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azmageddon · 2 days ago

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Silence (Part Three)

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian’s twin!healer! reader

Summary: After Amarantha wounds you in the worst way for an Illyrian, the silence of your mate on the other side of the bond stirs memories of how your relationship began.

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood and wounds. Azriel being an ass in this one. One swear word (I think?) . Also painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.

A/n: Personal life took over, honestly. But I am so insanely excited for this one. I wanted something that would create somewhat of a background story for reader and Azriel's relationship and to kickstart the beginning of UTM. Let me know what you think! Always open to requests on how this series should go, so if you have any suggestions let me know! I'd love to hear them!

***

There was a pull. A gentle one at first, but still, a slight tug at the center of your chest. It seemed to beckon you toward the house.

The feeling was fleeting as the sharp sting of a wooden sword struck the side of your leg.

“Come on, Y/N! You stink at this!” came the voice of your twin brother through the momentary fog. You shook your head to clear it and turned back to him as quickly as your ten year old body would let you.

“Ow, Cassian!” you whined. “That’s not fair!”

You lifted your own toy sword to strike back, but the pull in your chest came again; so sharply this time that you actually stumbled forward. Embarrassingly for you, Cassian had seen it and let out a laugh at your clumsiness.

“What’s wrong with you, Y/N? You’re being weird today. I don’t want to play with you if you’re not going to play right.”

With a mighty leap, you pushed your wings out, catching a few inches of air and effectively pummeling your brother. The two of you rolled around in the dirt and leaves, throwing fake punches at one another and ruining your clean clothes. After a few minutes of play fighting, the two of you sprang apart.

“Ow! You made me cut my hand!” Cassian moaned, turning his palm to face you as a fresh trickle of red blood dripped to the ground. “Fix it!”

You rolled your eyes at your brother and stuck your tongue out at him. “Make me!” With that, you tore into the forest, Cassian fast on your heels.

Quickly approaching the edge of the trees, you risked a peek over your shoulder to see that Cassian was quick and gaining on you. Before you had the chance to turn back around and sprint even quicker, you ran directly into the path of something hard.

You practically bounced off the hard object, hitting the ground with a pile of dust coating you. When you looked up to see what you had run into, you could only stare in horror at the Lord of Windhaven.

“L-Lord Devlon,” you stuttered, shaking where you cowered at his feet. “I’m sorry…I…Cassian was chasing me and I…I didn’t mean to…”

With a large hand, Devlon gripped you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. You let out a soft wince at the pain, knowing better than to cry out. It wasn’t long until Cassian was at your side again.

“Lord Devlon, I’m so sorry, my sister is so clumsy she didn’t-“

But the Lord of Windhaven lifted a hand to Cassian to silence him. With an audible gulp, your twin took a small step back.

“I didn’t see you at training this morning,” Devlon sneered at your brother, his unnatural calm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. It was either from that, or the firm grip he kept on the roots of your hair. You didn’t dare squirm, knowing there would be hell to pay if you did.

Redness crept up Cassian’s face at the confrontation. He was so excited to show you everything he’d learned over the last few weeks that you’d both lost track of time and caused him to miss his training schedule.

“Children!” came the soft voice of Rhysand’s mother. She emerged from the shadow of the trees and immediately at the sound of her approaching, Devlon resealed his grip on you. The Lord of Windhaven never took an order from anyone, let alone a female. But even Devlon wasn’t stupid enough to argue with the mate of the High Lord.

“Come meet our new friend,” she continued, gently grasping your hand and pulling you away from the male. Having provided you with shelter when Cassian and you were homeless, she had become something of your own mother. With a quick glared warning at the male, she pulled you and your twin away.

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow, boy,” Devlon called after the three of you, and you felt Cassian shiver in fear at the promise of a torturous session the following day.

When you were finally out of earshot, Rhysand’s mother rounded on the two of you. “Children! You know better than to provoke Lord Devlon. And Cassian, to miss training? I’m very disappointed in you.”

Cassian’s ears reddened in embarrassment, but you were barely listening. The tug in your chest was growing stronger with each step closer to home. You took your free hand, the one that wasn't gripped in the hand of Rhysand’s mother, and rubbed at the center of your chest. The tugging sensation didn’t subside.

Finally, as the trees cleared and your adopted home came into view, you could see Rhysand bouncing excitedly alongside another child relatively the same age.

“Children, this is our new friend.” Rhysand’s mother released you and took a few steps toward the boy whose back was turned to you. “Azriel, dear, won’t you come say hello?”

Azriel turned slowly, hazel eyes downcast and hands clamped tightly behind his back. You noticed small tendrils of smoke floating around his tightly drawn wings.

“I'll leave you four to get acquainted.” Rhysand’s mother took a few steps up toward the house, patting her biological son on the top of his head before turning to you. “Dinner prep in ten minutes, Y/N.”

You nodded, understanding your role as an Illyrian female was to cater to the males, no matter their age.

“Hello,” you whispered to the new boy named Azriel. At the sound of your voice, his eyes snapped to yours. The moment they met, the tug in your chest exploded. You imagined a thread, golden and long, reaching out from the center of your chest toward him.

Before you had the chance to say anything, Rhys began chattering away. “Azriel says he’s never flown before. Can you believe it? An illyrian that’s never flown! I can't wait to show you!” As his childish prattle continued and Azriel’s gaze returned to the ground, you leaned into your twin.

“Cassian,” you whispered, only for him to hear. “I think Azriel will be my mate one day.”

***

You groaned as pain shot down your back. For a brief moment, you opened your eyes. You were laying on your stomach in a bed that wasn’t your own in a room that you didn't recognize. You had just been dreaming, something about the first time you had met Azriel. But before you could reach out toward his side of the bed, you fell back into unconsciousness.

***

“I will come back to you, I promise.” Azriel tightened his arms around you as your silent tears stained his leathers. You shook your head against his chest, refusing to loosen your grip on him.

“You could be killed, Az,” you choked through your tears. “Isn’t there any other way?” You knew that this was a fate you couldn’t change, the Blood Rite being a tradition for centuries, maybe even millennia. There was no changing tradition.

Azriel pried you from himself, pulling your fingers off of his leathers and holding you at arms length. He had to crouch down to be on your level, him being nearly an entire head taller than you. Lacing his fingers through your hair and using his other hand to tilt your chin up, he forced you to make eye contact.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he began, his hazel eyes practically begging for you to listen. “I will not die out there. Rhys, Cassian, and I will come home. I will come home to you.”

You hiccuped a sob and nodded your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself closer. Dropping your foreheads together, you closed your eyes and took a shaking breath. For years you had kept your secret from Azriel. You’re not sure why you wouldn’t tell him that you knew he was your mate. Maybe it was fear of rejection or just bad timing, but you swore to yourself that if he returned from the Blood Rite you would finally share your secret with him.

“I want to…” he whispered, but cut himself off.

You opened your eyes and saw his hazel ones were on you, darting back and forth between your lips and your own eyes.

“I’ve never…” you started but stopped as well, embarrassed to admit you’ve never slept with another person before. To you, there was only Azriel, only your mate, and it was never something you ever gave a second thought to.

But Azriel smirked, dropping his gaze and looking slightly sheepish. “Neither have I,” he whispered back.

Before long, the two of you were tangled in each other’s arms, sheets thrown aside and gasped moans as you frantically fumbled for each other.

When you awoke the next morning, Azriel was gone, as well as every other male Illyrian warrior set to partake in the Blood Rite that week.

***

“Azriel,” you groaned, attempting to shift from your facedown position on the unfamiliar bed beneath you.

“Take it easy, Y/N, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” The voice was familiar, deep, and you cracked an eye open when you felt the cool feeling of a damp cloth slide across your brow.

Except it wasn’t Azriel that wiped at your head. Rhysand kneeled eyelevel at the side of the bed. You could see the multitude of emotions swimming behind his eyes: regret, pain, anxiety, and sadness.

You tried to shift again, but agonizing pain shot down your back. You stifled a scream by practically shoving your face into the pillow. You felt the cool hands of your High Lord tracing shapes across the burning muscles of your back, and the pain slowly ebbed away.

“What happened?”

Rhysand didn’t respond at first. You could tell he was avoiding your gaze and kept his eyes downcast. Cautiously, you craned your head over your shoulder to see what could be causing the burning pain that you felt.

Nausea rolled through your stomach and you felt your vision darkening along the edges at the sight. What was there, or worse, what wasn't there, had you swallowing your bile and jumpstarting your breathing.

“Oh gods,” you croaked, and felt your vision and consciousness failing you again. Right where your once strong and beautiful wings stood were mere gaping holes of blood and raw skin. All traces of what made you Illyrian were gone.

***

You pushed through the crowd, searching frantically for the one male you longed to see. A week away from him was entirely too long; not knowing if he was dead or alive had made the time away even more difficult.

Pushing through unwashed Illyrian bodies, you eyed every one you passed. Having just returned from the Blood Rite, the throng of people was thicker than ever. Some warriors were triumphant, slapping each other on the back and loudly sharing their stories of revenge and kills. Some were injured, quickly being carried away to the healing tent - a place where you knew you were supposed to be at this very moment to await their return. You couldn’t help yourself, though. All week you had imagined this moment: telling Azriel your secret and reuniting in a world of bliss, happiness, and happily ever after.

After a few minutes, you spotted three familiar faces. You signed a breath of relief. A quick scan of the three showed minor scrapes and bruising, but no life-threatening injuries.

“Azriel! Cassian! Rhys!” you called from across the sea of people. Knowing their fae hearing would pick up your call, three pairs of eyes shot in your direction. But there was only one pair of hazel that you immediately locked on to. Setting into a run, you flung your arms around your mate, the sheer force of your body forcing him to stumble a step back.

“What, no hugs for your own flesh and blood?” Cassian grumbled from behind you.

You ignored him, nuzzling your face into Azriel’s chest, reveling in the familiar scent that washed over you. Albeit, a bit stale and dirty, but still familiar all the same.

“Az, I was so worried about you,” you breathed into his skin.

Instead of responding, Azriel just cleared his throat and peeled you off of him, this time settling you a few feet away and taking a step back.

“Right,” he responded, avoiding your gaze.

The joy you had felt at seeing him return safely fizzled in your chest and went out, replaced now by anxiety and confusion. A quick glance at Rhys and Cassian showed the two males were equally confused. However, Azriel offered no further explanation.

A crushing squeeze from your twin and a soft hug from Rhysand later, you ushered the two home to bathe, rest, and eat for the remainder of the day.

“I’ve left plenty of food in the kitchen,” you called to them as they turned to leave. “Just leave some for your brother, too!” The two waved over their shoulders as they set off toward home, indicating they had heard you but giving no promises that there would be anything left for the third male in their trio.

You turned back to Azriel, who stood in the same spot, still avoiding eye contact at all cost.

“Az,” you began, taking a step toward him and reaching out your hand to grasp his. He flinched at the movement and looked around wildly, almost as if he was hoping no one had seen your attempt to touch him. He quickly pulled away and folded his hands behind his back and out of your reach. You dropped your arm and felt the pang of rejection shoot through you. “Are you okay?” you asked.

“We need to talk,” he muttered but said no more.

“Yes,” you agreed, your voice now quiet and small. “We do need to talk.”

You waited a few moments where the two of you stood there in silence, neither one willing to begin the conversation. You wondered if he knew, if Cassian had told him that you were his mate. Cassian was, afterall, the only one who knew your secret, and you couldn’t imagine what a week of surviving in the wilderness brought out of people.

As you opened your mouth to confess your secret, Azriel opened his, too. For a heartbeat you both stood there, mouths open, poised to speak your truths.

You quickly closed yours and motioned a hand to him. “You go first,” you said, secretly grateful you had a few more moments to regroup your thoughts.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Azriel admitted, finally locking his gaze with yours. When you didn’t respond, he seemed to gain his confidence and continued his explanation. “I know what you want from me, and I can’t give it to you. I spent the entire week out there thinking about you and begging the Mother to bring me back to you. But the Blood Rite changes people, Y/N. Cassian, Rhys, and I - we made it to the top. We reached the summit and touched the monolith first.” He paused, brushing a hand through his hair before running it down his face and letting out a huff of frustration as he attempted to explain how he felt.

“I have a role to play in this camp. In this army. I can prove myself here, and I can’t focus on that if you’re…” he hesitated, seemingly trying to find the words that expressed exactly what he was trying to say.

But you didn’t need him to finish. You understood loud and clear what he was trying to say. He didn’t know the truth of the mating bond. Cassian had stayed true to his promise to keep it a secret until you were ready to reveal it to your mate. What Azriel was admitting to you was worse. Much worse than you ever could have expected.

“You’re breaking up with me?” you asked, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Am I, though?” he said, one eyebrow shooting up in question. “I mean, we’ve always been friends and you were a good fuck, but I’d hardly say we were together.”

His words sliced through you worse than any blade could ever have done. You took an involuntary step back. You pushed the tears down completely, resolving not to cry in front of him and humiliate yourself even further.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but this is how I feel. I have the opportunity to make something of myself for the first time in my life. I can’t risk losing that.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. It was your turn to avoid eye contact and you looked anywhere but at the face of your oblivious, beautiful, cruel mate.

He sighed and reached a hand out to you. The mountains and valleys of his skin intertwined with your own fingers. He gave your hand a tight squeeze in an attempt to relay his apology.

“What were you going to tell me?” he asked. You could tell he was finished with the conversation, wanting nothing more than to escape your presence.

You shoved the mating bond aside, vowing to yourself never to open it again. You didn’t know if you could stand another second of Azirel’s emotions rushing into your soul unbeknownst to him. Pulling your hand out of his, you took a step back, hardening your heart to the man you had come to love more than you ever thought possible.

“I’ve had a job offer as a personal healer to Rhysand’s father,” you said. “He offered me a place in his court. I’ve accepted the offer.” It was a lie. You did have a job offer from the High Lord, but you had planned to reject it in lieu of the mating bond. But as that future seemed to be a distant hope now, you knew that staying in Windhaven was no longer an option. You intended to write to the High Lord tonight and travel to Velaris in the morning for your new post.

Azriel smiled, a tight incline of his lips that never reached his eyes. “That’s great, Y/N. I’m so happy for you.”

“Right,” you said, repeating his words back to him.

***

Rhysand was cleaning your wounds as best he could with the limited supplies he had, which was virtually nothing. A few buckets of clean water and strips of his undershirt he had torn apart to dress your back.

“How did you heal me?” you asked. Rhys had magnificent healing powers, ones that practically rivaled your own. But you knew, from the moment that Amarantha’s wine touched your lips, you had both been rendered magic-less.

“I made a deal with her,” he responded, pressing the clean rags into your back and mopping up the blood that had freshly oozed from them. He took a moment to roll up his sleeve and show you the fresh swirling tattoo that encircled the entirety of his left wrist. “In return, she gave me a fraction of my powers. Just enough to ensure you wouldn’t die.”

You reached your arm out to touch your fingertips to his new tattoo when you hesitated. Glancing at your own extended wrist, you saw that you bore twin markings.

“What was the bargain?” you asked, dread flooding your body now that you had discovered that somehow, you were involved.

But he shook his head, tucking your arm back in the blankets and pushing his sleeve back down. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

Finishing his work on your back, you felt the mattress dip as he sat beside you. “Are you going to tell me about Azriel?”

Grief flooded you. You reached out across the bond and tugged as hard as you could, harder than you ever had before. But once again, that golden thread led into nothing but darkness and silence.

And so, you told Rhysand everything.

Words and tears came pouring out of you. You told Rhys about the day you met Azriel, how you had felt the mating bond snap at ten years old. You told him about losing your virginity and the heartbreak that led to your employment in Velaris. You told him the story of how Azriel had found out about the mating bond, when it had snapped for him, and the betrayal he felt of being left in the dark. You talked about your private mating ceremony, the frenzy, and the years the two of you snuck around, vowing to each other never to reveal your secret.

When you finished, Rhysand contemplated your story. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

You sighed, knowing this part of the conversation was unavoidable. “Cassian knew,” you offered, knowing it would add nothing to your explanation.

“Why not tell me? Or Mor? To keep it a secret even from us; that seems extreme and honestly, a little hurtful. Two of my best friends have been sneaking around behind my back and the third had known all along. It’s hard to be the last one finding out.”

“I’m sorry, Rhys.” you shifted in the bed, uncomfortable from laying on your belly for so long. You reached a hand out to his, lacing your fingers together and staring at the twin tattoos that bound you together. “Azriel has a lot of enemies. Being a Spymaster comes with a lot of risk. We both knew that if the world had found out about us, my life would have been in danger. We thought we were doing what was best by keeping it a secret. Azriel said he would never be able to sleep at night, or go away on assignments, knowing I was at risk.”

Rhysand nodded, squeezing his fingers tightly around yours. “I understand now. I’m sorry you felt like you had to keep it a secret. I’m the one that puts Azriel on dangerous missions. I’m the one that asks him to… take care of the prisoners. I never thought these things would be such a hindrance in his life.”

“No, Rhys,” you assured him. “Az would do anything for you. He loves you. If anything, our secret was proof of his undying loyalty to you and your court.”

The two of you sat in silence together, grateful that if you had to be stuck as a prisoner to Amarantha and her sick, twisted, fate, you were at least stuck together.

“I promise,” Rhys began, “I will return you to Velaris. I will return you to your mate, no matter what it takes.”

***

Taglist:

@a-new-romantic @tiredsleepyhead @olive-main @saltedcoffeescotch @lunajay33 @st4r-girl-official @lilah-asteria

#azriel #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #pro azriel

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nicverse · 2 days ago

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crawling back to you

where jason can't stop coming back to you every night.

jason todd x journalist!reader

warnings: small mention of blood and wounds. just a little bit of fluff.

You were too busy writing your next article about the last incident in Gotham, too focused on the sound of your fingers against the keyboard that you didn’t even notice Jason’s body slipping behind you, resting his body on your couch.

It had been a long, long night. He was tired and probably didn’t have a good night's sleep for weeks, so as soon as his head touched the soft material of your couch, he dozed off.

His own apartment had been long forgotten since the first time he entered yours. Yours was full of life, small little cosy lights instead of the cold ones he had, lots of books and music records you loved to play when you were cooking. Everything was so nice and warm, like you. Jason always told himself he kept coming back to your place because he just loved the good decoration it had, but mostly, he loved the person who was living there.

He really loved the pretty thing that was sitting in front of him, quickly writing on her laptop.

You didn’t notice his presence until you stood up from your desk and saw his body passed out on your couch. Your heart jumped in your chest as your soul left your body for a few seconds, you were not yet used to his late night appearances in your house. You walked very slowly towards his face, gently removing his mask as your fingers slowly caressed his face. He had a few deep cuts but the worst one was in his brown; an ugly, deep cut that started to bleed a little.

You went for your aid kit. It wouldn’t be the first time you stitched him up and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Your fingers lingered against his skin carefully, starting to clean his wounds.

Jason was a light sleeper, so he noticed your presence as soon as you touched his skin, but he didn’t open his eyes. He felt your fingers taking care of his face so carefully as if he would break. His heart started to pound like a horse running, so hard that he was afraid that you would feel it too.

Your hand was a rose petal cleaning the skin of a killer, and the worst part was that he didn’t even flinch. He just closed his eyes and relaxed in the warmth of your body close to his. Jason never thought he was worthy of so much love, especially you, a broken body like his would never be able to get better.

But you made him believe otherwise. From the first time you took him in your arms and cleaned his wounds he knew deep down that maybe there was hope for him to be better.

"I know you are awake, Jason," you murmured with a chuckle, patching up his wounds. "You're the worst light sleeper I've ever met," Jason opened his eyes to find your pretty face looking down on his as your body knelt beside your couch, "You don't have to patch me up, you know," he replied, biting his cheek to stop the smile that threatened to appear on his face.

He never wanted you to stop patching him up, though. Every night, he would crawl back to you and seek your warmth.

"I know, but I want to," you said, fixing the hair that covered his face. Your eyes pinned in his, no, you didn’t look at the scars in his body, you never looked at him with fear or anger but it was always love and affection.

He wanted to kiss you so badly, to hold you close and never let go, to feel your soft embrace melt into his.

But he couldn't. He didn’t want you to get involved in his world or in his life, not because he didn’t love you, it was because he loved you so much that he wanted to keep you away from his problems— from him.

“Just sleep a bit, Jason, your eyebags make you look like a raccoon” you passed him a blanket, his favorite “could say the same ‘bout you, princess” Jason responded as you rolled your eyes.

"Good night, Red Hood," you said as your body disappeared in the door to your bedroom.

Maybe he should be keeping away from you, but he didn’t want to— not anymore.

—there's something about this type of jason, he loves you buy is too afraid to fuck everything up. yet he can't stop craving your love!

—this is something i took out of the fic im writing about jason x journalist!reader and I love these two already

—i'd love to do requests! feel free to ask them <3

#jason todd #red hood #dc comics #dc universe #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #nightwing #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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sturnslutz · 1 day ago

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INTRODUCING... hockeyplayer!chris and shy!reader

chris had just received his fourth "F" this semester in economics. he was also the star hockey player in the school even as a freshman. everyone knew the infamous christopher sturniolo. some reasons good, some bad.

you knew chris because obviously, the star hockey player, and the well known player, but also because he was in your econ class. you had sat behind him the whole year. not from your own personal choice, but because your row was the very last one and no one sat there.

the clock just went off and chris had just got back to his seat, looking down at his paper in disbelief at the big red "F" on his paper. he grabbed his bag with a huff as you remained in your seat, watching as he walks down the stairs, speed walking to the professor. you have your headphones in so you cant hear what they're saying but you see the professor pointing up at you and both pairs of eyes staring directly up at you.

you take out one headphone, watching chris as he runs back up the stairs and slams his paper down on your desk infront of you. "you need to tutor me." "w-what?" you say as your voice comes out scratchy due to how long you haven't talked.

"please. you're the smartest 'n the class. 'm not gonna be able to play in next week's match if i don' get a C or higher on the next test." "um alright." you nod softly looking down at his hand infront of you that was gripping the desk so tightly and caused his knuckles to turn white.

"can i get your number? jus' so we can talk about where we can meet." he says as he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. you nod and take the phone, your glasses falling slightly down your nose in the process. he notices this and lifts them back up gently. "there ya' go, honey." he says, much gentler than before as your face flushes and you type your number into his phone.

he notices your shyness, but decides to not say anything about it. you hand back his phone, your fingers grazing over each others. "ill text you soon, yeah?" he says as he steps back and takes his paper as he looks down at you waiting for your response. you nod and let out a simple hum. he smiles and mutters a "thank you" before walking down the stairs once again, out of the room.

your gaze follows him out of the room before you and the professor are the last ones in the room, and you stand up, storming down the steps. "jack, seriously? you just had to make the chris sturniolo talk to me and force me to be his tutor? cmon. thought you were better than that." he just simply shrugs. "relax, kid. chris is nice when he wants to be. he was the one who asked me first if you're a good tutor, and i just recommended you. that's all. its also a good experience to help put yourself out there. your mom asked me to help put more opportunities in front of you. now, pack up your stuff. you staying here for lunch or you going out? i have a couple more things i need you to help grade on."

mr.smith, or known as jack to you, is your uncle on your mom's side. hes you helped you decide your major in business, and hes always trying to get you out of your shell. no one besides the two of you know that you guys are related, and he grades you like everyone else. you just happen to get all A's. you also stayed in his class during lunch and talk like never before, and help him grade assignments.

later on, you're in your dorm, thankfully by yourself as you didnt get assigned a roommate and huddled in bed, reading. chris hasnt left your mind all day, and he still hasnt texted. right when you decided to call it a night and in the process of turning off your bedside light, your phone dings. "fuck." you mutter as you sigh and pick up your phone. a random number pops up and below is a text.

"hey honey, its chris. can i come over now???"

you roll your eyes, typing away.

"chris its 11 already, i was about to go to sleep.."

"please. i know its late but this is one of the only times im free. we'll be quick, promise."

"fine. im in dorm 11 in building 453. code to get in is 5678."

"ill be there soon. :)"

you sigh, standing up and putting your glasses back on. you had no urge to impress chris, but felt it was more than polite to just tidy up. you put on a pair of shorts and sat in your bed with your computer infront of you, as you sit in a tanktop and silk pajama shorts, patiently waiting for him.

your thoughts are interrupted at a knock as you let out a soft, "come in." he lets himself in, smiling softly at you, and you didnt miss the way his eyes raked over your body. "hey." he says as he shuts the door, setting his stuff down on your desk. you smile softly, looking down at your computer.

"you wanna work on your bed or at the desk?" he says as he sits down on your fluffy desk chair. you shrug. he sighs, grabbing his stuff and walking over to sit next to you on your bed, sliding his shoes off on the side. your knees bump against each other and he makes no move to move his.

"so, mr. smith said you were the smartest in the class and could really help me. 's that right now?" he says as he smirks and leans on his arm that was against his leg. you shrug once again, mentally cursing out your uncle. "um, i guess." you say, not louder than a whisper, even though you were in the comfort of your own room.

"'s okay, honey. no need to be scared of me. im jus' complimenting you 'n acknowledging your smartness or whateva' 's called." you laugh softly at this and he smirks once again. "im not scared." you say softly, looking up at him through your glasses. "no? then why cant you talk to me, hon?" you shrug once again.

"i don' really talk to anyone." you embarrassingly admit. "you should. 'm sure all the boys would be after you if you did. you're beautiful, y'know that right?" he says as he sits up again, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

you were aware this was most definitely a tactic of his to get into girls' beds, but you couldn't pull away. you shrug once again. "hm. wan' me to prove to you how pretty ya' are?" you nod without hesitation and he smirks as he leans in and kisses your lips softly, humming against them. his hand falls to your hip as you lean back, gripping your soft comforter under you.

he pulls away and sets your computer and his papers on the floor next to you and he turns back to you, reaching under your shirt, rubbing his hands around your hips and stomach as he kisses you again. you shudder from his cold hands but quickly lean back into the kiss. you pull away as you feel his hands, go further up. "'m a virgin." you quickly admit as he smiles again, reaching for your glasses, taking them off and putting them to the side.

"thats alright, baby. dont worry about it. ill take real good care of you." he says as he rubs your cheek. "do you trus' me?" you nod and he reaches for your shirt, lifting it over your body. his eyes rake over your bare chest as he smirks and leans down and kisses all over your chest.

you gasp as your head falls back, your hair falling down your back as he kisses around your soft tits, and licks the bud of one before sucking on it as you moan softly and he hums against it at your reaction.

as time goes on, your mind cant even process how you got in this position. you were under chris as the both of you were naked and he's been teasing you with his tip against your folds for the past 10 minutes.

"cmon baby. i know you can use your words. say what you wan', 'n ill give it to you." he says as he smiles at your stubbornness despite you being crazy shy. you shake your head no as you cant even imagine yourself asking chris for his dick.

he sighs, shaking his head as he grabs his length tapping it against your clit, and sliding it through your folds which was practically dripping now. "then you aren't gettin' it." he shrugs as he looks down at your already tired face despite barely doing anything.

"f-fine. please put it in me, chris." you practically whisper. he tuts as he shakes his head again. "needa be louder than that. i know you can." you let out a choked sob at his words. "shh dont cry, baby." he coos as he leans over, wiping your tears, still not letting his smirk off his face. "jus' needa hear you say it a bit louder, that's all." "chris please put it in me!" you yell as he nods, smiling. "thereee we go." he says he starts stretching you out, inch by inch, shushing your whines and hisses while whispering sweet praises to you.

he finally bottoms out, and stays still until you give him permission to move. he notices the bulge in your belly and almost cums on the spot. he accidentally thrusts slightly into you as you let out a hiss. "sh-shit. sorry baby." you disregard his sorry as you shake your head. "you can move." you let out with a breath. he nods. "let me know if you wan' me to stop." you nod as he starts moving in and out of you at an unbelievably slow pace.

after a bit, you allow your pain to turn into pleasure. "go faster." "yeah? you sure?" you nod as he begins moving in and out of your soft hole faster than before, grabbing your hips for stability. you moan as you grab the sheets next to you as he continues going faster.

"f-fuck. squeezing me so damn tight, baby. 'm not gonna last much longer." "me either!" you say as you let out a almost pornographic moan as his hips slam into yours, and your bedframe repeatedly hits the wall. you know for sure your poor neighbors could obviously tell what was happening, but you nor chris paid any attention, purely focused on the pleasure created within each other.

"'m gonna cum, chris." you say as you clench around him. "me too. wan' me inside you?" you nod rapidly as he nods letting out a breathy laugh at your eagerness. with a final moan, you come done all over him as your thighs shake. chris thrusts a couple more times before groaning and stopping his movements, burying himself inside you as white spurts fill you.

as he finishes, he pulls out and notices cum sliding out of you, and he lets his finger collect it all and push it back into you, causing a wince to come out of your mouth. "sorry, didnt want any goin' to waste." he says as he chuckles.

his body falls down next to you as the two of you catch your breath. "y'alright?" he says softly as he traces shapes over your stomach and kisses your shoulder softly. you can only let out a hum and a nod and he nods back. "we gotta figure out another time to study, but cant promise i actually will after this." he chuckles again as you roll your eyes. you look down at your body, and embarrassment flows through you at the sight of your naked body being completely in the open, and open for chris to see.

"chris y'gotta go, its late." you say softly. "wan' me to leave already? damn was i that bad?" he says with a chuckle as he sits up on his elbow. you shake your head no immediately. "n-no. not at all. its just getting late and i need to be up for work early tomorrow." he nods, understanding. "alright." he lets his feet fall to the ground as he puts his clothes back on and you let your blanket fall over your body. "ill see you later, yeah?" he states as he collects his papers off the floor and stands up, brushing a hand through his hair.

you nod, humming. "y-yeah. we'll figure out a time you can actually study." he laughs at this, nodding. "sure, baby. see you." and with that, he walks out, leaving you only with your thoughts, but not with chris, but with how you lost your fucking virginity.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @angeliijay12-blog @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 comment to be added or removed.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #hockeyplayer!chris #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturnslutz #=shy!reader

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snovyda · 1 day ago

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Fanfic Plagiarism alert!

Attention, especially for the people in the following fandoms: Mission: Impossible (specifically Benthan) and Top Gun Maverick.

It brings me no joy to say that we have a big problem in these fandoms - a shameless serial plagiarist who copies other people's fanfics from other fandoms, changes character names and sometimes a few desciptions of the settings or adds a few sentences or paragraphs when they feel generous, and posts them as their own. It is literally Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V type of thing.

My friends and I have reported this person repeatedly on ao3, but we still have not received any response from the staff.

Seeing posts from fellow Benthan fans who are excited about the fact that we are getting close to having 1000 Benthan fics on ao3 makes me sad because of this, because I know quite a few of them are just not legit, and, since ao3 has not responded in months, I guess I have to do a good old public call-out.

This person is known on ao3 by the pen name rosexpetals. If they are reading this, I can only recommend them to delete the stolen works (not just the ones listed in this post, if more are stolen, they can be found later anyway) and take a long look at themselves and reflect on their actions. I wish for them to discover the actual joys of writing something of their own, of expressing their own feelings instead of hijacking other people's.

Below the cut are the links to the works and their sources that I and a couple of friends were able to find using just a simple quick Google search. Out of their 96 published fics, at least 29 are provably stolen (and those are just the ones we were able to find via simple searches), which gives off a strong feeling that none of their work is really original. Some of them were copied from the same source twice. 9 more fics are copies of each other, but in different fandoms (very likely just copied from the same sources). As you will see below, sometimes they didn't even bother to change the title of the original fic they were stealing from or its summary:

Fandom: Mission: Impossible (Benthan)

Fic: where's the trophy? (he just comes running over to me) Plagiarized from: where's the trophy? (he just comes running over to me) (by riceenthusiast)

Fic: and i'll hold onto you Plagiarized from: Tender Loving Care (by as_with_a_sunbeam)

Fic: bedroom eyes like a remedy Plagiarized from: Keep Me Afloat (by Atalia_Gold)

Fic: i'm sinking, our fingers entwined Plagiarized from: Kisses to Make it Better (by steviewashere)

Fic: the way you hold me (is actually what's holy) Plagiarized from: scars. (by letthesongtakeflight)

Fic: call it what you want to Plagiarized from: care & feeding (by glim)

Fic: my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Plagiarized from: Their Fingers Run With Blood (by FoundInTheStars)

Fic: cause saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts Plagiarized from: Shrill Wails That Steal The Air (by Metalbvcky)

Fic: wherever you stray, i follow Plagiarized from: the fate of a con (by shrewritesall)

Fic: fall into me and i'll catch you, darlin' Plagiarized from: Safety II (by zozofia)

Fic: i hear the sound of my own voice, asking you to stay Plagiarized from: ['til you sizzle, what a lovely way to burn] (by tacos_are_tasty)

Fic: all's well that ends well to end up with you Plagiarized from: would it be enough if i could never give you peace? (by playthetyrants)

Fic: this most assuredly counts Plagiarized from: Must've Done Something Right (by fides_rationem)

Fic: something to rely on Plagiarized from: Unguarded (by trufflemores)

Fic: your string of lights is still bright to me Plagiarized from: your string of lights is still bright to me (by blueberriesandcream)

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Fic: bigger than the whole sky Plagiarized from: Bigger Than The Whole Sky (by catrasredemption)

Fic: look at this godforsaken mess that you made me Plagiarized from: for you i would ruin myself (by mraudersmoon)

Fic: i love you, i adore you (i lay my life before you) Plagiarized from: All That I've Been Yearning For (by Sokkas_First_Fangirl)

Fic: starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night Plagiarized from: Of Speeches and Sofas (by as_with_a_sunbeam)

Fic: i don't wanna lose you (that's the kinda heartbreak time can never mend) Plagiarized from: would it be enough if i could never give you peace? (by playthetyrants) - yes, same fic copied again

Fic: you can see it with the lights out Plagiarized from: Tender Loving Care (by as_with_a_sunbeam) - yes, AGAIN

Fic: and i'll forget you (but i'll never forgive) Plagiarized from: Hold Me Closer (by sweet_symphony0)

Fic: you can hear it in the silence (you can feel it on the way home) Plagiarized from: I'd search you in all of my lives (by sunflwrs)

Fic: and my destination (makes it worth the while) Plagiarized from: Pushing Through The Darkness (Still Another Mile) (by Sokkas_First_Fangirl)

Fic: give up on you, my dear (i will never) Plagiarized from: I Lay My Life Before You (by Sokkas_First_Fangirl)

Fic: as if you were a mythical thing Plagiarized from: The Ghost in the Attic (by as_with_a_sunbeam)

Fic: you drew stars (around my scars) Plagiarized from: Value (by trufflemores)

Fic: in my life (i love you more) Plagiarized from: Whistle, I'll Be There (by lovetheblazer)

Fandom: The Beatles RPF

Fic: can't ignore the rest of the world; can you stay and make me feel better? Plagiarized from: love me, always (by darkdisrepair)

Self-copied fics posted by the same person in different fandoms (possibly copied from the same sources)

Benthan fandom: sit with you in the trenches Top Gun fandom: you're all i want, i'll never let you go

Benthan fandom: i vowed i would always be yours Top Gun fandom: standing at the crossroads, no desire to run

Benthan fandom: can we always be this close? Top Gun fandom: in all your pain (i will carry you, always)

Benthan fandom: i know you're scared (and your pain is imperfect) Glee fandom: i'll never let you go The Beatles fandom: my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

#benthan #top gun #top gun maverick #benji dunn #ethan hunt #fanfic plagiarism #fandom plagiarism #ao3

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gamorahww · 2 days ago

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Why Fiyeraba Are Perfect for Eachother, According to science MBTI

Through their differences, authenticity, sense of what's right, and just overall being well-meaning people, these two are a great example of how you can lift someone up, just by being your most authentic self and holding space for them to do the same.

Hello, this is a Fiyeraba analysis no one asked for. It doesn’t contain any spoilers for Wicked: Part 2.

Disclaimer Regarding MBTI: I know many people think MBTI is bullshit and even a bit limiting, when we talk about real life, and the people inhabiting it, but in the case of well-written, consistent fictional characters (which applies to both Elphaba and Fiyero) I think MBTI can be used without worrying about negative effects. That being said, enjoy the analysis of Fiyeraba through this lense!

I.) Context, If You Are Not Familiar with MBTI

When it comes to MBTI, there are two angles of looking at the types. One you are probably familiar with is the four-letter abbreviation (ENFP, INTJ, ESTJ, etc), but there is a deeper layer, where we are looking at those cognitive functions that each type uses. There are 16 variations of the four-letter types, but only 8 functions, that vary in order, and preference in each type.

We identify four main cognitive functions in each type. Introverted types (their four-letter type stars with an I) are most comfortable using their introverted functions, and extraverted types (their four letters start with an E) are most comfortable with their extraverted functions. However as a person grows up, goes through life and evolves, they learn to harness their initially weaker functions better, and this gives them a more well-rounded personality, and a more healthier way of living in the world and be their authentic selves.

The order of the functions is also important, so whatever is in first place is their strongest function, and whatever is their last is their weakest.

You may be looking at this thinking “I didn’t ask for this”. And you are right, you didn’t, but bear with me.

So, lets sum it up: Each four-letter type has four main functions, and the extraverts are good at extravert stuff, while introverts are good at introvert stuff. Got it!

Now that we have this nailed down, lets look at these beatiful idiots then.

II.) Fiyeraba and Their MBTI Types and Cognitive Functions

Elphaba is an INTJ. INTJs are nicknamed “masterminds” by some people, because they are really good at big picture stuff. Ironically more often than not, if a story requires a villain with a large plan, they do tend to be INTJs. INTJs make for great villains in people’s eyes, with their no-nonsense way of going around in the world, and in a society full of rules and norms, they stand out, no matter what they do. Some people like to see Elphaba as an ISFP, that would mean that her introverted feeling is stronger than her intuition, but I think those people are wrong lol. Just look at the matter of seconds it took for Elphaba to realize that the Wizard is a fake once she was face to face with him, and then making a plan, and running away. Also, the trope of "you see me as a villain, so I will become your villain" is a common INTJ character trope, and applies to Elphaba super well.

Fiyero is an ESFP. ESFPs are nicknamed as “performers” or “entertainers”. They are usually popular, bold, original, and very observant. They are often considered as shallow, and superficial, which they can be, if they don't focus enough on developing their inner world, their intorverted feeling and their intuition. They are often impulsive, seeking newness, but they can easily fall into this superficiality as a routine, if they are not challenged.

Elphaba - INTJ - cognitive functions: Ni-Te-Fi-Se

(Ni) Introverted Intuition: Dominantly seeks deep patterns, long-term vision, and abstract connections for strategic planning. - Elphaba is the only one who intuitively sees Fiyero being unhappy. Later, as soon as her blinders of false hope are lifted after changing the monkeys, she almost immediately puts two and two together.

(Te) Extraverted Thinking: Structures external environments logically, focusing on efficiency and execution. - From information fragments she gathers at Emerald City, with her thinking supported by her intuition, she puts together the Wizard not having any powers, and seeing through his scheme.

(Fi) Introverted Feeling: Prioritizes internal values and authenticity in decision-making, though less visibly. - She has a strong sense of what's right, and would never chose what is good for her over what she thinks is the morally right thing to do.

(Se) Extraverted Sensing: Engages with sensory experiences and the present moment, though it’s less naturally prominent. - Once she decides she will fly, she does. She is very graceful, knows how to use her environment to her benefit, although she is a bit slow to take action.

Fiyero - ESFP - cognitive functions: Se-Fi-Te-Ni

(Se) Extraverted Sensing: Focuses on real-time sensory details, enabling adaptability, spontaneity, and a hands-on approach to life. - He's obviously an amazing dancer, and finds joy in the sensory experiences around him. He has no problems balancing on books, jumping off places, dancing, having good old sensory fun.

(Fi) Introverted Feeling: Guides decisions through personal values and emotions, fostering empathy and authenticity. - This function is somewhat dormant in him, although you can see that he cares very deeply for the animals, and feels the need to let Elphaba know that she doesn't have to be "galinda-fied". He appreciates her authenticity and it makes him work more on his own.

(Te) Extraverted Thinking: Organizes actions logically and efficiently to achieve tangible goals. - He is not booksmart, but streetsmart, he recognizes when it is safe to do something, and considers his environment before doing so.

(Ni) Introverted Intuition: Recognizes patterns and long-term possibilities, offering introspection and strategic insight when developed. - Him calling out Elphaba on her defense mechanism is a very good example of him tapping into his intuitive side, although he doesn't do it very often.

Elphaba and Fiyero have the exact same cognitive functions, but in a completely reverse order: Elphaba: Ni-Te-Fi-Se Fiyero: Se-Fi-Te-Ni I highlighted their strongest functions as seen above.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, whatever function is in first place is the strongest in a person, and whatever is last is the absolute weakest. And while the first and third functions are more easily accessible to everyone (due to them being extraverted functions in an extravert, and introverted functions in an introvert) the very last one, well, it’s difficult to learn to use.

For Elphaba her weakest function is (Se), that Fiyero is amazing at. (Se) can be used to assess your environment on a sensory level, to see and hear what is where, to notice details in how things look. People with well developed (Se) are great at the physical things, like doing your stunts, or dancing, jumping etc.

For Fiyero, his weakest function is (Ni), that Elphaba is just a natural at. (Ni) helps you see patterns in the world around you, and it has been described lovingly by people online as “being able to see the future” (does that ring a bell?) but also by recognizing patterns, seeing a big picture, usually noticing things that other people don’t.

So obviously those are two functions, that one of them learns from the other, right? I mean they just learn how to tap into them. Although they probably don’t as much learn from eachother, but see the other using it, and it makes their own relationship to this under utilized part of themselves change, and improve because of it. But while that is amazing, and will come very helpful to them in act 2/part 2 that is not the aspect that they connect through. What I really want to talk about is…

III.) Connecting Through Authenticity and Values - Introverted Feeling aka (Fi)

Look, you read those two words, you may think, okay, so it’s about people feeling things, like that’s normal, right? Everyone has feelings, so what’s the big deal? No, that’s not what it’s about. (Fi) is about what is _right_. It’s your values, that you hold so deep, that you can’t and won’t cut it out for anything or anyone. It what makes you you, and it is people with (Fi) that usually speak up for marginalized groups, and do the right thing, even if it comes at a personal cost. Introverted feeling is integrity, and it’s authenticity.

And as you can see, Elphaba has this in third place, and Fiyero has it in second. Fiyero should be amazing at this, but his integrity? It’s actually a bit… asleep. Why?

Looping is a phenomena that we call when an introverted person uses only their introverted, or an extraverted person uses only their extraverted functions. It’s a stress response. A defense mechanism. It’s unhealthy, and painful, because yes, your second (and fourth) functions are difficult to develop, but they are part of who you are, you can’t just shut them out, without cutting pieces out of yourself. Kids live with their first and third functions, and then it is believed that throughout teenagehood, we start to engage our second function more. But when something bad happens to us, we sometimes turn this second function off as adults or as teenagers, reverting back to childish behavior. It’s not for fun, and it never makes us satisfied.

Fiyero is looping, and the mindset he presents in Dancing Through Life is the textbook version of an ESFP in crisis. It is literally a song about that.

“Mindless” and “brainless” are not there to reflect on his lack of intellect, but the fact that he is not integrating these important parts of himself that he should to assess what is right, and he choses not to think about the world around him. He is skipping over that (Fi) as if it was another hurdle in his way, because probably, at some point he realized that his integrity and authenticity doesn’t really matter to the world around him. His values nobody cares about, despite him having everything handed over on a silver platter.

Escaping the Loop. When Elphaba steps into his life, and he sees her standing up for the animals, that’s the moment, she jump-starts this part inside him. He’s been literally sleepwalking through life up to that point. It is on the levels of authenticity that these two characters are allowed to truly connect, and it is this authenticity and integrity that allows them to see past everything else. (“It’s not lying! It’s looking at things another way.” IYKYK)

IV.) Growing While Lifting Eachother Up

For Elphaba, her personal journey is a strange one. She literally grew up in another bubble, but her integrity has developed. She is well in touch with her cognitive functions, but she is living in a lie, so her bubble is a lie. The fact that she could go through life for so long, not realizing that something was broken in the world, apart from how she was personally treated, goes to show you, what a good job the Wizard did with his manipulation.

Once she really first sees the problems in Oz is with the lion cub in the classroom. You can see her trying to fight for it, raise her voice, ask others to join in, to help and nobody responds, only Fiyero engages with her, asking “I’m sorry, we?” See how Fiyero immediately takes it upon himself, although he was not addressed directly by name, or in any other way. She looked in the general direction of her friends, and he was the only one who responded at all.

Elphaba, tries to solve the situation with her tried and true and tested intuition, integrity, thinking, but she lacks something. She bursts out emotionally, putting the class to sleep, safe for one Fiyero. She needs someone to show her how to take action in that situation, and Fiyero steps in. By that time, Elphaba helped Fiyero engage his values again, so he jumps in to help, and almost literally drags her with himself, moving her out of her comfort zone and out of class.

Up to this point Elphaba was told by Morrible to harness those emotions, but she also put a limitation on Elphaba with those classes. She thinks acting on those feelings is not always right, but these are not just emotions, these are beliefs and values and things that are actually important to her, so keeping them quiet is not the right path. But these two characters complement eachother, and bring out the best in the other, without pushing down anything in each other. They make eachother stronger and more capable. In the class, Fiyero pulls her out of the limiting mindset she put on herself, and other put on her, and they actually save a life together, and after this neither of them are the same again.

Fiyero starts thinking about what’s right. About the day with the lion cub, and the person he shared it with. He spends more time "inwards" and gives less care about the physical world, and what he thought was important before.

Elphaba leaves to Emerald City with Glinda, not realizing she will be tested, in more ways than she can imagine. And when, at the end of the day she faces a situation, where she needs to take action against the biggest odds she has ever faced, and with Morrible on the loudspeakers disparaging her, she doesn't listen. She doesn't allow those limitations back onto her, she just closes her eyes and leaps.

And when she does, Fiyero jumps on his horse, as the entire world is starting to close in around Elphaba, and goes to look for her.

I guess you could say that together they are actually unlimited.

#wicked #fiyeraba #fiyero tigelaar #elphaba thropp #cynthia erivo #jonathan bailey #jbaileyedit #wickededit #mine #mbti

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seungfl0wer · 10 hours ago

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*𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅*

Pairing: Vamp!Bangchan x Vamp!Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Blood/Biting/Blood Drinking (Duh), Slight Mention of cheating/K!lling, Arranged Marriage, people Watching the deed, Oral (Both), Choking, Hair Pulling, Squirting, Multiple Rounds/Orgasms. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings! (I’m sure I missed a few this time)

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this cause I had so much fun doing this. This scratched an itch for me fr.

-🧛🏻

He was irritating. The “prince” you had been married off to. He was so full of himself not to mention feared by many. However you saw right through him. You saw the little things that made him crumble. His biggest weakness? You. He wouldn’t admit it but you drove him crazy.

Remembering when he accidentally walked into the bathroom after you had showered. You were completely naked quickly covering yourself up when he had come in. His jaw was on the floor, he stood there for a good minute or two before you yelled at him to get out. He quickly did, running to another bathroom to quickly help himself. He leaned back on the bathroom wall cock in hand as you ran through his mind. The best nut he had, had in a long time.

Both of you being vampires meant you’ve been alive for a while. Although with that being said you’ve never really dated much. You had your fun of course but most of them were quickly made into meals afterwards. Sucking them dry in more ways than one. Chan on the other hand got around a lot. Especially the first hundred years. However he found himself in love for the first time. A beautiful girl who he met at a coffee shop. He didn’t expect to fall in love but he did. He did hard.

Sadly he found the love of his life tangled in bed their own bed one faithful night shattering his heart. The girl told him “you were fun but I have an eternity to live, why would I spend it with one person?” He was broken. He spent days by himself locked away hating the world. Going out at night to feed, he fed even when he wasn’t hungry. The sadness washing away to be replaced with anger. He killed not even wanting to feed, killing to kill.

A decade down the line he was finally getting better. He got his spark back but he never wanted to be in love again. Only going for hookups if he had the need. When the court had come forward asking him to get married he was fully against it. After chipping away at him over the years he finally said yes.

Chan was cold towards you at first, wanting to keep a distance which you were honestly fine with. The whole arranged marriage thing wasn’t something you wanted either however it was best for your own “coven”. It helped spread the boards of your own hunting grounds and broadened the masses together.

The house you were sharing now was massive. Plenty of places to go to be alone but somehow you both found yourself in each other company. You gradually started talking more. Figuring out what you both needed for the members of your covens. Talking about the wedding plans as well.

—

Today was the day of the wedding, it went off well. As you walked down to Chan you noticed him almost getting choked up. He was looking at you in a different way, a way you haven’t seen.

He stuttered over his words as you said your “vows”. His eyes not being able to look anywhere else but you. You swear you could see little hearts in his eyes.

After all the festivities the elders of the coven had come to talk to you both. “It’s time to christen the marriage” they said.

“What does that mean?” You asked.

Chans eyes went wide at their words “there’s no fucking way.” He said.

You looked at him still confused. “What does it mean?” You asked again.

“It means these sickos want to watch us fuck” he said bluntly.

“What??” You asked.

“It’s tradition Chan, if you do not do it the marriage is null” the elder said sternly.

“And why didn’t you tell us about this before” he bit back.

“We thought you knew” the elder shrugged “come to the house over there, we will be waiting” the elder said before walking away.

“You’re fucking kidding me” Chan groaned.

“Do we have to?” You asked.

“Yeah- I guess so?” He said in a huff. “I’m sorry” he sighed.

“Well, why don’t we give them a good show?” You said with a smirk.

You both headed to the house, the room was covered in flower peddles. The bed made up nicely with silky red sheets. You strolled in taking Chans hand “let’s give them a show they’ll only be able to dream of” you said with a chuckle.

Chan made his way to you, before you pulled him into a heated kiss. The first kiss you had shared. It was messy, teeth clashing against one another’s. Tongues colliding with one another. Chans hand glided up your dress pulling your panties down your legs. His hands were a bit shakey as he felt your soft skin against his.

You grinned yourself against his leg letting yourself go. You moaned into the kiss hands coming up to take his shirt off. “Fuck y/n” he groaned out his hands dipping between your legs only to be greeted with how wet you were. Something in him snapped, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He quickly moved himself back pulling your body at the edge of the bed before diving into your cunt like a starved animal. His tongue darted against your clit, hands keeping your legs spread.

He lapped at your folds taking in your sweet taste, your hands clung to his hair back arching off the bed. “Ah- f-fuck!” You moaned out. You tugged on his hair harshly grinding your dripping cunt into his plush lips.

“Mm, fuck- use my tongue my pretty wife” he moaned out. The name making your cunt clench. “Are you all liking the show? Like watching my pretty wife get off on me?” Chan yelled knowing the elders were watching from the glass.

Chans hand moved from your leg, pushing his long fingers into your cunt. He curled them ever so slightly hitting your sweet spots. He had your body shaking, close to orgasm. He moved his mouth from your dripping cunt, lips swollen. He kissed up your thigh before sinking his teeth into it. The slight pain only bringing you pleasure, your body felt like it was levitating. Arching off the bed once more before cumming hard around his fingers. He lapped at the blood only to come back to your cunt to mix the two. His new favorite taste.

He looked up at you with glazed over eyes before coming up to you kissing you messily again. He slipped his pants off stroking his cock slowly. “Chan- need you- fuck please” you whined. He chuckled “whatever my princess wants she’ll get” he slowly pushed his cock into you. Stretching you out so nicely, like he was made for you.

“Sh-shit” he moaned out. He couldn’t stop himself from moving. Your warm cunt sucking him in. His thrusts were slow but deep, Hitting your cervix perfectly. He leaned his body down biting down on your neck before sucking harshly at the spot. When he pulled away he latched his lips back to yours pushing the blood into your mouth. Both of your lips now stained red as his movement became faster.

Drinking from others was one thing but drinking from your partner especially during sex was almost like taking an aphrodisiac. It made you both go crazy. Chan brought his hand up gripping at your throat grinning from ear to ear. “Fuck- I love you y/n. I’ve waited so long for this” he groaned.

“I love you too!” You cried out. His grip around your neck tightened as he felt your cunt clench around him. “Gonna cum? Cum on my cock- fuck- make a mess-“ he said before speeding up his thrusts. Your high quickly crushed over you cumming hard around him. He let out an almost growl before pulling out. He spun you around putting you on your hands and knees.

He moved himself in-front of you pressing the tip of his cock to your lips. Before he let you take him in he bit his wrist. Dripping blood down on his cock. You groaned watching him before taking his cock into your mouth. You twirled your tongue around his shaft licking him clean of the blood and your slick. His hands rested at your head before pushing back your throat. “Ah- fuck- just like that beautiful you’re taking me so well- isn’t she? You old bastards still watching?” He said with a chuckle.

He gripped your hair pulling you fully down his cock, his head pushing as far as it could go. He pulled away watching the string of saliva keeping you tied together.

He moved himself behind you once more and with out warning this time pushed fully into you. “Fuck- fuck-“ he said under his breath. His full balls smacking against you as he bottomed out. His cock head kissing your cervix ever so perfectly. He was fucking into like he hated you. Thrusts were deep and harsh. He gripped your head with one of his hands before pushing it down into the bed. “Gonna take all my cum? Gonna let me fill you full for all these fuckers to watch?” He growled.

“Yes! Chan- fuck please! Breed me- cum inside me please” you begged.

“That’s my beautiful wife” he said with a smirk. He moved from your head hands locked on your hips as his nails dug into your soft flesh.

He thrusted in a few more times before pushing in as far as possible. His hot cum painting your walls white as his nails dug into deeper making you bleed. He leaned his body down as his balls emptied into you biting your shoulder. His sharp teeth piercing your skin for the third time as he claimed you as his. Your high was quick to crash over you once more, the bite pushing you further making you squirt all over the silky sheets.

You both panted trying to catch your breathes. Chan pulled you to him holding you against his chest. “You all have 10 seconds to leave. You got what you wanted now let me have my time with my wife” he snarled.” The elders rushed out not wanting the wrath that they knew Chan would bring.

He held you as close as possible rubbing your back as he peppered it with kisses. “You know” he said softly. “I’ve always been afraid to let myself fall in love again” he said trailing off. “But- I can’t help it.. I love you.. I really mean it when I say that I love you y/n”

“I’ll never do what that awful woman did to you. You’re stuck with me now you know? Can’t get rid of me anymore” you teased.

He squeezed you tightly “I couldn’t imagine that, you’re stuck with me too” he said with a chuckle kissing your back softly. “Let’s go get cleaned up yeah? Then we can get some food” he said sweetly.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

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blue-lights-to-dreams · 23 hours ago

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Golden Light (pt. 2) // H.S.

part 2 to Golden Light! please read that first if you haven't already!

synopsis: you and Harry go back to your apartment after your date, and learn a little more about each other in the process.

warnings: smut, kissing, fingering (f receiving), i think that's it?

wc: 3.6k

a/n: the (maybe) long-awaited sequel to Golden Light as so many of you requested! thank you all so much for all of the love on that work, i'm so happy you guys enjoyed it. let me know what you think of this and if you'd like to see a part 3! :)

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The crackle of the fireplace (and the wine you were drinking) was almost enough to soothe your nerves. Almost.

You and Harry were sprawled on your living room floor, backs against the couch, enjoying the heat radiating from the fire as Harry described what he had gotten his family for Christmas this year. It was only the beginning of December, but he had everyone’s gifts already. He was so prepared, and the gifts he picked were so thoughtful. Each came with a backstory of exactly why he chose it, usually after the person mentioned something in passing once or twice.

A vintage whale-shaped coffee mug for his sister, who’d talked about how much she enjoyed a documentary about them over brunch one day. A beautiful landscape by a local painter for his mother after she admired another of her works when they’d gone to the art museum. He’d even gotten a custom doll made for his goddaughter after she complained one day that none of the ones at the store looked like her.

You’d picked out a riesling from your small stash of wine when you two arrived at your flat, remembering that’s what Harry preferred. You’d quickly changed into soft shorts and a graphic t-shirt, needing out of your dress, before the two of you settled on the floor and fell back into comfortable chatter.

It was probably for the better that he was the one speaking at the moment, because you could feel your head get fuzzier with each sip from your glass. As much as you tried to stay focused, you couldn’t help but run your eyes up his frame. He’d draped his blazer over the back of one of your barstools as he’d come in, leaving him in just his slacks and half-unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked stunning.

Harry noticed the way you were looking at him but elected not to say anything as he continued his story. “I’m really hoping she’s going to like it. How about you? Anything special you’ve gotten for anyone?”

His question snapped you out of your mild stupor, and you racked your brain. “Not really – I’m not nearly as prepared as you are. I only need to get a couple of things, though. Just something for my mom and a few for my friends. Nothing major.”

“No siblings?” He asked.

“Nope. Well, I do have them, but they’re my step-siblings, and I don’t think I’ve seen them since I was like 14 or so. My dad kind of packed them up and ran for the hills with his new wife at that point.” Your statement was blunt, and you picked at the skin around your nails as you explained. It wasn’t anything you had a hard time discussing anymore, given it had been upwards of 10 years.

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say. You probably should have said that differently, you thought, not wanting to overshare and make him uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, Harry. It was a long time ago, and probably for the better. My mom and I have only gotten closer since then, and I wouldn’t change it.” He nodded in understanding with a small smile but didn’t respond, letting his gaze drift to the artwork hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

A hush fell between the two of you, the noise of the fire and your creaky New York City radiator the only things audible. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just calm and peaceful. You stood to open the window – the heat was getting to be too much. It was nearing midnight at this point, so there wasn’t much commotion on your street, but the sound of cars driving by now and then was familiar and soothing.

You returned to your seat, slightly closer to Harry than you had been previously. He seemed deep in thought, arm draped lazily over the seat of the couch behind him. His eyes hadn’t left the window after they followed your movement there.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You questioned softly, turning to face him and pulling your knees to your chest, leaning to rest your shoulder against the cushions. You didn’t mean to pry, but you wanted to know what was going on inside that pretty head of his.

“Honestly,” he exhaled, brows furrowing slightly, “you.”

“Me?” Not the answer you’d expected.

“Yes, you,” he spoke with a hint of teasing, flashing a quick smile at you before glancing away. “I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed myself this much on a date. I really like you, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours like they were searching for your response.

His earnestness left you speechless for a moment. You stared back at him - his eyes were so green, so beautiful, like waves were crashing against white sand just behind his pupils.

“I like you too, Harry.” He relaxed slightly, shifting his position a hair. “This is definitely the best date I’ve been on in a long time.” You weren’t always great at expressing emotion, but it was only fair for him to know how you felt too.

He grinned, then, and pushed himself up to slide closer to you on the floor. His eyes were still locked on yours, both of you smiling at each other like giddy teenagers. His arm was almost around you now but remained on the couch as you lowered your legs, returning them to a cross-legged position. Harry reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before allowing his hand to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb caressing your jawbone slowly. He looked you up and down, again admiring how gorgeous you looked before flitting his eyes to your lips.

He inhaled briskly, hand not halting its movements on your face. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to ask, but I appreciate it.” As much as you liked Harry being a gentleman, right now, you honestly just wanted him to be anything but.

He nodded quickly before pulling you forward, pressing his lips to yours. It started with slow, gentle movements of your lips together, but quickly became much more desperate. His hands roamed your face before moving to your waist, gripping the skin above your hips just firmly enough to drive you crazy. Your hands were pressed to his chest over his thin silk shirt, and you could feel the muscles there flex as he moved his hands around your body. You weren’t normally one to care about muscles, but something about his drove you crazy.

Harry’s thumbs brushed your lower ribs as he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath for a moment. Your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers knotting through and gently gripping his short curls. A small groan left his throat, shooting straight to your core. His hands suddenly gripped your hips harshly, lifting you to pull you into his lap. He swallowed the small gasp you let out as he did so, flattening his hands on your back to pull you against him as you settled on his thighs. The kiss was sloppy, now, almost depraved, as he tried to pull you as close as physically possible. The way you were tugging his hair was driving him wild, you could tell, and it only encouraged you.

You pulled away from his mouth for just a second as your fingers moved to toy with the small buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Please,” Harry sighed, loosening his grip on you so you had the space to work. As you undid the last button, he pulled away from the couch and shrugged the shirt off, allowing it to fall onto the floor behind him.

He was breathtaking. At dinner, you could see the tattooed heads of what you assumed to be two small birds peeking out from under his shirt, but you weren’t expecting him to have so many more. Those swallows sat just underneath his collarbone, above a large butterfly on his stomach that almost appeared lifelike, the ink stretching and compressing as he breathed. His left arm was nearly covered in various small symbols and words, and you made a mental note to ask about them later.

Your hands returned to his chest, this time without barriers. The skin there was soft to the touch but you could feel the firm muscle underneath. It was warm. Hot.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smirk at your wide-eyed gaze. After a few seconds of letting you stare, he pulled your lips back to his, unable to wait. It was just as desperate as before.

His large hands slowly slid down your back as your mouths moved together, finding the hem of your shirt before reaching underneath it to grab your hips. The feeling of his warm hands contrasted with the cold metal of the rings he wore, pulling a small gasp from you.

His firm grip on your hips was short-lived as his hands quickly began drifting upwards, thumbs slightly massaging your lower ribs. Fingers splayed on your back, Harry felt you pant into the kiss, unable to catch your breath.

He pulled away for a second, removing his hands from your skin. A small groan escaped you at the loss of warmth, which you hoped Harry didn’t notice. One hand moved to hold your face and the other bunched the hem of your shirt and tugged on it slightly.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. He needed to make sure you were okay with it, just like he would with whatever else ended up happening that night.

You nodded quickly, helping him lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor beside you. He gripped your shoulders and pushed you away slightly so he could see you.

Harry thought you were stunning. His eyes raked longingly over every inch of you - shoulders, arms, breasts, and stomach, taking it all in. His hands slid off your shoulders to press against your ribs again, thumbs brushing the skin just under your bra. He tore his eyes away from the fabric and skin, gazing at you slack-jawed with blown-out pupils.

“Y’so beautiful, Y/N,” he panted, words slurred slightly from the breathlessness, and your heart just about burst in your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like this, and it made you nervous, but the look in Harry’s eyes told you there was nothing to be afraid of. He didn’t look like he just wanted to fuck you – he looked like he wanted to worship you.

Instead of a response, you smashed your lips back to his. One of the hands gripping your ribs shifted to cup you over your bra, and you couldn’t help the moan that you let out. This only spurred Harry on as he followed suit, groaning into your mouth. The noise was divine – a low, throaty rumble that went straight to your core.

You needed more of his skin on you. Now.

You reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra, shaking it off your shoulders until it dropped to the floor on top of your shirt. While you appreciated Harry asking for permission to continue with everything, you couldn’t wait until he worked up the nerve to ask you before feeling his bare hands on your chest.

He took your invitation to continue grasping at your breast, this time with no barrier. A louder moan left you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, electricity pulsing through your veins. Harry groaned into your mouth again, his other hand resting on your ass and bringing it forward until you sat directly on top of his length. It pressed deliciously against you, pulling another gasp from your throat. He was hard beneath you as you ground back on him, hips rocking in sync with the kiss.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, continuing to move against him. Your head fell back until you were panting up at the ceiling. Harry wasted no time in connecting his lips with your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, licks, and soft bites along it and down to your shoulder blades. The room was quiet apart from the symphony of both of your breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the odd car passing by.

He continued to kiss down your body to the soft tissue of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth. The feeling was heaven as his tongue flicked the bud before moving to the other side, his thumb replacing it. His other hand was reaching down your stomach to the button of your shorts, toying with the seams of the fabric. He removed his mouth from you, and you had to hold back a whine of disappointment.

“Is it alright if we get these off of you?” he asked tenderly, staring into you again. You nodded hastily, helping him unbutton them and lifting your hips so he could pull the fabric down your legs and over your knees. You kicked them off, leaving you in just your underwear as he looked you up and down again.

With the layer of fabric gone, your center met his again. You could feel the warmth radiating from his shaft as you pressed onto him, the two of you both groaning in pleasure. The rigid zipper of his pants rubbed firmly against your clit addictively.

A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over you as you realized the situation you’d put yourself in. Here you were, on a blind date with a near stranger, and you were already sitting on top of him in just your underwear while he was still in his pants. It wasn’t like you to give in to a man this quickly, but Harry’s face and smile and body and charm had gotten into your head and pushed away your ability to reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be doing this - it was quite the opposite, you were having a lovely time. You just didn’t want Harry to think you were easy, or that this was your plan.

You didn’t realize your movements against Harry had stilled until he was holding your face again, forcing you to look at him. He knew you were in your head about something, and he needed to find out what before taking things any further.

“Y/N, hey, what’s wrong? Do y’need to stop?” His voice was thick with concern as he searched your eyes for discomfort. You shook your head hurriedly, not wanting him to think you weren’t enjoying yourself.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you sighed, face flushing in embarrassment. “I’m just– I’m not usually the type to fuck on the first date. I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you.”

“Well, ‘f it helps, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you tonight.” Before you could react negatively (as you were about to) he quickly continued, “I just want to make you feel good tonight. You said you’ve been stressed out all week about work, and I just want to make that go away for you for a while. S’that okay, baby?”

Of course, he knew the perfect thing to say. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at how considerate he was, and the pet name at the end was the cherry on top. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Harry.”

He chuckled before lifting your hips off of his and setting you on the floor next to him, making sure you were close to the fireplace so you didn’t get cold. His hands prompted you to turn your body so you were parallel to the couch. One hand took root in your hair while the other caressed the bare skin on your hip as he kissed you again, slower this time. Harry used your hair as leverage to slowly pull you down until you were on your back on the floor, him slotted between your open legs.

“I want to take care of you, sweetheart, is that okay?” As if you would say no.

Your whiny ‘yes’ was rewarded with his hands caressing your inner thighs slowly, teasingly. You assumed you were noticeably soaked, the baby pink cotton of your underwear unforgiving when it came to hiding your arousal. He massaged the soft skin, moving upwards until his thumb brushed over the fabric’s seam nestled in the crease of your thigh. Your hips moved of their own accord, lifting in search of any friction they could find. Harry tsked quietly, securing a hand on your hip and pushing it back down on the floor.

He rolled onto his side from between your legs, supporting himself on an elbow with his hand cradling your head and wrapping an ankle around your leg to keep them open. His other hand traced a soft line over the wet patch between your legs, fingers brushing your clit with a feather-light touch. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry, please,” you whined, trying to regulate your breathing.

He chuckled teasingly. “What d’you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I need –” you cut yourself off, unsure of why you were embarrassed to say it when you knew he already knew what you wanted. “I need you to touch me, please.”

That was all he needed before he slipped his fingers underneath your underwear and swiped them through your wet folds. The contact was heavenly, forcing a choked moan from your throat as he drew circles around your clit in a precise rhythm. He was obviously experienced, building that warm feeling in your stomach faster than even you could yourself.

“Need these off,” he ordered, tugging your underwear down your legs and helping you kick them off before he hooked an ankle around your knee and spread your legs again. His hand returned to your core, this time with his thumb pressing on your clit and his middle finger teasing your entrance. Your soft groan encouraged him to slide it into you, pulling a myriad of lush sounds from your mouth as he pumped in and out. When he curled his fingers into you and brushed against the spongy patch that felt so good, you thought you were a goner. That was until he slipped his ring finger in alongside his middle and picked up his motions on your clit once more. It didn’t take long at all for you to reach the edge, the feeling building in your insides until you felt like a rubber band about to snap.

“Harry, I’m gonna –” a prolonged moan interrupted your statement.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he spoke softly in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your cheekbone. “Let it go for me.”

That was all you needed. The rubber band inside you snapped, and your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami. You clenched tightly around Harry’s fingers, hips writhing, as he worked you through your release. He whispered praises in your ear but you could barely hear them as the room seemed to disappear, leaving just you and the feeling of Harry’s touch. You had to grip his wrist to remove his hand from you after a few seconds, the continued motion turning overstimulating quickly.

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you rolled onto your side to throw an arm around Harry’s neck and pull him closer to you. Your nakedness was catching up to you as not even the warmth from the fireplace was enough.

Harry quickly realized how cold you were and turned to grab the throw blanket off of the couch, draping it over both of you. That was something you were quickly learning about Harry – he was very attentive, and he seemed to be able to anticipate your needs before you even realized them yourself.

After a few moments of quiet, the sounds of your breathing mixing with the other ambient noises, you spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for you? I feel bad leaving you, you know, high and dry.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss against your hair. “I promise m’okay, Y/N. What you can do for me, though, is let me clean you up and get you in bed. Our backs are going to kill us tomorrow if we stay on this floor any longer.”

----------

After Harry helped you clean up and change into a fresh pair of pajamas, he slipped out of his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers. You’d both crawled into your bed, and you rested your head against his bare chest as his arm stroked small circles on your shoulder. It took everything in you not to fall asleep, but you didn’t want this night with him to end quite yet.

“Harry?” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere in the room with your words.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for everything tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself this much, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

“Y’ don’t have to thank me – I had just as good of a time. You’re really special, Y/N. I’d love to do this again, if you’d let me?”

“Which part?” you laughed, “the dinner part or the after-dinner part?”

“Well, honestly, preferably both.” You were both laughing now, his stomach muscles tensing under your hand.

“I think I’d be okay with that,” you agreed, knowing deep down you’d probably beg on your hands and knees for him to let you see him again.

“Thank you, baby. Now get some sleep.” He pressed another kiss to your hair and pulled you tighter to his chest, his other hand ensuring the blankets were tucked snugly around your shoulders before he allowed his body to sink back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a certain brown-haired boy that you knew wouldn’t be leaving your mind anytime soon.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles #hs1 #hs2 #hs3 #one direction #harry #haz

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rieamena · 3 days ago

Text

crystal teardrop

i. takuma

fantasy!au-ish ,, kind of??? idk dont quote me on anything

word count: 1.4k

riea's comments: slowly but surely coming out of my hiatus... idk what's with me and writing angst recently... especially since i love takuma so much

the moonlight spilled through your bedroom window like liquid silver, bathing the room in a soft glow. it was here, in the quiet sanctuary of your chambers, that he had stolen countless moments with you. moments that no one else could ever know. he had always been someone whose eyes burned passionately, but tonight, that light in his eyes was clouded with turmoil as he stood before you

"how long have you known?" his voice trembled, low and raw with the weight of emotions he could no longer hide

your lips parted, but no words came. his gaze bore into yours, searching for answers, demanding the truth

"princess," he whispered, stepping closer, the warmth of his presence a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in your chest. his hand found your wrist, grounding you as his thumb brushed over your skin. "please, tell me how long it's been."

your mind raced, pulling you back to the nights spent in his arms, the stolen kisses behind the royal gardens, the laughter you shared as he snuck you out of the palace to explore the city incognito. the memory of his lips on your temple, murmuring, "you're more than a princess to me. you're everything."

"three weeks," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper

the devastation in his eyes was immediate. "three—when do you meet him again?"

"tomorrow," you replied, heart hammering

"and the ceremony?"

"next week."

his jaw tightened, and he turned away, running a hand through his tousled hair. the sight of him—so vulnerable, so human—made your heart ache

"run away with me," he said suddenly, spinning back to face you

"what—? you know i—"

"you can't," he interrupted, his voice sharper now. "because of your parents, your family, the kingdom. whose life are you really living? is it impossible to live for yourself? doesn't being happy matter at all?"

"not when you're a royal," you countered, the words tasting bitter even as you spoke them

his hands cupped your face, his touch gentle yet urgent. "you're more than a crown. you're a person—a person i love. i don't care about titles or kingdoms. i care about you."

you reached for something—anything— to hold. the silk of your dress felt coarse and unpleasant between your fingers. you remember how his face beamed as he snuck into your bedroom, bag in hand. how he watched your eyes light up when giving you the present he diligently saved up for. how you scurried away to your bathroom to slip it on, deliberately leaving the zipper down so he could zip it up for you. how he did exactly that, kissing your cheek once he was done. and how he carried you to your bed with a flushed face, your giggles bouncing off the room as he continued to compliment you

"takuma, you know i didn't ask for this!" you snapped, dragging yourself back to the present. "i never wanted this!"

"then why won't you act like it? you won't even fight for us, for me."

"it's more complicated than that! what will people think of us? what will my family think of us?"

"for god's sake," his voice raised, "i love you."

you felt time stop for a bit. it was the first time you heard those three words slip from his lips. you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to hear them, you just wish it could've been under better circumstances

"you—you've plagued my mind and my heart, princess. do you not understand? i feel graced by the gods that everyday i live is a day i get to spend by your side. i don't care about status, i just care about you, about us."

"i—" your throat tightened, and tears welled in your eyes, "i'm sorry, sir ino, but—"

"don't call me that." he said, his voice breaking, "it's takuma to you. i'm takuma."

"i don't love you." the words left your mouth with a fight. you knew you didn't mean it, and you knew you weren't convincing him

"prove it to me." he said, stepping closer, "prove to me that you've never felt something towards me. look at me. [name], look at mmph—"

it was a confession in and of itself. your true feelings, all of them. your soft lips on his, melting into each other, yearning for the same thing: a world in which a princess could be with her knight. his hand slipped to the small of your back, subtly pushing you into him. you caressed the nape of his neck, kissing him harder

"thank you…" you whispered, pulling away from the kiss, ignoring the string of pleas falling from his lips, "for everything takuma, my valiant knight,"

"no," he choked out, tears streaming down his face. "don't say goodbye. don't—"

"i love you," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "i love you."

his head fell to your shoulder, his sound of his sobs mixing with yours. and all that could be done was to hold each other tightly, as if it was all a nightmare

—

a knock on your door didn't stir you, you were already awake. "princess?" a sweet voice belonging to one of your maids called out, "won't you please get ready? your soon-to-be husband will be arriving shortly."

a groan escaped from you as your feet thumped against the floor towards the bathroom

"oh, and one more thing." the maid added. "that knight of yours, grand knight ino? he was placed on leave. his mother has fallen ill. not to worry, your parents will be putting another knight in his stead but i doubt you'll like him."

"takuma's mother…?" you whispered, stopping in your tracks, your heart clenching. "make sure to send them the best care package we have" you said softly. "and come back later to deliver a letter for him as well."

"yes, princess."

—

the days leading up to your wedding were a blur of decisions that didn’t feel like your own. the lace of your gown, the jewels on your crown, and even the words you were to speak at the altar were all chosen for you. but behind the veneer of perfection, your heart throbbed for takuma

you had thought the ache would fade with time. that the whispered words he'd left you with—"run away with me"—would become nothing more than an echo. instead, the memories of him consumed you

your fiancé, was everything the kingdom could want: kind, loyal, attentive. he spoke softly of your future together, of the peace your marriage would bring. one evening, as you walked the castle gardens together, he pointed to the stars. "do you see that constellation there? it's called the lovers. legend says the stars only align when two souls are destined for one another."

you smiled, though it felt hollow. "it's beautiful."

he glanced at you, his expression warm. "i hope you'll look at the stars with me after we're wed."

you left him unanswered.

the castle halls became suffocating. everywhere you turned, preparations for the wedding surrounded you. your fiancé's attendants showered you with affection, yet it only magnified the emptiness within you. in quiet moments, your mind would wander to takuma—his smile, the rough timbre of his voice when he teased you, the way his touch lingered just a moment too long. you clutched your engagement bracelet tightly as if it could anchor you

it didn't.

you escaped to the gardens alone. the magnolias were in bloom, their scent a bittersweet reminder of the times you'd spent there with takuma. you sank to the bench where he had first spoken of running away. his words haunted you

"we could leave all of this behind. find a quiet place by the sea. you'd never have to wear a crown again."

tears slipped down your cheeks. "takuma," you whispered to the wind, praying that it would carry your words, "i wish you were here."

—

the day of the wedding dawned, and you felt like a prisoner in your own life. the cathedral was packed with nobles, their faces glowing with anticipation. your soon-to-be husband stood at the altar, his expression serene

but as the doors opened and you began your walk down the aisle, your eyes scanned the crowd—and there he was. that familiar head of brown hair. those kind eyes that were now red-rimmed. and a bittersweet smile full of unspoken words

the world seemed to fade. there was only him, the one you couldn't love anymore.

a tear escaped from your eye, and shattered onto the marble floor.

jjk taglist

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@baekhyunsbestie @vorfreudevortex @leuriss @xaithings @jtoddlover

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agirlwithglam · 3 days ago

Text

MY 2024 WRAPPED🎀

got this idea from the lovely @prettieinpink 💗

Advice & Lessons

Allow people to be people. Don’t keep them trapped under these expectations you have for them, it will only hurt you in the end. Allow yourself to be okay with people changing.

Kindness will make you confident. Idk but when I shifted the way I think to “I’m going to be kind to other people.“ that’s when I started feeling so much better & happier about myself.

Just because another person cannot see your value doesn’t mean it’s not there. Another person’s lack of awareness of your worth does not mean that it does not exist. They simply do not have the capability to fully comprehend the love you have in yourself.

It’s none of ya business! How other people treat you/ what they say about you is not about you & is none of your business. What is your responsibility however is to make sure that such low quality behaviour should not make you feel any worse about yourself. If you can’t do that, then it is your job to remove yourself from that situation.

Look for a good time, not a long time. I know we all want those long lasting 10 year+ friendships/ relationships, but that strong desperation you have for it is just self sabotaging yourself from the amazing memories you could make! When you meet a new person, go with the mindset that “I hope we have a good time today” and not “I want to find a best friend” because the other person cannot feel that desperation and it’s just unattractive. If you do make a really strong connection & become bffs, great! What’s meant to be will come easily once you take your obsession off it.

Always look at what’s good, and you’ll find that there’s more good in your life than you thought. Gratitude!! The more thankful you are for the things you have, the more the universe will send your way.

The peace I’ve experienced with being alone. I’m actually gonna create a post about this because I never actually realised how much I enjoy being on my own

Achievements!

Getting over 3000 followers on here in less than a year!!💗

Went for my first run! Felt sooo self conscious as if people were looking at me

Learning how to crochet (on my own only from yt tutorials! I’m so proud of myself for not giving up!!) I crocheted a hibiscus bag, pink heart pillow, headbands and so much more!

I look in the mirror and no matter how I look, I love myself so much.

Thankyouuu xoxo, Vanilla🫶🏽

#agirlwithglam🎀✨#it girl energy #it girl #self improvement #becoming that girl #self love #girlboss #girlblog #self development #girlblogging #2024 #2025 #2024 wrapped

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kibbles-bits · 20 hours ago

Note

Question, what DOES Val find attractive about Vox?

I'm going to assume this is for the Heaven's Best AU because I… wouldn't know the answer to the canon one? (though Val's audition sheet including the information of sleeping only "with 10's… and Vox" means he likes Vox and doesn't consider him actually attractive. Love it. Hilarious.)

So, what does Valentino in Heaven's Best find attractive about Vox?

His personality and he's mad about it.

That's the short answer! The rest of this is just me yapping.

He finds other things attractive soon afterwards but it's the personality and character traits that got him and he won't admit it.

Canon!Val wouldn't like HB!Vox, but HB!Val is a little different.

He can not relax.

With no partners, Val's had to lean on his more violent traits to keep control of his territory so there wasn't much time to relax. If he wanted to go out he always has to keep an eye out for other demons who might try to attack him and he's lived like that for most of his years in Hell.

He allies with and eventually befriends Velvette - which is still a recent development. Fear for Velvette's safety plus preserving his delicate new image she's built for him means he can't be as violent as he was before which stresses him out a lot. He can't really bring himself to trust anyone else.

So that's where he's at when Vox joins the picture.

Seeing the Exorcists being killed on TV was something he found interesting - it made them feel more like people he can have sex with so color him interested when he hears two angelic beings have moved down to hell. He means to proposition one politely, whichever one he runs into first. He knows he can't force it. Not only is Vox an angel and naturally more powerful, but he's allied with a seraphim and the rulers of Hell. Val talks shit but he's not going to risk their wrath, especially when whatever happens to him will, by extension, affect Velvette. He's not immediately physically attracted to Vox so after failing to make a deal, he lets him leave without any trouble. A little miffed about how it went, though.

Later, when Vox has his Oopsie, Val tries to make him feel better about it. Some of it is because seeing an angel have a breakdown sits wrong with him, but the rest of it is because he wants to see how much use he can get out of Vox now that he's so delicate. Maybe get him to kick Angel out of the hotel. He has blackmail, after all. How would Emily react to her BFF going on a little murder spree?

Except before Val can even hint at the blackmail, Vox threatens him first the moment they're alone in Val's home. Which is bold, considering Val just saw how 'well' he took his first murders. But then a murderer is a murderer and Vox is distraught, who knows what he'll do? Val decides provoking him isn't worth it and just… let's him vent it out. And it turns out he's kinda hot in a weird way when he's venting and when he grabs him and demeans him and--

ANYWAY Val promises not to tell a soul what happened.

And Vox imprints on him? Weirdly? He doesn't understand why (yet) but as long as Valentino doesn't intentionally harm him or Emily, Vox is a pretty amiable guy. He won't smite him for fun and he minds his own business. Doesn't try to tell him how awful he is. He says how much better he is than Val, yet is still the one following him around so Val just finds that funny rather than offensive. It's cute, how dumb he is sometimes.

The two eventually sleep together.

Vox isn't a Sinner, he has no interest in Val's power or territory, he doesn't even live in Hell, he hates it there. So Val doesn't have to worry about any 'power grabs' or Vox trying to take advantage of him. He can't push Vox around (Vox pushes back HARD) and also doesn't feel too threatened by him. Val finds out it takes a lot to actually push Vox into committing another Oopsie, so much he doesn't actually see it happen again for a long time. Vox doesn't interfere with his treatment of Angel so, the blackmail? Unnecessary. He starts to trust Vox not to hurt him.

As a Winner who's been in Heaven for like, 50 years, Vox is naturally more friendly than anyone Val's ever personally met in Hell. He's also more eager to just hang out (did you think I was joking?) Vox keeps blabbering to him about all kinds of things and venting and Val actually likes??? what he has to say??? He gets to know Vox very well - what he's really like and things he hasn't told others. Having another person, someone he doesn't own and isn't manipulating, an equal, trust him does things to him (Gee, Val, how come Eternal Damnation let you have TWO friends?)

Vox earns his trust completely one day when he helps him in a territory dispute that had nothing to do with him. Apparently, Vox has been watching him for a long time when he's not with him. People would find that creepy, but Val knows Vox and, yeah, it is, but he likes it because it means Vox cares. And he likes knowing Vox will have his back.

Val is, finally, able to relax when they're together (publicly and privately), and he really values that.

But if you ask him he'd say he's attracted to Vox's screen brightness or his stupid little sweater vest.

#Heaven's Best AU #Vox #Valentino #Staticmoth #voxval #Hazbin Hotel #Ask #asks #anon #anonymous

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growthhyp · 3 days ago

Text

The Transforming Cum IV

Jonathan stood in front of the mirror, his massive frame barely fitting within its confines. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his chest chiseled like granite, and his arms rippled with power even at rest. He smirked, running a hand over his perfectly sculpted abs. Damn, he thought, I look good. But then his eyes drifted to the pile of clothes on his bed—clothes he’d ordered online just days ago, now hopelessly too small for his new physique.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, holding up a T-shirt that might as well have been made for a child. “How the hell am I supposed to get anything that fits me now?”

He grabbed his phone and began scrolling through reviews of tailors and seamstresses in the area. Most specialized in wedding dresses or formal wear, but one name kept popping up: Vincent. A man who supposedly crafted custom-made clothing with unparalleled precision. Jonathan’s fingers paused over the screen. Perfect.

A quick search revealed Vincent’s address, but as Jonathan delved deeper, he discovered something else—Vincent was no longer taking commissions. The reason? Bone cancer. Jonathan’s jaw tightened. That could be a problem. But then an idea sparked in his mind, lighting up his face with a grin. Or it could be the perfect opportunity.

The drive to Vincent’s house was short, but every minute felt like an eternity. Jonathan’s mind raced with possibilities. What if this worked? What if he could help Vincent—and in doing so, secure a tailor for life? The thought sent a thrill through him, his cock twitching in his pants at the prospect of what was to come.

When he arrived, the house looked quiet, almost abandoned. The curtains were drawn, and there was no sign of life from within. Jonathan hesitated for a moment before striding up the walkway, his confidence unwavering. He knocked sharply on the door, but there was no answer. After a beat, he tried the handle. It turned easily in his grasp.

“Hello?” he called out, stepping inside. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something fainter, more personal—like worn leather and old fabric. The living room was cluttered with bolts of cloth and half-finished garments, but it was clear no work had been done here in some time.

A soft groan came from down the hall. Jonathan followed the sound, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards. He pushed open the bedroom door to find Vincent lying in bed, frail and pale, his once-vibrant eyes dull with pain.

“Who are you?” Vincent rasped, his voice weak but tinged with curiosity.

“Name’s Jonathan,” he said, towering over the bed. “I heard you’re the best tailor around.”

Vincent let out a bitter laugh. “Not anymore. As you can see, I’m not exactly in shape to be working.”

Jonathan studied him for a moment, noting the way the sheets clung to his emaciated frame. This guy’s practically skin and bones. But then again, that was precisely why he’d come.

“What if I told you there’s a way to fix that?” Jonathan asked, his tone casual but laced with a hint of mischief.

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Fix my cancer? Unless you’ve got a miracle up your sleeve, I don’t see how.”

Jonathan grinned. “Something like that.” He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. “You see, I’ve got… a gift. One that can make you stronger. Healthier. Better than ever before.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his expression. “And what’s the catch?”

Jonathan shrugged. “No catch. Just a little… exchange. You drink something from me, and I’ll make sure you get your energy back. Enough to start working again. Hell, enough to do whatever you want.”

Vincent’s gaze flickered down to Jonathan’s crotch, then back up to his face. “Let me guess. You’re talking about your cum.”

Jonathan chuckled, low and deep. “Bingo.”

There was a long silence as Vincent processed the offer. Then, slowly, a sly smile spread across his lips. “Well, aren’t you bold? I’ve got to admit, I’m intrigued. And, well…” He glanced down at the tent forming in the sheets over his lap. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any action. If you’re as good as you say, maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Jonathan’s grin widened. “Atta boy.” He reached down, unzipping his jeans and freeing his cock, already stiffening under Vincent’s watching eyes. “Trust me, you won’t regret this.”

As Jonathan began to stroke himself, Vincent propped himself up on his elbows, his breathing shallow but his eyes locked on the spectacle before him. Each movement of Jonathan’s hand sent shivers of anticipation through the room, the air thickening with desire.

“God, you’re huge,” Vincent murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and hunger.

Jonathan chuckled darkly. “Wait until you get a taste.”

With that, he stepped closer, his cock hovering just inches from Vincent’s lips. The older man didn’t hesitate, parting his lips and taking the tip into his mouth. A moan escaped Jonathan’s throat as warmth enveloped him, Vincent’s tongue swirling expertly around his shaft.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” Jonathan groaned, his hips rocking forward instinctively.

Vincent hummed in response, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through Jonathan’s body. He gripped the headboard for support, his muscles flexing as Vincent took him deeper, each slurp and swallow driving him closer to the edge.

“Yeah, just like that,” Jonathan growled, his voice rough with lust. “Suck it like your life depends on it.”

Vincent obeyed eagerly, his hands clutching at Jonathan’s thighs as he worked his magic. It wasn’t long before Jonathan felt the pressure building in his balls, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

With a roar, he came, his cum flooding Vincent’s mouth in hot, pulsating spurts. Vincent drank it greedily, swallowing every drop as though it were the elixir of life itself. The transformation was immediate. Color returned to his cheeks, his muscles began to swell beneath his skin, and the frailty that had plagued him moments ago vanished in an instant.

Jonathan watched in fascination as Vincent grew larger, his body filling out with lean, powerful muscle. The sheets slipped away, revealing a torso that rippled with newfound strength. When Vincent finally pulled away, gasping for air, he was no longer the sickly man he had been.

“Holy shit,” Vincent breathed, staring down at his transformed body. “What the hell did you do to me?”

Jonathan smirked, still catching his breath. “Told you I had a gift. Now, about those clothes…”

#jockification #muscle growth stories #jock tf #muscle

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frannyzooey · 4 hours ago

Text

Midnight

Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: E

A/N: Happy New Year’s Eve! ❤️ Thank you for being so kind and patient with me this year — it’s been a long one, but this place has made it all the more tolerable. This has been a WIP since 2021 (!!) and it was so wild to brush it off and compare how much my writing has changed since then — thank you for sticking around, for being so supportive and for being a part of this community. I appreciate you all and hope you all have a great 2025! 🎉🎊🍾

—

9PM

The kitchen is already packed.

It’s been an hour since you arrived to the greeting of your coworkers broad smile, getting her for all of two minutes before you promptly lost her again. You’d seen pieces of her since, shimmers of her silver dress in between the crowd of bodies: her arm extended to hand someone a drink, her hip pressed against the counter to refill a chip bowl, her bright laugh above the din of conversation.

The beer in your hand had started out cold, but now borders on luke warm as you take a tentative sip. You grimace at the flavor, yet hold onto it, if only for something to do with your hands.

“Why are you drinking that?”

She appears in front of you, at last, the only person you know here. Pulling a face at the bottle in your hand, she lifts her eyebrow. “You don’t drink beer. Couldn’t find anything better at the bar?”

“I didn’t even see a bar,” you reply, standing on your toes to look around the room. All you see are shoulders and heads, a sea of pointed hats with shiny poms of tinsel on top.

She rolls her eyes with a smile, plucking the beer from your grip to take your hand in hers.

“Over here,” she leads, tugging you towards the living room.

Turning your body sideways to get through the crowd, you grin when the bar comes into sight.

The cart is an art-deco elaborate thing, mirrored and gilded. You remember her shopping for it online at the office, hiding the screen whenever your manager would walk by. Its beauty is hidden underneath a crowd of bottles, just as tight as the people in her apartment, and she twists and turns them, searching.

Lifting one up, she offers something else with a familiar smile. “Gin?”

You grin. “Yes please.”

–

10PM

One heavy handed gin and tonic later, you’re feeling much better about the situation.

You haven’t seen your friend in awhile, but that’s okay – your other coworkers have arrived.

“Okay but why is it such a personal thing?” you ask, tipping your cup to slip an ice cube into your mouth. “I know which one is yours – the one with Snoopy on it – and it’s not like it would be wrong if I took it, but it would feel wrong, you know?”

Your coworker nods earnestly. “Coffee cups in the office are weird thing, man. They aren’t labeled, but like…you just know.”

He shuffles forward for someone to pass by him, and you back up to make room, your back pressing against the stranger behind you. They are a solid wall of heat, and before you can turn and apologize, the ringing shout of more people being welcomed draws your attention in the direction of the kitchen door. Your friend appears under the archway a second later, leading a train of people through the crowd and as everyone parts to make room, the person behind you reaches back, placing their hand on your hip. Their hold pushes you lightly towards the wall, out of the way.

Looking down, you see a man’s hand – thick fingers, a broad palm and when you turn around, you find the owner.

Jesus Christ.

He’s fucking gorgeous. Tilting your chin up to start with the dark mop of his curls, you hungrily take in the rest of his face: a strong nose, plush lips, jaw covered in scruff. Easily the most handsome person you’ve ever seen, you’re frozen in place, and his neat mustache twitches with amusement.

“Hey,” he greets you, turning to fully face you. “Sorry,” he gestures to your hip with a flick of his eyes. “Didn’t want you to get run over.”

Those eyes. Those fucking eyes. Beautiful and brown, rich and dark – with creases that fan out when he smiles. He waits you out, and you wonder if he’s used to your reaction, or if his silence means he’s just as enamored as you with what he sees.

You hope it’s the latter, though you’re sure it’s the former.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, and he grins, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

A fucking dimple? Are you kidding?

“Din,” he says, pointing towards himself with the neck of his beer bottle. When you give him your name, you don’t miss the way his eyes slip down the length of your body and crawl back up. So open and blatant with his expression, it’s almost as if he doesn’t think you can see it.

Or maybe he knows you can, but doesn’t care.

Giddiness pools in your chest, and he gestures for your glass.

“Can I get you another?” he asks over the noise of the party.

“Sure.”

You grin, and he mirrors it.

–

11pm

How can someone be this good at charades?

It’s uncanny, his ability to convey so much with gestures alone. You wonder if maybe it has something to do with his confidence, or the graceful, commanding movement of his body. It’s like you’ve been able to read his mind and he yours, the two of you synced up after forty minutes in each other’s presence. He says nothing, and still, you understand every time.

His face is so subtly expressive, that’s what you think makes it. Or maybe it’s his hands, – large, capable looking things that he seems so deft with.

They’ve been touching you since you met — a firm pressure on the small of your back to guide you through rooms, a circle around your wrist when you were almost separated. A curved hold on your hip when you signed him up for charades, a gentle brush of his fingers when he slipped the strap of your dress into place after a round.

He comes back from the bar, two water bottles in hand and his weight drops on the couch next to you, his thigh pressing tight against your own.

The cushion forces you to lean into the bulk of his body and turning your head to the side, you whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “We’re killing them.”

The divot below his ear holds the best scent – heady and masculine, warm in the best way – and he smiles, returning a whisper of his own.

“I know.”

His boyish grin is deceptive, hiding how competitive he’s been this entire game, a trait that you find yourself liking. Not boastful like most guys, but more like he brims with a quiet confidence. Like he’s just sure of himself, his commanding presence drawing you in.

The other team starts, their shouts fading into the background as his eyes drop down to your mouth. You wait with bated breath for the flirty line that most men would deliver at this moment – but none comes. Instead, he stays silent, letting his eyes do all the talking.

They roam over your features, blatant and bold in their quest. His smile falters, slipping into something with more intent and the warmth held in his eyes simmers to turn into something darker, hungrier. Your mouth waters in anticipation, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip, and you watch as he follows its path.

His hand rests on top of your knee, encompassing it within his warm hold. The touch sparks a line of want that zips up the inside of your thigh to the damp crotch of your undies, a beat pulsing between your legs. It curls behind your belly button, pooling between your hips – a sticky slick ache that makes you press your thighs together.

The corner of his lips tug upwards as if he knows.

A chorus of groans declares you winners and he squeezes your knee in victory, his eyes still on yours.

11:59pm

“FIVE! FOUR!”

The cheer of the guests counting down is deafening, and you wince at the sound even while shouting yourself. Din’s arm drapes around your shoulders, the weight of it keeping you tucked along his side as he protects you from being crushed.

“THREE! TWO!”

Lifting your drink into the air, you grin up at him when he does the same. Couples around the room turn to each other, and you tip your chin upwards, your cheek fitting into the crook of his shoulder. He looks down at you, his arm tightening in its hold and it’s like a magnet pulling your mouths towards each other, anticipation building to a breaking point.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

The room explodes in cheers and shouts, and he leans down to meet your mouth with his.

It’s a firm, sure kiss; his lips softly molding to yours. You savor it, pushing up on your toes to prolong it and when you pull back, you notice micro-expressions flit over his face: his eyes brightening before darkening with want, his lips pursing like he’s already missing the press of yours. He bends to kiss you again, and when his lips part yours to deepen the kiss, sparks burst and skitter through your limbs like the fireworks exploding outside. You lean into it, throwing your arms around his neck, your fingers threading into the curls at his nape and the strength and surety of his hold lifts you upwards, your toes skimming the floor, the wood underneath pulsing with the party.

No one notices when you slip from the room, or when he takes a bottle of champagne from a table as you pass it. No one notices when you climb the stairs, or when you slip into the last door on the right. Lost in their own celebration, the tune of Auld Lang Syne follows you down the hallway, the joyous melody muffled when he shuts the door behind you.

“I thought maybe we could celebrate in here. Alone.” His voice is so much richer without the noise of the party competing against it, and the boldness of the statement makes you flush with heat.

He takes a swig of champagne straight from the bottle and hands it to you, smiling when you do the same. The bubbles dance and burst on your tongue, similar to the feeling in your stomach when he pulls you in for a kiss. The flavor of the champagne is on his tongue, his mouth moving with intent and the music in the other room shifts to a heavier bass beat when he guides you backwards, his smile felt against your mouth.

You hit the bed with a breathless laugh, the weight of his knee dipping the mattress when he crawls up over you and though you have felt the heat of him next to you all night, it’s nothing like how it feels when he settles his body on top of yours.

His mouth immediately meets yours and his hands are everywhere, grasping anything he can reach: sliding from his hold on your nape to caress the round of your bare shoulder. Slipping the strap of your dress down as his touch skates downward, palming the weight of your breast. You arch into his touch, your whine muffled by his hungry mouth and his hips rock forward into yours. Your thighs widen, your skirt falling up around your hips, and his hand continues its way south, curling around the plump curve of your hip with a squeeze. His thumb picks at the band of your panties, and you squirm, forcing contact between the heft hidden underneath his fly and the soaked, delicate fabric that covers your core.

He’s hard – so hard, so thick with promise – and his mouth finds the hollow of your throat, smearing over the line of your collarbone before moving down to the swell of your breasts. You tug the collar of your dress down, an action that makes him stop – but only for a moment.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, husky and low, the words of reverence rumbling from his chest. Then he’s surging forward, cupping the weight of your tit in his hand, his mouth closing around the peak. The shock of warm wetness and suction when he pushes more of it into his mouth has you moaning shamelessly underneath him, your back arching to encourage the dull scrape of his teeth over your nipple.

You push him back, your hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt, and he sits up on his knees, reaching back to tug it off. He tosses it onto the floor, immediately draping his body back over yours. Your dress and bra tugged down around your waist, the weight and warmth of his firm chest against yours is delicious and heady as he continues to kiss you drunk.

Just as sure and competent as he was in the other room, he wedges his hand between your bodies and finds your clit with the pads of his thick fingers, rubbing it until you soak the crotch of your underwear with need. He can feel it, the sodden fabric slipping under his touch and he breaks your kiss, bringing his hand up to his mouth. His lips wrap around his fingers, a deep, satisfied groan pouring from his throat while you watch from underneath him, your jaw slack with want.

Your intense need for him snaps, your pussy clenching as you watch him suck and you frantically fumble with his belt buckle, working it open. Your hand trembles as he helps you, his mouth capturing yours in another consuming, frantic kiss that has him eating at your mouth and when you pull him out together, your breathing hitches in your throat at the heft that smacks against your inner thigh.

You try to look down, his broad chest blocking the view and it’s almost better that you can’t see it. There is something about the anticipation of it, the touch without the sight. You feel his hand wrap around the base of his cock, working to notch it at your entrance and when he breaks you open on the thick tip, you hold your breath, savoring it.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your jaw clenching. Aching for it ever since you turned to face him in the kitchen, the filling weight of his cock is overwhelming, your body being forced to make room for it. The snug, slick fit has you whining underneath him, begging him for something he’s already giving you.

“You feel so good,” you moan, and he gives you a smug look in return. His expression is laced with pride, his eyes hooded with arousal, his hips pushing forward until he’s in all the way down to the base.

“So do you,” he breathes just over your mouth, and you pull him in for a kiss, needing his lips on yours.

Expecting a fast fuck squirreled away in a bedroom that belongs to someone else, what you don’t expect is how intense it feels. His cock is a relentless, filling stroke that claims, his mouth breaking contact only when he wants to watch: his dark eyes trailing over your open mouth, your bouncing tits, your pleading expression.

And then he’s back on you again, filling you deeper, harder.

Your fingers weave into his sweat damp curls, keeping him close. The muscles in his torso shift against your own, highlighting the hidden strength held in them. His thighs spread for purchase, forcing yours open wider and his hand grasps handfuls of your bottom and of your hip to keep you in place underneath him. Knowing you have to be somewhat quiet, you drink each other’s moans.

You hear another couple stumble down the hallway – a thud against the wall followed by a loud laugh. The door knob jiggles and his hand clamps over your mouth just as a throaty moan breaks free. You whine into the humid curl of his fingers, and when the people outside jiggle the doorknob again, Din picks up his pace.

He fucks you: the weighted press of his body paired with the weighted press of his hold has you forced to take it, and when the couple outside moves on with a loud laugh to find their own private bedroom, he slips his hand off your mouth, fisting the bedding next to your head instead.

“Sorry,” he pants. “Didn’t want them to hear you.” His mouth rests next to your ear, his scruff tickling the delicate skin of your neck. “Those sounds are mine,” he breathes.

The sweet sentiment paired with the filthy confession flings you over the edge of your release, your body curling around his as a means to ground you. You want it all: the sweaty press of his bare skin, the softness of his curls, the humid press of his mouth. He fucks you right through it, restraint etched into his jaw.

“I want you…,” you start, your voice syrupy and slow, still quaking with aftershocks. “I want you to come.”

“I’m going to,” he warns, his elbows resting on either side of your face, his hand curling around the crown of your head. His lips brush against the apple of your cheek, dot the tip of your nose and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in, his hips never ceasing. “You’re so wet. You’re so fucking wet, I’m gonna come.”

His voice has your eyes closing tight, his breathless pants for air making you pulse around his cock. The sounds he’s making are filthy – the filthiest coming right as he does.

He pulls out, but just barely – his hips slam against yours a couple of times: deep strokes that have you keening on his cock and just as his body tenses up with a deep groan that rumbles his chest against yours, his hips snap back, slick smearing from his cock along the inside of your thigh as he spends himself along the soft skin. Bracing himself on your hip, he closes his eyes tight and you take in the way he looks above you: desperate, beautiful. Hot spurts of his release pool on your skin, on the fine hair that dusts your pussy, and on the sheets underneath you – which has you wondering, for the first time, who’s room this is.

His pulse thrums underneath his tanned skin, and you ignore that line of thought, instead tipping your chin up to capture the beat in a kiss.

You hear him smile, and feel his body relax on top of yours. He hums with contentment, and finds your mouth with his own, pulling you into a deep, sated kiss.

“Happy New Year,” he breathes into your mouth. There is a beat of silence, his face shifting to nuzzle between your breasts. He kisses whatever skin he can reach, as if he’s starved for touch.

Guiding his face to yours, you nip at his bottom lip, loving the way it makes him smile against your mouth.

“Happy New Year.”

#din djarin #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader

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ambrosiagoldfish · 1 day ago

Note

i’m going a teensy bit feral reading your adam x third spouse story so i guess im just asking for part five and for it to hopefully have focus on dad beat dad and how lucifer would react to seeing the reader again after so long and like what would happen n stuff 🤭🤭 ofc if this is dumb ignore it i like what you’re doing with the story already !! the part im most excited for is the finale tbh but there’s a lot of time in between what you have rn and then so i’m just yapping abt stuff that could be cool in between. thsi is so jumbled omg sorry i just wanna see more of your writing it’s so good

idk how to end this uhh i love you bye 🫡

Benefit of the doubt PT.5

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Warnings: GN! Reader, confronting the past, next to no Adam (I know, sad, but it’s for the plot), Reader focused chapter, this is set during ‘Dad Beat Dad’, swearing, the next 2 chapters will have a LOT more Adam DW ❤️❤️

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Request Box: OPEN

Word count: 4322

A/n: Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the support on all the other chapters. It’s been 8-ish months since the last update and for that I want to apologize. I’ll save it for its own dedicated post to not full int his page too much. But if you’ve saw one of my post from the other day, I have posted this on A03 and I’m giving myself 8 total parts. 7 will be the finale and 8 will be an epilogue styled thing (not even sure if I’m wanting to do it so when we get there, you guys can tell me if you want it!! ) so yeah, enough rambling, you’ve all been waiting so long for the next part so here you go!! <3

Reblogs are VERY appreciated!

(My posts have been flopping so much, I would love you forever if you did 😭)

Old memories have a habit of slithering their way back into a person's mind, and even sometimes, people

The first few months at fhe hotel were a lot more enjoyable than you originally expected. Most days went relatively the same, Charlie would choose an activity to do and you would observe the progress they made.

At first, progress hadn't shown much promise but as everyone grew closer, things began to look up. Angel had gone clean with his drug abuse and was distancing himself from his line of work. Sir Pentious started to actually trust the people around him and has done no major constructional damage to any buildings as of late.

Everything was going so smoothly that, when you had woken up one morning to the sounds of screaming, running, and just general chaos. You thought everything was finaly going into the ground.

You quickly run down to the lobby, thoughts of what could be happening run through you. Did one of Pentious experiments fail and explode? Were we being attacked by one of the many gangs in town? Did Alastor decide the hotel was actually boring and started destroying it, starting with the occupants? Whatever it was, you hurry faster to the lobby.

But what was meeting you there was… unexpected to say the least. Party streamers, banners, cookies. It looked like some kind of welcome party heaven would do, albeit with less flare and taste in decor. A banner that read ‘Wellcum Daddy’ was being hung up by Razzle and Dazzle, everyone was either cleaning or baking something, and Vaggie seemed to be ordering them around.

You look at the clock, huh, it’s way too early for any kind of Charlie’s trust exercises. Not to mention, she would have told you about the curriculum and there was absolutely not a 10 AM home-EC class listed on your schedule.

You quickly run up to Charlie who seemed to be preoccupied with helping Vaggie put something up “Charlie, what’s going on?” You tap on her shoulder, She jumps a bit before just realizing it’s you,

”Oh- Y/N, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to get you!” She apologizes when Vaggie pops in,

“Don’t be, I told Nifty to go wake you up, but looks like she had better things to do” she points over at Niffty swifty stabbing bugs and removing cobwebs out of habit

“It’s fine, just… what’s everyone doing, what’s with all the party supplies and sweets?” You say, arms to the festive lobby around you.

“Oh well…” she took a deep breath “you know that The deadline is fast approaching and while we’ve made progress it’s not much” she paused, trying to even brace herself for what’s coming out of her mouth, “I have asked… my dad to come over and hopefully get us a meeting with heaven” she stops, completely caved in on herself.

“Wait, so… your dad is coming here?” you thought about the times she had asked you to get them a meeting with heaven but you had already explained to her that it would be next to impossible for someone like you. You had to practically beg just to monitor the hotel

Charlie Picked herself back up and looked at you with a shakey demeanor, “Yeah In about… 55 minutes”

You blink a few times before giving a small chuckle “Well, would you look at the date! I think it’s time I used my 1-per-month trip back home! If you’ll excuse me-“

“Wait! No-“ she trips over herself “We need you here, if dad can see, not only the progress we’ve made, but also that we already have an angel supporter, there’s no way he could say no!”

“Charlie, I don’t think it’s a good idea-”

“PleasePleasePlease! I will pay you back, promise! But I- we could really use you there!” Her eyes looked at you, similar to a puppy. She hands clasped together In plea.

You looked away in thought. Seeing him again was the last thing you wanted to do at this moment, any moment for that matter. The last time…well to be honest, the whole exchange hadn’t meant anything to you in quite a while. He could say whatever he wanted about you… it was the words he had to say about Adam that kept your heart ablaze in anger at the Morningstar.

Trash? He should really look in the mirror before saying that about your Adam. But… this could be a good opportunity for the hotel -as much as it pained you to admit- You can only sigh, “fine.. for the hotel…” You let out a small chuckle raising your arm in defeat.

Charlie jumped up and down with glee, repeating a matra of ‘Thank You’s’ before continuing “I get it might be difficult since you’re an Angel.” She tries to give some comfort. But that caught your attention.

“Because I’m an Angel?” You honestly didn’t mean to say it out loud but it came out as a question.

She looks at you confused “yeah, you know, considering I don’t think angels have too kind of thoughts to my dad for being… the devil” she laughs nervously

Oh. Oh. So that’s what she means. So she doesn’t know about your past with him? Not too much a surprise, I doubt Lucifer would bring up any of his failures. But that also made you realize one other thing. Charlie doesn’t know about your marriage with Adam.

Look, you didn’t mean to keep it a secret. In fact you had already assumed they knew. I mean you were sitting literally right next to him and Vaggie already knew who you were. You just thought she would have told Charlie, but knowing this now… it may be best to keep it a secret.

You let out a quick “I understand.” and with that, you all went your separate ways, you did contribute to the decor the best you could, as well as helping Sir Pentious and Nifty with the baking until finally, it was time for Charlie’s dad to arrive.

You walked over to a more remote place in the hotel lobby, look… you may have to interact with him today but you will not be doing it that soon. Instead, you decided your best choice of action was to sit and watch quietly until Charlie decided it was time for you two to meet. And in the meantime, you can mentally brace yourself.

Charlie sighs deeply “Okay everybody, it’s showtime!”

With that she swings the door open revealing the one, the only (thank Father) king of hell himself, Lucifer. Immediately Lucifer pulls his, obviously nervous daughter into his arms. He greets her with excitement before moving on to Keekee, and eventually Razzle and Dazzle.

He eyes the room, clearly covering up any distain for the hotels “character” to protect Charlie’s feelings. At least until he got to the bar which even he couldn’t lie his way through.

Even from the distant view you were from, you could see Alastor and Lucifer weren't going to be the best of buds anytime soon. As soon as they were introduced to one another they immediately got into it. Huh, at least now you have something in common with Alastor at least! If that’s even a good thing.

Their quarrel lasted a few minutes, everyone either waiting for it to be over, completely ignoring it, or enjoying it as entertainment. It lasted what felt like an eternity and was only interrupted when a short and plump woman by the name of ‘Mimzy’ came into the scene.

The old time-y dressed woman was one of Alastor’s friends, you honestly didn’t think he had those but you digress. Eventually once the commotion dies down, you see Charlie give you a nervous smile and wave for you, ‘that’s my cue’ you thought. Anxiety still felt taught in your heart but still you pushed through.

You walk out of your hiding spot, walking up to be next to Charlie. Still trying to keep your presence hidden for as long as you could, savoring those last few moments of peace before a wave of interactions.

Charlie clears her throat and puts on a more professional demeanor despite her nervousness, getting the attention from her dad, “And last but certainly not least, i’d like you to meet our Angelic sponsor-“

“Y/N!?-“ the fallen Angel suddenly started coughing, clearly having choked on his own words. He clears his throat “Sorry! I just wasn’t expecting… you to be here” he lets out a chuckle.

“You guys know each other!?” Charlie looked shocked, her voice pitching up in bewilderment.

“We’ve… met before,.” Your voice was low, But still you pushed through “Though, it’s hardly relevant to anything of importance now. Isn’t that right, Morningstar?”

Lucifer's face contorted into an uncomfortable shaky smile, fingertips digging into his Apple-shaped cane. Perhaps he felt some type of remorse for the way things happened back all those years ago, but even if that’s true, you had no plans to forgive him.

He clears his throat “Yes it’s- unimportant Sweetie.. “

You 3 stand in awkward silence for a moment, all you can do is glare daggers at the short ex-Angel in front of you. Eventually though, you couldn’t stand the scilence any longer, “Well Charlie, I have to get something done in my room and I’ll be back to help with the tour in a few minutes, if that’s ok?”

Charlie looked like she wanted to protest, for you to stay with her through the tour, but she knew you wouldn’t just leave and not come back. “Um, yeah that’s fine! Me and Alastor can get the tour started and you can meet us around the 4th floor?”

You gave a quick nod as agreement and make your way to your room. Sighing, you flop down on your bed, feeling the soft warmth as you sink into comfort. Pulling out your phone, you quickly typing a text to Adam but your thumb simply hovered over the send button, anxiety washing over you. Your message was simple,

‘I promise that everything’s ok, but he’s here’’

You were hesitating, should you even tell him that he's here? You didn’t want to worry him over something so insignificant. He has a show tonight, he wouldn’t be at his best if he was constantly thinking you would be in the same room as the devil.

Or even worse, he could just cancel the show completely and march down here and a cause a ruckus which at best would completely destroy the Hotel’s plans and at worse… No, you can’t think of that.

You look at the message again before just setting your phone on your nightstand. 10 minutes… that’s all you need before you go back out there…

…Lucifer was having… let’s just say a tinsy bit of a bad day. Not only has he been forced to interact with that insufferable yellow-toothed sinner but also, he has been reunited with someone he hadn’t seen in a millenia, you.

The anxiety of the day was only topped off with the added stress of being with his daughter. Don’t get him wrong, he LOVES his daughter and is always happy to see her, but the way she talks and acts with these sinners… Ugh, it reminds him too much of himself back in the day.

Her hotel too… He may have given her the place but he never gave it much thought beyond it being a pipe dream for her. He was just trying to do something for his daughter, especially with… Lilith being out of the picture. He just wanted to cheer her up, and unfortunately it seems ‘grandiose plans’ run in the family.

Even now as Charlie and that Red haired Buck show him around, Charlie explains excitedly about different things they have at the hotel. It reminds Lucifer about how she was when she was little, that glow of joy never seemed to fade away from her despite the conditions she lives in.

But even still, as much as he’s trying not to zone out and actually listen to his daughters rambles, his mind keeps trailing back to one, singular thought. You.

What were you doing here? He knows you were there to ‘support the hotel’ as Charlie puts it. But this is the absolute first he’s hearing about it. Why wouldn’t heaven tell him that another Angel was down here, let alone, you most of all. The last time he saw you was… not the best first meeting

Were you here in secret? You clearly weren't fallen, considering you still had your halo and you didn’t look like you’ve been damaged anywhere close to what you’d be if you had fallen. Not to mention… Adam, the exterminations were his idea so why would you even consider an alternative when you are his-

“Uh, Dad?” Charlie interrupted Lucifer’s thoughts, a look of worry on her face. ”You’ve got a little bit of… horn? Sticking out”

Lucifer looks up and sees that he’s subconsciously beginning to phase into his full demon form. He quickly takes his hand and pats the horns as if he was just dusting off his coat, causing the horns to seem to fade away like dust. Wow, today really seems to be getting to him.

“Ah sorry Sweetie, it’s nothing just… uh..” He thinks for a moment, he has to talk to you alone, just for a second. “*Ahem* I was just realizing I had to… use the bathroom, I seem to have had one too many drinks on the way here. Can you tell me where the… bathroom is?” He lets out a chuckle to hopefully cover his lie.

“Oh, it’s just down the hall and to the right, I can take you there-“

Lucifer quickly lets out a loud ”No!“ Before clearing his through again “I can get there on my own, just wait here and I’ll be back!”

Before Charlie can even answer, Lucifer rushes through the halls of the hotel, yelling a ‘I’ll be back soon’ to his Daughter before turning the corner. He lets out a deep breath as he lays out the plan in his head. Figure out why you’re here, and get back to Charlie as fast as inhumanly possible.

Picking his feet up again, he makes his way to the lobby of the hotel, he looks around for a moment before spotting the check in desk. ‘They usually keep visitor information there, right?’

He quickly scours the desk, looking for any forms or documents that have your room number, before finally setting his eyes on your room number. It didn’t take long to find you seeing as there were such few occupants in the hotel.

He memorized your room and repeated it to himself while walking to your door. Past the first, 2nd, then finally, halfway through the hallway on the 3rd floor he finds it. Before he can knock, a sudden wave of worry floods his senses. Seriously, Why would he hesitate now?!

He shuffled around nervously, starting to doubt this little mission of his. Should he really be doing this? Is he really worried about you being here or is the real reason he came here because he wanted to… apologize to you? It’s true that the guilt of what happened all those years ago was still there. But… Digging up old memories just because he’s selfish and wants to apologize to you? He takes a deep breath.

He had to make things better or… at least get some things off his chest. So, with a heavy fist and an even heavier heart, he gently knocks on the hard wooden door…

This had been the longest 10 minutes of your life, trying to decide wether to send Adam the message, or to even return to tour with Charlie at all. As much as it pains you to say, you still become anxiety ridden when he’s in the room or even the mere mention of him. That spark of defiance you had in the lobby earlier being nothing but a small bit of courage. But you remembered that you had promised Charlie you’d be there for her, and you certainly weren’t one to take back a promise.

Before you could decide what to do, you hear an ever so faint knock on your door. Curiosity peaked, You thought Charlie was supposed to be waiting for you on the 4th floor? Had you taken too long and the tour went south? You quickly made your way to the door and hoped you wouldn’t see a very angry Charlie on the other side.

As the wooden-door creaked open, your face slowly turned bitter at The short, impish man who stood on the other side. Lucifer Morningstar. To be honest, you much would have preferred the angry Charlie, TWO very angry Charlies over this.

The man shuffled awkwardly in place, gripping his cane. Neither of you could break the silence . He avoided any eye-contact with you and even you couldn’t hide The disgusted expression on your face when looking at him. Finally after what feels like 3x the eternity you’ve lived thus far, you spoke In shaky words, ”What do you want?”

Lucifer pushed out his words as well as he could, meek they were, but you understood what he said “Can we please…talk?”

Your fingers gripped at the door, nails embedding into the wood, leaving scratches. It took all you had not to slam the door right in his face, but even if you had, it wouldn’t have solved any pressing issues. If anything, it might make him against Charlie’s idea with the hotel, which you couldn’t afford. You take a deep breath before letting out a quick but unsavory,

“5 minutes”

The short demon shuffles his way into the room as you follow in behind him, locking the door to prevent someone like Nifty or Charlie from walking in. Lucifer stands timidly by your nightstand as you stand on the complete opposite side of the room, facing him. Lucifer runs his neck as he lets out a shaky sigh “I just want to know what you’re doing here…” he pauses, he looks like he has more to say but decided not to.

You can only laugh to yourself “I’m here because I believe I think Charlie’s idea has potential to be great. The exterminations, they have to end… that’s why I’m here”

Lucifer seem a bit… surprised? Surprised with your stance on the exterminations. you figured he needed more than that so you continue “I… I’ve never been one for the exterminations. I've been against them from the start. I just didn't know what else to do. Nothing else seemed…right.“

He stayed silent, processing what you told him. He really didn’t understand you, he had a completely warped view of you. “If that’s all you wanted to know I’d rather you take your leave-“

“No!” You step back at the sudden raise in voice but he quickly clears his throat “No, there’s another thing. I would… I’d like to apologize to you about how things went… when we first met.”

You stared at him, the silence once again feeling the air. You didn’t dare break it, you watched as the impish man looked around with anxiety, trying to find the right words. “It’s always been there, in the back of my mind. How we- I, treated you. It was unacceptable… Lilith kept telling me to let it go, that she was done thinking about it, but I just couldn’t.” He takes a deep breath “so, I’m so sorry for hurting you, Y/n…”

Lucifer Morningstar. The man in front of you looked more akin to a puddle than a person at this point. Sweat dripped from his face, a scrunched mouth filled with a sour taste. He wasn’t looking at you, focusing his attention to the ground. Finally, after many long seconds later. You step forward, grabbing his attention.

“As much as I appreciate the apology, I don’t forgive you.” Lucifer began to speak or at least say he understood but no matter what his reaction was going to be, you interrupted him ‘“-I don’t forgive you, because I’m not the one who deserves it”

To that, Lucifer's head was struck with confusion, “what do you mean?” He tried to make sense of your words, shifting eyes looking around in unease before landing on a framed photo of a candlelit man, an old and forgotten, yet familiar smile on his face… ”You mean… Adam?” Despite his best efforts around you, saying the first man’s name still dripped his words with venom. That same sour taste filling his mouth at the mere mention of him. ”What does-” he stops himself, he knows why.

You breathe in slowly, “What you said to me, all of those years ago, hasn’t meant anything to me in a long time. I’ve gotten through it 10x over and finally understand that I am more than those words” you take another step towards him, closing the gap, “so… there's no use for your apology to me. But Adam… you’ve hurt him more than you couldn’t possibly imagine“

The room was filled with dense air, like any sudden move could kill the king of hell or even you at any second but still you continue. “Adam deserved so much better than what he was forced to have from you, so if anyone deserves your apology, it’s him.” He goes to speak but you shut him down again “but we all know that you are too prideful to do so, and Adam… he’s too stubborn to hear it”

You don’t yell, scream, all of your words coming soft from your lips “So… what you’re going to do, if you truly mean what you say. You will go back to your daughter, forget this conversation ever happened, then you can march back to your big castle with your Loving wife, and leave us be, for the rest of eternity.”

With that, you step away from him, words that have been bubbling inside you for centuries finally having been let out. It felt like several hundred pounds had been lifted off of you. You begin to walk to the door to let him out, wanting the conversation to be over, When you hear him speak a faint ”Ex-Wife actually”

You pause, your teeth already biting your tongue. Honestly, if you really thought about it, it was poetic. The Angel who ruined two marriages, leaving Adam nothing but a broken heart and baggage, ended up with a failed marriage himself.

But even still, you still felt a slight pain of pity for him. Through clenched teeth you let out ”I'm… sorry to hear that. It must be hard.”

This kind of thing, no matter the person, is always tough. You knew the aftermath of it through Adam, even now he struggles with so many issues from it. In that regard, you felt pity for the ruler of hell, but the rest of you felt… glad? Glad that he finally understands just a thorn of the pain he inflicted on Adam.

“The 5 minutes are up so… go now… please.” Your voice shakes near the end, your will power for everything you’ve done starting to break. Lucifer looked equally as defeated, you could tell he wanted to say more but he just nodded his head before walking out the door. slowly, silently, you close the door back before sliding down it as your legs give out.

You wanted to cry, scream, do anything but sit there, but you couldn’t. Your voice hurts from talking, your feet hurt from standing, everything just… hurts.

DING DING DING

A luminous yellow light follows the sound, you lifted your head and saw your phone on your nightstand. Adam… You used all of your strength to make it to your bed, practically having to crawl to avoid any more tiredness in your aching body. You finally land on the soft mattress to pick up your phone, seeing the plethora of messages from Adam.

DIXKMASTER69

Yo Bitch, everything good??

You’ve been typing for like 10 minutes

Answer me

Hellllloooooo??????

Oh, that’s why he was texting. You had completely forgotten your half written message you were debating on sending earlier. You start to delete it and rewrite it when suddenly,

INCOMING CALL FROM DIXKMASTER69

You sigh at the screen, your phone vibration sends chills through your aching arms, it acts as a lifeline for you not to fall asleep on the soft plush beneath you. You press the answer button.

‘Fuck Babe, finally! Are you ok?!” Adam’s voice sounded angry but you know he was just worried “you’ve been texting for like 15 minutes”

“Yeah, don’t worry Adam, I... must have fallen asleep while trying to message you”

“It’s 12 in the afternoon, you dont normally fall asleep in the middle of the day” Adam questions, his voice having obvious worry for you.

“Today’s just been very tiring. But I promise I’m fine, it’s just happened a lot today.” You hated lying to him, your other half, but you know this is something that he shouldn’t have to worry about.

You hear him groan, “how many times do I have to fuckin’ tell you not to overwork yourself for those sinners”

“I know, I’m sorry” you pause “I… I have to go now but I promise I’ll call you later, yeah?“

He was quiet on the other side before he lets out “Yeah, just don’t overdo yourself ok?” His voice was soft, no hint of sarcasm or anger, just him.

You let out a small breathy laugh “I promise. Have fun at your show tonight. Talk to you later, love you.”

“Love you too”

CLICK

You sigh to yourself, you still have the tour to do. It’s fine, everything is fine.

Tomorrow will be a better day. it has to be.

TAGLIST: @tired-of-life-86 @nervoussystemss @qopia @lovelyemily @hcneyiced @v3r41ynn

@ghostdoodlen @nxptvne-13 @ximenavc-che

@edgyfluff @ericityyy @diffidentphantom @faimmm @slasher-whore69 @1-randomized @ozzersauce @fanlovedlt @alientee @pandaquick @white-00-7 @call-me-nyx @adamstruelove @jennieyeager @sillyycatt @solatiium @my-name-is-heartache @parisiterileymoon @titan-senpai @lovely-night-owl-86 @innergardentoadpony @animefan106sposts @starlightstarbrightmyfirststar @lovkayy @ilikedrinkingsoda @barrythestrawberry041 @deadpoolssweetchimi @asegirllovesreadingporn @ripashy @deleted-1-800 @sirenetheblogger @ur1nonlygabi @aweleyirene @n0tmentallystable

(I really hope I didn’t forget anyone if I did, just asked to be added in the comments!!)

Shoutout to these specific asked as well, love you all <3

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angelremnants · 1 day ago

Text

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART ONE.⠀THROUGH THE SHIMMERING ROADS

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 (16+), slow burn, eventual romance, fluff, mild angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of PTSD, trauma recovery, themes of mental health, anxiety, mentions of mind control/brainwashing, minor violence, mild language, physical tension. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 15.1k

author's notes : The people have voted, and a promise is a promise: here is the long awaited Bucky fic. I was originally gonna write about one of the spideys for this song, but the idea of exploiting Buck's journey in Wakanda struck me and I couldn't get it off my mind since then—though, I'm not exactly following Civil War's plot here, so beware. This is quite long, so I'm dividing the fic into two parts.

My lonely ass couldn't find anything better to do on New Year's Eve than write, so I hope that the story appeals to you and that, unlike yours truly, you're enjoying the festivities. I wish you all a happy new year to come, & Wakanda forever. <3

NEW ! — Find the continuation here.

(ao3 version)

The fluorescent lights of SHIELD headquarters buzz faintly, casting a pale glow across the sleek metallic walls of the hallway. The atmosphere is heavy, a tension so thick it seems to creep under your skin as you hurry past the agents going about their duties. They barely glance your way, but their hurried movements and hushed whispers set your nerves on edge. Something’s wrong—very wrong.

Maria Hill’s voice over the comm has been short and clipped, urgent in a way that leaves no room for questions. “Report to Briefing Room C immediately. It’s about Barnes.” There are no further details, just enough to make your heart pound as you practically sprint down the corridor, scenarios running wild through your mind. Has Bucky been injured? Is he captured again? Or worse—has he been triggered?

The doors to Briefing Room C slid open with a faint hydraulic hiss. The moment you stepped inside, the scene hit you like a punch to the gut.

The room is dimly lit, its walls lined with glowing monitors displaying various feeds and data streams. Fury stands at the far end, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the blue-green glow of a tactical screen. His expression is as unreadable as ever, but the tightness in his jaw speaks volumes. Maria Hill is at his side, her posture rigid, arms crossed as she stares at something across the room.

And then you saw him.

Bucky is seated in the middle of the room, his hands and feet restrained by glowing vibranium cuffs. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his long, dark hair obscuring part of his face. The metallic glint of his left arm reflects the light, but what strikes you most is the sheer tension radiating from him. His jaw is clenched so tightly you think his teeth might shatter, and his eyes were wild, distant, as if he were seeing something—or someone—no one else could. The moment you stepped further into the room, his head jerked toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. For a split second, time seemed to freeze, and in that brief instant, you saw the depth of the pain and confusion that was consuming him.

“You’re just gonna let him stay like that?” you asked, your voice sharp despite the knot forming in your stomach. Fury’s eyes met yours, and you saw a flicker of uncertainty in them for the first time in a long while. It made your heart sink even further.

“It’s the only way to keep him contained,” Maria Hill replied, her voice cold but laced with an undercurrent of concern you weren’t sure you were imagining.

You took a step forward, your instincts screaming at you to do something—anything. You couldn’t just stand there and watch him suffer. But then, as if sensing your movement, Bucky’s body stiffened. His eyes flashed with panic as he struggled against his restraints.

“No,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and low. “No, please… don’t come any closer.” His breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his chest heaving as if he was suffocating.

You paused, your heart breaking at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, so desperate and filled with fear. But you knew Bucky. You knew what he was capable of—and you knew that beneath the terror, there was still the man you trusted. The man you had once fought beside.

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he waged a war within himself. It was like watching someone trying to outrun their demons, knowing that they would never be fast enough.

Maria Hill’s voice cuts through the heavy silence. “Agent [Y/L/N].”

You tear your eyes away from Bucky and turn to Hill, your professional mask slipping into place. “What happened?”

Hill exchanges a glance with Fury, who gives a slight nod. “You might want to see this.”

You step closer to the monitor as Hill gestures to a technician. The screen flickers to life, displaying grainy footage from a street camera. It shows a busy city street, pedestrians weaving in and out of frame, and there, walking along the sidewalk, is Bucky.

He looked calm—serene, even—as he navigated the crowd. His leather jacket was zipped up against the wind, his gloved hands were shoved into his pockets. But then, a man appears from the edge of the frame, walking briskly toward him. You lean in, your brow furrowing as you study the stranger. There’s something off about him—his movements too deliberate, his gaze locked on Bucky with unnerving precision.

The man brushes past him, murmuring something too quiet for the audio to catch. Instantly, Bucky freezes. His entire body tenses, his head snapping to the side to follow the man. The shift is chilling. His shoulders were square, his posture rigid—almost predatory.

“No,” you whisper under your breath, your stomach twisting into knots.

The footage plays out like a nightmare. Bucky turns and closes the distance in two strides, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him against the wall with terrifying force. The crowd scatters, screams echoing faintly in the background. The man struggles, but Bucky’s grip doesn’t falter. His expression is eerily blank—detached.

Before he can do more damage, a group of nearby S.H.I.E.L.D. agents intervenes. They move quickly, deploying stun darts that finally bring him to his knees after a brief but violent struggle. The feed ends abruptly, leaving the screen black.

You exhale shakily, your fists clenched at your sides.

“It was a Hydra operative,” Hill says, her voice as calm as ever, though her eyes betray a flicker of concern. “He used a fragment of the Winter Soldier’s trigger words. Not the full sequence, but enough to momentarily break through.”

“This wasn’t his fault,” you say firmly, your voice sharp as you turn to face them.

“No one’s saying it was,” Fury replies, stepping closer. “But this is a problem we can’t ignore. He was triggered. In public. If our agents hadn’t been nearby, this could’ve spiraled out of control.”

Your heart sank as the weight of the situation settled in. The footage, the raw power of Bucky’s reaction—it was all too familiar. Too dangerous. The fragment of the trigger words had done more than just snap him into action; it had ripped through the layers of control they’d fought so hard to establish, revealing the deadly force beneath.

You turned back to Bucky, who was still sitting motionless in his restraints, eyes hollow as if the memory of that moment played in his mind over and over. Your throat tightened as you couldn’t help but wonder—how much longer would it take before that darker side of him broke free for good?

“You said it was only a fragment,” you recalled with a tight voice and a racing mind. “How much more of that can he withstand?”

Hill’s expression was unreadable as she glanced at Fury, who looked as grim as ever. “We don’t know. But this wasn’t an isolated incident. There’s a pattern. Hydra operatives are still hunting for ways to manipulate him, to use him as a weapon again. And if they get their hands on him...” She let the implication hang in the air.

“Then we lose him,” you finished for her in a low tone.

Fury nodded once. “We can’t let that happen. Not again.”

You shake your head, your heart aching as you glance back at Bucky. He hasn’t said a word, but his silence is deafening. His shoulders are hunched, his breathing shallow, as if he’s trying to make himself smaller despite his restraints.

“This isn’t his doing,” you say quietly, your voice trembling with conviction as you turn back to Fury and Hill. “You know that.”

You gesture toward Bucky, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “This isn’t who he is—not anymore. I’ve spent months working with him, watching him fight tooth and nail to reclaim his humanity. You don’t see the effort he puts in every single day to untangle himself from the chains Hydra left behind.”

You take a step closer to the table where Hill stands, your voice gaining strength. “He’s not the Soldier. Not even close. He’s a man who apologizes when he thinks he’s crossed a line, a man who can barely look at his reflection because he’s so haunted by what they made him do. And yet, despite all of that, he’s still here—still trying to do better.”

You then point toward the now-black monitor where the footage had played. “What you saw out there—that wasn’t him. That was a remnant, a ghost of the programming Hydra burned into him. He didn’t want that to happen. Do you have any idea how many times he’s told me he’s terrified of exactly this? Of hurting people again—of losing himself again?”

Fury remains stoic, but you don’t stop. You refuse to let them reduce Bucky to a liability.

“Do you know what it takes for him to even leave his apartment some days?” you continue, your voice breaking just slightly. “He’s had nights where he’s called me, barely able to breathe because of the nightmares. And still, he pushes forward. He goes to the market. He feeds stray cats. He shows up to his therapy sessions, even on the days he feels like a monster.”

You turn toward Bucky again, your gaze softening as you look at him. He still won’t meet your eyes, but his shoulders shift ever so slightly, as though your words are breaking through the thick wall of guilt that has wrapped itself around him.

“He’s made so much progress,” you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “You might not see it in this room, but I do. He’s not the same man Hydra controlled. He’s more than what they turned him into. So don’t tell me he’s a problem we need to ‘solve.’ He’s a survivor who deserves a chance to heal.”

The room falls silent again, the weight of your words settling over everyone present. Fury breaks it with a dry tone. “Well, that was one hell of a speech. If this was a courtroom, Barnes would’ve walked free five minutes ago.”

Hill smirks faintly but quickly straightens her posture. “And that’s exactly what Wakanda is offering,” she says after a moment, her voice gentler than before. “We’re not trying to punish him, Agent [Y/L/N]. We’re trying to find a permanent solution to give him the chance to live without looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Wakanda?”

Hill nods, gesturing to a control panel beside her. The room dims slightly as holographic projections flicker to life above the table. A glowing map of Africa materializes, the continent's outline illuminated in soft blue light. Within seconds, the image zooms in on a secluded region encased in lush greenery and mountainous terrain, marked by golden energy fields pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

“This,” Hill begins, motioning to the projection, “is Wakanda. Or, at least, what they allow the world to see.”

The hologram shifts again, peeling back layers of dense jungle to reveal a city hidden beneath an intricate shield of shimmering gold. Sleek towers of black and silver rise high into the sky, their designs flowing seamlessly as if the earth itself shaped them. Vibrant streaks of energy—bright blues and radiant purples—course through the city like veins, fueling what looks like hovercrafts darting silently between buildings. The architecture is a breathtaking blend of modern sophistication and traditional roots, with murals of panthers and warriors etched into the structures.

You find yourself momentarily transfixed by the beauty of it all. “This is... incredible,” you murmur, your eyes reflecting the golden glow of the projection.

Hill nodded again. “Wakanda has technology and resources far beyond anything we can dream of. Their advancements in medicine and neuroscience are decades ahead of ours. They’ve recently opened limited communication with select parties, and we’ve exchanged information for resource purposes. In those discussions, we mentioned Barnes’ situation. They’ve offered their assistance.”

The hologram changed once more, this time displaying an intricate diagram of a human brain, with glowing red nodes scattered across its surface. Lines of text and equations scrolled beside it, too fast for her to catch more than snippets: neurological interference... synaptic pathways... subliminal programming... neural erasure protocol.

Hill pointed to the red nodes. “These represent the triggers Hydra embedded into his mind. Wakanda believes they can isolate and remove them without damaging his memories. Their vibranium-based technology allows for precision on a level we can’t achieve with traditional therapy or medical intervention.”

Another image appeared: a sleek, black table in a futuristic lab, surrounded by devices that looked as though they were pulled straight from science fiction. A glowing halo-like contraption floated above the table, pulsating with faint blue light. Beside it stood a tall figure clad in flowing robes—King T’Challa, the Black Panther himself. His expression was calm yet resolute as he extended a hand, as though offering help through the projection.

You tore your gaze from the holograms and glanced at Bucky. He was staring at the images too, his expression unreadable. His jaw clenched slightly, and his hands, restrained to the chair, twitched as though resisting the urge to reach out.

“Bucky,” you said softly, stepping toward him, but his gaze remained fixed on the projection. You turned back to Hill and Fury. “They’re sure they can do it? That they can completely remove the programming?”

Hill hesitated for a moment. “No one can guarantee a hundred percent success,” she admitted. “But if anyone has the capability, it’s Wakanda. And Barnes’ situation is urgent. The alternative is keeping him in custody indefinitely, which... we know isn’t the right solution.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening into fists. You turned back to the projection of Wakanda, the hope it represented mingling with the weight of what this meant for Bucky.

“They can help him,” Fury said, his tone low and steady, as though trying to reassure you. “And right now, that’s our best shot.”

You hesitated, glancing back at Bucky. “And Cap’?”

Hill and Fury exchanged a glance. Fury folded his arms and sighed. “Rogers’ tied up with another mission. Something that, frankly, only he can handle right now.”

“That’s not good enough,” you said sharply, your voice rising despite yourself. You took a step forward, your gaze steady. “Steve has been a cornerstone of Bucky’s progress. He’s more than his best friend—he’s his anchor. You’re asking him to go to Wakanda, to face this terrifyingly unknown situation, and you want to strip away the one person who’s been with him through all of it?”

Fury remained silent, his gaze unflinching, while Hill stepped in. Her tone was calm but resolute. “You’re not wrong, Agent. Rogers has been a crucial part of his progress, but that’s exactly why we need you now. You’ve been just as instrumental in helping Barnes rebuild himself. Steve can remind him of the past, but you’re the one who’s been guiding him into his newfound path.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Hill raised a hand. “I understand your concern. Trust me, we thought about this. But we can’t afford to have Rogers split his focus right now. His mission is critical to the broader stability of our operations. He’s still dealing with the fallout from the Sokovia Accords—missions and compromises that require his full attention. We need him focused on ensuring our larger efforts stay intact.”

You frowned, your heart aching with the weight of the responsibility being placed on you. You glanced back at Bucky, who still sat in silence, his hands flexing against his restraints as though they might disappear if he tried hard enough.

“You’re asking me to fill the role of someone who’s been his family since before Hydra,” you said quietly, your voice laced with doubt. “What if I’m not enough?”

Fury spoke again, his tone unexpectedly softer. “You don’t have to be Steve. You just have to be there. And right now, that’s what he needs most.”

The lump in your throat felt almost unbearable as you turned your gaze back to Bucky. You weren’t Steve. You couldn’t be. But you couldn’t let him face this alone either.

“You’re one of his closest confidants,” Hill said simply. “And more importantly, he trusts you. If he’s going to Wakanda, you’re going with him.”

Before you could respond, the sound of metal striking metal echoed through the room. The sharp, jarring noise cut through the air, and Bucky’s metal arm slammed against the chair’s armrest with such force that the walls seemed to vibrate with it. His body was rigid, his every muscle taut, fighting against restraints that seemed like nothing more than a reminder of what he couldn’t escape. His jaw clenched, and his blue eyes burned with a cold fury that thickened the air around him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky growled, his voice low and full of frustration, as if daring anyone to challenge him. The words were barely more than a snarl.

A rush of helplessness surged inside you, but you pushed it down, steadying your breath. You took a step closer, your hands trembling slightly but not enough to stop you. You could feel the intensity of his anger radiating off him, yet you didn’t flinch. You couldn’t.

“Bucky,” you spoke, your voice cutting through the tense air, cool and deliberate, like a measured exhale after a long, heavy pause. You crouched, your movements unhurried, and the sound of your shoes on the floor felt muted in the charged atmosphere between you. You reached for his forearm, your fingers lingering above it for a heartbeat before making contact—steady and unflinching, a quiet gesture meant to ground him.

He didn’t react at first. His focus remained fixed on the metal restraints, his body rigid with tension, the edges of his breath jagged, as if each intake of air was another battle to hold back the chaos. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

But then, slowly, his gaze shifted, reluctant, as if the effort required to meet your eyes was a struggle. The shift in his expression was subtle—a flicker of something, an internal conflict you knew all too well. You could see the strain, the stubborn defiance buried beneath the surface of his wariness, and a deep, unspoken fear.

“James,” you said again, not a command but an invitation—an offering, as if asking him to join you in the quiet place between conflict and trust. You didn’t need to fill the silence with words. The air was thick enough with understanding, so much so that his silence spoke volumes.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, his eyes wild, full of a tension that reached past anger, into a place where self-preservation and vulnerability tangled.

You leaned in just a fraction, bringing your voice lower—closer. “This isn’t about punishment, you know. It’s just the opposite. It’s a chance, James. A real one. Wakanda has answers we don’t.”

There was a sharpness in his gaze at the mention of Wakanda, the flicker of uncertainty quickly masked by something harder. He didn’t speak, but you saw it, that tightening at the edges of his expression, the unwillingness to trust something unknown.

But you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

“I’ll be there,” you continued, your voice steady despite the maelstrom churning inside you. “Through all of it. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to face this by yourself.”

The space between you felt like a world unto itself, your words the only bridge between his resistance and the possibility of something else—something less solitary. He didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes softened in ways that didn’t require a spoken answer. The tension in his posture—so rigid just moments before—had eased, imperceptibly. It was a shift, small but real, like the first signs of a storm breaking after days of pressure.

He exhaled, the sound rough but quieter, as if the weight of the past few moments had cracked something open inside of him. It was subtle, almost too small to notice, but it was there—a shift in his breath, a loosening in the tightness of his body.

You didn’t let yourself breathe yet. It wasn’t a victory; it was progress. One step at a time.

“I’m not going to let you down,” you murmured, the words more to yourself than to him. But the truth of it hung between you, more meaningful than any promise. The smallest bit of trust had passed from him to you. And that was enough—for now.

For the first time since you had entered the room, Bucky’s posture eased, his shoulders relaxing slightly as if the burden he carried had lessened, if only for a moment. He didn’t speak again, but the silent understanding in his eyes was enough. The anger, the fear, and the uncertainty were all still there, but something in his gaze told you that he was willing to try. He was willing to trust you.

The tension in the room slowly dissipated as Fury and Hill exchanged a glance, their eyes sharp, filled with a quiet understanding. The moment hung there, charged with anticipation before Fury’s voice cut through the silence.

“You leave in 24 hours,” he said, his tone final, unyielding.

You barely had time to process his words before you noticed the subtle shift in Bucky’s demeanor. The moment the restraints were removed, his shoulders sagged slightly, as though the weight had been lightened, even if just a little. He rubbed his wrists, the red marks from the cuffs fading as he did, but his eyes never left you. The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, the silent communication louder than any words could be.

"Together," you insisted softly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. You gave him a small smile, one that you hoped could carry the weight of everything that lay ahead.

Bucky’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he took in your words. For a brief moment, the mask he wore cracked just enough for you to see the vulnerability beneath it. He had carried so much alone for so long, always fighting battles on his own, and the idea that someone would stand by him, through everything, was still something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

But when he finally met your eyes fully, there was something new there—trust. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. And in that moment, you allowed yourself to believe that things might get better.

He nodded, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and for the first time that day, the weight on his shoulders seemed just a little lighter. The uncertainty, the fear, and the anger hadn’t gone away, but now there was hope—a flicker of it. And that was enough for you to keep moving forward, side by side, as you had always promised.

The tension in the room eased further as Fury and Hill exchanged a look, silent but understanding. The air was heavy with what was coming, but it was also filled with the possibility of healing. The first step, at least, was taken.

Bucky’s hand rested on his knee, his eyes still on you, as if testing the reality of your words. The quiet acceptance between them spoke volumes, louder than any battle cries or violent confrontations ever could. You dutifully chose to stay with him, basking in a silence speaking more than any words ever could.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, he could have a chance to not be defined by the relics of his past and discover more about him than his broken identity.

⠀

The jet’s hum is steady, a soft vibration thrumming beneath your feet, filling the air with a quiet constancy. Outside, the world stretches out endlessly, a canvas painted with shifting colors. Golden plains give way to emerald forests, their hues blurred by the heat shimmering in waves. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cabin, where the faint glow of the dashboard monitors adds a cool blue contrast.

Inside, the tension is palpable. You sit diagonally across from Bucky, your fingers laced together as you try to focus on anything other than the heavy silence between you. The cabin’s sleek interior, all polished metal and leather, feels sterile, almost suffocating.

Bucky sits rigid, his posture tense and unyielding. His titanium arm rests on his thigh, the faint gleam of its surface catching the golden light from the window. His other hand grips the armrest tightly, his knuckles pale, the muscles in his forearm taut. He stares out the window, but his expression is far away, his eyes unfocused as if caught in a memory—or maybe a nightmare.

The heat waves outside ripple and dance, distorting the view, and for a fleeting moment, you think it mirrors what he must be feeling: a distorted reality, everything just out of reach, as though he’s swimming through a haze he can’t escape.

You finally break the silence. “Bucky,” you say softly, your voice gentle but firm.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. His jaw tightens slightly, the only sign he’s heard you.

“James,” you try again, leaning forward in your seat.

This time, his head turns, the movement slow, reluctant, as though every fiber of his being fights against acknowledging you. When his eyes meet yours, you feel your breath catch. They are turbulent, stormy—blue-gray like an ocean during a tempest, filled with anger, fear, and something even deeper: a bone-deep exhaustion that words can’t touch. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his throat working as he swallows hard.

“What?” His voice is low and raw, like the sound of gravel scraping against stone.

"What’s in your head right now?" you ask quietly, the words almost a suggestion, as if you’re just offering him space to release what’s been bottled up. "You don’t have to explain it all at once."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head before his gaze slips back to the window. “That’s a loaded question,” he mutters. “What’s there to say? Same fight, different day. It’s all the same. I’m stuck. Like I’m running in place, but the ground’s always moving.” His voice drops, a hollow edge creeping into his words. “And now, I’m supposed to just… trust this is going to fix me?”

You take a breath, considering him for a moment. “I don’t think it’s about fixing you. It’s more about... giving you a place to stand. To breathe. Something you haven’t had in a while.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, his fingers twitching, flexing around the armrest. “Feels the same.”

You shift slightly in your seat, your gaze calm but not dismissive. “You’ve been carrying that weight for so long,” you say. “And you’re not wrong to feel it. But that’s not all you are. This? It’s a step. Not a cure, not magic. But a step. A chance for something different.”

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he looks at you, still skeptical. “And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we keep moving forward,” you reply. “We don’t stop. We figure out what comes next.”

The silence between you deepens, but this time, it feels different. Like the weight of the words you haven’t yet said is finally beginning to shift. Bucky doesn’t speak, but his posture relaxes, just a little, as if he’s testing the space you’ve offered him.

“You make it sound simple,” he mutters.

“It’s not,” you admit with a quiet sincerity. “But simplicity isn’t the point. What matters is that you don’t have to carry it all on your own anymore.”

The hum of the engines fills the silence between you, a steady backdrop to your conversation. You lean back in your seat, your gaze drifting to the window. The landscape below has shifted again, the golden plains now giving way to a dense, emerald forest that stretches as far as the eye can see. You take a sip of your drink—a strawberry smoothie you’d grabbed on the way to the jet—and the sweet scent lingers in the air, subtle but unmistakable. It wafts across the cabin, reaching Bucky, whose sharp senses catch it almost immediately.

Strawberries.

It’s such a small, seemingly insignificant thing, but it hits him like a soft gust of wind, pulling him out of the maelstrom in his mind. He always associates the scent with you, a faint trace of strawberries that’s noticeable when you sit close, during those late-night talks, your presence warm and grounding. It’s not overwhelming, just... you. Sweet, fresh, and comforting.

He shifts uncomfortably, the faint scent tugging at something buried deep in his mind. For a moment, the warmth of the jet dissolves, replaced by the golden haze of a late summer afternoon in Brooklyn. He can almost hear the clatter of a bell above the door of a tiny corner bakery, the kind of place you only know about if you live in the neighborhood.

It was Steve who had dragged him there the first time, eager for a treat after a particularly grueling boxing session. The memory unfurls in fragments: the way the sunlight slanted through the windows, how the air inside was heavy with sugar and yeast, the cheerful laugh of the owner as she handed over two strawberry tarts fresh from the oven.

"Best you’ll ever have," Steve had said, his mouth full of pastry, his grin unapologetic. He’d laughed, his fingers sticky with jam as he agreed. They’d sat on the stoop outside, trading bites and talking about nothing important.

The scent in the jet now is the same—ripe, sweet, and just a little tart. It pulls at the edges of his mind, softening the sharp lines of his worry.

His grip on the armrest loosens slightly as he turns his head, his gaze finding you. You’re looking at him now, your brows drawn together with concern, your lips parting as if you’re about to say something.

“Bucky?” your voice breaks through the haze. You turn to him, concern flickering in your eyes. “You okay?”

He blinks, the memory dissolving like sugar in tea. “Yeah,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. “Just… your drink.”

Your brows furrow, and then your lips curl into a small smile. “What, this?” You hold up the cup, the pink liquid inside sloshing slightly. “Strawberry lemonade. It’s my favorite.”

He nods, his gaze lingering on the cup before meeting yours. “It smells nice. Reminds me of something.”

Your curiosity piqued, you lean in slightly, your voice softer now. “Something good, I hope.”

For a moment, he hesitates. The words are heavy on his tongue, tied to a life that feels like it belongs to someone else. But there’s something about your presence—steady, warm, and unrelenting—that makes him feel safe enough to share.

“There was this bakery,” he begins, his voice low, almost as if he’s afraid to disturb the memory. “Back in Brooklyn. They used to make these strawberry tarts. The kind you could smell from down the block.” His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “Steve and I used to go there after boxing. It was stupid, really, but… it was nice.”

You don’t say anything right away, letting the moment settle between you. When you finally speak, your voice is gentle. “It’s not stupid. It’s a good memory. One worth holding onto.”

He glances at you, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

For the first time since you boarded the jet, his shoulders relax. The tension that had gripped him like a vice began to ease, the scent of strawberries still lingering in the air like a quiet promise.

“Want a sip?” you offer, holding out the cup with a playful tilt of your head.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. I think I’ll just enjoy the smell.”

The banter is light, but the moment carries weight, grounding you both in something fleeting yet profound.

"You know," you said, your tone lighter, "I've been reading about Wakanda. Apparently, their sunsets are supposed to be the most beautiful in the world. Vibranium makes the sky light up in colors you've never seen."

Bucky glanced at you, a faint crease forming between his brows. "You've really done your homework, haven't you?"

You smiled softly. "Someone had to. Besides, I wanted to make sure you were walking into something good. You deserve that."

His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I do," you said, your voice steady. "You've been through hell, Bucky. But you've fought your way back every single time. That's not something everyone can do."

He turned his attention back to the window, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe," he said, his voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it.

You lapsed into silence again, but this time, it felt lighter, less suffocating. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, the way his fingers relaxed slightly, the way his breathing steadied.

As the jet began its descent, the cabin was bathed in a golden glow. Outside, the horizon was ablaze with color—deep reds and oranges melting into purples and blues, the landscape below shimmering like a dream.

"We're almost there," you announced softly, your gaze returning to the window.

"Yeah," he rasped, his voice steadier now. "Almost."

Bucky leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the view, a flicker of awe breaking through the walls he'd built around himself. "It's beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself.

Outside, the horizon blazed with color as the jet continued its journey. But inside, the small bubble of quiet understanding between you felt like its own kind of sunrise—a soft light breaking through the shadows, hinting at the possibility of brighter days ahead.

⠀

The jet's engines finally cut off as it touched down gently on the smooth landing pad. Outside, the deepening twilight bathed the landscape of Wakanda in a golden glow, and the air felt almost electric with anticipation. Bucky’s boots thudded softly on the jet’s floor as he stood, his posture rigid but his steps measured. He paused for a moment, taking in the moment—this was the first time in years that he'd stood on solid ground and not felt the familiar weight of his past suffocating him. But it was different now. Wakanda. The future. Maybe this place could offer him what he'd been searching for.

You were right behind him, your heart beating just as fast. You'd done your research and read every report you could get your hands on about Wakanda, but nothing had prepared you for the feeling of stepping onto the soil of this secretive, powerful nation. Your eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the sleek, futuristic city that rose from the heart of lush green hills, framed by shimmering mountains. Vibranium gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting the colors of the setting sun in every direction.

As the jet’s door slid open, a cool breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the earthy scent of fresh rain and something distinctly metallic—Wakanda’s essence. It was strange, like nothing else you’d ever smelled before. It felt otherworldly, yet natural, as if the land itself was alive with energy.

Bucky stepped out first, squinting against the sudden change in light. He kept his head slightly lowered, his broad shoulders tense, but something in the way he held himself was different. As if the city—the country—held a promise, a shift he hadn’t yet fully processed but felt in his bones.

You followed, your hand brushing against the doorframe as you stepped onto the pad, your eyes now fully taking in the grandeur of the scene around you. It was surreal to be standing in a place so rich with history, so far removed from anything you'd known. You noticed Bucky was already looking around, and for the first time, the air around him felt lighter.

Before you could take more than a few steps, a procession of figures appeared before you—imposing yet welcoming. A group of highly trained Wakandan guards in their traditional attire stood tall, their presence unwavering, yet their expressions unreadable. But it was the figure at the front of the group who caught your attention.

Shuri.

She stood with an air of confidence that was immediately apparent. The sharpness in her posture and the grace with which she moved spoke volumes about her authority and presence. She wore a sleek black and gold ensemble, her hair pulled back in a series of intricate braids. There was no immediate warmth in her eyes, but there was an undeniable sharpness—a curiosity in her gaze as she looked over the newcomers.

“Pleasure to meet you, soldier,” Shuri greeted, her voice clear and full of authority, but softened by an unmistakable warmth.

Bucky gave a stiff nod in return, his jaw set, but there was a slight softening around his eyes as he regarded her. He didn’t speak right away, but his gaze shifted slightly toward the cityscape behind her, almost as if taking it all in.

Then, Shuri’s attention turned to you, and she gave a small, polite smile. “And you must be Agent [Y/L/N],” she said, her eyes scanning you with a hint of curiosity. “I trust the journey was pleasant?”

You blinked in surprise—didn’t expect such a direct greeting. You offered a smile back, albeit a bit more reserved. “Yes, it was. Thank you for the warm welcome, Your Highness.”

Shuri’s lips curled slightly. “Oh, don’t bother with stupid titles—call me Shuri. It’s not every day we have guests arrive, especially those with such… unique backgrounds.” Her words were punctuated by a sharp but knowing look at Bucky, as if she were aware of the weight he carried. “But I assure you, here, you will find more than just refuge. You’ll find purpose.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the tension in his body, the flicker of recognition—of understanding—that passed between the two. It was subtle, but it was there.

“Come, we’ll get you settled in,” Shuri continued, motioning toward the waiting transport. She stepped aside as the guards parted, and the sleek vehicle hummed to life. “We’ve prepared a place for both of you to rest, but I think you’ll find Wakanda has much more to offer beyond that.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then gave a slight nod, stepping toward the transport. You followed, your steps light but steady. The air felt charged with the promise of what was to come—both the uncertainties and the possibilities.

The faint whir of energy around you seemed to grow as you arrived at your destination, and you found yourself mesmerized by the city in the distance. Wakanda was everything you had imagined, and yet, nothing like you had imagined. The towering structures were like nothing seen elsewhere in the world, made of materials that shimmered in the fading light, as if they were woven with the very fabric of the earth itself.

Shuri’s lips curled into a small but knowing smile. “Wakanda is a land of contradictions,” she said, stepping forward and sweeping her hand toward the city beyond. “We blend the ancient with the advanced. What you see here, what you feel, is a reflection of us: strong, proud, and unyielding.” She glanced at Bucky, her tone softening just slightly. “And you, soldier, you’ll find something here that you may not have known you were looking for.”

Bucky stiffened slightly at the mention of “something,” but you could feel the weight of the moment. You knew Bucky’s past, and the burden he carried, and you could only imagine what he was thinking as Shuri spoke.

Trying to ease the tension, you stepped closer to Bucky, your voice gentle as you spoke to him. “Hey, it’ll be alright. Just take a moment,” you told him, offering him a quiet smile. You could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his muscles were coiled, like he was preparing himself for something.

Bucky glanced at you, his face betraying the slight hesitation in his gaze, but then he nodded almost imperceptibly, the tension in his shoulders slightly easing.

Shuri noticed the exchange, and after a beat, her expression softened as she turned back to you. “Oh, but you must be tired from your trip,” she said, her tone taking on a more inviting warmth. “Wakanda’s energy can be overwhelming, especially for first-timers. Allow me to guide you to your rooms. You’ll want to rest before we get to the more… exciting parts of your stay.”

You nodded gratefully, turning to Bucky. “Let’s get settled, alright? We’ll have some time to relax and get comfortable.”

He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. He seemed to appreciate your presence more than he let on, though his eyes still lingered on the sprawling city as you followed Shuri.

Shuri led you down a wide path, the guards falling into step behind you, their presence a quiet but ever-present reminder of the security that Wakanda maintained. As you walked, you couldn’t help but be in awe of the blend of nature and technology that surrounded you. The city had an organic feel to it, with towering trees growing beside shimmering, metallic buildings. The contrast was striking, yet harmonious.

“You’ll be staying in one of our guest suites,” Shuri continued, her voice light, almost playful. “It’s not quite as grand as the royal chambers, but it’s comfortable enough. A place to rest your head, away from everything else.”

Bucky remained quiet, but you could see the slight tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. You kept your attention on him, making sure he felt at ease in this unfamiliar place.

“Wakanda is a place of healing,” Shuri added, glancing over her shoulder at you both. “And for you, soldier,” she said with an almost surprising directness, “this land has much to offer. But remember, healing doesn’t happen overnight. You have to allow it to.”

Bucky’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t reply, his gaze focused forward as you approached a building that seemed to glow with an ethereal light.

“This is it,” Shuri said, gesturing toward the entrance. “Your rooms are inside. Rest for now, and when you’re ready, we’ll meet to discuss what comes next.”

As you stepped inside, you took a deep breath, watching Bucky carefully as he entered his assigned room. You could tell he was still processing everything—the enormity of being here, the unfamiliarity of the city, and perhaps the weight of his doubts. But for now, all you could do was offer a quiet, reassuring presence.

“Thank you, Shuri,” you said, offering the princess a smile. “We’ll take it from here.”

Shuri nodded, her expression softening just a touch before she turned to leave. “Of course. Take your time. Wakanda will be waiting when you're ready.”

The door closed behind you, and for the first time since you’d arrived, there was a moment of quiet. The sensation of apprehension in the air seemed to dissipate, if only slightly, as the reality of your arrival in Wakanda settled in.

⠀

You took a deep breath, letting the silence wrap around you for a moment before moving toward your suitcase. As you crouched down, unzipping it, you couldn’t help but smile a little. There was something comforting about the mundane task of unpacking, a small semblance of control amidst the uncertainty of your new surroundings.

You pulled out the first few items—clothes, toiletries—and started to sort them, placing them neatly in the drawers. You were methodical about it, folding everything just so, organizing even the smallest details. It helped you focus and keep your mind occupied, away from the unknowns of this strange new place.

Later that night, the door creaked open again while you were still folding clothes in your given wardrobe, and you looked up to find Bucky standing in the doorway. He looked like he was still adjusting to the quiet, his face creased with that familiar tension.

“Can’t sleep,” he muttered, his voice low, almost sheepish. He stood there for a moment, as if unsure what to do with himself.

You gave him a sympathetic glance and nodded toward the small couch across from your bed. "Well, I’m just unpacking. You’re welcome to hang out for a bit."

He nodded and walked over, sitting on the edge of the couch, his posture stiff. "I thought you were supposed to be making this place feel more like home," he said with a small grin, watching as you folded a shirt.

"Yeah, well, one suitcase at a time," you teased, folding a pair of pants. "Besides, we’re in Wakanda. You’re gonna have to give me more time to adjust. It’s not exactly like putting up posters of our faces and calling it 'home.'"

Bucky chuckled, leaning back on the couch with a sigh. "I don’t think they’d let me hang up any of those old SHIELD ones... You know, the ones Sam still sends me with our faces on them. Like we're supposed to be some kind of... well, I don't know, 'heroes' or something."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Sam’s probably got a whole wall of them. I mean, that guy never misses an opportunity to remind us how pretty we are, huh?"

Bucky smirked, his eyes softening. "You’ve got to admit, he’s got a point."

You rolled your eyes, playfully throwing a sock at him. "Sam’s got an ego the size of the Milano. Just wait till we get back. He’ll be acting like he’s the one who saved the world every five minutes."

Bucky leaned forward, nudging your leg with his foot. "And he’ll probably do it with that ridiculous grin of his." He paused, a grin spreading across his face as he mimicked Sam’s signature cocky smile. "You know, the one that looks like he’s just won a race, but also thinks he’s won the race before anyone even started?"

You laughed harder now, imagining it. "God, yes. And don’t forget how he says, ‘This is the Falcon, signing off.’ I’m not even sure he knows how to take anything seriously."

Bucky’s expression softened at the mention of Sam. "Yeah, well, as much as he annoys me, it’s hard to imagine being stuck with anyone else. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but... he’s been a good friend. Even if he never lets up on the jokes."

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "He has a weird way of making you feel like everything’s gonna be okay, even when it’s not. I think that’s why I like him... even when I wanna smack him with a pillow for talking too much."

Bucky snorted, his posture relaxing. "I think we both know Sam would take that as a compliment. He'd probably think it's an honor."

You finished folding the last of your clothes, turning to face him. "So, how are you holding up? You’re quieter than usual."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking over to the window. "It’s just... strange, you know? This place is different. And I’m still getting used to everything."

You stepped closer, offering him a soft, understanding smile. "Yeah. It’s not exactly the city we’re used to,” you said, returning to your unpacking. “Wakanda's got a lot of energy to it, doesn’t it? It’s a lot to take in.”

He took his time to take in the room, glancing around, his gaze lingering on the walls and furniture as if trying to get used to the space. “It’s... quieter than I’m used to,” he admitted, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I thought I’d be able to sleep, but I guess my brain didn’t get the memo.”

You paused in your unpacking, glancing over at him with a wry smile. “I’m not sure ‘sleep’ is something you can just force, you know. I mean, look at me—I’m still unpacking.” You gestured to your neatly arranged drawers. “I’m practically unpacking my life here, one pair of jeans at a time.”

Bucky’s lips twitched at the corner, though his expression remained guarded. “So that’s the secret, huh? The key to surviving Wakanda? Unpack your emotions through your clothes?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “No, just the stuff. My emotions are a whole different thing.”

He leaned against the headrest of the couch, his arms crossing loosely. “I’m not sure I have the patience for all this organization.”

“Maybe not, but it helps,” you said, moving to your toiletries and setting them in the bathroom area. “You’d be surprised how something so simple can give you a little peace of mind. If only for a few minutes.”

Bucky grunted softly, looking out the window, as if the city beyond could provide the answers he was looking for. “I don’t know if peace is something I deserve.”

Your eyes softened at his words, but you didn’t look at him directly. You just kept moving your things around, neatly arranging personal care products with deliberate care. “Well, if you want my professional opinion, I think peace is something we all deserve,” you said quietly. “Even if we don’t think we’re ready for it.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but you could see his shoulders relax a little, the weight of his thoughts easing for just a second.

After a pause, he broke the silence with a small, rueful smile. “You’ve got a point, dove. You really do.” His voice softened a little. “Guess I just... haven’t figured out how to live in peace yet.”

You stood up, brushing your hands off on your jeans as you moved to your suitcase to grab a few more things. “It’s a work in progress, Buck’,” you said, offering him a grin. “One step at a time. Unpacking your stuff is as good a place to start as any.”

Bucky chuckled, a genuine sound this time, though it still held a trace of his usual wariness. “Maybe I’ll try it. I don’t think I’ve ever actually ‘unpacked’ before.”

You gave him a teasing look. “Well, you’re in Wakanda now. Time to learn how to take it slow.” You shrugged lightly, glancing at your suitcase. "Besides, we’ve got each other, so we’ll figure it out."

Bucky gave a small smile in return, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. "Yeah... we’ll figure it out." He paused, and then, with a mock serious tone, added, "I mean, as long as Sam doesn't pop in for a surprise visit in the middle of the night, ready to preach about how we're supposed to 'embrace the change.'"

You burst out laughing, holding your stomach. "Don’t even get me started on his 'life lessons.' The guy should really write a book: How to Be a Pain in the Ass While Pretending to Be a Therapist."

Bucky shook his head, chuckling along with you. "If he ever does, I’m not getting the first copy."

You both laughed for a moment before the room grew quiet again, the kind of comfortable silence that came with shared understanding. Bucky looked at you, his expression softening. "Thanks, dove."

You met his gaze and smiled softly, feeling the warmth between you both grow. "Anytime, Bucky. Anytime."

For a brief moment, you both stood there in comfortable silence, the hum of the city outside mingling with the soft sounds of the room. Bucky finally pushed himself off the wall, moving toward the door.

“Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest. But if I end up staring at the ceiling all night, I might come knock on your door.”

You chuckled softly, nodding toward the bed. “I’ll be here, unpacking my life.”

As he stepped out of the room, he offered one last glance over his shoulder. “Good night,” he said, his voice quieter than before, something unspoken in the simple word.

You smiled, and for the first time since you’d arrived, the weight of the moment didn’t feel quite so heavy. Maybe Bucky would find his peace here, in his own time. Maybe you would too.

⠀

The sound of hovercrafts in the distance mingled with the hum of the city’s energy, filling the air with a futuristic melody. The capital city of Wakanda stretched out before you and Bucky—an intricate dance of nature and technology. Towering trees with glowing, bioluminescent leaves stood alongside sleek, gleaming structures made of materials that shimmered with a blue and purple hue. The holographic images that floated seamlessly in the air combined with the natural landscape in a way that felt entirely harmonious, like both elements had always been meant to coexist.

The door to the ship opened, and before you could even step out, a familiar voice rang out, filled with energy and excitement.

“Welcome to Wakanda!”

You turned, and there stood Shuri, flashing a bright, welcoming smile. She looked every bit as confident as the stories suggested. "I know it’s a lot, but you’ll get used to it. Wakanda isn’t just a city; it’s a way of life. Here, we don’t just build for the future—we build for everyone."

Your breath caught as you stepped out of the transport. The sight before you was nothing short of breathtaking. Massive trees stretched high into the sky, their roots intertwined with sleek, gleaming structures of Vibranium that rose from the earth, seamlessly blending with the natural landscape. It was like stepping into a world where technology and nature lived in perfect harmony.

Bucky, following you out of the transport, looked around with wide eyes, clearly trying to take it all in. His brow furrowed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, "I’ve heard a lot of things. Not sure I buy it."

You smiled, trying to mask your awe. "You’ll get used to it. Everything here, every piece of technology, is designed to coexist with nature."

Shuri nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on her heels. "Exactly! Everything you see here, from the trees to the tech, is powered by Vibranium. Not just for progress, but for balance. The future isn’t just about advancing; it’s about thriving together."

You glanced at Bucky, who seemed both impressed and confused. "Wakanda is one of the few places in the world where technology isn't just about what it can do—but how it helps everyone," you explained. "It’s all about progress and sustainability in equal measure."

“Sustainability, huh? I've seen a lot of places claim that and end up hollow promises,” he asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

She gave him a knowing look and grinned. "Oh, we have a skeptic among us." She walked up to Bucky with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "It’s alright, soldier, we’ll get you there. You just have to trust the science."

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. A lot of science. Not really the biggest fan here,” he gave a dry, half-smile, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he gestured to his metal arm to make a point. Bucky squinted at her, his brow furrowing deeper. "And what exactly makes you an expert in all this? You don’t even look old enough to be handing out wisdom."

Shuri raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think I’m not old enough, huh? Maybe I don’t have the experience you do, but I've got something better—Vibranium." She held up her wrist, where a sleek device hummed softly. "A little tech I designed, just for moments like these. It’s called patience—you could use some, by the way."

You laughed at the back-and-forth. "Careful, Buckaroo. You don’t want to get on Shuri’s bad side. She might turn your arm into a really high-tech paperweight."

Bucky chuckled reluctantly, his shoulders loosening a bit. "I’m starting to think I’m going to need one of those gadgets to survive here."

"Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty," Shuri quipped. "And if you keep acting like this, you might just need a stress monitor for your recovery too."

Bucky shot her a side-eye, but there was the faintest trace of a grin on his face now. "You’re really starting to sound like a tech guru now."

Shuri shrugged dramatically. "What can I say? Genius runs in the family. You should see my brother."

You could feel Bucky's skepticism starting to crack just a little bit, but he still looked like he wasn’t entirely convinced. "I’m still not sure about all this. You’ve got tech everywhere, but does it actually work?"

"Oh, it works alright," Shuri said, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "Everything here has been designed to help us move forward. From food to healthcare, to your recovery." She gave him a knowing glance. "That’s why you're here, remember?"

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, right. I guess we’ll see if it works."

Shuri grinned even wider. "Oh, I know it works. You’ll feel like a new man by the time we’re done." She glanced at you, then back at Bucky. "Besides, if it doesn’t work, I’ll just have to fix it. Like everything else I do." Her voice was teasing, but there was a glint of genuine pride in it.

You smirked, unable to resist joining in. "I’m almost 100% sure that their motto is 'If it ain’t broke, I’ll make it better.'"

She waved her hand dismissively. "You’re not wrong, but it’s more like, ‘If it is broke, I’ll fix it before anyone notices.’"

Bucky gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with a small smile. "I can already tell this is going to be... interesting."

She wasn’t done yet, though. "Oh, it gets better. Come on, I’m taking you to see the market. If you think this is impressive, wait until you see the food. You’ll never want to leave."

"Do you sell anything that doesn’t involve turning me into a guinea pig?" he questioned, half-joking.

Shuri paused for a moment, her smile widening. "I’m pretty sure I could sell you anything, but I won’t turn you into a guinea pig... unless you ask nicely."

You groaned in mock frustration, putting your hands over your ears. "Please, no more. If you start talking about guinea pigs, I’ll never hear the end of it."

Bucky, now chuckling, nudged you lightly. "Yeah, she’s not wrong, you know. I have a feeling we’re going to be hearing about guinea pigs for the rest of our lives."

You winked at him. "As long as it keeps you laughing, I’m happy to take the hit."

Shuri led you both through the heart of the city, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way the holograms danced above the streets, integrated into the towering trees and buildings. The city itself was alive with energy—there was music floating through the air, laughter from children darting between stalls, and the soft whirr of drones hovering like curious birds overhead.

As you walked through the open market, the scents of fresh fruit and spices filled the air. Vendors proudly displayed vibrant goods—scarves and jewelry, woven baskets, carved wood, and delicacies that looked too beautiful to eat. Your stomach rumbled as you walked past a stall brimming with bright, ripe strawberries, their sweet scent almost intoxicating.

You grinned, leaning toward Bucky. “Okay, we’re getting some of those,” you said, practically grabbing his arm and tugging him over to the stall. “Trust me, you’re going to love them. Wakandan strawberries are next-level.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you were a little unhinged. “Strawberries again? Seriously?”

You gave him your best ‘don’t question it’ look. “I’ve been craving these for days. And I promise, you’ll understand once you try them.” You reached out and handed him a basket filled with the plump, ripe berries.

Bucky hesitated, clearly not convinced. But when he finally took one and popped it in his mouth, you watched his expression shift from skepticism to surprise. “Alright,” he said with a slight grin, "I admit it. These are... ridiculously good."

“Told you,” you said smugly. “Strawberries are basically a cure for whatever’s bothering you. Forget about all that mood-ring nonsense.” You gave him a playful nudge, making him chuckle under his breath.

Shuri laughed from behind you. “Wakandan strawberries have a special place in everyone’s heart here. They’re like a little taste of home for all of us.”

Your group made your way through the market, sampling fruits, laughing at a few street performers, and taking in the vibrant life all around you. As much as Bucky tried to stay on guard, you could see the faintest softening in his posture. He was still unsure about letting himself go, but the relaxed pace of the market and the genuine warmth of the people around him were starting to wear down his defenses.

Finally, Shuri led you to a tech stall, where a series of gadgets were displayed—sleek, high-tech devices designed for physical recovery and mental wellness. Bucky eyed them with a raised eyebrow.

"These are wearable devices that monitor your mood and stress levels," Shuri explained, picking up a small device that looked like a high-tech bracelet. “They use Vibranium’s unique properties to help balance your energy and emotions. We’ve used them to help soldiers and citizens alike manage their mental well-being.”

Bucky stared at it, still skeptical. “What is this, a wearable therapist?”

You laughed at the remark. “More like a personal mood assistant,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “It helps track your recovery. Think of it as a tool for healing—not just your body, but your mind too. You’ve been through a lot, Bucky. This could help.”

He glanced at the device, then back at you. “I don’t know if I need anything that tracks my stress.”

"You’ve got a lot of it, buddy,” you teased. “Look, just try it. It’ll be worth it. It’s not like they’re going to put a tracking chip in your head... yet.”

Shuri jumped in, her eyes lighting up. “You’ll love it! This thing is perfect for stress management. And we all know someone here could use a little stress relief.”

“Ha-ha,” Bucky muttered dryly, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, I’ll bite. But only because you two are relentless.”

The tour continued as Shuri led you both toward the final stop: a sleek, Vibranium-powered chamber nestled within the heart of the city. The walls hummed with energy, a soft, almost soothing vibration that seemed to pulse in tune with your heartbeat.

“This,” Shuri said, “is where you’ll undergo the treatment for your Hydra triggers. The Vibranium will stimulate your mind, breaking the neural connections tied to Hydra’s programming.”

Bucky glanced at the chamber, a slight wariness returning to his face. “And this is going to help?”

You stepped closer, your voice calm but firm. “Yes, Bucky. It’s cutting-edge, and it’s the best treatment available. You’re going to be okay.”

Bucky looked at you, the walls of his emotions crumbling just a little. He gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

⠀

Wakanda’s advanced technology was beyond anything Bucky had ever experienced. Even as he stepped into the sterile, high-tech facility, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. The room was cold and sterile, yet somehow comforting in its advanced design. The walls hummed with quiet energy, their sleek metallic surfaces reflecting the soft blue glow of the Vibranium-powered technology that filled the room. It was all so very Wakandan—a perfect blend of high-tech gadgets and sleek design, wrapped in the ancient energy of the country’s prized metal.

Bucky sat in the chair at the center of the room, looking far too tense for comfort. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the odd machinery around him, a combination of devices connected by smooth, glowing wires. Shuri was at the controls, her fingers dancing across the holographic panels, eyes sparkling with excitement as she prepared for the procedure.

"Alright, white boy," Shuri said, her voice smooth and filled with anticipation, though there was an underlying seriousness to it. "This will take a few rounds to clear the Hydra programming from your mind. Don’t worry. We’ve been working on this for a while, and you’re in good hands. It’s a lot like rebooting an old computer."

Bucky glanced over at you, his face still shadowed with doubt. "Should I feel offended that you just compared me to ancient tech? You know what, don’t answer that. You’re sure this will work, right?" Bucky asked, a slight tremor in his voice. His skepticism was clear—years of Hydra’s control had made him wary of trusting anyone, even in this sanctuary of high-tech Wakanda.

You gave him a reassuring smile. "I wouldn’t let them do this if I didn’t think it would help. Besides, Shuri is the best. She knows her stuff."

Shuri flashed him a confident grin. "Of course I do. This will work, Barnes. But we may need to run a few tests, and it might take some time to fully clear out all the lingering effects of Hydra."

Bucky’s shoulders tensed at the mention of “lingering effects,” but he nodded, letting out a slow breath. "Let’s get it over with."

The machines hummed to life, and the lights dimmed as Bucky’s chair tilted back slightly. Thin, silver-like tendrils of light wrapped around his temples, their ends pressing gently against his skin. The energy was soft at first—barely noticeable—but soon the feeling intensified. Bucky's jaw clenched as he fought the discomfort, his hands gripping the chair's armrests.

Shuri’s hands moved deftly over the controls, and the room seemed to come alive with a soft, electric hum. Light from the machines shifted from a cool blue to a deeper shade of violet, and several devices surrounding Bucky powered on. Thin, silver threads of light extended from the machines, wrapping gently around his temples and wrists.

"This first round is designed to target the specific Hydra triggers in your mind," Shuri explained. "We’ll disarm them piece by piece. It’s a delicate process, but nothing we can’t handle. This won’t hurt," she reassured him, though there was a glimmer of mischievousness in her eyes. "Well, not much."

Almost immediately, the first wave hit. Bucky's eyes widened as a sharp, invasive sensation shot through his skull, sending a jolt of panic down his spine. His body went rigid, and for a moment, you saw the old soldier in him—the one who had fought through Hydra’s control and survived against all odds.

His breathing hitched as his mind began to flash with images: snow-covered landscapes, dark rooms, the heavy, cold sound of a gunshot, whispers in languages he couldn’t understand, but that sent terror through his chest. The Hydra programming wasn’t just a set of memories—it was a feeling, a trigger buried so deep in his psyche that even now, he could feel it clawing its way to the surface.

"James," you said firmly, your voice cutting through the noise. "James, focus. You’re not there anymore. You’re with us. You’re safe."

He flinched, a strangled noise escaping him as he struggled to regain control. His fingers dug deeper into the armrests, nails biting into the metal.

"Stay with me," you said again, this time with more urgency. "Take a breath. You’re safe. This isn’t real. You’ve come so far already."

Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, a momentary flash of panic in them before he took a deep breath. His body trembled for a second, but he forced himself to center on your voice. Slowly, the images of Hydra started to fade, but they didn't disappear completely. The fear and anxiety remained just beneath the surface, faint but persistent.

Slowly, very slowly, the panic started to fade. His breath steadied, and the bright blue light around him flickered and pulsed, syncing with his heartbeat. After what felt like a century, the light dimmed, and the invasive presence in his mind faded, leaving only a dull ache where the triggers once were.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, your voice gentle but still steady.

Bucky blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his head. He seemed disoriented, his expression a mix of confusion and relief. "Like... like someone just tried to tear my brain out of my skull," he muttered, his voice rough.

Shuri gave him a sympathetic glance as she adjusted the settings. "Don’t worry. We’ll make this a little easier each time. You’re doing great."

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his eyes a little too wide, but he nodded. "Great? That felt like... like I was back in their hands for a second."

"I know," you said softly. "But that’s why we’re here. We’re making sure it stays in the past."

Shuri watched the readings carefully, her brow furrowing. "The main triggers are gone, but there’s still some residual tension in his mind. I’ll need to adjust the frequencies to target that."

You nodded. "Take your time, Shuri. He’s doing great."

As the second wave of scans began, the light around Bucky intensified. His eyes locked onto the ceiling, his hands gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles turned white. The machine flashed bright, blue light, and his body tensed, back arching as the memory overwhelmed him. The trigger was strong this time—one of Hydra’s words in his ear, sharp and laced with command.

"It’s happening again," Bucky muttered, his voice strained. "I can’t stop it."

The faintest tremor of panic started to creep into his voice as the memories surfaced again—less distinct now, but still there, like shadows lurking in the back of his mind.

You leaned in, lightly placing a hand on his. "James, listen to me." You spoke softly but with conviction. "You are not the Winter Soldier. You’ve beaten Hydra before. You’re stronger now. They can’t control you anymore."

He blinked hard, still trembling, his eyes flickering in confusion and terror. "It’s... it’s still in me," he muttered, barely audible.

You met his gaze, locking eyes with him, forcing him to look at you. "It’s not in you anymore, Bucky. You’re free. This is just the residue. You’ve been through the worst of it, and now you’re healing. It’s not going to take hold again."

For a moment, it seemed like the weight of your words cut through the fog of fear clouding his mind. Bucky’s breathing steadied slightly as his fingers relaxed on the armrests. The sensation of fear and control began to subside, replaced by the quiet buzz of the tech doing its work. His eyes searched yours, and after a long pause, he gave a small nod, forcing himself to relax. Slowly, the machine’s light dimmed again, the invasive presence receding.

Shuri nodded from the control panel, her voice filled with approval. "We’re almost there, Barnes. A few more adjustments, and you’ll be free of this for good."

The next rounds went by much like the first, with Bucky getting progressively more used to the sensation. Each time, the light would flare up as the machine scanned for the dormant Hydra programming. The invasive memories still crept in, but they became more distant and easier to ignore as the process went on. Shuri worked her tech with precision, using pulses of energy that helped rewire Bucky’s synapses, recalibrating the damaged pathways left by Hydra. But it was clear—it wasn’t a simple fix. Even with the tech clearing his mind, it was going to take time for Bucky to fully adapt. The mental scars didn’t vanish overnight.

In between rounds, the poor soldier would let out short, sharp breaths, his gaze never staying still, his body tensing at the smallest sensation. But each time, he managed to push through, knowing you were right there, watching him, guiding him.

At last, the princess finally signaled that they were finished. The machines powered down, and Bucky’s chair slowly returned to its original position. He let out a deep breath, the tension in his muscles slowly melting away. The heavy weight that had been pressing on him seemed lighter, and though there were still shadows in his mind, they no longer felt like they could control him.

As the machine powered down for the last time, Bucky sat there, his expression weary, but the light in his eyes softer, less clouded.

"That’s it," Shuri said with a smile. "The triggers are gone. For now, anyway."

You stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You did great. You’re in control again."

Bucky looked at you, his face tense but grateful. "Feels weird," he admitted, rubbing his temples. "It’s like I’m seeing everything for the first time again. It’s not all gone, though. It’s like the memories are still there, like... a weight."

You nodded, understanding. "It will take time, Bucky. You’re not expected to be perfect right now. We’ll help you through it."

"Alright, white boy," she said, her tone light but with an edge of focus. "Before we get to the fun stuff, we’re going to test your physical limits. Time to give you a break—how about a friendly sparring match?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. "You’re testing me now? After all those mind games?"

"Oh, don’t worry, you’ll survive," Shuri said, her eyes dancing with mischief. "But first, I need to see how well your body’s holding up. You know, just to make sure the mental recovery is syncing with your physical condition."

He glanced at you for a second, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "I shouldn’t worry, right?"

You chuckled, already knowing what was coming. "Don’t let her intimidate you, old man. Just go with it."

Shuri took a step forward, motioning for Bucky to follow her as she walked toward the large training arena, a vast space made for simulations and sparring. "Now, before we get into the arm inspection," she said, flipping a holographic switch to bring up a grid-like fighting field, "I want to see what you can really do. How well is your body handling your recovery?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You mean you want me to fight you?"

Shuri nodded, already cracking her knuckles. "Exactly. I’m not going easy on you, so be prepared."

You gave Bucky an encouraging grin. "Don’t worry, it’s not all about brute strength. You’ll do fine, just listen to her."

Shuri’s eyes glinted as she stepped back, preparing herself for the spar. "Come on, Soldier. Show me what you’ve got."

Bucky shifted into a defensive stance, his metal arm twitching slightly, like it was itching to do some real damage. But as soon as the simulation’s holographic lights flashed, you saw the hesitation in his movements. His years of conditioning were still there, as though he was ready to go full force at any moment, but something held him back.

You couldn't help but feel a little proud at how far he’d come, but now was the time for him to let go of his past baggage.

"Come on, Barnes," you called out from the sidelines, your voice light but encouraging. "You’re not going to be in control of yourself if you don’t just let go."

Shuri smirked at you, then turned her attention back to Bucky. "She’s right. Relax. I’m not here to test your limits to break you, just to push you. Let’s see how much you can really control."

Bucky hesitated for a second longer before lunging forward. His metal arm swung with force, but Shuri was quick, ducking under the blow and countering with a well-placed jab to his stomach. The force wasn’t enough to knock him back, but it was enough to push him off balance.

"Not bad," Shuri commented, grinning. "But you’re holding back. I know it’s there."

Bucky growled slightly, clearly frustrated, but tried to adjust. He aimed another strike at her, this time with his human arm. But Shuri was too fast again, dodging and weaving around him, her foot sweeping out from under him and sending him crashing to the floor.

You chuckled from the sidelines, unable to resist. "You’re gonna have to do better than that, old man."

Bucky groaned as he pushed himself up, a grin starting to spread across his face. "I don’t need you getting on my case too, dove."

You shrugged with a smirk, crossing your arms. "Hey, I’m just telling you how it is. You can’t fight like you’re trying to hold back all your life. Trust me, I know. You’ve got it in you."

Shuri watched, impressed by the banter. "You know, this is better than I thought it would be. You’re starting to loosen up a little. Now let’s see if you can catch me."

And with that, she was on him again, her movements like lightning as she pressed her attack. Bucky was more aware now, his body reacting faster, his movements flowing with more freedom. You could see the change, the way his rigidness slowly started to fade as he gave in to the fight. The tension in his body started to dissipate, and he was no longer fighting with the same heavy burden on his mind.

"There you go," you called out. "That’s what I’m talking about!"

Shuri was grinning now as she took a step back. "This is getting good. You’re not as slow as I thought, white boy."

Bucky was grinning too, though there was a glint of determination in his eyes. "I told you I could keep up."

You could see the way he was moving now—faster, more fluid. Each strike felt like it was coming from a man who was no longer under the weight of Hydra’s control. It was like he was finding his rhythm again, and you couldn’t help but feel a little proud of how far he’d come.

Shuri raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "I think you’ve earned a break. But not before we get to the real reason you’re here."

She flicked her wrist, and the holographic field shifted. A soft hum filled the air as she made her way to Bucky. "We’ll test your arm now. But remember, I’m not just checking for damage. I’m also making sure there’s no... lingering side effects."

Bucky held out his arm, now fully aware of the attention it would receive. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead."

Shuri ran her fingers over the metal, pressing certain points and watching closely as Bucky shifted slightly under her touch. She tapped a few buttons on her wristband, bringing up a scan of his arm on the nearby holographic screen.

"Everything looks good so far," she said after a moment, but then her expression turned serious. "But there’s some wear near the joints. I’m going to run a diagnostic test on the connections later—nothing to worry about for now, but we need to make sure it’s in top shape before you get back to real combat."

Bucky nodded. "I don’t need a babysitter for my arm, little girl."

"I’m not babysitting, I’m just making sure it’s running like a well-oiled machine." Shuri gave him a smirk before turning back to you. "I’d say he’s ready for more. What do you think, Sparky?"

You raised an eyebrow at the nickname, watching Bucky as he stretched, clearly still ready to go. "I think he’s ready for whatever’s next."

⠀

The diagnostic on Bucky’s arm didn't to take long, and Shuri quickly completed it. "Alright, Barnes. Now that your arm’s not going to fall off just yet," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she looked him up and down, "Let’s see if your strength is actually matching up with all the talk."

Bucky rolled his eyes but grinned. "You know, I don’t want to offend my host. I might just let you win again."

Shuri shot him a look, her eyes narrowing as her stance shifted. "Please. I’m the one who invented half of this stuff, white boy. You’re not gonna get off that easy."

"Not for lack of trying," Bucky muttered, readying himself. He squared up and dropped into a more familiar stance, feeling the weight of the training and all the work he’d been putting into his recovery. Even though his body felt stronger, his mind was still in the process of catching up. The battle against the Hydra programming wasn’t a one-and-done situation—it was going to take time.

Shuri went first, her movements a blur as she darted toward him, landing a quick strike to his ribs before he could even react. Bucky stumbled, but quickly regained his balance. The momentary trigger of a past fight or memory didn’t set him off, but it did make him hesitate for just a fraction of a second.

"Come on, Soldier!" Shuri called out, her grin widening. "I thought you said you were keeping up!"

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching intently. "Remember to relax, she’s not gonna break." You offered him a teasing smile. "Just let loose a little. She’s just showing off."

Shuri danced around him with ease, dodging his attempts to grab hold of her. She was fast—faster than he expected—and her moves were filled with an effortless grace. It was clear she was toying with him, but Bucky wasn’t backing down. He adjusted his focus, blocking and dodging her blows with more precision, his footwork becoming more fluid as he reacted in real time.

For the first time since he’d entered the arena, Bucky felt something inside him click. He stopped thinking about every move. Instead, he allowed his instincts to take over, trusting his strength and speed rather than his muscle memory. The hesitation was gone, and he was moving like he used to, without the mental chains holding him back. He had Shuri in his sights and wasn’t going to let up.

Shuri’s expression shifted from teasing to impressed as Bucky finally landed a blow—a clean jab to her shoulder that sent her staggering back a few steps.

"Well, I’ll be damned," Shuri said, her tone more approving now. "Seems like you still have it."

Bucky smirked, his chest rising with satisfaction. "Told you I could keep up."

The two went back and forth, a fierce but playful exchange of blows, until finally, Shuri backed off and raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. You’ve proven your point."

Bucky stood there, breathing heavily but clearly energized by the fight. You stepped up, clapping your hands together with a wide smile. "See? Wasn’t that fun?"

Bucky’s grin was infectious as he wiped a bit of sweat off his brow. "Yeah, I guess it wasn’t that bad."

Shuri turned to you, her eyes gleaming. "Alright, Sparky, your turn. Let’s see if you can catch me off guard like you did in the last match."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky, who gave you an encouraging nod. "Well, now you’ve set the bar high. I’m not going easy on you, Shuri."

"Please," Shuri shot back, her hands up in mock defense. "You’ve been watching me fight for hours. You should be learning from the best."

Without further hesitation, you lunged forward, engaging in a playful but intense match with Shuri. The two of you danced around each other in a blur of motion, your moves swift and calculated. Despite the lighthearted nature of the spar, you could feel the tension lifting from your body with each exchange, just as Bucky had felt it earlier.

While you were engaged with Shuri, Bucky stepped to the side, wiping his hands on his pants, trying to catch his breath. It felt good to get some of the old tension out, and he could already feel a weight lifting off his chest. This wasn’t just about physical recovery; this was about reclaiming who he was before Hydra took everything from him.

As you landed a final mock hit on Shuri, the two of you paused, both out of breath but smiling. "Okay," Shuri said, raising her hands in mock defeat. "You win. For now."

Bucky chuckled and gave you an approving glance. "Not bad at all, dove."

Before you could respond, the hum of the training facility shifted, and you turned to see none other than King T’Challa himself entering, his imposing presence filling the room. He stood tall and regal, as always, his black suit glimmering in the light.

"I see I’ve missed the fun," T'Challa said, his voice smooth and commanding but laced with amusement. His gaze flickered to you and Bucky, a hint of recognition sparking in his eyes. "It’s good to see both of you adjusting to the training."

Shuri quickly approached him, a grin spreading across her face. "You’re late, brother. We were just finishing up testing the new recruits."

"Your Highness," you greeted with a respectful nod, trying to keep it casual despite the obvious presence of royalty.

Bucky shot a quick, somewhat uneasy glance at T'Challa. "Good to see you, my King." There was an awkward pause. "You know, for a king, you really get around."

T'Challa raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I have to keep an eye on all things Wakanda, soldier. You know how it is." He nodded to Shuri, who was now standing by his side. "But it seems like you’ve both been testing your skills. Shuri tells me you’re adjusting well."

Bucky gave him a nod but glanced at you for a second, unsure of how to respond. "It’s... a process." He wasn’t one for small talk, but he appreciated the respect, however minimal.

Shuri couldn’t resist chiming in with a teasing grin. "Oh, he’s adjusting alright. You should’ve seen him during his first simulation—he was more stiff than an old tree trunk." She grinned at Bucky’s groan, enjoying every second of it. "But he’s getting there. Slowly but surely."

T'Challa’s expression softened as he looked at Bucky, understanding more than Shuri likely realized. "Recovery is not an easy thing." He glanced over at you. "And neither is learning to live with one’s past."

You gave him a nod, your gaze meeting Bucky’s for a second before you turned back to T'Challa. "We’re getting there, one step at a time."

T'Challa smiled approvingly. "I admire that resilience. It’s something we value here in Wakanda." Then, with a sudden shift in tone, he looked at Bucky with an intrigued glint in his eyes. "Though, I must admit, I’m curious to see how well you fare against me. A bit of friendly competition. What do you say?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but there was a fire behind his gaze. "You want to spar with me?" There was a hint of hesitation, but he stood tall. "Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not exactly new to this whole combat thing."

You chuckled at the banter between them, feeling a slight tension lifting in the air. "Bucky’s modest, your Highness." You raised your eyebrows playfully. "He’s a bit of a pro."

T'Challa shot you a smirk. "We shall see." His eyes gleamed as he turned to Shuri. "I trust you’ll monitor the match?" His voice was both joking and confident, a reflection of his quiet authority.

Shuri, clearly amused, leaned back against a nearby pillar. "Of course. But don’t expect me to step in and save either of you."

The two warriors squared off, and the battle began. It was intense, the simulation environment adapted around them to create a variety of settings that challenged their skills. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as Bucky and T'Challa went back and forth, exchanging blows and testing each other’s limits.

T'Challa was swift, his agility unmatched, his movements fluid and precise. Bucky, though initially stiff, was growing into the rhythm of the fight. Every time he took a hit or made a mistake, you could see the mental gears turning as he shook off the old training, not just physically but emotionally. The fight, at its core, was a way for him to break free from the grip of his past, and with every successful move, you saw more of that freedom in his eyes.

At one point, Bucky got a clean strike on him, and you couldn't help but grin. "Nice one, Bucky!" You teased, winking at him as T'Challa tried to regain his footing.

T'Challa let out a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at you. "I see you’ve got a knack for encouraging troublemakers." His tone was light, but the respect was evident in his gaze.

As the match continued, Bucky and T'Challa pushed each other to their limits, the combat becoming more than just physical—it was a test of strength, willpower, and resilience. Finally, after a long, hard-fought battle, T'Challa managed to get the upper hand, pinning Bucky to the ground.

Both men panted, sweaty and bruised, but there was no malice in T'Challa’s eyes, only a deep respect.

The king stood up and extended a hand to Bucky, pulling him to his feet. "I must admit, I did not expect that much resistance. You’ve earned my respect." He grinned, looking over at you. "And you, my friend, are no slouch either."

You laughed, wiping some sweat from your brow. "Well, someone has to keep him on his toes." You nudged Bucky playfully.

T'Challa looked at you both, a thoughtful expression on his face before he nodded. "You both are warriors in your own right." He walked over to the side of the room, where a ceremonial dagger rested on a pedestal. With a dramatic flair, he picked it up, turning back toward you and Bucky. "In recognition of your resilience and strength, I will knight you both."

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. "Knight us? Really?"

T'Challa nodded, his tone light but firm. "Yes, indeed. The royal family needs soldiers like you—strong, resilient, and fierce." His smile was playful, but there was a deeper meaning behind it.

You both protested, not wanting to accept the title, but T'Challa insisted with a laugh, his voice warm and commanding. "You don’t have to like it, but I’m already planning something for you two anyway."

Bucky glanced at you, then at T'Challa, and, after a beat, gave in with a grin. "Alright, alright. But don’t expect us to start calling ourselves knights or anything."

You nodded, smirking. "Yeah, we’ll stick to being not-so-humble soldiers."

T'Challa’s grin widened as he placed a hand on each of your shoulders. "Very well. But know this—you are both welcome here."

You and Bucky exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between you. Whatever came next, it was going to be a memorable ride.

PART ONE. l NEXT PART.

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