sessions ended, you would walk together back to your room. The atmosphere during these walks often shifted—sometimes quiet and contemplative, with the two of you lost in your thoughts, and other times filled with light conversation, your voices carrying softly in the cool Wakandan air. On rare occasions, you’d catch him smirking at one of your quips, a fleeting glimpse of the man he was becoming, unburdened by the past. It had become a shared space over time, a place where he felt safe enough to let his guard down. The bed was a modest size, but neither of you minded the closeness. On good nights, you’d lie tangled together, his arm draped over your waist as your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. Small kisses were exchanged—gentle and unhurried, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

One night, as the glow of the moon filtered through the sheer curtains, you turned to face him. His eyes were closed, but you could tell he was awake. “Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur.

He cracked one eye open, a hint of amusement flickering in his gaze. “They’re not worth that much.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “I’ll even throw in a nickel.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and for a moment, the tension that so often clung to him seemed to dissipate. He cracked an eye open, giving you a small, playful smirk. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “You can’t keep secrets from me. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I think I can,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “It’s one of those ‘too dangerous to know’ things.”

You snorted. “Dangerous? You’re telling me you—the super soldier who fought Nazis and got cryogenically frozen—have a secret too dangerous for me?”

He gave you a wink, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Alright, maybe it’s not dangerous. Just… weird.”

“Now I’m curious,” you said, leaning in. “Tell me, or I’ll take the nearest pillow and suffocate you with it.”

He sighed dramatically, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Fine. I was just thinking how weird it is to be here with you. To feel... I don’t know, normal for once. Not like the guy who’s been stuck in the past, just... me.” He shifted a little, his gaze growing soft. “Feels nice. Kinda like it that I can be more than just a weapon.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. “Bucky, you’ve always been more. You were never just that guy. You’re this guy,” you said, tapping his chest lightly with your finger. “The one I’m hanging out with right now. The one with way too many cute smiles and a bit of a dorky side.”

“Dorky?” He raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I’m a highly trained, super soldier with zero dorkiness. I’m all edge.”

You snorted, reaching out to poke his side. “Uh-huh. Totally no dorkiness. Zero. Zip. Nada.” You grinned as he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Seriously though,” you said softly, “You’ve always been more than that. And you deserve everything. Even if it’s just hanging out with me, doing absolutely nothing but being adorable.”

His face softened, and he looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “How do you do that? Make me feel like I actually deserve this?”

You leaned in close, your noses almost brushing as you whispered, “Because you do, Bucky. You really do.”

Before either of you could say anything more, you couldn’t resist. You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing his in a soft, teasing kiss. It started gentle, just the lightest touch, both of you savoring the moment like you were testing the waters, but his lips were warm and inviting, making it impossible to pull away. The kiss deepened slightly, and you felt the heat grow between you, soft and steady, as you moved closer to each other.

His hand gently cradled the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. You melted into his touch, your own hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. You both pulled each other closer, a quiet giggle escaping from you as his lips were soft and gentle but full of a quiet hunger. His kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor every second, and you did the same, taking your time as you enjoyed the sweet closeness.

When you finally pulled away, your lips tingling from the kiss, you both exhaled in unison, breathless. Your foreheads touched, and you closed your eyes for a moment, just basking in the quiet intimacy.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire but still that familiar playfulness in it, “you’re making this very hard to resist.”

You smiled, still a little dizzy from the kiss, and giggled softly. “I’m not trying to make it hard, but I’m not complaining if you’re enjoying it.”

He chuckled softly, eyes darkening with something more. “You’re trouble.”

“Good trouble, I hope,” you whispered, your voice low and playful, your lips brushing over his again in another gentle kiss.

His grip on you tightened, the playful softness quickly giving way to something far more desperate, more urgent. This time, there was no teasing—only the raw, unspoken need between you. His kiss grew hungrier, his lips pressing harder against yours, as though he couldn’t get enough, as though he was trying to pull you inside him. His hand slid down your back, cupping your waist and tugging you closer, the heat between you building with every movement. The tension snapped, and the kiss became frantic, your bodies instinctively responding to each other. You felt every inch of him against you, the pulse of his heartbeat matching the erratic thrum of your own.

You eagerly matched his pace, your hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer, your bodies so pressed together you felt like you might melt into one another. He groaned softly, the sound low and thick with need, and you felt a shiver of desire race through your body in response, your pulse quickening, heart pounding in your chest. His lips moved against yours in a way that made your head spin—delicious, dizzying. His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, making you arch into him, your body reacting to each touch like it was the first. The air between you was thick with heat, your breaths shallow, as if neither of you could catch your breath long enough to slow down.

His hands moved lower, his fingers gently brushing along the silky straps of your pajamas, his thumb lightly grazing over the delicate laces of the top. He tugged softly at the string, teasing it with gentle pressure, his fingers brushing your skin, sending a jolt of warmth through you. It felt like he was trying to strip away the barriers between you, his touch slow and deliberate, each movement sending a shiver of anticipation through your body.

His hands slid to your waist, tugging you even closer, and you could feel his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. The heat from his body pressed against you, making you feel like you were burning alive in the best way possible. The kiss deepened once more, more urgent now, your lips parting as you both gasped, the desperation for more building, an almost frantic need to feel every part of each other. Your tongues met in a frantic, eager dance, tasting and exploring as if the world around you had vanished. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation of his lips, his body, the way his touch made your skin tingle with every inch of contact.

The room around you seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours, the taste of him lingering on your tongue, and the undeniable pull of his body. Every shift of his hands, every soft groan, every caress made your own body ache, and you pressed even closer, feeling him everywhere. You felt him hard against you, the desire between you so palpable it was almost suffocating, but in the best way possible.

Finally, when you pulled away, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with every labored breath, you both stayed close, foreheads resting against each other, completely breathless. The world was spinning, and your hearts were thundering in your chests as you tried to find some semblance of control.

He blinked, still a little dazed. “Well, that wasn’t dangerous at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, your lips curling into a grin. “You looked pretty dangerous there for a second.”

He snorted, the warmth of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m always dangerous,” he said, but there was a playfulness in his voice now.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Dangerous, but still a dork.” You tucked yourself under his arm, letting him pull you close. “I’m not complaining though. You’re my dangerous, dorky soldier.”

“You’re lucky I like you enough to endure being called a dork,” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m the lucky one?” you teased, poking his chest. “I think you’re the one who’s lucky, getting to be my dork.”

And with that, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as you snuggled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you like a protective cocoon. His embrace was grounding and comforting, the kind of closeness that made everything else in the world feel insignificant. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, each thud a soft, reassuring reminder that he was here, with you, in this moment. It was the perfect lullaby—a steady, familiar sound that eased the lingering tension in your muscles and settled the storm in your mind.

As you lay there, tangled together, the quiet of the room seemed to stretch around you, the outside world no longer exists. The soft rustle of the sheets, the faint hum of the air around you—it was all drowned out by the feeling of his arms around you, his warmth sinking into your skin. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the motion soothing and rhythmic, syncing with your own as you relax deeper into him.

Moments like these, simple and unassuming, felt like everything. The rush of emotions, the heated exchanges, the tender kisses—all of that had led here, to this fragile, perfect stillness. Nothing had to be said; there was no need for words when everything you needed was already here, in the quiet intimacy between you. You could feel the gentle weight of his body against yours, the way he was holding you as if he never wanted to let go, and it made your heart swell with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the room.

In that space, time didn’t matter. The worries, the fears, and the complications of life all faded into the background, swept away by the gentle closeness of your bodies and the connection you shared. The comfort of his presence made you feel safe, like you could face anything as long as you had him by your side. The world could be falling apart outside, and it wouldn’t matter, because, in this moment, everything was just right.

As you nestled deeper into him, you could feel his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your back, the tenderness of the gesture sending a ripple of warmth through you. You smiled softly, not needing to say a word, just enjoying the simplicity of being here with him, knowing that no matter what the future held, this—this moment—was enough. The peace you felt in his arms was more than just physical; it was emotional, something deeper that neither of you had to speak aloud to understand.

For now, you don’t need anything more. Just this—just him—was everything.

⠀

The sun had set, casting the room in a soft, dim light. The gentle hum of the Vibranium chamber’s machinery was the only sound, a comforting presence that usually helped Bucky unwind. But tonight, the air felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. Bucky had been quieter than usual—more withdrawn. Your room felt colder somehow, despite the warmth of the lights. 

Finally, you found him sitting in front of his mirror, his eyes locked onto the new arm Shuri had designed for him. It was sleek and polished, almost flawless—a work of engineering genius. But as you watched him, you could see something deeper in his gaze, something unsettling. There was no joy in his eyes, no relief, just an unmistakable unease that twisted his features. The arm—meant to be a symbol of progress, a new beginning—felt like a foreign object in his hands. It wasn’t part of him yet.

His fingers traced the cool surface of the metal, like he was trying to understand it, maybe even willing it to feel like it belonged. But his expression was far from peaceful. His lips were drawn tight, his jaw set, like he was fighting something deep within himself. His old arm—the one that had been corrupted by Hydra, the one that had caused him so much pain—sat beside him on the table, abandoned and broken. It was rusty, its edges chipped and scarred, a stark contrast to the sleek, polished new design beside it.

You leaned against the doorframe, your gaze lingering on him, but you didn’t rush in. His assigned room always felt so foreign to you; like a place too hallowed for you to penetrate in it. You knew Bucky had his moments of solitude, and though it was often hard to watch him retreat, you had learned to give him space when he needed it. But this time was different.

Normally, when he retreated into himself like this, you’d hear from him in a few hours—just a quick text or a call, a simple ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’ll be back soon.’ It was his way of checking in, of making sure you knew he wasn’t disappearing into the darkness for good. But today… today had been different.

The entire day had passed without a single word from him. You’d checked in, and tried to give him some time to process whatever it was that had him on edge. But as the hours ticked by, that familiar knot of worry began to tighten in your chest. When he didn’t reach out by midday, you started to feel the unease settling in, creeping into the back of your mind. By the time the sun started to dip behind the horizon, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to shake it off, tried to convince yourself that he just needed more time. But now, standing in the doorway, watching him sit there as though lost in thought, you knew something had shifted inside of him. It wasn’t just the arm—it was more than that. It was like the weight of his past had caught up with him all at once, and he couldn’t escape it. He wasn’t just holding onto the broken arm. He was holding onto everything it represented: the missions, the manipulation, the memories of bloodshed and betrayal. And now that he was faced with a new, clean slate, it was too much. Too overwhelming.

You stepped into the room quietly, taking a deep breath before speaking, but your voice felt unsteady. "Bucky?"

He didn’t respond right away. His fingers continued to trace the arm absentmindedly, like he was trying to feel something—anything—that would make it real. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his head lifted slightly, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to shake off the thoughts that had been consuming him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, his voice tight, the words coming out clipped and distant.

But you knew that tone, the one that was just a little too flat, just a little too guarded. The tone he used when he was shutting everyone out. And you could feel the walls going up before your eyes, higher and faster than ever before.

"You’ve been distant all day, Buck’," you said softly, but with an edge that you couldn’t suppress. "You didn’t give me any sign of life. It’s not like you. And now this…" You gestured toward the arm, your heart heavy. "You’re not fine. You’re avoiding something, and I think you know it."

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze was still locked on the new arm, but now, it seemed like he wasn’t seeing it at all. His mind had drifted somewhere else, somewhere darker. His silence only deepened the worry that had been building in your chest all day.

“Hey…” you pressed, taking a step closer, your voice softer now. “I get it. I do. This… this isn’t just about the arm, is it?”

Finally, his eyes met yours. But instead of the usual warmth or the flicker of his familiar, sardonic smile, there was nothing. Just emptiness. He was holding onto something, and it was suffocating him.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly, a vulnerability you rarely saw in him. "I can’t just let go of it. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s… it’s all I am."

You felt your heart ache for him, but the frustration simmered just below the surface. You couldn’t let him do this again. You couldn’t let him spiral back into the darkness.

"Yes, you can," you replied firmly, your voice unwavering. “You are not just limited to big muscles and a metal arm. You are Bucky Barnes, sacred White Wolf by the royal Wakandan family. You don’t have to carry the past with you. Not anymore.”

He flinched at your words, his brow furrowing in pain, but you didn’t back down. "You’re letting your past control you. It’s all you’ve known, all you’ve remembered, but it doesn’t have to be all you are. You’ve fought so hard to get here, James. Don’t throw that away just because you’re scared of who you’ll be without it.”

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away, shut you out completely. But he didn’t. His eyes were filled with pain, his fists clenched at his sides as if holding onto something—something deep inside him—that he couldn’t let go of.

"You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice strained. "You don’t know what it’s like to be nothing without it. To be this… broken thing, struggling to hold it together. I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You took a step forward, meeting his gaze with a fire of your own. “I do understand,” you shot back, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension. “I’ve been there too, James. I’ve had to fight my own demons, too. But you don’t get to hide behind them. Not anymore.”

He was breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath, and you could see the war raging inside him. He was so damn close to breaking, so close to letting go of everything that had been keeping him from healing. But you couldn’t let him. Not now.

"You’ve been through hell," you continued, taking another step closer. "But it doesn’t have to be your excuse to keep living in it. Not when you have the chance to get out of it. And if you keep holding onto your old identity, if you keep letting it define you, then that’s all you’re ever going to be."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might lash out, the frustration and pain in his eyes threatening to spill over. But instead, he sank back into the chair, his gaze dropping to the floor. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to face it.

“Bucky…” you breathed, your voice gentler now but still firm. "I’m not asking you to forget your past, but you have to let it go. You can’t keep holding onto the weight of it. You’ve carried it for so long, but it’s destroying you."

He was quiet for a long time, his head hanging low, his hands gripping the armrest like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. You could see his struggle, could feel it radiating off of him, but you weren’t going to back down.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, but with a strength that only made him flinch harder. “I’m here. But I won’t watch you drown in this. You don’t have to do this alone. But I need you to let me help.”

You could feel the tension in the room thickening, the weight of Bucky’s silence pressing down on both of you. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes cast downward, his jaw clenched, as if he were trying to suppress the storm inside him. The words you had said earlier—words of hope, of strength—hung in the air between you both, unanswered. And despite your best intentions, you could see it in his eyes: nothing was getting through to him right now.

He was retreating inward, walling himself off from everything and everyone.

It was a painful realization. You could tell that pushing him any further at this moment would only send him deeper into that dark, quiet space. You could see the pain and frustration building in his chest, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts as if he were holding onto something. He was barely there, barely present. He was a soldier still fighting his war inside his head.

You wanted so badly to reach him. To break through, to remind him of the man he was, the man he could still be. But at that moment, you knew that forcing the conversation further wasn’t going to do either of you any good.

“James…” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, your heart breaking at the sight of him so far away. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

He didn’t respond, and you could feel the frustration bubbling under your skin, but you forced it down. Instead, you took a deep breath, your gaze softening, your mind racing. He needed space, but not isolation.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you insisted, your voice quieter, gentler now. “You need time to process this, I get that. But I’m not leaving you alone. Not this time.”

Bucky didn’t look at you, but you could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. It was the same withdrawal, the same pattern he’d fallen into so many times before. The same fear of being a burden, of pushing everyone away.

You stepped back a little, taking a breath before speaking again. “I’ll be in the hot springs if you want to talk. I’m not leaving. But I won’t force you to say anything before you’re ready.”

You made your way toward the door, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment. There was a part of you that wanted to stay, to keep pressing, to tell him how much you cared, how much you hated seeing him like this. But you also knew that pushing him now would only make things worse.

“I’ll be there when you’re ready,” you said one last time, voice steady but laden with emotion. “Just… please don’t shut me out. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. But you could feel the weight of his pain, the quiet struggle within him. It was clear he wasn’t ready to talk, but the ache of the silence between you was unbearable.

You walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind you, but you didn’t walk far. You stayed just outside, leaning against the wall. You wouldn’t give him more space than he needed, but you also wouldn’t let him slip away into the shadows again. Not tonight.

You would wait for him. And when he was ready—when he decided to talk—you would be there. Even if it took time.

⠀

Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling of unease, the gnawing discomfort in his chest that only seemed to deepen the more he thought about the new arm, about the memories that rushed in uninvited. His fingers still felt like they were brushing against the old, corrupted one, the weight of it lingering in his mind like a specter.

He needed to move. Needed to feel his muscles burn, to get lost in the motion until he didn’t feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. So, he found himself heading to the training room, the soft hum of the facility an almost soothing contrast to the turbulence in his mind.

The room was empty except for a few training dummies and equipment. Bucky didn’t bother with the warm-up. He started immediately, hitting the punching bag with a series of calculated strikes, his focus entirely on the rhythm of his fists meeting the bag. The training room was almost too quiet, save for the dull thud of Bucky’s fists slamming into the punching bag. His body was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching with the relentless repetition. He wasn’t here to perfect his technique; he was here to escape. The rhythmic pounding was all he could focus on, the only thing that helped drown out the memories clawing at the back of his mind. Each strike was like an attempt to knock them away, but no matter how hard he hit, they always came back.

His new arm—the one Shuri had designed for him—felt wrong in his grasp. It was sleek, smooth, and polished, a cutting-edge piece of technology meant to represent his chance at a fresh start. But every time his metal fingers tightened, all he felt was emptiness. The weight of it was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same weight that had always been with him. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been a part of him, a constant reminder of the life he’d led, the things he’d done, and the man he’d become because of it. This new one—this shiny, clean prosthetic—felt like an alien extension of himself, like something else he had to learn to control. And for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like something he could trust.

With every punch, the frustration built. His muscles burned and his breaths came in sharp gasps, but it wasn’t enough. He was trying to outrun the ghosts of his past, the shadows that lingered even in the light. The memories of the Winter Soldier, of the pain he had inflicted, of the people he’d hurt—they were always there, just beneath the surface. No matter how much he tried to ignore them, they were waiting for him. And tonight, they felt louder, more insistent.

The bag swayed from his last punch, and his new arm slammed into it again. But this time, something felt off. He felt a sharp pang in his shoulder, then a light grinding sound. His gaze snapped down, eyes widening when he saw the small metal shard fall to the floor. 

"Damn it," he muttered, flexing his fingers. His heart dropped into his stomach as the reality hit him. The arm wasn’t just unfamiliar. It was already falling apart.

He stepped back, pulling his arm away from the bag, and his eyes flicked to the broken pieces scattered across the floor. It felt like the final straw. The thing he’d hoped would be a symbol of his redemption, the key to moving forward, was now a reminder of how little control he had over his own life. His fists clenched, and his breath quickened as the frustration boiled over.

“Damn it,” he growled again, slamming his arm against the wall. The loud crash reverberated through the room, and a jolt of pain shot up his arm as the pieces rattled.

His mind was a blur. Why couldn’t this just be easier? Why couldn’t he just accept that he was allowed to heal? He looked down at the arm again, the new, clean metal reflecting the harsh light. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been worn and chipped, like him. It had scars, a history—his history. But this new arm was pristine, unmarked, and it felt like it didn’t belong to him at all. It was too perfect, too far removed from the chaos of his life.

I’m not that man anymore, he thought bitterly. I can’t be.

But then, a deeper part of him whispered something darker. What if you still are? What if the real you is just a mask, and you can’t outrun what you’ve done? The voice echoed in his mind like a chilling reminder. He didn’t know who he was anymore. He’d spent so much time buried in the shadows, pretending to be something he wasn’t, that he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be him.

The silence in the room stretched, and he stood there, looking at the arm like it was something he couldn’t comprehend. He tried to move it again, flexing his fingers, but the weight felt all wrong. It was like trying to wear someone else’s skin.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories that were surfacing once again—the violence, the bloodshed, the whispers of Hydra calling him “Soldier.” His fists clenched harder, and for a moment, he thought he might throw the arm across the room just to feel something again. Something that wasn’t this emptiness gnawing at him.

And then he heard a voice, calm and teasing, cutting through the fog of his thoughts.

From the doorway, a voice broke through the tension like a crack of sunlight through storm clouds. “You’ve got quite the temper, White Boy.”

Bucky’s body tensed, and he snapped his head toward the door, only to find Shuri leaning casually against the frame. Her arms were crossed, and her gaze was fixed on the broken pieces of his vibranium arm scattered across the floor.

“I could hear you all the way in my lab,” she said, her tone teasing but light. “I thought maybe you were wrestling a rhino. But no, you’re just here throwing a tantrum. Very dignified.”

“Not in the mood, Shuri,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and taut. He turned away, crouching to collect a twisted piece of vibranium.

“Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you’re in the mood for breaking things,” she quipped, ignoring his obvious dismissal as she stepped into the room. Her sharp gaze landed on him, assessing. “You’ve been stomping around like an elephant all day, and now you’re trashing my tech? I should charge you for this. Vibranium doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

Bucky huffed, irritation flashing across his features as he stood, clutching a broken panel in his hand. “It’s not just the arm,” he muttered. His voice dropped as he added, “It’s everything.”

Shuri arched an eyebrow. “Everything? You mean the global crisis, the existential dread, or the fact that you haven’t really laughed in approximately 84 years?”

He shot her a look, but she continued unfazed, stepping closer. Her teasing tone softened just slightly, enough to convey she wasn’t entirely joking. “You think destroying the arm I built for you is going to fix ‘everything’? Hate to break it to you, but vibranium isn’t a substitute for therapy.”

He bent down to pick up a piece of his shattered arm, his movements stiff and deliberate. “It’s not just the arm,” he repeated quietly, his voice strained. “It’s everything. I’m not who I used to be, but I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be either.”

Shuri tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of exasperation and something softer. “It’s just a tool, Soldier. It’s not a chain. It doesn’t define you any more than your past does.” She crouched next to him, taking the piece from his hand with practiced ease and examining it. “But you—you’re holding onto all that weight like it’s part of you. That’s the problem.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, but it is,” she replied, crouching down to examine the broken piece in her hand. “Simple doesn’t mean easy, though. Trust me, I’ve met plenty of stubborn people—T’Challa included—and you’re giving them all a run for their money.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them easing slightly as Shuri adjusted the mechanisms in the damaged arm with precise, practiced movements. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer but still unwavering. “In Wakanda, we say, ‘The river does not stop flowing because the stones are heavy.’ You’ve been carrying those stones for too long. Let them go. The river keeps moving. So should you.”

He swallowed hard, her words striking a chord somewhere deep inside him. “It’s not just me,” he said quietly, the words heavy with guilt. “I’ve hurt her, Shuri. I keep pushing her away, and I don’t even know how to stop.”

Shuri straightened, placing his arm back into its rightful place on his body. Her gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “Well, you’re not pushing her away because you want to. You’re doing it because you’re scared. Scared of letting her see the parts of yourself you still haven’t forgiven. But that’s not fair to her—or you.”

He shook his head, the self-doubt tightening around him like a noose. “I’m not good enough for her. She deserves someone better. Someone whole.”

Shuri’s eyes narrowed, and she placed her hands on her hips, her posture radiating authority. “Stop it,” she said sharply. “You’re not a machine, Barnes. You’re the White Wolf. A brother.” Her voice softened as she added, “To us.”

That made him look at her, his expression caught between disbelief and gratitude. Slowly, he stood and turned toward her.

She looked at him again, an expression of affection mixed with irritation. “Now go find her before I start charging you rent for all this moping around. You’ll figure it out. Just don’t wait too long, you might lose your chance.”

Bucky stood there for a moment, torn between the self-doubt that had plagued him for years and the glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—he could get it right.

He finally exhaled, feeling a little more grounded than he had in days. “Thanks, Shuri,” he said, his voice quieter, softer than usual.

She grinned, the familiar, teasing glint returning to her eyes. “I know, I’m amazing.” She patted him on the shoulder, giving him a look that was both playful and a little bit of a challenge. “But next time, don’t break anything. That’s my job.”

He smirked back, feeling a flicker of his old self return. “I’ll try to keep my punches to the punching bag next time.”

After a brief hesitation, Bucky raised his right arm across his chest in the Wakandan salute, his other fist resting over his heart. The motion wasn’t rushed; it carried weight, respect, and a silent acknowledgment of everything Shuri and Wakanda had done for him. “Thank you... for everything.”

Shuri’s expression softened, her usual teasing replaced by a rare warmth. After a moment, she mirrored the gesture, her fists crossing her chest as she gave him a nod. “Always, White Wolf.”

As he turned to leave, Shuri called after him, her grin back in full force. “And Barnes? If I find out you two are sneaking around breaking more things, don’t come crying to me when the Dora finds out.”

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged, her tone mock-innocent. “What can I say? I’m rooting for chaos.”

She added a moment later, “Also, please burn everything you two touch when you’re done, I don’t want any germs to spread around.”

“Oh go milk a goat, princess.”

⠀

The roar of the quad echoed against the trees, the sound tearing through the stillness of the Wakandan evening. Bucky leaned into the curves of the dirt path, the wind tugging at his hair and brushing against his skin. For the first time in years, he felt… free. There was no mission, no orders, no lurking specter of his past to weigh him down. It was just him, the open trail, and the quiet promise of finding you at the end of it.

The sky above blazed in shades of gold, orange, and deep lavender, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon. The air smelled of earth and blossoms, cool and fresh as he neared the edge of the springs. He slowed the bike, eventually stopping at a rocky clearing. Cutting the engine, he swung his leg over the seat and glanced around, catching sight of faint steam rising in the distance.

The hot springs looked like they belonged in another world—hidden by tall, jagged rocks and lush greenery, with clear, crystalline water reflecting the fiery hues of the sky. Steam curled lazily above the surface, mingling with the golden light of the setting sun. The soft sound of water trickling over smooth stones mixed with the gentle rustle of leaves. It was a sanctuary, untouched and serene.

Bucky stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the gravel. That’s when he spotted you.

You were partially submerged, your back to him, the warm water lapping at your shoulders as the steam swirled around you. Your hair clung to your damp skin, the curve of your neck illuminated in the fading light. You hadn’t noticed him yet, lost in your own world. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should interrupt. But then, his boot scraped against a stone, the sound startling you.

You turned sharply, eyes wide, and let out a small yelp. “Bucky!” you exclaimed, water splashing as you shifted to face him. “You scared me, idiot!”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to. Thought you’d hear me coming.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You stomp around like a cat burglar and expect me to notice?”

Before he could respond, you scooped a handful of water and flung it at him. He flinched, the cold droplets splashing across his face and shirt. “Hey!” he protested, laughter creeping into his voice.

“Serves you right!” you shot back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He crouched at the edge of the spring, cupped his hand, and sent a wave of water your way. You shrieked, diving to avoid the worst of it but laughing as droplets hit your arms. The brief, playful battle continued until you both surrendered, your chest heaving from laughter and his smile softer now, lingering as he watched you.

Eventually, you swam to a shallow corner, leaning back against a smooth rock. You looked up at him, the teasing fading into something quieter. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming in?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then with a wry smirk, he shrugged off his jacket and boots. He stood there for a moment, eyeing the water, before pulling off the rest of his clothes, leaving only his pants. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of getting into hot springs with people, but,” he raised an eyebrow, “this seems like a good exception.”

He stepped into the warm water, the heat soothing his stiff muscles almost immediately. The spring was a natural wonder, the water bubbling gently around them, steam rising in soft curls into the evening air. It felt like a small piece of paradise, the perfect end to a long ride.

“Comfy?” you asked, your voice soft, a teasing hint in it. You leaned back, resting your arms on the stone edges, your fingers trailing lazily through the water.

Bucky sank into the water beside you, his eyes drifting over the lush, serene landscape. “More like 'just what the doctor ordered,'" he muttered, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. "Should’ve joined you sooner."

“You had to take your sweet time,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye. “What’s that old saying? Better late than never?”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “If I were you, I’d be glad I showed up at all, dove. Wouldn’t want you to get lonely, right?”

Your eyes flickered over to him with a smirk. “Oh, I can handle being alone. I’ve spent enough time by myself to know how to make the best of it.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back against the rock, allowing the water to envelop him. “And how’s that working out for you? Trying to find peace in the middle of all this chaos?”

For a while, you both didn’t speak, the silence comfortable as the golden light dimmed into twilight. It was you who broke the stillness first. “You didn’t have to come looking for me, you know. I know I proposed it to you, but you could’ve just waited for me back there.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze on the rippling water. “I know. But I needed to get out of my head. And… I wanted to be with you.”

You nodded in comprehension, regarding him while holding a certain warm glint in your eyes that was only reserved for him. Silence was king again, only battling its place with the sound of water rippling around them. The peaceful surroundings almost seemed at odds with the weight of the conversation, but Bucky could tell it wasn’t just the air that had gotten heavier.

You were quiet for a moment, glancing up at the sky as if considering his question. “It’s not easy, by the way,” you said softly as he looked at you in a questioning manner. “Finding peace in the chaos. But... it’s better than the alternative.”

“The alternative being what? Pushing everything down and pretending it’s all fine?” He asked with a raised brow, clearly skeptical.

“Isn’t that what we all do, at least a little?” You turned toward him then, your voice steady. “We all try to convince ourselves we’re okay when we’re not.”

There was a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. A recognition. “I know that feeling.” His tone was low, quieter than it had been before. The words hung in the air between you, heavier than the steam swirling around.

He looked down at the water, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure what was going on inside his head, but you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. There was a weight to the silence, something shared but unspoken.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck on a loop, you know?" Bucky's voice was low, rougher than usual. "I keep thinking I can outrun the stuff I’ve done, but it never works. It just keeps catching up with me, no matter how fast I try to go."

You let his words hang in the air, taking a moment to think. The weight of his admission wasn't lost on you, but you knew better than to rush in. After a long pause, you spoke softly, but with purpose. "You don’t have to outrun it, Bucky. You don't have to keep pretending it’s not there." You turned toward him, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that almost felt like an anchor. "The only way forward is through it. It won’t go away just because you avoid it."

Bucky exhaled slowly, as though the weight of his thoughts had finally found a crack. A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Great. So now I’m supposed to just... accept being a walking disaster, huh?"

You chuckled, though it was light. "Well, I did tell you once that you were a work in progress, right? Like my suitcase that I was unpacking," you teased, but your tone was softer now. "This is the same thing. You can’t face your fears head-on, it takes time. Doesn’t mean you’re stuck with them forever either."

Bucky let out a small snort, shaking his head. "So I’m just like your suitcase, huh? Full of emotional baggage and in desperate need of unpacking?"

He smirked, but the playful edge was gone, replaced by a quiet sincerity. "Guess that makes me a little less scary, huh? If I’m just another project in your life." He leaned back slightly, his fingers skimming the water’s surface. "But I get it. It’s not about forcing myself to be something I’m not. It’s just... finding a way to live with all of it."

Unable to resist the pull of him, the rawness of his words grounding you, you slowly moved from your place in the water, your legs brushing against his as you slid into his lap, facing him. You rested your hands gently on his shoulders, a quiet comfort you hoped he’d feel as much as hear.

"You're not a project, James," you said, your voice calm but firm, making sure he understood. "Not some thing to fix or unpack. You’re a person. You’ve always been more than whatever anyone else has tried to define you as." You held his gaze, your fingertips grazing lightly along his shoulder, warmth and reassurance radiating through your touch.

"I’ve seen you," you continued, your voice softening but not lessening in conviction. "And I’ve seen you fight. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Not just physically... but emotionally. Mentally. You’re not broken, you’re just... learning how to heal."

He looked down, a faint laugh escaping him. "Learning how to heal, huh? Sounds like you’re writing a self-help book." He glanced up at you, a smirk dancing on his lips, but it didn’t hide the flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"Maybe I should," you said with a smile, your hands still gently massaging the muscles of his shoulders. "But seriously... You’ve done things. Things you’ll never be able to undo. But that doesn’t make you less of a person."

Bucky’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as your words sank in. He let out a deep breath, his voice quieter now. "I don’t know if I’ll ever really be... free of it. Not completely. Not the way you’re free."

You hesitated, your fingers pausing mid-motion as the silence between you deepened. The weight of his admission settled around both of you. "I don't think anyone's ever truly free of their past. I’m not," you said carefully. "I still think about everything that happened to me from time to time. It’s inevitable, like Mother Nature every thirty days of the month,” you let out a small laugh at your comparison before sobering up, “But I remember that I’m in a better place, surrounded by better people; just like you are, and just like you should."

He looked up at you again, the vulnerability in his eyes making his usual guarded demeanor seem so far away. "I don’t want to hurt you," he muttered, his hands coming up to rest gently on your waist.

"You won’t," you assured him, your voice barely above a whisper. You slid your hands down his arms, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "I’m not afraid of what you’ve been. I’m... here, because of who you are now."

His hands tightened on your waist, his eyes searching yours. "And who am I now?" His question was soft, almost a plea for reassurance.

You gently smiled as you leaned in closer, your chest resting lightly against his. "You’re someone who is trying. Who wants to be better—to do better. Someone who’s been through hell and still has the strength to stand up. And most importantly, you are whoever you decide to be. That’s who you are."

Your heart thrud at the closeness, and you looked at him with affection. "Remember when you fixed my watch?" you asked quietly. "I couldn’t do it. I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t fix it. And then you showed up. And just like that, you fixed it for me. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to."

Bucky’s expression softened. He didn’t answer immediately, just watching you, as though absorbing your words.

"You didn’t need to fix the watch," you murmured, your fingers mindlessly tracing his biceps in a comforting manner. "It was perfect already, even when it was broken. I would’ve still worn it, because I love it. It’s been with me for so long." You took a slow breath, gathering your thoughts. "But you fixing it... it gave it new life. Now it’s working as it should. But either way, I would have cherished it, no matter its state." 

You looked up at him, your eyes steady and sincere. "My point is, you’ve never been broken, James. Not like you think. You’ve always been someone worth fighting for. Whether or not you’re still battling with your faults, you’re someone worth having in life. And I—" you hesitated, your voice catching slightly as your heart fluttered in your chest. You could feel the weight of the moment, the vulnerability of the words you were about to share. "We love you either way. All we want is your well-being and for you to be able to enjoy life... normally."

Bucky froze, his breath catching in his throat as your words settled around him, heavy and real. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat feeling louder, faster. It was as though the world around him had stilled, his thoughts racing even faster than his pulse. He could’ve sworn he heard you almost say something else. The almost I love you had hung in the air for just a moment, lingering in the space between you, almost like a secret you hadn't even realized you were about to share.

His gaze locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, his expression unreadable as he took a tentative step closer. The distance between you felt like a chasm, even though you were standing just feet apart. "You… you said 'we love you,'" he repeated softly, his voice almost trembling as he tasted the words, his heart soaring at the sound of them. "But—" His voice faltered for a second, the vulnerability creeping into his tone. "Did you mean it? The love part?"

You swallowed, feeling the tension in the air thicken like a tangible weight, and your heart skipped a beat. The way he was looking at you, with hope and uncertainty swirling in his dark eyes, made your chest tighten. You nodded slowly, almost as if to reassure both him and yourself, the depth of your feelings suddenly rising to the surface. "I do," you said, your voice quiet but steady, though you could feel the tremor in it. "I meant it. You’re loved, Bucky. By me. By all of us."

Bucky’s expression softened, but there was something more there now, something raw and unguarded, like a window had opened to a part of him he hadn’t let anyone see in a long time. His breath was uneven, but his eyes never left yours, as if searching for something he hadn't known was there. He took another step closer, and you could feel the heat from his body now, the closeness almost suffocating but comforting in the same breath. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice low, barely a rasp. "I need to hear you say it... for me."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his request, a nervous flutter of emotion stirring inside you. You didn’t hesitate, not this time. "We love you, Bucky," you said, your voice barely above a whisper but full of sincerity. Your lips felt dry, but you licked them briefly before continuing. The words felt real now, like a promise. "You’re so much more than you think."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he let the words wash over him. You could hear him breathe out a silent sigh, his chest rising and falling with the weight of everything you had just shared. When he opened his eyes again, they were darker, more intense. His gaze was fixed on you with such depth that it felt as though he could see straight through you. "No," he said softly, shaking his head, the words almost a plea. "Say it for yourself, for you. Say it the way you feel it—just I."

Your heart raced even faster at the way he asked, with such raw sincerity and quiet desperation that you could almost feel it in your bones. You smiled softly, your breath catching in your throat, your body suddenly alive with the emotions you’d kept hidden. You nodded, feeling the air between you shift as you finally spoke the words you’d been holding back.

"I love you, Bucky," you said again, the words feeling easier this time, flowing from you with a newfound certainty. The tension that had knotted in your chest loosened as the truth settled into the space between you both. "I love you for who you are, all of you."

Bucky’s eyes softened even more, and it was as if something inside him unraveled, like a thousand little walls he'd built up were slowly crumbling. His breath caught, and for a brief moment, he didn’t know whether to smile or to just hold you and never let go. But there was still something more he needed—still an ache that wasn’t quite satisfied.

"One more time," he urged, his voice low and tender now, a softness that you hadn’t heard before. "Say it for you, please."

Your chest tightened, your pulse quickening once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. The warmth of the moment—the sincerity of his need—was too much to hold back. You laughed softly, a sound of pure happiness, as the words came so naturally, like they had always been there, just waiting for the right time.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes," you whispered, your heart feeling full in your chest, the weight of it all pressing down gently but with great significance. "You’re worth loving, and you always have been."

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes locking with yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse race even faster. His face softened, the tension in his jaw easing as a smile tugged at his lips. "God," he whispered, his voice barely audible now, a mixture of awe and relief. "That’s all I needed to hear. You have no idea how much that means to me."

You laughed again, a joyous sound that filled the room, and in that moment, everything felt right. For the first time, it wasn’t just the weight of his past, or your past, that filled the space—it was hope. Real, raw, shared hope, woven together by the truth of your words and the vulnerability of this moment.

Bucky stepped closer, his hand moving gently to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your skin as if memorizing the feel of it. "I’ve waited so long to hear that," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve no idea how much you’ve healed me already, just by saying those words."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The air was thick with tension, the steam from the hot spring rising around you like an enveloping fog, as your lips finally met his. It was different this time—so much more intense, raw, and consuming than any kiss you had shared before. His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer as your body pressed against his chest, your heart pounding in your ears. The warmth of the water surrounded you both, but it did nothing to ease the heat building between you.

Bucky groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your waist as if he needed something solid to anchor him. The feel of your body so close to his sent shockwaves through him, stirring something deep inside that he had buried for far too long. His fingers dug into your skin, not painfully, but with a desperation that mirrored the intensity of his emotions. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, racing, as if he was finally allowing himself to surrender to the moment.

As the kiss deepened, his lips moved against yours with a fierceness you hadn’t expected, but it felt right. He was more than just the man you had been comforting; he was a man who had finally allowed himself to feel, to let go. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, and you parted your mouth for him, letting him explore. His taste was intoxicating, his scent even more so—the mingling of the hot spring water with the natural musk of his skin.

You couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss as he pulled you further onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips, the heat of his body and the water surrounding you making you feel dizzy. The closeness, the sheer intimacy, made everything else fade away. There was nothing in the world except for you two, wrapped in each other’s arms. His hands slid up your back to your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tugging you closer, if that was even possible.

Your body pressed fully against his, the water around you barely enough to hide the way your bodies aligned. You could feel the tautness of his muscles beneath his shirt, the strength in his grip, and the hardness of him against your hips, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. Bucky’s lips trailed down your jaw, leaving a trail of soft kisses, before his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed you there with a hunger that made you gasp, his teeth grazing your skin before sinking in just enough to mark you, a soft bite that sent a shock of pleasure straight through you.

You arched into him, gasping as the sting of the bite faded, leaving behind a heated throb that pulsed between your legs. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer as his lips moved from your neck to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, and his words sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands slid from his shoulders down to his chest, fingertips grazing the hard muscles beneath the fabric, urging him closer, wanting more. His own hands moved lower, tracing the line of your spine, before dipping to your hips, gripping them firmly and guiding you against him, making you feel every inch of his body as he shifted beneath you. The water around you sloshed with each movement, the heat of the spring adding to the fevered temperature between you both. 

Bucky pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, and his eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else in them too—a vulnerability that took you by surprise. "I need you," he muttered, his voice raw, as he ran his hands down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before moving to the soft skin of your thighs. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

The confession made your heart race, your body trembling with the intensity of his words. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his again, deeper this time, your hands sliding beneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. The sensation of his muscles flexing under your touch, the way he responded to your every movement, made your head spin.

You kissed him again, this time with a tenderness that matched the rawness of the moment, before moving down to his neck, your lips trailing over the tender skin there, finding the spot where his pulse raced just beneath the surface. His grip tightened around you, pulling you even closer, his teeth sinking gently into your shoulder as he groaned your name, the sound low and throaty, like a plea for more.

The heat of the moment continued to rise, and you could feel yourself losing control, caught in the wave of passion that surged between you and Bucky. His hands were everywhere—caressing, exploring, pulling you closer, never once letting go. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your body arching into him as if it couldn’t get close enough.

But amidst the chaos of it all, you felt a pull to reality—a sense of practicality trying to claw its way through the haze of desire. You pulled away slightly, gasping for breath, and your fingers brushed against his chest, trying to make him pause, but he wouldn’t. “James…” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky from the intensity of everything. “We should head back, we’re—”

His lips were on yours again before you could finish the sentence, devouring you in a kiss so intense, you couldn’t remember what you’d been trying to say. His hands slid lower on your back, pressing you even closer as he kissed you with a ferocity that took your breath away.

“No,” Bucky’s voice was a soft growl against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you firmly in place. “Not yet. I want to enjoy this a little longer. Just... just a bit more.” His words were barely more than a whisper, but the conviction behind them made your pulse spike. His mouth found the sensitive spot behind your ear, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin, making your body tremble in response.

You tried to pull away again, trying to ground yourself, to remember the outside world. “But we’ve been out here too long, James—” Your protest was interrupted as he pulled you back into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands slipping beneath the water to press you more firmly against him. The heat of his body, the way he moved with you, was more than you could resist.

His lips broke from yours for a split second, just enough for him to look into your eyes, his expression fierce with an emotion you hadn’t seen before—desire, yes, but something more. “I’m not ready to go back yet,” he whispered, his hands sliding to your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin there. “I want to stay here. I want to savor this... savor you.”

His words were like a spell, wrapping around you, making you forget about everything else but him and this moment. Your body was already responding to him, the closeness, the warmth, the way his lips trailed over your skin, biting gently in all the right places. You wanted to protest again, to make sense of everything, but his hands were firm on you, coaxing you to surrender to the moment, to give in to the sensation of being with him in this way.

“I want all of you,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse with desire, and you couldn’t deny the pull. You didn’t want to leave either—not just yet.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, your lips. The heat from the water around you only amplified the heat that was building between your bodies. You could feel his heart racing, his pulse quickening, as he pulled you even closer, his hands roaming over your back, gripping you with a desperation that matched your own. Every touch, every movement, sent a jolt of electricity through you, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter anymore. It was just you and Bucky, the water, the heat, the closeness.

But as his lips moved to your collarbone, your heart raced, and your mind screamed to slow down. “James,” you gasped, your hands trembling as they gently rested against his chest, pushing him back slightly. “We... we can’t keep going like this here. We need to stop.”

Bucky paused, his lips still hovering near your skin, his chest rising and falling with the same rapid breath as yours. His hands stayed on your hips, but there was hesitation in his touch, as though he’d heard you but wasn’t ready to let go of the moment. “I know,” he murmured, his voice ragged. “I don’t want to either, but I think… we’ve already crossed a line.” His hands slowly lowered from your back, though he didn’t pull away entirely.

You both sat there for a moment, the sound of your breathing the only thing that filled the space between you, the water gently lapping around you both. The heat was still there, but now it was mixed with a new awareness—an understanding that you needed to pause before things went too far.

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “We should head back, before we... before we don’t stop.” Your voice was breathless, a little shaky, but the weight of what you were saying hit you both at the same time.

Bucky looked at you, his eyes dark with desire but also with understanding. His fingers brushed a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, a small, almost regretful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re right,” he said softly, the intensity still there, but tempered by something else now. “Let’s go back.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, your foreheads resting gently together as you both tried to steady your breaths. The closeness, the heat between you, was still undeniable, but you knew this was the right decision. The moment had been perfect, but it wasn’t meant to go any further—not yet, at least.

With a deep sigh, you pulled away slowly, the weight of the spring around you feeling suddenly heavier, colder. Bucky moved carefully, making sure you were both stable as he stood up, offering his hand to help you out of the water. His touch was gentle, yet there was still a lingering sense of connection, as though you were both tethered together by something deeper than just desire.

“I guess we should head back before either of us changes our minds,” you said with a soft laugh, trying to break the tension, though your body still thrummed with the echoes of what had just transpired.

Bucky chuckled, though it was softer now, tinged with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, let’s not test our willpower any further.” His hand was warm in yours as he guided you out of the spring, both of you walking back toward the shore in silence, the night air cool against your heated skin.

As you both dressed up, the shared intimacy of the moment lingered, and even though you had stopped before things went too far, there was an unspoken promise between you—one that neither of you needed to say aloud. For now, you were content to simply be with each other, knowing that whatever came next would be something to look forward to in its own time.

⠀

Bucky's quad hummed beneath you as you rode back to the palace, the cool night air brushing against your face. The ride was quiet, save for the low rumble of the engine and the occasional rush of wind. You couldn’t help but notice how tense the atmosphere felt, how his body seemed to stiffen every time you moved a little too much, every time your hands brushed against his back and the wet fabric of his pants. The echoes of the passionate moment you'd just shared were still alive in the air between you, both of you carrying the weight of what had almost happened in the hot spring.

You let your mind wander for a moment, grateful that you’d decided to take that walk to the spring earlier. If you hadn’t, if you’d just taken the vehicle straight there, you would’ve missed the chance to burn off some of that nervous energy, and maybe you would have been less clear-headed about how far things had gone. Your sharp mind had worked in your favor for once.

As you neared the palace, the road began to feel longer, more like an obstacle, the silence in the air stretching between you both. You could feel the muscles in his back and arms shifting beneath your hands as you held onto him, the way he unconsciously tensed, still caught in the pull of your shared kiss. Every moment, every second of the ride, the tension built, and you could sense it from the way his shoulders were tight, his grip on the handlebars firm.

When you finally reached the palace, you didn’t speak, your heart still racing from the closeness you’d just shared. You moved to slide off the bike, instinctively heading toward your apartment, ready to slip into the comfort of your own space, but Bucky’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

"Wait," he said, his voice low, a slight roughness to it. "Come with me."

You turned to face him, surprised by the intensity in his eyes, but there was no hesitation in his expression, only an invitation.

"I... I thought we were going back to my place."

He smirked, a small, teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips, and stepped closer to you, his hand brushing against the small of your back. "Let’s go to mine tonight."

The simple words hung in the air between you, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. The tension was thick, but there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to turn down.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you nodded.

Bucky's invitation to his room was not something you had expected. You were used to seeing his stoic and somewhat guarded nature, and the idea of him letting anyone into his personal space was a huge leap. He had always been a man of boundaries, of keeping his emotions and his life hidden away, so to be invited into the very space where he let down his guard, where he was himself, was a startling realization. You knew this was significant.

His apartment had been a sanctuary for him, a place where he could just exist without anyone prying into his past, into the layers of himself he kept hidden. You could see it in the way he moved through the space, a careful tension in his every step. Even the way he approached you now, his gaze softening just a fraction, revealed how much this meant to him. He wanted you to be there, to witness him in his most vulnerable state.

Your initial surprise was quickly replaced by a quiet thrill, a subtle rush that spread through you. You followed him in silence, taking in the unfamiliar yet comforting warmth of his apartment. It felt different from the cold, distant image you’d once had of him. It was his space—quiet, lived-in, but somehow alive in a way you hadn’t expected.

You felt the weight of that hesitation. This wasn’t just any invitation; it was an opening of the door to parts of himself that no one else had seen. The space beyond that door represented everything he kept hidden—his history, his emotions, and his sense of safety. It made your heart race with both surprise and something else, something exciting. You knew this moment wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“C’mon in,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, tinged with uncertainty. He stepped aside, allowing you to pass through the threshold first, though his eyes didn’t leave you, constantly gauging your reaction as if unsure whether this was the right move. The room was dimly lit, a little lived-in but comforting, a far cry from the cold, controlled demeanor he often presented to the world.

You followed him in, the tension palpable between you. He closed the door behind you, a soft click that seemed to echo louder than it actually was. Bucky moved across the room in a way that suggested he was still processing the weight of his own decision. His movements were a little fidgety, his hands occasionally brushing his hair back or adjusting his jacket as if trying to find a sense of calm in this moment of vulnerability.

You took a moment to take in your surroundings, but your thoughts were interrupted when Bucky cleared his throat and turned to face you. His eyes flickered briefly toward the bathroom, and he shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair.

“Uh, you can hit the shower first,” he suggested, his voice unusually soft, as if the request was somehow awkward. He was trying to be polite, to give you space, but you could tell he was still on edge. “I mean, you probably want to… you know. Relax. After tonight. I kinda ruined the purpose of the springs.”

There was an undeniable gentleness in his tone, an openness that wasn’t typical of the Bucky you knew. The small gesture felt like an invitation not just to the shower, but into his world, into a space where he had allowed you in, even if only for a brief moment. You could sense that this wasn’t just a casual offer; it was him trying to make you comfortable, to let you see him, just a little bit more, without the weight of expectations. His fidgeting only highlighted how much this meant to him.

As you stepped into the bathroom, you noticed the smallest details—the familiar scent of his cologne in the air, the slightly rumpled towels, the faint imprint of someone who lived here alone, yet never truly alone. It was a stark contrast to the polished exterior Bucky always presented to the world. And then, off to the side, you spotted it: a small wardrobe tucked into the corner of the bathroom. It was an unexpected but telling detail, a discreet little corner of his private space. The wardrobe wasn’t large, but it was enough for a few essentials—simple shirts, sweatpants, maybe a pair of shorts.

You rifled through the clothes, choosing a shirt that looked comfortable—soft cotton, slightly faded, with the familiar feel of something well-worn. You paused for a moment, then put back on the panties of your swimwear. The top, though simple, felt like a piece of him—just a little more access into his world.

After you showered, the warm water easing away the tension from your muscles, you emerged to find that Bucky had given you the space to refresh without hovering, as if he wanted to ensure you felt welcomed but not intruded upon. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes briefly lifting from the floor to meet yours when you reappeared, his gaze full of unspoken thoughts.

It was then you noticed it—the strawberry chapstick, sitting casually on the bathroom counter. You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you. He always carried it. The same one you had used countless times, its sweet scent now filling the air as you applied it to your lips. You found it strangely intimate, almost as if you were claiming a piece of him, too. The realization that he carried it with him—just like the little details of his life he kept hidden—made you feel closer to him in a way words couldn’t express.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, everything about the moment felt different—charged in a way you couldn’t quite place, but it was undeniably there. You felt more like yourself, yet more a part of him than you had before. The shirt you wore, his shirt, hung loosely around your frame, carrying his scent, his presence, and the weight of his trust. The fabric wrapped around you like a protective shield, but there was something more intimate about it, something that made your heart beat a little faster.

As you moved back into the room, you could feel the air shift. Bucky, who traded his wet jeans for comfortable sweatpants, immediately eye-tracked your every step as you approached him, and there was a slight hesitation in his gaze as it lingered on the shirt you wore. The way his eyes moved—slowly, deliberately—told you everything you needed to know. His pupils had dilated, and his breath hitched. He seemed to be holding his breath, almost like he didn’t want to make a move, yet the tension between you was palpable.

He let out a soft exhale, the words coming out as a low murmur. “You smell like me,” he said, his voice rough, almost like it wasn’t even meant to be heard. It was a simple statement, but there was a rawness to it, a possessiveness that made your pulse quicken.

Your smile was soft but teasing as you met his gaze. “I guess it’s not so bad, then,” you teased gently, running your fingers through your damp hair. There was a playfulness to your voice, but beneath it, you could feel the warmth building between you two, the same warmth that had been growing since the moment you walked into his room.

Bucky’s lips curled slightly at your words, but there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. He took a slow step toward you, his hands lightly brushing against your arms. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and he noticed it immediately, his lips twitching in a smile.

“Can’t say I mind it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, as if something had shifted inside him. His hands were gentle, almost reverent as they cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “You’re everything, you know that?”

The tenderness in his voice, the vulnerability that had slipped through, made your heart swell, but before you could respond, his lips brushed lightly against yours. The kiss was sweet at first, soft and careful, as if he were testing the waters. But as his lips moved against yours, something changed. You could feel the intensity building between you both, the undeniable chemistry drawing you in. It wasn’t just passion—it was a raw need to connect, to solidify the bond that had been quietly forming since the moment you met.

When his lips pulled away, his breath was shaky. His eyes searched yours, and it was then you noticed the flicker of something darker in his gaze. He shifted closer, his chest almost touching yours, and his gaze dropped to your lips again.

Then, in a movement that felt both reckless and inevitable, he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His lips were firm and urgent, demanding, but there was still something tender in it—something that sent your pulse into overdrive.

But it wasn’t just the kiss. As his lips moved against yours, you felt it—a subtle taste of something sweet, something familiar. The hint of strawberry lingered on his lips, and it was a small, but unmistakable sign that you had left your mark on him. The chapstick, the same one you always used, had made its way onto his lips. The sensation, the sweetness of it, broke something inside him. It wasn’t just the taste, it was the fact that you had left a part of yourself with him. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, his forehead resting against yours. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. “God, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice thick with both amusement and something more primal.

You smiled, a soft laugh escaping your lips, but before you could speak, he kissed you again—this time, it was no longer sweet. There was an edge to it, a desperation that you hadn’t felt before. His hands tightened around you, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His lips were insistent, almost frantic, as if he were trying to erase the distance between you.

The moment Bucky kissed you again, the air between you seemed to crackle with an intensity that was nearly impossible to ignore. The chemistry that had been building since the first stolen kiss in the hot springs now flooded over you in waves, each touch more urgent, more desperate than the last. His lips pressed against yours with an insistent hunger, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second. His hands, which had been gentle before, now gripped you with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. You responded just as fiercely, your hands running through his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more, needing more.

"You're driving me crazy," Bucky muttered between kisses, his voice rough, as if the weight of everything between you had hit him like a tidal wave. "I can’t stop thinking about you. About this. You’re all that’s in my brain."

Every word that came from his lips was a jagged edge, a reflection of the tension and desire that had been steadily building between you both. You smiled against his lips, teasing him, your voice low and seductive as you whispered, “I think you like this loss of control.”

His reaction was immediate. His body tensed beneath you, his grip tightening as though he was trying to anchor himself to reality, but the pull of you—your body against his, the heat between you both—was too much. "God, you're... I don’t even know how you do this to me," he groaned, his voice shaking with desire. He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving with an intensity that matched the pounding of your heart.

You felt the shift in him, a kind of desperate need, and you pushed back against him. The momentum of your body pressing into his was enough to have him falling back onto the mattress. You quickly straddled him, your thighs sliding over his as you positioned yourself on top of him, feeling the hard outline of his arousal beneath you. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of heat that only intensified the ache in your core. You could feel him—his breath quickening, his heart pounding beneath his chest—and you knew that everything between you both had changed.

Bucky’s hands moved up your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your shirt, and for a moment, the heat of his touch lingered there, like a promise of what was to come. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made your pulse race. He watched you as you moved, his eyes following every motion you made, his breath coming in shallow gasps as if he couldn’t believe you were here, straddling him, so close—too close, yet not close enough.

"I need you so much," He growled, his hands finally reaching the waistband of your panties, his fingers trembling with restraint, as if he was trying desperately to hold on. "I can't wait any longer."

But you weren’t ready to let him rush this. Not yet. Slowly, you slid your body down his, pressing your chest against his as you placed your lips to his ear. "Then don’t," you whispered, your voice husky, taunting. "Don’t wait. Don’t hold back."

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, his lips crashing into yours once again, the kiss now feverish, urgent. You could feel the tension between you, thick and palpable, as if everything that had been simmering beneath the surface was about to boil over. The sensation of his hands on you—caressing, pulling, guiding you closer—made everything inside you tighten, your body reacting to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. The heat between you both, which had once been confined to the springs, was now multiplied tenfold, and you could feel it in every kiss, every touch, every breath that left your lips.

As Bucky's hands slid under the waistband of your bathing suit’s underwear, pulling it down, the sensation of his clothed skin against yours sent a jolt through you. The vulnerability of it—the fact that you were both shedding the last bit of armor between you—made your heart race even faster. But you didn’t stop him. You let him pull away your swim bottom, your skin now bare against his covered one, and the sensation of his fingertips slowly coming up and grazing over your chest underneath your shirt made you gasp. His touch was possessive but gentle, like he was savoring every inch of you, learning you, mapping you out in ways that only deepened the connection between you.

You responded by pulling his shirt off, your hands slipping over the smooth, taut muscles of his chest, feeling the way he trembled under your touch. His body was just as hard as you remembered, and just as perfect. You could feel his heartbeat underneath your fingertips, the steady rhythm mirroring your own. His breath hitched when you traced the lines of his chest, and for a moment, the world outside of this room no longer existed. There was only the heat between you, the fire that was growing hotter by the second.

"I can’t—I can't stop," Bucky whispered against your lips, his hands sliding to your hips, guiding you closer, the need in his voice impossible to ignore. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

You could feel it, though. The way his body reacted to every touch, every press of your skin against his. The way he tensed and shuddered when your lips met his neck, trailing soft, heated kisses down the column of his throat. It was everything—the raw need, the tenderness, the way your body seemed to be in perfect sync with his.

"Let go, baby," you breathed against his skin, your lips brushing over the sensitive skin of his jaw. "You won’t bite. Not unless I want you to."

He let out a soft, strained laugh, the sound full of desire and disbelief. "I think you know I do."

The intensity was mounting. Each breath felt heavier, each touch more urgent, and when you slid your hands lower, to the waistband of his sweatpants, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he helped you, his fingers tracing over the curves of your back, slowly pulling your shirt up in the process with trembling hands. You helped him pull off his pants, the movements slow, deliberate, as you both got closer, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable point.

You moved to kiss him again, the fire between you two finally igniting completely as you pressed your body against his, your lips tasting the faintest hint of strawberry chapstick—an innocent reminder of earlier. It was a small thing, a simple detail, but it was enough to send Bucky spiraling. The sweet, familiar taste of it on your lips was the breaking point for him. He kissed you deeper, harder, the need in him raw, his hands desperate now, pulling you against him as he let go of every last bit of control.

The room was charged with electricity, the air thick with tension, as Bucky looked at you, his gaze dark and predatory. His hands, which had been so careful before, were now eager, exploring the soft curves of your body as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here, in front of him. His eyes traced every inch of you, as though committing your bare skin to memory, and when they finally met yours, you saw the heat there, the raw hunger that burned behind them.

"God, you're stunning," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with a mix of awe and desire. 

You didn’t say anything, just let him look, let him admire you in the way that made your pulse race. He wasn’t in a rush, he didn’t want to rush this. His hands lingered on your skin, fingertips grazing over your waist, up your back, trailing over your collarbones and neck. He seemed to take his time, savoring every touch, every inch of your naked skin, as if trying to imprint the feeling of you onto himself.

Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against the delicate skin of your shoulder. The sensation was enough to make you gasp, but what followed took you by surprise—a sharp, teasing nip on the soft flesh of your neck. You shuddered at the sensation, your body responding to him instantly. Bucky pulled back just slightly, watching your reaction as a devilish smile curled on his lips.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice soft and tender, though his eyes betrayed the fire that burned in him. But he was too impatient, he couldn’t wait for an answer and his mouth was immediately back on your skin, trailing down your collarbone, over your chest, as he left another mark—a small bite—just below your breast. You mewled softly, unable to hold back the breathless sounds that escaped your lips. The sensation was both pleasurable and painful in the best way, and it only seemed to fuel his need for you more.

He didn’t stop there, though. As his lips and teeth traveled down your body, each mark he left sent a shock of pleasure through you, each bite more intoxicating than the last. He was claiming you, marking you in a way that left you breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. His hands were steady, holding you securely as he made you lean back slightly, his strength keeping you from tipping over, anchoring you to him as his mouth moved lower.

"Bucky..." you gasped, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your body arching into his touch. But he didn’t let up, his lips moving with purpose, each bite making your pulse quicken, each mark drawing you closer to the edge.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot as he moved to your other side, his hands moving to your thighs, squeezing them gently. "I need to see all of you. Need to know you’re mine."

When his lips reached your hip, he paused for a moment, savoring the moment. Then, with careful deliberation, he bit down, slow and purposeful, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped you. The pressure of his teeth on your skin was both deliciously painful and overwhelmingly pleasurable, making you gasp and shudder as the heat between you grew more intense. His grip on you tightened, holding you firmly in place as your body arched into him, craving more of his touch.

You gasped as he trailed his mouth down to your stomach, another bite, this time at your side, just below your ribs. The sensation sent a ripple of desire coursing through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft mewls that escaped your throat. Your fingers dug into his hair, the pleasure of his touch combined with the intense marks he was leaving on you sending waves of heat flooding through your body.

Bucky’s hands reached the outline of your thighs, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin, and the warmth between you both grew even more intense. His lips didn’t stop their slow trail, leaving heated marks all along your body, each one igniting a fire inside you. His breath was shallow, almost frantic, as he finally pulled away from your skin just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with need. “Sweetheart, I want—no, I need to taste you. I've never needed anything so bad,” he muttered in a low, urgent tone, the words laced with desperation as he continued to mark you, his mouth finding the soft flesh of your breasts. The intensity of his touch, coupled with his raw hunger, had you gasping in pleasure, unable to suppress the waves of need crashing over you.

Bucky’s teeth grazed your skin again, the sharp sting followed by the deep heat of his kiss. Each bite, each press of his lips sent a shudder of pleasure through you, leaving you gasping and arching against him. Your body was burning with need, each sensation building into something overwhelming. You could barely comprehend the words slipping from his lips as his teeth sank into your skin once more, the intensity of his touch clouding your thoughts. “Please, let me just…” he asked, his voice rough with desire. But the only coherent thought you could form was a soft, breathless protest, “Bucky—I can’t... I’m too heavy...” You barely recognized the words as they left your mouth, but the guilt lingered, even as you felt his hands tighten on your hips, his movements never ceasing, even in the face of your doubt.

Bucky growled at your protest, the sound low and almost animalistic as it rumbled from deep within his chest. He didn’t hesitate, his hands tightening around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, settling you above him. With a growl, he slid further back into the bed, pulling you along with him until you were completely positioned over him, your sex now mere inches apart from his face. His breath was ragged, his eyes burning with an intensity that had only grown since the moment you’d stepped into his room. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said with a rough voice, filled with both desire and frustration. “I don’t care about that. I'll make you feel so good. I promise I'll be gentle. Let me eat this sweet cunt, let me make you come on my tongue until you're senseless...” His hands traced the curve of your hips, pulling you down ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let me do what I want,” he pleaded, his lips almost touching yours, the words a desperate whisper. Despite the way his body was reacting, he still waited for your answer, though it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

You hesitated for a moment, the intensity of the moment clouding your mind, but then, your initial judgment failed as your eyes caught his that were burning with need, and you finally felt the weight of his words sink in as a shiver passed through you. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you finally nodded, giving in to his demand. The moment you did, his grip on you tightened, and with a low, urgent growl, he surged forward, crashing his lips to your lower ones with a fierce, primal hunger. 

As Bucky's hands continued to explore the contours of your body, his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his breath danced across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your gasp of surprise had barely escaped your lips before it transformed into a moan of pure, unadulterated desire. The sensation of his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin was almost too much to bear, and you felt your body arching towards him, craving more.

His mouth was a masterful instrument, teasing and tantalizing your entrance with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating.

Bucky's groan of relief was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through every cell of your body, resonating deep within your core. His words, husky and laced with desire, only served to heighten the anticipation building inside you. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress against your skin.

"Fuck, you smell divine…" The way he spoke, as if savoring each word, each syllable, was a testament to the depth of his arousal. "Gonna taste you on my tongue until you're writhing and shaking above me." It was a vow, a pledge to take you to the very limits of your endurance, to push you to the edge of ecstasy and hold you there, suspended in a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. The thought sent a shiver coursing through your veins, and you felt your body begin to tremble, your muscles quivering with anticipation.

Bucky's tongue continued its gentle exploration, you could feel yourself becoming lost in the sensation, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul. The sensation was akin to being consumed by a raging inferno, each lick and probe igniting a fire that threatened to incinerate every last shred of your sanity. Your body, a tautly strung instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a maestro conducting a symphony of desire.

"Fuck, you're so sweet," Bucky groaned, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers coursing through your veins like a shot of liquid adrenaline. "I could eat you out all day, every day, and never get enough."

As he spoke, his tongue delved deeper, tracing intricate patterns across your skin like a cartographer mapping the uncharted territories of your desire. His words coursed through your veins like a river of pure, unadulterated desire. You felt your body respond, your hips rising off the surface like a supplicant offering herself to the gods. You felt his lips, soft and gentle, as they wrapped around your entrance, sucking and pulling with a gentle, insistent pressure that seemed to draw the very marrow from your bones. Your entrance, already swollen and sensitive, throbbed with an aching need, as if beckoning Bucky's tongue to delve deeper, to explore the hidden recesses of your very soul.

"Oh, shit—mmh, Bucky..." you moaned wantonly, your voice a barely audible plea that seemed to hang in the air like a challenge. "So good, need to feel you so bad…" Your hips rose off the surface, offering yourself to Bucky like a supplicant to the gods, and he accepted the offering with a growl of pleasure.

The sensations built and crested, and you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy—as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire. You were a puppet on strings, danced by the masterful hands of Bucky's desire, and you felt yourself soaring on the winds of ecstasy, unencumbered by the shackles of reality.

Bucky's fingers, deft and skilled, reached up to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. The sensation was like a jolt of electricity, sending sparks flying through your body like a firework exploding in the night sky. Your breasts, already sensitive, seemed to swell and grow, as if responding to Bucky's touch like a flower blooming in the sun.

"Ride my face," He growled, his voice a low, husky command that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "Take what you need, sweetheart. I want to feel you come on my tongue." His words were a challenge, a dare, and you felt yourself responding, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

You lowered yourself back down, your entrance hovering just above Bucky's mouth. His tongue, warm and wet, darted out, tasting your skin and sending shivers coursing through your veins. You felt yourself being drawn to him, your body responding to his touch like a magnet. Your hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding your entrance against Bucky's tongue. His mouth was teasing and tantalizing your skin with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating.

"What a dirty girl, my filthy slut," Bucky whispered, his words sending a thrill through your body. "You love riding my face, don't you?" You felt a surge of pleasure at his words, your body responding to the dirty talk like a key turning in a lock. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

The sensations built and crested, you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire.

Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience. "Oh, god, Bucky," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're killing me, your mouth is—oh, fuck." As you rode him, you felt your hands instinctively reach out, gripping his hair with a fierce intensity. You pulled his head closer, feeling his tongue delve deeper and deeper into your entrance. Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience.

And then, when you gazed down at Bucky, you saw it. His body, tense and coiled with desire, was unconsciously thrusting up into the air, his hips bucking with a rhythmic intensity that seemed to match the pulsing of your own heart. His eyes, closed in ecstasy, seemed to be pleading with you, begging you to take him, to ride him, to make him yours.

The sight of him, so lost in his own desire, was like a spark to dry tinder. Your body, already aflame with pleasure, seemed to ignite with an even greater intensity. You felt your grip on his hair tighten at the sight, your hips grinding down against his face with fierce, unrelenting pressure.

In an instant, you were coming, your body arching and convulsing as the pleasure seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. Your grip on Bucky's hair tightened, your hips grinding down against his face with a fierce, unrelenting pressure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

As the sensations slowly began to recede, you felt yourself collapsing back onto Bucky, your body exhausted and spent. But instead of holding you close, Bucky's arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as he slowly began to kiss your cunt. His lips, soft and gentle, brushed against your sensitive skin, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

"Good girl," Bucky whispered, his voice a low, husky possessiveness that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "You’re my good girl. Forever and always, mine." His words were a claim, a statement of ownership, and you felt yourself responding to them, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

His hands, warm and caressing, stroked your thighs, holding you steady as he helped you ride out the ecstasy with his mouth. You felt his tongue, gentle and probing, as it delved into your depths, tasting and savoring the remnants of your orgasm. The sensation was exquisite, a gentle and soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

You laid there, catching your breath, and you couldn't help but notice the tension in Bucky's body. His chest was heaving, his eyes were closed, and his cock proudly jutting against his abdomen. You reached down, your hand slowly descending to his crotch, and Bucky's eyes snapped open. He watched, his gaze intense, as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

His hips began to buck, his cock twitching with each movement, his body trembling with anticipation. "Oh, fuck yeah—just like that," he whispered, his voice trembling with desire, and his words barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing. He lets out a low, husky moan, his eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy. His breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each stroke, his muscles tensing beneath his skin. The air is filled with the sweet scent of desire, the sound of your heavy breathing, and the gentle friction of skin on skin.

Your touch was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a flame of passion that threatened to consume them both. Bucky's hands reach out, his fingers grasping for your hips, pulling you closer. "I love the way you touch me," he admitted, his voice filled with adoration, his words dripping with sincerity. "You always know just what to do to drive me crazy, to make me lose control."

You continued to stroke him, and his body began to tremble, his muscles tensing, his skin growing hot and slick with sweat. His eyes snap open, burning with intensity, his gaze locking onto yours, his pupils dilating with desire. "Ride me," he growls, his voice low and husky, his words filled with urgency. "Want to see you bounce on me, want to feel you—please, sweetheart."

You felt a rush of heat course through your body at his growled plea. The intensity in his eyes, the raw need in his voice, it all combined to ignite a fire within you. Without a second thought, you moved to straddle his hips, taking a moment to line him up with your slick entrance.

As you slowly sank down, taking him inch by delicious inch, stars exploded behind your eyelids and you let out a ragged moan. He stretched you so perfectly, filling and completing you in a way that stole your breath. Your hands braced on his firm chest as you rolled your hips, working him deeper. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding on tight.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. "So fucking tight, so good. Never want to be without you, sweetheart."

You set a slow, sensual pace, rising up until just the tip remained before dropping back down. The drag of him inside was exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins. He began to thrust up to meet you, matching your rhythm. Each downward press of your hips brought him deeper, his cock kissing your sweet spot and sending you spiraling further toward the edge.

Your hips gradually moved faster, enjoying the sound of your flesh slapping together filling the air, and the smell of sweat and sex hanging heavy over you. His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin and pulling you down harder onto his cock, his touch burning with intensity. "I love you," he growls, his voice filled with emotion, his words dripping with sincerity. "I love the way you make me feel, the way you touch me, the way you ride me like a filthy animal. My little Silver Fox."

Hearing him calling you by your newly given title made you feel unknown things you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. You responded in a low, throaty moan, your body moving in perfect sync with his, your breasts jiggling with each movement. "Love you too," you said in an urgent tone, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. "Love the way you fill me, the—ugh, the way you make me feel like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, Bucky, right there, right there!"

Bucky groaned under his breath, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy as your velvety heat enveloped him like a tight glove. "Deeper," he growled, his voice dripping with need and urgency. "That's it, angel, take all of me."

His large hands gripped the yielding flesh of your ass, kneading and spreading you open wider. The burning intensity of his touch left searing fingerprints on your skin. "Yes, just like that," Bucky moaned, head falling back in bliss. "You're so unbelievably tight. I can feel you milking me."

Pleasure built to a fever pitch between your joined bodies, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust and caress. He fought to keep his rapidly unraveling control as you clung to him, urging him on. "I-I'm almost there," he panted against your neck, hips starting to stutter. "Gonna fill you up, make you mine..."

"Please, do it," you gasped, nails scoring down his back. "I'm yours, Bucky, all yours. Come inside me, give me everything."

With each slow, deep thrust, the pleasure mounted higher, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Bucky seemed to sense it, his mouth trailing down to your neck, teeth and tongue working the sensitive skin.

"Come on angel," he growled, the low timbre of his voice sending sparks skittering through your nerves. "Come for me, let me feel you..."

Tilting your hips, he changed the angle, each long drag of his softening length hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Your hands scrambled for purchase against his sweat-slicked back as the tension wound tighter and tighter.

"Bucky!" You keened his name, thighs trembling and toes curling as your orgasm slammed into you. Waves of ecstasy crashed through your system, your inner muscles rippling around him. You could only hold on for dear life as Bucky worked you through it, his mouth and hands never ceasing their delicious torture.With a guttural groan, he joined you and finally crested that peak. His cock twitched and jerked as thick ropes of his seed pulsed deep into your welcoming heat. "I love you," Bucky whispered fervently, voice raw with emotion. "I love you so much it hurts." His powerful body shuddered through the intense waves, holding you flush against him.

In the aftermath, Bucky’s lips still burned with the intensity of the kiss, each movement a reminder of how deeply he cherished you. His hands, now tender and reverent, cupped your face as if he were afraid that if he let go, you might slip away. The kiss had been more than just a physical expression—it had been an outpouring of all the words he struggled to say in the moments before. At that moment, there were no walls, no masks, just the raw vulnerability of two people who had found a haven in each other.

Bucky pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath still coming in short, heated gasps. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and exposed, his love for you shining in them like a lighthouse in the dark. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words reverberating through your heart. He was still breathless, but his gaze never left you. "I’m glad to have found you."

There was something about that phrase, about the sincerity in his voice, that made your chest tighten with affection. He wasn’t just happy to have you in his life—he was grateful, deeply grateful, as though you were the one piece that had finally fit into the puzzle of his life. His past, filled with darkness and confusion, had finally given way to this, to you.

As you lay there, your bodies still intertwined, the world outside seemed to vanish. The noise, the chaos—everything melted away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, fleeting bubble of peace. Making love with Bucky had always been more than just physical—it was a sacred act, a melding of souls. There was a quiet reverence in how he touched you, a tenderness that spoke of both healing and a love that had been earned over time.

Every caress, every movement between you, felt as though it was binding your hearts together in the most intimate way possible. It wasn’t just a union of bodies—it was a union of everything you both were, everything you had endured and learned, and everything you had yet to discover about each other. In those moments, time itself seemed to slow, the world outside no longer mattered as you existed together in your perfect reality.

In the silence that followed, you rested against him, your hand tracing lazy patterns over his chest as you both found your rhythm in the stillness. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter what challenges awaited you—what demons from his past or the threats from the outside world—this was your blissful reality. You had found something pure, something that transcended the struggles of your pasts, something that you both would fiercely protect.

As he held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you, the weight of his devotion felt like a quiet promise. No matter what came next, you would face it together. This love—this connection—was something that would endure, and in the deepest corners of your heart, you knew that no matter how the world changed, this moment, this perfect, stolen peace, would always belong to the two of you.

⠀

The morning after, the soft rays of dawn filtered through the thick trees, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. The air was thick with the scent of earth and warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos that loomed over the horizon. You stirred in the quiet, Bucky’s arm still wrapped around you, his steady heartbeat a comfort against your back. The feeling of him close, his body tangled with yours, felt almost surreal—like you were still in a dream, still wrapped in the cocoon of the night you’d shared.

But even as you lay there, the world outside was shifting. The gentle hum of Wakanda’s advanced technology, the soft whispers of nature, and the quiet buzz of anticipation all spoke of something inevitable. Something you both knew was coming.

Bucky's breath was slow and rhythmic, but as if sensing the change in the air, he shifted behind you. His hand slid to your waist, fingers brushing your soft skin as he murmured your name.

"Good morning," you whispered, your voice raspy and soft from sleep as you turned to face him. He was watching you now, his eyes tired but intensely focused, as if his soul had already started preparing for what lay ahead.

He cupped your cheek with a tenderness that felt like a promise, grounding himself in the fleeting tranquility before the storm. "Morning, sweetheart," he replied with a slow, content smile. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw before he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, a kiss of comfort, of love.

The warmth of his touch lingered, but that peaceful moment didn’t last long. The silence of the room shattered with the sudden crackling sound of a communication coming through from the nightstand nearby, urgent and clipped. The voice on the other end was frantic, struggling to stay calm.

"The Avengers are needed," it said, the words tight with the gravity of the situation. "Thanos is coming. Prepare for battle."

The tension in the air shifted instantly. Bucky’s muscles tensed under you, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the message sank in. You could feel the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breath changing as he pulled away slightly, his face hardening with resolve. The love that had filled the room moments ago was replaced by the cold reality of the war ahead.

"Guess the calm didn't last," you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling in your chest. You knew what was coming, had known since the moment you heard the first whispers of Thanos’s name. Still, hearing it so directly made everything more real, more urgent.

Bucky’s lips pressed together in a tight line as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, the shift in his demeanor stark. There was no hesitation in his movements now, no sign of the tenderness from just moments ago. He was already preparing, mentally, for what lay ahead.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and commanding, as he reached for his gear. The weight of his words carried more than just a request—it was a promise, an order. You didn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, you joined him in dressing quickly, racing down your room to pull on your tactical gear, your heart racing as the sound of distant engines began to reverberate through the walls.

You shared one last lingering kiss as you met up again, a silent promise between you both to be safe. His eyes were filled with determination, but there was something more—something that spoke of his desire to protect you, to shield you from what was coming. You could see it in the set of his jaw and the way he held your gaze, as if trying to imprint this moment into his memory.

When you arrived at the Wakandan command center, the familiar faces of the Avengers were already there, gathered around, discussing their plans to defend Wakanda against the coming invasion. T’Challa stood at the forefront, his regal presence commanding the room. Queen Ramona and Okoye were strategizing on the tech and military fronts. The tension was palpable.

The calm was gone, replaced by a sharp urgency as you both made your way out of the room. Outside, the air felt charged, the energy of Wakanda buzzing as the people there prepared for the oncoming storm. You knew what awaited you—a battle that would determine the fate of everything.

The command center was already alive with activity when you arrived. The Avengers were assembling, and despite the chaos, there was a sense of focus in the room, each member already falling into their role. T’Challa stood at the center, his regal posture unwavering, his face a mask of determination.

"We stand together," T'Challa said, his voice strong and calm. "Wakanda will not fall."

The gravity of his words settled in your chest as you stood with Bucky. The world felt like it was teetering on the edge, a precipice from which it might never return. But, in that moment, you found yourself holding onto him, drawing strength from his presence as the world outside continued to swirl in chaos.

Just then, you caught the familiar, bright-eyed face of Shuri as she approached, her usual playful demeanor tempered by the weight of the situation. She paused for a second, her gaze shifting from you to Bucky.

"Well, well, look who’s back from the shadows," Shuri teased, but there was an underlying softness in her words, a recognition of the storm coming. "You two ready to help us kick some ass?"

Bucky smirked, his usual stoic self, but there was warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. "We’re ready."

Shuri grinned before quickly growing serious again, her hands coming to rest on her hips as she scanned the battlefield preparations. "Good. I’ve made some adjustments to the tech. We’ll need everyone on their toes." Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, her expression softening. "You two stick together out there, okay? We’ll need all the help we can get." She placed a hand briefly on your shoulder in a gesture of support, one that felt like a promise.

You gave her a small nod, the weight of the coming battle settling into your bones.

Bucky’s hand squeezed yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as the sound of distant engines filled the air. The Avengers were assembling outside, each gearing up, preparing to face the war that loomed over them.

As you stood there, trying to steady your racing heart, Bucky’s attention shifted to Shuri. Without a word, he raised his hand, placing his fist over his chest—the Wakandan salute. It was an unexpected gesture, one that you had never seen from him before. Shuri blinked in surprise before a proud smile slowly spread across her face.

"Looks like the White Wolf is finally embracing his new pack," she teased, her voice warm with pride and amusement.

You couldn’t help but be surprised, your eyes darting between them as the significance of the moment hit you. Bucky, the Winter Soldier—once a weapon of destruction—now stood before Wakanda, acknowledging them in a way that was both powerful and humbling.

Bucky’s face softened, his usual stoic expression giving way to something more vulnerable, something sincere. "Wakanda has shown me a new way," he said quietly, the words more weighted than anything he had said before.

The warmth between them, the bond forged not just in battle but in trust, was palpable. Shuri nodded, her gaze flickering between you and Bucky. "You two are ready," she said with certainty before turning her focus back to the preparations. "Let’s make sure Wakanda stands strong."

Bucky squeezed your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment. Together, the two of you stood ready to face the coming storm—no longer just soldiers of war, but symbols of the redemption, loyalty, and fierce love that had bound your hearts.

As the first tremors of the impending battle rumbled through the earth beneath your feet, you and Bucky found a moment of stillness. The chaos of the command center, the preparations for war, seemed distant, fading into the background as the two of you stood together, hand in hand.

Bucky’s gaze was steady, but there was something vulnerable in the way his eyes held yours. His face, usually so hardened by years of pain, was softened by the quiet strength of his love for you. You both knew what was coming, knew the war would demand everything of you, but in this fleeting moment, you had each other.

His hand reached up to cup your cheek once more, the touch gentle yet firm, grounding you both. The weight of the world seemed to fall away, if only for a breath.

“We’ll come back,” Bucky whispered to you, his voice a soft promise, raw with the emotion he rarely allowed himself to show.

You didn’t need words to understand. You could feel it—his determination, his love, his devotion. And with a tender smile, you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, your hearts beating in time as the warmth of your connection enveloped you both.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned in and kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of everything—of battles fought, of victories won, of losses endured. But most of all, it was a kiss that said, no matter what happens, we’re together.

When the kiss finally broke, you remained close, his breath mingling with yours, his forehead resting against yours for a long, silent moment. The air around you seemed to shimmer with a quiet promise, like the calm before the storm. And as you stood there, holding onto him with everything you had, you realized that this was your peace. This was your love. And nothing, not even the coming battle, could take that away.

Outside, the sun broke through the cold, its light streaming across the Wakandan sky, casting a soft, golden glow on the landscape. It was a moment of warmth, a stark contrast to the winter that gripped the world. The chill in the air seemed to melt away for an instant, as if the very earth was holding its breath. It felt like a sign—one of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, light could find its way through.

But beneath that fragile warmth, danger lurked. The wolves and foxes would show no mercy to those who dared to stand in their path. In the distance, the swirling gusts of white and silver began to merge—symbols of two warriors whose fates were as intertwined with the cold as they were with the people who had given them new names.

Winter was coming, and this time, it was theirs to face.

PART ONE. l PREVIOUS PART.

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