#golden blossom 【♡】

[vanillashusband]

yin and jin....... i miss my boys....

[cybermindz]

max verstappen x fem!reader

⟢ summary. max wasn’t doing a very good job at being an attentive boyfriend, always busy and not paying you any mind, so when you voice your dismay he gives you exactly what you want.

⟢ contains. slight angst, nsfw, smut : unprotected séx, côckwarming ♡, softdom!max, crybaby!reader, he’s stubborn and mean asf (madmax hehe), you ride him in his gaming chair, dirty talk, creampie, begging, mention of alcohol consumption, usage of petnames (e.g. baby, sweetheart, love), wc : 6.4k

nora's ☆ note. peek-a-boo! srry for being gone, this has been in my drafts since jan LMAO. it’s my first time writing something angsty, hopefully it’s up to par w the rest of my writing (o´罒`o) anyway love u all, i’m going through all my work that’s been collecting dust <3

Your feet padded down the endless hallways of the penthouse you currently resided in, searching for Max with a glass of gin in hand. One of his favorites.

The boisterous district of Fontvieille Monaco has gone long quiet as the evening begins to fade in. It was the most treasured part of your day—when the sunset casts over the ocean and how the crowds of people start to diminish slowly one by one. Loud voices and laughter simmering down, back into their homes or into fancy restaurants and bars to enjoy the rest of their night.

Each roll of the blue waves along with the golden disk already beginning to touch the surface ocean water is a view you could never get sick of. The sun slips quickly behind the line of the horizon as it spreads its last rays—stunning hues of oranges and yellows seeping through the windows of your living room, allowing to emit a shadow of your figure on the floor and walls with each step you take as you continue your hunt for your boyfriend.

It is where you feel the utmost of tranquility—the calmness of this environment is a way for you to wind down without having to care for anything else outside of the place you call home, to help wash away any troublesome thoughts. Usually these hours are spent with you and Max watching a movie or making a home cooked meal together. Usually your limbs would be tangled with one another in sacred and intimate ways.

Though this time around, your surroundings don't put you at ease, it doesn’t shake away your worries. In fact, it’s worse than usual.

This current lifestyle by all means, was everything you could ever dream of. You were incredibly lucky to be the partner of someone like Max. The Dutchman who is portrayed and misunderstood as a villain half of the time is actually a gentleman.

Your lover was so genuine and kind, as sweet as the gleam of sun that is currently kissing your skin—the warmth filling your whole body, bringing an overwhelming sense of comfort. It’s the sole reason why you fell in love with him, and you fell hard.

His own love for you is like a garden—blossoming into heavenly flowers within his fast beating heart.

He dotes on you, cares for you when you need it most, like tending to a single daisy amongst a field of grass. Nurturing and watering it with the most fondness, just like he does when kissing you, and god his kisses are to die for. His lips soft against yours like a warm embrace, so tender and delicate, melting into each other's souls. It always felt as if it were the last, as if the world was crumbling beneath the bottom of your feet. Nothing around you mattered, just the two of you in that space sealing in the gap.

He’s a race car driver for crying out loud—bound to be blunt and direct. But the persona he shows to the crowds of people and millions behind a tv screen is only half of who he truly is. Sure he can have a nasty temper at times during the highlights of his career but those were all under heavy stressful circumstances. In no way shape or form has his impatience and anger on track reach you from behind closed doors…until recently.

That familiarity of admiration for you has suddenly turned into rushed and quick pecks on the lips, hugs lasting only a fracture of a second. There wasn’t any long lasting gentleness to those intimate actions anymore, no adoration laced behind them.

This switch in attitude has you dwelling on it in an unhealthy way. Concerns filling your brain as he hardly devoted any time to you recently. Perpetually blowing you off with an “I’m busy.” and other broken promises to make it up to you whenever you’d suggest going out together for the day.

You genuinely didn't mind it at first, you out of everyone understood how important his career was to him. But, he’s constantly conducting business calls, in emergency meetings, or practicing on the race simulator. You were aching for him, in more ways than one.

It’s lonely enough with him having to travel all around the world 12 times a year with an extra addition of other flights for further business matters. And, with your own work you aren’t usually there to accompany him more than you’d wish. So with the rare occasions of him actually having a break with you at home and to have him not pay any attention to you was, without any exaggeration…starting to annoy you.

In contrast to the beautifully painted sky outside your windows showcasing its eternal beauty of lovely colors, your mood was somber and gloomy. Almost like the soon to be night sky beneath a cascade of iridescent stars on the sandy shores of Monaco—the air thick with a cold breeze and scent of salt, the feeling melancholic.

With an intake of a breath through your nose, the tracks of your light footsteps halt when you finally reach the blackwood door that leads into his office you were positive he was in. You make sure to knock three times—an order you mustn't forget, not wanting to walk in on him potentially streaming a game or being in a meeting with his camera on.

Upon hearing a faint, “Come in.” from the other side of the door, you enter the office with caution. Staring into the dreary space, anyone would be aware of how grim it was; pens and papers scattered across his work desk messily, the trophies resting on the display shelf held a sheer layer of dust, and the cold temperature didn't make it any better. The atmosphere alone coerced goosebumps to emerge onto your skin.

Max himself looked disarrayed, sat in the race simulator on the other side of the room. You walk over to stand beside the makeshift car seat to get a better look at him. All the noticeable tell-tale signs didn't go unnoticed by you, he was pushing himself too much. It was really displeasing to see him not taking care of himself. His light brown hair framed his forehead with eye bags digging into his skin, and there was a prominent little line in between his eyebrows—indicating that he’s been focusing for too long.

“Hey, everything okay?” Setting down the cup of gin on the wooden desk concernedly, you pull off his headset and brush your hand through his locks—pushing them back into place. Max doesn’t tear his eyes off the screens of his multiple monitors, barely sparing you a glance or reacting to the contact of your touch like he normally would.

“Hi baby, yeah…yeah ‘m alright,” he mumbles slowly, almost as if he didn’t register what you said.

“I got you a drink.” A frown makes way onto your features when he doesn’t say anything after that, not even acknowledging the alcohol in front of him. With a tilt of your head you wait expectedly, continuing to burn holes on the side of his face—like you were trying to read into his thoughts. “You coming to bed soon? You should get some rest.”

“Mhm…in a bit.”

You didn’t know why you thought the outcome would be anything different. The monotone lack of response from him had you sneering as a combination of anguish and irritation consumed your body. He’s still looking at the screens, an intense focus in his irises—a need to complete the race laps of the simulator even with his headphones off.

You knew then that he’s not honest with his intentions, being dismissive as usual and leading you to the feeling of neglect yet again. Though this time you’ve reached your limit, patience running thin.

Whilst huffing out an annoyed breath you toss the headset into his lap without a care, “Liar.”

That was a terrible mistake.

His reaction was just about immediate, bewildered at your sudden outburst. “What was that?” Max finally turns his head, eyes narrowing to look at you as you saunter off to the door. You intended to just retire into your shared bedroom alone, tears already pooling at your lash line from all the pent-up frustration with your back facing him.

“If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t dare to walk out that door.”

Halting your footsteps, a shiver bolted up your spine, the previous anger briskly replaced with unease. You’d like to think it was from the cool air that was blowing from the vents instead of his bleak words.

“Get back over here,” he spoke assertively, voice low and ominous—like he was disappointed in your unexpected change of mood, making your skin crawl with uncertainty.

It was a dangerous gamble between wanting to defy him or to finally have all of his attention after two weeks. But you knew better than to test his warnings and tolerance especially after hearing that irked tone. Blinking away the unshed tears, you steel yourself to shift your body and face him again.

“Now. Sweetheart, don't make me repeat myself.”

Your breath hitches, this was probably the first time in days where he’s held eye contact intently with you for longer than twenty seconds and it just about has you stumbling over your feet. The icy glare spoke for itself, already irritated with the way you lashed out at him, which is rare coming from you. He’s got a pounding headache and the last thing he wants to deal with is your little attitude.

His mean demeanor nearly made your eyes water again by the time you returned to his side, following his order. Within a split second, Max chucks the headphones to the ground bitterly. The loud clank! it makes when it hits the wooden floor has you jolting out of your skin, his annoyance radiating off of the small scowl on his face and actions.

In swift movements he pulls you down to straddle his lap without a word, a squeak of surprise leaves your lips since you didn’t have time to process what was happening.

The proximity has your heart skipping a beat, a rush of heat spreading throughout your entire body with nervousness. It was slightly cramped in the space between him and the pc steering wheel—leaving you little to no room to breathe, chest brushing against his to not have your back pressed into the metal material.

You felt that familiar ache in your stomach building up from how close he was and how he was holding your waist to keep you steady. It really didn’t take much for you especially since you’ve missed his warmth—his big veiny hands on your body. Your mind begins to whirl already, making you desperate for more right away, it was easy to tell from your quickened breath.

He observes your small frame all but quivering atop of him, dressed solely in one of his t-shirts that was evidently larger on you and a pair of panties peeking from underneath.

“What’s gotten into you huh?” His eyes lingered a while longer on your bare thighs that were scantily covered. He strokes it with his hands lightly, the contact igniting a trail of fire in its wake on your supple skin before his sharp gaze snapped to return to your face, “always interrupting me.”

You can practically hear the erratic rhythm of your heart beating in your ears because of his fierce scrutinizing eyes, and it doesn't benefit you in the slightest when the expensive cologne he knows drives you crazy wafts into your nostrils—making it even harder to concentrate. The air gets thicker by the second around your heated bodies.

“What’s gotten into me?“ You’re muttering under your breath, looking everywhere but his burning stare to try and rein yourself, “Max you…you hardly have time for me anymore.”

He’s a busy man, engrossed and occupied in his job. You get it, you truly do, you understand the fear he must bear of not wanting to be last. Carrying that title of being number one is both a blessing and a curse. It doesn't help that he's his own worst critic, correcting what he thinks he could do better by practicing on the simulator as much as he possibly can—it’s the only thing that occupies his mind.

The amount of pressure he must feel has to be overbearing—all the more for a non-stressful winter break, he’s been losing too much sleep and he couldn’t even bother to mind your concerns. All you wanted was to take care of him in different ways, you’ve tried for days but those days turned into two weeks and you’ve had enough.

One of his hands smooths over your back, humming gruffly while the other jerks your chin to force you to look at him with a firm grip so you don't pull away, “Y’know I have to be on top of my work right?”

“Yes! Of course I do but—“

“I’m doing this for us.” He then takes both of his palms, dragging them down your sides tantalizingly to grasp your hips. Max kneads the flesh briefly before guiding you with a secure hold to have your clothed heat rub at his crotch that's already flinching, growing hard underneath you. He does so almost mockingly, knowing just what you want and eliciting a shocked choked gasp from you, “working so I could get you the things you want.”

Your small hands went to hold onto his broad shoulders at the unexpected friction, it was getting tougher to keep yourself grounded—body trembling with the effort to stay in check, to stop yourself from grinding down on him greedily like you so desperately wanted.

“Max,” your face is sullen as you speak just above a whisper, he was mere inches away, so close you can almost taste him. You could just…lean forward a bit, claim his lips and have him again, “I don’t care about that, I just want to spend—“

“Time with me.” He interrupts again, stealing the rest of the sentence out of your mouth like he’s heard it a hundred times before and you can't seem to get snarky with him at the moment because of the way he was gradually rolling your groin against his. A rush of butterflies stirs in your tummy from the staggering sensation.

Max reaches under the hem of his baggy shirt that's draped over you with an exasperated exhale, his touch ticklish as his fingers dance along the soft skin near the band of your underwear. You can start to feel your body seeking more of his attention, so close to being obtainable you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

“Is that it? Fine. If that’s the case, then you’re going to sit still.”

His words pique your interest at once that you seem to ignore his condescending behavior—content with just getting to be in his presence again.

He takes notice of your tongue peeking out to wet your lips in expectancy, earning a flicker of amusement on his features before quickly masking it back with a stoic expression. You can feel him trail lower and lower until the tips of his fingers reach your sensitive bud to circle it delicately over your panties, almost feather-light to tease you. The response from your body was instant, mewling and arching your back. Your clothed breasts were now flush against his chest, allowing more warmth to exchange between the two of you.

“All you wanted was to get your little pussy wet huh?” He lets out a scoffing chuckle, making a wave of humiliation wash over you from the way he puts it. You shake your head in denial, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you are in fact sexually frustrated.

“N-Ngh! No!” But he can see right through your miserable bluff, especially with your heavy puffs of breath and stammering.

You were utterly touch-starved that your underwear was already dampening under his touch with your growing arousal. All from just sitting on his lap and light traces of contact.

“No? Then why are you soaking my fingers right now?” A sense of pride always filled his body knowing the affect he had on you, to have you heat up and slip into that sweet headspace with just a few ministrations. “Aww my sweet baby, you just needed a bit of my attention? Is that it?”

Max continues to work you up with a lazy smirk on his lips, watching you closely for each little face twisting reaction, “answer me sweetheart.” He lightly taps at your clit, another chuckle almost slipping from his throat when you sit up straighter because of it.

“Yes Max, I…want you.” Your voice comes out a bit whiny than you intended but you don’t seem to care because of the way your brain is clouding, craving more without question.

“There’s my good girl.”

With your lower lip sucked between your teeth you brace yourself for more, blood pumping with excitement. He was finally going to fuck you like you’ve been wanting for days, right?

Wrong.

What you didn’t expect was to be fully naked, straddling his cock whilst he ignored you.

Dumbfounded was an understatement.

As you watch the clock on the other side of the office—perched on top of the door behind him, your sanity quickly dissolves with each passing tick. It took you about ten minutes to realize the vast amount of self-control he held. So while you were sitting on his lap, firm length sheathed deeply inside you—Max simply returned to the simulator, superbly content with this proposal. You on the other hand, couldn’t stop the tremor of your thighs.

Breaking the tense silence with an unsatisfied grumble, you wrap your arms around his neck in hopes to get more direct contact of his skin on yours. Your frame was taut and rigid above him, trying your damn hardest to not make any sudden movements like he ordered.

Being able to finally feel him again like this but not allowed to do anything about it has you on edge, you eagerly wanted—no needed some sort of relief. So with much contemplation your movements get bolder with a grind of your hips, though it only makes him give you a stern look in exchange, enough for you to force into a stop at once.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, giving a light smack on your plush ass as a warning. “Stop fuckin’ moving,” he hisses through gritted teeth, still annoyed with you and it had your heart aching uncomfortably.

You should be the one that was upset but you felt so vulnerable and deprived, especially with him still being fully clothed, his shorts and briefs pushed down just enough to free his cock making you feel all the more exposed and in the mercy of his hands. You so miserably needed more of him, all of him.

“Max please,” you can’t help but beg now, knowing that it’ll usually weaken his resolve with that angelic voice of yours, “I can’t.”

It doesn't seem to deter him though. A sense of disappointment engulfs you, he was so hellbent on teaching you a lesson that you know you don't even deserve.

“You can and you will. What happened to being my good girl?” His hands never leave the steering wheel behind you and his voice, not even in the slightest—doesn’t waver whenever he speaks, practically like he was unaffected with your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, “besides, isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t make me punish you.”

He’s mocking you. You can almost see his lips quirking up into a smile as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck with no retaliation afterward, so eager to please him.

The only thing you can possibly do was snuggle closer for the little bit of warmth his clothed body can radiate in the cold office and listen to the loud roar of V6 engines coming from the game. With tightly shut eyes, you try to think of something to distract you but nothing works as your mind parades itself from the feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix, stuffed full.

This was already punishing enough, none of this was painful oh no—it was the complete opposite. But, the pleasure rising up and not having your desires fulfilled was tearing you apart. It was borderline torture.

The stretch makes slick from your pussy drool on his girth, a mess pooling straight down his balls and whenever he would move his feet on the pedals of the simulator—his thigh jumps, making you shift on his lap and bounce ever so slightly on his shaft. It has you whining against his ear like a bitch in heat.

Max’s eyes burn into the screen of his pc after perceiving the sound of your soft whimper and whines against his ear, breath tickling his skin and making it prick up. He always loved any noises that he could pull from you, his possessiveness and ego feeds off it. He's transfixed—entranced by how sweet it sounds. He can’t lie, he did miss you. Missed having you close like this, desperate and easily acquiescent for him, your soft voice all breathless and needy.

Just the feeling and connection of you.

He clenched his jaw when your velvet walls fluttered around him, his own self-control was close to snapping. But being an asshole just to spite you seemed more pleasing, he purposely moved his legs more forcefully on the pedals to elicit more of those pretty little cries of pleasure.

Though he completely freezes up the moment he hears you sniffling against his neck, hot tears hitting his shirt seconds after.

Max knows he's been a shit boyfriend but he's too prideful to admit it, so frustrated and harsh while his sole center of attention was on how to be better, better, better with his work that he seemed to forget your own needs. He’s conflicted at the moment as he thinks about it, infuriated at himself for taking it out on you.

You were trying so hard for him, to be his good girl that you always were despite your own discontentment and bitterness to his treatment towards you. You didn’t want to upset him any further even if this was his own doing, it made both his heart stammer and his cock twitch from how kind you are to him. He didn't deserve you.

When you feel that certain jerk inside of you, your one track mind really couldn't stop your lips from speaking once more through your small sniffles. “P-Please Max,” you attempt again with hesitation, lip bitten raw from your constant chewing, “I can’t take this much longer.”

His self-restraint finally snaps.

Your ears perk and pick up the sound of him sipping, completely downing the glass of alcohol that was disregarded earlier in one go. He hisses harshly after the burn cascades down his throat with each gulp and then leans forward, muscles flexing slightly as he places the now empty cup on the desk with a soft clunk before turning off the gaming system.

The unexpected silence causes your stomach to twist in a knot, no longer capable of hearing the thunderous engines of formula one cars—just his ragged breathing and ticking of the clock.

Anticipation nags in the back of your mind, a hundred things running all at once while you sit there pliantly and unmoving, silent tears cascading down your face.

You can't help but think that you’ve surely done it this time, you’ve pissed him off now haven’t you?

“So ungrateful for all the things I give you, hm?” He eventually speaks amidst the strained quietness. The words he utters out didn’t hold any actual malice, voice softer now. His anger giving away to more vulnerability as his hands went to pry your face away from his neck, holding it in his palms gently.

It ached to see you hurt, the pain in your features mirrored in his own heart. His hands trembled subtly while he cradled your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing away the salty tears that fell—trying to comfort and soothe you, “always complaining.”

You lean further back slightly to get a better view of his features, seeing a mixture of emotions swirling in his irises.

Pity. Sadness. Longing.

You could feel it with the way he held you with care, you could feel it in the air—through his soft breath against your skin. Your own heart tugs a bit when you realize that he was feeling guilty. Guilty for doing this to you, for mistreating you.

“I miss you.” You hiccup whilst his thumbs continue their calming motions on the apple of your cheeks.

He focuses on your pretty face stained with wet tears before brushing some loose strands of hair framing your face, tucking it behind your ear and he couldn’t help but marvel at how cute you looked. You were nuzzled into his hands like a kicked little puppy—doe glassy eyes staring into his own.

Max lets out a shaky breath out his nose when a pout adorns your pretty pink lips, he wants to kiss it away, hear those moans you’d make against him. But first, he really needs to apologize for his negligence.

He coos at your broken voice, torn between his self pity and yearning for your presence even if he didn't deserve the slightest bit of your leniency, “‘m right here baby.” His chest continues to sting as your tears increase, the weight of his words hitting you harder than he expected.

He knows that his reassurance has touched a nerve, that you've been longing to hear those words for days. That he was never really gone, he still cared for you the same, just too stubborn about his own emotions. While keeping his tender hold on your face, his gaze never leaves your watery eyes. He wants you to feel his unwavering love, a necessity to put your mind at ease, “let me kiss you, can I?”

A soft hum coming from your throat and a small nod is enough confirmation for him to pull you into a fulfilling gentle kiss, one that you were familiar with, the kind that you yearned for so severely. The adoration was felt again as he put much effort and devotion behind it. It felt so good being cherished like this again.

With a pleased sigh passing through you, Max tilts his head—removing one of his hands from your face to hold your nape, intending to deepen the kiss even further. He takes the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips when you part your mouth.

The taste buds on your own wet muscle begin to flood with the flavor of bitter alcohol as it dances and tangles along with his. It was all so, so intoxicating. And he revels at how your lips always manage to be plump and soft, as tasty as he remembered. He mutters against them gently yet firm as he speaks, trying to convey his conflicted feelings, “so sorry my love, ‘m so sorry.”

He places a few chaste kisses on you before pulling away slightly so he can stare up at you for a moment, his pupils tracing every inch of your naked body. He can't get over how beautiful you look with desire and need whirling in your eyes. His heart stutters again with so much regret when you sniffle and hug his shoulders, pressing closer like you were trying to meld into one.

A small glimmer of light breaks through the storm of emotions when the sound of a sheepish giggle comes from your mouth. The lighthearted noise that he’s grown to love over the years of knowing you filling the tense air. Your saccharine voice overflows his ears with words of forgiveness, too compassionate for your own good. He muses at the fact that even through the stressful and pressuring times—the neglect, you were always there to welcome him with open arms.

Max rids the confines of fabric still clinging to his body with a sense of urgency, like a man on a mission to make it up to you. He tosses them to join the pile of your clothes forgotten somewhere on the floor before returning his mouth on you, this time on the column of your neck, peppering it. Starved and parched for you, just as much as you were for him.

His kisses are hot and wet, tongue lapping at your skin while his hands wander over your chest. He can feel you responding to his touches once more, pulse quickening just beneath his fingertips, your breathing coming out in faint gasps.

Small “I love you’s.” tumble from him like a mantra without stopping his focus on your skin. The once pained expression on your face now changed into an alluring one within ticks—cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide, and mouth slightly parted from all the attention.

It only fueled his hunger even more, growing impossibly harder inside of your pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty, I could stare at you like this forever.” His lips work their way up to your ear, licking the shell of it provokingly, the action has the hair on your arms standing stiffly. Max’s voice was direct and rough as he whispers, “fuck yourself onto me, go on baby you can move for me now.”

It's like a fire switch has gone off in your brain. At last, you lift yourself up until his flushed pink tip peeks out to the point of almost slipping out and slowly sink back down. Both of your mouths fall open to let out a low satisfied moan in unison. Your eyelids flutter, half-lidded now, barely being kept open with furrowed brows as you gape back at him.

“Haah!—“ your breath gets caught in your throat as he braces his feet on the floor and plunges his hips up to meet yours when you lift yourself again, stuffing his fat cock into your soaking heat in one instantaneous push. Your small hands claw on his shoulders in surprise, leaving red scratch marks on his pale skin.

“Breathe for me baby…yeahhhhh just like that. I can see you dripping for me, my needy girl look at you—so fuckin’ wet,” he bites his lip to stifle the guttural moan that threatened to slip at the sight before his eyes, “Missed you so much too—shit.”

He continues to run his filthy mouth with a vein protruding his neck and stills his hips so you can set your own pace, your walls shuddering around him in response to all of his words. Whilst you repeat the same action again and again, you’re already not able to formulate a single thought from the mind numbing sensations. Just mentally saturated at being filled to the hilt over and over and over.

“F-fuuuuuck, so good Max—feels so good!”

“That’s it, just focus on feeling good, ‘m here s’okay. You have me now.” He devours your mouth once more, this time with great fervor—his tongue exploring every inch of the wet cavern more hastily, tasting every bit of what you can give.

He swallows each and every little sound coming from you, every whimper and whine because of each drag of his length, feeling it reverberating through his mouth down to his chest—now full of warmth and contentment.

Max’s hands on your breasts continue to squeeze, fondling your mounds until his calloused fingers pinches and rolls your nipples between them to pebble up in the cool air, adding a jolt of pleasure in the mix. The feeling of you taking him inside, the sounds of your sweet gasps—it drives him insane. He groans deeply, breaking the kiss to have his head fall back against the chair.

You’re fucking him so good all of his tension and worries are melting away from each roll of your hips. Maybe a little too good that he’s biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from ramming into you like a madman.

"Keep using me however you want sweetheart, don’t stop ‘till you're satisfied,” he mutters, ragged and hoarse.

You can hardly focus, it was too much for you to endure. All you can make out is how good he feels, how his mushroom head hits that spongy spot with the way you’re taking him in so deep at this angle. This is everything you've ached for, so it’s no surprise how easily you’re falling apart so early on along with him. So overly sensitive and responsive to each stroke of his stiff cock, being able to feel every ridge and vein.

The observation of him splitting you open was incredibly arousing to gawk at. Strings of slick connects where the two of you continuously meet, hot and sticky with a translucent white painting the base of his length as you continue to cream around him.

He swears he feels like he’s floating, going absolutely delirious, and it’s obvious with the way he wouldn’t shut his mouth. Max always gets this way from the taste and feel of you, it’s like his mind couldn't fathom anything else around him.

“You're so good baby, so good for me," he praised, palms going to grip at your hips tightly. He’s clutching you so securely as if he can't bear to let go, leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips from his blunt nails. "You love this, you love being filled up by me, don't you?"

“Y-Yes, Max," you moan out needily, your own fingers digging into his shoulders, "I love it so much. Mnnh—so big.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he tries to hold back, to prolong the need to just pound into you, his breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. The sound of wet plaps! from skin slapping against each other fills the office walls when you move a little faster—air thickening around you further with the smell of sex. His brain clouds, losing himself in the pleasure you bring upon him. He can feel his willpower slowly giving way to his desire and need for you, but he wants you to have this.

The view of you riding him and your sweet whimpers was making it harder for him to control himself. He shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw to focus on not coming so quickly, “You're so tight, so perfect. Can’t even fuckin’—hah! Can hardly think straight.”

He makes it a point to hold out for you, so you can come at the same time just how he always likes. But you whine and suddenly stop, legs starting to strain. The vulgarity of his words, the sensations, it was all getting too overwhelming.

Max groans at the loss of pleasure, reopening his eyes to look at your flushed disheartened face, “What's wrong baby?”

“Need you,“ you whine frustratedly and press your forehead against his, swapping breaths as you both pant, “I can’t…”

"Need my help?" He grabs your hands to place it behind you so you can grasp at the steering wheel, this allows you more leverage and support to slam down onto him, “Lean back and hold onto this sweetheart, hold on tightly.”

For extra measure he snakes a strong arm around your back, holding your waist sturdily as he helps guide you to fucking him more harshly now.

“Oh f-fuck! You’re s-so deep!” You tip your head back, bearing your hickey covered neck to him. He almost came from the sight alone, a low groan bullying it’s way out of his mouth.

“Yeah? That’s better isn’t it baby?” He asks softly but there’s a clear hint of teasing, a playful mocking in his tone. Though his voice is finally starting to waver, all of it sends him into overdrive as he draws close to bursting at the seams. His fingers from his free hand tease the skin of your inner thigh, making your hips stutter slightly. “Oooh, s-shit just felt you squeeze around me, you like that?”

“No teasing Max,” you whine and cinch your brows together, looking back at him with a small scowl but it looks more of a pout in his eyes, “touch me please.”

“Demanding now are we?” Deciding to not be mean anymore than he already has been tonight because of how precious you looked—he licks the calloused pad of his thumb and presses it harshly against your clit, neglected and swollen. He circles it, spreading his spit and your wetness slowly. You shriek at the added stimulation and grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white.

“My good girl, my everything, all I ever need.” He’s babbling again when your pussy clamps down on him at the praise. Both of your brains seemingly go fuzzy yet in tune with one another, only thinking of one thing and it’s that sweet release.

With each moan from you, a sharp groan and grunt comes from him. His own hips begin to move with you again, no longer capable of keeping still, his thrusts matching each lift of your body. The pleasure builds and builds, becoming almost unbearable.

“So. Fucking. Good.” He punctuated his words with each buck, becoming more sloppy as time goes on—hanging so dangerously close to the edge. And he knew that you were almost there too, he could feel it in the way you were moving against him desperately, clenching and shaking around him. "You're close, aren't you, baby?"

Incoherent babbles of yes's and pleas were all you can respond with. Each drive of his hips were now constricted because of how hard you squeezed around him, your walls pulsing like a vice as your body goes taut.

He didn't stop, couldn't stop, he needed you too badly, needed to feel you as you fell apart for him, all because of him. His thumb rubs more vigorously against your bundle of nerves to heighten the pressure in your core, ready to burst at any given moment.

“Y-Yeah I know I'm right there with you, come on baby,” he urges and leans forward, licking and speaking against your ear, knowing that it’ll drive you even closer to your peak, “I want you to come for me–come with me.”

Your vision begins to blur, nerves on fire as you can only focus on the blissful pleasure. The moans coming out of you now louder and more high-pitched as you chase for your orgasm. He angles his hips and snaps up into you harder, now hitting your sweet spot more incessantly. You suddenly go quiet, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come around him in a silent scream.

“Holy shit, gooooood fucking girl,” his concentration switches to pure ecstasy when he watches you shake atop of him, he can feel everything—every muscle and contraction around him, it was enough for the heat burning in his abdomen to explode along with you. The base of his cock throbs as spurts of cum shoots inside of you while a guttural moan rumbles deep within his throat.

His thrusts begin faltering as he tries to coax the most of your orgasm out of you, pushing his cum further into you as much as he can until the fat head of his now flaccid cock burns in overstimulation.

You collapse onto his chest blissed out and limp when you finally come down from your high. Completely fulfilled again as he hugs you to his sticky body, not caring to pull out, keeping you plugged full of his cum. His chest heaves against your head, rising and falling almost like a soothing lullaby, sitting there and just listening to each others heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry again my love,” he speaks after a while of calming quiteness.

“Shhh don’t talk about it anymore,” you chide playfully, resting your chin on his chest to stare up at him, “just don’t ignore me like that again.”

“Oh I don’t plan on it.”

The familiarity of your bond re-emerges. The tension and hurt from earlier is entirely gone, replaced by a sense of comfort and ease with you lax in his arms. His eyes drinks in the sight of you with a content smile plastered on his face. He’ll have to book a getaway for the rest of his winter break and take you over and over to make up for lost time.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost.

[iheartmira]

Heeey! I heard ur requests are open! Noice! Btw I ♡ ur posts! They're very creative and makes my imagination happy! └⁠(⁠ ⁠＾⁠ω⁠＾⁠)⁠」

So, idk if u would do this request... (İt's ok if you don't want to do it, it's completely fine!) But what if...

Y/N was a angelic, parental figure to Ancient/Beast Cookies that they adored pretty much and now they having a lovely reunion after a long time? I can imagine Y/N being a very huge cookie with fluffy and long white hair that's hugging their children and giving them comfort kisses on the head like every mother does! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Also, THERE'S A ROBBER SQUİD ON THE LOSE! CATCH İT!!!

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く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ~~~

"reunion" ancients/beasts & motherly!reader

✧ ✧ ✧

the wind carried a scent of old magic: faint vanilla, scorched earth, golden dunes, forgotten flour… and tears unshed.

you stood amidst the blooming glade, the soft earth barely enough to cradle your massive form. your silhouette shimmered faintly with divine light, long white hair cascading down like waterfalls of silk, brushed gently by the breeze. wings no longer needed, but still ever-present in memory, you waited, sensing the stirrings of hearts you had once held close.

and then, one by one, they came.

pure vanilla cookie was the first, golden staff trembling in his grasp. his soft gaze locked with yours, and shattered. he dropped the staff and ran to you like the smallest child once more, eyes wide and glistening. you knelt, arms open, and caught him in a loving embrace.

"my little light," you whispered into his hair, placing a kiss on his crown. "you still shine."

he hiccupped a sob. "i thought i’d never feel this warmth again…"

hollyberry cookie crashed through the trees like a storm, shield discarded, arms spread wide. "i knew you’d come back!" she shouted, tackling you in a joyous, crushing hug.

you laughed, a sound like chimes carried on the wind. "my brave berry," you said, pressing a kiss between her curls. "still charging ahead without fear."

next came golden cheese cookie, half sulking, half radiant. "you took forever, you know…" but her voice cracked, and before another word passed, she melted into your embrace.

"my radiant treasure," you murmured, smoothing her golden hair. "even the stars would envy your shine."

a quiet hush followed, broken only by the softest footsteps.

white lily cookie stood at the edge, hesitant. shadows clung to her like wilted petals. you reached for her gently. "my sweet blossom… come home."

she trembled. "i don’t… deserve this."

but you cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “you always did."

she wept into your shoulder as you held her, light dispelling the darkness moment by moment.

then came the rumble of thunderous footsteps: dark cacao cookie, stiff and quiet. he stood for a long moment, watching you, unreadable behind solemn eyes. but the moment you whispered his name, "my quiet strength," he knelt before you and bowed his head into your chest like a weary knight.

you held him tighter than the blade he once wielded. "you carried so much. let me hold you now."

behind him walked mystic flour cookie, ethereal and pale. "i thought i abandoned all desire… but why does seeing you hurt?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.

you smiled softly, pulling her close despite her resistance. "even apathy longs for home."

burning spice cookie emerged like a flame reborn, snarling as if to ward off weakness. "pathetic weaklings, shedding tears over this!" he shouted, which you were beginning to think that was just his regular tone. but you only opened your arms wider, undeterred.

"you’re still my wildfire," you told him, planting a firm kiss to his brow. "always burning. but you don't need to burn alone."

he collapsed into your hold, a slight sniffling noise present as he trembled.

eternal sugar cookie and silent salt cookie were the next to appear. the latter attempted to act too tough for your embrace, but the former welcomed and returned it, making you almost concerned that she could melt into a puddle while in your arms. "wouldn't it be nice to stay like this forever?" she wondered aloud.

lastly, the shadows curled and twisted. shadow milk cookie appeared like a mirage, smirking with practiced flair. "you’ve returned just in time for the grand finale," he said. "though perhaps i’m not who you remember…"

"of course you are," you said, embracing him even as he flinched. "my sweet trickster. every mask you wear, i see beneath."

for once, the smile faltered. "you always did ruin my illusions," he whispered. and he let himself be held.

you gathered them all in your arms, a celestial constellation of broken, brilliant souls. you kissed every forehead, every crown, humming a lullaby from a time only you remembered.

"my precious ones," you whispered. "my children. you’ve wandered so long, fought so hard. but you’re here. you’re safe. and i love you."

a pause.

then pure vanilla cookie spoke, voice hushed. "…can we stay? just for a little while?"

you wrapped your arms tighter around them.

"for as long as you need."

✧ ✧ ✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[limerlove]

WITH GIN IN JULY

❝ ABBY ANDERSON!ONE SHOT ❞

ෆ | pairing. enemies to lovers!abby x female!reader

abby anderson? she's a fucking nightmare. with everyone in her back pocket, she adores all. the golden girl, but to you she's just the asshole not to be trifled with. a kind heart to everyone, except you. you hate her and she hates you. what could possibly change that?

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: 3k wc. smut, oral sex, fingering, no strap so stop complaining ♡ (this is a joke don’t attack me), a lot of fucks said, enemies to lovers, me being in love with abby, yk there’s a recession when i’m throwing fluff in a fic. okay, ray. shut up.

Apprehension runs cold in her veins, ice for blood with a small throttle for a pump — she’s a fucking nightmare wrapped in a devil’s daydream.

To everyone else, she's the perfectly nice, perfectly fine girl. The two of you introduced to one another in the first week of July, the weekend of the forth. All of your friends raved about how kind Abby is, a heart of gold, is what they all said.

In all honesty, you had even been thrilled to meet her. You love your little group of friends, the family you never had but fuck are you sorely disappointed by blonde-brute.

She was anything but kind. Intentional malice laced in her deviously-blue eyes from the first time you met. As time went on, so did Abby's growing irritation. Even as the heat blossomed, she still managed to root her cruelness in rich soil.

"I just don't know what everyone sees in her! She's so mean, all the time, she's barely even human."

And here she is, simmering in the pool with her stupid cocktail and that damn gleeful smile. She taunts, under the radar of everyone else, always making you look like the monster with one evil eye and talons for hands.

“You don’t think you’re making all this up just because—” Jesse trails off but your fury is lasered on to her, not letting up for a single moment.

“Not think, I know." Continuing to rail off your tangent as you see her being warm and fuzzy with everyone else except you.

For fuck sake, she's like a goddamn teddy bear. You might hold her if she lets you but no one else besides you is going to know it.

You decide to cool off inside needing a cool drink in this excruciating heat. The first thing you’re met with is cool air-conditioning and cool white-marble floors, chilling your overheated body back to room temperature.

It’s much better this way, in silence where your disdain can rot like a sour pomegranate. Complete solitude could solidify the vindication you feel every time she throws another insult when no one else is listening.

As you're bent over, digging through the freezer to find your strawberry-lemonade you had placed there earlier you hear a throat being cleared.

You crane your neck just to see it’s her.

Picture perfect Abby, god, you wish you could slap that stupid grin off her pink and pretty lips. Always smirking at you like she knows something you can’t possibly be aware of.

“Need help?”

“Nope. It’s not like you were actually offering.” You’re short and sharp with her, keeping your interactions with Abby to the absolute minimum.

It’s better for everyone this way.

“I could help you out and—”

“We both know you won’t.” Finally, you find it, shoved at the bottom underneath the frozen fruit. But when you rise and turn around, your chest is practically pressed against hers.

She’s testing the waters, normally you wouldn’t be such an idiot. You would push her away, shoulder check her even. Or you would try. Abby’s hard to push around, half of her body weight must be muscle.

Between being a mechanic and her necessity to be a total gym addict, her build was stronger than pretty much everyone. With her strength, she pushes you against the fridge with her pelvis, shutting the freezer door shut with your frozen strawberry-lemonade in hand.

“Do we have a problem?” You pry as she looks like she wants to devour you from the inside out.

“What would make you say that?” She waits for you to respond as she stretches out her arm, palm resting by your head, seeing how far she could push you.

Like she always goddamn does.

“You’re here, hovering. God, you’re worse than my ex.” Trying to push her away, but Abby doesn’t even budge.

“Oh.” And for a moment, genuine interest flashes in her eyes. Clearly, you’ve gone senile. “You and her—”

Now, you’re over conscious in your lack of clothing as she bites her lip, sinking teeth into the flesh. Venomous glances find mercy in you, but you’re not sure why they’ve been replaced with longing.

“Why does it matter? Can you let me go?”

“Yeah, right, sorry.”

Abby apologizing? Weird.

—

The truce lasted for a single moment. Sympathy for a broken heart apparently had an expiration date, or a timer for less than twenty-four hours.

“Were you actually going to hit me?” Abby cocks her eyebrow, the gray in her eyes coming to life as a speck of desire crosses near her heart.

"I wasn't trying to hit you. If I wanted to, you would know."

You can't really say this was entirely her fault. Ever since the unintentional spilling of your forementioned breakup, she'd been looming over you. As if she was waiting for you to crack. All you wished was to forget any of it ever happened.

For a second, you thought she could be capable of kindness towards you and then when you tossed an orange to Ellie, it happened to hit her in the face.

"What do you want from me? What's it going to take for you to exercise one decently kind bone in your body?"

She's sizing you up in your bedroom door with the door shut, the one she chased you down in like you're a wild animal. Everyone in the room knew better than to chase either one of you. The two of you always fought like this.

And every single time, you worked it out enough to tolerate each other. But now Abby was witnessing the steam, the ultimate point of rage pushed past the point of containment.

"Me? What about you? Suddenly I'm the problem when you've been an asshole to me from day one. Day fucking one, Abigail."

You're pacing back and forth in your room, attempting to calm yourself down before you completely lose it and say something you can't come back from.

"Me? Like all of this is my fault? The first time you looked at me you decided you had to hate my guts." Abby catches your arm, stopping you from moving another inch.

"Let me go, now." Your voice doesn't waver for a moment, not one stutter is heard, but Abby can't help stare at your lips. Then you're staring at hers and all of it becomes crystal clear.

"Or what? What are you going to do about it?" Single handedly, her words pierce through you warm flesh, exposing the wound she created. For a moment, just for a second, you wonder if Abby’s the antidote you’ve been searching for. 

She wonders how you would react if you walked out of here, ignoring her obvious advances she keeps throwing your way. But it’s always on your terms. Abby’s too cowardly to initiate anything first. Dangling the carrot in front of you like a desperate rabbit, begging to be satiated with the first crunch. 

Stepping forward, your perfectly manicured hand strokes her freckled check, nails lightly scraping against her porcelain flesh. “I won’t have, you’ll do it for me.” 

The tone in your voice drops, smirking as Abby visibly gulps. The lump she swallows is enough indication that she’s been caught. The mean remarks, your former girlfriend at your side when the two of you met, the jealousy, the snide comments Abby would only say when it was the two of you — all of it a ruse to disguise the feelings she decided to bury deep upon your very first meeting. 

A swipe of your thumb caresses her chin, tilting her lips towards you, as her hot and heavy breath curses your lips like a sin you would be willing to die for. A small whimper falls from her, her bambi blues widen at the audible omission. A mistake, a slip-up, and fuck is it perfect. 

“Show me how much you want this, Abby. Be a good girl.” 

Hell breaks loose with those four words and Abby’s self-control is unshackled with it. Practically throwing you on the bed like a certified ragdoll, you become her own personal barbell to train with. Wedging herself between your legs that are already open for her, you’re met with tongue and teeth as she regains control. 

You have a feeling she’s not one for giving in so easily and the whimper Abby felt embarrassed by would be hard to come by, again. The sleep shorts you’re wearing give her enough access as the fabric bunches on your ass. Abby chuckles as you grind up into her pelvis, desperate for more as you practically feel her tongue in the back of your throat. 

Fingers dig into her golden roots, trying so desperately to have her whine for you again, but all you get is a moan — as pretty as it is, it’s not what you want, but it’s enough. 

For now. 

Abby separates as you help her out of the oversized sweater she was wearing with a thin pair of boxers. Here she is, baby-blue boxers hung low on her hips as your hand smoothes over her defined six-pack, muscles flexing underneath your touch. Freckled and toned, small pink nipples practically begging to be placed in your mouth. 

“Oh—” Your hands sink into her boxers, feeling her bush prickling under your touch, as your fingers slide against her drenched folds, each one fluttering as you stroke her enticing lips. “Fucking knew you liked to be praised.” 

The better part of Abby should keep her mouth shut, but when you’re taking shit all she wants is to give it right back. You’re in luck. There’s a finger slipping inside of her and her brain shuts off, she’s unable to think about anything but the sight of you biting your lips as fuck her with skilled fingers. 

Abby leans her body forward to make it easier for you, slipping deeper into your walls. Almost as if she can sense her lips about to spill, she captures your mouth, letting her moans spill in the back of your throat. Abby coats you with her sweet honey, the sounds she makes could rival an angel’s symphony. 

Hips thrusting against you — it’s a perfect moment to sleep another finger inside her — so you do. 

There’s that fucking whimper. More desperate than her stormy-blue eyes, begging to be loved. To be needed, it’s all she had been wanting from you and it’s clear as day. Abby decides she’s had enough. 

Time to even the playing field. 

Ripping the cotton right of your body, the grey-washed tank top is ruined and discarded in your bedroom. Abby latches her lips on to your breast, her forefinger and thumb pinching the other. As if she was born to do it, she suckles on your pebbled nipple, her tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh. 

Abby didn’t know how satisfying it would feel to watch you fumble with your fingers fucking her, the control slipping from your fingertips with just a suck and a flick of her tongue. All of it gone too soon as she pries your shorts and panties off in a single movement. 

As she removes herself for a second, you’re tasting her on your fingers, saturating the sweetness on your tongue. Only wishing her taste could be permanently embedded into your velvet tongue. A way to rinse yourself clean of all the impurities rotting in your brain, the taste of your cunt could bring the salvation you so desperately seek home. 

“Luck for you—” She pauses as she decorates your soft stomach in kisses, “You’re about to come harder than you ever have before.” 

Abby starts with flattening her tongue, a long and languid stripe of her tongue drags along your pussy, dipping her tongue in your clenched hole before guiding her rolling tongue on your quivering clit. 

“But after this, and mark my words, you’re never going to want anyone else but me after this.” Before you can even argue, the collected spit in her mouth drips over your pussy as she slobbers the natural lubricant on an already drenched pussy. 

“Fuck, Abby, what the—” Pushing your legs forward, knees nearly hitting your headboard as she spreads more of your cunt before she gives it her all. Focused entirely on one thing. 

Like it’s an olympic sport, her mouth wastes no time at all. Sparing no expense when it comes to make you well…come. The muscle spares no restriction when it comes to your cunt, shoving her face in your pussy, the bridge of her nose nudging against your clit as she lets her fingers sink into a weeping hole. 

The moans being released from your magnetic lips, Abby’s never heard before. Not from you or anyone she’s pinned down with her mouth. No regard for your friends who are just down the hall, hearing every word falling from your lips sound like a sanctioned prayer. 

Curses of her name fly out of your mouth quicker than you catch them, sucking the soul out of your body as she claims you in ways you’ll never come back from — true to words — in a matter of moments she’s cockily proven to be better than anyone you’ve had before. 

As you tug on the blonde roots, she glances up at you through hooded eyes, a chokehold of sultry as she divides her lips with her tongue as she doesn’t break eye contact. She holds it, just for you, as she watches and hears you scream when you slip another finger inside her. Abby curling her fingers is the last nail in the coffin as you fuck her gorgeous face. 

Those gorgeous blue eyes rivaling the beauty of sapphires. 

“God, gonna keep you right here forever. Always wanna hear you—” Abby moans into your swollen lips, kissing the sweet spot inside you, making the stars align perfectly in the back of your mind. “Say my name for me again, angel.” 

You don’t want to give in. She’s manhandled the power right out of you, as if it never had been placed in your hands to begin with. Like she had domineered you into this position. Make a dominatrix into a submission princess. But truth be told, you lost focus and Abby was there to pounce on you. Waiting for her perfect moment and capitalizing on it. 

“Don’t— fuck—I-I don’t think you deserve it.” You pause for a moment trying to control the shudder in your breath but you’re starting to believe it’s nearly impossible. 

‘“I don’t?” Without warning, there’s a harsh slap to your lips, all three fingers sinking deeper into your clenching walls. “Want to tell me what I don’t deserve again? Or does my girl want to come?” 

Before you can control it, there’s an animalistic groan pouring out of your lips, causing Abby to double down on her efforts. With deep breaths, you’re incredibly close, and with every stroke of her tongue she sends you closer to the edge. 

A stroke of her tongue, a thrust of her fingers — it’s so close you can nearly latch onto it. 

“You like that, angel? Want me to call you my girl?” You hate how cocky she is about it. Abby gleams with pride as you buck your hips into her face once again, whining at the possession. In this instant, solely belonging to the woman who’s eating you out like there’s no tomorrow, is the only desire you crave. 

“Shut up.” It’s supposed to come out intimidating, a bit ruthless even, but it’s almost comical when Abby hums into your cunt. Not when you’re so close to painting her sun kissed-cheeks with pearly white cum. 

It’s almost like she’s done this before with you, she uses her free hand to play with your nipple, like you told her it’s the one thing that can help bring you over the edge. Abby doesn’t stop sucking, on your clit, her tongue serving strokes to your clit as your thighs shake, squeezing her head as she refuses to relent her pace. 

“Choke me out sweet girl, need my baby to come—” Abby locks her eyes on you, “Keep fucking my face, yeah, good fucking girl.” 

Like a flower budding in the spring, Abby watches as your pussy flutters your stomach clenching, body writhing as she fucks you through it all. 

“Don’t stop, oh fuck me, god, that’s so good. Baby, Ohhh—” She’s practically grinning into your cunt as you hear yourself sloshing against her soaked fingers, not letting her mouth release it’s iron-grip around the clit pulsating against her tongue. 

“Fuck, you taste so sweet.” Abby is in amazement, savoring every moment of your body twitching to her touch. Until you’re spent, murmurs of too sensitive causes a small smile to grace her face. “You did such a good job, baby.” 

Abby slips on the side your body isn’t taking up, staring at the ceiling with a cheshire grin as she hears your heavy breath. It’s more than you’re usually given. She only needs to hear you struggling to know how much truth it rings. No faith is needed to see what’s right in front of her. 

Propping her head in the palm of her hand, elbow digging into the silky-satin, she can’t stop smiling at you. Half of you expects her to kick back to her normal routine of hating you — maybe Abby didn’t really like you. She just wanted to fuck. 

“You know this doesn’t have to be a one time thing—” Abby draws random patterns into your skin with the blunt of the fingernail, pawing at the skin, desperate for just a little bit more of you. “If you ever want to see stars again.” 

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Shamelessly, Abby nods. The warmest smile spread on her face, it’s so infectious. Her genuineness rotting through your sourness, making something entirely too sweet for you to swallow but you take it on. 

Even in fear. 

“I thought it was cute.” She’s so bashful about it, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Almost delicate. 

“Mhm, if you say so.” 

“I do.” She pushes a piece of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. The love in her eyes can’t lie, you hope it’s genuine. Abby can’t stop smiling so you choose to believe it is. 

“Would you…uh—” She stutters out as you rub circles into her hips, “I wanted to ask you if you would like to go on a date sometime.” 

“You know what’s cute? Playing god with my pussy but then being nervous to ask me out on a date.” You tease her. Immediately, her cheeks morph into crimson, trying to hide as much as she can with her hands but the damage has already been done. And you don’t feel sorry about it for one second. 

“So, is that a yes?”

[sa1ntn3k0]

Snow Leopard Gojo (∩˃o˂∩) ♡ nsfw!

The sun perched high in the sky, its golden rays filtering through pillowy clouds that drifted lazily like overstuffed cotton balls. They played a tiny game of peek-a-boo with the light, casting dappled shadows over Tokyo University’s sprawling campus before leaving, bathing the world again in a warm, buttery glow. You tilted your face upward, savoring the breeze that tousled your hair, a gentle, vanilla-scented kiss from spring. This was your favorite kind of day: bright enough to lift your spirits but soft enough to keep the world from feeling too loud. Perfect for the oversized cardigan you’d thrown over your pastel-yellow mini dress, its airy fabric fluttering around your thighs like sunlight given form.  

Your morning lecture, unfortunately, had been anything but luminous. Your Professor’s monotone voice had dragged through the hours like a knife through cold, stiff butter, dissecting a research paper on quantum physics that might as well have been written in ancient Aramaic. You’d doodled bunnies and cartoon cats in the margins of your notebook, your mind wandering to the cafe you loved, the one with the heart-shaped mugs and the barista who always added a sprinkle of cinnamon to your chai. But getting there meant braving Shibuya’s chaos: the screech of trains, the tsunami of suits and school uniforms flooding the crossing, the neon signs that buzzed like angry wasps. Just thinking about it made your shoulders tense.  

No, today calls for compromise. You’d settle for the sleepy little shop near FamilyMart, even if their tea tasted like water with a dash of sugar. Slinging your tote bag higher onto your shoulder, its pastel patches of Miffy and Hello Kitty clinking gently against your thermos, you stepped onto the sidewalk, your strappy sandals tapping a quiet rhythm against the pavement. The dress you wore hugged your curves sweetly, its buttercup hue mirroring the sun, while your lips glimmered with a gloss that smelled like strawberries. You’d dressed up for no one in particular, really, but there was joy in feeling pretty, even if only the breeze noticed, and unfortunately that perv two seats behind you in class.  

The cafe’s bell jingled as you entered, its air thick with the aroma of stale croissants and bitter espresso. You beelined for the refrigerated case, grabbing a bottled milk tea and a pastry swirled with pink strawberry cream, its flaky layers far too enticing to leave without. Back outside, you claimed a bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, its petals drifting around you like confetti. The first sip of tea was cloying and underwhelming, but the pastry? Too good. The cream burst on your tongue, tart and sugary, and you closed your eyes for a blissful second-  

Rustle.  

Your thick lashes fluttered open. The bush beside the bench shivered, leaves trembling gently. No wind stirred the air. You leaned closer, squinting, as the rustling came again, more insistent now. A tiny, pearlescent paw poked out, followed by a puff of fur so impossibly white it seemed spun from moonlight. Your heart squeezed... A kitten!  

“Hi, baby,” you cooed, crouching low, your dress pooling around you like melted sunshine. The creature crept forward, and- oh.  

This was no ordinary kitten.  

Snow-leopard cubs weren’t exactly part of Tokyo’s urban wildlife, but there he was: a miniature king of the mountains, his fur a tapestry of charcoal rosettes and ivory silk. His paws were comically oversized, velvety pads as pink as bubblegum, and his tail, thick and banded with shadow, swished with mischief. But it was his eyes that stole your breath: twin pools of Arctic cerulean, glowing with an almost otherworldly intelligence. They locked onto yours, unblinking, as he toddled closer, his little nose twitching at your pastry.  

“Hungry, huh?” you giggled, breaking off a crumb. He lunged, a blur of fur and enthusiasm, snatching the treat from your fingers with a tiny mrowp! “Hey!” you gasped, but the scolding died in your throat as he flopped onto his back, the stolen prize clutched between his paws. His belly was fluffier than a ball of sugary mochi, and when he purred, it sounded like a tiny motorboat.  

“You’re a little thief,” you murmured, scritching the soft fur beneath his chin. His purrs vibrated, and he nuzzled your hand, his pink tongue rasping against your thumb. That’s when you felt it, a slim ribbon of leather around his throat. A collar? You coaxed him onto your lap, heart hammering as you traced the tiny tag.  

Satoru, it read, in curlicue letters.  

A human name for this definitely not-human creature. Your thumb brushed the tag again, half-expecting it to vanish like a dream. But Satoru merely chirruped, batting a paw at your hair, his claws sheathed. He reeked of wet grass and mischief, but also… loneliness? You glanced around. No frantic owners in sight, no posters pleading for a lost cub. Just you, this mysterious little being, and the sudden, unshakable sense that fate had dropped him into your path.  

Finders keepers, right?

“Alright, Satoru,” you sighed, bundling him against your chest. He curled instinctively into the warmth, his nose tucked into the dip in your collarbone. “You’re coming home with me.”  

The train ride was a blur of whispered coos and stealthy cuddles. Satoru slept the entire way, a living, breathing heat pad, his paws kneading your cardigan into a doughy mess. By the time you reached your apartment, he’d claimed you as his personal pillow, his purrs vibrating through your ribs. You deposited him gently on your bed, a nest of floral quilts and plushies, and watched, smitten, as he stretched, his tiny claws catching the sunlight.  

“Mama’s gonna kill me if she finds you,” you whispered, smoothing a thumb between his ears. He blinked up at you, those galaxy-blue eyes crinkling with what could only be… smugness?  

No, that was silly. 

The Great Bath Incident™ began, as most disasters do, with way too much optimism.  

Two days. Two days of Satoru’s reign of terror had left your apartment smelling like grass and dirt. His fur, once as pristine as freshly fallen snow, now resembled a dust mop dragged through a dusty corner of your living room. He’d rolled in something unspeakable during his 3 a.m. zoomies, something that clung to him like a vengeful ghost and made your nose crinkle every time he trotted past.  

“Okay, baby,” you announced, scooping him off the windowsill where he’d been sunbathing like a tiny, furry emperor. “Spa day.”  

Satoru’s ears flattened. His light azure eyes widened into saucers, pupils dilating with betrayal.  

“Mrrrp?”  

“Yes, mrrow,” you said firmly, marching him to the bathroom. “You reek of dirt and tuna.”  

The bath itself was… a spectacle.  

You’d prepared meticulously: hypoallergenic honey-scented shampoo (the fancy kind for “sensitive babies,” according to the label), a stack of baby pink Hello kitty towels warmed in the dryer, and a rubber ducky you’d impulsively bought because look at his face, how could you not? Satoru took one glance at the filled tub, hissed like a deflating balloon, and attempted a gravity-defying backflip out of your arms.  

“Nuh uh! No escaping!” You wrestled him gently into the water, his paws slapping the surface in protest. Bubbles foamed around him as he yowled pitifully, his tail thrashing like a fluffy whip. “You’re fine-it’s warm, see? Warm!”  

He was not convinced.  

Satoru transformed into a soggy gremlin, all claws and drama, splashing enough water to water a small farm. His squeaky protests echoed off the tiles, a bomb of bratty chirps and growls that somehow still sounded way too adorable. You couldn’t help but giggle as he tried (and failed) to scale your Miffy shower curtain, his soapy paws slipping comically.  

“You’re such a baby,” you cooed, scrubbing between his ears. His fur lathered into a marshmallow fluff, revealing the striking black rosettes beneath the grime. “Look how pretty you are! So handsome! Yes, you!”  

He paused mid-squirm, tilting his head at your praise. His whiskers twitched.  

“…Prrt?”  

“Very handsome,” you confirmed, booping his cute little nose. “The handsomest little snow boy in all of Tokyo- hell, the world.”  

Satoru looked way too full of himself, his tantrum momentarily forgotten. He allowed you to rinse him, though not without a few half-hearted swats at the showerhead. By the time you reached for the heated towel, he’d morphed into a docile little loaf, his fur gleaming like spun sugar.  

“All done!” you chirped, turning to grab the towel-  

Sploosh.  

A sound like a wet mop hitting the floor.  

You froze.  

Then came the drip-drip-drip of water, the creak of the tub, and-  

“Ahem.”  

A voice.  

A human voice.  

Deep. Smug. Somehow familiar.  

Your spine went rigid. Slowly, so slowly, you turned.  

There, lounging in your now half-empty tub like a pampered sultan, was a man.  

A naked man.  

A gloriously, infuriatingly beautiful naked man.  

Your brain paused.  

He was all lean muscle and snow-white skin, his physique carved so sharply, it made your cheeks burn up, heart race fast. Damp white hair clung to his forehead, framing a face that belonged on a Renaissance painting, sharp jawline, pink, plush lips quirked in a smirk, his strong neck held a baby blue leather collar, and eyes… Oh.  

Eyes like glacial lakes, bright and bottomless, flecked with starlight. Satoru’s eyes.  

Your gaze darted higher.  

Oh no.  

White ears twitched atop his head, velvety and tipped with ink-black fur. Behind him, a tail as thick as your thigh swayed lazily, its leopard-like rosettes glistening.  

“Hey,” the man purred, resting his chin on the tub’s edge. His voice dripped with mischief. “What’s up?”  

You screamed.  

Not a dignified scream. A full-throttle, horror-movie-worthy screech that rattled your strawberry mint toothpaste tube off the sink.  

“Wh-WHAT?! WHO-HOW-”  

He blinked innocently, tail swishing. “Aw, c’mon, princess. You’ve been calling me ‘handsome’ and ‘baby’ for days. Don’t act shy now.” His voice was all smooth, like honey, but so mischievous-like, you felt way too many emotions.  

Your face combusted. “THAT WAS FOR A CAT!”  

“And yet here I am.” He stretched, water sloshing as he raised his arms above his head, displaying a torso that could’ve been chiseled by Michelangelo. His underarms bore fluffy white hair, the amount of hair only a grown man could have. “Better than a cat, right?”  

You hurled the pink towel at his face.  

He caught it effortlessly, grinning with a flash of faintly pointed canines. “Feisty! I like it.” Wrapping the towel around his hips (thank God), he rose from the tub, droplets cascading down his- Nope. Don’t look. Don’t you dare look. 

You looked.

His lower half was… Wow. His abs were more defined when he stood, a fluff of white hair ran down his belly button, you could see the outline of his hung dick through Hello Kitty’s bow, and you felt blood rush, fast. You wanted to pass out, wake up to your baby, not some hot dude! 

“S-Satoru?!” you squeaked, scrambling backward until your spine hit the door.  

“The one and only!” He winked, flicking a wet ear. “Thanks for the bath, by the way. And the gourmet lamb chops. And the snuggles.” His tail curled playfully. “You’re a way better pillow than my last owner.”  

Your mind reeled. The all-night zoomies. The picky eating. The smugness. It all clicked into place like a cursed jigsaw puzzle.  

“You-you’ve been a human this whole time?!”  

“Hybrid,” he corrected, leaning against the sink with infuriating casualness. “Snow leopard genes, human charm. Cute, right?” He flashed human jazz hands, claws retracted.  

You gaped. “Cute?! You destroyed my Miffy lamp! You jumped on my boobs!”  

“Hey, you’re the one who kept cuddling me while you slept.” He smirked, stepping closer. His tail brushed your ankle, impossibly soft, annoyingly wet. “Not that I minded. You’re really warm, and man, your tits are soft as-”  

Your face flamed. “OUT. Get out of my bathroom! Put on clothes! Explain yourself!”  

Satoru chuckled, low and rumbling-a sound that vibrated straight through your bones. “Don’t got any, smarty pants.”

You lunged for the door handle. He was faster.  

A big, human hand (warm, genuinely huge) pressed the door shut above your head, caging you in. His scent enveloped you, honey shampoo, snowfall, something wild and electric.  

“Relax,” he murmured, leaning down until his nose nearly brushed yours. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Unless…” His gaze dropped to your pillowy lips. “…you want me to.”  His breath was minty, smelling of the kitty toothpaste you rubbed those fangs clean with a few minutes ago.

Your breath hitched. “Wh-”  

Ding-dong!  

The doorbell rang.  

Satoru’s ears pricked. “Expecting someone?”  

Your blood turned to ice.  

“…Mama.”  

His smirk vanished. “Shit.”

End, for now. Hehe.

Whoop! That was fun, I love snow leopard Gojo, he's so… Ugh, need him. Of course, will be continuing, want to lean this into a smutty fic, so stay with me! I'm super busy with my classes but I’ll try to upload asap! Also, I see reader as 18-21, or higher if you think of grad school or whatever. Satoru’s his 29-year-old self!

[meinii]

“I will always find my way back to you”

summary: you and dragon Sylus in the fields, just playing and reassuring each other

content: fluff, ♡dragon sylus♡

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

the fields stretched endlessly before them, golden with wildflowers swaying in the breeze, the scent of earth and blossoms weaving into the crisp afternoon air.

the sky above was a vast, unbroken blue, untouched by the judgment of men or the cruelty of fate

here, in this forgotten place, there were no priests whispering of curses, no warriors sharpening their blades to hunt monsters

here, it was just the two of you.

you laughed as you ran through the flowers, brushing your hands over their soft petals, feeling the sun warm your skin.

the wind played with your hair, and for a moment, it was easy to believe that the world was kind. that you weren’t someone meant to die. that Sylus wasn’t someone meant to be chained in it forever.

behind you, a deep, rumbling chuckle filled the air as Sylus followed at a slower pace—his horns gleaming in the sunlight, his silver hair tousled by the wind, his sharp crimson eyes fixed on you

“you’re enjoying yourself too much” he remarked, his voice carrying amusement

you turned to face him, hands on your hips “you say that like it’s a bad thing”

he arched a brow, a smirk playing on his lips “I suppose not. but you look ridiculous.”

you gasped in mock offense, picking up a handful of petals and tossing them at him “you’re just jealous because I’m faster than you”

his smirk widened, something dangerous glinting in his gaze, “Is that so?”

before you could react, he surged forward, his speed inhuman.

you barely had time to turn before his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up off the ground

a startled laugh burst from your lips as he spun you around, holding you effortlessly

“say that again” he challenged, his voice low against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine

“I take it back! I take it back!”

you laughed, wriggling in his grasp, but he only held you tighter, his warmth seeping into you

he finally set you down, but his hands lingered at your waist, his touch firm yet careful. when you looked up at him, the mischief in his expression had softened, replaced by something else

something deeper.

the two of you stood there in the field, the wind whispering around you, the world forgotten beyond this moment. his hands traced slow, absent patterns against your sides, and your fingers curled around his wrists, feeling the pulse beneath his skin.

“Sylus…” you murmured his name without thinking, but he hummed in response, his eyes never leaving yours

“I’ve never seen you this happy before” he said quietly

you swallowed, feeling your heart tighten “because I’ve never had a reason to be”

he exhaled through his nose, his hold on you tightening just slightly. his expression darkened—not in anger, but in the way he always did when reminded of what the world had done to you. to him.

“to think,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, “the whole world believes we should be enemies”

you smiled faintly “and yet, I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here with you.”

he stilled at your words, his fingers pressing into your skin just a little harder, as if grounding himself in the moment.

his gaze flickered, something shifting behind his crimson irises—something vulnerable, raw.

a long silence stretched between you, neither of you moving. then, slowly, he lifted a hand, cupping the side of your face. his clawed fingers were careful against your skin, as if afraid you might break

“I used to dream of this,” he admitted, his voice quieter now “not the field. not the sun. just… not being alone”

you leaned into his touch, your eyes searching his

“you’re not alone anymore.”

a slow exhale left him, and his forehead came to rest against yours

“say that again”

you smiled “you’re not alone anymore, Sylus”

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. his heartbeat was steady, deep and strong, and you closed your eyes, breathing him in

no matter what the prophecies said.

no matter what fate was holding for you.

no matter how the world saw him, how they saw you.

you weren’t letting go.

his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from everything beyond this moment.

you felt the sharp points of his claws ghost against your back as he held you tighter.

his voice was almost a whisper when he finally spoke again

“promise me.”

you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting against his chest

“promise you what?”

his eyes burned into yours, something desperate lingering in the depths of his crimson irises

“that no matter what happens, no matter who tries to keep us apart, you’ll stay with me”

your heart clenched, you knew what he was asking

you knew the weight of those words, the shadows of the prophecy that loomed over you both

and you also knew your answer.

you reached up, threading your fingers into his silver hair, pulling him closer

“I swear it,” you whispered “I will always find my way back to you”

something in him shattered, you saw it in his eyes before he kissed you

it wasn’t rushed, nor was it desperate

it was deep, slow, unbreakable.

his lips moved against yours as if sealing the promise between you, branding it into existence

his arms caged you against him, and your fingers curled against his shirt, holding him just as fiercely.

when he finally pulled away, his breath was heavy, his gaze laced with something tender yet unyielding

“then I swear it too,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours once more

“no matter what, I will always be yours.”

the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the fields in gold and crimson, but you and Sylus remained, wrapped in each other, wrapped in a promise that even fate itself could not break

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (7)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: mentions of murder, fire, death, knives, blood, loss of parents, fever, betrayal; injuries; grief; self-loathing; crying; heavy revelations; tension

Author’s Note: Omg I'm over 50k into this story, I can’t believe it lol. I'm actually proud of myself. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The collections of brilliant greens and golden blossoms are spread out before you. The merge of all the wildflowers and herbs is sharp with pine and earth and mint and honey-like. Invigorating.

You kneel on a patch of mossy ground near the campfire. Bucky had lit it the second you got back. The fire is crackling.

Pine needles shimmer faintly with dew, their resinous tang sharp in your nose. Feverfew with its delicate flowers nestle beside clusters of clover blooms, their soft pink petals almost luminous in the flecked sunlight.

Contemplating with what you are going to begin, you run your fingers across goldenrod stems, their tiny mustard-colored buds crumbling slightly under your touch. The medicinal scent of yarrow stands proud among the rest.

The familiar smells and colors again bring echoes of your mother’s voice from the palace gardens. Patient and gentle as she taught you the properties of each plant.

The pale leaves of Lily’s Balm feel waxy on your fingers. They are good for soothing inflamed wounds and drawing out heat from infection. Feverfew against his overheated skin, lowering the fever, its green frilled edges so delicate and lace-like. Wild mint will ease his breathing and calm his body. Clover blooms for their gentle healing abilities. Yarrow and Goldenrod, both strong bases, to slow his bleeding. Wild thyme to cleanse, and pine, sticky with resin, pungent and purifying.

You exhale slowly, deliberately dragging air through your lungs. This is your time to be useful. To actually do something other than dwell in your sorrows and the losses you had to endure.

Bucky is slightly hovering in your line of vision. He is silent. But you don’t like him walking and shuffling around the way he does while the fever sweat hangs onto his brows and the freshly stained blood lingers on his shirt. It makes you queasy. You don’t know if he hid his injury due to oversight or simple stubbornness, but either way, he should not walk around like that.

“You should sit down,” you tell him while beginning to strip the yarrow leaves from their stems.

He doesn’t answer right away, so you glance up. He stands there stubbornly arms crossed over his chest, looking right back at you with a guarded expression. Though he definitely looks paler than he should be. And you avoid looking at the blood stain on purpose.

“M’ fine,” he grumbles, brushing you off. And before you get to an answer, he continues. “Your side,” he counters, voice gravelly. “Let me check it first.”

“I am not the one bleeding.”

His lips purse. “You callin’ me color blind, darlin’? I know what I'm seein’. That’s definitely red there.”

Well, maybe you did bleed through Bucky’s bandage, but that will have to wait.

“We can get to that later.”

Bucky takes a step closer, shadows flickering across his face from the low fire. “Princess-”

“No. Now sit,” you instruct, cutting him off and surprising even yourself with your tone.

Bucky is silent for a beat. You hear him shifting but stay focused on your herbs. “You tellin’ me what to do now, princess?” There is a sparkle of amusement in his voice and in the tug of the corner of his mouth.

Briefly glancing back at him, you meet his eyes with a steadiness you don’t quite feel. “No,” you tell him. “I am telling you I would not know what to do if you passed out.”

He scoffs, clearly offended by the suggestion. “Gonna take more than that to knock me out, darlin’.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “Humor me?”

He watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing, trying to decide whether to argue further. But then he relents with a low huff, lowering himself onto a flat rock by the fire basically in front of you. The movement is slow and you catch the wince he tries to hide. But he looks more relaxed sitting down.

Satisfied, you turn back to your work. The yarrow leaves are crunched between your fingers. Their pungent smell rises while you release the healing oils from the leaves and add them to a small tin cup filled with clean water from the stream.

The goldenrod comes next. The yellow of the flowers vivid against the darker-turning liquid.

Furrowing your brow slightly, you swirl your head around to look for something that might help you prepare and stir the herbs. And then you remember. Hurriedly, you get up and walk over to the discarded cloak, the one you had laid over Bucky in his sleep. There’s something safely tucked inside that you can use at the moment.

It’s a dagger. It’s not as lengthy as Bucky’s, but it is enough. You took it from the fight. Obviously, it is not the very same one you picked up to throw at Rumlow, because that one is likely still buried in his body, but you found it lying on the ground and picked it up.

You just did not find something useful to do with it. Until now.

You walk back to the herbs and Bucky at the fire.

Since Bucky’s gaze followed you, he catches sight of the blade immediately and looks up at you in surprise. “You kept that?”

Not looking back at him, you settle down and focus on slicing the leaves of Lily’s Balm into thin ribbons. “Didn’t know whether I would have to save your life again,” you quip.

You don’t know where that came from. Perhaps having a real purpose for once is making you regain something akin to confidence.

The sound that follows though, startles you. It’s a laugh. Bucky’s laugh. Sudden and loud and gruff, lifting somewhere far within his chest. It’s so unbridled, stemming from surprise. And it is utterly captivating. It makes your hands halt. Never have you heard him laugh before. Really laugh. Not like this. You are entranced. The sound floats for a while and you never want it to stop. It makes his voice to a soft glow of mirth.

You stare at him, half amazed, half in disbelief.

But he isn’t even looking at you. His head is tilted to the ground, shaking. He’s still chuckling to himself. Lips pulled into a wide grin. “Aren’t you full of surprises, darlin’.”

You watch him for a few seconds longer. The corners of your mouth lift and there is nothing you can do to stop them. “I am glad that this is entertaining for you.”

Turning back to the leaves, you try to calm the fast pace of your heart. The blade slices cleanly through the stems and leaves. But you can’t really focus on that. The shake of Bucky’s shoulders in a silent laugh catches your vision. His laughter keeps ringing in your mind. And you still want to hear it again.

Pine resin is sticky on your skin, the sap gleaming amber in the sunlight. You crush the prepared leaves into the dark liquor and mix it into a fine paste, adding the pine resin to create a thick, fragrant balm. The yarrow adds a cooling element, its sharp scent cutting through the heavier tones. It is perfect to stop the bleeding and prevent infection.

You take a quick glance over at Bucky. His head is bowed, forearms resting on his knees, but his eyes are fixed on you, sharp despite his fever. There is something quiet in the way he watches you. Astonishment. Curiosity.

“Where did you learn that?” he speaks up quietly, as if using a normal voice would disturb something intimate. There is something about the way he uses his voice and winds his tone, that almost makes you believe he is admiring what you are doing. As if this is a wonder.

You don’t look up at him, hoping he won’t notice the slight flinch in your fingers. Or the pang in your chest. “My mother taught me.” Your voice is even quieter than his has been.

He doesn’t say more. Perhaps he doesn’t even have to see the pang in your chest. He heard it in your voice.

You start the second tincture, the one for him to drink. Feverfew, wild thyme, clover blooms, and wild mint. Combined they will help ease his fever and cleanse his body.

Your hands almost move on their own, preparing the leaves. On instinct. It feels unexpected. But it makes you realize just how important those moments with your mother really were to you. And now they turn so monumental, it makes your chest close in on itself. You carry this from your old world. Something useful. Something that has survived of her even if everything else now lays in ruins.

Your breath trembles on the cusp of grief. But you get a hold of it.

Another glance over at Bucky makes something cold skate down your back, leaving a trail of tension.

Sweat accumulates again on his forehead despite the coolness of the forest. His lips are pressed together. The bloodstain on his right shoulder has again spread further than you hoped, darkening the brown leather of his armor. His fever is climbing. That’s not good.

You rush through the second tincture, mixing everything in water again and heating it over the fire at the same time. The liquor is thick and green with a sharp scent. Carefully, you pour it into another small tin cup, making sure it’s not too hot for him to drink.

Rising, you cross the short distance to him and crouch down again.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks immediately, eying it warily.

“It will help you relax and lower the fever,” you assure him gently. “Drink it.”

He leans forward slightly, skepticism written all over his face. He grimaces faintly at the smell and you have to hold back an amused smile. For a man like him, he surely acts like a diva.

“You sure you’re not tryin’a poison me, darlin’?” he drawls, humor winding through his words. However, if you’re not wrong, you can detect a hint of nervousness.

It makes your heart sink but you manage to play lightly, rolling your eyes. “You are the reason I am alive, so I am pretty sure poisoning you would be counterproductive.”

His brows inch upward as he looks at you with an unreadable, but intense expression. With a deep sigh, he then takes the cup from your hands and downs it in one swift motion. His face twists with disgust and he swipes the back of his hand against his lips, releasing a cough. “Tastes like dirt,” he rasps.

Biting back a smile, you get up to retrieve the balm for his wound. “I think you will live.”

You watch him set down the cup with a heavy sigh, the lines of his face softening.

“You don’t gotta do this, darlin’.”

“You have done it for me,” you retort, walking back over to him and kneeling down. This time with the tin cup holding the balm for his wound.

Bucky lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head at your stubbornness. He watches you with intrigued eyes. But there still is that nervousness surrounding him.

“Let me see,” you request, almost timidly, but willing strength into your voice.

He shifts where he sits on the rock, clearly uncomfortable with the request. His jaw is hard. Muscles are tense beneath the bloodied remains of his shirt.

“You are still bleeding,” you acknowledge more firmly. “Take it off.”

His brows rise at your sudden authority, but there is amusement in the motion. A smirk curves his lips despite himself. He doesn’t make a move to do what you say though.

“Gettin’ a little too bossy there, for my likin’, princess,” he teases, each word dripping with sly delight.

“Bucky.” Your tone turns soft again, but your resolve remains firm. His shoulder is worrying you. “Please.”

After a tense moment of quiet, he drags out a long and sharp breath through his nose and straightens up. With a grimace, he slowly shrugs off his brown armor. His shirt underneath is sticking to his torso, dark with sweat and dried but also fresh blood.

You swallow hard as he peels the fabric away from his shoulder, revealing a part of the wound he’s been keeping to himself.

The gash extends out from his shoulder and dips slightly towards his upper chest. It’s an arc of torn and angry flesh. A mass of swelling blood crusts around the edges under a layer of sweat, laying a dreary tapestry of red and brown on the skin below. It looks puckered and bumpy, suggesting that the blade that pierced him must have been of serrated or distorted nature upon impact.

You might have stared at it a second too long because Bucky lets out an uncomfortable cough.

“Lucky swing,” he says tersely, to make this a little less awkward. It does not quite work out, because now you are staring at his face oddly. To you, this does not look like someone got lucky, considering the fact that the man responsible for this is dead now and Bucky has to carry this around.

But what snaps your attention back to the wound is the heat you feel radiating off it. And it confirms what you already suspected - infection is setting in. The skin around the wound is inflamed, making it glisten ominously.

However, what makes your hands tremble lightly in discomfort is the fact that you won’t be able to access every part of that gash with his shirt on.

“You, uhm-” you start nervously, unsure of how he will react. “I am going to need you to take your shirt off as well.”

He stares at you.

“I will not be able to reach everything like this,” you explain, still timid.

He sighs, dropping his head a fraction, before slowly starting to peel his shirt off. He winces with the movements of his arms, fabric tugging against drying blood.

The full extent of his wound looks even uglier. You try your best to ignore the pale lines of violence scattered across his skin, especially his other shoulder - the scars you caught glimpses of at the river. Your gaze quickly moves to the flesh injury.

You don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. Well, not more than he already seems to be.

“Lean back for me,” you instruct, not wanting to waste more time, but keeping your voice kind.

There definitely is something surreal about telling Bucky what to do. You’ve been doing that basically your whole life - giving instructions and following the ones you’ve been told by people higher than you - but with Bucky, it feels different. The words taste odd in your mouth.

Bucky hesitates. His lips press into a thin line and he eyes the tin cup gloomily. He looks as though he might argue but then he thinks better of it. Reluctantly, he shifts his weight and braces himself against a tree behind him.

You dip your fingers into the balm, the cool, thick paste sticking to your skin. Bucky watches you, his whole body full of tension. A tremor passes through his throat as he forces a breath past the lump there.

He is not used to this. To being cared for in this way, to having someone’s full attention on his pain. That much is clear.

“This might sting,” you warn, voice quiet.

He grunts.

Steeling yourself, you let your hand hover over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

He grunts again, giving you a tight nod. You try to ignore the way he watches you. He seems to be bracing for more than the sting of the tincture.

Warming the balm between your fingers, you press it gently against the torn flesh. The scent of the wild herbs is strong in the air.

Bucky goes incredibly rigid. His breath hitches sharply. His eyes flash for a fraction of a second before settling into a void you can’t decode.

Even the forest around you seems quieter while you spread the self-made lotion on his shoulder. You are precise in your sweeps, careful not to meet any of his skin that doesn’t need your touch.

The more you work, the steadier he gets. He doesn’t make a sound, but the discomfort doesn’t entirely leave his body. Discomfort of pain or vulnerability, you can’t tell. Probably both. His hands are clenched into loose fists at his sides. But you do notice the few relieved sighs he lets slip unintentionally after a few swipes over his skin.

The wound resists at first, but you move your fingers with patience and caution, in even strokes. Quickly, the ointment begins to calm the irritated areas, drawing out some of the heat.

Bucky’s chest rises in a deep inhale against your fingers and you avoid the almost magnetic pull his piercing eyes have on you. He watches you so intently, all you can do is to keep your gaze on your task and resist whatever heat simmers in his stare.

The herbs already seem to ease the swelling a little bit and you are confident that they will stave off the infection. It makes you breathe easier, despite the intimacy of your current situation. You’re so close to him, asking so much of him, and with every careful sweep across his torn skin, you are getting more aware of it.

Then, without warning, one of his hands reaches up and wraps around your wrist gently. Making you still mid-motion.

“Stop,” he says quietly, his voice rough but not unkind.

You freeze startled, blinking at him. “What?”

“Keep some of that for yourself,” he insists, slowly pulling your hand away from his shoulder. “You need it.”

You take a moment to consider what he even means. Then, you shake your head. “I do not-”

“You don’t wanna argue with me, darlin’. Keep the rest for yourself,” he repeats, more sternly this time. His eyes darken into something bordering on concern.

You stare at him. And then you don’t. Eyes going to his now-covered wound, and the tin cup in your hand that still holds some of the paste you made.

Biting pressure makes your heart seem to seize.

You didn’t even consider using the balm for yourself. Your side is still stinging. The bandage is still red with blood. But you did not spare it a single thought. Did not think about caring for it in the way you did for Bucky’s wound.

Every leaf, every petal, every drop of resin has been meant for him. The idea of keeping any for your own wound has never so much as crossed your mind. You haven’t thought about it consciously, but now it is glaringly obvious. You would use every last drop of the balm for him without hesitation. There’s something wrong about that, something you dislike confessing even to yourself.

Bucky is still watching you with his brows drawn together. He nods toward the tin cup in your hand but keeps his eyes on you. “If you knew how to do that the whole time, then why don’t do it earlier? For yourself?”

You take a pause. His hand is still warm around your wrist, basically lying on his lap. Sharp eyes are gauging your reaction.

“I just- It did not come to my mind,” you admit, shaking your head dismissively. “But it is of little consequence now.”

His expression is hard. Not the kind of hard you knew his features to hold when you met him. It’s not meant for you directly. But it still is there because of you, because of the way you think. His jaw shifts, muscles moving in tense vibrations, grappling with words he isn’t sure he should say. “That’s bullshit,” he voices with a stiffness in his tone.

The blunt language of this man is an insult on its own. But the meaning of his words still hit you.

A shaky breath falls from your lips.

Never once have you thought of soothing the pain of your own conscience or making a balm for yourself.

Your side has ached, the wound pulsing and throbbing and hurting, but it faded to insignificance as soon as you saw the streaks of sweat trickling from him and the blood blooming across his shirt. Every instinct has driven you to help him.

And why? Because you somehow deserve the agony, don’t you? The thought is bitter in your chest. You don’t believe you deserve the care, the relief of healing herbs, the preservation of your own body.

You haven’t been of use to him, needing his protection at every waking moment. You killed a man. You failed to stay out of harm’s way like Bucky had told you to. That’s what got you injured in the first place. Stupid girl.

It is shameful to think of how invulnerable you have thought him to be. You relied on him so utterly, so selfishly, leaned on him without a care in the world, and laid all your troubles upon his already burdened shoulders. How many times did you assume he is untouchable, indestructible? And now here he is, bleeding, just like everybody else, and keeping it to himself. Because you haven’t been enough.

This is your fault. You relied on him too much, demanded too much, not even considering the toll.

Darkness engulfs those thoughts.

Your throat feels bound. Your heart works in stuttered pauses. Breathing doesn’t feel like relief. Swallowing doesn’t drag down the tide of self-loathing making its way up your spine.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against your pulse and it snaps your attention right back to him. You pull away from his hold and he releases your wrist immediately. Though his hand retreats to his side rather slowly.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’, don’t” he states rather calmly but somehow still so intensely. His voice is so low it seems to be scraping against something hard.

You meet his eyes then. They are insistent. Resolved. Sharp. They make you attempt another try to gulp down the knot in your throat but it doesn’t work.

“What?” you ask weakly.

His persistent eyes remain fixed on you. “I know that look. Stop it.”

A choking sensation cinches tight around your throat. It is strangling and stifling and makes you want to turn away. But he somehow manages to keep you on the spot.

“I-”

“Don’t,” repeats, softer this time. His hand twitches at his side and he takes a quick glance at the quiver in your own fingers. “This isn’t on you, got it?” His voice is rough with conviction, so fierce.

His gaze still is so relentlessly focused on you to get his point across.

It makes you want to vomit. His words push against the very flimsy barrier of defenses that you have constructed around your guilt. He sees right through it. His gaze makes it see-through. Ineffective. Worthless. Fruitless. Just like how you feel.

“It is not about that,” you try to defend yourself, but it comes out with a frail voice.

“Yeah, it is,” he maintains. “Whatever you’re punishin’ yourself for. Stop. It ain’t gonna get you nowhere.”

The tension in your shoulders doesn’t fully ebb, but something grows warmer around you.

Letting out a long, reluctant sigh, you let your shoulders slump with surrender. Bucky’s gaze softens, something like gratitude crossing his face.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he says quietly, his voice sincere and grounding. “For this.” There is no bravado, just a genuine gratefulness.

You shake your head, heat flooding your features. Your knees ache when you shift and the pain in your side kicks in again.

Bucky stands up slowly and his expression shifts, something resolute settling in his features. “Now,” he announces. “Let me help you with that.”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden change in his tone.

“You don’t-”

He cuts you off with a raised brow and a gesture that brings back his commanding nature. “Sit down,” he orders, pointing you to the stone he sat on moments before. “And better do it now. Because that’s not lookin’ too good.” He throws a concerned look at the tear in your dress that reveals the bloodied dressing he put on.

You open your mouth but his eyes are authoritative enough. You stand up, only to reluctantly sit down again on the very same rock he’s been sitting on. You calculate your movements, to not show him how painful it actually is.

“You always interrupt me. That is not very nice,” you exclaime, perhaps to make his attention on you waver, or just to throw him off with another topic and distract you or him from what he is going to do. Or maybe you should really be annoyed at the way he doesn’t let you finish speaking. But somehow him constantly interrupting you even feels endearing in some kind of way you can’t explain, considering the fact that he only ever does it when he knows he won’t like the words coming from your mouth. Maybe because you tend to talk yourself small.

Bucky’s lips quirk into that maddeningly amused smirk as he takes the tin cup out of your hands. “Not used to people interruptin’ you, princess?” The title carries no cruelty, only an enjoyable warmth that causes a tingling sensation on your skin.

You huff. “Well, I am getting used to it now,” you grumble.

And there it is again. The sound that has caught you off guard before. That laugh. Full-bodied, sonorous, and so utterly disarming in its power over you. It makes its way into your chest. His head is tipped slightly backward, exposing faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

You find yourself staring breathlessly. It’s a sound so human, so rare, so special, that you wish you could bottle it up and keep it safe.

You’re mesmerized by the perfect way his teeth are gleaming at his wide grin.

He catches your gaze and you quickly avert your own, neck turning hot.

Bucky shakes his head, an amused look on his face he obviously tries to stifle. “Come on. You made me listen. Now it’s your turn.”

You sigh, while Bucky moves closer to you in a crouched position. His eyes move to your side and his expression shifts to something far more serious.

“Let me see,” he orders, tone gentle, but somehow not meant to go against it.

The weariness in your body wins out. Or rather, his voice wins out. You pull apart the torn pieces of your dress to give him enough access to the makeshift bandage wrapped around your side. His brow furrows as he takes it in.

“You should’ve said somethin’,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself somehow.

“I was otherwise occupied.”

He snorts, clearly unimpressed with your lame excuse. “Bein’ the stubborn girl you are.”

“Do you feel a change yet? Is the fever going down?”you inquire after a beat.

“You tryin’a distract me, princess?” he hums with amusement. His lip tugs upward lightly.

“I might.” You guess, you can't directly tell him you're genuinely concerned about whether he's feeling any better yet. He certainly appears better, however. He ceased sweating, his eyes are focused and his actions are more precise than before. It causes you to inhale deeply. A sigh that is full of relief.

Bucky breathes out a small laugh. “Don’t know what it is that you did there exactly, but it worked,” he acknowledges with a lighter voice. There is something like disbelief in his tone. Delight. Appreciation. That tiny hint of admiration that seems grow an inch or two.

You watch him carefully remove the fabric around your wound, to look at the injury beneath it. His brows immediately cease together tightly. Tension draws along the lines of his face, knotting his jaw. His face is hard again.

He doesn’t waste time, dipping his fingers into the salve you prepared, the thick paste now covering his calloused fingertips. His other hand brushes against your soft skin as he rather unnecessarily helps you peel back the fabric of your dress on your side.

His other hand moves to your gash so slowly, reverent almost. The first touch to your wound makes you hiss through your teeth and he lets you adjust to the feeling before spreading it around gingerly.

Blue eyes glance up to your face, watching closely for any sign of discomfort as his fingers move over your side, slowing his pace, when he sees your brows twitch, and your breath hitch.

The light of the day shimmers faintly against the angry red margins of your wound getting deliberately covered by the dark paste.

The trail of the many intertwined scents goes for your nose, mingling with faint metallic tangs of blood.

The mixture tingles against your skin, cooling and soothing the angry redness.

It’s a distraction from the fact that he hasn’t bothered to put his shirt back on.

He’s still shirtless.

The forest air kisses bare flesh. The light brings a glimmer of sweat to stand out like bronze, bringing to life the scars and distortions of his muscles. You try and tear your gaze away, dizzy with heat as it spreads over your neck and cheeks, but curiosity is what pulls your eyes back.

He is so very close in front of you. You basically see everything. Each of those lines across his naked chest and shoulders has its own tale you are sure you will never be told. You look away again, but your gaze goes hopping back.

He’s so mesmerizing in every way. He was bleeding in front of you just a moment before, but he still looks so strong. So bulky, despite the fact that he can’t eat much out here and keep his muscles trained because he has to keep an eye on you.

“You’re starin’,” he remarks quietly, not looking up. Fixed on applying the ointment.

The next beat of your heart skips. “I was not-”

“You were,” he confirms, though his tone isn’t accusing. It’s rather light. Lighter than you would have imagined. Amusement underlines his statement.

You bite your cheek, seeking to say something. “I was just thinking,” you mumble, half-heartedly attempting a defense.

“That right?” Soft and subtle humor winds around his tone. He doesn’t glance up, still thoroughly smearing more of the balm over your skin, respecting your reactions. Concentration on his features.

Silence hangs in the air, only interrupted by the rustle of clumps of leaves and a softly wafting breeze.

You hesitate. Your heart gallops in your ears. You tentatively nod at the tin cup in his hand. “Maybe this might help with your scars?” you ask, voice so soft, they almost turn into a whisper. Your fingers are clammy. It’s a feeble question.

Bucky’s hand stills. For a moment, you think he might pull away, but he does not. His finger continues to sweep but a shadow of thought passes over his face. It is not hostile. Not repelling. Just contemplative. Maybe a little surprised.

Then, there is a faint shake of his head. “They don’t hurt anymore,” he says finally. There is a subtle thickness to his voice. But he seems to have control over it.

“We could try,” you say quietly, almost in a hopeful way. So full of good intention, it makes Bucky freeze again.

He huffs out a tiny and gasping laugh. It reaches your collarbone, grazing it faintly. His head drops as though it has become too heavy for him momentarily.

“It won’t work, darlin’.” He says it so softly. Carrying an almost apologetic tone, sympathy wringing his voice dry. His thumb lightly swipes over your skin right above where the wound sits as if it is you who needs the grounding.

Your eyes move to the forest floor. There is a stillness in the air between you, unsaid things hovering in the void. The only sound is the fire crackling undisturbed.

The balm is starting to cover your wound, fragrant with mint and resin, its healing properties also somehow meant for wounds deeper than skin.

The firelight dances across his scars, making them look almost alive. Like memories etched too deep to fade.

Timidly, your quiet voice breaks the silence. “How long?”

Bucky’s brows twitch further together, lips pressing into a thin line. He watches his fingers move over your skin. You see the glimmer of reluctance in his eyes, the internal debate waging behind them.

You immediately regret asking. “You do not have to answer that,” you rush to say. “I apologize for asking.”

He exhales slowly, a sigh heavy with something unnamable rising and falling with his chest. After a long, deliberate pause, his voice is almost indifferent. “Five years.”

The simple answer hits you harder than expected. Five years. A timeline begins forming in your mind, grim shadows stretching across those years - the kind of scars that can’t always be seen.

Your back tightens as a cold shiver winds through you.

Five years. You find it hard to process. Five years of carrying whatever - whoever - has carved those scars into his body.

“You were a soldier,” you express quietly, voice so small, almost fragile.

His eyes are detached when he nods once. It’s a simple gesture and yet so complex. “I was.” His voice is clipped, but not harsh. He lets out a sound resembling a cough.

You needed the confirmation. Needed to hear it from his own lips. It solidified something inside you.

You feel your breath grow shallow, thoughts going into a haze. You have heard the bitterness in his voice whenever your father was mentioned, words tinged with disdain. He didn’t hide his contempt. He even let it out on you. But it begins to take shape. Those scars. The way he no longer claims the title of soldier as if that privilege was taken from him along with something far more precious.

He still carries himself with that form of discipline, even when standing still. Always ready for the next hit to strike. But he tried to shrug off the remnants of that past as a soldier - a soldier in your father’s army, no less.

Something has happened. Something shattering. Something traumatic.

A shiver of unease crawls along your spine, prickling every nerve.

Your father always held you to impossible standards. His love was a conditional thing that you were forever grasping to earn. He has always been a man of authority, his word was a law, and his decisions were never questioned. But there were cracks in that facade, fractures that you have chosen to ignore a long time ago. And now, those cracks are gaping, yawning wide, and you are meant to fall into them.

Your gaze falls back to the marks on his shoulder. Throat feeling constricted.

“Did my father have a hand in that?” Your voice is wavering. Anxiety gnaws at your chest, each heartbeat heavy with dread.

Bucky’s gaze lifts to you. He looks you in the eyes so intensely. Whatever he’s thinking remains locked behind his gaze, hidden from reach. But he seems to be contemplating whether to shield you from the truth.

“Yes,” he admits then, the single word falling like a stone into the silence.

It struck you with breathtaking force. The earth seems to have slipped beneath your feet and the world tilts, causing a sudden strain in your chest with the awareness that came.

You want to deny it. You want to argue that your father wasn’t capable of such treachery. But deep down, you know better. The cracks have always been there. Carefully tucked behind his walls.

Your throat is a clenched fist, made of muscle, gripping hard against the swell of emotion threatening to rise. Every breath that tries making it up your throat is only getting squeezed out by that fist.

Tears are gathering behind your eyes, the sting of them uncomfortable.

Bucky watches you. He is gauging your reaction with a poignant gentleness - not cruel, not gloating. Just honest. His expression softens, guilt shadowing his features as he takes in your reaction. He clearly does not revel in your heartbreak. It’s clear he regrets having to say it.

You fidget with your fingers. It takes Bucky finishing attending to your wound - smearing the last bit of the balm onto it and dressing it again - until you get a hold of your voice again.

“What happened?” Your voice cracks. Part of you wants to withdraw the question, fearing what he might answer. Or if he even will.

He sighs again. A hand moves to slide over his face as he sits back down, keeping the tin cup in his hand. His forearms lean on his knees, head tilted to the ground. He stays like that for a little while.

He only lifts his head for a second to see the shake in your hands.

“We were in battle. Rumlow and his men went behind our backs. Slaughtered every standin’ soldier. Got me real good, but I wasn’t quite dead. Learned to stay real quiet. Lyin’ on the ground, and all.” He huffs out a humorless laugh. He can’t meet your eyes.

You don’t know if you’re still breathing. It feels like you aren’t.

Your hands clench instinctively, grasping for something that might steady you, but the air only offers shifting shadows.

“And my father-” you choke on a swallow. “He-”

Bucky nods once, sharp and terse. His jaw locks, bracing for words he’d rather not say. “He covered it up.”

An intense pain builds in your heart, burning through the last traces of your faith in the man who has raised you.

The muscles in your face are trembling and there is that stubborn pulse inside your chest where that sob you won’t release tries to carve its way free.

Your father had a hand in Bucky’s pain.

Not just the scars on Bucky’s body, but the ones that run far deeper, the ones so deeply embedded into his very being. A soldier, abandoned by the kingdom he served, betrayed by the very man who should have protected him. Betrayed by the very man whose daughter he’s now been forced to protect. It is such a cruel irony, you can’t breath.

You feel like the air is trying to choke you. Gravity itself seems to conspire against you, pulling you down into the earth’s depths where the air is thin and hope does not exist. It slips between your lungs before it can soothe you.

A picture forms you haven’t dared to assemble until now.

And it makes tears well in your eyes. Pain stabbing and stabbing and stabbing your heart to death. You blink furiously, unwilling to let them fall. You can’t look at him. Not even closely.

Bucky told you about his mother and sister. He told you that your mother sent them away for their own safety. But he didn’t tell you why they were in danger in the first place.

Now you understand.

Your heart races, seeming to try and outrun the collapse of your world. It hammers against your ribs like fists on a locked door. The more it hammers, the more chaotic it gets, beating to the tempo of misery.

“No,” you whisper, lips wobbling. Tears cling to your lashes. Your chest heaves with the effort to breathe through the pain.

Bucky’s brows are deeply furrowed. His eyes never left you, teeth grinding together. His features are full of a struggle he tries to break out of.

Bucky Barnes was a soldier, abandoned by the kingdom he served, betrayed by the very man who should have protected him. And worse, threatened into silence by the safety of his family.

“No,” you repeat, the word a single quiver. “Your mother, and- and your sister-”

Bucky’s head drops. His hand moves over his hair. His breath leaves him with a harsh, strained sound.

Your father has threatened them, using their lives as leverage to keep Bucky silent about whatever horrors he had endured. Because exposing the truth would have cost Bucky everything he held dear.

Bucky’s eyes are the confirmation of what you are already puzzling together.

And you can’t look at him any longer. A choking sound leaves you. Your gaze moves to the flames of the fire lazily flickering upwards into the sky. The heat sears in your eyes but you don’t look away.

If you weren’t sitting already, you’d be lying on the ground by now. Your muscles are unsure whether to hold firm or buckle under the pressure. A tremor starts in your knees, making its way upward like a warning your body already understands.

How could the man you once idolized be capable of such cruelty? And how has Bucky borne it all, carrying all of this silently, without breaking?

Shame prickles under your ribs, seeping through every breath. It’s like a slow erosion happening inside you. A sense that you are both too much and never enough. You burn, consumed by something that leaves no smoke but scars all the same. Each breath fans the flames. No matter how full or brittle.

Bucky’s eyes burn you down and you can’t help but meet them again.

His face is softened in a way you’ve never seen before - not even in those rare moments when his walls seemed to crumble just enough for something warmer. There are shadows in those blues but they lock onto yours with a gentleness that has your muscles trembling.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye and you swipe at it hurriedly. You try desperately to pull your thoughts together, but there is nothing left to be done. The dam has already burst. A sob leaves you.

Another tear follows, streaking down your cheek, hot and bitter, filled with all the hurt that has just been released between you.

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, a gritted note in his voice full of kindness. “No.”

A large, calloused hand cups your face, his thumb swiping the damp trail across your cheekbone.

The unexpected tenderness makes your breath quake, and more shame creeps onto your skin for having allowed yourself to shatter in the open.

“C’mon don’t do that,” he murmurs under his breath. He sounds pained by the sight of you. The sight of your tears. Again. Like something in him is crying out for an answer to your broken heart.

He leans closer, shifting on the dirty ground, to brush his other hand gently against the side of your jaw, framing your face between rough palms. His palms feel warm in contrast to the hot current running through your body, but he holds on steadily.

Bucky tilts your chin enough for you to meet his gaze, blue irises that grapple with guilt, but also something more subdued. Something soft and real you aren’t sure you even earned from him.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please,” he pleads near a whisper and it rips something off inside you.

The pain in your heart only seems to get stronger. You want to claim him wrong, that if anyone should rightfully feel grief or tears for the pain they carry, it is him. But the words refuse to leave your throat. All that comes is a strangled sound, a whimper, a sob, followed by a few more sweltering tears.

His thumbs continue to diligently brush your cheeks once more, painstakingly slow as if erasing the evidence of your hurt could undo it altogether.

“I mean it, darlin’,” he implores quietly. His voice is still rough. “Don’t.”

It does not feel easy though. You just found out how much has been robbed from him, how your father has contributed to it all, the man who has loomed over your life like a shadow not easily warded off with a single light. The personification of cold judgment.

And still, Bucky is softhearted and steady-eyed against your breaking moment, offering kindness and comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper thickly. “I am so sorry.” Your voice is fractured. It feels inadequate. Hollow. Not enough.

Bucky’s thumbs rest against your temples as if trying to reground you.

He bites down hard on a slightly trembling lip, the muscle in his cheek standing out sharply. For a moment, his eyes seem to look for a distraction somewhere far away, somewhere only he can see.

When they return to you, there is a pool of his own apology shimmering within them, deep enough to drown in.

He releases a gruff breath. “Not on you. This is not your fault, Y/n.” His voice is firm but also breaking with a sorrow he can’t fully express. “Wasn’t exactly easy on you,” he says lowly, gravelly. He clears his throat. “I was wrong. About you.”

You shake your head, still wedged between his hands. Your lips are wobbling, your voice in cracks. “You had every right.”

“No.” His voice is resolute. Tension pulls at his jaw. His brows almost meet each other. He shakes his head, letting his hands slide into your hair. “I didn’t.”

You sniffle. A harsh, wavering breath falls from your lips. A sob crawls up your spine. “I do not blame you for hating me.”

Bucky’s hands against your face go still. They stiffen. He even seems to flinch ever so faintly and it makes you look at him briefly. He bites back a dry swallow as if something wedged there might never leave. Something urgent pulls at his jaw, making it tick.

“I don’t hate you,” he leans his head in, looking you directly in the eyes. “Don’t hate you, princess. Alright? Don’t think that. God, please don’t think that.”

Your hands are still shaking in your lap and Bucky’s own hands fall from your face for an instant so he can trail the pads of his fingers along your wrist.

“I’m the one bein’ sorry, sweetheart.” His voice falters, a huskiness catching in his tone.

Your chest is swollen from the hard work of breathing against its pressure, while new tears still threaten to slip out of the corners of your eyes. But Bucky stays close. Still kneeling right in front of you.

“Look at me, please.”

You do, although your tears blur your vision.

“I’ll say it again,” he murmurs, swallowing dryly. “Please don’t cry, darlin’. Don’t cry.”

His eyes hold the pain he is too broken to voice.

“Yes, you will rise from the ashes, but the burning comes first. For this part, darling, you must be brave.”

- Kalen Dion

Part eight

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd

[eth3real-ess3nce]

PICK A WAX SEAL - JULY 2025 FORECAST

Top left (1) , Top right (2) , Bottom left (3) , Bottom right (4)

Remember to take what resonates and leave the rest..

Enjoy!

PILE 1

This reading is meant for you whether one or more of the following apply:

♡ if you own a cat , bonus if it’s dark haired

♡ if you’re a highly sexual person (sorry .. that’s what I channeled lol 😭)

♡ you love or feel connected to sunflowers🌻

♡ you take lots of action in order to prevent aging (anti aging creams, gut health care, etc)

♡ Leo rising

♡ you recently rage quitted a service / rage cancelled a subscription 😂

♡ you recently got accidentally wet with your full clothes on

I see you filtering out negative influences during July. You have been postponing it for so long, you are not even certain why..

It is fortunate that you have observed , noticed, that you have outgrown environments or friend groups that literally clutter your emotional space.

In many of you, I see there’s so much build-up tension, as if there are issues that haven’t been spoken about. Things have been constantly getting under the rug and when this storm finally hits… oof! Talk about some heat! 😳 It’s a tough decision to finally “clear the weeds” from your path. But you will soon realize that you *really* need to get things out of your chest..

Many of you might get to feel like the ‘black sheep’ in such situation. The other party will blame you, find non existent/trivial seeming problems in you. I literally hear you say “Wow that’s such a NON problem” when you get to argue with them. They will use poor excuses in order to manipulate the objective truth. Frankly, you are an authentic soul and you shine bright so , people will get triggered, boo. Just do you.

Remember though, when you decide to finally face this, the universe will have your back, even if you will feel like you’re being treated unfairly.

PILE 2

This reading is meant for you whether one or more than the following apply:

♡ you’re into medieval fiction , or Ancient Greece / ancient cultures

♡ Pisces influence in your chart

♡ you are into cyber/y2k aesthetic

♡ loves seafood

♡ you enjoy listening to sad girl music 💔

♡ you recently tried some new type of yogurt and hated it LOL

♡ like to sleep with socks on :P

Okayyy this pile was chosen by some very sensitive souls 🥺

July is shaping up to be a deeply tender and transformative month for your heart. I’m getting the feeling of a bittersweet isolation. You’ll be visiting old parts of yourself, maybe your childhood too. You’re going to be reconnecting with the beloved ‘old’ times.

Some of you might quite literally go to a place you’d call home, maybe grandparents house or somewhere you grew up visiting.

Others will experience a love from the past coming back. Did they come to cause confusion or pour their heart out about you?………..

Be aware, if you feel that it doesn’t serve you? Kindly let go babes

I sense that many of you are writers. If you’ve been experiencing writer’s block for a while, this will be the cure.

Or if you are artistic in general, this will inspire you to create art based on this.

“Nostalgia will be the end of me” , perhaps your favourite thing to say. You love to seek familiarity and things from your childhood, or the past, it tends to feel like a warm hug to you. You feel like you’re being renewed over and over every time you visit those pieces of you.

Nostalgia has a way of painting the past with soft, golden light, smoothing over the rough edges and challenges that were truly there. It seems ideal to you. Be patient and tender with yourself. Let go, and open your heart to the possibilities blossoming in front of you. You are deserving of happiness and peace—right here, right now.

This summer is promised to you ♡

PILE 3

This reading is meant for you whether one or more than the following apply:

♡ you’re not a big talker. you like to make your point across and prefer to be left alone ! 😎

♡ you cut someone off lately

♡ Capricorn influence in your chart

♡ you’re overthinking a lot lately and experience so much worry

♡ you looove love purple/blue (some of you are into galaxy aesthetics too) and like to use it a lot in your environment

♡ you had some spaghetti very very recently . Yum

♡ you experienced a falling dream / experience it frequently

Hmm this pile is similar to pile 1, so it’s natural that you felt drawn to both! Things are a little different here, though.

In July, a gate will open and a flood of secrets will be coming out. This has to be related to your social life.

It will leave you with no choice but to walk away from this environment. If it’s about work and you can’t exactly “leave”, you’ll simply distance yourself from people who acted behind your back.

Many of you already had this negative feeling about this group of people, be it friends, co workers, etc. And you will finally get to understand the reasons behind it. After all, your instinct doesn’t lie.

I sense that many of you might think this way:

“Will I ever be happy, fulfilled?”. Please, don’t listen to your pessimism. Of course you will!

Kindly allow the universe to clear up the space for you so it can bless you with what you need later. It’s normal to feel defeated sometimes, but remember that everything occurs so you reach your highest good.

Choose the lesson always.

Choose to see the silver lining and walk with it.

Spirit wants you to know one thing, and that is:

What goes around, comes around.

PILE 4

This reading is meant for you whether one or more than the following apply:

♡ you tend to wear your hood up a lot

♡ you like doodling

♡ you some specific art with your hands , maybe you’re good at DIY crafts? Hairdresser?

♡ your room has/used to have blue LED lights

♡ you are in your teen or late teen years

♡ your favourite comfy candy/treat has caramel in it

♡ you recently told someone that you can’t wait for autumn vibes and that you despise summer 😂

Dang this pile has so many messages and most of them are oddly specific! In all of the previous piles, I delivered messages for the collective but now? Spirit is nudging me to be more specific with yall.

Okay first things first, many of you might be very fixated on a water sign (cancer,Scorpio,Pisces) right now and you’re wondering if they’re worthy of your time? Answer is no.

Instead, choose the person who you don’t seem to like as much , because when you start to spend time with them, you’ll realize how precious they are and how much they have to offer to you emotionally. (If they’re not an earth sign then they simply have grounded, stable energy and they belong on the introverted side)

I pick up that some of you are performers, actors? If that aligns with you, then this is what I have to say: go for it!!!! Whether it’s a love interest in that circle, an opportunity that has been lingering … go for it!!

Now, a broader message I can give to all of you, is this…

Passion is good, enthusiasm is good. Heck, even impulsive decisions can be good. But! It’s just NOT always the way!

Sometimes, you have to take the path that’s a little more inconvenient. You’ll give chances to things that don’t initially excite you and make your heart beat like a drum, but are promising in the long run and are genuinely beneficial for you. Whether it’s a lover, a job, a different routine. Trust me, you’ll be building foundations for something that is bigger than yourself!

“Should I listen my heart or my mind?”

This is your sign to give your mind a chance, this time. And it’s certain that your heart will follow. Good things are coming, and unexpectedly too. 🩷

Thank you for your time 💗

[wiiiowsden]

(As I am just starting out Hellenism, critiques are encouraged <3)

A prayer to Lady Aphrodite

praying for recovery, healing, and calm ♡

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

To my Lady Aphrodite,

Feminine Embodiment of Love & Fertility,

Tendrils of Roses Blossoming at Your Feet

Your Heart One of The Purest,

Leaving Life Feeling Complete,

And no Longer Shattered

My Heart, Scarred, Lies Bittersweet

In Need of Restoration,

Might Just Heal in Your Company

May I Continue to Flourish,

Just Like The Climbing Rose,

Everlastingly, Determined Blooming,

Tendrils Reaching Up Until no Longer Meeting The Land

Before Bracing Itself Into Your Warm, Guiding Hands

Golden Fingers Stretch Across the Horizon,

Painting The Vast Surface Of The Ocean

With Glowing, Golden Hues,

Resembling a Glimpse of The Shining Hair

Cascading Down a Godly Picture of Divine Beauty

May I Heal, All of it Devoted to You

To The Calming Aura of The Sea, I Pray

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° bet you resent all of me, all of it

( kenyu yukimiya x reader )

♡ a/n — i love yuki ty and gn

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — yukimiya kenyu x fem! reader, kinda angst?, toxic ish relationship, jumps like a few years , established relationship, cuteness

♡ synopsis — You and Yukimiya Kenyu were the kind of high school couple people talked about like a fairytale. but even some fairytales aren’t meant to have happy ever afters.

You and Yukimiya Kenyu were the kind of high school couple people talked about like a fairytale.

The one people whispered about in the halls — They’re so perfect.

The ones the teachers always paired together for projects, because you work so well together.

The ones who made it look like forever wasn’t just possible — it was guaranteed.

Everyone knew you two were meant to be. There was no question in it — just the quiet certainty that love like yours didn’t fall apart. Couldn’t.

You had the kind of love that looked good in yearbook photos, where he’d press a kiss to your cheek just before the flash, and you’d laugh because it tickled. The kind that held hands under desks and passed notes during lectures and carved your initials into the old bench behind the school.

He would bring you breakfast on exam days. You’d pack an extra water bottle and tape notes to it for his practices.

“You’re so gross,” your friends would tease when he kissed your hand in the hallway. “Jealous?” you’d grin.

There were moments you swore you could hear your future in the quiet between your laughter — a shared apartment, late-night grocery runs, him watching tape, you grading papers or writing your next feature.

It was soft. It was golden. It was yours.

In your last year of high school, everything felt golden. He'd wait by your locker every morning with your favorite drink in hand — oat milk latte, light ice, extra cinnamon.

You’d wear his scarf when it was cold, walk home together just to spend those extra fifteen minutes.

He called you his lucky charm. You kissed him before every game, and he swore it made him play better.

“You're gonna be famous one day,” you told him once, sprawled under the cherry blossom tree near the back field, your heads touching.

He smiled, warm and sure. “Only if you’re there with me.”

You sealed it with your pinkies — two dumb kids with dreams bigger than your town.

The days were slow in a way you’d kill to feel again. Long walks home with his bag slung over your shoulder, heads pressed together beneath the soft rustle of trees. He'd whisper things like "you're my peace,” and you’d kiss him just to make the butterflies settle.

But seasons change — slowly, quietly — and one day you look up and realize it’s colder than it used to be.

And dreams get heavy when you're the only one holding them up.

The first shift was so small you nearly missed it.

A late reply.

A practice that ran long.

“Sorry, coach asked me to stay back. We’re prepping for regionals.”

You waved it off, of course. Of course. He was chasing a dream. You were chasing yours too.

But then late practices turned into no calls. Weekend plans turned into, “I really can’t, I’ve got scouts watching this time.”

He’d still smile. Still say, “Next week, okay?”But next week never came.

You held on for longer than you should have.

You made excuses to your friends. He’s just under pressure. It’s temporary.

You showed up to games, even when he barely waved from the field.

You studied in the library until they closed, waiting for a text that didn’t come.

And he’d kiss your temple when he finally saw you. Apologize with tired eyes. Say he was sorry, that he missed you, that he was trying.

But trying started to feel like something you were doing alone.

The last night is etched into your memory like frostbite.

You were sitting in the ramen shop you both used to love — the kind of place that played soft pop music and gave out extra boiled eggs if you smiled at the owner.

He was on his phone, scrolling through his training schedule, muttering about a new amazing team in Europe. You were telling him about your final essay, your interview with the editor of the local paper. You don’t even think he registered what you said.

“You haven’t asked how my entrance exams went,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, confused. “Shit, I didn’t even realize those were this week—”

“They were four days ago.”

He went quiet. You could see it then, the guilt trying to make its way up to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve just been so—”

“Tired. Yeah. I know.”

You smiled like it didn’t hurt. Like you weren’t breaking in the middle of the table between the soy sauce and the chopsticks.

He reached for your hand. “I’m still here.”

But he wasn’t. Not really.

And you knew it. Knew it like people know storms before they see the clouds.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t beg.

You just left. Quietly. As if you’d never been there to begin with.

“I think I need someone who shows up. Take care, Kenyu.”

And like all the things he meant to say but never did — he didn’t respond.

The conference room smells like coffee and flashbulbs. You keep your head down, scribbling notes, pretending your heart isn’t racing like it used to.

Bastard München. Yukimiya Kenyu. A name you’ve read a thousand times in headlines, in player rankings, on the backs of jerseys. But it still feels unreal to see him like this — pressed shirt, cold water bottle, practiced charm.

He walks in and the air shifts.

He’s sharper now. More elegant. There’s a weight to him, but he carries it like armor. A star who’s used to being looked at — and yet the moment he sees you, he falters.

Just for a second. But you catch it.

You look away.

He answers questions like nothing’s wrong, but his eyes keep drifting. Back to you. Back to everything you used to be.

You leave before it ends.

You can’t breathe.

It’s storming by the time you’re outside. Rain soaks through your coat. You curse the weather, your job, yourself.

And then—

“Hey.”

His voice, behind you. Just like you always remembered it.

You turn.

He’s drenched, hair sticking to his forehead, jacket clinging to him. He looks like a boy again — like your boy, not the world’s.

“I didn’t think you’d actually be here.”

You laugh once, bitter. “Neither did I.”

Silence. Rain dripping from both your chins.

“You look good,” he says.

You meet his eyes. “You look exactly the same,” you snap. “Still late to the things that matter.”

That hits. He steps back, rain dripping from his lashes. “I deserved that.”

“You deserved more than what I gave you, back then,” he adds. “I know that now.”

Your throat tightens.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continues. “Chasing the dream. Getting out. Proving I could survive everything I went through—”

“And I was proud of you, Kenyu. I always was.” Your voice cracks. 

“But I waited. And waited. And eventually I stopped asking you to show up because I knew you wouldn’t.”

He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d understand.”

“I did. That’s the worst part.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to memorize the pain.

“I miss you.”

It slips out like he’s been holding it in for years. “I never stopped. You were the best thing in my life, and I let it go like it didn’t matter.”

He reaches for you. “Please. Let me try again. Just once. I swear I’d do it right this time.”

And god, your heart wants to say yes. But your chest only burns.

You look at him — this boy who had the world in his hands and forgot you in the process — and say:

“Maybe we can have coffee whenever Mr. Pro Soccer Player finally decides to come home.”

Then you walk away.

You don’t look back.

Because if you do, you’re not sure your mind could win over your heart.

It was a week later when you got a message. Late at night.

Later than anyone in your circle would be awake.

YUKIMIYA KENYU:I’m home.

If you’re still around.

There’s coffee. Extra cinnamon. I didn’t forget.

oh yukimiya they could never make me hate you.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[xichilie]

I LOVE YPUR BRANT FICS SO MUCH

Your the only one feeding us here 😭

Please keep that up

Please

Please

Please

Can we get reader getting kidnapped because they want Brants ransome

And he saves her

Then he gets all emotional

And kisses her accidentally he gets flustered

Please

Ofc I will continue feeding you, we need more brant ♡

Brant x (fem)reader

"The Fool’s Ransom"

The air was warm, the scent of wildflowers drifting lazily through the breeze as Y/N wandered through the outskirts of Fool’s Elysium. She had always found solace in moments like this—where the world was quiet, untouched by the chaos of the Troupe’s performances, the danger of their notoriety.

Her hands grazed over delicate petals, plucking a few blossoms with care. A vibrant mix of red and gold—Brant’s colors, she realized absently, lips twitching in amusement.

She could already imagine his reaction.

"For me? Ah, darling, you shouldn’t have! Though, of course, I deserve nothing less than the most beautiful bouquet, picked by the most enchanting hands—"

Y/N snorted at the thought, shaking her head. The man was ridiculous. Endearing, but ridiculous.

A rustling noise behind her snapped her out of her thoughts.

She barely had time to react before the world shifted.

Shadows moved. Figures emerged from behind the trees, stepping into the dappled light of the forest. Five, maybe six of them—dressed in rough leathers and battered armor, the kind worn by mercenaries and bounty hunters.

Y/N’s muscles tensed. Not good.

“Well, well,” one of the men drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “Looks like we caught ourselves a little bird.”

Y/N’s fingers curled around the stems of the flowers. She forced herself to stay calm. Think. Assess. Find an opening.

“Sorry,” she said lightly, “but I don’t recall asking to be caught.”

The leader chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” His eyes gleamed with something sharp, something calculating. “We know who you run with, girl.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Brant.

This wasn’t about her. It was never about her.

“You’re making a mistake,” she said carefully, shifting her weight, searching for a possible escape.

“Don’t think so,” the man replied. “See, there’s a hefty price on Brant’s head, but the bastard’s tricky. Slippery. We figure—why chase a fox when you can catch the thing he won’t leave behind?”

Y/N felt cold steel against her wrist before she could react. A pair of rough hands wrenched her arms behind her back, securing them with thick rope.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from cursing.

The leader grinned, watching her struggle. “That’s right. You’re coming with us, sweetheart. Let’s see how much the Fool is willing to pay.”

And just like that, the world blurred as they dragged her away.

The crowd roared, their cheers bouncing off the stone walls of Ragunna’s marketplace, filling the night with electricity. The Fool’s Troupe thrived on such energy, reveling in the spotlight as they danced, spun, and weaved their illusions.

Brant, of course, was at the center of it all.

With a flourish of his coat and a flick of his wrist, he sent a cascade of golden sparks into the air, a final dazzling spectacle that left the audience gasping in awe. The trick was nothing new—sleight of hand, a little bit of Tacet magic—but paired with the way he grinned, the way he owned the stage, it was enough to leave even the most skeptical onlookers enchanted.

The music reached its crescendo. The finale.

With a deep, exaggerated bow, Brant tipped his hat and let the applause wash over him.

Another successful night.

And yet—something felt wrong.

Even as he basked in the adoration, his sharp gaze swept over the crowd, searching.

And that’s when he saw him.

A man, standing near the back, half-shrouded in shadow.

He wasn’t clapping. Wasn’t smiling.

No, he was staring.

At him.

Brant had been in the game long enough to recognize that look.

A smirk that held no joy, only intent.

A predator sizing up its prey.

Brant’s usual bravado didn’t falter—he twirled his hat between his fingers, flashing the crowd one last charming wink before stepping off the stage. But inside, his mind was already racing.

He knew better than to ignore a threat.

And so, as the rest of the Troupe celebrated, Brant slipped through the back of the makeshift stage, where the night air was cool and the lanterns burned lower.

That’s when he saw it.

A single piece of parchment.

Tucked neatly into the folds of his coat.

Brant’s smirk wavered, just slightly.

He hadn’t felt anyone slip it in. Which meant whoever had done it was good.

Tina’s voice called from behind him. “Brant? What’s with that face?”

Brant ignored her for a moment, fingers tightening around the parchment. He unfolded it with a flick of his wrist, scanning the words scrawled in sharp, uneven ink.

"We have her.

Come alone.

You know why."

His heart stopped.

Her.

His grip tightened, crumpling the edges of the letter.

Tina must have seen the way his posture changed, the subtle shift from playful to deadly serious. She stepped closer, her usual smirk gone. “Brant. What is it?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His mind was already spiraling.

Y/N.

She had nothing to do with this life. She wasn’t a Fool, wasn’t wrapped up in the chaos that followed him like a shadow.

He had kept it that way on purpose.

Because she was his only place of quiet. His only bit of peace in a world of games and deception.

And now, because of him, because of the bounty on his head—

They had her.

Brant inhaled slowly, forcing a smirk back onto his face before turning toward Tina. “Well, darling, looks like I’ve got a little errand to run.”

Tina didn’t buy it for a second. “Brant. What the hell is going on?”

He twirled the parchment between his fingers before tucking it into his coat, straightening as if the weight of the message hadn’t just settled into his bones. “Nothing a bit of Fool’s charm can’t fix.”

And then, before she could stop him, before she could see the flicker of raw, unfiltered fear in his eyes—

Brant was gone.

Y/N’s wrists ached from the rough rope binding her to the wooden support beam, the coarse fibers digging into her skin with every movement. The damp, musty air of the abandoned warehouse filled her lungs, thick with the scent of rotting wood and old metal. Lanterns flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the sneering faces of the men surrounding her.

She had been walking, minding her own business, when they struck—too many, too fast—grabbing her before she even had the chance to fight back. Now, she was here, held captive by a group of bounty hunters with the collective stench of cheap alcohol and poor decisions.

One of them, a broad-shouldered brute with greasy hair and a scar running down his cheek, leaned against a crate, flipping a dagger between his fingers. He smirked.

"Never thought the famous Brant would be stupid enough to get himself a little sweetheart," he drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "Guess the rumors were true. Fool’s got a soft spot."

Another man, lankier but with the same cruel glint in his eyes, chuckled. "Soft spot’s gonna cost him big. That bounty on his head could set us up for life."

Y/N stayed silent, glaring at them with steady defiance. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

That didn’t stop them from trying to get under her skin.

A third man, smaller but no less disgusting, crouched beside her, reaching out with dirty fingers to trace the curve of her cheek.

Y/N flinched at the unwanted touch, disgust coiling in her stomach like a snake.

“Shame, really,” he mused, tilting his head. “A pretty thing like you, wasting your time on a fool like him. What’s he got that we don’t?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. Her first instinct was to spit in his face.

But instead, she did something worse.

She smiled.

A slow, knowing smile.

It unnerved him, just a little.

Enough that his fingers hesitated against her skin.

“Oh, you poor, stupid man,” she murmured, her voice dripping with mock pity. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"

The man scowled. “The hell does that mean?”

Y/N only tilted her head, her expression almost amused now.

“Brant is a lot of things,” she said. “A scoundrel. A trickster. A Fool. But there’s one thing you should never forget—”

She leaned forward as much as the restraints allowed, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"A Fool always has the last laugh."

A moment of silence.

Then—CRASH.

Something shattered in the distance.

Y/N grinned.

He was here.

The bounty hunters barely had time to register the movement before a streak of violet light came swinging down from the upper beams like a phantom descending from the heavens.

Brant landed in a graceful arc of motion, boots hitting the wooden floor with a resounding thud. The dim lantern light caught the gleam of his sword as he twirled it effortlessly, the blade wreathed in flickering purple flames. His coat billowed dramatically behind him, his smirk infuriatingly confident despite the fact that he was surrounded.

“Gentlemen!” he called out, his voice carrying that same silken charisma that could charm an audience—or in this case, send shivers of fear down a man’s spine. “I do believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Y/N, still tied to the beam, rolled her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Brant turned to her, flashing a cocky grin. “What can I say? Had to make an entrance.”

One of the bounty hunters finally snapped out of his shock. “It’s the Fool! Get him!”

Steel hissed from its sheath.

Brant moved before the first man could even blink.

With a single flick of his wrist, his sword slashed through the air, knocking the hunter’s weapon clean from his grip. The man barely had time to yelp before Brant twisted around him in a blur of motion, using his momentum to knock him out with a sharp, well-placed elbow.

The other hunters sprang into action, rushing him at once.

Brant’s grin widened. Perfect.

With a flourish of his blade, he leaped into the air, twisting above them in an almost impossible display of acrobatics. The purple flames around his rapier flared, trailing after him like a comet as he struck down three men in a series of fluid, calculated strikes.

Someone shouted, “Call for reinforcements!”

Brant clicked his tongue.

“Oh, no need for that,” he mused, suddenly vaulting upward. His boots landed lightly on one of the upper rafters, balancing as if he were performing on stage rather than engaged in battle. He tilted his head, finger tapping his chin.

“I was going to keep things simple, but since you’re all so eager…”

His hand lifted toward the ceiling.

The air rippled around him.

A deep rumble began to shake the very foundation of the warehouse.

The bounty hunters froze.

Then they saw it.

A giant, spectral anchor materialized above them, its heavy chains rattling as it hovered menacingly in midair. The sheer weight of it groaned against reality, as if waiting for its master’s command.

Brant snapped his fingers.

“Anchors away.”

The anchor plummeted.

The bounty hunters screamed.

The entire warehouse shook as the anchor slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave that knocked every single enemy off their feet. The force of the impact splintered the wooden floorboards, cracks spiderwebbing outward from where it landed.

Silence.

Then a low groan from one of the surviving men.

Brant dusted off his coat, grinning down at them. “I’d say that’s your cue to stay down.”

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh from where she was still tied. “Brant,”

Brant turned toward her, smirk still in place as he approached. “My dear, your savior arrived.”

And with a theatrical flourish, he cut her ropes.

The moment Y/N’s bindings hit the ground, she barely had time to react before Brant was pulling her close.

Not gently. Desperately.

His arms wrapped around her in a crushing embrace, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist as if he were afraid she’d vanish if he let go. She could feel the erratic rise and fall of his chest, the way his entire body trembled—not from exhaustion, not from battle, but from something deeper.

Something raw.

Brant, her Brant, was shaking.

Y/N barely had time to process it before she heard it.

A sound so small, so unlike him, that it stopped her heart.

A shaky, broken laugh.

“sweetheart,” he whispered, voice hoarse and uneven. “You—you scared me.”

Y/N blinked. Brant, scared?

She’d seen him dance on the edge of blades without flinching. Laugh in the face of danger, throw himself into reckless stunts without so much as a second thought. He was the one who always smiled, who always made it look easy.

But now, here he was, burying his face into her shoulder, gripping her like a lifeline, voice breaking on the edges of words he couldn’t say.

Her stomach twisted.

She slowly brought her arms up, pressing her hands against his back.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Brant, I’m okay.”

His grip only tightened.

“I thought—” He let out another weak, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

Theatrics were second nature to Brant, but this wasn’t a performance.

This wasn’t a grand declaration, or a dramatic monologue. This was real.

And it terrified him.

She felt it in the way his fingers curled into her hair, the way he clung to her as though he couldn’t bear the thought of her slipping away.

Brant, the Fool of the Troupe, the man who laughed in the face of death, had been petrified at the thought of losing her.

Y/N let out a slow breath, running a hand through his wild hair, her fingers brushing against the beads and charms tangled in the mess of blue strands.

“Brant,” she murmured, voice soft, gentle. “Look at me.”

He hesitated.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

His eyes—those brilliant, star-swept pinks—were red at the edges, shimmering with something dangerously close to tears.

Brant never cried. He’d joke, he’d tease, he’d brush off pain with a grin and a flourish, but now…

Now, he looked at her like a man who had almost lost everything.

Y/N cupped his face with both hands, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”

Brant let out another weak, breathy laugh, leaning into her touch. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something—but then, he just sighed.

A long, shuddering sigh, like he was exhaling all the fear that had built up inside him.

And then, when he finally opened his eyes again—he smiled.

Not his usual, cocky smirk.

Not the confident grin he used to mask uncertainty.

Something real.

Something softer.

His hands slid down to her waist, fingers still trembling slightly as he pulled her against him once more, this time resting his forehead against hers.

“Guess this means I have to keep you closer now, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was no bravado this time. No false confidence.

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, smoothing his hair back. “That might be hard, considering you already keep me close.”

Brant chuckled, a little steadier now. “Not close enough, apparently.”

Y/N smiled, running a hand down his arm before threading her fingers through his.

Brant stared down at their joined hands, his expression softening even further.

Then, suddenly—his entire body sagged.

“Ohhhh, stars, Y/N, I think I’m gonna faint.”

Y/N barely had time to react before he dramatically collapsed against her, arms still wrapped around her but now in a ridiculous, over-the-top swoon.

Y/N groaned. “Brant.”

“My heart, my poor, delicate heart!” he wailed, burying his face into her shoulder again, except this time she could feel him grinning.

“You idiot.” She smacked his arm lightly, but she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up.

Brant peeked up at her, eyes twinkling. “Ah! There it is. The laugh of my beloved rescuer.” He sighed dreamily, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Truly, I am at your mercy, my darling.”

Y/N shook her head, exasperated. “Unbelievable.”

Brant grinned wider, then—without warning—pressed a quick, feather-light kiss to her lips.

Y/N froze.

Brant blinked, like even he hadn’t expected to do that. Then, ever so slowly, his face turned a bright, burning red.

“...Oh.”

Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed. “Did you just—”

“NOPE. DIDN’T HAPPEN.” Brant immediately turned on his heel, still holding her hand but now practically dragging her away from the scene.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh. “You are impossible.”

Brant’s ears were still red as he muttered, “And yet, you’re still here.”

Y/N squeezed his hand.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I am.”

Brant glanced at her then, and for just a second—beneath all the theatrics, all the teasing—there was something else.

Something deep.

Something real.

And then, of course—

“WELL, I SUPPOSE I SHOULD WHISK YOU OFF INTO THE SUNSET NOW.” Brant threw an arm around her shoulders, twirling them both dramatically as they headed back toward town. “THAT’S WHAT HEROES DO, RIGHT?”

Y/N laughed, leaning into his side. “Sure, Brant. Whatever you say.”

And for the first time that night, Brant let out a breath that was truly, finally, free.

[vanillashusband]

What’s your favourite (type of) show to watch together? Do you watch on routine or set time aside to binge? with Jin!

I think we would like anything that's a long running series that we could watch routinely (either something that's previously aired and already finished or a current series) together on special show/movie nights! I think I would love to watch the animated j.ttw series in lmk with Jin cause its my favourite show! He hates watching a show about his rival/old nemesis but begrudgingly does it because he loves me hjhfjg <3

[espuor]

ㅤㅤ✿ㅤㅤㅤ꒪ㅤㅤ the dust from the cherry blossoms disappears with shells near. peach tree and aromatic flowers.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

accords ♡ amour

love is also beyond

musical notes

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏

𝖵𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖤𝖳ㅤ ㅤ⸝ㅤ 𝖯𝖠𝖦.ㅤㅤ𝖡𝖨𝖮𝖦𝖱𝖠𝖯𝖧𝖨𝖤𝖲ㅤㅤ+

͏ ͏ ͏𓂋 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏FOREST ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏' among the bats that mate in my cold heart, our twilight 𝓵ove arises

⠀⠀

poetic fragment ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏🖋️ 诗人 ♥︎ ͏ ͏ ͏  the golden verses completing the hearts in the letters I handcrafted for you.

[withleeknow]

seasons of you.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff or at least i hope so lmao, not v edited and literally no one is surprised lol i sound like a broken record atp just adding that into every post word count: 0.7k note: inspired by a highly fucked up thing that @matchannie said to me yesterday lmao it has not left my brain since you said it you absolute monster

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

minho falls in love with you four times a year.

minho falls in love with you in the spring, over blooming cherry blossoms and vibrant daffodils that greet you on your weekly sunset walk. over the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his own without soft fluffy gloves getting in the way, now that it's finally warm enough to retire that extra layer of protection for the season. over the sun coming out of hibernation and filling your days with golden light, falling upon your face and casting you in a magical hue. over the remnants of winter that still leave behind a palpable chill in the air early in the morning or late in the night, that has you reaching out for the comfort of his warmth. over your delighted smile when he brings home a bouquet of tulips after a long day at work. over your glassy eyes, reddened nose and flushed cheeks as he takes care of you when the seasonal allergies kick in.

minho falls in love with you in the summer, over picnics in the park where you both lay on blue gingham picnic blankets, your head on his chest, as you watch the clouds overhead drift peacefully. over watermelon gelatos passed between teasing lips, the confectionary melting too quickly for your liking under the blazing sunlight. over spontaneous drives to the beach even though neither of you can swim, but you go just for fun, just to build sand sculptures in the shape of your cat babies and stand on the edge of the water to splash at each other. over long naps on the couch on days where you're too lazy to venture into the outside heat, preferring to stay cuddled up together under the air conditioner with niki playing in the background.

minho falls in love with you in fall, over shared slices of pumpkin pie as you watch the leaves turn yellow and red right outside your window. over the adorable way you hide your face behind your hands on nights where he puts on a horror movie because he insists on honoring the halloween spirit. over your off-key rendition of taylor swift's all too well (the 10-minute version) for most of the season because you adamantly claim that it's autumn's official anthem. over weekends spent attached at the hip, baking sugar cookies for hours on end. over your crestfallen pout as you take note of how the days keep getting shorter and shorter, already missing warm sunny weeks with all your heart.

minho falls in love with you in winter, over matching scarves and beanies, even though he often has to carry them for you because you have a bad habit of forgetting them before you go out. over the first snow of the season because they say that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you love, then you will stay together for a long, long time. over sweet cuddles in bed as a bad christmas movie plays on tv, and you fall asleep on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie despite being the one to select the movie in the first place. over your return from a shopping spree with your girlfriends with nothing for yourself but everything for soondoongdori, from christmas themed clothes to treats and toys.

but then again, maybe it's not entirely accurate to say that minho falls in love you merely four times a year. if he wants to be precise, then he would say that he falls for you anew every morning he wakes up and sees you asleep in his arms like a delicate miracle granted by a star he once used to wish upon. if he wants to get technical, then he falls in love with you with every smile that you send his way, which is a terribly sappy thing for him to admit but it doesn't make the statement any less true.

minho loves you every day of every week, of every month, of every year. he's loved you before he even met you, when you were just a romanticized idea in his head and hadn't yet walked into his life like the angel he was always meant to find. he loves you every minute of every hour; there isn't a second where you're not on his mind, not a single beat of his heart that doesn't spell out your name. he loves you throughout the seasons and a million times in between.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 @lashaemorow

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.04.2024]

[dark-and-kawaii]

your pregnancy ficlets are super sweet! How about Halsin finding out tav is pregnant 🥰

Halsin would/does make the best dad. When he was worried about the kids not getting a bedtime story from him I wanted to cry. I go feral for big ol’ guys with a soft heart, and he’s like the poster man for that.

༺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥 ༻

♡ Halsin | Pregnancy - Fluff

In the midst of a small flower field, bathed in the golden rays of the sun, you sat in the forest. Halsin, in his bear form, approaches you silently, attempting to surprise you. But as always, you are keenly aware of his presence. Chuckling softly to yourself you continue plucking a pink flower, and with a playful tone you remark, "You'd have better luck sneaking up on me if you were a cat, you know."

Halsin nudges your back gently with his large furry head, emitting a low, affectionate grunt as he settles down beside you. Resting against his solid form, you're enveloped in a unique comfort only he can provide, afterall, it’s not everyday someone gets with a bear. Twirling the flower wreath you've been weaving, you muse, "I'm considering changing these to yellow blossoms, what do you think?" You glance at him, your look soft and affectionate as he cocks his head, ears perked, you know his bearish confusion was a silent compliment to your creation.

Your laughter is light as your fingers trace the fur between his eyes. "Yellow's quite the neutral choice," Halsin watches you, his gaze intent, absorbing every word you speak, “Hmm, or maybe I should do white instead, but that’s just- no. That’s a terrible idea.” He continues to listen, studying your expression intently, as if trying to decipher the message behind your words.

“If it's a boy," you continue, your eyes lingering on the wreath, "I don't think he'd appreciate all these shades of pink." Your gaze meets Halsin's, a playful glimmer in your eyes. "And if it's a girl, well, pink seems to be the only answer. But how am I supposed to know? I'm no seer." You raise an eyebrow, your eyes searching his face. Suddenly, his wide brown eyes illuminate, and in a burst of radiant energy, Halsin stands before you, transformed back into his glorious elven body. "Is it true? You spoke of the truth just now?" he asks, his voice filled with awe and excitement.

Joining him in standing, a smile spreads across your face, and you nod, uttering the words he longed to hear, "It's true, my love." Unable to contain his joy, Halsin bursts into laughter, engulfing you in his arms as he spins you around, expressing his elation in that moment of pure bliss.

Halsin's laughter fills the forest as he spins you around, his joy palpable in the warm embrace. "By the Great Oak Father!" he exclaims, his eyes shining with happiness. You both come to a stop, and Halsin cups your face in his hands, his expression overflowing with love. "Our love, our bond, will be forever sealed in this precious life."

The forest and flowers around you seemed to come alive with vibrant colors, the gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of the blooms. It feels as if though nature is celebrating alongside you.

As the initial rush of excitement settles, Halsin lowers himself to one knee, holding your hand close to him. "My heart, I promise to be there for you and our child every step of the way. I will protect and cherish both of you with all that I am."

Tears of joy well up in your eyes as you meet his gaze. "And I promise to stand by your side, Halsin, as I always have.”

Halsin's grin widens as he rises from his knee, his eyes never leaving yours. "I have no doubt that we will raise a child who embodies both the strength of the wild and the wisdom of the druids. They will be surrounded by love, nature, and the embrace of the elements."

With hearts filled with excitement and anticipation, you and Halsin spend the rest of the day in the forest, basking in the joy of your upcoming journey as parents. As the sun sets, casting a mesmerizing glow across the landscape, you can't help but feel an incredible sense of gratitude for the life growing within you and the love that binds you both together.

[sevarchive]

♡ between petals and promises ──

જ⁀➴ a bachira meguru story. 1k words

synopsis: in which two childhood best friends found magic in small moments and shared dreams beneath cherry blossoms.

the sun was extra kind today,

it peeked through the cherry blossoms like it was playing tag with the sky. the breeze was soft, and the air smelled like grass and spring.

this old bench under the tree didn’t matter to anyone else. but to you and bachira meguru, it was your whole world. no school, no grown-ups, no yelling; just you two and the pink petals above.

you were early today, swinging your legs, humming to the wind.

but then—

“boo!”

warm hands covered your eyes. you giggled.

“forest goblin?”

“nope! your favorite monster!”

he spun around with sunlit hair and a grin the size of the moon, then plopped beside you with a picnic basket wrapped in a cloth with a goofy frog on it.

“i brought snacks!”

“rice balls shaped like cats?”

he gasped. “how’d you knoooow?!”

inside were wonky onigiri: cats, pandas, and a weird lumpy one.

“that’s mr. potato,” he said. “he looks...weird but he’s got good vibes.”

“you made these?”

he scratched his neck. “the ears were hard. but i gave the potato one a smile. he deserves love.”

you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. then you shared food, petals, and laughter; touching fingers and blushing when they met.

“game time!” he suddenly declared.

“catch a cherry blossom in your mouth. loser gives a forehead kiss.”

“you just want me to kiss you!”

he grinned. “guilty!”

the game was chaos. you missed every petal, tripped, got hit in the eye. and you laughed the whole time.

finally flopping onto the bench, breathless—

“so… i win?”

you rolled your eyes. “only ’cause you’re cute.” you gave him the tiniest forehead kiss.

he melted like ice cream.

“yep,” he whispered. “i win.”

he curled into your side like a sleepy kitten. then, suddenly—

“ta-da!”

from his hoodie, he pulled out a wrinkly paper airplane.

it was covered in doodles: you two as stick figures holding hands, a tree, stars, hearts, and a smiling blob.

“what’s that?”

“our future dog. his name is pickle.”

you giggled and unfolded the plane. inside, messy crayon letters read:

“when you forget how far your dreams can fly, just ask me to carry them.”

your heart did a weird little flip.

“even if you forget,” he said, serious for once, “i’ll remember for both of us.”

you didn’t understand fully. not yet. but you hugged the little plane to your chest like it mattered.

because somehow, you knew it did.

the stadium erupted,

japan had won the world cup.

and even as the crowd screamed and gold confetti poured from the sky, bachira meguru didn’t cheer. he didn’t run around the field or drop to his knees. he beelined for the edge of the pitch — eyes locked on the one person he wanted to share it all with.

you.

he was breathless, sweaty, wild-eyed, and glowing.

“you came,” he said, voice hoarse with disbelief, “you came—!”

“of course i came!” you half-laughed, half-sobbed. “you idiot, you just won the whole damn world cup!”

and then, without thinking, without warning, without fear, he kissed you.

right there. on the field. in front of the cameras, the lights, the world. but then he stopped. stepped back. and suddenly looked… nervous.

he reached into the inside of his jersey and carefully pulled something out — protected in a plastic sleeve, folded neatly in half.

you gasped.

no. no way.

the paper airplane. that paper airplane. the one he’d given you when you were kids.

“i— i kinda stole it back last time i visited,” he mumbled sheepishly. “you were sleeping, and i panicked, but—! just—watch.”

he held it gently in both hands… then slowly unfolded it.

taped inside the center crease, like a secret at the heart of a memory, was a tiny velvet ring box.

your breath hitched.

“i figured,” he said, voice cracking just a little, “if i was gonna fly anywhere, it should be with you.”

he dropped to one knee right there: golden confetti clinging to his hair, his cheeks pink, his smile trembling with emotion.

“i’ve carried this dream since i was a kid,” he said softly.

“and it was never the world cup. it was this. you. us. a forever that feels like cherry blossoms and monsters and rice balls that look like cats.”

you choked on a laugh-sob.

“so,” he whispered, opening the ring box: simple, perfect, and glowing like his eyes,

“will you hold my hand and fly with me through every storm and every sunrise, always and forever?”

you didn’t answer with words. you launched yourself into his arms and kissed him so hard the entire stadium blurred.

he held you like the most important trophy in the world — because to him, you were.

“yes” you finally gasped against his cheek.

“yes, meguru. always.”

a new cherry blossom tree grew in your backyard,

meguru sat underneath it with his head on your lap, sketching little rice-ball cats in a notebook while your fingers combed through his hair.

the old paper airplane rested on your windowsill, framed. right next to a new one, this time, with four stick figures.

you.

him.

pickle.

and a tiny, doodled baby monster.

જ⁀➴ © sevarchive ✦ masterlist ; like/reblogs are appreciated ꣑ৎ