#the shadow is but a small and passing thing

[umehaji]

— 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞;

☾ Pairing: Kaji Ren x f!reader

☾ Notes: inspired by satoru nii's note on kaji getting his headphones as a gift also i am simply down bad

☾ Word Count: 1.1k

“How come he never takes that shit off?” Sakura mutters, mostly to himself, pausing on the uneven sidewalk to adjust the weight on his back. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the bustling street, the chatter of vendors and the hum of passing bikes filling the air.

“Hmmm?” The granny—Chiyoko, as she’s always insisting he call her but he can never bring himself to—leans slightly to peer over his shoulder, her sharp eyes following his line of sight. Her gray hair flutters in the gentle breeze, tickling his cheek.

Across the narrow street, past the stalls piled high with fresh produce, ones Sakura knows Umemiya likes to frequent, Kaji and his vice-captains are strolling down the sidewalk in their direction. Kaji's got his hands buried deep in his pockets, mouth set in its usual stern expression, a lollipop dangling lazily from between his lips. His white headphones sit snugly over his ears, their metallic sheen catching the light. They're always spotless, Sakura notes, as if Kaji takes painstaking care of them.

“His headphones!" Sakura grumbles. "He’ll go deaf at this rate.”

“Ah," Chiyoko muses, her voice laced with amusement, "but wouldn’t you also treasure something so precious to you? Young love...so sweet."

Sakura’s brows knit together. “The hell you mean ‘young love’?”

The granny fully ignores him. "I remember back in my day-"

"Hold on, the fuck you mean- sorry, I mean-"

Before Sakura can keep gracing Chiyoko with his colorful vocabulary, something cuts him off.

“Rennn!”

The sound of hurried footsteps and the unmistakable brightness in the voice snaps Sakura’s attention to the source. His head whirls around, and he freezes.

A girl.

You.

You're a pretty thing, pleated uniform skirt hiked up just a tad bit too short for school regulations. It flutters around your thighs, exposing an expanse of skin that has Sakura blushing right down to his toes. He quickly tears his gaze away.

Instead, he watches, stunned, as Kaji slows his pace and reaches up, fingers curling to hook his headphones down to his neck. He stands there, hands dropping to his sides, palms open as if he's expecting something.

And then...the most inexplicable thing happens.

You launch yourself forward, into the notoriously bad-tempered second-year’s arms, your own arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

“Ren! Missed you so much!”

“Huh?” Sakura whips his head around to gawk at Chiyoko to make sure she’s seeing the same thing he is. “Huuuh?”

The granny on his back just beams, eyes crinkling, like this is something she's seen happen a thousand times.

Kaji barely reacts to the impact of you. He plants his feet, arms coming around your waist, steady and sure. If there's one thing Sakura has learned, it’s that the blonde is deceptively strong. From his angle, Sakura can see the faintest hint of color rise to Kaji's cheeks, a subtle shift masked by the tilt of his head.

A soft jangling sound captures Sakura’s attention and he zeros in on the charm dangling from your backpack. It looks vaguely familiar and he squints, trying to place it. Then it hits him- he’s seen it before, a matching charm clipped to Kaji’s rarely-used bag. The trinket is small and undeniably cutesy, in sharp contrast to Kaji's abrasive personality, which is what had drawn Sakura's attention to it in the first place.

“Oi,” Kaji snaps, tightening his hold around your waist, but his voice lacks the usual bite Sakura has come to associate the blonde with. “Be careful.”

You pout, playful and unabashed. “Aw, but I knew you’d catch me.”

“Still.” Kaji eyes you. His fingers brush against the hem of your skirt, tugging it down slightly. “And this—”

You cut him off with a practiced ease, plucking the lollipop from his mouth and popping it into yours.

"Oi!"

“Yeah, yeah,” you say breezily, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s too short, other guys will mess with me, blah blah blah. But I’m not worried, because my big bad boyfriend will take care of any problems, won’t he?”

Kaji's lips twitch as though he wants to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, what looks like the faintest smile slips onto them, though it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“Hi, Kusumi-chan, Enomoto-chan!” you lean back slightly in Kaji's arms, tilting your head so you can see the other boys who have been smirking at each other the entire time. Sensing their silent amusement, Kaji snaps his head around, fixing them with a pointed glare. Their expressions transform immediately into pictures of innocence and they greet you enthusiastically, clearly charmed by you.

“Good t’see ya as always,” Takeshi grins broadly. “Still keepin’ our captain on his toes?”

“Someone has to,” you quip, swirling the lollipop stick between your fingers before slipping it from your lips. Kaji’s gaze flickers downward, tracking the motion, lingering a beat too long on your lips.

You tug at the headphones around Kaji's neck. “Still taking good care of these, huh? Never takes them off, does he, Enomoto-chan?”

“Well,” Takeshi says with a teasing grin, “they’re special. Given by someone even more special.”

“Shut up,” Kaji mutters, ears faintly pink, though he doesn’t refute it. He's still staring down at your lips, though his gaze flickers back up to meet yours when you reach a hand up.

“Aw," you smile sweetly at him, brushing a finger through the bangs covering his forehead, "I'm glad you're still putting them to good use."

"Tch." Kaji's gaze darts away but returns to you almost just as quickly.

Sakura sputters, completely thrown off by the revelation that the reason behind the permanent fixture on Kaji Ren’s head...is you. Dumbfounded, he watches you continue to shower Kaji—the same boy he's seen coldly pummel opponents to a pulp with the harshest of scowls—with affection. But none of that brutality is visible now. Instead, Kaji holds you with an unexpected tenderness, as if you’re something delicate, something precious to him.

You let out a long, almost aggrieved sigh, and Sakura can’t help but wonder if you’re starting to tire of giving without getting anything in return from the blonde.

“Why're you so handsome?” you pout, sliding a finger down the bridge of Kaji's nose until it rests gently over his lips. “It’s just so unfair.”

Sakura chokes on his own spit.

Kaji doesn’t reply to that at all. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to. The tips of his ears are an unmistakeable flaming red now.

And then, as if on instinct, he leans down. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible. But it's enough signal for you apparently, because you close the gap by pressing your lips to his, winding your arms around his neck tighter and relaxing into his hold.

Sakura feels his brain grind to a complete halt.

“As I said,” Chiyoko hums behind him with a knowing smile. Her short legs swing happily against Sakura's sides. “Young love.”

[justordinarygirl]

"All i want for Christmas is you"

Megatron x Reader NSFW

What, I'm late for catholic christmas?? Too bad, in my defense, I'm Orthodox and my Christmas is in January~ Here: a little pet play, soft domination, first time Enjoy and happy new year!

The glass container with drinks was almost completely empty, you tried desperately to tie the choker around your neck, drunkenly wobbling with stiff arms in front of the small mirror, but the effort was worth it. The contents of your backpack were pulled out and the festive outfit you had changed into was already tightening around your body. The peppermint candy melted on your tongue as Megatron finally entered his compartment, immediately recognizing your small figure on his desk.

"Evenings, huma-" he stopped himself through coughed, calling your name this time as the organic head turned in his direction in response. Soft lips stretched into a smile, greeting Lord as he approached the workstation.

"I've been looking for you master, where have you been?" with careful movements you crept closer to the gray frame of the mech sitting at the console.

"After a long day's work Soundwave is sick of flashing garlands" Megatron's voice was slightly tired, not showing what a pleasant prick in his spark this address to him provided. You covered your mouth with your fingers in surprise.

"Oh dear, poor thing. I didn't mean to, my Lord."

"I didn't blame you, lay off the snot," he interrupted you instantly, raising his voice just a percent and shifting the stern gaze of scarlet optics to your face. You fell silent, but no shadow of fear or apprehension flashed across the soft skin. So uncharacteristically human. Like so many other things. You knew why they were here and you were with them anyway. From your earliest days on Nemesis, you were poked from corner to corner and still you were with them. Missions and espionage were sometimes at the level of the impossible, but you managed, though not perfectly, and you still came back. This and other reasons led to the fact that among the billions of other upright animals on this planet, it was you that the warlord named his personal pet.

Feeling the alcoholic fog coming on, you move closer to the massive manipulator, jingling and causing Megatron to frown.

"What's that sound?" the Lord's voice is hoarse but calm, compared to the commanding shout he uses to give orders on the battlefield. His voice weighs on your eyelids, but not because of drowsiness, sending a pleasantly light current under the skin. The alcohol seems to be working faster than intended.

"М? You mean the bell?" your head snapped up, revealing a choker with a golden jingle bell that you'd half-heartedly fastened around your neck. At the same time, there was a pendant with a Decepticon insignia around your neck. "I thought it was charming."

Charming. Yes, Lord Megatron might have agreed that was a very apt word. He pulls his manipulator towards you, letting the choker pass his attention but clasping the same insignia that flaunted his chest, fingertips turning the thing with interest and watching the light reflecting off it. A foolish blushing femme, so naively putting her neck on the warlord. He could break you with just a finger…

"You know why you haven't seen pendants or other jewelry on any of us? Just marks burned into the metal?" he grinned at the silent negative shake of your head. Of course not.

"Since the earliest times of Cybertron, jewelry has been hung on slaves or those who belong to someone. The crudest and most tasteless baubles hung on the bodies of scavengers or prostitutes. The most expensive jewelry was bestowed upon the personal slaves of the superior or very young partners. Monarchs and senators favored almost children and adorned their necks with the most expensive necklaces, marking their property." finishing his monologue, he hummed and released your jewelry. Your own fingers took up the same sign, now you too were twirling it thoughtfully.

"I…that's how it is?" you babble drunkenly and Lord smiles briefly as you lean closer to him with a determined gleam in your eyes. "Then when may I also have the pleasure of wearing your mark on my flesh? As your associate."

A hoarse and rough laugh escaped from his chest, and you cried out with some movement before you realized that he had clutched you loosely in his fist like a doll and planted you on your buttocks right in front of him. As an associate? Are you fearless or is that an empty bottle on his desk with obvious alcohol inside not the container but your stomach?

"You've served long enough to rise from prisoner to hopeless one-time spy, and from there you jumped with speed to the honorable human rank of beast. Be patient, little femme. To bear the name of a trusted friend you must first prove yourself as a loyal pet" he rubs your hair on the top of your head, then slides a finger down the side of your face to go lower and scratch your chin. Your slow-moving brain doesn't allow you to resist, or at least embarrass yourself for decency's sake, so your eyelids close slightly and you give in.

Such a life wasn't intimidating, he didn't yell at you, never hit you, never threw you, the feeling of specialness in his company was not lost. It was amazing how a tyrant known in the entire universe managed to be so careful and gentle with someone like you. His caresses made your body feel more warm and it didn't escape the mech's sensors.

"If I could give you one single good thing this holiday, what would you wish for?" thick metal fingers run along your shoulder, giving you goosebumps. You discreetly close your eyes in thought, submitting to his touch. Your whole gut knows what you want. You want to be more than just an animal to him, to be closer to that mech. Perhaps unforgivably closer. You pondered your words for a long moment, so long that Lord thought you were dozing off in his arms.

"Just love, my Lord," you answered sharply, with a gasp. "all I want for Christmas is you."

Love. A vulnerable feeling, like a flashing light bulb in a back near a weak spot labeled "hit here" and you're asking that of him of everyone? You really are a remarkable specimen. Anyway, there's nothing he can't use to his advantage.

"Love? You? Oh sweet naive pet" his voice deepens even more as he tilts his helmet. "Love is at odds with every cell of my personality."

You visibly pouted your lips at his words. And he continued in a low voice.

"But there's a first time for everything, right? Also, I've been smelling your hormones for a while now," his fingers yanked at your outfit, ripping the fabric off your bust in a quick and unexpected jerk, exposing your skin.

The sudden movement sent your buttocks sliding forward across the surface of the table, nearly falling over the edge with a shriek. Sobriety spread quickly through the hemispheres of your brain, your arms reflexively hugging your body as you covered yourself, fixing your gaze on Megatron. The meaning of his words slowly reached you as you lowered your head in embarrassment. Does he really feel it or is he bluffing?

"Are you shy about something? I thought you were a fearless representative of your species." his large palms press against the sides of your waist and his thumbs spread your arms. "We need to add more trust if we're going to be anything important to each other."

He successfully parted your upper limbs, leaning closer, causing you to shift your own weight from your buttocks to your lower back, leaning back. He studied the anatomy of your breasts with great interest, clearly seeing a naked human body for the first time. You wriggle under his gaze, embarrassed but not quite resisting his actions. It's unexpected, it's new, and despite the sharpness, it's not something you hate. Your nipples harden instantly from the change in temperature, a scattering of goosebumps blooming on your arms and legs. You don't hold back a sigh as mech run his finger over the protruding pink part with care, like a blind man touching a absorbent cotton figure, trying to figure out what it looks like and not break the shape.

"Fascinating. We don't have anything like that." The metal completely covers the bump, gently kneading the flesh. The softness delighted him beyond belief and he slides further down.

As his manipulators grope the curve of your soft buttocks, you tighten your lips and press your palms against his wrists, how small your hands are, unable to fully embrace this part. Your thighs clench, reducing the throbbing between your legs while reflexively hiding the vulnerable spot from his burning gaze.

Everything seems fast and yet agonizingly slow at the same time. He slides his hands underneath you, as if studying the details of a tabletop figurine rather than exposing someone else's body. He squeezed your tiny legs and, wrapped around the limbs, slid along to your knees. After this delicate groping and stroking, he suddenly pulled your legs apart sharply and, letting go of your right knee, he pressed the end of his finger firmly into the damn right place. You arch your back with a whimpering groan.

He feels the fabric soaking wet and smiles so predatory, as if he hadn't told you a little while ago that he'd known everything for a long time.

"Ah, you're tiny." he pressed his index finger against your belly without a shadow of shyness and it took you a moment to realize he was measuring how much of him would fit inside you. His finger alone reached just above your navel and your thighs clenched again, trying to reduce the heat. "Even too tiny for all of me. Do you even have experience with anyone of your species?"

You quickly raise your eyes to him, only to also sharply look anywhere but.

"I see." Megatron enjoys observing your shyness, so sharply contrasted with your boldness and daring in conversation. He can see so much submissiveness in the small organic eyes that he hasn't seen in any of his soldiers' optics and it brings out something special in him. "So, I've never been in this position with a human either."

He pulled your bottom off pretty quickly, not tearing the fabric this time, but pulling it off completely. The entire inside of your thighs is smeared with clear, natural lubricant, and it feels like such a shame when he's only touched the sensitive nerves once. But can you blame you? His look, his voice, he's the only one responsible for the whole mess. He spreads his legs even wider again, and your muscles between your legs clench involuntarily at the scrutinizing gaze. He doesn't seem to be confused by anything, he doesn't find your human anatomy repulsive or strange, on the contrary, he just absorbs every detail like a sponge.

His fingers pressed against your labia, pulling them apart with a wet smacking sound.

Your talkativeness and responsiveness are gone without a trace. You're so quiet, sighing, ahhing or humming at the touch, but saying absolutely nothing, dont give him any comments, completely following his actions. Fascinating.

The lord ran his phalanx over the damp, smooth flesh, picking up the moisture with interest. What an amazing similarity between his and your race, it's astounding. His index finger swirled around the tiny entrance, could even one fit inside you? It's worth finding out in practice. Megatron doesn't prepare you, finding it pointless to fondle one that's already wet beyond belief. The tip presses in, slipping in with a small amount of force, minuscule for a warlord like him.

"Look at me." he commands you, but the excitement makes your eyelids so heavy, almost unbearable. You try, really try, turning your head toward him, biting your lip with quickened breath. But he presses his finger inside you, sliding deeper, and you squint.

"You're doing great, good girl." his praise is like sudden thunder in the sky and a current runs through your entire body. Your fingers clench as he says the words with a shadow of approval, pressing his thumb against a bundle of nerves and teasing the sensitive spot.

From your heat and arousal, Lord's finger easily entered a few more centimeters, making you arch your back. He flexing slightly, unclenching and clenching the joints, feeling the insanely warm and pliable walls. Steam nearly billowed from beneath his body at the thought of how good his spike would feel. Oh, he wouldn't stop at just one finger, except just for tonight. But he has to find a way to fit inside you completely.

His finger alone spreads and fills you so much that you can't hold yourself. Rolling around on the surface of the table, you try to find somewhere to put your hands, but your master has made the decision for you, taking your wrists and holding them above your head.

With a rougher slide of his finger, the choker jingled, amusing the mech and inviting him to speed up. Thrust after thrust he got the hang of it, found the perfect angle and now with quick movements both inside and out he brought you to discharge. His compartment filled with the sounds of tinkle and wet sliding, mixed with meek sighs, moans and smell of alcohol and mint. A bud of desired orgasm began to blossom in your belly.

“You know what I'm thinking? I think that day after day, fate shows you that you're here for a reason. You were born to belong to me.”

The strong manipulators continue to hold your hands firmly above your head, the stiffness only adding to the pleasure, fueling the arousal and hastening the approach of orgasm. The fingers inside you slow their movement and instead the mech focuses on sliding quickly over your clit. Megatron's handling is so wonderful that your nerves instantly burn with a special heat and the hips shake uncontrollably. With a loud whimper and a moan of his name, you cum on the manipulator, clamping it firmly between your thighs.

Lord takes his time coming out, letting you go through the full wave of your orgasm before gently removing his finger from your folds and slowly withdrawing from your womb, letting your upper limbs go to the surface of the table.

"I suppose I should say 'happy holiday'" he looks mockingly at your collapsed tiny body.

"Thank..you, my Lord”

Twirling his own finger in front of his optics, the mech swipes the gloss over the grease covering the entire length, cleaning itself. He continued to sit beside you, looking over your deep-breathing body and returning his gaze to the pendant with his mark, silently considering something.

[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 cervix 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.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler — @zyra-7 .

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[buck-star]

Realisation | SSOD

Being a hybrid was always something you enjoyed, something you were proud of. At least until they used it to get money with you.

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers x Kitten (CatHybrid!Fem!Reader)

Wordcount: 4.178 Words

Warnings: DARK content, kidnapping, human/hybrid trafficking, nudity, violence

Authors Note: Shout out to @holylulusworld, @thezombieprostitute and @mercurial-chuckles for the support and help, for letting me vent and collect ideas. Plus @krirebr for throwing me back into dark writing with your amazing Trapped AU. So, enjoy the first part of Steve and his CatHybrid.

Events: Fandom-Free Bingo: Book edition [N4 | and then there were (none) | @fandom-free-bingo]

Masterlist | Sweet side of darkness (SSOD) Series Masterlist

Darkness and silence fill the small rooms. The floor is just as cold as the icy breeze in winters, and the small towel in the corner of the room wouldn’t even warm a bug. The screams outside are muffled — almost quiet — just like the voice, so no one can make out what they’re talking about in the hallways.

When you wake up on the cold, dirty ground, you feel the coldness seeping through your clothes, causing your already quivering body to shake even more. You curl yourself further together, wrapping your thick tail around your small frame to keep you warm.

Your head is aching, your ears thrumming when you shift. Your limbs feel too heavy to move them probably, and your mind is spinning. Where were you, and how did you get there?

The last thing you remember is how you went to work. Leaving your apartment and walking to the little bakery that’s at the corner before your office. You get your daily coffee there, but today it was different; you weren’t there. Why weren’t you there, and why are you where you are now?

You’re supposed to be at the office and working and not lying in a corner somewhere in a dark room with a scattered blanket underneath you. Your eyes slowly get used to the darkness, and you can see some outlines, but there wasn’t much to look at at all.

In the corner opposite you, which was maybe five feet away from you, was a hole in the ground. A sniff with and you can make out that it's used as a toilet. There’s no sink or anything to clean. There’s not even anything else in the room. When your eyes wander further, you stop at the door, where you notice the little light underneath the door.

For a moment you keep staring at it, watching the movements outside the room. You wonder who’s walking there, whose voices those are. They aren’t familiar to you and way too quiet to allow you to hear them, not even with your better senses.

You’re not sure how much time passes while you’re lying on the ground, your eyes focused on the only but small source of light. Not even your fluffy tail wrapped around your shivering form does much to warm you anymore.

Only when the shadow of a pair of feet stops in front of the door and a key gets pushed into the lock of the heavy door do you sit up slightly and push yourself further back into the corner you’re in. Your eyes focus on the heavy metal when it swings open, light bursting into the room, blinding you for a brief moment before your eyes can get used to the light of the hallway.

A tall man, six feet, standing in the doorframe. He’s muscular, his short brown hair hanging in his face. His ocean blue eyes roam over your shivering frame, and a devilish smirk forms on his plump lips.

“Such an angsty little kitty that we got, huh?” He mocks, and you push yourself further into the corner. He turns on the light in the room before he takes a step inside. “Dirty girl, did you piss yourself?”

The way he mocks and tries to humiliate you makes your blood boil, and you bare your teeth slightly. It doesn’t do much to scare him off or even remove that disgusting smirk on his face. It only makes him chuckle darkly when he takes another step closer to you.

You sit up straighter, pushing your feet perfectly to just jump up and run. The door leading to the hallway is still open, and so is your opportunity to escape. You don’t know what comes after that door, what’s in the hallway, or how to get out of the building, but that’s something you can think about once you’re out of the room.

The man takes another step closer, and he only needs to do one more, and then you will jump on him. You will use all your power and throw him down on the ground. His eyes glisten when you place both of your hands on the ground in front of you and let your tail slide back to keep your balance.

The moment you push yourself off the ground and jump, he takes a step backwards. The grin widens on his lips as you’re pulled back by some chain around your ankle. Within a second you land with your cheek crashing down on the hard floor. You whimper as you feel the pain of the crash.

How didn’t you notice the chain around your ankle? Maybe because it was loose enough and your pants kept the cold metal from your warm skin.

“Feisty little girl. Wouldn’t we get that much money for you, I would keep you for myself,” he laughs darkly, but there was not a hint of amusement. His voice drips with dominance and darkness that you feel a shiver running down your spine. “Now get the fuck up and don’t dare to make another stunt like you just did. Though it could be fun, for me at least.”

You turn your head, looking at his shoes when he kneels down in front of you. He brings one of his calloused hands to your chin and turns your head so you’re forced to look into his eyes. His thick fingers add some more pressure around your jaw, showing you the strength he has but also the dominance.

“We need to get you cleaned; no one wants a dirty girl,” he says, lifting your head further until it hurts in your neck, and you whimper once more. After a moment he lets go of your chin, causing your head to fall forward once again, and your cheek almost connects with the ground once more.

You lay there, your body aching, and you prefer collecting some strength for later. The man gets up, walks around you, and opens the chain around your ankle. You’re not even moving your leg when it’s finally free, knowing he can reach out and throw you into the ground with almost no effort.

“Such a shame that I can’t keep you. Would have a lot of fun training you and breaking you until you’re doing as I say,” he mumbles, knowing girls — hybrids like you. He isn’t stupid; he knows that you think about ways to escape there, and it makes him even more excited.

He leans down, wrapping one of his hands around your arm and pulling you with him. You don’t have a chance to get up and walk; he just drags you with him, not caring that your legs slide painfully over the dirty ground.

You don’t dare to make a sound, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. So you just take a deep breath and clench your jaw while you look around the hallway. There are so many other hallways, so many rooms; you’re not even sure after two corners where you were before.

The man keeps dragging you along the hallway until he stops in front of another door. It’s the same metal door you know from the room you were in. But when he pushes the door open, you’re greeted by a bigger, brighter room. It has a toilet, a sink, a shower, and a tub, just like a normal bathroom.

There are even shelves with shampoos, creams, and a lot of other articles for skin care. When your eyes wander through the room, you notice another tall man standing next to the tub where a girl is sitting. She has small, golden ears and a tail that reminds you of a golden retriever.

The man pushes you against the wall, letting you sit down as he closes the door behind him. Your eyes wander further over the girl until your eyes meet. That moment everything clicks into its place and you know where you are or, more, why you were there.

It isn’t that they just sell people. This isn’t human trafficking, at least not for them. They capture hybrids and sell them underground to get a lot of money, and the new ‘owners’ have their pets; that’s it. You’re a pet for them, almost an object and nothing more. Human rights don’t count for hybrids, not in the world where you just landed when they captured you.

“Kemp,” the man with the other girl chuckles as he looks at the man who's standing next to you. His gaze drops to you, and he smirks as he looks back up at the man whose name is obviously Kemp or whatever.

“Hansen,” he greets the other man, his gaze moving to the puppy hybrid in the tub. To your surprise, she doesn’t even look ashamed to sit naked in that tub or that she’s obviously captured.

Only when your eyes move further over her body do you notice the red, even bloody stripes all over her. It looks like she got beaten up pretty badly, and the sadistic smirk of that Hansen who’s looking you up and down lets you know who hurt her like that.

Kemp notices you tensing up when you realize what’s going on and when you notice the bruised body of the other hybrid. He leans down, nodding toward Hansen as he speaks in a low and dark tone. “Be happy you haven’t gotten him to clean you. With your little stunt earlier, you would look like her now, all bruised.”

Your eyes widen as you push yourself further into the wall behind you. That Hansen guy has the most sadistic smile you have ever seen, his blue eyes glistening with lust while he listened to Kemp talking to you.

“Did that little thing make a scene?” He asks, taking a towel to wrap the hybrid in the tub into it. She stands up, and you can see even more bruises and cuts all over her skin, not enough to leave any scars but enough to make her obey. “Do you want to switch? I will take care of her and clean her.”

Kemp shakes his head, chuckling low in his throat. His eyes remind you for a moment, noticing how your body is tense and slightly shivering. It makes him smirk even more as he sighs in satisfaction. “Don’t ya think you’re the best brat tamer here just because you tamed your little housewife?”

“Jealous, Kemp?” The other snorts, wrapping the towel tighter around the hybrid before he helps her out of the tub and places her in front of him. He turns his gaze to her, the grin evident. “Dry yourself.”

You look at them, studying the girl and the way she immediately obeys when words leave his mouth. You’re not sure if it’s the fear or just her being obedient, but you won’t let them bathe you and look at you like a piece of meat.

“Take off your clothes,” Kemp growls behind you, his hand finding its way into your neck. He pulls you up, making you stand in front of him. You don’t even attempt to move; you’re just standing there, waiting for his next action. He grits his teeth, adding more pressure around your neck. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”

You keep ignoring him. The Hansen guy already laughs, watching the show in front of him while he holds out some clothes for the other girl to take on. “Doesn’t look like you’re able to tame a brat, Kemp.”

The brown-haired man behind you rolls his eyes and pushes you forward. He uses such strength that you stumble over your own feet and fall down on the ground. Your knees hitting the cold floor first, and you whine at the force you’re thrown down.

“Fucking slut, do as you’re told, or I will help you to listen,” he growls. The playfulness he used with Hansen around is almost completely gone, and you’re greeted by an even colder and harsher man. He takes a heavy step closer to you, his boot nudging again your legs and pushing you further to the tub.

Lloyd smirks at you, loving the attitude you have. He would just throw you over the nearest surface and make you obey, but he loves the little show you’re putting on with Steve. “You sure got a feisty little thing there; bet you would love to have her, wouldn’t you?”

“She’s worth the fucking money,” Steve says, leaning down once more to grab the back of your neck and yanking you up until you’re kneeling in front of the tub. Your knees are pressed into the floor while he pushes your cheek into the edge of the tub. “Get the fuck out of your clothes. I’m not telling you that again.”

His voice is dripping with danger and warning. Steve’s eyes are narrowed when he lets go of your neck to give you the opportunity to take off your clothes. You’re turning your head, looking at Lloyd and the other girl who’s obediently kneeling in front of him.

“I’m not going to take off my clothes when you’re standing here like a perv,” you growl, glaring at Steve. A low chuckle leaves his lips, and before you can even wonder why he laughs, his big hand connects with your cheek. Your head flies to the side, and your ears are thrumming before you feel the pain in your cheek.

The loud sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, while Lloyd laughs and the other hybrid flinches. He grasps her neck and leads her to the door, saying something to Steve you can’t quite understand. Shock is still filling your every sense, and you feel tears burning in your eyes. The slap was harder than you thought it would be. He’s waiting for Lloyd and the hybrid to leave the room before he gives you his full attention.

“Call me a perv once more and you will have more than just a red cheek,” he growls darkly. He takes a step away from you and turns around, giving you — to your surprise — some privacy. Even if it’s just for him to get some shampoo and a towel. But it gives you the opportunity to take off your clothes and get into the tub without him watching every one of your movements intensely.

You’re pulling your knees against your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around it to cover yourself. Your tail tightly wrapped around your lower body to hide your private parts.

When Steve turns back to you, he smirks, nodding to himself. He puts the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub and turns on the water. It’s not cold and not hot; it has the perfect temperature for your muscles to relax — and to your dismay, he knows it damn well because his disgusting satisfied expression gets even worse.

“There you go, able to be such a good little girl, huh? Little sluts like you don’t get what they want, so you better do as you’re told,” he says, handing you some soap to clean your body. Steve takes the opportunity to put some of the shampoo onto your hair and rubs it into them. He’s gentle and nothing like the guy who threw you around and slapped you. “Your new owner will help you learn your place and make you obey him however he wants.”

You don’t struggle at all when they drag you onto the stage. The lights are blinding, and it makes it impossible for you to see the people sitting in front of it. You can only hear their voices, loud and deep. How did you end up there, on the stage, and within the next hour you will be paid for and have an owner.

Your stomach twists, and you swallow thickly, continuing to plan every little detail of how you will escape. This idiot can pay as much money as he wants, but he won’t get you as his personal pet or toy. You will run as fast and as far as you can the moment you walk out of the building. So he will pay for your freedom, not for a toy for himself.

“The first of the day…” a man announces, and suddenly everyone in the hall is quiet. You’re looking around, knowing that there are too many eyes on you to move without anyone knowing about it. The man, whose voice you recognize as Hansen’s, stands to your left on the stage. He’s holding a microphone in his hand and has his sarcastic grin still plastered on his face. “is a little puppy.”

The girl you saw earlier in the bathroom, with her bruised body, gets dragged forward to be presented in a better light. She sits still, her head hanging low while you hear people shouting offers into the hall.

You heard of human trafficking, or hybrid trafficking, but you never thought you would sit on one of those stages and wait for any of these sadistic men to offer the most money and get you as their pet. You’re not a pet; you may have cat ears and a tail, and your teeth may be sharper too, but it doesn’t make you a pet; it could never.

While you showed off your animal parts with proud — because hybrids are rare — you would prefer to hide them right now.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you’re not noticing the men shouting more and more offers into the room. The price of the dog hybrid being higher than a house or even a whole castle.

Only when someone — Lloyd — claps loudly into his hands are you pulled out of your thoughts back into reality. It’s quiet in the hall once again, and you notice a light in the crowd, pointing out one man, who’s standing there with a grin on his face.

He has thick, brown hair framing his face, his beard growing out. The man makes his way to the front while he taps on his phone. As he reaches Lloyd, you hear their conversation about some money transfer, and if that’s done, he could take his girl.

Lloyd turns to the people in the hall once more, the microphone still in his calloused hands when he laughs darkly. “There we go. The first got his new little toy, didn’t you, Levinson?

Without waiting for an answer, he looks at the stage, where you’re still sitting — with two others. You really don’t like that Hansen guy. However, Levinson looks like the nicer kind of person, even when he just bought a human — a hybrid.

“The next one is a feisty little kitty, ready to be tamed. Isn’t that right, Kemp?” Lloyd asks. Before you can do anything, he motions to the man behind you, who grabs your neck tightly. From the feeling of his fingers around you, you can say it’s Kemp; it’s like he has his mark on your body already since he touched you the first time. “There she is; pouring isn’t her strength. At least not yet.”

You glare at Lloyd, who makes these shit jokes about you. Actually, you would shout at him that he has no respect, but you know he doesn’t, plus it would satisfy him more. So you just stay quiet, your jaw clenched and your eyes narrowed.

“Five!” Someone shouts. Five bucks? Five… apples? What does he want to give five of to get you?

“Seven!” Someone else shouts, and you roll your eyes. Kemp's hand in your neck tightens. He pushes your head down to make you look at the ground. A low growl escaping his lips in warning.

They told you to be good and look down like a good pet. But you have the audacity to disobey and glare at them.

“Seven million,” Lloyd says loudly. Your head shoots you, and your eyes widen as you notice how much money they are talking about. Seven fucking million dollars! Who is so rich that he could buy a human — hybrid — for that much money?

“Look the fuck down or I rip off your clothes in front of everyone,” Steve says quietly, his voice dripping with dominance, and you know he would do just that if you don’t obey. So you turn your head back and look down, letting an annoyed groan escape your lips. Steve pushes your head down with more force. “Don't growl at me, little slut.”

“Seven million… Does someone offer more? Feisty, little kitten. She begs to be tamed, to be turned into a perfect housewife. Seven million, is that all?” Lloyd asks, looking around the room. You almost snort. Is that all? Seven million dollars, and he asks for more?

When you already think this guy whose face is hidden in the dark got you, someone else shouts an amount of money into the room that makes your mouth drop open. “Ten! Ten million, Hansen.”

Lloyd smirks, nodding and letting the light slide over the crowd to the man who just bought you. Only when the light is directly on him, showing him in all his glory, does Steve let go of your neck and allow you to look up at the other man.

He's tall, with blond, slightly longer hair and a beard. Not as much as the one whose name was Levinson, but pretty similar to him. The man’s muscles bulge through his shirt, which sits tightly like a second skin. But compared to Hansen or Kemp, he looks acceptable — for someone who bought you, someone you will escape once you’re leaving the building.

This guy may look strong, but he should never underestimate your strength. And since he doesn’t look as sadistic as those other guys, you’re sure he will understand if you kick his balls.

As you keep looking at him, he makes his way through the aisle toward the stage. His phone looks so small in his calloused hand that you shiver slightly. Your eyes roam further over his well-built body — over his shoulders, his chest, and his abs — until you notice something in his other hand, swinging with every one of his steps.

He’s holding a leash, like you’re a kind of dog he can put a collar around your neck and lead you with a leash. Maybe he’s not as acceptable as you thought — escaping may be harder with a collar and leash. That doesn’t help a kick in his balls then.

“Congrats, Rogers. Got yourself a feisty little thing,” Lloyd comments as they do the money transaction. Rogers's eyes are on you, a smirk across his face — to your surprise, it looks soft, and his ocean blue eyes have a calming effect on you. “There ya go. Hope you have as much fun as you hoped when you decided to spend that much for her.”

“Don’t worry, Hansen, I will,” he says; his voice is rough, just like his chuckle. He passes Hansen and walks closer to you. You’re still kneeling on the stage, your gaze away from him while you watch the other people getting ready for the next hybrid. Kemp took a few steps away from you. “Look at me, Kitten.”

You ignore him, hating the way he calls you by that pet name. He could call you bunny, puppy, or whatever, but kitten only causes you to know your place with him. You’re a pet — his pet.

“I said look at me, kitten,” he says, his voice lower than before. He brings his hand to your chin, yanking your head until you’re forced to look up at him. “I hope I don’t have to repeat myself again.”

His grip tightens before he throws your head back and reveals your neck to him. With one swift movement, he wraps the collar around your neck and closes it, the click sending another cold shiver down your spine. It’s not a kind of collar you can open easily; it’s one that’s only able to open when it’s connected to a phone and a password.

You were sure he’s a kind of sweeter, nicer guy. But his appearance was the complete opposite of the man who’s now towering above you. His eyes darker, cold like ice, and his jaw clenching. Steve attaches the leash to the collar and pulls you closer toward him.

“Be good, and we will have fun. Be bad, and I will have fun. Do you understand me, Kitten?” He asks, emphasizing the nickname. He knows too well how to make clear where your place is. Steve’s thick thigh pressing against your jaw to keep your eyes locked with him. There is not a hint of that soft smile or the ocean blue eyes that looked so precious a few minutes ago; it’s only the dominance that radiates from him. You stay quiet, but Steve notices the way your body tenses, knowing he has the control and strength to dominate you however he wants. “Good, now that we understand one another, let’s get you home.”

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @blackhawkfanatic @kandis-mom @armystay89 (add yourself.)

[bokutosbabe]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° hope you think of me

( rin itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — hi all! this is part of my new series! if you know me, or my account in general lol , you'd be able to pick up on some taylor swift references in the form of titles :) i do base a lot of my writing off songs! so, i decided to rework old work and...decided to start the new discography masterlist! the masterlist will be made soon, but the basics is that i paired ( almost ) every taylor song with a bllk character! i hope you enjoy the ride ;)

♡ content — rin itoshi x fem! reader, fem! reader, set in both before rin went to blue lock and when he is a pro soccer player, the past will be in italics, the present will be normal text, established relationship, rin misses reader, kinda angst?, unrequited love, pining

♡ synopsis — It all crumbled down the day Rin Itoshi got that letter from Blue Lock. Why couldn't he easily choose one...you? or his dream? In his mind, the two couldn't exist together.

The bright lights of the stadium flicker on, casting long shadows across the pitch as the crowd roars in the background. The announcer’s voice echoes in the air, but all Rin can hear is the soft whisper of your name in the back of his mind, a constant refrain.

His eyes wander across the field, distracted by the fleeting moments that remind him of you, even though he’s supposed to be focused.

It's strange how everything about this stadium feels like a reflection of you. The banner for the jewelry sponsor—that’s the one you always liked. The colors in the ad are almost the same as the ones in your old childhood bedroom, the same shade of deep blue that you said matched the ocean.

And then there’s the scent of fresh grass, the kind that always reminded him of the times you two spent lying on the grass after school, listening to music while you tried to figure out who was more stubborn—him or you?

He should've known it would end like this.

It all crumbled down the day he got that letter from Blue Lock. Why couldn't it have been easy? Why couldn't he easily choose one...you? or his dream?

In his mind, the two couldn't exist together.

"Why do you care so much, Rin?" you’d asked after his constant nagging about what you wanted to do after high school, your voice soft but strained, like you could already feel the weight of the words before they even came.

He should’ve softened, should’ve told you everything that was happening inside him, but he didn’t. Instead, he let the silence grow thick, each word building a wall between you that no apology could ever tear down.

He pushed you away with every passing second. "It’s over," he’d said. Even as his heart ached, watching your big eyes widen and fill with tears, he couldn't risk giving up.

He had to reach him.

"You wouldn’t understand. Whatever. I have bigger things to focus on than you."

Your eyes… they were full of hurt, but you didn’t say a word. You just turned away, the soft click of your shoes leaving out his bedroom door and home sounding like the final nail in the coffin of everything you had.

The crowd's cheers feel distant now, like they belong to someone else. Rin runs a hand through his hair, trying to focus, but all he can do is look around and see you everywhere.

The water bottle with the same brand you used to buy. The locker room seats that remind him of how you’d wait for him after every match, always there, your smile the only thing that made him feel like he belonged somewhere.

He remembers the things you liked—small, silly details that seemed insignificant at the time, but now, they’re all he can hold on to.

He remembers the little things. The music you loved—the way it played softly from your car every time you'd drove to the beach, how you'd hum along with the lyrics, your fingers tapping the steering wheel.

You said the songs made you feel alive, like it was a memory of something you couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t realize until now, standing here in this stadium, that he was the one who made you feel like a memory.

He stepped onto the field, shaking off the weight of the past, but even as the game starts, the images of you flood back in—your laugh, your touch, the way you’d get embarrassed when you said something too cheesy.

The way you always made him laugh without trying to.

"You really remember everything, don’t you?" you had said once, your eyes teasing.

"Everything that matters," he replied without thinking.

Now, as he steps onto the field, the memory hit him like a punch to the gut. What really mattered? Because what he remembers isn’t just your smile or the way you made everything feel like home. What he remembers is how much you gave him, how much you loved him, and how much he didn’t deserve any of it.

The game continued on, but the colors, the lights, the little reminders—they all blur together.

Rin’s vision fades, and for a moment, it’s just him, standing still in the middle of the field, surrounded by a sea of faces, none of them yours.

And yet, every second feels like it’s laced with memories of you.

hope everyone enjoyed :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[adda-j]

Oooooooh, I didn't expect anyone would add onto my ramblings, but this really made my day! AND gave me some more ideas! >:)

So I have to admit I initially imagined this being somewhat inline with the 06's future timeline, but time travel being time travel, it gets so confusing at one point it might as well mot matter. Either way, for this AU to work, Silver does need to be biologically related to Shadow. Whether that's due to him being artificially created, or made the traditional way, is not as important right now, that's future-Shadow's problem. (Though I'm leaning more towards the lab-baby thing. I dunno. I just feel like it makes sense for someone who was made in a lab, to have a "child" be born the same way.)

But most importantly, this gave me an idea for how a hypothetical subspecies of Black Arms could work. It goes something like this:

So basically, I'm running with the "psysically weak but mentally strong" idea. They would have strong connection and effect on the hivemind. As a result, they weren't really meant to fight on the front lines. Instead they had more of a "commander" role. Essentially their role was to gather information on the battlefield, from the footsoldiers, scouts and their own observations, analyze and interpret this information, and organize and lead the forces based on this. They would also interpret and carry out orders from higher in the command chain, while having enough authority to give out orders of their own. This basically streamlined they command chain and made it easier to sift through and pass on important information.

I also imagine that some of the older members would retire from the battlefield. And instead focus on preserving the history of the Black Arms and all knowledge they have collected over the eons. Making sure it doesn't get lost, diluted or misinterpreted over time, and is readily available when needed.

So by default, they could exert higher and stronger control over the other Black Arms, allowing them to be effective leaders on the battlefield, while being resistant to such control themselves. Only their superiors were strong enough to control them. Of course, as fate would have it, gradually more and more of these members would rebel, try to take complete control of sections of the hive, all while being practiaclly uncontrolable themselves. Eventually they were deemed too dangerous to be left alive, and were hunted down and eliminated at no small cost.

Since there was a lot of knowledge that couldn't be absorbed by the rest of the hive. Over time, most of the information about them became corrupted. They went from competent data analyzers to something that once almost destroyed their whole species from inside out.

Now, I don't know much about Black Arms reproduction, or even how much info there is on it, if any. So I'm just basing this on my headcanon. But basically, I imagine new members are born depending on which roles the hive needs to fill. And their genomes can be adjusted to fill that role better. Plus they are provided all the information they will need by the hive. So for example, all warriors are already born knowing how to fight. But since this subspecies was intended to be elimitaned completely, none of the genes necessary survived in the population. That is, with the exception of Black Doom, who passed them onto Shadow, and then eventually Silver. (Where they became dominant due to genes being passed on more randomly)

So I think Silver would have naturally equally strong connection to the hivemind, but none of the knowledge on how to use it. So anything he does with it is purely instinctual, more based on his emotions and immediate needs. He would need to train and learn it to properly utilize it just like any other skill. ((Ironically, I imagine this could initially make him more susceptible to getting controlled himself, unless he learns how to resist it.))

Also I imagine this whole thing would affect his social skills a bit, partially because he grew up in an apocalyptic future. Sometimes he would have problems expressing himself properly, because part of him would subconciously assume his intent would be carried without words or gestures. And since he wouldn't get to meet that many people growing up, he never realized it's not normal. For him it's like constantly having a word on the tip of your tongue you can't even begin to explain.

Naturally, his relationship with Shadow would be affected by all this too. Subconciously they would be aware of each other in a way they just aren't with anyone else. In a fight they would be able to predict each others moves a synchonize their attacks just a bit too easily. Shadow would always somehow be the first one to know when Silver returns to the past. And whenever Silver gets too excited or angry his ears would fill with tinnitus. He's also the only one to be able to parse the extra meaning in Silver's words. It would kinda creep Shadow out, to the point he'd start avoiding the kid. Even if he knows Silver did nothing wrong.

At first he'd just assume it had to be some weird mix of Silver's psychokinesis, chaos powers and Shadow's own odd biology. But after (very reluctantly) mentioning it to Sonic, to which the blue hedgehog has no idea what he's talking about. He does start getting a bit more concerned.

It's not until one fateful day, during another world ending catastrophe that needs to be dealt with, one so bad even their resident time traveler had to show up, it happens. One moment he's lost in the heat of the battle, and the next his mind is pierced with an achingly familiar cry for help. In a split second he's painfully aware that Silver is in danger. That he's injured and can't defend himself. He's aware of all of this, even though he can't see Silver from where he's standing, and that no one else has reacted to the call. But more than any of this, the one most damning thing is the sickening compulsion that urges him to help. His feet move before he even registers what's happening.

It's in that exact moment he knows. Maybe not how or why. But be knows.

Silver is one of the Black Arms.

But more importantly: he's a kid that needs his help.

People talking about what if Shadow was Silver’s dad y’know but NOT ONCE have I seen anyone say that if that’s true, then Silver has black arms blood

[majinael]

"Not my style."

★Michael Kaiser x GN Reader (Angst(?) into fluff)

★TW: mentions of abuse

★937 words

★ can be perceived as OOC, but I believe he would act entirely different towards his childhood friends if he had any

I had known Michael since we were kids. I often found him at the park, playing football like it was the only thing in his world. And maybe it was. His clothes were perpetually worn and dirty, his pale skin marred by small cuts and bruises. When I asked, he’d always brush it off, saying he simply liked that outfit or that the bruises came from playing with his ball and helping his dad at home. I believed him, young and naive as I was. I’d share my snacks with him, and in return, he’d teach me how to play football, his passion shining through every kick and pass.

As the years passed, my parents pulled me into their bakery, one of the most renowned in town. Our paths diverged, but I never forgot him. Sometimes, I’d walk by the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But one day, when I did, tears streamed uncontrollably down my face, crashing onto the cold pavement. In my trembling hand was a newspaper announcing his arrest for robbery. Everything clicked then—his shabby clothes, his bruises, the hollow look in his eyes. He wasn’t just a boy who loved football. He was a poor, hungry kid trapped in a home with an abusive father. Football had been his only escape, and I... I had done nothing to help.

I told myself I was too young to understand, too innocent to see the truth. But the guilt clung to me, a heavy shadow that wouldn’t fade.

That night, I dragged myself home, collapsing onto the couch where my dad was watching TV. The world spun around me until a shout broke through my haze.

"GOAL!!"

My eyes shifted to the screen, and for a moment, I could almost see Michael chasing the ball with that same fiery determination. A bittersweet smile crept onto my lips. That’s when I fell in love with football—not just the game, but what it represented. It was Michael’s legacy, the one thing he’d left with me. I started playing in my free time, replaying his words in my mind, letting the sport bridge the distance between us.

Years passed, and I inherited the bakery. Football became my solace, every match rekindling memories of our friendship. Then, one day, my television turned into a magic mirror, revealing the answer to a question I hadn’t dared to ask. What could he be doing ?

Michael was there. On my screen. Playing for Bastard München.

And oh, how he played. Every movement was precise, intense, beautiful. His tall, muscular frame, his cold, striking features, his blond hair tipped with blue—it was as if he had stepped out of a dream, wrapped in the elegance of a blue rose garden. My cheeks ached from smiling, my heart swelling with pride and something deeper I couldn’t name.

When the match ended, I knew one thing: I had to see him.

I wasn’t wealthy, but I scraped together enough to buy a ticket, luck granting me a seat near the front. The stadium’s atmosphere was electric, the roar of the crowd reverberating in my chest. But my eyes were only on him. Michael. That cocky smile of his stirred something in me I hadn’t felt before. And when his gaze briefly met mine, I was overcome—not just with admiration, but with pride.

The match ended far too soon. If you asked me what happened, I couldn’t tell you a thing beyond Michael’s every move. I was captivated, lost in the way he commanded the field.

As the stadium emptied, I lingered, unable to move, clutching a small blue bracelet I’d made for him—a simple token of waxed cords and a metallic rose pendant. I didn’t even notice the signing session at the exit. Even if I had, would I have gone? Fear gripped me. What if he didn’t recognize me? Or worse, what if he did and resented me for my inaction all those years ago?

A presence behind me shattered my thoughts.

“It’s been a while, (Y/N).”

His voice was unmistakable, and my breath hitched. Tears threatened to fall as I turned, finding him standing there, his expression softer than I ever remembered.

Without thinking, I threw my arms around him. For a moment, he froze, but then his arms enveloped me, holding me as if he’d never let go.

“I don’t even know where to start, Micha...” My voice trembled as tears spilled freely.

He pulled back slightly, his cold features melting into an uncharacteristic gentleness. “Let’s not talk about the past,” he said quietly. “Give me your number before I have to leave.”

I handed him my phone, heart racing as he typed in his digits.

“I missed you,” I blurted, unable to stop myself.

His lips curled into a faint smile—a rare, genuine expression of happiness.

“I have something for you,” I said, hesitating before placing the bracelet in his hand. He chuckled softly, inspecting it.

“That’s... adorably not my style,” he teased, “but I’ll keep it.”

My smile faltered. “You don’t have to if you don’t like it—”

“I said I’ll keep it,” he interrupted, his tone firm yet amused. “I’ll find a use for it.”

Before I could say more, he stepped away. “I have to go.”

“Take care, Michael,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

That night, a text lit up my phone: “Care about yourself. Don’t worry about me.” I chuckled, knowing it was impossible.

The next time I saw him on TV, he was wearing the bracelet. My heart swelled as I sent him a message: “Not your style, huh?”

His reply was immediate: “Don’t read into it.”

But I did. And I always would.

[decagondice]

༓ Sparks of a Quiet Fire ༓

༓ Pairing. Soft!Sukuna x Reader

༓ Synopsis. On New Year’s Eve, you and Sukuna share your own little celebration by the open window, lighting sparklers as the night unfolds. In the soft glow, a quiet warmth passes between you both, revealing a side of him that’s rarely seen—an unspoken connection in a moment just for the two of you.

༓ Content. sfw, DO NOT LIGHT SPARKLERS INDOORS! ALWAYS BE CAREFUL WHEN STANDING CLOSE TO THE WINDOW! comfort, fluff, domestic, Soft!Sukuna, normal au, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 1.2k

༓ A.N. Happy New Year! (Or at least almost) I hope you all are enjoying the winter holidays!! I wrote this during the start of November since we had a lot of fireworks going on at the time, I am glad that I am able to release this now :)

The quiet hum of the city drifted through the open window, woven together with the last remnants of holiday songs floating in from somewhere down the street. It was New Year’s Eve, and the sky stretched dark and velvety above, studded with cold stars that seemed to anticipate the bright explosions soon to colour the night. You stood by the window, watching the faint glow of streetlights and holiday lights painted across the snow.

In the quiet living room behind you, Sukuna lounged on the couch, the lamp’s light gentled his features, smoothing away his usual intensity. It had taken time for the sharpness of him to dull, to become something warmer, more approachable. You could still see it, the subtle menace beneath his relaxed exterior—he wore it like a shadow, a defence he would never wholly shed. But tonight, you hoped you could coax something tender from him.

You stole another glance over your shoulder, noting the way he lay, as if deliberately careless, with his head leaned back, carmine eyes fixed on nothing in particular. A flicker of excitement bubbled in your chest as you looked down at the small box in your hands, fingers curling around the sparklers within. You’d been planning this, hoping to surprise him with a tiny slice of joy, a miniature celebration just for the two of you.

The sound of you approaching must have broken his trance because Sukuna’s gaze turned toward you, a single brow arched as he took in the small box in your hands. 

“You’ve got that look again,” he drawled, voice gravelly as always but touched with curiosity. “What are you up to now?”

You lifted the box, opening it just enough for him to see the silver sticks lined up like tiny soldiers. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “I thought we could have our own fireworks this year,” you said, tilting your head toward the window where the empty sky seemed to be waiting for something. “I know they’re nothing compared to the real thing, but… it’s something. Just us.”

The surprise flickered briefly across his face, masked just as quickly by a casual smirk. “Sparklers?” he murmured, one corner of his mouth lifting. “You think that’s going to impress me?”

You laughed softly, unbothered by his feigned indifference. This was just his way; Sukuna would never openly admit his delight, but he couldn’t quite hide the glint in his eyes, the subtle softening of his gaze as he took you in.

With a small smile, you took his hand and guided him across the room to the open window, where the cool night air drifted in, crisp and brimming with the quiet of New Year’s Eve. Standing close, you flicked the lighter and lit the first sparkler, watching as tiny sparks flared to life.

Together, you leaned out the window, holding the sparklers into the dark, where they crackled and burned against the chill. The flickering light cast a warm glow across both your faces, illuminating his expression, his eyes reflecting the dancing embers. The cold nipped at your skin, but you hardly noticed, absorbed by this small, shared warmth, a quiet celebration for just the two of you.

“Happy?” he asked, but his voice held a note of something richer, something warmer.

In answer, you lit another and held it up beside his, the dual trails of sparks mingling together, spinning faint arcs of light in the air. “Very,” you replied, watching him more than the sparkler. He noticed, of course. Sukuna always noticed. His gaze slid sideways to meet yours, something unreadable passing across his expression before he reached out, catching your wrist with his free hand.

There was something in the way he touched you now—small and unspoken intimacies that meant everything. At one time, his touch might have been harsh, possessive, a trace of impatience woven into his every movement. But now, as his fingers curled around your wrist, his grip was firm yet careful, holding you close.

In the glow of the sparklers, his face took on a softer cast, the shifting light lending him an almost gentle quality. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” he murmured, the insult carrying a warmth that belied his words. “Getting all sentimental over these little things.”

You shrugged, undeterred by the jab, and only smiled back at him. “It’s what we have. I think it’s worth celebrating.” And then, in a softer voice, almost lost to the crackle of the sparklers, you added, “You’re worth celebrating.”

A rare silence passed between you, heavy with the weight of what neither of you dared to say. Sukuna’s eyes lowered, the smirk fading from his lips. In a movement so slight, it was barely noticeable, he shifted closer. For all his bravado, you knew it was hard for him to fully let down his guard; moments like this were precious, rare glimpses at the man he kept hidden even from himself.

As the sparklers sputtered and dimmed, fading into trails of smoke, Sukuna’s hand found yours, his fingers weaving through yours with quiet certainty. The light was nearly gone, but you hardly noticed, caught instead in the warmth of his gaze, the way his eyes deepened with affection as he looked at you.

In the distance, the city erupted into bright blossoms of colour, the first fireworks painting the sky in reds, blues, and silvers. For a heartbeat, he watched them, his face lit up in flashes of vibrant colour, the light catching and casting shadows across his face. You saw a brief glimpse of wonder in his expression, a raw, unguarded vulnerability you’d rarely seen before. 

He turned back to you, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His hand rose, fingertips brushing against your cheek as he studied you in silence, the weight of the unspoken thrumming between you like the low, reverberating echo of the fireworks overhead.

“You’ve ruined me, you know,” he murmured, so quietly it was nearly lost beneath the distant pop of the fireworks.

But before you could answer, his lips met yours—soft, firm, with a kind of reverence that only comes from surrendering to something terrifyingly precious. It was a kiss that held every spark, every thrill, every unspoken word he’d never dared say aloud. A kiss that promised that no matter how sharp, no matter how dangerous, he’d keep coming back to you, again and again, like a moth to a flame.

When you pulled back, the air was thick with smoke and sparks, a faint scent of burnt metal and winter cold. Sukuna’s forehead pressed lightly against yours, his eyes still closed as he let the quiet of the moment wrap around you both.

“Happy New Year,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

His eyes opened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, something sincere, almost affectionate glimmering behind his usual mask. Then he huffed, a small, begrudging smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his voice deep and low, sending a gentle thrill through you.

Outside, the fireworks continued, their fleeting lights casting bright trails across the dark. But here, in this quiet, in the stillness of his arms, you knew you’d found something just as brilliant, just as breathtakingly beautiful—an unexpected warmth, a spark that would keep on burning, long after the fireworks had faded into the night.

A.N. I hope everyone who reads this a wonderful year ahead, may it be filled with many happy and enjoyable moments. I haven't been active much recently, however my schedule will be free soon and I have quite a lot planned to write (hopefully it goes smoothly…) If anyone has any suggestions on what to write or would like me to write I am also open! But, thank you so much for reading!

[s4kura-tr3]

Uraume — my savior (part 1??)

Even though It was said that uraume is male in the Heian era, but was reincarnated into a female body in the modern era I’m keeping their pronouns they/them

The village was alive with the hustle and bustle of daily life—merchants calling out their wares, children darting between market stalls, and the smell of roasted chestnuts wafting through the air. You clung to your father’s hand, your small legs hurrying to keep up with his long strides. Sukuna rarely left his palace, but today was one of the rare occasions where he chose to walk through the village, his imposing presence turning heads and silencing whispers.

Even at six years old, you knew who your father was: the King of Curses, feared and respected in equal measure. But to you, he was just Papa—gruff, sometimes scary, but still your world.

As you trailed behind him, something caught your eye. In the shadow of a crumbling wall, a small figure was curled up, motionless. You tugged at Sukuna’s hand, your small fingers gripping his tightly.

“Papa, look!” you exclaimed, pointing toward the figure.

Sukuna barely glanced in their direction before continuing forward. “It’s nothing. Keep walking.”

“But—” You stopped in your tracks, refusing to move. Sukuna paused, his crimson eyes narrowing as he looked back at you. “They’re hurt,” you said, your voice trembling. “We can’t just leave them there!”

“They’re weak,” Sukuna replied flatly. “Weaklings die. That’s the way of the world.”

You frowned, your chest tightening with an emotion you couldn’t name. Letting go of his hand, you marched over to the child despite your father’s disapproval.

The figure—a pale-haired child who looked no older than eight—flinched as you approached. Their clothes were tattered, their face smeared with dirt and bruises. They looked up at you with hollow, fearful eyes.

“Hi,” you said softly, kneeling down beside them. “What’s your name?”

The child hesitated, their voice barely above a whisper. “…Uraume.”

“I’m [Your Name],” you said with a smile, offering your hand. “It’s okay. I’ll help you.”

Before Uraume could respond, Sukuna’s shadow loomed over the both of you. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Get up, [Your Name]. We’re leaving.”

“No!” You stood your ground, glaring up at him with a determination far too bold for a six-year-old. “We can’t leave them here!”

Sukuna’s eyes flashed with irritation. “And why not? They’re useless. A stray who can’t even defend themselves is of no value to me.”

“They’re not useless!” you shot back, your voice rising. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to cry. “If you won’t help them, I will!”

Sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed like he might drag you away by force. But then, with a low growl of annoyance, he relented.

“Fine,” he said, his tone cold. “But don’t expect me to waste my time or resources on them. If they survive, it’s their own doing.”

The journey back to the palace was quiet, save for the occasional sniffle from Uraume, who clung to your side like a lifeline. When you arrived, Sukuna barked an order for the servants to tend to their wounds—only after you threw a tantrum loud enough to shake the palace walls.

Uraume was hesitant at first, shrinking away from every kind gesture and kind word. But you refused to leave their side, chatting endlessly about anything and everything as they recovered. Slowly, they began to trust you, their guarded expression softening whenever you smiled at them.

Sukuna, true to his word, showed little interest in the child. But Uraume, recognizing the immense power he wielded, watched him closely. They admired his strength and presence, even as they feared him.

Years passed, and Uraume transformed. Once frail and timid, they grew into a skilled fighter under Sukuna’s unrelenting training. They became his loyal servant, his right hand in all things. But their loyalty to Sukuna was matched only by their devotion to you.

You had grown into a strong, vibrant young woman, your spirit as fiery as it had been the day you demanded your father save Uraume. Though Sukuna often scolded you for your stubbornness, there was no denying the affection he held for you, even if he rarely showed it.

Uraume, however, wore their feelings plainly—at least in private. They were always there, a quiet shadow at your side, ready to protect you from harm. What had started as gratitude for being saved had grown into something much deeper. They admired your kindness, your courage, and the way you could challenge even Sukuna without fear.

But their feelings remained unspoken. Uraume knew their place; you were the princess, and they were a servant. Still, they couldn’t help the way their heart raced whenever you smiled at them or the way their chest tightened whenever you teased them with the same playful affection you’d shown them as a child.

One evening, as you wandered the palace gardens, you found Uraume tending to the plants. They straightened when they saw you, their expression softening.

“Princess,” they greeted, their voice steady as always.

“Uraume,” you replied with a grin. “I told you, you don’t have to call me that when we’re alone.”

“It’s out of respect,” they said, though there was a faint pink tint to their cheeks.

You stepped closer, studying them with a mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re blushing,” you teased.

“I am not,” they replied quickly, their composure faltering.

You laughed, the sound light and melodic. “You’re so easy to fluster. It’s adorable.”

Uraume turned away, their hands tightening into fists at their sides. They wanted to say something—to tell you how they felt, how they’d always felt. But the words caught in their throat.

Instead, they said the only thing they could: “I’ll always protect you, Princess. No matter what.”

You smiled, your eyes softening. “I know, Uraume. And I’m lucky to have you.”

As the two of you stood there under the pale glow of the moon, the weight of unspoken feelings hung between you. For now, it was enough.

[letmesleeponu4sumtime]

I finished my book in the tub this evening and upon reading the last paragraph, like a crescendo quiet tears streamed down my cheeks dimly illuminated by the screen of my MacBook sitting atop the toilet. I have my Spotify opened up to display the songs in fullscreen, the white ceramic tiles of the bathroom wall reflect the changing songs. The air swollen with steam from my pre-shower. I sit still in the bath and imagine that my body has disappeared and all that’s left is phantom sensations from memories. I close my eyes, raise my wet hands and cover my face as my silent tears ease into quiet sobs. My chest rises falls in and out of the water. I can feel the pulse of my heartbeat throughout my body, in my cheeks especially. Outside of the small bathroom window above the toilet the sky fades ambiently to twilight leaving me a shadow soaking in now, luke warm water. I think about the hard day I had and how I went to the bathroom during a rush at work to stop myself from being overwhelmed with mysterious emotion and the tears that threatened my eyes. There is something incredibly grounding about holding yourself while you cry, simulating the act of external empathy. It’s also very lonely.

These are my final tears of the new year, that will be washed away with the bath water once I drain it. An uninteional cleansing but a much needed end cap to the year. I’ve debated writing about my year but when I do I become overwhelmed with everything and nothing, simultaneously. A year is a lot to compile into thoughtful intimate words. There are many days that have passed like any other, tangled within one another. Yet, somehow everyday has felt like something important. I listen to S.Maharba’s ‘For Someone’ and am struck but the words that murmur while the song transitions to the next, “Oh god, we have forgotten things we have never known…”

I try on my new black lace garter belt I was gifted for Christmas in the privacy of the bathroom in the dim light. For some reason I’m moved by the object and feel it’s a preliminary to the new year…I do not try to make sense of the feeling but allow myself to accept this lace token and its ominousness.

[liyliths]

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 a jujutsu kaisen college au

౨ৎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

summary: you survive a frat party, only to discover that satoru gojo is somehow even more insufferable than you thought. you watch him shamelessly flirt his way through a game of cup pong, and somehow accidentally make a deal to shadow the football team for the rest of the season for the newspaper club. you realize your senior year in undergrad might be way messier than you bargained for.

“That is correct,” Y/N hummed, tilting her head in acknowledgment as she observed the boy. “But I think I already know enough about you, Satoru.” “Oh, really?” The white-haired boy hummed, maintaining eye contact with Y/N as he sipped his drink. Y/N nodded as she mimicked Satoru, taking a drink out of her water bottle, eyes on his. “Really.” 

pairings: football and frat!satoru gojo x journalism major!reader

contains: fem!reader, opposites to lovers, slow burn, situationship core, angst and comfort, cursing, suggestive content although sfw, idiots denying they're in love

word count: 4k

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The dreaded day was finally here.

It was Friday.

As each day passed before the frat party Shoko had bribed her into attending, Y/N’s regret intensified. She could’ve just sucked it up and taken out the trash herself, tackled her growing pile of laundry, and avoided the entire ordeal. But no—here she was, trudging along beside her roommate, silently cursing every decision that had led her to this moment. 

A stupid frat party, of all things. What was she even thinking?

After a long walk from their dorms, they finally turned onto the street where the loud frat house loomed ahead. The lingering warmth of summer had faded with the setting sun, and as darkness set over the horizon, a cool breeze swept through the air. Y/N couldn’t help but hug her arms to her chest, trying to ward off the chill biting her skin. Shoko was the first to approach the bouncer across the lawn at the front door, with Y/N lingering from behind.

The boy’s hair was dyed a toned-down pink with a dark undercut hidden by a backward hat, with big bright brown eyes. He was wearing a Sigma Chi hoodie that looked about two sizes too big, with a clipboard in one hand and a can of soda in the other. He perked up immediately when he saw the girls approaching, greeting them with a smile.

Looking up from his clipboard, the boy then squinted at the pair before him. “Oh, are you two Shoko and Y/N?”

The girls exchanged a glance with each other before answering. “Yeah, how’d you know?” Shoko questioned.

“You’re the guests Satoru put on his invites, he made sure we knew who you were.” The boy said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, while fumbling to grab wristbands in his hoodie’s pocket. 

At the mention of the familiar name, Y/N shot a sharp look at her roommate who was barely suppressing a knowing grin. “Satoru put us on the list?”

Shoko shrugged, completely unfazed by Y/N’s glare, which practically burned holes into her eyes. “I figured it’d be funny to see you squirm. I won’t explain further.”

“Funny.” Y/N mocked her words, shaking her head. “Hilarious, even. Let’s just get this over with.”

The pink-haired boy finally retrieved the wristbands from his pocket and handed them each a pair with a chuckle. “I think it’s cool he went out of his way for you, he rarely does that for just anyone.” He shrugged before reaching out his hand politely to shake the two girls' hands. “I’m Yuji by the way, Yuji Itadori.”

“Well, thank you Yuji, we’re honored.” Shoko bowed her head dramatically before she walked past him into the busy house. Y/N’s glare deepened, but she kept quiet, muttering a trail of curses under her breath as she reluctantly stepped past the front door after giving Yuji a small thank you. 

Inside—it was chaos. Absolute chaos.

The air was thick with the unmistakable scent of beer, suffocating heat from close proximity, and the oh-so-comforting smell of fresh weed. Frat boys shouted over the pounding music and rays of neon flashing lights, couples were tangled up in corners, and someone had already knocked over a stack of red solo cups, spilling their contents across the sticky floor. It was a complete mess.

Y/N wondered—again, not for the first time, why she’d agreed to come to this party. And she didn’t even want to know why Satoru Gojo, of all people, had anything to do with inviting her.

She trailed behind Shoko through the suffocating chaos of the house, eventually weaving their way into the kitchen, where only a handful of people lingered. Shoko wasted no time, plucking an unopened beer from the scattered assortment on the island and setting it down beside her. 

Y/N grabbed a lukewarm bottle of water, her brow furrowing as she watched Shoko light up a cigarette. “Are those even allowed in here?” she asked.

Shoko gave her a flat look, narrowing her eyes as if the question itself was an insult. “Why wouldn’t they be? It’s a frat house for fucks sake.”

“Just asking,” Y/N put her hands up in mock surrender, the overwhelming smell of nicotine filling her senses as Shoko exhaled a lazy trail of smoke, the cigarette balanced effortlessly between her fingers. Y/N never got used to the nasty smell. Once, she tried to get Shoko to quit—but as stubborn as she is, she didn’t listen.

Y/N immediately felt discomfort settling into her bones. Sure, she was here with her friend, but she felt like an outsider nonetheless. If it wasn’t already obvious enough—partying was never really her thing, even back in high school. When she got into college, she went to one frat her freshman year when the semester started with a group of friends. It was terrible.

She quickly realized—you had to be either drunk or high to have fun at a frat. Or maybe crazy if you enjoy it sober. Either of the two works.

The sound of an annoyingly familiar voice rang through Y/N’s ears in the distance, and she glanced up through the distant crowd to see a head of white hair hidden by a USC cap. The boy was weaving effortlessly through the chaos, holding a drink above his head in an effort to not spill it in the flurry of people.

As the boy broke through the crowd—she realized exactly who it was. 

Satoru Gojo, who was making a beeline straight toward her into the kitchen.

Oh shit.

Y/N immediately stiffened, her grip tightening on the lukewarm bottle of water in her hand. Of course, it had to be him. She could already see the shit-eating grin forming on his face from a mile away as if he owned the entire frat house—or even the very air inside it.

Shoko noticed him too, glancing at Y/N with a knowing smirk as she took another drag from her cigarette. “Perfect timing,” she muttered under her breath, exhaling smoke.

Satoru sauntered into the kitchen, his drink still miraculously intact despite the chaos he’d just waded through. His bright blue eyes landed squarely on Y/N who was leaning against the counter beside Shoko, his face lighting up as if she were the person he’d been looking for all night. 

“What a coincidence,” Satoru smirked as he casually leaned against the counter across from Y/N. He wore a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal lean, toned arms, and Y/N couldn’t help but stare. “Couldn’t stay away from me, could ‘ya?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, his voice snapping her out of it. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she retorted, though her voice betrayed her annoyance. “I was dragged here.”

“Dragged?” Satoru echoed, clutching his chest in offense with an utterly shocked expression. “Shoko, is that true? Dragging poor Y/N to a party? How cruel of you.”

Shoko shrugged, unbothered, and she flicked her ash into an empty cup on the counter. “Says the one that begged me to convince her to go,” she replied bluntly, glancing between the pair before her. “You should be grateful.”

Y/N shot Shoko a sharp glare before reluctantly turning her attention back to the blue-eyed boy across from her. Satoru stood there, casually leaning against the counter with a lazy confidence that seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with amusement, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk that suggested he was enjoying this far more than he should.

Creep.

“So, why did you want me here so badly? Couldn’t wait to hear my article about you?” Y/N asked, folding her arms to her chest.

Satoru chuckled at Y/N’s words, taking a casual sip of god knows what in his cup before answering. “Well, don’t you want to get to know the guy you interviewed? Journalism is all about research, am I right?”

“That is correct,” Y/N hummed, tilting her head in acknowledgment as she observed the boy. “But I think I already know enough about you, Satoru.”

“Oh, really?” The white-haired boy hummed, maintaining eye contact with Y/N as he sipped his drink.

Y/N nodded as she mimicked Satoru, taking a drink out of her water bottle, eyes on his. “Really.” 

Satoru scoffed. “You wound me, Y/N. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest as a sly smirk played on her lips. “Who said we were?”

Satoru’s eyes widened in mock horror, and he let out a low, exaggerated whistle, straightening up as if trying to regain his composure. “Wow, ouch.”

A sudden voice interrupted from behind, “Yo, Satoru.”

Y/N turned her head to find the source, and in walked a tall, dark-haired man through the flurry of neon lights. He had long hair, held back by a neat man bun, with narrow brown eyes that seemed to observe every detail they could take in.

Satoru’s face lit up with a grin. “Suguru, nice of you to join us!” he called out, gesturing for his friend to come closer.

Suguru approached, his sharp eyes landing on Shoko who exhaled a puff of smoke, looking as indifferent as ever. “It’s a surprise seeing you here, Shoko. Since when did you start showing up at frats? I thought you were too busy with med school.”

Shoko arched an eyebrow, flicking ash into an empty cup on the counter. “Since your friend here forced me to drag Y/N to this party.”

“Dragging you guys into the mess, I see,” Suguru chuckled, shaking his head as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Y/N’s eyes flicked between the three, attempting to connect the dots. “How do you guys know each other?”

Suguru leaned against the counter, his grin widening. “It’s a long story,” he said vaguely, his eyes flicking to Satoru’s, who gave a small, knowing nod. Y/N frowned slightly, unsure if she wanted to press for more details until Satoru’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Well, since you came to a party, you have to go to one of our football games now.” Does he ever stop? Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she deadpanned the blue-eyed boy. “Yeah, no thanks. Nice try, though.” Satoru threw out his arms with an exaggerated groan, lifting his eyebrows to try and further convince the girl. “Come on! You need to get the whole experience!” No. Satoru doesn’t know anything about stopping. Or rejection, on that matter. Y/N raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Not happening,” she shot back, shaking her head. “I hardly know anything about football.”

Satoru feigned a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as though her words had physically wounded him. “You’re killing me, Y/N! You’ve never even been to one game?”

“Not even one,” Y/N confirmed, biting back a grin at the boy’s exaggerations.

“I can teach you what it’s about!” Satoru beamed, leaning closer to Y/N as he forged a plan. “Okay, hear me out—what if I sweeten the deal? If you go to the rest of our games for the season, I can pull a few strings and get you to shadow us.”

“Shadow the team?” Y/N questioned, her eyebrows furrowing with curiosity. “How?”

Satoru then leaned back against the counter, spreading his arms as if presenting the world’s greatest opportunity. “You can come to our practices, home games, and—get this—I might even be able to bring you along for away games,” he presented, his cunning grin widening with every word. “Plus, full access to all the players for interviews.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical as she questioned his intentions. “And how exactly are you going to pull that off?”

“Because I’m Satoru Gojo,” he said matter-of-factly, gesturing to himself with exaggerated flair. “I’ve got connections.”

Shoko let out a soft scoff, exchanging a knowing look with Suguru as cigarette smoke spilled from her mouth. “Real convincing, Satoru.”

“That’s why I’m a business major, what can I say?” he shot back with a casual shrug, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a playful challenge. “You in, Y/N?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she finally gave in to his advances. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk with the head of the newspaper club and see if she can approve,” she said, meeting Satoru’s gaze with a reluctant smirk. “Happy?”

The blue-eyed boy’s grin stretched even wider. “Extraordinarily.” 

“That was a big word for you, eh?” Y/N quipped, smiling to herself as she watched Satoru’s grin falter.

“She got you there, Satoru,” Suguru chimed in, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Satoru rolled his eyes, flicking the dark-haired boy’s hand off his shoulder. “You’re both insufferable,” he muttered, though his lopsided grin betrayed him. He swirled the contents of his cup with a flick of his wrist, suddenly glancing between Shoko and Suguru. “Oh, and Y/N unfollowed me, by the way. Can you believe that, guys?”

Y/N’s brows shot up. “Huh?”

“On Instagram.”

“Wow,” Suguru and Shoko said in unison, their voice lacking interest.

“Oh—” Y/N blinked, now nervously fumbling for her phone in her pocket. “I didn’t even mean to… let me follow you back, sorry.”

So much for hoping he didn’t notice.

As Y/N finally pulled her phone out, an obnoxiously loud voice cut through the kitchen from the living room, pausing her movements. “Yo, Suguru! Grab Satoru, we’re playing cup pong!”

Suguru turned his head toward the commotion, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. “You heard the man,” he said, glancing back at Y/N and Shoko with a friendly smile. “I’ll see you two around.” 

With a casual wave, Suguru dispersed into the crowd, leaving Satoru behind. The white-haired boy lingered for a moment longer, his ever-present grin softening just slightly as his gaze flicked toward Y/N. “I’ll catch you later, Y/N. Don’t forget—I can get you on the sidelines!”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the slight upward twitch of her lips. “Bye, Satoru.”

Shoko watched the boy disappear into the crowd, taking a slow drag of her cigarette, the tip glowing a soft ember as she inhaled. Her gaze drifted to Y/N, who was doing a poor job of hiding her wandering eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile.

Y/N caught Shoko’s lips twist in the corner of her eye, groaning. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face, right now, Shoko!” 

“You’re staring,” Shoko says bluntly. 

Y/N snapped her gaze away from Satoru’s figure at the cup pong table, scoffing. “I’m not staring,” she hissed, though her defensiveness only made Shoko’s grin widen.

Ignoring Shoko, Y/N felt her gaze betraying her, flicking back toward the living room. Satoru was mid-throw, his long fingers delicately gripping the ball before he flicked it into the air with ease. The ball fell perfectly, landing in a red solo cup to a chorus of cheers. He raised his hands in victory, soaking in the attention as a girl near him giggled and leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

She felt her jaw tighten as her eyes followed Satoru who moved behind the girl taking her turn at the table. His tall frame leaned in from behind her—too closely, and his hand reached out to adjust her arm, guiding it delicately like some kind of personal coach. The girl laughed, her giggles carrying over the hum of the party, and just when Y/N thought it couldn’t get worse, Satoru dipped his head, his lips brushing close to the crook of the girl’s neck as he whispered something only she could hear. 

“You’re still staring,” Shoko suddenly nudged Y/N with her elbow, snapping her out of the endless string of thoughts forming in her mind. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” Y/N actually laughed, for probably the first time she’d been at this party. “You’re funny.”

“And you’re an idiot,” Shoko shrugged, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Listen,” Y/N held her hands out to explain, watching Shoko’s eyebrow raise in curiosity. “I barely know the guy. I don’t care who he’s friends with, or who he flirts with. It’s not my business.”

“Whatever you say,” Her roommate sighed, dropping the conversation.

Y/N crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes darting away from the living room as the sound of another round of cheers erupted from the cup pong table. She sighed, turning to Shoko with a desperate look. "I don’t know why Satoru wanted me here so badly. Can we just get out of here?"

Shoko raised an eyebrow, taking a final drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out in the nearest empty cup. "Y/N, we’ve barely been here for thirty minutes," she frowned.

"Please?" Y/N whispered.

Shoko studied her for a moment, exhaling slowly before relenting. "Fine," she said, grabbing her jacket from the counter. "Let’s go."

Y/N moved quickly toward the front door, Shoko already a few steps ahead, her head bent as she rummaged through her bag to grab another cigarette for the walk. The noise of the party dulled slightly as they neared the exit, the cool night air slipping through the open door just within reach.

From the living room, Suguru noticed the girls and nudged Satoru’s arm, leaning close enough to be heard over the chaos. “Your guests are leaving,” he said with a tilt of his head toward Y/N and Shoko.

Satoru froze mid-throw, the ping pong ball bouncing off the rim of the cup as he turned his head sharply. "Huh?" His gaze followed Suguru’s direction, landing on Y/N as she began to step outside. Without a word, he abandoned the game, earning a scowl from the girl he was with, weaving his way through the crowd.

Y/N barely registered the sound of approaching footsteps before a hand lightly tapped her shoulder. Startled, she turned her head to find Satoru’s blue eyes, his signature cocky expression firmly in place.

“Leaving already?” he teased, leaning casually against the doorframe as though he hadn’t just left his game in the middle of a turn. “Didn’t even say goodbye.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, to say the least. “Uh, yeah,” she managed, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag. “It’s late.”

Satoru tilted his head, feigning disappointment. “I didn’t take you for a party pooper, Y/N. Guess I’ll have to reevaluate.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t take you for someone who’d notice,” she shot back, surprising herself with the quickness of her retort.

He let out a low laugh, his grin widening. “I notice a lot of things.”

Before she could respond—or figure out what exactly that meant—he stepped back, gesturing forward with a sweeping hand. “Alright, I won’t stop you. Thanks for coming, Shoko.” he said, “And don’t forget to keep me updated on that deal Y/N, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll email you,” Y/N replied, the crisp air biting against her skin as she fully stepped outside.

“Email?” Satoru said with mock horror, his jaw dropped. “What are we, coworkers?”

Y/N glanced back, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the faint tug of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Technically.”

“Come on, send me a text, at least!” Satoru whined, holding out his hands in desperation as he watched the girl leave.

“Fine. I’ll text you,” Y/N shook her head, taking one last look at Satoru before walking off with Shoko back to their dormitory. 

-

“Is there more to Satoru Gojo than meets the eye?”

“I like it,” Utahime, the head of the newspaper club, nodded approvingly of the article title before her. “But with this whole deal you’ve got going on, your questions must be more personal to be fitting. I’m sure you can manage, you’ve got a few months before the season ends.”

“Yes, I’ll manage.” Y/N nodded, flipping through her notes as she sat in the newspaper club’s building. The morning light poured through the windows, its golden glow shifting across the floor in slow patterns, following the sway of the trees outside.

“I think this will be a good opportunity for the newspaper club, especially for you, Y/N. This will look great on your resume once you graduate in May,” Utahime leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she glanced at Y/N.

“I agree, thank you for your approval.” Y/N nodded thankfully.

“Of course. We’ll have a few interview articles, game recaps, and then your big reflection piece on Satoru at the end of the season.” Utahime’s gaze flickered toward the bulletin board covered in schedules and pinned articles. “I’ll make sure the photography team follows you to the games, too. This will be great for exposure.”

She paused, her tone softening as she looked directly at Y/N. “I trust you’ll do a good job with this, as always, Y/N.”

“Thank you Utahime. I will try my best.”

Utahime gathered her things and rose from her chair, offering Y/N a small, encouraging smile. “I know you will. I better get going, don’t want to make you late for class. Keep me updated on how it goes,” she said before striding out of the office, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as Y/N bid her goodbye.

Y/N glanced at her phone and sighed. It was already 8:45 AM, which left her just enough time to grab her bag and sprint across campus to her 9 AM class. But instead of moving, she hesitated, her fingers hovering over her phone.

With a resigned breath, she opened Instagram and typed Satoru Gojo into the search bar, and his profile popped up instantly. She tapped on his name, her thumb pausing for a brief second before pressing the message button.

Y/N: “Utahime approved your proposal. Let me know when you’ve spoken to Coach Yaga, and we’ll go from there.”

The moment the message was sent, she sighed again, shutting off her phone and shoving it into her jacket pocket. She began to gather her belongings to rush to class, but her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her phone. She pulled it out, her eyes widening slightly at the quick response.

Satoru Gojo: “Sounds like a plan. I’ll have to confirm everything with my coach, but I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”

Y/N: “Okay, just keep me posted. And seriously, thank you for this."

Satoru Gojo: Hearted your message. “No problem. I’ll send you our schedule once I hear back from the coach. In the meantime, we have practice today at 4 PM. You coming?”

Y/N hesitated, typing but deleting her message, until she finally came up with a response.

Y/N: “Alright, I might be a bit late because I have a class at 3 but I’ll be there.”

Satoru Gojo: “Cool, we’ll be at the practice field by the tennis stadium.”

Y/N double-tapped Satoru’s message, her thumb hovering briefly over the heart before she pressed it. With a sigh, she locked her phone, the screen going dark just as the digital clock caught her eye.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, her stomach sinking as the numbers glared back at her: 8:50 AM. Snatching up her bag, she scrambled to gather her things once again.

How had she lost track of time so easily?

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taglist: @n1vi @honoredalone @emyyy007 @getosugurume (ask to join)

[writerfromshikahr]

My first male Rook piece. This is slightly inspired by my Grey Warden Rook, named Sethius (but no names are used in this, just generic Rook). Pre-relationship moment (because I freaking love those).

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A Sketch to the Heart - Lucanis X Rook

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The smell of roasted meat and herbs lingered in the air, the warm glow of the kitchen fireplace casting dancing shadows across the walls. Rook sat at the long wooden table, one elbow resting on its worn surface, the other hand guiding a piece of charcoal over the thick paper of his sketchbook. Around him, the others were finishing their meals or quietly preparing to retire for the night.

The room hummed with the soft murmur of voices and the occasional scrape of a chair, but no one paid much attention to him as he worked. That was just as well. The flickering firelight played across his freckled face, deepening the thoughtful crease between his brows as the wyvern on the page came to life.

It wasn’t the first time he’d drawn a one, but this time it was different. He’d noticed the way Lucanis spoke about them a few days earlier—quietly, with a rare note of admiration. It wasn’t much, just a passing comment in the markets in Treviso, but it had stuck with Rook. That’s just who he was. He remembered little things and acted on them without a second thought.

He added the final details to the wings—thin veins branching out like rivers—then leaned back, studying the creature. It looked alive, ready to spring from the page, its jagged tail curled in menace, its angular head tilted as if in thought. Satisfied, he gently dusted the excess charcoal from the paper with the edge of his sleeve and set the stick of charcoal down.

The faint rustle of movement drew his attention, he glanced up to find Lucanis approaching. As always, he moved with an assassin’s precision, quiet and measured. He stopped beside Rook and glanced down at the sketchbook.

“What are you drawing?” Lucanis asked, his tone low and even, but there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

Rook smiled faintly. “Something for you, actually,” he said, reaching for the small dirk sheathed at his belt.

Lucanis raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Rook slid the blade carefully along the edge of the page, severing it cleanly from the sketchbook. He set the knife aside, then held the page to him.

“Here,” Rook said.

Lucanis hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper as he lifted it to get a better look. The firelight illuminated every detail—the wyvern’s powerful wings, its coiled tail, the glint of intelligence in its eyes. He stared at the drawing for a long moment, his dark eyes tracing every detail. His expression softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through, “You remembered.” The words were quiet, almost as though they were meant only for himself.

Rook shrugged, his tone casual. “Of course I did. I’m good at listening, or so I've been told.”

“It’s incredible, thank you.” he smiled softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s nothing,” Rook replied, waving him off. “Just figured you’d appreciate it.”

The assassin sat down beside him, holding the sketch carefully, as though it were something fragile. The fire crackled softly, filling the space between them as the rest of the kitchen slowly emptied.

“I meant it,” Lucanis said after a while. “The drawing means a lot to me.”

Rook glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You really like wyverns, huh?”

Lucanis nodded, his gaze still on the drawing. “When I was a child, I wanted one—more than anything. I read every book I could find about them. Caterina thought it was a distraction, but I couldn’t help myself.” He let out a soft, almost self-conscious chuckle. “I suppose I never stopped admiring them.”

Rook leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Ever seen one up close?”

Lucanis shook his head. “No. I’ve only read about them. Their wildness, their strength… they fascinate me.”

Rook smiled, sliding his sketchbook closer to Lucanis. “You’re in luck. I’ve seen plenty of them—and drawn just as many. Caught sight of some in the Korcari Wilds a few years back. Mean little bastards. This one here nearly took my arm off… but, damn, was it beautiful.”

Lucanis leaned closer, studying the page intently. “I didn’t know they came in so many forms.”

He turned the page to another sketch of a massive wyvern with jagged horns and a thick, scaled tail. “Spotted it in the Frostbacks during a supply run. It didn’t try to eat me, so I consider that a win.“

Lucanis chuckled softly, the sound rare but warm. “You’ve seen all of these?”

“Over the last ten years, yeah. Wyverns and Wardens go hand in hand, or so it seems. Always where you don't want them to be and usually where you've got to go.”

Lucanis studied him for a moment, “I envy you,” he said quietly. “To see them in person… it must be incredible.”

“It is,” Rook admitted, his voice softening. “But you probably see them differently than I do. I mostly see creatures that are trying to eat me. You, on the other hand, see them for what they really are—wild, dangerous, and kind of amazing.”

Lucanis’s gaze returned to the drawing he had given him, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, again. For this. For remembering.”

“Anytime" Rook met his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile.

[mofongomuncher]

Hru, how have your days been going, hopefully they've been going well if your reqs are open can you do a fic between ekko x black reader it's kinda like a pt 2 to bicep if they weren't dating in that one or you can make it separate where they were crushing on each other for a while (for YEARS) and they argued about something stupid and that caused them to distance themselves and they started to feel bad about how they treated each other and what they said and so they go to reconcile and they pull a " I'm sorry" at the same time and they have a fluffy reconcile that lead to reader pulling him into a kiss cause he was adorable and that lead to him asking her to be his gf and she said yes and like they spend the rest of the night like together(cuddling) and giving kisses 😘 thank you

𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩��𝙢𝙚

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and black reader ¡

❥ Words: 5,000+

Zaun was alive in its usual way—chaotic, grimy, and buzzing with an energy that never seemed to rest. The streets below your window hummed with the clatter of the occasional yelling and chatting by the Zaunties that passed by and shouting of traders selling scraps. You have been used to it by now. You grew up in this mess. But tonight, none of it reached you. The noise outside was drowned out by the storm in your chest.

You laid down on your worn couch, your long, dark curls falling messily over your shoulders. The dim glow of the lamp beside you casted shadows across your face, highlighting the sharpness of your cheekbones and the quiet determination in your eyes.

There was a soft tension in the air, the kind that made the whole room feel too small—like you were trapped, but not by the walls. It was the weight of the silence that had followed the argument with Ekko. The silence that felt like a cold void between you two, and no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, your mind always returned to him.

His face. His words. How they had hurt more than they should have.

For years, Ekko had been your constant. Your partner-in-crime, the one person who never judged you or treated you like you were just another face in the crowded, filthy streets of Zaun. You remembered the two of you as kids, sneaking through alleys, racing down narrow walkways, laughing at the most ridiculous things. He'd always been the dreamer—the one with big plans and bigger ambitions. You? You'd always been the realist, the grounded one, quick to remind him of the risks and dangers lurking around every corner.

But as you both grew older, the divide between the dreamer and the realist started to feel more... complicated. Ekko had become a leader of sorts, a symbol of hope for the Firelights, building something bigger than either of you had ever imagined as kids. And you? You were stuck in the same spot, wondering if you had missed your chance.

Somewhere in those years of shared glances, quiet conversations, and stolen moments, your feelings for him had shifted. It wasn't just friendship anymore. You caught yourself lingering a little too long when he touched your arm, your heart stuttered when he laughed, and you found it harder to look him in the eye without feeling something more. The weight of that realization was something you could never share—at least, not without risking everything.

And now, after everything, you weren't even sure if that was still an option.

You ran a hand through your curls, letting out a slow breath as you glanced at the worn photo of the two of you sitting on your nightstand next to your couch. It was from the first Firelights mission you'd worked together. His arm around your shoulders, his eyes bright with excitement, your head tilted slightly, smiling like the world was something you could actually fix together. The photo felt like a lifetime ago.

Your eyes stung. Maybe the fight didn't just hurt because of the words exchanged. Maybe it was because you weren't sure how much longer you could keep pretending nothing had changed.

It all started in Ekkos room. You were bent over a half-finished project, trying to fix a stupid radio one of the little firelights dropped while they were running around with it. But your mind wasn't focused on the radio, it was elsewhere. The dinner you planned to have with Ekko, you guys had been talking about it for almost weeks now.

You were almost starting to feel like you were just another problem on his list, something that always came second to whatever battle he was fighting next.

You glanced over at him. The boy was hunched over his table, his fingers moving quickly as he adjusted the mechanics of something—probably one of his random inventions. The table was cluttered with metal parts and blueprints.

He always had something going on, always had something bigger to fix, to build, to protect.

You stood up from your workbench and cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, though you felt a bit of irritation creeping up for some reason. "Ekko..." you began, "Are we still on for tonight?"

Ekko didn't even look up, absorbed in the small adjustments he was making to whatever he was making. His focus was so intense, it was almost like you weren't even there. "Hmm?" he mumbled, distracted.

"Uhhh, we made plans. Dinner...remember?" You repeated, your voice slightly sharper now. You'd been looking forward to it for so long, to just spend time with him outside of all this—his endless work and the weight of everything on his shoulders.

"You promised.."

His hands stilled for a moment, and he finally looked up at you. His expression was distant. "Oh yeah...I remember." he said, but there was a lack of enthusiasm in his tone. Clearly, it seemed like he didn't seem to care or understand the importance of it to you. "I've got too much to do tonight. This thing won't finish itself."

There it was again.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest. The response was so casual now, so dismissive. Every single time you made plans, every time you wanted to spend some quality time together, his work—or something else—always took priority. It was like you were constantly waiting for him to be done with whatever big thing he had on his plate, and it was so exhausting.

"Ekko are you deadass?" you started again, trying to keep your cool, but your frustration was seeping through. "This isn't just about dinner...We literally talked about this Ekko. You said you'd make time. It's not just about fixing things or missions. It's about US. It's about you showing up for once, and not just dropping everything for some stupid project or some emergency."

Ekko stood up, his movements quick and sharp. "You don't get it Y/N." His voice had hardened, that familiar edge to it that meant he was getting defensive. "I don't have the luxury to just 'show up..' I'm not some regular person who can afford to go out whenever they want...I've got responsibilities. People that actually depend on me, on what I'm building here."

His words hit harder than you expected. The way he said it, the weight behind it. You knew he carried a heavy burden—the whole city was depending on him, on his inventions, on his ability to make things right after everything that had happened with the Undercity and the fallout with the Shimmer. But sometimes it felt like he used that as an excuse for every single thing.

"Oh please don't tell me you really going to pull the 'people depend on me' card again?" you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. "I get that you're the hero now...You've got this whole responsibility to protect everyone, to keep things together. But you can't keep pretending like that means you can't show up once in a while for the people closest to you."

Ekko's jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment, clearly annoyed. "This isn't just some excuse Y/N—I am protecting our people. People like you.." His tone was harsh. "I'm doing this because I have to....because there's no one else who can."

You could feel the anger bubbling up inside you now. "Okay but what about me Ekko? What about us?" You took a step closer, eyes narrowing as you stared at him. "You keep fucking pushing me aside, making me feel like I'm not worth your time anymore...like I don't even matter."

Ekko's eyes darkened, and his voice was sharper than ever. "I've never said you don't matter Y/N.. But this—" he gestured vaguely at the work around him, the piles of blueprints, the unfinished projects. "this is my life. You knew that when you decided to stick around. I'm not going to sit here and apologize for doing what needs to be done."

"You don't even see it, do you?" You felt a lump rise in your throat, and your chest tightened with the weight of everything you were holding back now. "You're so caught up in saving the world that you've forgotten about the people who are standing right in front of you Ekko. You act like I'm supposed to understand, but it's been years, Ekko. And I'm so tired of this."

Ekko's fists clenched at his sides. You could see him struggling to contain his anger, the frustration of juggling everything in his life bubbling to the surface. He took a step closer, his voice lower than before. "I never asked you to wait. I never told you to stay. If you're tired of it, then leave Y/N, simple as that. I can't keep apologizing for not being the person you want me to be."

His words stung like hell. The suggestion that you should just leave—that you weren't even important enough to make an effort for—was such a punch in the gut.

You blinked, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I'm not asking you to be someone else Ekko. I just want you to be here for once. Not just when it's convenient for you."

Ekko stood there, a tense silence between you both. His gaze softened just a fraction after seeing the tears build up in your eyes, but the walls he'd built around himself were still there, towering and sealed.

Finally, he spoke, but his words were as cold as the air between you. "Maybe I can't be what you want me to be then. I don't know how to fix that. I can't change everything for you...Not when I'm trying to keep this city from falling apart."

You shook your head slowly, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. "Huh, I'm starting to wonder if this city matters more to you than I do."

Ekko flinched, his expression hardening once more. "Don't twist it like that Y/N. I'm doing this for everyone."

"Yeah, well, clearly you're not doing it for me right?" The words came out in a whisper, but they felt like a weight on your chest. "What about the person who's been here with you through thick and thin?"

Ekko said nothing. His lips pressed together in a tight line, his eyes avoiding yours, the unspoken truth lingering in the air between you.

You turned away, your heart pounding. "I can't keep doing this Ekko...I'm just done at this point."

Without another word, you left the workshop, the door slamming shut behind you.

Ekko didn't stop you. He didn't try to call you back, nothing.

As you walked away, you couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever realize just how much you had given him—or if he even cared.

Ekko sat alone in his room, nothing felt right tonight. The usual comfort of his workshop, felt hollow, his mind kept drifting back to the argument he had just had with Y/N.

"What about me Ekko? What about us?"

Her voice replayed in his mind like a constant loop, each word harder to ignore with every passing second. He ran his fingers over the worn edges of his table, his mind drifting back to a time when things were so much simpler, when life was just about working on our little gadgets, sharing secrets, running through the dusty streets of the Undercity.

Back when things were just him and Y/N.

Growing up together in the depths of Zaun had forged a bond between them that was almost unbreakable. Ekko remembered the first time he had met her. He was about 10 years old, he had bumped into Y/N on his way into Benoz's shop.

Y/N was different from the other kids—they both had a knack for inventions and painting, something that set them apart from the rest of the kids around. She was never afraid to get her hands dirty, wasn't afraid to dive headfirst into a problem. And, like Ekko, she had a fire in her—a need to just build, to fix, and to make things better.

What really stuck with Ekko was how they had always been able to talk to each other without words. They didn't need to explain everything. Whether it was a glance or a nod, they understood each other in ways no one else did. They had each other's backs through everything—the struggles, the losses, the pain of living in the shadows of Piltover's gleaming towers. It had always been the two of them.

Even after everything that had happened—his rise to leading the Firelights, the battles they had fought, and the weight of keeping the city from collapsing under its own greed—Y/N was always by his side. No matter what it was.

But the weight of his responsibilities, the constant struggle to keep his city safe from those who strived to exploit it, had begun to take a toll on their relationship.

Ekko's gaze drifted to the window. He could still picture Y/N's face, even from memory. Her skin was rich and smooth—her long dark hair, those beautiful lush curls, had always framed her face just right. The way her eyes big brown eyes sparkled every-time she spoke. She had such an elegance to her, despite the chaos of their world—she had a grounded beauty that was so hard to describe.

She never tried to hide her imperfections, never pretended to be something she wasn't. She didn't have to. To Ekko, she was perfect, even with all the scars life had left on them both.

Her smile, the way she would smile when they finished a project together, the way she would light up when they discovered something new—it was these things that made Ekko's heart ache now. Because he had taken them for granted. He had been so focused on his work, so consumed by the mission, that he had stopped seeing her the way he should have.

As a child, he had never really understood the feelings he had for her. She was just Y/N—his partner, his closest friend. But as they grew older, as they became more than just kids playing around in the wreckage, something had shifted. There had always been an undeniable pull between them, a connection that Ekko had tried so hard to ignore. It was safer that way—keeping things unspoken.

After all, what if he couldn't protect her the way she deserved? What if she became a target for his enemies? He couldn't let her get caught in the middle of his war with the city's power players.

Now as he sat in his room, the weight of his own words ringed in his ears, he realized he had made a mistake. He hadn't just failed her as a friend—he had failed her as someone who cared.

"I'm doing this for everyone." he had said when she tried to get him to see reason.

And maybe part of him truly believed it. But the real truth was, Ekko had never been good at balancing it all. The more he built these new inventions, the more he fought, the more he realized just how much he was sacrificing in the process.

He hadn't been there for her—not in the way she deserved. She had been right...he had been so consumed with saving the world, with fixing the city, that he had forgotten to show up for the one person who had always stood by his side.

Ekko clenched his fists, his pulse quickening. It wasn't just about fixing things anymore. It was about understanding that she had always been there, right in front of him, waiting for him to see what was important.

And deep down, he knew he had feelings for her. He couldn't deny it. Not anymore.

The thought of losing her—of her walking away and never coming back was terrifying. He couldn't bear the idea of never seeing that spark in her eyes again, of never hearing that laugh that always made everything feel so much lighter, or feeling the warmth of her presence by his side. He had kept her at arm's length, telling himself that his mission was all that mattered, that his work was what would save them all. But in the end, it wasn't just the work that mattered. It was her.

As the silence of his workshop pressed in around him, Ekko finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth across the room. He needed to fix this quick, to make things right. But how? How could he apologize for everything he had ignored? For all the times he had chosen everything else over her?

The idea of telling her how he felt—scared him. But it was clear that if he didn't, he might lose her for good.

And that thought, more than anything, made his decision for him.

He wasn't going to let her slip away. Not without a fight.

After the argument, everything felt so... off. Like the world had tilted just slightly. You had walked away from him, angry and hurt, but as the hours dragged on now, the anger had slowly faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of longing. Your heart had ached, not just from the words exchanged, but from the thought that Ekko hadn't truly seen you—really seen you—despite everything.

You had always been there for him. For years, through the chaos of the Undercity, the constant fights, the work that never seemed to end. You had been his rock, his best friend, the one who knew him best, even before everything with the Firelights, before the world seemed to make him bigger than the boy you grew up with.

But somehow, over time, it felt like you were just another thing on his to-do list.

In the silence of your apartment, you couldn't help but think about the way he had dismissed you earlier. The words stung still. It wasn't just that he had chosen his work over you again—it was the way he'd made you feel like you were asking for too much....That you were the inconvenience.

Beneath the frustration, you couldn't deny the feelings that had always been there, deep down. Feelings that you'd tried to bury for so many years, telling yourself that you two were just friends. And only that. That it was easier to keep things simple.

But with every glance, every small touch, the feelings grew.

You liked him. You had liked him for a such a long time. You could never quite put your finger on when it had shifted from a deep, comfortable friendship to something more. Maybe it had always been there, hiding beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment.

Maybe it was the way his eyes softened when he laughed, or the way his hands would brush against yours when you worked together. It was the little things that made your heart flutter—things you never had the courage to say out loud. Because you were afraid. Afraid of losing the friendship you had. Afraid of him not feeling the same.

Now, as you sat in your room, all you could think about was how he must have felt. Had he felt the same way all these years? Or was it just you, hanging on to something he'd never noticed?

You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead. It didn't matter now. What mattered was that you had pushed him away. Your frustration had taken over, and in the heat of the moment, you had said things you didn't mean.

Now, all you could think about was how much you missed him. How much you needed him—his presence, his smile, the way he always knew how to make everything seem a little bit less heavy.

There was a soft click of your door that interrupted your thoughts, and you froze. Was it him? Did this man really just open your door without knocking?

You laid up from the couch—looking up at the door. There he was, standing in the doorway, Ekko—his figure framed by the dim light of the hallway.

You got up from the couch, not saying a single thing at first, just staring at him in surprise. There was something different about him now. His usual confidence was completely gone, it was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

He shifted his weight a little, you could tell he was struggling to find the right words, but nothing came immediately. He wasn't going to apologize yet—not yet, but the hesitation was enough to let you know he was trying to understand where you were coming from. And that small shift in him gave you a bit of hope.

Instead of speaking immediately, Ekko walked closer to you, looking uncertain as he placed himself in front of you. He didn't say anything for a long while, and the silence felt heavy, like the weight of everything that had been left unsaid was hanging in the air between you both.

"Y/N..." he began quietly, his voice unusually soft, "I—I didn't mean to hurt you. You... you know that, right?" There was a vulnerability in his words that you hadn't expected, and it made your chest tighten.

You glanced at him, a part of you wanting to hold on to your anger, but another part of you could see how much it cost him to say that.

You let out a slow breath, fighting the urge to pull away. "I just... I need to feel like I'm not invisible to you Ekko. That I matter just as much as everything else in your life." Your voice wavered, and you bit your lip to keep yourself together.

Ekko didn't respond immediately. He simply stood there, his eyes watching you carefully as if searching for the right thing to say.

For the first time, you saw how conflicted he was. The anger he'd shown earlier was gone, replaced by something so much deeper.

"I've always been here Ekko...I Always stood by you. But sometimes—sometimes it feels like... you don't even see me at all.." you murmured, your heart aching with every word you spoke.

You could tell that what you said had hit him harder than he expected. He looked down at the ground, struggling to find the right words.

"I don't know how to do everything Y/N. I really don't....and I'm so sorry." Ekko admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just trying to fix this world, and....and I don't always know how to balance it all. But I didn't mean to make you feel small in the process. You matter... you matter more than I've been showing lately."

The sincerity in his words made something inside you shift. It wasn't the grand apology you'd imagined, but it was real. It was more than just a recognition of what had happened—it was an acknowledgment that you were important, that your feelings did matter.

At that moment, you both spoke in unison.

"I'm sorry."

There was a brief pause. Then, almost as if on cue, you both let out a small, nervous laugh at the same time. The tension in the room seemed to lift, you both exchanged an awkward look.

Ekko's face turned slightly pink, and for the first time, you noticed how shy he looked in that moment.

He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. "I guess we're both really bad at this apologizing thing, huh?"

“Looks like we are,” you teased, a soft giggle escaping as you watched him fumble.

Your heart fluttered at his little reaction. There was something about how awkward he was being right now that made you smile even more. His nervous energy, his uncertainty—it was so... adorable. The way he was standing there, so vulnerable yet trying to make light of the situation, made him seem so much more real, more human.

You couldn't help yourself. You didn't want to hide these feeling anymore. It felt was like there was a magnetic that was pulling you to him. You couldn't stop staring at him, the way his eyes softened, the little pink flush on his cheeks, the way he was trying so hard to be brave but couldn't quite hide how much he cared. It was all just too adorable for you.

Without thinking, you took a step closer to him, then another, until you were right in front of him. His big brown puppy eyes locked onto yours, his expression shifting to something more uncertain as you reached up, your fingers grazed his cheek gently.

His breath suddenly hitched, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

"You're so cute when you're nervous.." you whispered softly, the words slipping between you like a secret you could only share with him. The intensity of the moment had Ekko blushing even harder than before, his usual confidence was replaced with something softer.

“I wouldn’t say cute…” he chuckled nervously, his fingers still nervously rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to shake off the sudden awkwardness. You couldn’t help but smile. “Oh you’re so cute.” you teased, your voice dripping with amusement. “I never thought I’d ever see you all flustered Ekko. I thought you were always the confident one.”

He opened his mouth, probably to snap back at your comment, but no words came out. It was like he was frozen, caught in the quiet tension of the air between you two.

You didn't wait for him to speak, feeling the heat rising in your chest. With a sudden, quiet urgency, you moved closer, tilting your head—as your lips brushed his. It was a soft, testing kiss, as though both of you were taking a breath before diving into water.

But that first, hesitant brush of lips was only the beginning.

You closed the distance between you, your hands instinctively finding his face, cupping it as if you wanted to memorize every detail of the way his skin felt against your touch. Everything inside you seemed to melt. His lips were so soft against yours, the way his body seemed to lean into you, as though he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life too.

Ekko's hands were hesitant at first, unsure, as if still processing what was happening, but soon they found their place at your waist, he gently pulled you closer.

The world around you seemed to fade as everything in that moment focused solely on the feel of his arms around you, the way your chest pressed against his, each breath mingling between the two of you. It was everything you'd been too scared to say out loud, expressed in the kiss—it was raw, tender but desperate all at once.

You felt your heart race in your chest, the realization that this—this was your first kiss, and it felt almost unreal.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you couldn't help but smile softly at the way he looked at you, his face flushed, his big brown eyes wide.

Ekko chuckled, his voice low and warm. "I—uh... wow..." he murmured, his words a little shaky. He looked at you for a moment, still trying to catch his breath. His hands, still on your waist, gave you a gentle squeeze, grounding himself as if to make sure this wasn't a dream.

His gaze softened, and for a second, it seemed like he was trying to collect himself. But when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious. "Y/N... I've been such an idiot. You've always been right in front of me, and I've... I've let my head get in the way for so fucking long." He stepped back just slightly, as if to get a better look at you, but the intensity in his eyes didn't waver. "You've been here, through everything—when no one else was. And—And I guess I never realized until now how much I've been waiting for something like this, waiting for you."

"I've always... cared about you, you know? More than just as a friend. But I never knew how to say it, or if I was even allowed to say it. I kept thinking I had time, that things would just... fall into place. But after everything....I just don't think I can't keep pretending like I don't feel...this anymore." He took another step closer, his voice shaking slightly as he finally let himself admit the truth. "Y/N...I want to be with you. I've wanted this for so long. Will you... will you be my girlfriend?"

Your heart was racing at this point, but not just from the kiss. The words he had just spoken had left you completely stunned, each word sinked in with a weight you had never expected. For the first time in a long while, you didn't feel like you were just a bystander in your own life. You were here, with him, and everything—the tension, the uncertainty, the frustration—seemed to just melt away in that one moment.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the warmth spreading through you made it almost impossible. You had been waiting for this moment for years, hoping he'd one day—finally see what had been right in front of him.

But now the truth was out there, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"You really are a mess, you know that?" you teased, a small smile playing on your lips as you stepped closer to him. The light teasing was a way to mask the vulnerability you were feeling, but it felt so right.

This was Ekko. Your Ekko.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and free, a bit of the tension breaking between you both. "It took you this long?"

Ekko blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he took a step closer. "Hey, don't start with me now." he said with a grin, the usual spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "I've had a lot on my plate." He paused, a more serious look falling over him. "But, seriously... I mean it all Y/N. I've wanted to ask for a long time, but I kept putting it off. I—I just didn't know how to say it, and I definitely didn't want to screw things up with you." His hand reached out, brushing a loose curl from your face, the touch soft and intimate.

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, his words filling in the cracks that had formed between you just days ago.

You reached up, placing your hand gently over his, guiding it to your cheek as you leaned into his touch.

"I've wanted this too Ekko.." you admitted, your voice softer now. "I've wanted you for so long." You gave a playful smile, your fingers tracing over his hand. "You're kind of an idiot for making me wait this long though."

Ekko chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Yeah, well... that's me. Always running around fixing things for everyone else and never fixing the stuff that matters most." He took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him let his guard down completely, his expression was so soft, so fragile.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, looking at one another.  The world outside—the noise of Zaun, the chaotic hum of the city—seemed so far away, like if it even mattered. In this moment, it was only the two of you.

You breathed out softly, letting the quiet of the moment sink in. "So, no more putting all of your little invention and missions before me?"

"That's no more, I promise.." Ekko said, his eyes softening, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, the tension between you two began to ease.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Good. You still owe me dinner, don't think I forgot."

Ekko chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I haven't forgotten doll." he said, his voice warm but teasing. "But dinner's for tomorrow, not tonight. I promise."

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving him a soft nudge with your shoulder. "You always say that Ekko. We all know what happens the next day."

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling back. "I mean it this time. Tomorrow. No distractions, nothing. "

You looked at him with a soft, teasing smile. "I'll hold you to that."

Ekko smiled as he planted a quick kiss on your nose before he lifted you up gently. His biceps flexing as he supported your weight. The way he held you so effortlessly, made your face heat up. The warmth of his body against yours made you feel so safe, and the gentle yet confident way he eased you down onto the couch made your little heart flutter.

He made sure you were comfortable before he settled in beside you. His muscles seemed to mold around you as he curled his body to yours, his chest strong and steady beneath your cheek, making it feel like you could stay in this embrace forever.

"Comfy?" he asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Yeah..." you whispered, your fingers grazing the firm muscles of his arm. The soft, warm skin of his biceps felt so smooth under your touch.

As you both lay there, you could feel the steady warmth of his body, the way his chest rose and fell against you with each breath. Ekko just couldn't help himself—he planted little kisses along your shoulder, your cheek, he was soft and gentle—he couldn't resist showing you just how much he cared.

"You better not forget Ekko, tomorrow…do you hear me?" you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

"Yes ma'am." he replied, a playful glint in his eyes as he kissed the tip of your nose. "You can have my full attention tomorrow. I promise.”

You giggled softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart beat steady and strong beneath your fingers. "I love you little man."

He kissed you again, a quick but deep kiss, before pulling back just enough to smile at you. "I love you too doll. "

The world seemed to disappear as you both lay there, curled up together on the couch, stealing kisses in between soft conversations. The rest of the world seemed so far away, and all that mattered was this moment, this comfort of knowing that you were together.

Chattt I really hope this was alright, this is my first time doing a request fic :,)

Oh also, can you guys tell I have a bicep obsession?

I tried to not to make it obvious in the story

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

[justanotherlifeff]

Ayatsuri

Scaramouche x Reader

[Humans, they can't be trusted. And Gods filled him with pure loathing. However, she wasn't human, not anymore, and nor was she a Goddess. Perhaps, monsters like them truly belong together in the same cage. Reader is a harbinger and the main ship is Scaramouche x reader. Dottore is only there for the shared trauma cause I hate that man so much but why is he hot?! This is also a slow burn fanfic and the smut won't show up till much later. Also, the character for reader will be a huge red flag.]

Chapter 1: Acquaintance

Solitude had long been his chosen companion, the only luxury Scaramouche truly valued in his fragmented existence. Yet, as a Harbinger, he had long since forfeited such indulgences. Power demanded sacrifices, and among them was enduring the tedium of these infernal meetings. So there he sat, silent and brooding, waiting for Pierro to finally arrive and put an end to this charade. Four centuries had passed since he took up his title, and still, the endless deliberations grated on him like sand caught in delicate gears.

What tiresome mission would Pierro hand down this time? Scaramouche’s thoughts churned, calculating potential excuses to evade it—unless, of course, the task involved the Gnosis of Inazuma or something equally intriguing. His gaze flitted briefly to Capitano, who was—predictably—reveling in recounting his latest conquests. Scaramouche had lost track of how many times he’d had to repair his mechanical ears this year alone thanks to Capitano’s incessant boasting. And then there was Dottore. Or more precisely, Dottore’s assistant.

Why were you here?

It was supposed to be a meeting for Harbingers, not their lackeys. And yet, there you stood, an anomaly in a room meant for monsters wearing masks of power. Scaramouche’s sharp eyes lingered, sizing you up.

You were a presence he had noticed before, though only in passing. For nearly a century now, you’d been tethered to Dottore like a shadow. He vaguely recalled your first appearance—just another mortal plucked from obscurity, or so he’d assumed. But time had proven otherwise. You didn’t age. Not in the slightest. Over the years, he’d seen you in Dottore’s lab more times than he cared to remember, assisting with experiments that twisted the boundaries of creation itself. Each encounter only served to deepen his disdain. To Scaramouche, you were a lifeless puppet, more hollow than he ever was, and that was no small feat.

He harbored no pity for you, of course. You had chosen to align yourself with that wretched Doctor, and that was reason enough to despise you. Yet your presence here, in a place meant for the elite of the Fatui, was perplexing. What purpose could you possibly serve outside Dottore’s lab? And more importantly—what game was the Doctor playing now?

He leaned back in his chair, the indifference in his gaze masking the flicker of curiosity beneath. Scaramouche was, if nothing else, a patient man. Years of navigating the treacherous waters of the Fatui had taught him that some truths were best unveiled through silence. If this was another of Dottore’s elaborate schemes, and it likely was. Acting prematurely would only play into the Doctor’s hands. No, better to wait, to observe. The truth always revealed itself to those who endured.

When Pierro finally arrived, late as always, it was with the same air of somber authority that made his tardiness feel more deliberate than accidental. The director of the harbingers wasted no time in beginning.

"The agenda for this meeting," Pierro began, his gravelly voice echoing across the room, "is to introduce our newest recruit to the Harbingers. This is Y/N."

Scaramouche’s sharp eyes darted toward you, his suspicion sharpening with Pierro’s words. He had expected many things—schemes, experiments, manipulations—but this?

Pierro continued, unbothered by the rising tension in the room. "She has served the Fatui faithfully for many years as both an operator and as an assistant to Dottore. Through her loyalty and cunning, she has proven her worth to Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. As of today, she has been appointed as the Twelfth of the Fatui Harbingers. Her title will be Scapina, the Machiavellian. Let us all welcome her to our ranks."

The room fell into a brittle silence, one crackling with thinly veiled hostility. Scaramouche didn’t need to look around to sense the disdain radiating from the others. It was palpable, a storm gathering beneath the surface. Only a fool would openly welcome this new addition. After all, the Harbingers were a collection of schemers and opportunists, each jealously guarding their position within the ranks. The idea of an outsider—especially one who had served as a shadow to Dottore, no less—was fuel enough to ignite animosity.

Your connection to Dottore made your appointment to the Harbingers an immediate threat in Scaramouche’s eyes. It was a move that would only solidify the Doctor’s influence within their ranks. He already had a firm alliance with Pantalone, and now, with you, a new piece on the board, his power grew. Scaramouche wasn’t the only one to notice. The unease in the room was palpable, an unspoken consensus rippling through the assembled Harbingers. Suspicion was their currency, and you had entered the game with a balance already stacked against you.

Scaramouche’s thoughts churned as his gaze flickered toward you. The Harbingers were ranked by strength, and Tartaglia, a mortal, held a position above you. For all his disdain for the youngest Harbinger, even Scaramouche had to admit the boy had earned his place through sheer skill and brutality. You, however, appeared far weaker. What could possibly justify your appointment? The Tsaritsa’s favor alone? It was an insult to the group—a blemish on their elite force. He was prepared to voice his protest, but La Signora, as always, was quicker to seize the floor.

With her signature elegance laced with venom, she stepped forward, her crimson gown billowing like flames in the icy air. Her gaze settled on you, sharp and cutting, before turning to Pierro with an arched brow.

"Are we to assume," she began, her voice dripping with condescension, "that this… new recruit is a mortal, like Tartaglia?" Her lips curled into a smirk as she gestured toward the Eleventh Harbinger, who remained silent, his expression unreadable. "Given that our ranks are determined by strength, surely there is no place for someone weaker than him among us. Are you quite certain that this decision serves the Tsaritsa’s will?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy and biting, as her sharp eyes flicked back to you, appraising and dismissive all at once. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Pierro’s response. Scaramouche leaned back slightly, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. For once, he felt no need to interject. La Signora’s disdain had articulated his own thoughts well enough, though he suspected she spoke less out of principle and more for the sport of humiliating you.

"Y/N is not a mortal," Pierro said, his voice firm and deliberate, silencing the murmurs that threatened to ripple through the room. "She has demonstrated significant strength and proved her worth on missions that caught the eye of Her Majesty herself. Yes, the Harbinger rankings are determined by strength, but I must remind you all—physical prowess alone does not dictate power. Y/N commands an intelligence network that extends beyond the reach of the House of the Hearth, a network that has delivered information to the upper ranks and the Tsaritsa that could very well redefine our understanding of this world."

He paused, his icy gaze sweeping the room, daring anyone to object. "From the depths of the Abyss, she has unearthed truths that challenge our assumptions about Celestia and the power they wield over us. Her Majesty values results, and Y/N has delivered them. I trust you will all have faith in Her Majesty’s judgment."

The weight of Pierro’s words settled over the room like a frost-laden gale. It was rare for him to acknowledge the worth of any Harbinger, and rarer still for him to defend one with such conviction. Suspicion bloomed among the gathered Harbingers, their guarded expressions betraying their unease. If Pierro, a figure revered for his unyielding standards, stood so firmly behind you, then there was more to you than they had anticipated.

Scaramouche, for his part, found himself more cautious than ever. The enigma surrounding you only deepened. Your background was a void, obscured even from the prying eyes of the Fatui’s inner circle. No one, save Dottore, seemed to know where you had come from or what your ultimate agenda might be. Your strengths, your weaknesses, everything about you was an unknown.

And yet, somehow, without uttering a single word, you had commanded the meeting’s attention. Pierro had spoken on your behalf, a feat few could dream of accomplishing. Even the most seasoned Harbingers tread carefully around him, yet you had managed to turn him into your mouthpiece. It was a power that unnerved Scaramouche, a subtle manipulation that spoke to a deeper, more insidious intelligence.

His gaze flicked around the room. The others mirrored his wariness, their eyes sharp with calculation. All except three: Dottore, Pierro, and Columbina. Dottore, of course, was your obvious ally. Pierro was the one who had legitimized your place among them, a shield you could wield for now. And Columbina… well, no one ever truly knew what thoughts lurked behind that serene smile.

For Scaramouche, the conclusion was clear: you were dangerous. And danger, in the Fatui, was rarely an accident.

The meeting dragged on far longer than Scaramouche would have liked. He sat with a bored expression etched onto his face, his chin resting lazily on one hand as he occasionally cast sidelong glances at you. You had been an afterthought to him before—a shadowy figure trailing after that insufferable Dottore, a face lost in the sea of recruits and subordinates. But now? Now, you had a seat at the same table as him, an equal among the Harbingers. That fact alone forced him to pay attention.

You were difficult to read. Your blank expression betrayed nothing, and those bored, E/C eyes of yours gave no hint of what thoughts might be lurking behind them. A hallmark of a Harbinger, true, but there was something else, a subtle malice that clung to you like a faint, nearly undetectable scent. Unnerving. Scaramouche prided himself on his instincts, on his ability to sense potential threats, yet you had somehow escaped his notice entirely until now. That was what unsettled him most.

As the meeting finally concluded, Scaramouche stood, dusting off his pants and retrieving his hat from the ground where he had placed it earlier—a concession to Pulcinella and Sandrone, whose complaints about the brim poking them had become unbearable. Adjusting the hat atop his head, he cast a disinterested glance around the room, watching the other Harbingers depart one by one. It was in that moment, as the room began to empty, that he heard a voice.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.”

The words carried a smugness that immediately grated on his nerves. His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he looked over his shoulder to find you standing there, an almost playful expression on your face.

"Scapina, was it?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"Yes," you replied smoothly, your tone light but your gaze unwavering. "I’m already well aware of who you are, of course, so there’s no need for introductions."

The smile you wore might have fooled anyone else, its warmth seemingly genuine. But Scaramouche wasn’t just anyone. He had spent centuries perfecting the art of deceit himself and could see it for what it was—a mask, nothing more. He scoffed, his lips curling into a mocking smirk.

"Indeed. So, you’re Dottore’s lapdog," he drawled, his tone biting. "What made you think I’d want to entertain a conversation with the likes of you? Surely, you’re not foolish enough to think I’d be on friendly terms with anyone who associates with him."

Your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it seemed to widen, though the glint in your eyes remained sharp and calculating. "As far as I’m aware," you said, with a chuckle that felt too casual for the weight of your words, "you’re not on good terms with anyone—Harbinger or otherwise."

Your remark landed like a blade’s edge, but you continued before Scaramouche could retort. "In any case, I look forward to our future collaborations. I’ve always found you rather… interesting."

With that, you turned on your heel and left, your steps echoing softly against the cold marble floor. Scaramouche stood rooted in place, his scowl deepening as he watched you leave.

"Interesting?" he thought, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface. If there was one thing he despised, it was being toyed with. And yet, there you were, smiling and chuckling as though you had already won some unspoken game. It only made him all the more wary of you.

[Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal! And a happy new year! *Cutely shoots you with yet another incomplete fanfic. The rest of the chapters are on AO3.]

[helpmeimblorboing]

It’s Gorgug. Keep going

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-The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien