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vunblr · 28 days ago

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Threads and Timber

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky grapples with a questionable Christmas gift.

Word Count: 10k

notes: Roots and Branches AU

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of a slow-cooked stew, steam curling from the pot as she gave it a final stir. It had been days since she’d seen him properly, their interactions reduced to brief, tired phone calls that left her wanting more. Winter was a quiet season for lumberjacks, but rather than resting, Bucky had been keeping busy at Sam’s, taking on carpentry work to fill the downtime.

That morning, his voice had been a low rasp over the phone, thick with an exhaustion that tugged at her heart. She’d tried to coax him into a real conversation, hoping to hear more than his clipped responses, but the demands of the mayor’s big project had stolen him away yet again.

Sighing, she ladled the rich, hearty stew into a tupperware, tucking in a chunk of freshly baked bread alongside it in a bag. Bucky deserved more than just quick meals scarfed down between tasks. He deserved to pause, breathe, and care for himself. If he couldn’t come to her, she’d go to him.

Grabbing her coat and scarf, she bundled up against the crisp December air and headed out. The drive to Sam’s workshop was quick, the sight of the modest building came into view as she rounded a bend. Even from a distance, she could hear the faint buzz of saws and the rhythmic tap of hammers.

Inside, the workshop was a flurry of activity. Sawdust floated like golden confetti in the beams of light streaming through the high windows and half-finished pieces of what looked like a massive table were scattered across the floor. Sam was barking orders from a workbench, his voice carrying over the chaos.

Her eyes found Bucky instantly. He was crouched low, a pencil tucked behind his ear, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with sawdust. His hair was tied back, but a few strands had escaped, brushing against his face as he measured and marked a plank with laser-sharp focus.

“Y/n!” Sam’s voice jolted her from her reverie. He grinned, straightening and brushing his hands on his jeans. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Someone’s breaking the ‘no distractions’ rule.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at her name, and his eyes softened the moment they landed on her. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached in an unhurried but purposeful manner.

“What’re you doin’ here?” His voice was gruff, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed his surprise.

“You sound so thrilled to see me,” she teased, holding up the bag. “I brought you lunch. Thought you could use something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Sam let out a low whistle, winking at her. “That’s some first-class treatment, Barnes. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink as he shot Sam a warning look before turning his attention back to her. “You know is not necessary to do this,” he muttered, though his eyes lingered on the bag with unmistakable appreciation.

“I wanted to.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice as she met his gaze. “You’ve been working so hard, Buck. Let me pamper you, even just for a little while.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he nodded. “Thanks, sweetheart” he murmured with a softer tone. He reached out, brushing a gloved thumb across her cheek in a brief but tender gesture.

She smiled, handing him the bag. “Go ahead and eat before it gets cold. I’ll keep Sam company while you take a break.”

Bucky hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. “Stay,” he said simply, the word weighted with longing.

Her chest tightened, and she nodded. “Okay.”

He led her to a quieter corner of the workshop, where he perched on a workbench and pulled out the container. She watched as he took his first bite, his eyes fluttering shut briefly as the flavors hit him.

“This is good,” he said after a moment, going for the bread.

She grinned. “Good enough to make up for barging in on your workday?”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that faint, heart-stopping smile of his. “Better than good.”

As the hum of the workshop continued around them, she leaned against the bench, content to simply be there, sharing a quiet moment with the man she loved.

Bucky set the tupper down with a soft noise, brushing a thumb across his lips to catch any lingering traces of the stew. “Thanks, darling,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of warmth that made her heart squeeze.

“Always,” she replied, reaching out to straighten the collar of his flannel shirt. “You’ve got this, Buck. Just don’t forget to eat something other than coffee and frustration, okay?”

His lips twitched into that faint smile again, and he gave a small nod, his fingers brushing briefly over hers before she pulled away.

She was just gathering her things to leave when Sam appeared, wiping his hands on a rag as he strolled over, his expression equal parts curiosity and amusement.

“Before you go,” he started, leaning casually against the nearest workbench, “I wanted to mention something. I’m hosting a little Christmas Eve get-together at my place. Just the crew and a few friends, nothing fancy. If you don’t already have plans, you’re more than welcome. Both of you.”

She paused, caught slightly off-guard but pleased by the offer since it was her first Christmas in the town. Her gaze flicked to Bucky, whose expression had shifted into something more guarded. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, with an unmistakable discomfort in his tone.

Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking as he straightened. “That’s Buck-speak for ‘I’d rather wrestle a grizzly than go to a there.’ But hey, maybe you can change his mind.”

Her lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “We’ll think about it,” she said smoothly, subtly offering reassurance with a light touch to Bucky’s arm.

Sam chuckled, tossing the rag onto the bench. “I’ll take that as a yes. You know where I live if you decide to come.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said warmly, before turning to Bucky. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before he gave a slight nod.

As she headed for the door, Sam’s voice followed her, teasing but good-natured. “Don’t let him talk you out of it, we need some holiday spirit around here.”

She glanced back with a grin. “I’ll do my best.”

Outside, the crisp air nipped at her cheeks as she climbed into her car, stealing one last look at the workshop. Her heart ached a little at the sight of Bucky already back at work, his shoulders squared and focus returning to the task at hand.

The evening stretched as she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples after slogging through another chapter of the “gunslinger x damsel” novel. The sheriff’s daughter had just been kidnapped -again- and the hero’s smoldering intensity was only matched by his unrealistic ability to outshoot twenty bandits in the middle of a dust storm.

With a sigh, she saved her notes, muttering to herself, “Why is it always the sheriff’s daughter? Does anyone else in the town ever fall in love?”

Pushing her laptop aside, she grabbed her coffee and opened a shopping site on her phone. The homepage cheerfully proclaimed Winter Deals for the Holidays! in bold, glittering letters, and she clicked through out of idle curiosity. She scrolled past cozy knit blankets, sparkly ornaments, and slippers shaped like reindeer hooves, when something caught her eye.

It was hideous.

A sweater -no, the sweater- covered in garish Christmas patterns, complete with snowmen, reindeer, and lights embedded in a gaudy green tree. It was oversized, loud, and utterly atrocious.

She bit her lip, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she imagined Bucky in it. Her grumpy, reserved boyfriend, with his broad shoulders and no-nonsense attitude, dressed in something so absurdly festive. The mental image was enough to make her laugh, fogging the rim of her mug with her breath

It was their first Christmas together as a couple, and while she didn’t expect him to suddenly transform into the embodiment of holiday cheer, the thought of coaxing him into this sweater filled her with a mischievous kind of joy.

Her finger hovered over the “Add to Cart” button as she mulled it over. He’d resist, of course. He’d grumble, roll his eyes, maybe even cross his arms and give her that look that usually meant “not a chance.”

But then she thought about his small, reluctant smiles, the way his gruff exterior softened in private moments, and the quiet way he always indulged her whims, even the silly ones.

Tap.

She placed the order, her heart skipping with excitement as she leaned back against the cushions. Whatever resistance he threw her way, she’d make it work. After all, it wasn’t really about the sweater. It was about sharing this first Christmas, and maybe, just maybe, helping Bucky feel like he belonged in this season of warmth and celebration.

As the confirmation email popped up on her screen, she whispered to herself, “This is going to be so good.”

The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting golden light over the frosted edges of the forest as she pulled into the clearing. Bucky’s cabin stood nestled against the trees, smoke curling lazily from the chimney, but her attention was immediately drawn to him.

Unsurprisingly, he was outside, splitting firewood in a rhythm that spoke of muscle memory and focus. Each swing of the axe cut clean through the logs, the sharp crack echoing in the stillness. Steam left his mouth in warm puffs with every breath, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket -of course not- with the exertion keeping him warm. His fitted thermal shirt clung to him, the fabric pressed across his shoulders and chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms flexing with every motion.

She bit her lip, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before stepping out of the car, a festively wrapped box tucked under her arm. The crunch of her boots on the snow caught his attention. He paused mid-swing, lowering the axe and planting it firmly in a stump before turning toward her.

His breath fogged the air as he walked over, wiping his hands on his jeans, with a hint of a smile softening his sharp features. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm as his arms circled her waist.

“Hey,” she murmured, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back, slow and sure. When they broke apart, his brow quirked, his gaze flicking to the box in her hands. “What’s that?” his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

“I brought you a present,” she announced, holding it up.

His brow arched higher, though a faint flush crept up his neck. “You didn’t have to bother.”

She grinned, nudging him playfully. “It’s almost Christmas, Buck. Humor me.”

With a resigned huff, he tilted his head toward the cabin. “Come on, then.”

Inside, the warmth from the wood stove wrapped around her as they stepped in. “Alright,” he said, leaning back against the counter as he folded his arms. “Let’s see it.”

She placed the box on the table, her grin widening as she gestured for him to open it. “Go on”.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tugged at the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper. The moment his eyes landed on the sweater, his expression shifted into a deadpan stare.

“No.”

She bit back a laugh, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “Oh, come on! You haven’t even tried it on yet.”

His gaze flicked from her to the offending garment, tightening his jaw. “Not happening.”

“Buckyyy,” she begged, stepping closer. “You’ll look so good in it at Sam’s party-“

“About that,” he interjected, straightening and crossing his arms over his chest.

She paused, tilting her head. “What about it?”

His lips pressed into a line as he glanced toward the window, avoiding her gaze. “We didn’t really talk about going,” he said carefully. “I’m not exactly... eager to be around that many people. You know how I am with crowds.”

Her shoulders softened as she closed the distance between them, and her hands rested lightly on his folded arms. “Honey, I get it. I know it’s not your favorite thing, and you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But it’s Sam’s party, and I think he’d really appreciate seeing you there, even just for a little while.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to hers. “I just... I don’t know.”

She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble there as she smiled softly. “You’ll have me with you the whole time. And it’s not some big, formal thing, just a cozy night with friends. We don’t have to stay long, I promise.”

His eyes lingered on hers, weighing her words. Finally, he sighed. “Alright. I’ll go. But only because of you are asking.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you. You’ll see, it’ll be fun.”

He huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Fun, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. She stepped back, gesturing to the sweater still sitting on the table. “And everyone will love your sweater.”

His brow furrowed, the faint flicker of warmth disappearing into another deadpan stare. “Not a chance.” he muttered.

“Just try it on!” she pleaded, laughing.

“Not. Happening.” he repeated, but his tone was less certain now as she stepped closer.

Undeterred, she smirked, leaning in, and placing her hands on his chest. “You’ll be the star of the evening.”

“That makes it worse,” he grumbled, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his cheeks as her hands slid to his shoulders.

“Please?” she whispered, her voice soft and teasing as she kissed his jaw.

He let out a low groan, his resolve clearly wavering, but he held his ground. “No.”

She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Fine. Let’s try a different tactic.”

Before he could react, she grabbed his shirt and guided him backward, pinning him gently against the edge of the table. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing, his hands settling on her hips instinctively.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, with a low and sultry tone, “If you wear it for me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The breath he exhaled was almost a growl, his hands tightening on her hips as his head dipped forward, his forehead brushing hers. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a smug smile. “Life’s not fair, Jamie.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, they were filled with resigned heat. “Fine,” he grumbled, the word almost a sigh. “But you owe me.”

Her laugh was soft and triumphant as she kissed him again, lingering this time. “Deal.”

The sound of laughter and muffled music reached Bucky even before he opened the door. Sam’s house was alive with chatter, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. He paused on the doorstep, squaring his shoulders, his hand hesitating on the doorknob. He glanced down at the sweater -the ridiculous, awful sweater- and sighed deeply before stepping inside.

Warmth enveloped him immediately, the room packed with neighbors, Sam’s crew, and a few familiar faces from around town. He quickly scanned the crowd, his jaw tightening as he spotted her near the fireplace, chatting animatedly with one of Sam’s friends. He didn’t make it more than a step before Sam’s booming voice cut through the din.

“Barnes!” Sam’s grin could have lit up the entire house as he pushed through the crowd, his laughter already bubbling up. His gaze landed on the sweater, and that was all it took.

“Oh, man,” Sam crowed, slapping his knee in exaggerated delight. “I knew you were coming, but I wasn’t ready for this. That thing’s a masterpiece!”

The room erupted into laughter and good-natured teasing, a few people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s “holiday spirit.” Bucky’s ears burned as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression a mix of resignation and discomfort.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low as his eyes darted around. “Get it outta your system, Sam.”

Sam wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “You’ve got to let me get a picture of this. No one’s gonna believe me otherwise.”

Bucky opened his mouth -likely to tell him exactly where he could shove his camera- when she turned at the sound of Sam’s laughter. Her gaze found him instantly, and her face lit up as she set down her drink and moved toward him.

“Buck,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the teasing like a lifeline.

She reached him quickly, her eyes sparkling with amusement as they flicked over the sweater. “Look at you,” she teased, as she placed her hands lightly on his chest as if they were the only two people in the room. “You look so sexy in this.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes softened as he tilted his head toward her. “You’re the only one who thinks that, sweetheart.”

“I don’t care, I think you’re perfect,” she murmured, leaning closer as her hands slid up to his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You’ve earned it.”

He followed her toward the kitchen, his hand finding the small of her back as they moved through the crowd. The weight of people’s stares and Sam’s lingering laughter faded as she pressed a glass of cider into his hand.

“See?” she teased as they stood near the fireplace. “Not so bad.”

He took a sip of the cider, his brow raising slightly. “We’re still talkin’ about this sweater, or somethin’ else?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Both.”

Their conversation eased into a steady rhythm, her warmth drawing him out of his usual reserve. Then they talked with a few neighbors, her doing most of the chatting while Bucky offered the occasional quiet comment or nod. His hand never left her, though, whether resting lightly on her back or brushing her arm as he reached for his drink.

At one point, she leaned close, her voice dropping as she murmured near his ear. “You’re doing great.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Doin’ this for you, darling. Not Sam’s damn party.” The faint blush dusting his cheeks made her heart skip a beat.

She smiled and brushed her fingers lightly over his arm. “I know. And I appreciate it. You’re amazing.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips before he exhaled a quiet sigh. His hand at her back gave a gentle squeeze, and his gaze softened as he studied her for a moment longer.

“Be right back,” he murmured, leaning in to press a brief kiss to her temple.

She watched him slip away, his broad frame disappearing toward the hallway toward the bathroom, and couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on her face. Cradling her glass of cider, she let herself enjoy the warmth of the moment, the chatter, the laughter, the glow of the lights.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, low and smooth, cutting through the warmth of her thoughts.

She turned to find John Walker standing nearby, a charming smile playing on his lips, carrying himself with the kind of casual confidence that bordered on calculated. His eyes flicked to hers, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“John,” she greeted politely, offering a small smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he said, stepping just slightly closer. “You’re usually busy keeping Barnes out of trouble, right?”

She chuckled lightly, the comment earning a quick quirk of her brow. “He doesn’t need much keeping. He’s more than capable.”

“Sure,” John replied, though the grin tugging at his lips tightened just a fraction. His gaze flicked over her briefly. “But I bet it keeps you busy. Still, I gotta say, you brighten up the place tonight. Hard not to notice.”

She smiled politely, shifting her weight slightly. “It’s a lovely party,” she said, deflecting without missing a beat. “Sam always knows how to bring people together.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though his focus remained squarely on her. “But some people stand out, you know? Like you. I mean, you’ve got this effortless way about you… easy to see why Barnes sticks so close.”

The compliment caught her off guard, and she laughed, more out of politeness than anything else. “Well, thank you, John. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Just honest,” he said smoothly. “Not every day someone like you walks into a room-”

Before she could respond, a familiar warmth settled at her side. Bucky’s arm slid firmly around her waist, his grip possessive but subtle. His blue eyes locked on Walker, the barest flicker of annoyance crossing his expression as he took in the exchange. His tone, low and even, carried a subtle edge.

“Walker,” he said simply, nodding in acknowledgment.

John straightened slightly, his charming smile faltering just enough to be noticeable before returning with a hint of stiffness. “Barnes,” he replied, his tone measured. “Didn’t realize you’d made it tonight.”

“Obviously,” Bucky said flatly, his arm tightening just a bit around her waist.

“Nice sweater.” The blonde complimented, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, his jaw tightening as he prepared to fire back.

But before he could get a word out, she interjected smoothly “I know, right? I picked it myself.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched slightly. Meanwhile, John’s grin faltered, his eyes flicking between them as he tried to recover.

“Well,” he added after a beat, with forced cheer. “It’s definitely... festive.”

“Sure is,” Bucky responded dryly, his gaze never leaving John as his fingers flexed subtly against her waist.

The tension lingered for a moment before John cleared his throat, offering a polite nod. “Guess I’ll grab another drink. Nice seeing you.”

“Likewise,” she replied easily, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath Bucky’s stoic exterior as she turned to him with a soft smile.

Bucky waited until John had stepped away before letting out a quiet exhale, relaxing his grip just a little.

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “You okay?” she asked, brushing her fingers over his arm.

“Fine,” he muttered, though his gaze lingered in the direction John had gone. His voice softened as his hand slid to the small of her back, “Just didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Bucky,” she murmured, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of her head. “I know.”

For the rest of the evening, they remained close, sharing conversations with the guests and exchanging subtle touches. His thumb would graze her wrist when she reached for her glass, or her hand would linger on his arm during a laugh. Eventually, they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the room, the chatter fading into the background. She tugged playfully at his sweater, her fingers curling into the coarsed knit as she coaxed him to lean down. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice teasing as she rose on her toes.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, his brows furrowing slightly as if to ask, Here?

“Yes, here,” she whispered, grinning as she tugged again.

With a low sigh that could have passed for reluctance -if not for the way his hand tightened at her back- he leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The room erupted in whistles and cheers, Sam’s voice rising above the noise. “Look at you, Mr. Christmas! Ugly sweater and public display of affection? Who even are you right now?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to shoot Sam an unimpressed look. “You done?”

Sam grinned, raising his glass in triumph. “Never.”

As the laughter subsided, Bucky turned back to her, his hand brushing against her cheek as he leaned close. “Later, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with promise. “I’m gonna make you pay for this sweater.”

Her cheeks warmed as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Actually...” she murmured with a hint of mischief. “I was planning to atone for it sooner than you think.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his gaze searching hers. “What-”

Before he could finish, she tipped her glass just enough for a splash of cider to land squarely on his pants, the liquid soaking into the dark denim with unmistakable precision.

“Oh dear,” she gasped, her voice laced with exaggerated concern as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry!”

Bucky stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the damp spot, then back at her. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and wary, “what are you-”

“Let me fix it!” she interrupted, grabbing his hand before he could protest. She tugged him gently but insistently toward the hallway, her fingers laced with his as she maneuvered them through the crowd.

He let her lead him, his long strides matching her quick steps. He faintly intuited where this might be heading, but the thought didn’t fully land until they reached the bathroom door.

She pulled him inside with one smooth motion, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The lock turned with a quiet finality that seemed to echo in the tiny space.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking as he glanced between her and the door. “You really spilled cider on me just to get me in here?”

Her lips curved into a smile that was anything but innocent as she stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the ridiculous sweater he’d begrudgingly worn for her. “You look so handsome in this, Buck,” she murmured, her voice low and sweet as her hands slid to his belt. “How could I resist?”

His body reacted before his mind fully caught up. His breath hitched as her fingers worked at the buckle, her deliberate slowness driving him to the edge of reason.

“Darling...” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

“Shh,” she whispered, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. Her voice was a sultry murmur, “I told you I’d make it worth it.” She added, warm breath fanning against his skin.

Her hands moved with deliberate intent, sliding down to his waistband. Bucky’s breath hitched as the sound of his zipper filled the tiny bathroom, her fingers brushing against his already interested cock. She pressed her palm against him through his boxers, and he hissed, his head tilting back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped again, his voice low and strained. “We’re at a damn Christmas party... what if someone-”

She silenced him with a quick peck, her lips curling into a playful smile. “We’re cleaning a vicious stain,” she corrected, her tone teasing but unwavering.

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, while his hands hesitated on her waist.

She knew what he meant, knew the unspoken vacillation behind the words. In all their time together, he had always shied away from this particular kind of intimacy. He’d muttered something once about it feeling degrading for her, some outdated notion she’d tried to challenge more than once. But tonight, she wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t,” she agreed softly, her voice firm as her fingers stroked over the growing hardness beneath the fabric. She leaned in, her breath hot against his pulse point, making his resolve fray with every passing second. “But I want to. And you know…” she murmured, punctuating her words with a kiss just below his ear, “that eventually, you always give up and agree to what I ask of you.”

His groan was low and guttural, and his hands tightened on her hips. “You’re somethin’ else.” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and surrender.

Her lips brushed against his neck, her teeth grazing his sensitive skin as she whispered, “I know.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, stroking his length with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left him clinging to the last shreds of his control.

“Have it your way,” he muttered, as his head fell back against the wall.

Her triumphant smile was quick, her fingers giving him one last teasing caress before she sank gracefully to her knees.

“Good,” she said softly, her hands sliding up his thighs as she looked up at him, her gaze locking with his. ”Now, let me thank you for being so brave, coming to the party, wearing the sweater... indulging me.” Her hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, and with deliberate care, she eased them down, freeing his aching cock. The cool air of the bathroom hit his heated skin, and he hissed softly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“Jesus, darling,” he muttered, his blush creeping past his collar, tinting his neck and ears. He was already hard, the veins along his length standing out as his body betrayed his restraint.

She smiled, her lips curving with just a hint of mischief as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly to let him adjust to the intimacy. “You’re so beautiful, Buck,” she murmured, her thumb brushing along the tip, spreading the bead of precum glistening there.

He cursed under his breath, his head falling back again against the wall with a low thud. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained.

“No,” she whispered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the base of his cock, her lips warm against his skin. “I’m going to make you feel good.” She started slow, her tongue tracing along the underside of his length, one hand still pressed at his thigh, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

His hand came to her shoulder, not to guide her but to steady himself as his breaths turned ragged. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes dropped to her, and the sight of her there, so confident and focused on him, sent heat pooling low in his belly.

She took him deeper, her lips stretching around him as she sank down, her tongue swirling with each movement. His hips jerked instinctively, and he muttered a soft apology, his blush deepening on his cheeks.

“Relax,” she soothed, pulling back slightly to run her tongue along his tip before taking him in again. Her hands slid along his thighs, her touch grounding and gentle as she worked him with a rhythm that had him trembling.

“Shit,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his head tilted back again. His fingers flexed against her shoulder, his free hand gripping the counter behind him as if he were afraid he might lose control entirely.

As the heat coiled tighter in his core, he exhaled sharply, his voice thick with need. “Open your blouse.”

She paused, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then her hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. She shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing the soft curves of her bare skin beneath.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his eyes roamed over her.

She smiled again, her fingers brushing lightly over his thighs before she leaned forward, taking him back into her mouth. Her movements were more purposeful now, her tongue pressing in just the right spots, drawing out a chorus of curses and low, desperate groans from him.

He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pleasure building so quickly it left him dizzy. “Darlin’,” he choked out, pulling back slightly with a groan.

His hand slid to himself, his grip firm as he stroked quickly, the tension snapping with a guttural moan. Warm ropes of his release spilled over her breasts, painting her skin as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, his eyes met hers, and he let out a shaky laugh, the blush still high on his cheeks. “Gonna need more than a minute to recover from that,” he muttered, his voice thick but laced with awe.

Her lips curled into a sly smile, her chest still rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Oh, we have time. Cider can be very tricky to clean.”

That earned her a soft, breathless chuckle. “Speaking of which,” he said, straightening as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief -because, of course he had one- and wet it under the stream of warm water from the sink. Turning back to her, he knelt slightly and gently dabbed at her skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, his touch reverent as he cleaned her chest.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth, his eyes focused on her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “But damn if I don’t appreciate it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze, watching him as his fingers brushed against her with quiet care.

“You’re unbelievable,” he added softly, shaking his head as he continued. “Always finding ways to take care of me... and knock me on my ass in the process.”

She laughed softly, and her hand rested on his wrist, stilling his movements for a moment. “I’ll always take care of you, Buck. That’s what we do.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the teasing energy between them softened into something deeper, more intimate. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “That’s what we do.”

He finished cleaning her with a few more light touches, his gaze lingering before he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Standing, he folded the handkerchief and set it aside, offering her his hand to help her up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s get back out there before Sam decides to come lookin’ for us.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile, buttoning her blouse again as they prepared to slip back into the party.

The hum of conversations and laughter swallowed them up as if they’d never been gone. Bucky’s hand rested at her back, his touch was light but reassuring as they maneuvered through the room together. They stopped to chat with a few neighbors and some of Sam’s crew, the warmth of the gathering lulling Bucky into an unusual state of ease. She noticed how he leaned into the conversation more, even throwing in the occasional dry comment that earned a laugh or two.

At one point, Sam passed by with another drink in hand, his gaze flicking to Bucky with an exaggerated look of appraisal. “Barnes, you’re still rockin’ that sweater. I think it’s startin’ to grow on me.”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Enjoy the view while it lasts, Wilson. This thing’s gettin’ torched tomorrow.”

“Not if I get a picture first,” Sam shot back, winking at her before moving on to talk with another guest.

She laughed softly, squeezing Bucky’s arm as she leaned close. “Look at you, doing so great.”

“Don’t push it.” he muttered, though the affection in his tone betrayed him.

The night carried on, the crowd beginning to thin as people trickled out into the chilly evening, leaving the room quieter but no less warm as the soft glow of the string lights bathed the space. She was mid-conversation with a neighbor when she felt it, that unmistakable sense of being watched. Her gaze flicked up, and there he was, standing near the door. His eyes were steady and intent, and when their gazes met, he tilted his head ever so slightly, the gesture subtle but clear.

She excused herself with a polite smile, weaving through the remaining guests to meet him. His hand found hers as she approached, the rough warmth of his fingers squeezing lightly before guiding her toward Sam, who stood by the doorway, chatting animatedly with a couple of friends.

“Sam,” she called softly, earning his attention as she offered a warm smile. “Thanks so much for inviting us. We had a wonderful time.”

Sam grinned, his gaze warm before it shifted to Bucky with a mischievous glint. “Always a pleasure,” he said smoothly. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he held up his phone, displaying a photo he’d clearly taken earlier in the evening.

The image showed Bucky mid-conversation, the atrocious sweater at full display as he stood with his arms crossed, looking far too good for such a ridiculous outfit.

“Buck, this one’s goin’ in the memory books,” Sam declared, laughing as he turned the screen for them to see.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his deadpan stare fixed on the photo “Delete it,” he said flatly.

Sam only laughed harder, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nope. I already sent it to the work chat.”

She bit her lip to hold back her laugh, slipping her hand into Bucky’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take it as a compliment,” she teased softly.

Bucky sighed, already steering her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered, the faintest flush creeping up his neck as Sam chuckled behind them.

The crisp night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and she instinctively leaned into him for warmth. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as their boots crunched against the snowy path.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” she said lightly, glancing up at him. “We should walk to my place instead of drive.”

Bucky huffed, slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close as they started down the snowy path. “Guess we’re walkin’, then,” he said, with a dry tone. “Not like I needed my dignity tonight anyway. This damn sweater saw to that.”

She laughed, leaning into him. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s exactly that bad,” he replied, but there was no real heat in his voice. His fingers splayed across the curve of her back as he spoke, before dipping further to give her ass a deliberate squeeze.

“Bucky!” she gasped, her eyes darting around to check the empty street, her face flushing hot against the winter chill.

“What?” he asked, his tone perfectly deadpan. “You made me wear the damn thing. Seems fair.”

She swatted lightly at his chest, and her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “Someone could’ve seen.”

“Let ‘em,” he said simply, his voice was low and gravelly as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear. “I’m the socially awkward one, remember?”

A laugh bubbled out of her, the mix of his teasing and the warmth of his voice making her cheeks burn even hotter. She loved how he could be grumpy and endearing, awkward yet somehow confident, all wrapped in the absurd charm of an awful Christmas sweater.

The warmth of her house wrapped around them as they stepped inside, starkly contrasting the frosty night air they’d left behind. She slipped off her coat and hung it by the door, turning to see Bucky doing the same. His movements were unhurried, his broad frame still slightly stiff from the cold, but his eyes already warming as they met hers.

“Tea?” she asked, smiling softly as she walked toward the kitchen.

He nodded, following her with slow, deliberate steps. “Something warm sounds good.”

She moved easily through the space, setting the kettle on the stove before reaching for the cabinet overhead. Standing on her toes, she stretched to grab the box of apple-flavored tea tucked near the back.

Bucky watched her intently from where he leaned against the counter. The sight of her body arching as she tried to reach the tea was all the invitation he needed.

“Here,” he said, as he moved behind her.

She stilled as his hand reached past hers to grab the box, his chest brushing against her back, his body pressing against hers just a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his body sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. When he handed her the tea, she turned slightly, offering a quiet, “Thanks.”

His gaze lingered on her, heavy and thoughtful, as his thumb reached out to trace her lower lip. The touch was featherlight. His eyes darkened, his expression unreadable as his thumb lingered there, brushing softly.

Her cheeks flushed as she wondered if he was thinking of what transpired at the party, the intimacy they’d stolen away behind closed doors.

“Buck-” she started, but her words were lost as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft and searching.

She sighed against him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the coarsed knit of the sweater. His lips moved gentle at first, coaxing, before the kiss deepened, growing messy and heated as his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer.

She gasped softly when his tongue brushed hers, trailing her fingers upward to tangle them on his long locks as the kiss grew more fervent. The kettle whistled faintly in the background, but neither of them moved to address it.

When they finally broke apart for air, her lips were swollen, her breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. His own breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as his gaze dropped to her lips again, undecided, as though torn between kissing her once more or letting his hands venture where his mouth hadn’t yet dared.

“Tea can wait,” he murmured, his voice rough with want as his thumb brushed over her lips once more. Then, he kissed her again and in one fluid motion, he lifted her, setting her on the kitchen counter with effortless strength.

She gasped softly, wrapping her legs instinctively around his hips as he positioned himself between them. Her hands trailed up his arms, fingers skimming over the firm muscles of his biceps and shoulders eliciting a low hum deep in his chest.

“You really like this ugly sweater, don’t you?” he asked, breathing warmly against her cheek.

She smirked, tilting her head to nip gently at his jawline, her teeth grazing the faint stubble there. “Not the sweater,” she murmured, her lips brushing his skin as she spoke. “I like the present wrapped inside it.”

It was all it took. The last thread of his control snapped like a frayed rope.

With a low growl, his hands moved to her blouse, and in one swift motion, he tore it open, sending flying buttons scattering across the wooden floor. His hands were on her instantly, rough and insistent, covering her breasts, squeezing and kneading as his lips sought hers again.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough and strained, “how patient I’ve been after your little performance at Sam’s? After what you did in the bathroom?”

“I was just trying to make up for the sweater,” she said breathlessly, her lips curving into a teasing smile even as her body arched into his touch.

“Oh, you’re gonna make up for it,” he muttered, his hands sliding to her back to unhook her bra with practiced ease. He pushed it aside, his mouth descending to her collarbone, then lower, his words rumbling against her skin. “Every last bit of it.” His lips found her breasts, his tongue tracing lazy circles around her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, with more intent later. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as he alternated between soft licks and sharp nips, his teeth grazing her just enough to send sparks through her body.

“Bucky,” she breathed, tilting back her head as she moaned under his ministrations.

He didn’t stop until her skin was wet and tender, her nipples flushed from his attention. Satisfied with his work, he lifted his head, lips glistening as he met her gaze with a wicked smirk.

One hand slipped to the waistband of her pants, tugging at the elastic as his other arm encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly. With a quick motion, he rid her of the fabric, panties and all, and the cool air against her bare skin made her shiver.

He set her back on the counter, kissing her again, one hand steadying her by the waist while the other reached out. She heard the faint clink of glass and broke the kiss just in time to see him holding a jar of plum jam he’d spotted earlier on the counter.

His smirk turned darker as he unscrewed the lid, his eyes locked intently on hers. “I fancy something sweet with the tea,” he informed in a low tone.

Her cheeks flushed as the realization dawned, moving her hands to stop him. “Bucky-”

But he was faster. His fingers dipped into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the sticky preserve. Before she could protest again, he smeared it against her wet folds, the cool sensation making her jerk.

“Cold,” she gasped, her body twisting slightly at the sensation.

His hands settled on her thighs, steadying her as he dropped to his knees in front of her, his lips curving into a smug smile. “Not for long,” he murmured. Before she could form another thought, his mouth was on her, the contrast between his warmth and the cool jam sent shockwaves through pussy. His tongue moved deliberately, savoring every inch of her as he spread her thighs wider, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. His lips latched onto her clit without warning, and his tongue delivered a hard flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She gasped sharply, her body jerking in response, her thighs trying to close instinctively against the overwhelming sensation.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he steadied her, his broad shoulders keeping her legs apart. His voice was low, almost a growl, as he glanced up at her. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, darling.”

Before she could form a response, his tongue resumed its assault, alternating between firm flicks and languid strokes that left her trembling. Her nails dug into the counter’s edge as her head tipped back, with a mix of soft cries and breathless gasps spilling from her lips.

As her pleasure built, he added two fingers, making her body arch, and turned her breathing erratic.

“Perfect holiday dessert,” he murmured against her, his words muffled but dripping with mischief as he picked up the pace lapping the last traces of jam on her heated skin.

She cried out, her hands flying to his hair, clutching it as if it were the only thing anchoring her. “Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice was high and shaky, her body nearly unraveling under the relentless pressure.

Her legs trembled as the heat inside her coiled tighter, his tongue and fingers driving her closer to the edge with every precise movement. She could feel him groaning softly against her as if savoring her reactions just as much as her taste, and it pushed her closer to breaking.

“Bucky… Jamie, I-” she tried, but her words dissolved into a broken cry as her body tipped into release, her thighs quivering around him.

He didn’t stop, working her through every pulse of pleasure until she was trembling and utterly spent. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his smirk utterly satisfied.

“Best tea pairing I’ve ever had,” he said amusedly, as he kissed the inside of her thigh and locked his gaze with hers before standing up.

Her body was still trembling as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, her breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. She clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as she tried to catch her breath.

And then it hit her.

“The kettle,” she said, her voice a little breathless, a mix of urgency and disbelief. “The water’s probably about to evaporate...”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, his lips brushing her temple before he reached out with one arm. Without even looking, he turned off the burner with a quick twist of the knob.

“Handled,” he murmured.

When he turned back to her, his other hand was already moving to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal clinking making her stomach flip.

She leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along his neck. Her lips trailed up to his jaw while her hands slid to the hem of his sweater, her fingers curling under the edge as she began to tug it upward.

Before she could get far, his hands shot out, grabbing her wrists in a firm but gentle grip. “The sweater stays on,” he said, his voice commanding but tinged with a teasing edge that made her breath hitch.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice caught between incredulous laughter and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m serious,” he said smirking as he leaned closer, holding her in place by her wrists. “You went through all this trouble to get me in this thing. Now you’re gonna enjoy the full experience.”

Her blush deepened as his hands slowly guided hers back to the counter, pinning them there for a moment as he kissed her. His lips were hot and demanding, leaving no doubt that the sweater wasn’t going anywhere.

Bucky’s hands slowly released her wrists and shifted his focus back to his pants, deftly undoing the buttons and sliding the zipper down. He toed off his boots one by one, the sound of them hitting the floor was muted against the hum of their shared breaths. His pants followed, pooling at his feet as he straightened, towering over her.

Her hands found him instantly, sliding down to grip the firm curve of his buttocks through his boxers, and pulled him closer, tightening her thighs around his hips as her she urged him forward.

His clothed erection pressed against her heat, and she moaned softly into the kiss. Bucky hummed appreciatively, as his hips shifted slightly, grinding into her and catching the unmistakable warmth of her slick staining his boxers and the hem of the sweater.

“Darling” he muttered against her mouth, his voice thick with want. “You’re makin’ a mess of me.” His hands slid up her thighs, parting her legs farther, exposing every inch of her need to his gaze. His thumb pressed gently through the wetness, gathering it before bringing it to his lips. He sucked on it intently, as he let out a low, satisfied hum. “Better than the jam,” he said, his smirk as wicked as the flush climbed up her cheeks.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he hooked his thumbs into his boxers, pushing them down and letting them fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, warm and heavy, the tip already glistening as it brushed against her wet pussy. The sensation made her gasp, her body jerking slightly in response.

“Jesus, Bucky,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

He grinned faintly. “Thought you liked the present inside the sweater,” he rasped, stroking himself once, slow and deliberate, his blue eyes flicking to hers.

He didn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping her hip and the other guiding himself, he pushed forward, the slow stretch drawing a soft cry from her lips. He groaned and his forehead dropped to her shoulder as he filled her, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady.

Her hands flew to his back, her nails lightly digging into the sweater's fabric as she clung to him, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips. The movement urged him deeper, and he began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust pulling a gasp from her lips as her head tilted back against the cabinet.

The intensity escalated quickly, one of her hands slid from his back to his hair, tangling her fingers in the dark strands as she gave a firm tug.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward with a growing urgency.

He pushed her closer to the edge of the counter, the shift in position driving him deeper. His hands adjusted instinctively, one sliding beneath her leg to lift it from behind her knee, angling her hips just enough to hit a spot that made her cry out.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she tried to ground herself, her fingers scrambling for the counter’s edge. But it was no use. The force of his thrusts rocked her body, the roughness of his movements leaving her breathless and teetering on the brink.

“Hold on, darling,” he murmured, though there was nothing gentle in his tone now, only raw, unrestrained need.

His other hand left her hip, moving instead to cradle the back of her head. His palm pressed firmly, steadying her against him to keep her from hitting the cabinet as his thrusts became punishing, each one hitting deeper, harder.

Her nails raked down his back, clutching desperately as his cock drove into her, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the kitchen. The angle, the strength behind each thrust, the way his grip held her in place, it was too much, and yet not enough all at once.

And then, something shifted. The coarse fabric of his sweater pressed against her clit with every hard thrust, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure that left her gasping. Her eyes flew open as a new, dizzying layer was added to the spiral of pleasure inside her. “Don’t stop… oh God, don’t stop!”

He growled low in his throat, his grip tightening on her as his movements became sharper. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured roughly, his lips brushing her ear. “Show me how good it feels. Come all over my cock.”

She complied with a loud cry, her nails dragged down his back again, her thighs trembling as she mewled his name, her voice breathless and broken.

He cursed roughly and pressed his forehead against hers as the orgasm hit him. The hot rush of it spilled out between them, mingling with her slick as he pumped into her a few more times, chasing the last shreds of his pleasure.

He held her steady for a moment, the air was thick with the scent of sex and the sound of their uneven breaths. As the haze of his climax began to fade, he pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. A smirk tugged at his lips as he became aware of the mess coating her thighs, the counter, and the sweater's hem.

“Guess is even uglier now,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, with a flicker of satisfaction.

She bit her lip, a soft chuckle escaping her as she slid her hands up his neck. Her fingers brush against his stubbled jaw before cradling his cheeks. Her touch was gentle, coaxing him to meet her gaze.

“Maybe,” she whispered, her smile growing as her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. “But you look sexier.”

A scoff escaped his mouth, quiet and incredulous. The flush that had crept up his neck during their encounter flared again, coloring his cheeks and ears as his gaze darted away. When his eyes returned to hers, they carried a mix of awkwardness and disbelief.

“I think you’re the one who drank plenty at the party,” he mumbled, the boldness of just moments ago slipping away as his usual reserve crept back in.

She smiled, unfazed by his deflection, and leaned in to pepper light kisses across his face. First his temple, then his cheek, and finally the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering with quiet affection.

“Bucky,” she murmured, her hands trailing down to rest on his chest. “You don’t have to downplay it. You’re everything I want.”

He sighed deeply, as if her words had pulled something loose inside him. His hands slid from her waist, brushing her bare thighs as they fell to his sides. “We should... clean this up,” he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of shyness and practical retreat.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she pulled back slightly, her gaze holding his. “Alright,” she agreed, sliding her arms around his neck and letting him lift her gently off the counter. Her feet hit the floor, but her hands lingered on his shoulders. “But I’m still going to call you sexy.”

He groaned, the flush creeping back to his ears as he glanced away, shaking his head slightly.

She leaned up to press one more kiss to his jaw before stepping away to grab a towel. “Now, let’s see if your sweater survives this mess.”

“Sadly, I don’t think it will,” he replied dryly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “We’ll have to put it down. Mercy killing.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she dabbed at the counter with the towel. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s worse,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “Now I’ve got another reason to torch it.”

Her laugh grew louder as she glanced back at him, and her heart skipped at the sight of the teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you made me wear that” he countered, stepping closer to pluck the towel from her hands. “Guess that makes you just as bad. Maybe next year I’ll buy one for you too, so we can share the suffering.”

She froze for a beat, then quirked a brow, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “Oh, look at you, already planning matching sweaters. You’re such a sweetie,” she cooed with mock sweetness as she looped her arms around his neck.

“That wasn’t the point of-” he started, his ears burning red as he stumbled over his defense.

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, tilting her head with a grin. “You know, I already like the idea.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back slightly. “God help me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She laughed as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, delighting in his flustered expression. “You’re adorable when you’re cornered.”

“Maybe in a year,” he grumbled, pulling her closer despite his groaning, “you’ll forget this conversation, and I can go back to non-blinding, low profile shirts.”

“Not a chance,” she quipped, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “Now, where’s that towel, matching sweater boy? We’ve got a mess to clean up.”

His lips twitched into a reluctant smile, his hands settling on her hips. “You’re lucky you make all that misery worth it.”

She laughed softly, grabbing the towel and bending to wipe at the counter while he watched her, his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head with a faint smirk as he picked up a stray button from her torn blouse that had fallen to the floor. “We really made a mess this time,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Oh, I don’t know,” she teased, tossing the towel into the sink. “I think it turned out just fine.”

He chuckled, standing straighter as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer with an affectionate hum of mock contempt. Her body fit against his perfectly, her head resting on his chest as the coarse fabric of the sweater brushed against her cheek.

Outside, snow began to fall in soft flurries, the flakes swirling lazily in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

“Merry Christmas, darlin',” he murmured, brushing his lips at the top of her head.

She tilted her head up, brushing her fingers along his jawline, tracing a soft path as she gazed up at him. “Merry Christmas, Bucky,”

Ps: Reader gets a present too, in another fic I'm working on 😉

dividers by: @saradika

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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sombrashe · 28 days ago

Text

period pains

includes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ vi, viktor, sevika

content 𐙚˙⋆.˚ gender neutral reader, chubby reader, your period is putting you through the ringer

note 𐙚˙⋆.˚ i started my period and have been suffering and all i want is to be pampered

Vi inexplicably started her period at the same time.

The only time growing up near the fissures has been a blessing and it's when she can hear your curses from the bathroom. She simply sat still on the sofa, barely spotting. Her eyebrows furrow as she watches the door handle. Once it starts jiggling she jumps up and bundles a blanket into her arms. Acting casually she medium speed turns and feigns surprise at you being in front of her.

"Wow, peach. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

You frown and shake a box at her, two loose tampons shake around. You needed tampons.

"Say please."

"No. You used them for your fucking nosebleeds. I told you only light but you just had to stuff your nose with my supers. How do they even fit up there."

Her face instantaneously falls as she clears her throat. Yeah, she definitely meant to replace those. Apologizing she immediately starts making her way towards the front door. Giving you a wide berth, she maintains eye contact the entire way. Narrowing your eyes, you watch in silent wrath as she grabs her jacket off the hook. Hurrying out the front door she doesn't come back until she's stopped and gotten you more than you need. Kicking open the door, it bounces off the doorstop and closes with a click behind her.

"P, peach?"

She straightens her back and tries to wave the lingering fear at the base of her neck. She watches you come around the corner, your gaze somehow angrier. You were able to shower in the time it took for her to shop which left you bleeding and alone. Walking towards her, you tear your eyes away slowly before settling them on the mini haul she got for you. Opening the bags she explains why she chose each item.

"So first, I got those tampons. I bought myself two packs of that nose stuffing that that academy student created. The one who always got into fights. I don't know how he didn't get kicked out. Next, I got you something from Jericho. You haven't eaten today. I also went to that shop you're always going to. The one that you buy all the face masks from. Yeah, I stopped there and got you one of each flavor. Watermelon said it helps with hydration. I also chose this banana one, good for dull skin. Not that you have dull skin. I think your skin looks great, just a little acne. Wait."

Your eyebrows soften as you listen to her go on. Once she pulls out those masks your face softens completely and you take a tentative step to your left. She continues on. You simply listen to her speak about the twenty or so masks she bought, you stopped counting after strawberry. Reaching forward you grab two masks at random and hand her one of them.

"Thank you."

She smiles a slings an arm over your shoulder. Her smile is wide as she gives you a sloppy temple kiss. You huff and shoulder yourself against her, her laugh infectious.

Viktor was always working.

You storm out, your moisturized hands clutching another ruined pair of underwear. Kicking out your leg, you make contact with the door frame. The noise echoes down the hallway and your partner peaks around the corner. Getting up from his desk, he makes his way towards you. His speed slows as he assesses your anger.

"Can you make a machine that tears my ovaries from my body?"

Poor thing. He closes the space between you and gently takes the blood-soaked underwear from your hands and mumbles to himself. Moving around the dorm he mixes and matches things until he throws them onto the bathroom curtain to dry. You watch him once again move around the kitchen. Washing hands, peeling fruit, boiling water. All steps in his plan of taking care of you. You curl into the armchair taking up a corner of the room. It was worn by nights fallen asleep in it waiting for Viktor to come home. Pulling a fluffy blanket over your lap you get comfortable as you wait. He comes over a little while later holding a plate out for you. Mangos and strawberries litter the place and you happily take the plate from him. Next is a cup of hot tea that he gently sets to the side of you. Thanking him ever so sweetly, you start munching on the fruit as he goes to retrieve more items. A warm water bottle is positioned against your lower back and you blink lazily as heat overtakes the pain. While finishing off the last of your fruit, you get to work sipping on your tea. He offers to spend time with you in the living room, but you shake your head.

"I'm getting tired, anyways. You can go back to work."

Giving him a tired smile he leans down and presses a loving kiss to the top of your head. Squeezing his bicep softly, you let him go with a yawn before settling down to the sounds of pencil against paper.

Sevika was never around when you needed her.

Tears break over your waterline and drip down the fullness of your cheeks. Cramps rack your body in pain as you stay curled on the couch. She never came home last night, council meetings taking over most of her time. A low groan is ripped from your throat as a particularly tight feeling squeezes your abdomen. Hugging a pillow close to your chest, you bury your face into it and hope that the pain reliever takes over soon. Not soon enough you feel your limbs relax as the pain slowly lessens until it finally stops. The sudden relief has your mind stuttering and it takes mere seconds before you're lulled into sleep.

"Rabbit?"

The low drawl of your girlfriend's voice wakes you from your hazy sleep. Blinking, you raise your head and look around. Your eyes land on her and you waste no time in rising to your feet. Letting the blanket fall halfway on the floor you gather yourself into her arm.

"I started."

You're muffled against her chest, feeling comfortable between the raised flesh. She clicks her tongue and soothes her hand down your back.

"You took something? Did you eat?"

You nod into her chest, you had a sandwich and that was more than enough with pain taking over most of the space in your stomach. Now you stand there stomach growling, pain having left to make room for your appetite to come crawling back. Looking up she gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Go lay down, I'll make you something."

You squeeze her waist before pulling away and padding back onto the couch. Curling up, you take some more pain medicine and watch from your warm nest as she gets to work making you something hearty. You can feel yourself start to doze off and before long you're being shaken awake. Blinking you take in the bowl in her hands. Steam wafts in the air and the smell of meat and cream fills your nose. With a watering mouth, you thank her and greedily take the bowl from her. Wasting no time you gulp down some of the broth despite the insane burn that overtakes the grooves of your mouth.

#arcane #arcane writing #arcane x reader #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #jinx writes

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saltnsugarbear · 19 days ago

Text

and I can go anywhere I want (just not home)

summary: winter in DC is cold! but you have a loving girlfriend to warm you up

title from: "my tears ricochet" by Taylor Swift

word count: 0.7k

content warnings: none! soft, warm day today!

side note: starting a small collection of gifts with Emily Prentiss and my beloved Ruby! I'm so delighted to call you my friend, you're soso sweet <3 this one is for you, my beloved

divider from @/tsunami-of-tears! who did the original one that I use but I'm using her winter themed ones for today!

Living so close to the water in winter is a nightmare. Winter in D.C. can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the weather.

That's why you're so glad Emily's apartment has heating.

How she manages such a nice place on a government salary in downtown D.C. is a mystery to you. But she manages. A place to the both of you.

And Sergio...

Sergio is a blessing of his own, a miniature heater that can be carried from room to room. Despite Emily's willingness, you're incredibly conscious of heating in the house. Favoring blankets, bundling and Sergio over turning on the heater.

Georgetown prices were not something you favored.

However, Emily knew this habit of yours, setting the heating to go on when she needed. She was more willing to make the apartment comfortable instead of nesting in one spot all night. You supposed it was easier for her to rationalize as the person who paid the bills for the apartment.

But Emily also had a habit of keeping her windows open at night. Except for the obvious safety hazard it caused, the cold from the waterfront sneaking in.

Maybe she did it on purpose. So that you had no option but to cuddle up next to her. Face buried in her sleep shirt, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach under your sweater. Sergio is tucked in the notch of her legs, cozying up to both his parents.

A blessing from the cold air is it makes Emily sleep like a log. She's hard to wake after a cold night.

That makes it easier for you to sneak out of bed. Replacing your body with a pillow under her arm before slipping away.

Your rustling, however, wakes Sergio. He's a silent cat, following you out of the bedroom like a second shadow. You're both silent as you pad into the kitchen, starting up the coffee pot and grabbing the sugar from the pantry.

Emily's started this bad habit of feeding Sergio on the counter top, causing you to conform to this habit. Grabbing his food bowl from the dish rack and the container of wet food from the fridge. He's graceful in his jump onto the counter, sitting politely in his designated spot on the counter. You put his breakfast in his dish before serving it to him.

The machine is done by the time Serge is fed, coffee carafe ready for you to pour. You collect your and Emily's mugs from the cabinet, setting them down and pouring them. You know how Emily likes her coffee so you're quick to prepare both cups and stirring them thoroughly.

Sergio chirps at you when he's done and you know it's time to set out his water for him. Once he's set up again on the counter you collect your cups, walk steady back to the bedroom.

Emily is still asleep when you enter the room, setting your cups down on the nightstand on your side of the bed. The bed is cold when you climb under the covers, wriggling you way over to Emily. She stirs when you slip cold fingers against her skin.

"Y're cold.." She mutters, face half squished against her pillow. You can't help but grin as you kiss her cheek, then her shoulder, then her nose, teasing her until she glares at you for avoiding her lips.

"Good morning.." You say softly before appeasing her, kissing her gently. She's pliable in the mornings, melting into your touch, a much different version of her than the one you see after work.

"Good morning," she sighs before pushing herself up. You're quick to follow, reaching for her mug and giving it to her with a kiss on the cheek.

"It snowed last night.." You tell her, nodding your head towards her windows. You can't see it from the bed, with how high up her apartment is, but the reflection is obvious.

"And I have the day off.." Emily reminds you quietly, watching as your face lights up. "So we can stay in bed all day.."

She's teasing you, leaning in close enough that it would be easy to close the gap.

"I like the sound of that..." You whisper and she smiles.

"Me too.."

#saltnsugarbear #not enough sugar #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine

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wcnderlnds · 15 days ago

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baby it's cold outside | peter maximoff

CHRISTMAS ADVENT - DAY FOUR

・❥・summary: its snowing so you and peter build a snowman・❥・warnings: none!・❥・word count: 1.3k・❥・authors note: there'll be a second part to this! i had to split it up because the second part is smutty and i want the christmas fics to be fluffy. you can join my taglist here!

Peter Maximoff wasn’t someone who enjoyed being outside. He’d much rather stay indoors playing on his arcade machines or watching one of his favourite movies. It was how he’d always been. Growing up, he’d never had many friends so there had been no need to even bother spending time outside like normal kids would. The only times he really went out were when he wanted to steal something for himself or when he had a mission with the other X-Men. His mom had begged him to get outside more - to go make friends, see something other than the four walls of his basement but he never listened. The only person he’d go out for most of the time was you but even then sometimes it was a struggle trying to even get him out of the front door. He always caved in eventually. Peter had a soft spot for you – anyone could see it from a mile away apart from you apparently.

Peter had been your best friend since the moment you had met him the day he’d saved everyone at the mansion. Unfortunately, you had been one of the people trapped inside but the speedster had come to the rescue. You hadn't appreciated getting thrown into a huge blanket though, chewing him out the second you saw him. That was how the friendship had started. Peter had often found himself seeking you out and vice versa. Most of the time it was him telling you to come hang out with him which you’d happily oblige. His basement was where you spent most of your time together but very occasionally you’d persuade him to come and hang out at the X-Mansion with you.

Today was one of those days. Peter had stayed over the night and being ever the gentleman he was, he had slept on the floor. Every time he stayed over you practically begged him to sleep in the bed with you but he refused. The thought of him being uncomfortable on the floor never sat right with you. His excuse was that he respected you too much but you trusted him. You knew Peter would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. The thing was Peter didn’t trust himself. Being in the same bed as you, your body so close to him? Yeah, there was no way he’d be able to keep his feelings in check and his hands to himself. The friendship would be ruined immediately. Maybe he was crazy about you but he was so certain you didn’t feel the same way. That was fine. Or that’s what he told himself anyway. He could cope with that.

“Peter!” Your cheerful voice snapped him out of his daydreams, his eyes shooting over in your direction. There you were, leaning out of the window with your hand outstretched.

“I told you before that if you want to jump, at least give me a warning so I can get a snack to watch,” he snickered, making his way over to you. His hand rested on the small of your back as he approached, instantly seeing what you were so excited about.

Snow. There must have been a blizzard during the night and now the whole of the mansion grounds were covered in a white blanket, crystal like snowflakes still falling from the sky. If Peter knew anything, he knew that you loved snow. It was your favourite part of Winter. The way you’d always light up the second you knew it was snowing made his heart do a funny little flip. As he looked at you right now, the biggest smile on your face as you caught snowflakes in your hand, he could feel his heart soaring.

He really had it bad.

“We have to go build a snowman,” You clapped your hands together excitedly, facing Peter. “Please.”

Peter groaned. “Fine, okay. Go get bundled up and I’ll meet you out there.”

He barely had time to register what was happening when you let out an excited squee, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. His hand instantly went up to his cheek as you skipped out of the room. All he could think about was the press of your soft lips against the skin of his cheek. Why did you have to go and do that? Now he wasn't going to be able to think straight all day.

With a hefty sigh, he pulled himself together. All he had to do was get through the day then he could go home and get lost in his thoughts of self pity that the person he was crazy about probably wasn’t into him. Peter pulled on his jacket, grabbing a beanie out of the pocket. Thanks to his mutation he didn’t really feel the cold like other people did. His blood seemed to run faster and warmer so while you would probably be freezing after ten minutes, he’d only feel a slight chill. As he stepped outside, a fond smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You were already rolling snow up into a ball – the start of a snowman taking a place. Your cheeks were rosy with the bitter cold hitting your skin, hands covered with fluffy mittens. You were the cutest person on the planet – that was a fact that Peter would argue with anyone over.

“Yay! You actually left the house,” you grinned, momentarily halting your work on the snow ball. “You must really love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved her off. “Bit slow, aren’t you?”

“Not all of us can have super speed, Quickie. You do the base, I’ll do the head.” Before you even finished your sentence, Peter was running around in a blur of silver as he gathered the snow, rolling it around to create a big ball for the base of the snowman. “That’s cheating!”

“Nuh-uh, that’s called thinking smart, babe,” Peter laughed, the tip of his nose turning red with the cold.

“Okay, Rudolph.” You grabbed the ball of snow you’d been working on, lifting it up to place on top of Peter’s. The scarf around your neck was pulled off so you could wrap it around the snowman. “We just need to find some stones and get a ca-”

In the blink of an eye Peter was stood in front of you – carrot and stones in hand, a confident smirk on his face. “You were saying?” He placed them on the snowman you’d built together, taking a step back to admire your work. His arm was thrown casually around your shoulder. It was then he noticed your chattering teeth, your body shaking slightly as the cold took over your body. Without saying a word, he scooped you up into his arms and ran you back into the mansion. He found one of the living rooms, the fire luckily already on as he placed you down in front of it. “Be back in a second.”

You shrugged out of your wet jacket that was covered in snow, the mittens on your hands discarded as you held your palms out in front of the fire to warm yourself up. Snow was amazing, you loved it but you didn’t love the cold. Why couldn’t you be like Peter and have some mutation that made you barely feel it? Instead, you had to sit here feeling like you’d been trapped in the Antarctic for hours. Peter appeared at your side. He threw a blanket over your shoulder, handing you a cup of hot cocoa. He threw himself down beside you, his beanie now in his hand as he shook his head of messy silver hair. “Let's get you warmed up.”

His hands rubbed up and down your arms hoping the friction would create some heat for your poor, cold body. You leaned into his touch which in turn made Peter scoot closer to you. Maybe his body heat would help. He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you tightly, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Thanks, Peter,” you smiled, leaning back to look up into his brown eyes.

Peter swallowed, his palms suddenly feeling sweaty. The intensity in your eyes, the absolute fondness he saw in them made him more nervous than he wanted to admit. “Anything for you.”

taglist: @marchsfreakshow @ldydeath @evansroses @mistysconcilium @strawb3rrystar @decaf-mother @lacucarachapisser @bohnerrific69 @honeymoon8 @urmomsg1rlfreind @violetharmon1994 @melsimps @flowersforbucky

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #evan peters #my fics #christmas advent

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alxtiny · 4 months ago

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Ad Astra per Aspera

Episode 2

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: blood, death threats, more head injury (yay), swearing, storms (idk)

Notes: sorry for the late update T.T I had to go for a two week long workshop and I didn’t get any time to write but i hope you like this chapter :>

Playlist : the emptiness machine by linkin park | smells like teen spirit by nirvana | thunder by imagine dragons

Series Masterlist | Episode 3 | Episode 1

The next morning was bright and full of promise, but you surely weren’t. You woke up aching despite the surprisingly comfortable bed. The throbbing in your head had returned, though not as intense as before, and you groaned as you sat up, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the dull pain. “What will it take for me to relax for once?” you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you.

You dragged yourself to the small basin in the corner of the room, splashing cold water on your face to wake up properly. As the water trickled down your skin, you couldn’t help but yearn for the simple comforts of a home—a soft bed, a toothbrush, clean clothes that weren’t scavenged from a pirate’s stash, it had been way too long to say that you could remember what it all felt like. The ship’s water was salty, leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth as you rinsed, and it made you miss the fresh, clean water you’d taken for granted.

Just as you were wiping your face dry, a knock echoed from the door, followed by the sound of the lock clicking open. You tensed, still not accustomed to the idea that you were on a pirate ship with little to no privacy. You walked over cautiously and opened the door, revealing the burly looking man from the previous night.

Now that you could see him clearly in the bright morning light, you noticed things you hadn’t before. His face, though rough around the edges, had a certain charm to it—too nice for a pirate, you thought, especially with the way his face stretched wide into a cutesy, dimpled smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, disappearing into crescents as he grinned down at you. If he weren’t a pirate, you would’ve been tempted to pinch his cheeks and call him cute.

“Good morning, Ms. Navigator,” he greeted cheerfully, his smooth voice carrying an unexpected warmth. “Here’s some clothes for you—a sort of gift of welcome you may say, they’re sent by our captain. Get dressed; he wants to see you in his room.”

Before you could ask anything, he turned on his heel and started walking away, his movements smooth and almost silent, like a cat. You called after him, your voice trailing off awkwardly. “Thank you, but…I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”

He didn’t respond, just kept walking, the only sound being the soft padding of his boots against the wooden floor. You watched him disappear around the corner, wondering how someone so large could move so quietly. It was a little creepy, to say the least.

Sighing, you closed the door and latched it from the inside, turning your attention to the bundle of clothes he’d handed you. They were surprisingly nice—an off-white shirt, brown leather pants, and a loose navy cardigan. The simplicity of the outfit was appealing, yet the stitching and the quality of the fabric hinted at something much more expensive than you’d expected from pirates. The clothes looked almost brand new, and you couldn’t help but wonder how and where they had gotten women’s clothes that fit so perfectly. You wondered if the previous owner had died at their hands or something.

Despite your unease, you put the clothes on, surprised once again at how well they fit. The shirt was soft against your skin, and the leather pants hugged your legs comfortably without being too tight. The cardigan was a nice touch, and clearly whoever chose it had a good sense of fashion. You had to admit, you were impressed, but that only made you more suspicious. There was no way this was a coincidence.

Dressed and somewhat ready, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for whatever awaited you in the captain’s quarters. The memory of casual way he’d spoken about tossing you into the ocean still lingered in your mind, making your heart race with anxiety. You knew you had to be on your guard, but you also knew that you had to play along if you wanted to survive.

With a final glance at your reflection in the small cracked mirror by the bed, you straighten your posture and braced yourself for what was to come. The captain wanted to see you, and you had no choice but to face him—whatever that might entail.

You walked out and saw the tall man waiting for you outside. He reminded you of a beanpole at first but seeing him now made your heart flutter for a moment. His eyes were closed, his head tilted up to the sky as if savouring the warmth of the sun. The golden light fell on his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his nose and the soft shape of his lips. It struck you as odd—how all these pirates were so handsome, each one with features that seemed better suited to a noble’s court than a pirate ship. His relaxed demeanour and perpetual smile made you wonder what had him so amused all the time, and how he managed to maintain such a cheerful facade in a life filled with such horrors and chaos.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence, and awkwardly muttered, “Uh..morning.”

Without opening his eyes, he responded in his usual bright tone, “Ah, I see you haven’t tried to kill yourself yet.”

You raised an eyebrow at his comment, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but reply with a hint of sarcasm. “Even if I did, your captain would probably force me back to life just so he could kill me himself.”

He chuckled at that, a genuine laugh that seemed to fill the corridor with warmth. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned to face you, his expression softening with amusement. With an exaggerated flourish, he bowed deeply. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm with an air of mock chivalry.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his arm away, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite your best efforts to remain serious. “Lead the way,” you said, shaking your head at his antics.

He straightened up, still grinning, and turned to lead you down the corridor. As you followed him, you noticed that his cheerful demeanour didn’t seem forced; it was as if he genuinely found joy in every little thing, a trait you couldn’t quite understand. Life on a pirate ship didn’t exactly lend itself to happiness, yet here he was, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. You had decided, this man was definitely a puppy in his past life, perhaps a golden retriever.

As you walked, the sounds of the ship began to filter through the wooden walls—the creaking of the hull, the distant shouts of men working above deck, the rhythmic slapping of waves against the hull. You tried to keep your thoughts focused on the task at hand, but the more you walked, the more your mind wandered back to the captain. There was something that seemed off about him, and those stupid sunglasses he wore even in the darkest of rooms annoyed you. You weren’t sure what kind of man you were dealing with, and that uncertainty tormented you.

Your guide, seemingly sensing your tension, kept up a steady stream of chatter as you walked. “You know, the captain’s not so bad once you get to know him,” he said, glancing back at you with a wink. “Sure, he’s a bit…intense, but he’s fair. He doesn’t waste good talent, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve got plenty of that.”

You scoffed lightly. “I’m a navigator, not a pirate, and where could you have possibly heard about me, for all you know I might be lying.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said with a grin, completely ignoring the second part. “On this ship, we’re all pirates. Whether you like it or not, you’re part of the crew now. But don’t worry,” he added quickly, seeing the flash of alarm on your face. “We’re not all bad. Some of us are even quite charming, wouldn’t you say?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Is that your way of telling me to trust you?”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “Trust is earned, not given. But I like to think I’m off to a good start.”

Before you could respond, he stopped in front of a familiar door—the one you recognized as the captain’s quarters. The cheery man turned to you, his playful expression softening slightly. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “The captain might be intimidating, but he’s not unreasonable. Just don’t lie…he doesn’t like that.”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding in your chest. The man knocked on the door, then opened it, gesturing for you to step inside. You took a deep breath, composing yourself, and walked through the doorway, feeling the shroud of the heavy atmosphere settle around you. As the door closed behind you, you were once again alone with the captain, who stood by the large window, the morning sun casting long shadows across the room. It must be his respawn point, you thought to yourself.

He turned slowly, that same unsettling smile pulling at his lips, and you felt an involuntary shiver run down your spine. “Good morning, navigator,” he said, his voice feeling sickly sweet at that moment. “Let’s see what you’re really made of, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Come with me. We must make haste; there’s no time to waste. We need to reach the Northern Aurora Islands within the next three days.”

His sudden urgency surprised you. He walked to the door, pausing just before opening it. “I hope you realise,” he said, his tone low and threatening, “that your position here is as good as temporary. If you put me or my crew in unwarranted danger, you will find yourself meeting your maker sooner than expected.” He let the threat linger in the air for a moment before adding, “And of course, any information we discuss in private stays between us. If I hear a word of it from anyone not involved…” He trailed off, the unspoken consequences clear in his dark look .

He opened the door and gestured for you to go ahead, his eyebrow arched in expectation. With a deep breath, you stepped out into the corridor, feeling his gaze burn into your back as he followed. The two of you made your way up onto the main deck, the bright sunlight forcing you to squint. You noticed that the captain had never once removed his sunglasses. You were tempted to ask about them but thought better of it when you saw the serious, impatient look on his face. Instead, you asked the more pressing question. “Where exactly are we now?”

He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “You were taken from the slaver ship three days ago, near the Light Marshes. We’re nearing the Dark Marshes now.”

His words made your stomach drop. “I was out for two days?” you exclaimed, horrified.

He chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Yes, we reckoned you might not wake up at all.”

You looked at him, mortified by how casually he joked about your near-death experience. But before you could say anything else, you reached a large door at the end of a corridor. The captain pushed it open, revealing a spacious room that seemed to be some sort of meeting chamber. A large table occupied the centre, its surface scattered with maps, compasses, and various instruments—some of which you had never seen before. Your curiosity piqued instantly, your fingers itching to touch the cool metal and figure out the purpose of each tool.

But before you could act on your impulses, the captain’s hand gripped your shoulders roughly, steering you toward the table. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. You obeyed, trying to calm the sudden rush of panic that surged through you when he walked back to the door, closing and locking it with a decisive click. Your flight or fight, mostly flight, instincts were thundering. The sound echoed in the room, setting your nerves on edge.

You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. But your mind was racing with questions—the highlighted question among them being the identity of these men. “Excuse me,” you stuttered, your voice trembling slightly. “May I at least know who you are?”

The captain turned back toward you, his usual grin spreading across his face as he walked closer. “Are you familiar with the name ATEEZ?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

The name sent a cold chill down your spine. Of course, you knew of them. ATEEZ is infamous, a name that struck fear into the hearts of the most seasoned of sailors and even the marines.They had surfaced around six years ago and quickly built up a reputation as the most feared and ruthless pirates in all the seas. The tales of their exploits were legendary—and terrifying. Your eyes widened in horror as you processed the realisation, your voice barely a whisper as you tried to confirm, “Is that really you?”

The captain laughed aloud filling the room. “Yes, indeed,” he said, performing a mocking bow. “Captain Kim Hongjoong, at your service.”

You stared at him, your mouth hanging open in shock, unable to form any coherent response. The horror on your face seemed to amuse him even more, and he was about to say something else when another voice suddenly cut through the tension.

“I’m Yunho!” The cheerful voice was jarring, completely out of place in the heavy atmosphere of the room. You turned toward the sound, your eyes landing on the tall man who had been with you earlier. He was standing in the corner of the room, a wide grin on his face, hands on his hips as he proudly declared, “Jeong Yunho, ship’s engineer!”, he had apparently materialised out of nowhere.

You blinked slowly, your brain struggling to keep up with the situation. Before you could fully process what was happening, you let out a scream, which was quickly muffled by Hongjoong’s hand clamping down over your mouth. “Shh,” he hissed, his face dangerously close to yours. “Calm down, or people might get the wrong idea.”

You nodded frantically, and he slowly removed his hand. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you turned your wide-eyed gaze back to Yunho. “Where the hell did you come from?” you whisper-yelled, your voice shaking.

Yunho chuckled, completely unfazed. “Oh, I was always here. You just didn’t notice me. I was fixing up some tools and stuff. Like I said, I’m the engineer.”

You looked at him in disbelief, finally noticing the welding goggles perched atop his head and the smears of grease and paint on his cheeks. “You could have at least told me you were there!” you snapped. “Made your presence known, maybe?”

He just laughed again, the sound light and carefree, as if you weren’t in the middle of the most terrifying situation of your life. Before you could say anything else, Hongjoong cleared his throat impatiently, cutting off Yunho’s laughter and drawing your attention back to him. His expression was serious once more, and the playful banter evaporated from the room.

“Let’s move on now, shall we?” he said, his tone sharp, silencing the room as you steered yourself towards whatever task awaited you.

He crossed his arms, his sunglasses reflecting the faint light filtering through the room’s small window. “As I said, the Northern Aurora Islands are where we must be in the next three days. There is a man I need to see regarding certain… business. Your task right now is to find the safest and quickest route. Even a day late, and I might miss the deadline.” His voice was low, you could barely catch the latter of what he said.

Your expression grew serious as you switched to professional mode. “The Swartz Peninsula could pose a problem around this time,” you began, examining the maps before you. “The marines usually like to patrol that area, especially with the merchant ships docked for the off-season. We need to find a better way out.” You paused, debating whether to ask the next question or not, but decided to take a chance. “May I ask who this man you’re meeting is? And what’s the deal with the deadline?”

Hongjoong’s pointed gaze flicked to you, his expression hardening. “Those details do not concern you… yet.” The emphasis on the word ‘yet’ was a clear warning. You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it, realising it wasn’t worth agitating him.

He nodded slightly, acknowledging your silence. “You’re correct about the peninsula, but that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To solve these kinds of issues.” There was a rising edge to his voice, a simmering anger just beneath the surface. He didn’t have much in the patience department you figured.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get to work right away,” you replied quickly, sensing the urgency.

“Alright then. I’ll leave you to it,” he said, turning towards the door. “We’ll meet again in the evening. If I don’t see significant progress… well, you already know what could happen.” His words were threateningly calm. He glanced over at Yunho. “Yunho, you’re to assist her today since you have nothing better to do anyway.”

Yunho groaned loudly. “Wait a minute! Who said I didn’t? Hyung, you can’t leave me here with her,” his previously cheerful demeanour shifted into frustration. It was the first time you had seen him express an emotion that wasn’t sheer happiness, and you had to be the reason for it.

But Hongjoong ignored his protests and continued toward the door. Yunho followed behind like a lost puppy, his face pleading. Before Yunho could argue further, the captain quickly opened the door and then slammed it shut in Yunho's face, leaving no space for negotiation.

Yunho sighed dramatically, dragging his long legs and pulling up a chair beside you. He plopped down with a loud huff, his shoulders slumping forward as he grabbed a random map from the table and started unfurling and furling it with clear boredom.

“What is wrong with working with me?” you asked, slightly offended by his clear reluctance. “I’m such a nice person. You should be honoured if anything.”

Yunho turned to you with a deadpan look. “Let’s just get this over with. Studying maps isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my day today,” he muttered, tossing the map he had been playing with back onto the table and leaning over your shoulder to see what you were doing.

You scoffed, deciding to be the bigger person and ignore his comment. You grabbed a pencil and began making notes along the margins of the map, your mind already mulling over the possible routes, calculating distances, and marking areas of potential dangers. The hum of the ship’s machinery and the distant calls of seagulls filled the silence between you.

Yunho shifted in his chair, tapping his foot against the floor, very clearly uncomfortable with the silence. He watched you for a moment, his head tilted to the side, before speaking up. “You really know what you’re doing, huh?” His tone was almost begrudgingly impressed.

You didn’t look up from your work. “Of course. I’ve been doing this a long time. And besides, if I don’t do a good job, your dear captain might just make me fish fodder, and it's too bright of a day to swim with the sharks.”

Yunho chuckled softly, his expressions lightening up a little. “Yeah, he’s not big on second chances,” he admitted. Then, leaning closer, he whispered conspiratorially, “But between you and me, you’ve got a better chance than most. He wouldn’t have spared you for even a second if he didn’t think you were useful.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small smile from tugging at your lips. There was something about Yunho’s casual attitude that was oddly comforting. “Alright, if you’re so bored, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me an estimate on the weather conditions?” you suggested, gesturing to a stack of weather charts on the side of the table. “We need to know if we’re going to have to face any storms or unfavourable winds.”

Yunho’s face lit up slightly at the idea of having something to do, even if it was not ideal. “Aye, aye, navigator,” he said with a mock salute, grabbing the charts and flipping through them.

As you continued to study the maps, making annotations and considering various routes, you found yourself feeling a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be as unbearable as you thought.

Hours passed as you meticulously combed through various maps and charts. The sun was already making its way towards the west, casting streams of golden light across the room. You remained focused on your task, occasionally glancing up as Yunho wandered around, fiddling with various instruments, and scribbling random notes on rough paper. Despite his earlier complaints, he would sometimes offer surprisingly useful snippets of information about the ship’s capabilities — like its 54-knot speed and the height of its masts and stuff related to air pressure.

But soon, his restlessness began to influence your own mind. You could feel the fatigue weighing down your eyelids, words had started to swim in front of your eyes. At least you had managed to outline a few potential routes. All that remained was the daunting task of presenting your findings to the captain. Hongjoong still unnerved you, but you were becoming used to his constant threats.

Deciding to rest a bit, you leaned back in your chair, glancing over at Yunho, who seemed deeply engrossed in dismantling a peculiar-looking box. He probably wouldn’t mind if you closed your eyes for a moment. You leaned your head back, let your eyelids flutter shut, and welcomed the warm blanket settling over your thoughts.

Just as sleep was about to sweep you away, a loud bang jolted you awake. The door to the room had been flung open with such force that it slammed against the wall, rebounding with a sharp creak, causing you to startle and lose your balance. You fell from your chair, landing hard on your side with a groan. Blinking in surprise, you looked up to see a man standing in the doorway, his appearance dishevelled, his hair blown out at odd angles, and parts of his clothing drenched in seawater.

It was the same man who had suggested selling you off the night before. A flash of anger surged through you as you side-eyed him furiously, but he seemed completely oblivious to your presence. He turned his attention straight to Yunho, his voice urgent and strained.

“Storm flashes,” he panted, catching his breath and putting his hands on his knees. “They shouldn’t be happening right now, but Captain wants you and the navigator. We need to secure the ship. The waters are unpredictable, and we haven’t even hit the big one yet. The lower masts are already wavering,” he pointed behind him.

Your anger melded into confusion and then horror. You had read about storm flashes — violent bursts of wind and icy rain, accompanied by deafening thunder and blinding lightning. The rain felt like tiny blades cutting open your skin, and the wind could be so strong that it could pick people up and blow them away. Though you had never experienced one firsthand, the descriptions you had read were enough to fill you with a sense of dread.

Yunho's face had lost its usual playful expression, replaced with one of concern. He shot up from his place on the floor and nodded sharply. "We don’t have much time,” he muttered before glancing back at you. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

You scrambled to your feet, you were afraid, you couldn’t just die after enduring so much pain and not finishing what was started. You were on a pirate ship in the middle of dangerous waters, and now you were about to face a deadly storm, surely you would make it, just like the other times. Unfortunately, there was no time to dwell on your fears. You nodded, brushing off your clothes, and hurrying after Yunho.

The man at the door, who seemed to have been partially soaked by the storm’s initial onslaught, looked back at you with a calculative gaze, as if he was checking how useful you’d be, before moving out of your way. “Stay close and follow instructions,” he snapped, his voice hard. “We can’t afford mistakes right now.”

You followed Yunho up to the main deck, your heart racing with every step. The wind outside had already begun to pick up, the pressure dropping, and the skies were a deep, foreboding grey. The ship creaked and groaned under the strain of the rising waves, and the air was thick with the smell of salt and you could almost taste the electricity in the air.

Crew members moved frantically around the deck, securing ropes, fastening cargo, and shouting instructions to each other over the deafening roar of the wind. You could see Captain Hongjoong standing near the helm, his face calm but focused, barking orders at his crew.

“Get those sails down! Prepare for the storm flashes!” he yelled. His voice, though firm, seemed almost calm in the face of the chaos, as if he’d done this all before, which he probably must have. He turned his head, spotting you and Yunho. “Navigator, up here!” he called, waving you over to the helm.

You made your way toward him, gripping the railings tightly to keep from being blown off balance by the gusts of wind. Yunho was right behind you, still keeping his eye on parts of the ship that might need securing.

When you reached Hongjoong, he didn’t waste a second. “We need to find shelter, fast. The storm flashes are already upon us, and we haven’t even touched the big one yet. Can we make it past the Swartz Peninsula, or do we need to find another way?” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the wind.

You glanced at the map you had been holding tightly in your hand. Your mind raced as you quickly calculated distances and potential obstacles. “We can try to cut around the peninsula, but it’ll be risky,” you shouted back. “If we can’t make it past before the storm intensifies, we’ll be caught in the worst of it.”

Hongjoong nodded, considering your words carefully. “Then we have no choice but to risk it. Yunho, get down to the engine room and make sure everything is secured. If the engines fail, we’re as good as dead, and raise the reinforcements.”

Yunho nodded and turned to leave, but not before giving you a quick, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “We’ll get through this.”

You nodded back, gripping the edge of the helm as the first flashes of lightning illuminated the darkened skies. The ship lurched forward, fighting the rising waves, and your mind raced through every bit of knowledge you had about this treacherous part of the sea. You closed your eyes, mind going faster than light, trying to figure out something- anything that could help. Then it clicked, your eyes shot open.

There was a little passage along the peninsula that most sailors didn’t know about — but you did. Your teacher had spoken of it with a certain fondness, referring to it as one of "her places." She had told you about several of these spots, hidden pathways and secret routes that she seemed to treasure. You never quite understood why she called them hers; she didn’t own them, and it wasn’t as if she had discovered them, but there was always a special gleam in her eyes when she spoke of them.

After she passed, these places remained a mystery, an unfinished guide left behind for you to complete. When you started taking odd jobs as a navigator for small merchant ships, you began to test her secrets. You soon realised that no one seemed to know of these pathways — they weren’t on any maps, and even the most seasoned sailors seemed oblivious to their existence. They were often the easiest routes, bypassing dangerous reefs or cutting through the most anarchic parts of the sea. You kept this knowledge to yourself, claiming that you had stumbled upon them by accident, and surprisingly, no one ever questioned it. Over time, they forgot about these secret ways altogether. But you hadn’t.

And now, one of those secret routes could save all of your lives. This passage was exactly what you needed: a sea cave that ran beneath the peninsula from one end to the other. The best part was its entrance — a narrow opening concealed by a wall of sea stumps, jagged rocks that jutted out from the water and looked like an extension of the land itself. From a distance, it seemed like an impassable barrier, and most sailors wouldn’t even think to venture closer. The only way to reach the cave's entrance was through a slim strip of water, just wide enough for a single ship to slip through. You had only passed through it once before, on a much smaller vessel, and even then, it had been tight.

You glanced back at Hongjoong, who was gripping the wheel with focused determination. The wind whipped his hair around his face, and his eyes, still hidden behind those dark sunglasses, seemed to pierce through the storm ahead. "There might be another way," you yelled, trying to make your voice heard over the howling wind. "There's a passage, a sea cave that cuts right through the peninsula. If we can find the entrance, we can make it through to the other side."

Hongjoong looked at you, his expression incredulous. "A sea cave?" he repeated, his voice half-drowned by the noise of the storm. "And you’re sure it’s real? Not just some sailor’s tale?"

“It’s real,” you insisted. “My teacher told me about it. I’ve used it before. But it’s tricky — the entrance is hidden, and the waters around it are narrow. We have to be precise.”

He studied you for a moment longer, then nodded. “Show me where,” he ordered. You quickly unfurled the map, your fingers tracing along the contours of the peninsula, then pointing to a spot where the line of the land met the sea.

“Here,” you said. “It’s hidden by sea stumps, but there’s a passage through them. If we keep our heading slightly to the east, we should see them soon. The opening will be small, but we have to get through before the storm closes in completely.”

Hongjoong nodded sharply, his jaw tight. “Alright,” he called out to the crew, “adjust the sails! Bring us slightly eastward — keep a sharp eye out for jutting rocks.”

The crew moved quickly to follow his orders, and the ship began to veer slightly to the right. You could feel the sparks in the air, and tension thicker than the storm clouds above. The wind howled louder, and the first drops of rain began to fall, cold and sharp against your skin. You felt sharp crystals of ice scratch your skin. You winced, touching your cheek and feeling the smallest droplets of blood.

Yunho returned from below deck, his face serious. "Engines are secure, but we’re running hot," he reported to Hongjoong. “We don’t have much time.”

“We don’t need time,” Hongjoong shot back, his eyes fixed ahead, for the second time you saw his sunglasses off of his face, and the grey of his eyes fought against the stormy clouds with equal persistence. “We just need luck.”

You leaned forward, squinting through the rain, searching for any sign of the sea stumps. The waves were growing more violent, the ship pitching up and down with increasing force. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the water for a brief moment. And then, you saw them — dark shapes protruding from the sea, just where you expected them to be.

“There!” you shouted, pointing. “There’s the entrance!”

Hongjoong steered the ship toward the stumps, navigating carefully through the narrow waters. The crew held their breath as the ship drew closer to the hidden opening. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your fingers gripping the edge of the helm so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The ship inched forward, titling dangerously and straightening back up, the waves slapping against the hull with a deafening roar. You looked at Hongjoong, veins in his neck protruding from the strain of it all. The narrow strip of water seemed impossibly tight, but the ship kept moving, squeezing through with painstaking slowness. You held your breath, praying silently that you had made the right call, that the cave was deep enough for a ship this size.

And then, with a final heave, the ship slipped through the opening and into the mouth of the sea cave. The walls of the cave rose up around you, sheltering you from the wind and rain. The noise of the storm outside seemed to soften, though the roar of the water echoed loudly against the stone.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, the creak of the ship, and the steady drip of water from the cave ceiling. You had made it — for now, at least.

Hongjoong turned to you, a rare grin breaking across his face. "Not bad," he said, his voice echoing off the cave walls. "Now let’s see if we can get through the rest of it alive."

Without missing a beat, he raised his voice to command the crew. “Wooyoung, assess overall damage while we still have light!” he yelled at the man stationed at the lookout post. “Yunho, get on with the minor fixes. Take Mingi and San if you need help.”

You wondered briefly, who the other men were, breaking from your thoughts on hearing a chorus of “Aye, Captain!” behind you. The deck was suddenly alive with a flurry of movement, ropes being secured, and tools being fetched.

"Move aside, miss," a soft voice spoke over your shoulder, startling you. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man who looked like he had been resurrected from a shipwreck — dark circles under his eyes and a pallor that suggested he hadn’t slept in days.

"Ahh, who the fuck are you?" you exclaimed impulsively, unable to mask your surprise.

The man remained unfazed. "Park Seonghwa," he replied evenly. "Quartermaster and occasional helmsman, which is what I must do right now if you’d so kindly give me some space."

You blinked, momentarily thrown by his calm manner, before stepping back to allow him access to the helm. He slid smoothly into position beside the captain, his hands deftly taking control of the wheel. Hongjoong moved away, satisfied, and motioned for you to follow him.

You broke away from the spot where you were frozen in place, trailing behind him as he made his way to a small covered area behind the main mast. The rain was still pounding down outside the cave, but inside, it felt almost eerily calm.

"You have proved your worth, Miss Navigator," Hongjoong began, his voice low and thoughtful. "I’d like to keep you around since you are of use. Not that you have a choice, of course." He paused, looking you over with that keen gaze of his. "This is not where our journey ends. According to you, our estimated time of arrival should be…?”

You thought for a moment, running the calculations quickly in your head. “Approximately nine hours until we leave the cave, and then another day or so to reach the eastern port towns of the Northern Aurora Islands.”

He nodded, seeming pleased with your response. “Yes, that’s good. We’re much ahead of schedule, which I must say I appreciate. It means we have time to do just one more thing, which I will brief you on once we’re on the other side. Until then, you can rest or do whatever you need — maybe get your head bandaged again; it seems like the wound has reopened.”

His fingers lightly touched your chin, tilting your face so he could inspect the injury. For a brief second, the world seemed to narrow down to the space between you and him. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing the edge of the bandage. The moment felt oddly intimate, a flicker of something almost like concern crossing his eyes before he released you.

The second his fingers left your skin, the throbbing in your head returned wanting nothing but revenge. You winced, realising he was right — the wound had indeed reopened. You sighed, resigned to another trip to see the doctor. At least, you thought, the prospect of visiting the surprisingly gentle physician wasn’t so bad. It even made you feel a tiny bit happier.

You nodded at Hongjoong, bidding him a quiet goodnight. “I’ll get it checked out,” you promised, relieved to have some time to rest before he decided to thrust another herculean task upon you.

Hongjoong gave a small, satisfied nod. "Good. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made it to the other side," he said, his expression returning to its usual seriousness. "Rest while you can."

As you made your way below deck, the noise of the crew bustling around, repairing the minor damages and securing the ship, faded into the background. You felt a strange mix of exhaustion and relief settling in.

You found your way back to the makeshift infirmary, knocking lightly before entering. The familiar sight of the doctor — with his soft, steady hands and kind eyes — was a pleasant sight after what you just went through.

"Back again so soon?" he asked with a gentle smile, not phased by the events that transpired outside, his eyes flicking to the reopened wound on your head.

You managed a tired smile in return. "Seems like I just can’t stay out of trouble," you replied.

He chuckled softly, motioning for you to sit down. "Let’s get you patched up again, shall we? I’m starting to think you might be enjoying my company a little too much."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, finally allowing yourself to loosen up for the first time in hours. “Of course, you’re currently my favourite person—apart from the part where you agreed to throw me off the ship. That was not cool."

He pouted in defence, looking genuinely affronted. “Hey! I never said that. I just said I didn’t revive you just for you to get killed anyway. It took a lot of work, you know!”

You laughed harder at his expression, amused at how his serious attitude melted into a childish pout. "Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide,” you teased, only to yelp softly when he lightly smacked your shoulder. “Sit still and let me work,” he scolded, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice that made it hard to take him seriously.

You apologised, still trying to stifle your laughter, and as the conversation fizzled out into a comfortable silence, you felt the tension ebb away out of your body. His hands were steady, the familiar scent of herbs and clean linen filling the air as he patched you up again. You closed your eyes, the soreness slowly slipped away, as his magic worked wonders on your injury. By the time he finished, the pain had pretty much vanished.

"Thanks," you mumbled, your voice heavy with the sleep that was already threatening to pull you under. A yawn escaped before you could hold it back, and when you blinked your eyes open again, you found Yeosang staring at you intently, a strange emotion flickering in his dark eyes—something that you couldn’t understand yet.

He quickly blinked and turned away, busying himself with packing up his supplies. When he helped you stand, there was a soft smile on his lips, though his eyes avoided yours. Without a word, he walked you to the door. “Goodnight,” he said gently as you stepped out, his voice as soft as the smile still lingering on his face.

But just before he could close the door, you hesitated. "Wait," you called, making him pause. He raised an eyebrow at you. "You never told me your name."

His eyes widened slightly as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Then, his expression softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips stretched into a smile. "Kang Yeosang," he replied, his voice gentle. “How very nice to meet you.”

You smiled back, the name rolling around in your head. “Hmm… Yeosang,” you tested, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “A pretty name fit for a pretty boy.”

For a moment, Yeosang stood frozen, eyes wide as if he didn’t quite process what you’d said. “Y-you think I’m pretty?” he stammered, his cool, calm facade cracking.

The realisation of what you’d just said hit you like a tidal wave, and your cheeks immediately flushed crimson. "Goodnight!" you blurted in a panic, not waiting for his response as you quickly turned on your heel and rushed down the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest.

Behind you, you could hear Yeosang chuckle softly at your antics, but you didn’t dare look back. You practically ran into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. Pressing your cold hands against your burning cheeks, you tried to calm yourself down, heart still racing. Had you really just called a pirate—*that* pirate—pretty? What was wrong with you?

You flopped onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief as the events of the day replayed in your mind. You had somehow managed to make it through a storm, navigated through a secret passage, and now… you’d gone and flirted with the ship’s doctor. Just amazing.

Despite your embarrassment, a small smile tugged at your lips as you thought of Yeosang's flustered reaction, it was kind of cute. You still slapped your cheeks to remove these thoughts from your brain.

Slowly, exhaustion caught up to you, and your racing thoughts began to fade. You drifted off to sleep, your heart finally calming.

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python333 · 10 months ago

Note

since i just woke up from one and came here to seek comfort and get it out of my head,i had the idea of "why not ask them if they'd like to write such a thing?" So here i am.

The main thing is reader having a really grotesque, explicit and horrific nightmare (that's how most of mine are) could be getting tortured,put in a meat grinder,you get it,work your magic and write as you wish haha.And after they wake up with a heavy and tight chest, horrified naturally,it being out of their control,could you have the 141 members comfort us? Perhaps one way of getting most of their reactions would be setting up a scenario where they had to camp and sleep in the same place, something of the sorts,so yeah.

Honestly still not over the nightmare yet that shit was horrific haha,but yeah,hope this'll be a nice writing for you,if you wish to do so.Take great care of yourself dear,and take as many breaks as you need<3

how the sausage gets made — python333

— — — —

synopsis you have a very graphic nightmare, the 141 comforts you!!!

relationships platonic! 141 & gn! reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 3.2k

warnings nightmare about getting put through a meat grinder (not too graphic, but the imagery is still there), usage of [c/n] (code name/call sign), 2nd person pov (you/yours/youself)

note hi!! this is actually right up my alley, i really enjoyed writing this!! :D hopefully this somewhat comforts you/helps you get over the nightmare, and hopefully this was horrific enough for you!! ALSO i have a discord server now!! enjoy :3

You’re in some sort of freezer, it seems.

Your vision is a bit blurred at the edges, and your head feels awfully heavy, making it hard to keep upright on your neck. Your shoulders feel tight and tense, as though the muscles in them were physically bundled and tied into tight knots. Though, they aren’t tense in the way they typically are. Somewhere in the back of your mind—as your gaze wanders around the blue-tinted room you lay in—you can recall times after sparring sessions with a few of your teammates when your shoulders felt tight, and it was nothing like this. Those times, you could feel the knots as though they grew roots from your shoulders to your wrists. Unlike now, your shoulders feel lighter than those times.

Those times. You aren’t sure what “those times” refers to. All you can see and think about is the light blue tiling of the ceiling above you. It’s strange; you’ve only seen tiling like that on dingy bathroom floors in the public gym you used to go to. It’s never been on the ceiling like that. Huh.

You can’t really feel your hands, which is even stranger. You know where they are—they’re right at your sides, laying on the stingingly cold concrete floor of whatever room you’re in—and can hear the echoing taps they give whenever you lift and hit them lightly against the floor, but yet they feel numb. You move one of them, not nearly as off-put by the numbness as you should be, and lift it up and over your face. It looks normal. No, yeah, that’s my hand alright. Don’t know what I expected.

You put the hand back on the ground and using both hands you push yourself up from the floor, letting out a small grunt as you do. It takes an uncanny amount of force to push yourself upwards, but you manage to do so anyway, and you finally have a look at the room around you. You look ahead of you. Blue tarp. It’s shiny and almost looks woven, and if you squint your eyes enough, it looks grainy. You look to your left. More blue tarp. It’s of the same quality, the same quantity, and is in all aspects the exact same as the other blue tarp. You make a quick prediction before looking to your right, and, lo and behold, another blue tarp. How shocking.

It looks the same as the other two. Frowning, you look behind you, and surprisingly you are not met with yet another blue tarp. This time, there’s a large, shiny, stainless steel machine behind you. It’s a good ten feet away, about the same distance away as the tarps, and for some reason it beckons to you. Like Princess Aurora to her spinning wheel, you find the strength to push yourself up to your feet completely, and immediately you begin walking towards the metal machine without much resistance.

It doesn’t really hit you that you have no idea what this machine is or what it does. You don’t think you’ve seen anything like it. As you get closer, you can see a few items strung from the ceiling past the machine; weird plastic-clear looking tubes that are linked together in the same way clowns at parties twist balloons, and there’s iron-cast skillets hung on the ceiling from invisible hooks. Huh. Weird. Despite the oddities of the items strung from the ceiling, you keep walking towards the machine.

When you get even closer, the machine becomes less blurred and comes more into focus. It looks completely untouched. There’s a large funnel at the top, one that requires a ladder to get to—conveniently, there’s a ladder set up on and welded to the machine itself—and beneath that is a horizontal tube that tapers off into a smaller, funnel-like shape at the end with a much smaller opening. You tilt your head curiously at the machine. It’s so shiny. Though, the longer you stare at it, the grainier it gets.

Suddenly, cutting through your thoughts, you feel a harsh push at your back that almost has you knocking into the machine. Before you can even turn around to see who felt that they had the audacity to push you so harshly, that same entity that pushed you quickly lifted you into the air. Whatever they’re using to hold you up feels like absolutely nothing—as if they were just gathering enough air molecules to swoop you up.

“H—” You try to protest, but your throat doesn’t work. Before you can say anything, it just gives out, and leaves you wheezing for a moment before trying again only to discover that, to your horror, you cannot talk.

Your throat seems to close up every time you try to say anything. All that comes out are breathy wheezes and coughs that leave a strangely bad pain in your chest. As you try to stop your coughing, whatever is picking you up quickly dumps you into the large funnel on top of the machine. It’s cold and bites at your skin unforgivingly, making you hiss in discomfort. You don’t even clock how the cold is irritating your skin, despite you being fully clothed and none of your bare skin being exposed to the metal of the machine.

You try to move your hands to the sides of the funnel to push yourself up, but you move at a painfully slow speed, and can’t do anything but stand still. Like a mannequin, you’re forced into a standing position and can’t do anything but stand in the funnel. You look down, and you’re standing on what seems to be some sort of cylinder. The bottom of the funnel ends around your mid-calf.

Oddly, this reminds you of those nightmares you used to have when you were younger, where you were running from something or someone but moved too slow to get away.

Suddenly, the cylinder begins to move.

It spirals in place, making you quickly lose your balance and soon you’ve fallen in a lying position on the cylinder as it turns. It starts at a slow pace but starts to speed up, in time with your panic. You try to scramble to your feet but your limbs don’t allow it, keeping you stuck in place, the cylinder starting to turn even faster.

You’re uncomfortably folded and pushed through the small ending of the funnel as the cylinder keeps moving, and once you’re through, you start to hear a strange whirring.

It’s loud and sounds like some sort of shitty metal fan. It clangs against the sides of whatever tube you’re in and occasionally makes a horrible screeching noise that, if you could, you would cover your ears to escape. You turn your head to the side ever-so-slightly and see the “metal fan” itself—four sharp blades that spin clockwise, with a weird hole-filled circle behind them. You furrow—or, well, try to at least—your eyebrows at the sight.

The fuck is that? You don’t realize you’re getting closer to it.

The cylinder is now turning at an exceptionally fast pace, and only when you’re a few feet from the blades do you realize just how close you are to them.

“Wait—” You finally find your voice, though it sounds far away and is muddy in your ears, “Stop, stop—”

You’re not sure what else to say. You can’t tell if you’re begging, commanding, demanding, or anything of the sort. All you know is that the cylinder is going faster and faster, at an almost punishing pace that leaves you wondering what you could’ve done to deserve whatever the hell is happening to you. The blades emit an ungodly screech each time they get caught on a bump on the insides of the tube, and as you get even closer you can spot bright orange rust on the blades.

The texture is enough to make you gag. You’re getting closer, and closer, and soon you’re barely a foot away from it. The screeching and the whirring is so loud. You can’t hear anything else—or, wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, if there was anything else to be heard.

You can barely continue your train of thought before you feel a sharp, cold rush through your ankle.

You hadn’t been paying enough attention. You didn’t realize how close your feet had gotten to the blades.

The sound it had made when it was cut off was sickening. A loud pop, the same kind of pop that sounds when you break open the tab of a can. You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out, and suddenly the rest of your leg is getting shredded by those same blades, and dear God, it’s so cold. It feels like dry ice cutting right through your calves, making its way up to your knees, soon to your thighs, much faster than you can process.

Your thoughts come in small fleets that go as soon as they come and you’re never able to continue or dwell on a single one, always getting interrupted by the white-cold pain that literally cuts through your upper thighs. You can’t feel anything from the waist down. You can’t feel your legs, your feet, and you’re losing feeling in your hips—

Your hands desperately grasp at the cylinder, and you’re not sure what you’re doing but you’re trying to do something, anything, as long as it delays the inevitable shredding of your torso and head. But it doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Whatever you had intended to do doesn’t work, and soon there’s a sharp cold pain that cuts into your ribcage, and suddenly you can’t even feel your stomach.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can recognize the small sobs that escape you.

Your chest is the next to go, and soon it’s your shoulders, and even though they’re not gone yet your hands have already gone numb, and you’re bracing yourself for the sharp-cold pain to reach your neck when suddenly—

You wake up, body immediately getting into an upright sitting position and your chest heaving as sweat drips down your forehead. The sweat is cold and your breathing is loud in your ears, your ears which are filled with ringing, the sound of just anything enough to make your breath hitch and a sob crawl into your throat. With open-mouthed pants, you blink rapidly at the space in front of you, before quickly raising your hands to your face and letting out a loud, shaky sigh when you can actually feel the air moving through your fingers.

They aren’t numb. You plant them on the ground and just feel around, the rough fabric of your tent gliding under your hands. You shake your head vigorously, letting out another relieved sigh when you find that it’s still attached to your neck and hasn’t been sliced through. You move your legs and they’re still attached to your body. Everything is still on you. You’re in the same clothes you went to sleep in. You have all of your body parts. You are in one piece. Nothing is missing. You’re fine.

Despite repeating to yourself that everything’s okay—you’re physically together, you’re in a tent in the middle of the fucking woods and the worst thing that could happen to you is getting jumped by a bear in your sleep—nothing feels okay. There’s still the phantom feeling of getting put through a meat grinder that keeps a perpetual tremble in your bones, that keeps you unknowing of how to act like you’re in one piece. Not act. You are in one piece. But you aren’t. You swear, even though it was just some stupid dream, that it felt real enough to have actually happened.

“[c/n]?” Soap’s tired voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Right. We’re sharing a tent. You quickly whip your head to look at him, chest still rising up and down rapidly as your unstable breathing continues. You don’t say anything, simply staring at him with wide eyes.

“Are ye alright?” He frowns, quickly growing more awake the more concerned he gets, “Whit’s wrong?”

Maybe you’re in some form of shock, but you find yourself staying silent out of the fear of something happening. You’re not sure what that ‘something’ is, but it’s there, and it’s holding you back from even attempting to speak. Your breath hitches and your throat stings.

“Hey, uh,” Soap pushes himself up with a grunt and walks over a short few steps to you, kneeling down once he’s beside you, “Jist breathe, everything’s gonnae be alright.”

You know he’s not exactly the best at comforting people. He’s always been better with more technical things, and would much rather help you with math homework or something over trying to comfort you after something traumatic. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—of course he does, and he wishes he was much better than he is now at it—but he can never manage to find the right words.

He puts a tentative hand on your shoulder and you stare at it as it reaches you, flinching back immediately when you can actually feel his hand over your shirt. He pulls his hand back instantly, expression growing even more concerned.

“Do ye wannae tell me whit happened?” Soap whisper-asks. When you quickly shake your head ‘no’, Soap thinks for a moment before offering, “Do ye want me tae get onyone else?”

You think about his words for a moment before nodding. He sighs.

“Who?”

Your gaze flickers from the exit of the tent before going back to Soap.

“… Cap’n Price,” You quietly decide. Soap nods and reluctantly gets up, making his way out of the tent.

A few minutes later, you hear Soap walk back into the tent as well as another set of feet that trail right behind him. You look up and over at the entrance of the tent and see your Captain. His eyes are immediately on you, and as soon as he sees the mystified look in your eyes, he’s quick to make his way to you and kneel down beside you.

He doesn’t know what to say for a moment, you can tell. He instinctively brings a hand up to put on your shoulder like he typically would in situations like these, but something causes him to bring his hand back down and away from you. Maybe Soap told him how you reacted earlier? You brush off the thought for now, more focused on whatever Price is trying to do.

The reason you wanted him here instead of the others was mainly because you felt the least embarrassed around him. Which was weird, considering that he’s of the highest rank compared to you and the others, but still—you can’t imagine him judging you, not even for the most outrageous things. Maybe he’d have a small fit over you saying “soccer” instead of “football”, but otherwise, you can’t think of a world where he judges you for something like having a nightmare.

And sure, the others have them too and probably wouldn’t judge you either, but still. Price will probably always be your first option for situations like these.

“Soap hadn’t told me what happened, yet,” Price says softly, “D’you mind filling me in?”

If this were anyone else, you’d be fighting the urge to jump off a cliff, but because it’s not, you simply answer, “Nightmare.”

Your voice is a little clearer now, much to your relief, but it still carries that rasp from earlier. It doesn’t pain you to talk, but it does shock you that you even can, considering that you could barely form a whisper in your nightmare. And yes, that’s a silly thought, knowing that all of that was a nightmare, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“A nightmare, alright,” Price hums, before suggesting, “My tent’s bigger than yours, y’know. You wanna bring your sleeping bag over there, so we’re all together? Power in numbers, yeah?”

You nod mindlessly, agreeing with anything Price says. He smiles at you and hesitantly puts a hand on your shoulder, doing it slowly enough that you have plenty of time to let him know if it’s not okay, but you allow it. Price shoots a look at Soap and the latter nods, confirming whatever Price’s silent look asked him.

“Alright,” Price gives your shoulder one last squeeze before standing up, waiting for you to stand up as well. Once you do, he starts to walk out of the tent, expecting you to walk after him. Surprisingly, Soap gets up as well, sleeping bag and pillow in hand. Huh. Maybe that’s what he was confirming. You quickly pick up your sleeping bag and pillow, movements a little more stilted than usual as you didn’t expect to actually be able to move as quickly as you can now, and follow Price out of your tent.

You shiver as you walk out into the cold outside of the woods, and are quick to walk to the much bigger tent across from yours.

When you enter the tent, Gaz remains asleep while Ghost almost immediately wakes up. It’s uncanny, the speed at which his eyes open and dart to your figure—as if he was never asleep in the first place. You push those thoughts aside and wait for Price to walk in.

“Wh’t’s goin’ on?” Ghost asks sleepily, his British accent making his slurred words nearly impossible to decipher.

“They’re stayin’ in here for the rest of the night,” Price answers for you, nodding over to you as he refers to you.

Ghost looks over at you and you can sense his raised eyebrow despite not being able to see it. You look to Price to explain your situation for you again, and once he sees you look at him, he explains, “Nightmare.”

Ghost blinks before nodding understandably. Almost immediately, he conks out and goes right back to sleeping like the dead, making Price snort. Price turns to you, and gestures towards the empty spot next to Gaz, the spot conveniently empty and just perfectly sized for your sleeping bag. You walk over there as quietly as you can, shuffling around Ghost’s and Price’s sleeping bags, and gently lay your sleeping bag down next to Gaz’s.

You set down your pillow inside of the sleeping bag and kneel down as quietly as you can, a soft rustling sounding from your sleeping bag as you settle in. You turn on your side and let out a quiet sigh, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You’ve turned towards Gaz, and he’s turned towards you, and you look over his sleeping face for a moment before deciding to catch up on your own rest.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes, you watch his open.

“...” He stares at you for a moment, before he sleepily whispers, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“… Y’good?” He asks, looking at your still-glassy eyes and very-clearly-worn-out expression.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You answer, trying to offer a tiny bit of reassurance.

“Alright,” Gaz hums, accepting your answer easily, and closing his eyes once again.

A small smile graces your lips. You’re all used to going to sleep easily, of course, on missions like these—you kind of need to be, given that you’re all military. It took you a bit, but you eventually got used to it, and gained that skill just a few months after joining the task force.

Speaking of which, you find yourself drifting off to sleep not long after Gaz closes his eyes again, and soon enough, you’ve already fallen asleep—this time, without nightmares or dreams.

196 notes · View notes

em1i2a3 · 17 days ago

Text

Pieces of You (Bjorn One Shot)

Bjorn x fem!reader

Summary: After a night of confessions you and Bjorn stopped speaking to one another, but during one fateful get together when the both of you reunite things change significantly for the both of you, for better or for worse.

Author’s Note: Hey peeps. I am finally finished college, and thankfully I am going to be taking a bit of a break before going back and continuing my education, meaning I’m going to have so much more time to write! As a celebration I made this One Shot extra long. It was supposed to be out yesterday but I wanted to add more to it, and evidently it got out of hand lol. I hope that everyone enjoys this!

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, DNI if you’re a minor! There’s dirty dancing in this, smoking of the devils lettuce (weed), P in V sex (unprotected, wrap it before you tap it though, this is all fantasy here), swearing, oral sex (female receiving), and a little bit of best friends to lovers tropes but not really, you’ll get what I mean when you read it. Hopefully I didn’t miss anything.

A p.s from the author: Fucking love 070 Shake, and this song was so fucking good in setting the tone for the writing of this one shot! Such an underrated song.

Word Count: 8,734 (told you it was a big one….That’s what she said btw lol)

The club was electric that night. The smell of sweat, perfume, and cigarettes intermixed, and the air was thick with heat, combining with the hypnotic bass that shook the core of your chest as you nursed a drink at the bar. You stirred the ice around in your glass, taking a sip, allowing the sweet and bitter liquid to burn down your throat, watching the crowd of bodies move rhythmically to the music. The lights strobed in sync with the beat, pulsating streaks of neon blues, pinks, and greens bounced off the mirrors surrounding the dancefloor. The DJ had turned on the smoke machine, which caused the entire scene to have this haze over it, so all you could see was the shadows of the people who moved against one another, and the sporadic arms that popped above the crowd once in a while. A finger tapped on your shoulder, interrupting your observations, your eyes shooting over to your side where Tyler was standing, a smile draped across his lips as he leaned in.

“Sorry, we’re late! Got caught up!” He yelled over the music, motioning behind him. You peeked over his shoulder, seeing Navarro, Rain, Kay and Andy looking around at the crowd, enamoured by the action that was happening, and the buzz that was palpable in the space.

“It’s alright! I’m only one drink in!” You responded loudly holding up your glass and using the step on the stool you were sitting on to give yourself a little bit of height. He was looking down at your outfit, taken aback by what you had worn tonight. The top you had chosen was skin-tight, black and strapless with sheer lace detailing that left nothing to the imagination. The material hugged you in all the right places, showing off the figure that you hid under your work clothes most of the time, and it didn’t end there. The bottoms you chose were a pair of leather shorts that had silver zippers going down the sides and the front, with leather buckles along your thighs to simulate a harness effect. It was an interesting look, to say the least, and it was certainly eye-catching.

“You didn’t give me the memo that we were wearing BDSM stuff tonight, I would’ve busted out my assless chaps.” Tyler joked, causing you to playfully slap his arm, laughing loudly at his comment.

“Just wanted to try something different, that's all.” Tyler raised his eyebrows at the comment.

”Well this is definitely different, a good kind of different, but still a bit surprising coming from someone who bundles into those oversized sweaters all the time.” He responded, glancing down one more time at you with a little smile. He liked when you let yourself go, typically you weren’t one to be the life of the party, not one bit, ever since you guys were preteens you were this rule follower who didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but this change was definitely welcoming. Too bad your upbeat mood was going to change. You were about to say something, when suddenly a pair of familiar hands grabbed Tyler’s shoulders, the ring on the person's pointer finger that you had a matching one of gave it away, and your stomach lurched just at the sight. It was Bjorn. Your face fell, as all the joy was sucked out of the room, you didn’t want to see that guy, and you were going to make sure it wasn’t going to happen.

“For fuck sake.” Was all that came out of your mouth before you grabbed your drink and walked towards the smoking patio. You pushed open the door, and joined the small crowd of people who were leaning against the wall either getting some air or actually having a cigarette. You downed the rest of your drink, the burn of the alcohol now nonexistent at this point, a sigh escaping your throat as you put the glass down on the ledge beside you. The door opened again, revealing Tyler, his hands deep in the pockets of his straight cut pants, a remorseful look gleaming in his eyes. You were about to say something, but he raised a finger up, causing you to pause.

”I know you told me not to bring him…I get it. But y/n…We couldn’t possibly leave him at the trailer. It’s unfair what he’s been doing but we also live with the guy, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

”It’s more than unfair Tyler. I know I said some hurtful things but he fucking ripped my heart out and then decided to ignore me when I tried to make amends. Now he gets to intrude on plans and pick and choose when he wants to bite his tongue and come along with you guys?” You questioned, your throat tightening slightly “How is that right, and how the fuck is that fair to me when he refused to be honest with me?” You added, remembering the last time you spoke to him.

————

You had sat beside Bjorn on the couch as the both of you were watching some weird action movie he had chosen from the little collection he had built over the past few years. You weren’t really into it, you were just there because you wanted to be around Bjorn, that was the motivation for hanging out around him. You liked being in his presence, the way he made you feel, and of course the way he held your hand out of comfort, he used to always pay you a compliment on how warm or soft they were before intertwining his fingers between yours and it always made your stomach turn.

The both of you had been friends for so long that you knew everything about each other, if someone asked you to name off any fun facts about Bjorn you would have a never ending list. There were so many things people didn’t know about him, and if it wasn’t for how close you were to him, you would’ve never been able to see what he was truly like beneath the hard exterior he put on.

That night though you were determined to talk to him. Your feelings had been eating away at you bit by bit, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were starting to think about him throughout the day, and every time you did you could feel your palms become sweaty and you visually looked flushed with a permanent blush red plastered on your cheeks. It was hard to power through your feelings, and you had high hopes that once things were out in the open it would allow the both of you to move forward together hopefully, that was not the case though, and you would come to regret the decision you made in telling him.

The credits rolled and he leaned back against the cushions with a sigh, one arm draped over the edge of the couch, looking over at you, seeing that you were deep in thought. He reached over, and grabbed your hand, running his calloused thumb over the smooth skin, over the little blemishes that were barely noticeable without feeling, which drew your attention to him.

“You alright?” He asked, shifting closer to you, “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” He added, his thumb drawing ovals around the skin on the back of your hand now, the heat slowly creeping up your chest. You took in a shaky breath.

”I…I need to tell you something.” His relaxed expression shifted, his eyes filling with concern, making your heart squeeze. He sat up a little bit more, his whole body now turned to you.

”You’re worrying me y/n…What’s going on?” Your stomach was churning. Yes, you had planned to tell him everything tonight, but now you were starting to grow anxious under his gaze, your throat feeling like it was closing around a giant lump that was beginning to form, pulling your eyes from his for a moment, letting them go down to his hand. You looked at the ring on his pointer finger, the engravement of Roman numerals of the day you guys had your first scavenging trip together glistening in the dim light,

“I…I like you…More than this.” You hesitated, feeling the air being sucked out of the room when the words left your mouth. A few minutes passed, until you decided to look at the frozen and unreadable expression that was plastered on Bjorn’s face. “I thought I could ignore it or that I would get over the feelings, but I can’t. It just kept getting more and more intense.” He looked down at your hands, there was a hint of hesitation that flashed from behind his eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line. The silence was overtaking the both of you again, every second breaking down the remaining composure you had.

“Can you please say something…” You pleaded, your voice cracking, feeling the warmth of his hands leave yours. There was a pang in your heart, realizing that this was not going the way you expected. You watched him closely, seeing the cogs turning behind his eyes, trying to choose his words carefully. His voice was quiet when he replied.

”I don’t feel the same way.” It felt like a blow straight to your chest, your gaze tore away from his, trying to process his response as level headed as possible.

”You don’t?” Your volume was just above a whisper, as tears began to brim your eyes, looking back at him, now focusing on his expressions.

”No,” He replied quickly, his bottom lip shaking a bit, not because of any overwhelming emotions, but because that was one of his tells. You knew him well enough, there were just things that he couldn’t control and that was the way his body involuntarily reacted when he was lying to someone. It made your heart break even more, knowing that he wasn’t telling you the truth, you thought you were friends, and friends don’t lie to each other.

”You’re lying…” Your voice was steady, and somewhat stern. It surprised you that even though you were going through your own set of feelings you still chased for answers. Bjorn’s brows furrowed.

”What?” His tone was laced with disbelief.

”You’re lying.” You repeated, you were hurting, and you could feel the anger bubbling in your stomach, burning in your chest, begging to be released. “You do feel the same way, you’re just too scared to admit it.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, scoffing at your accusation, standing up from the couch, now growing defensive. You raised to your feet as well, wanting to even up the playing field.

”I can see it in your fucking facial expressions. You can’t even look at me Bjorn!” You saw his fists clench at his sides, you could see the way all the emotions in him began to converge, brewing a storm over his face.

“I said I don’t feel the same way.” He repeated, his voice now cracking, another betrayal gifted from his own body.

“Bjorn…Why are you lying to me…Why can’t you just be honest with yourself and tell me the truth.” Your voice trembled, gulping, trying to get rid of the lump that still resided in your throat.

“Because it doesn’t matter y/n!” He shouted, the aggression making you jump in your own skin, flinching at the frustration, “What the fuck do you want me to say? That I fucking care about you? That I’ve thought about being with you? Fine. I have. But it doesn’t change the situation y/n.” The tears now welled up in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall down your cheeks, your heart fracturing into a thousand cracks.

”You thought about it,” You echoed his words with bitterness lacing your voice, “And decided what? That I’m not worth it? That I wouldn’t stick with you? We’ve been friends for years Bjorn.” He watched as you brought your hand up to your puffy eyes, pressing against the corners to wipe the tears that were forming.

”You d-don’t understand-“

“No, I don’t,” You interrupted, “I don’t understand why you’re running away, and I don’t understand why you’re fucking lying to me.” Bjorn didn’t continue with what he was going to say, his silence was louder than any excuse he was going to offer at that point. You shook your head at him.

”You’re a coward,” You said quietly, watching his face twist, guilt flashing in his eyes, as he watched you collect your things, stuffing them into your backpack, before pushing past him. By the time you reached the door tears were gushing down your cheeks, and as you opened it to leave you could hear Bjorn sniffle.

“I’m sorry y/n.” Was all he could say, but it wasn’t enough for you at that point, you slammed the door behind you, and he let you go.

———-

Tyler grabbed your shoulders, tilting your head up so he was in your line of sight.

”I know he hurt you, and I’m sorry y/n…I really am, but you can’t let this get you down, you have been so tough, you’ve been recovering and putting yourself back out there, and hey, look at where you are right now and how you’re dressed! Ignore that moron for the night, okay? Go have fun.” His words were encouraging, Tyler always had that sort of energy to him, he would take situations like this and make it easier to handle, and you were thankful for his words at that point. You leaned against him, wrapping your arms around his torso to give him a hug. He returned the gesture.

”Thanks Tyler.” You mumbled against his shirt, his hand giving you a gentle pat on your back as he pulled away.

”Now let’s get back in there huh?” He suggested, with you nodding in agreement. Tyler held the door open for you, allowing you to go back into the club first, letting the deep, chest thumping bass surround you again. The both of you walked back to the bar, and Tyler ordered you another drink as you slipped a few greetings to the group, avoiding Bjorn all together even though you could feel his eyes on you, watching you closely. He was shocked that you didn’t leave the building, apart from the little scene you had pulled just a few moments ago, but there was something in him that was glad you didn’t bail on everyone. He wanted to see you, it had been too long, and he needed this opportunity to try to mend the burned bridges.

For those two months of not talking you were diligent in following your plan of not being around him, and you had pulled away from the friend group because of that choice. Tyler was the only one who reached out and stuck around, but he did pass on the information to the rest of the group so they understood that it wasn’t something they did that caused the rift, you didn’t want them blaming themselves on the account of Bjorn’s lack of communication. You missed the dynamic though and you were glad that they accepted the invite you gave them even on such short notice.

”You’re looking really good tonight!” Kay yelled over the music, “It’s very…Different!” She exclaimed, looking down at your outfit. You smiled at her compliment, a blush forming on your cheeks as you took a sip of your drink.

”I thought I’d try out a new look.” You responded, “I’m glad it’s a hit.” You could see her laugh but you couldn’t hear it through all the bass that was drowning the high pitched noises out of the room.

“Well maybe you should test it out on the dance floor, I’m sure there’s a lot of guys here that are wanting to take you home tonight.” Your goal wasn’t to hookup with anyone but you were willing to step out of the box and see where the night took you, so you tilted your head back, and guzzled the remnants of your drink, wiping your wet lips with the back of your hand and shuddering at the sheer intensity of the alcohol that burned down your throat. Everyone was looking at you at this point, shocked by the way you had downed the filled glass that quickly, aware that tonight a different version of you was coming out to play.

“Guess there’s no harm in trying hmm?” You shot back, putting the glass down onto the bar, the person behind the counter taking it away quickly. You felt nervous staring out into the packed crowd, the way the women moved, and swayed, how they let themselves go, the rhythm overtaking them and their bodies. You took in a deep breath, before moving towards the sea of bodies, stepping down the set of stairs and sewing through the crowd to find a spot that was barely visible to your set of friends. You felt like you were swallowed whole as the people took you in, a mix of sweat, spilled drinks and sweet smelling perfume surrounding you like a warm hug, the bass a throbbing pulse against your chest.

You started off by swaying your hips to the music, your head rolling back exposing the sheer lining of sweat that was already glistening on your skin, as you moved your hands up the lace top letting them go above your head, like you were trying to seduce yourself in a way, twisting your torso to the beat. On the floor you didn’t blend into the crowd, you painted yourself into existence, and the people around you welcomed that willingly. Your back arched, and your hair caught the colours of the strobing light, like it was a spotlight on you. In those moments you didn’t feel eyes on you, you just felt alive.

Then you felt the presence of someone behind you, a faint brush of warmth running over your back, they didn’t touch you at first, they were taking caution, which was something you were surprised about. You smirked at the thought of being so tempting to someone that they wanted to be careful not to scare you off, and in turn you didn’t glance back at them, you wanted them to be sucked into your orbit, as you continued to sway your hips. The figure moved in sync with you, mirroring your rhythm, you could see the movements in the shadows the strobe lights caused, noting the build of the person.

He now stepped closer to you, the heat from his body practically radiating against your bare shoulders, the subtle pressure of his presence being felt as he continued to match the pace your hips moved at. His hands still didn’t touch you, but the close proximity was making your skin tingle, you felt electrified, and you couldn’t deny the energy that was flowing between the both of you.

The stranger brushed up against you, it was a subtle move, but you could tell it was deliberate, regardless of the intention it made you inhale sharply, a gasp escaping your throat. You were happy that the music was deafening at this point so they wouldn’t be able to hear your reaction. You leaned back against him, allowing your bodies to close the space the both of you had purposely left, arching your body against the sturdy figure.

Your hips rolled with the beat, teasingly slow, your bottom dragging against the front of his pants with a friction that made your breath catch in your throat. Finally, he placed his hands on your hips, the delicate touch searing its memory onto your skin, his thumbs brushing slow circles into your clothed flesh, the tips of his fingers teasing just beneath the hem of your top, testing how far you’d let him go until you pulled back. To the strangers surprise you leaned into the touch, allowing his fingers to ghost over your belly button without hiking the top up too much, your head tilted to the side inviting him to get even closer, feeling his hot breath against your exposed shoulders. He took the chance, sliding his hands up higher, his fingertips brushing against your waist, the touch sending shivers racing down your spine. In that moment, the both of you moved together, perfectly in sync, and you could’ve sworn you were one entity at that point.

The sway of your hips matched the grind of his, the connection between the both of you becoming electric as the dance floor went completely dark, the only thing lighting the room being the bar, but that was so far away by this point you were practically blind. The man’s arms wrapped around you loosely, continuing to feel your skin beneath the top, his hot breath ragged against your neck now, the faint smell of whiskey hitting your nose. You took the chance to reach your hands up behind you, tangling your fingers through the mysterious figures' hair. The length was short from what you could feel, but it was dense, good enough to pull, you thought to yourself, continuing your intoxicating movements against him as his fingers explored the curve of your ribs. The way he touched you wasn’t hurried, not in the slightest, it was like he wanted to memorize every inch of your skin like a map.

Neither of you spoke, afraid that words would ruin the moment, as the heat of him pressed into every inch of your skin. Your breathing was shallow, and you could tell the both of you were getting worked up. There was no denying that there was tension building, your stomach felt like a jar of butterflies had been crushed within it, and mixed with the alcohol you could feel your head spinning.

He unraveled his arms from around you but kept your body close, as the tips of his fingers ran down your stomach, trailing to the front of your thighs, his hands having a slight tremor while doing so, the touch stopping just above the harnesses on your legs. He settled them there for a second, your chest rising and falling at an irregular pace, his breath sticking to the curve of your neck as your hips rolled against him, earning a groan from his lips, his chest vibrating against your back. He dragged his fingers up your thighs again, settling one hand between them as the other went back to the waistband of your shorts.

You wanted him to take advantage of the darkness of the dance floor, nobody would see, nobody would even know, but you could sense there was some sort of hesitation behind his actions, and you didn’t want to pressure him, so you allowed him to be in control instead. His fingers traced just below your belly button, drawing circles gently, as you felt a pair of wet lips graze over your shoulder, eliciting a gasp from you. It was so soft you could barely feel it but the fire that it lit on your flesh almost brought you close to passing out, it was too intimate, but you couldn’t help but love the feeling it brought you.

The hand that was caressing your stomach slid around your waist, slipping into the back pocket of your shorts, as the other hand trailed up the soft skin on the inside of your thighs, not travelling up any higher, even though you were tempted to shift yourself down onto his touch. You were going to allow him to do anything to you at that point, there was no denying you would go home with him once the lights turned on. Then suddenly after one more open mouthed kiss against your neck, his touch disappeared from you, breaking the heat that was pooling between your bodies. You spun around on your heel, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but the crowd had eaten him up and the darkness wasn’t helping at that point either. Your body was still burning from his touch, but the feeling of disappointment was beginning to cool everything down, the memory of his hands on you fleeting. You reached up, pushing your sweaty hair out of your face, realizing how hot you had become from the interaction.

The quick escape had ruined everything, so just like the stranger you decided to retreat from the dancefloor, seeing Tyler, Navarro, Andy, Kay, and Rain sitting at the bar, a look of concern plastered on their faces as they yelled to each other over the music.

“We can check on him afterwards!” You caught Tyler’s words, now joining their confusion.

”Check on who?” You yelled, catching their attention. They glanced over at you, and Navarro replied.

”Bjorn, he just ran out of the place, I don’t know what’s going on with him tonight.” Your eyebrows knitted together, pulling up one of the stools between Tyler and Navarro.

“He probably saw me dancing with that guy out there and ran off.” You commented, sitting down on the seat, immediately feeling something in your back pocket. You pressed your feet against the bar, standing up momentarily to remove whatever was causing the discomfort, pulling out the all too familiar silver engraved ring with the roman numerals.

You could feel your heart stop. The stranger, the one on the dancefloor was Bjorn. You didn’t know if you should feel sick, or angry. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you hadn’t thought to look at who it was behind you, but at the same time you couldn’t believe the audacity he had to do such things to you after months of ignoring you.

“Isn’t that Bjorn’s?” Tyler asked, snapping you out of your trance, as you put it into your palm, folding your hand into a fist.

”Yeah. I better go return it to him. I’ll see you guys later.” Before Tyler could say anything in protest you left the club.

————

You walked to the trailer from the club, it wasn’t that far thankfully, but by the time you had made it to the front door you had your anger from the two months built up inside you, ready to explode. You used the side of your hand to bang on the hard metal of the door, standing on the steps with your arms folded over your chest. It took a few minutes for Bjorn to open the door, surprisingly he looked calm, cool and collected, as if he was ready for this confrontation. He had a joint hanging out of the corner of his mouth, the tip of it glowing a hazy orange while he took a deep breath, removing it from between his lips to blow the smoke out towards you, a smirk appearing on his face.

”Well, if it isn’t my favorite person, come to thank me for that dance?” You pushed by him, entering the trailer with such fury that you could imagine a string of smoke following you, not waiting for an invitation from him to come in.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You snapped, hearing Bjorn close the door behind him.

”What? No ‘hi’, no ‘how have you been Bjorn’? That’s not nice.” He mocked, as you spun around to race him, the ring tightly clenched between your fingers, holding it up to show him.

”Two months Bjorn. Two fucking months of silence, of you ignoring me, and you think now is the time to fuck around and make jokes? You’re un-fucking-believable.” His gaze stared at the ring, bringing his joint back up to his lips, taking a slow, calculated drag, his expressions unreadable. He crossed one arm over his torso, leaning against the wall behind him as he breathed out the smoke.

”I’m not joking.” He said lightly, “You looked like you needed a good time…I thought I’d oblige.” Your mouth dropped open.

”Oblige?” Your voice rising with incredulity. “You danced with me like-like-.” You gestured wildly, trying to find words to express your thoughts, as heat rushed to your cheeks, “And then! Then you just walked away and disappeared and left me to find this fucking thing.” You raised the ring at him, your hand now trembling with nerves.

”You kept it…How sweet.” You could feel the rage pumping through your veins at this point, searing your blood, making it boil.

”I didn’t keep it,” You snapped, “I came here to give it back and to ask what the fuck is wrong with you.” He scoffed.

”Wrong with me?” He pushed off the wall, pointing to himself while he stepped closer to you. “How about you? You seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine when you were grinding up against me.” Your breath hitched in your throat as he moved into your space, his familiar scent of smoke wrapping around you.

“I didn’t know it was you.” You hissed through gritted teeth, trying to restrain your anger, looking up at him, shooting daggers, his body leaning closer to you.

“You didn’t stop me though, did you?” His tone was teasing and dark, he was baiting you, and all you could do was bite, blinded by the rage.

”That’s not the point!” You shot back, throwing the ring at him, his reflexes allowing him to catch it in midair, “You don’t get to waltz back into my life, play your stupid little mind games, and then pretend like nothing fucking happened!” For a moment Bjorn’s smirk fell from his lips, his mask slipping just a little bit, a hint of sensitivity flicking through the cracks.

”Nothing happened huh?” He said quietly, “Funny…It felt like something to me.” You could feel your heart thumping against your chest, your palms growing sweaty.

”Stop trying to twist this around. You ignored me for months, Bjorn. Months. And now you think you can just…Just-”

”Just what?” He interrupted, his voice raising, the space between the both of you closing even more as he took another step towards you, putting his joint out in the process. His breath could be felt against your body at this point he was so close, “Just touch you? Just kiss your neck? Just tell you what I’ve been trying to bury within me since we’ve become friends?” His words hung heavy in the air, your eyes widening at his confession.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered, your voice barely audible to him. Bjorn ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated grunt escaping his throat.

”I’m talking about you, about how you’re always on my fucking mind…In my body…How you’re in everything I fucking see. About how I’ve tried to push it all down, ignore it, because…I don’t want to fucking lose you y/n, it scares the hell out of me. But it doesn’t matter at this point does it? Because even when I’m trying to do the right thing by trying to let you go…I can’t fucking stop thinking about you.” Your anger extinguished at his confession, and disbelief overtook you.

”Why did you lie to me then…Why did you act like you didn’t care?” Your voice was trembling at this point, as your heart raced in your chest.

”Cause like you said…I’m a coward.” He admitted, his voice rough “I shouldn’t have let you leave that night.” You looked up at him, feeling bad for what you had said to him, but still unsure of where to go from there.

”Bjorn I-“ Your words faltered, as Bjorn’s calloused hands reached out to cradle your face, holding it as if you might vanish if he were to let go. His lips crashed into yours with a hunger that was all consuming, it sent a jolt of electricity through your bodies. Your gasp was swallowed by him, the searing heat of his mouth moving against yours in such a way that you could feel every inch of your skin light ablaze. The kiss wasn’t soft nor hesitant, it was devastating, Bjorn kissed you like a person starved for touch and attention. His hands slid down your jaw and held your neck, feeling the pulse points that thumped against his thumbs.

Your hands went to his shirt, feeling the steady thrumming of his heart against your palms, as your hands fisted the fabric of the top he was wearing, pulling him even closer, kissing him back with equal fervor. One of his hands travelled down your side to hold your waist, as his lips moved with a desperation that made your knees weak, you were shocked you were still able to stand at that point. Your fingers laced into his hair, mirroring what you had done on the dancefloor, earning a groan that vibrated through you. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, a soft, involuntary sound escaping from you, igniting something even more hungry in him. He pulled away briefly, his lips trailing down your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“God I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” His voice was strained, like he was barely holding himself together. You shivered, feeling his light stubble brushing against the skin of your neck.

“Bjorn…” You managed to squeak out, your voice a breathy mix of plea and protest, as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your throat, his tongue trailing across the sensitive flesh, tasting your sweat. The air between the both of you grew heavy, your breath intermingling with his, fighting to get closer, to consume each other. His hands slipped under your shirt, holding onto your sides, his lips returning to yours, hungrier than the first kiss that he had given you, a need so overwhelming that it was lighting the both of you ablaze. He pulled back, breathless, resting his forehead against yours. His lips were swollen, and his pale skin was a crimson red.

“You made me feel like I meant nothing to you.” You whispered, “And then you came at me with something like this…And made it so hard to resist you.” Your fingers gripped his hair lightly.

“It killed me every second I chose to stay away, and it hurt me as much as it hurt you.” He replied, his hands coming up again to cup your face, his thumb brushing up against your cheeks, looking into your eyes, searching them for answers. “Tell me to stop y/n…Tell me to stop and I will.” His voice was barely audible at this point, almost pleading with you in a way to not tell him such things. You could feel your heart pounding in your head as you surged forward, crashing your lips into his once again, giving him the answer without words, melting into him again, getting sucked into the black hole that was your love for Bjorn. You pulled back.

”I don’t want you to stop…Please don’t stop.” He shook his head, thumb trailing under your eyes.

”I won’t stop until you tell me to.” He replied, sliding one hand down to intertwine your fingers with his, “Come with me?” He asked, his eyebrows raising, his blue eyes glazed over, the weed beginning to run through him. You squeezed his hand and nodded, untangling yourself from him as he led you down the hallway where the bedrooms were. You hadn’t been in Bjorn’s bedroom, but you assumed that’s where he was taking you. His strides were unhurried but there was intent behind every step, his thumb running over the back of your hand trying to ease his own nerves. When the both of you stopped in front of his bedroom door he took a moment to breathe, before pushing it open.

Your eyes roamed over the dimly lit disarray. A large unmade bed was in the center of the room, it’s dark grey sheets half-tangled and rumpled, you assumed he was a restless sleeper just from the status of the linen. He had a wall of photos on a corkboard near his bed, all his memories pinned randomly, you could see a few of the two of you taken candidly by Kay. The scent of him lingered faintly in the air - warm, smoky, leathery, with a light cedarwood combining everything together in a musk that was distinctly Bjorn. A pile of laundry sat in the corner of the room, not overflowing but teetering on the edge of being chaotic for one person. A mirror leaned against the far wall, tall, and rectangular, it’s frame matching the dark wood of the headboard his bed had, it seemed out of place, but it was fitting for Bjorn. All in all you could say the room looked lived in, and every detail of it carried a hint of his character - uncomplicated, rough around the edges, but magnetic.

You moved into the room more hearing Bjorn close the door behind the both of you, locking it so there would be no interruptions. You turned on your heel, looking over at him, his hands slipping into his pocket as he kicked off his boots, pushing them to the side with his foot. You did the same, your eyes staying on his, watching him step closer to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you could feel his hands begin to work on the latches that held your top together, his trained fingers figuring out the mechanism without even looking.

“Do you trust me?” His breath hitting the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice low. You tilted your head to the side, looking up at him, your hand pushing his hair out from his face, cupping his cheek as you nodded. He gave you a soft kiss on your swollen lips, his hands splitting the back of your shirt apart so he could ease it off of your body. Your skin prickled in the cool air of his room, as he threw the lacy fabric to the side, his eyes roaming over the expanse of your bare flesh, taking in every detail, every blemish, every mark that your skin had displayed.

“You’re so beautiful.” You could feel your heart seize for a moment, his head leaning down to gently kiss the crook of your neck, “So so beautiful.” His lips return to yours for a brief moment, your nipples pebbling against his chest as the cool air begins to nip at your exposed skin, “Go lay on the bed.” He whispers against your ear, his fingertips ghosting along your hips, your cheeks turning hot at the instructions. You glanced over your shoulder at the bed, making your way over to it, letting yourself fall onto the memory foam, the sheets puffing around you. Your arms extended out over your head, your gaze trailing over to Bjorn, watching him remove his shirt, throwing it to the side to allow you to take in his pale skin under the yellow hue of the room. He walked around the bed, kneeling down on it, his hands sliding up your bare smooth legs, over the harnesses on your thighs, up to the waistband of your shorts.

“Move back a bit more…I want you to be able to watch me in the mirror.” He commented, helping you move yourself up towards the edge of the bed, your head hanging off slightly so your gaze met your own reflection. The angle gave you a perfect view of yourself and Bjorn, as his fingers hooked under the waistband of the shorts, tugging them down your legs, his knuckles dragging down the skin of your thighs. You helped him out by lifting your bum off the mattress, showing off the little flexibility you had, as the fabric was removed and thrown over his shoulder, “I want you to see everything I’m going to do to you.” He murmured, his body settling between your open legs. Your stomach tightened at his words, your eyes darting to the reflection, seeing his body atop yours. His lips brushed along your neck, trailing over your collarbones, his hands moving with such ease, sliding up the back of your legs, and up your thighs, tracing along the skin of your hips, goosebumps chasing the touch. His fingers hooked under the thin waistband of your black lacy panties, pulling them down slowly, looking at the skin that became exposed to him, his mouth watering at the sight, leaning down to kiss the soft skin of your hip, crumpling the underwear in his hand, his touch returning to your thighs moments later, holding them gently.

”God look at you.” He whispered, his lips trailing lower, peppering wet kisses down your thigh savoring each gasp you took. You arched into him, spreading your legs a little wider for him, your eyes locking in on the reflection, seeing Bjorn’s gaze shift to the mirror so he could look back at you, a smile coming up onto his face.

”Bjorn…” Your voice was trembling, surrendering yourself to him, feeling his hot breath fanning over your skin, his mouth brushing against your inner thigh, your hands running across his shoulders, trying to find something to ground yourself as he got closer and closer to your hot core. The image of him between your legs reflected back at you, a gasp escaping your throat as his tongue ran up between your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, your fingers grasping his hair. His mouth worked expertly against you, his hands gripping your body as if you might disappear, your hips writhing beneath him, grinding yourself on his face, craving more pressure. He obliged, pressing his tongue harder against your soaking core, both of his hands reaching up to hold onto your wrists gently. You could see your skin begin to flush red in the dim lighting, the blood rushing to your head. The room was filled with your breathy gasps intermixing with Bjorn’s deep vibrating moans, sucking gently on your sensitive clit, moving his mouth down to lap at your soaked core, collecting your juices on his tongue, his eyes now looking up at you. His pupils were blown out, his face beet red as he watched you chant his name like a prayer, your body bucking up against him, chasing the release that was beginning to coil inside you. He intertwined his fingers between yours, holding your hands at your sides so he could continue to watch you in the reflection, his nose bumping against your clit with the way he pushed his face into you, slipping his tongue in your fluttering entrance fucking it with the firm muscle. You squeezed his hands, now bending upwards to look at him, amazed by the way he knew your body already without even exploring it, your gasps now growing in volume as your hips began to move involuntarily, your thighs twitching against his neck. His gaze met yours, lust, hunger, and passion burning behind his eyes.

”Please…Please Bjorn.” Was all you managed to get out, as you let your neck hang off the side of the bed again, giving yourself a headrush, the begging encouraging his assertive and meticulous movements, the wetness of his tongue moving in and out of you. Heat crawled up your skin, as your thighs involuntarily closed around his head tightly, your hands squeezing his, the warmth crashing down on you, leaving your entire body trembling. He kept his face against you wanting to get every last drop from you, every bit that you were willing to give over. You relaxed against the mattress moments later, out of breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your hands untangling from his, as Bjorn lifted his head, placing one final set of kisses against the inside of your thighs. He made his way up the bed slowly, his lips trailing along your body - your stomach, the slight curve of your ribs, the delicate line of your sternum, his rough hands never leaving your skin.

”You’re so beautiful,” He said, his voice a hoarse whisper, his face hovering above yours, your breaths mingling together. His expression was so soft you melted into it, his blue eyes searching yours slowly, your hands coming up to cradle his face, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw.

”Bjorn…” You murmured, your voice trembling, still trying to bring your heart rate down. Your hooded eyes looked at him. You didn’t know what you wanted to say - a thank you, an I love you, something to encourage him to continue to ravage you- nothing felt enough at that point. He leaned down, kissing you slowly, letting the connection deepen as if he was pouring the unspoken words into the intimate moment, your body arching towards him, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, wanting to explore more of his skin.

”Are you okay?” He breathes against your mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist to draw him in closer.

”I’m okay.” You whispered, tilting your chin up to kiss him again, as your hands slid down the front of his chest, feeling the faint line of hair below his belly button that led to the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, you undid his belt, teasing him.

”You’re so patient.” You giggled, a smile playing on your lips as you unbuttoned his jeans, and tugged the zipper down.

“And you…” He countered softly, leaning in towards you, breathing against your mouth “Drive me insane.” He shifted back onto his knees, pushing his jeans and boxer shorts down, kicking them off the side of the bed to join the rest of the abandoned clothes. In the golden light your eyes roamed over him, looking at his already erect cock, the tip red and glistening from the precum. He was huge, there was no denying that, and you were shocked to find out the rumors were actually true.

“Y/n…” He called, drawing your attention back up to his face, a grin appearing on his lips, catching you in the act of admiring him, “See something you like?” He added, his hands on your knees, rubbing them gently with his rough palms. You nodded, spreading your legs for him, his jaw clenching at the sight.

”Christ.” He muttered under his breath, his fingers pressing into your skin, heat pooling behind his ice blue eyes.

“Come here.” You instructed, and without hesitation he leaned down, pressing his palms against the mattress on either side of your head, his body folding over yours. His weight was warm and solid, as his mouth found yours again. The pressure of him made you sigh against his lips, as your hands glided down his back, feeling the tension in the muscles that held him up, his hips grinding towards yours, his cock twitching against the wetness between your legs.

“Fuck I don’t have condoms…” He groaned, realizing he had not restocked on them. You shook your head, pointing to a scar on the back of your arm.

”I have an implant, don’t worry about the condom situation.” The thought of being inside you with no barriers, the feeling of your velvety wet walls gripping his cock almost made him cum right then and there. The fact you trusted him enough to allow him to do that turned him on even more. He leaned forward, taking your bottom lip between his, tangling himself up in you, pulling away.

”Look,” His fingers pressed against the bottom of your chin, tilting your head back so you could look at the reflection, your eyes watching as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck, nibbling on your collarbone, the overwhelming stimulation making your heart race. “So perfect.” His breath was hot, and it stuck to your skin, as one hand began to trace the curve of your waist. You reached down between the both of you, your hand wrapping around his cock, feeling desperation as you slid the tip up and down the slick your cunt had produced, gasping as his hips moved forward. In the reflection you could see his head dipping lower, his eyes closing briefly, savoring the moment he slipped between your folds, trying to keep himself steady so you could adjust to his size.

“Bjorn.” You whined, “Please…” Was all you could get out, his focus coming up to you, his free hand cupping your cheek.

”I’ve got you…” He whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your heart clenched at the softness of his voice, the hand on your waist trailing down to hold your thigh up against his torso. You swallowed hard, your hands sliding up his chest, his heart beating against your palm, “Look at how good you take me.” He complimented, his hips moving slowly towards yours. In the reflection it was as if you were seeing yourself through his eyes, watching the way you writhed beneath him as he stretched you out slowly. He slid his thumb into your mouth, dragging the saliva down your chin, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy, heated kiss, your tongues battling for dominance, taking the opportunity to swallow your gasps as he pushed fully into you, bottoming out, your nails scraping down his back at the stretch. Bjorn hissed softly at the sensation, but the look in his eyes was welcoming. The both of you stilled for a moment, wanting to adjust to the new feeling of being so close together.

”Breathe with me.” He instructed, his forehead resting against yours, his hand finding yours, threading your fingers together. You did as you were told, breathing deeply, relaxing into him. Slowly, he began to move his hips, watching your reaction to gauge what made you feel good, trying to memorize it.

”Every part of you….Feels so good.” You whimper, arching into the thrusts. Your words sunk deep into him as his hips snapped forward rhythmically, finding a pace that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. He held your neck, helping you shift down the bed so you had more support for your head, so the both of you can look into each other's eyes. The quiet groans he made mingled with the sounds that escaped your lips filling the air between you, his forehead meeting yours.

“You’re so fucking perfect y/n.” Your cheeks burned at his words, his tone stealing the breath from your lungs as he held you closely, his body moving with such a gentle force it made your head spin. His arm slid behind your neck, propping you up, his lips pressing against your temple, his thrusts slowing down and getting deeper. A knot coiled low in your stomach, another orgasm building in you, the wetness now audible in the room. Your eyes fluttered shut, allowing your body to give into him, his urgent and tender movements burning for you.

”Bjorn…I-.” He held your cheek,

”I know, I got you…Let yourself go.” He continued to thrust into you, your walls tightening around him, whimpering at the overstimulation, his forehead meeting yours as his movements and breathing became ragged, his cock sinking into you just a little more deeper before he stilled above you, warmth filling your tight pussy, his hand squeezing yours. The world outside of his room felt far away in that moment- absolutely insignificant to what you had both done. All that mattered was being with him, entangled on top of the sheets, holding each other as you came down from the high. He pressed a kiss on your forehead, the both of you letting out a content sigh together, savoring the afterglow. He looked down at you, a quiet affection playing behind his blown out pupils.

”You’re incredible.” He whispered softly, his voice was tender, “I never want to forget this.” You smiled at his words.

”I don’t think I could forget it even if I tried.” You replied back, the both of you giggling together, settling down a bit, legs entwining together, feeling him soften inside you, but keeping him inside.

”Stay the night?” He asked, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

”I was planning to.” You responded, a lazy smile engraved on your lips, letting your body relax against his, your hands still tracing along every inch of his skin, knowing that it was just the start of something new.

#alien franchise #alien romulus fanfic #alien: romulus #bjorn alien romulus #bjorn alien romulus x reader #bjorn x fem reader #alien romulus #bjorn smut #bjorn x reader #bjorn alien romulus smut #spike fearn

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gremlin-girly · 9 days ago

Text

It's a Wonderful Life

A Bucky Barnes Christmas fic

Tags/warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, mentions of suicide/depression/abuse/ptsd, post end game, Steve went back, generally depressing stuff but it's a happy ending :)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied or reposted or put through an AI machine.

Summary: based upon the film of the same name. On Christmas Eve, Bucky takes a walk and meets a stranger who assures him life is worth living.

Word count : tba

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! ☺️ sorry to make it so sad - I may come back amd edit parts but I dont know yet! I apologise for any mistakes etc etc. And there's another note at the very end! - Love, Grem x

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Bucky Barnes Collection | Navigation

Christmas Eve in New York was always cold and today was no exception. Bucky wasn't sure how far he'd walked, but he was at a bridge not far from the city, watching the lights wink in the distance.

Leaning on the stone ledge, breathing into his gloved hands to (at the very least) keep his flesh hand warm, he did what he had been doing since the moment he blipped back; think about his entire existence and the lead up to this point, here on the bridge, on Christmas Eve.

The water below whooshed by quickly although you couldn't see the inky mass below. It was loud, almost too loud to hear himself think. He sighed, dropping his hands to the metal railing stuck into the stones.

What was the point of it all?

Bucky wondered, staring into the black void below, if he'd ever truly be free of HYDRA. Sure, his brain was apparently brainwashing-free but, and not to insult Shuri, he was with HYDRA for almost a century.

Almost a century.

Almost a century of abuse. Seven decades worth of scars. Seven decades of murders deserved and not. Seven decades of being frozen and defrosted to the point his body sometimes makes him sick because he shouldn't be out of cryo so long. Seven decades of torture, mental and physical, on top of losing Nat, Tony and... Steve.

End of the line.

What a joke.

What was the point of dragging the Winter soldier kicking and screaming to fix him, to put your life and others' on the line for him; a man who tried to kill you and your friends multiple times, only to leave him once he was back to his old self?

Well, old self was a bit of an exaggeration.

Bucky's grip on the railing tightened, creaking under his strength as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He hated, hated, hated to admit that he was angry at Steve. Resentful. If Bucky was in Steve's position he would have put a bullet in his brain.

He tells himself, night after night, that Steve had good intentions. Bringing him back, fixing him but... leaving him? Bucky knew very few people, and very few (rightfully) didn't trust him. The only connections he had to most people were Steve and with him gone, it was like people stopped having to pretend to tolerate Bucky and left him alone.

And Steve... after the blip, he'd changed. But coming back after five years, five blissful years where there was no fighting, no pain, just nothing... for Steve to vanish like that made Bucky think he had done something wrong.

Bucky didn't know when he had started crying. He wiped his eyes roughly with his hands and sniffed. He was also a man out of time. He didn't understand modern slang, modern music (which was awful), modern romance or any of that texting stuff or Facebook. Or whatever the bird app was. Or was it as letter now? God. Everything was confusing.

There was a sick comfort in knowing what he was good at with HYDRA.

What was the point of it all?

Even if he threw himself over the railing, by some sick cosmic joke he'd probably live; if not by losing another limb.

"Excuse me?" A voice calls. Bucky ignores it. "Bucky Barnes?"

Bucky blinks and looks over in the direction of the voice. It's not one he recognises and neither is the person.

Before him is an old woman, bundled in thick coats and scarves. She has thin, short white curly hair that's almost translucent and an angled face with chubby, rosy cheeks and eyes that glitter with a playful wit. She's somebody's grandma, with that half-stern eyebrow raise, matronly and motherly look rolled into one.

"Hi?" Bucky blinks at her trying to place her. He still doesn't recognise her.

She approaches a little closer and peeks over the bridge where Bucky had been staring and whistles, cutting through the rush of water in the darkness. "I hope you weren't thinking of jumping."

"No." Bucky lies, still confused.

"Ah, clever boy. It would do you no good. Plenty left to do."

"Do I know you?" Bucky asks, staring at her.

"Oh! No. You don't know me." The old lady says cryptically. "But I know you, James Buchanan Barnes. I know everyone."

Bucky stands up to his full height, towering above the old lady, who watches him unphased. He tilts his head at her, narrowing his eyes, trying to decipher who or possibly what she is and what she could possibly want with him.

"I'm guessing you know me from the news? Or from history books?"

"I know you as James Buchanan Barnes, born March tenth, nineteen-seventeen. I know you as the Winter Soldier. I know you as White Wolf and now I know you as just Bucky."

Bucky reels. Civilians didn't know about his time in Wakanda and he was certain that not many people just knew him as Bucky outside of SHIELD.

"How...?"

"Nevermind how." She snips, adjusting her handbag on her forearm. "What brings you to the bridge tonight, Bucky?"

It sounds like a loaded question. It is a loaded question. The old lady seems to be goading him into admitting something he didn't want to admit.

"I...Just out for a walk." He falters, looking down at his feet.

"Perfect. Walk with me?" The old lady offers her arm out to him, and for some reason Bucky is compelled to take it. Walking arm in arm, they slowly make their way back into the thrum of the city centre.

There are people everywhere.

Pretty standard for New York on Christmas Eve. There are kids, carolers, couples and Christmas-everything along the streets. There's music playing Here Comes Santa Claus somewhere, lights flashing and a giant tree decorated to the nines every few blocks.

"Look at them," The old lady murmurs looking out into the crowd with a warm smile. "Aren't they just the sweetest?"

Bucky follows her gaze. There's plenty of laughing kids, couples walking hand in hand and making gooey eyes at one another but Bucky knows there's more beneath the surface; abusers, pick pockets and murderers walk amongst them. He would know.

"Yeah." Bucky says gruffly. "I guess."

The old lady's gaze pierces him with a stern look. "You don't believe me."

"There are just as many bad people as there are good." Bucky huffs. "No matter what, it hardly makes a difference."

"Now, now," The old lady tuts with a small, patient smile. "That's just not true. Look at where we are."

Bucky frowns down at her. He doesn't know why he feels compelled to stay and argue with some random old lady on Christmas Eve, but he does.

"We're in New York, lady." Bucky grumbles. The old lady jerks her head upwards towards the street name etched into the side of a tall concrete building. Time had worn most of the wording away but Bucky could still just about make it out.

"Worthing Street?"

"Worthing Street." The old lady confirms. And glances up at Bucky. "This is where you first met Steven Grant Rogers all those years ago."

"How in the hell-"

"Language." The old lady huffs and then smiles. "I told you. I know you."

Bucky frowns.

"A little bit of good always makes a big difference. It's all about perspective." She chuckles happily. "This is where James Buchanan Barnes met his best friend; protecting him from bullies. Do you know he could've died that day?"

She gives Bucky a sideways glance as memories spill from Bucky's brain. Steve hacking up a lung and trying to stand, his face and knuckles bloody, struggling to catch his breath.

"I remember." Bucky says quietly.

The lady continues. "Had you not stepped in and saved him, your lives would have been very different. Without you, there would be no Steve Rogers, no Captain America as we know him."

"But there'd be no Wonter Soldier either." Bucky counters and is surprised when the old woman cackles at him.

"There would always be a Winter Soldier. Always a Captain America. Whether or not they were you or Steven is another school of fish entirely."

Bucky ponders her words but thinks that maybe discussing alternate realities would melt his brain. Clint had tried when he'd explained the time travel stuff in the search for infinity stones but it gave Bucky a headache. He was from the 40s for God's sake.

"Your small act of kindness, your selflessness, made Steve aspire to be who he was." The old lady says after a moment. "As difficult as it was, Steve felt that he owed it to you to give you back your life. He deemed you worthy of saving above all else."

Bucky's chest tightened. He could feel the sting of tears again and forced them back.

"Probably because I saved his ass more than once," Bucky tries to chuckle, but the lump in his throat is too thick.

"Because you were his brother." The old woman says simply. She looks back out into the crowd once more before tugging on Bucky’s stiff arm. "Come on. We're not done."

"If you know everyone," Bucky begins, walking alongside the old woman. "Why did Steve leave?"

"Love." The old woman sighs. "He had sacrificed so much and so many. He knew you'd be okay."

"Did he?"

The old woman grins wickedly at Bucky. "Of course. You now have Sam."

Bucky scoffs.

"And Sarah. AJ. Cass. Yelena. Alexei. Shuri. Okoye. T'challa. The list goes on." The old woman reaches into her handbag, scouring it for a moment before producing a mint humbug and offering to Bucky who awkwardly accepts it. She finds one for herself and they continue on down the street.

"And there's those you haven't met yet." She says after her humbug has melted enough for her to speak.

Bucky frowns again. "Oh yeah? Like, I don't know, a partner or something?"

The Old Woman's eyes twinkle. "Or something."

Bucky harumphs, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't let himself think about that; a future. How could someone love him? After everything he'd done? He was beyond damaged goods.

But the way the Old Woman speaks, as if she knows, makes a small part of him jump for joy. If even he was worthy of love and affection...

"Must you always do that?"

Bucky gives the Old Woman a sideways glance. "Do what?"

"Scrunching up your face like that." She mimicks Bucky's expression, brows furrowing deeply adding extra wrinkles to her skin and pouting her lips comically. "You look like a sad little basset hound."

Bucky throws up his hands. "Its my face!"

"Well, make it smile more." The Old Woman argues back.

"I'm one hundred and six, lady, you can't tell me what to do!" Bucky's lips twitch upwards when he catches her small smirk. "Where are you taking me now, anyway?"

"We're going to see a friend of mine."

Horizon Resedential Care was one of the more impressive care homes in New York. Set within a small block with a park for residents to mull about in, the care home boasted glowing reviews from family members who adored seeing their loved ones sociable, active and well cared for.

The small, wrought iron gate was shut; locked tight to ensure no residents went walk about in the ice and snow. Only the intercom button glowed red, begging to be pressed, to allow family visits.

"No." Bucky said, standing outside the gate. His feet couldn't move. He felt sick. He wanted to run. "I'm not going in there."

The Old Woman looked at him sadly, heartache etched all over her face. "She'd love to see you, you know."

"I - would she? Surely she thinks..." Bucky swallows thickly.

Surely she thinks I'm dead?

"You don't give the woman enough credit." The Old Woman chuckles with a shake of her head. "They watch documentaries in there all the time. The latest one was that Netflix special on the Winter Soldier."

"Oh my God." Bucky murmurs.

"Language." The Old Woman puffs. "Rebecca is more upset that you haven't come to visit her."

Bucky's heart clenches uncomfortably. "She is?"

"Of course. And you clearly know she's in there." The Old Woman gives him another annoying, knowing look. "You’ve known she was alive and haven't visited. Why?"

"Why?" Bucky growls, irritation and a sense of overwhelm crashing over his nerves like a tsunami. "My baby sister is old. I am a killer. How could I show my face to her after everything?"

The Old Woman only shrugs, turning away and beginning to walk down the street again. "You'd be surprised at how much love can forgive, Bucky. But remember, you have her back. You ought to make the most of the time you have together. Perhaps you should not let her think that you have forgotten her."

Bucky's flesh hand is fisted to hard he can feel his bones ache. He grinds his teeth as he fights down his temper. Who was this woman? And how did she know so much about him?

Jogging to catch up to her, Bucky hangs his head falling into step beside her.

"Im sorry for snapping." He grumbles. "Its just-"

"No need to apologise." She holds up a hand and still wears that kind, grandmotherly smile. "However, I do have one more person I'd like you to meet. She should be up this next street."

She?

The alleyway the Old Woman stopped in was... well, exactly how you would imagine an alleyway at the busiest time of year to look like. Trash cans scattered, rotting food mixed with debris and cardboard neatly lining each side of the alley.

"She's supposed to be here." The Old Woman comments, looking down at a thin gold watch around her wrist.

Bucky watches as a rat dives into a trash can and grimaces. "Who?"

"Ah!" The lady throws up her hands and waves at someone past Bucky. "There she is!"

Bucky turns but there's nobody there. He's about to argue with the old lady when a soft meow draw his attention to the ground. At his feet, sitting daintily with wide blue eyes, is the scruffiest white kitten he'd ever seen.

"Alpine."The Old Woman beams. "I was worried you wouldn't make it."

Bucky looks at the rosy cheeked old lady; cherub-like with her dimpled smile and then down at the kitten, who chirps at him. There's something about the Old Woman that's strangely familiar, but he can't quite place it.

"Bucky, Alpine. Alpine, Bucky." She nods and the kitten, Alpine, looks back to Bucky. Bucky stares back. This is entirely surreal.

"What the hell is-"

"She's your companion." She says matter of factly. "I had to pull a few strings to get her a little sooner but-"

"I don't know the first goddamn thing about looking after a cat!"

"Language!" The Old Woman snaps before adding spritely, "You'll learn."

Alpine toddles over to Bucky, circling around his legs and purring loudly. Bucky blinks. Once. Twice. This wasn't a dream. All of this, the wandering was real and not some sort of fucked up nightmare like he was used to having.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when Alpine's giant jeweled eyes meet his and she meows quietly; looking up at him with adoration that said I trust you.

"She needs you as much as you need her." The Old Woman says softly. "Take good care of eachother, you two."

He squats down and offers his flesh hand to Alpine, who sniffs it gingerly before bumping her tiny head against it. Bucky had never been one to say whether he was a dog or cat person, he never had either growing up, and then with the war and HYDRA.... But looking at this kitten before him, his heart was already a puddle at his feet.

Bundling Alpine into his leather jacket, Bucky turned to find the space the Old Woman had occupied was empty. Bucky whipped his head up and down the alleyway and peeked out onto the street. She'd disappeared.

Shaking his head slightly, he looked down at Alpine snuggled against him.

"This has got to be the weirdest Christmas Eve ever." He mutters, stepping into the street and heading back to his apartment.

Bucky's apartment was a lot noisier than when he'd left it over three hours ago. And far more brightly coloured with tinsel and fairy lights.

AJ and Cass are playing some video game on his sofa, Sarah is making something that smells delicious and Sam was in the middle of finishing up the decorations.

"I know you said you didn't want anyone around," Sam starts nervously, already holding his hands in surrender as Bucky opens the door. "But no one should be alone on Christmas. Sarah and I-"

Sam stops and looks at Bucky's jacket as Alpine pokes her head out. "Is that a cat?"

"Uh, yeah." Bucky looks down at Alpine who meows loudly. "This is Alpine."

"Right. Sorry." Sam shakes his head before continuing. "Sarah and I brought some food and snacks and the boys are gonna watch Christmas movies. I'd love it if you'd join us, Buck."

"I... yeah." Bucky nods and swallows thickly, smiling over at Sam. "Thanks, pal. Although... you're in my house."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam waves a hand dismissively but his grin is wide. "Come on. You hungry? We've got plenty of snacks. No cat friendly ones though."

Alpine puffs in annoyance making Bucky chuckle as he joins Sam and Sarah in his small kitchenette. Warmth blossoms in his tight chest as the ice begins to thaw. He tries not to let it show, when tears prickle his eyes again in the warm, flashing lights.

The Old Woman was right; there was plenty left to do.

~ END ~

A/N: Nadolig Llawen! Or happy holidays wherever you are. I hope you're having a good time!

I've been writing and editing this all damn day in between work and cooking.

Originally I played with a few ideas but ultimately decided that I wanted to keep it as non-complex as possible (but if you are curious, yes Old Woman was an angel - specifically I chose Gamaliel Angel of protection and strength, Angel of Cherubs, "recompense of God" - thanks Wiki for that one). I'm not Christian, but a big supernatural fan (hence why I loved this fic idea). I thought if anyone was to be thrown into an old school movie (Like It's a Wonderful Life) it would be Bucky.

And don't worry, he visited Rebecca the next day.

I hope you enjoyed if you've read this far! And once again, happy holidays

- Love, Grem x

#gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes #fluff #angst #bucky barnes #bucky barnes mcu #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes christmas fic #bucky barnes xmas fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #Bucky christmas fic #christmas fic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters

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notecountingmachine · 2 days ago

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Elcon Security Systems! We're more than just a security provider; we're your neighbors and friends dedicated to helping you live safely and confidently. Our inclusive and welcoming team is passionate about providing personalized solutions tailored just for you. We invite you to stop by, share a story, and let us assist you in creating a secure environment for your family or business. Together, we'll make protecting your space an easy and engaging experience.

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#bundle note counting machine #cash counting #currency counting machines #counting machines #note detector machine #currency counting machine #note counting machine #electronic safe #fake note detector machine #counting machine

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hindvanture · 4 months ago

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Note Counting Machine in Dealer in Sadar | Delhi | Currency Counting Dealer in Punjabi Bagh | Delhi #reels #viral #trending #fbreelsfypシ゚viralシ #fbreels #fbreelsfypシ゚ #facebookviral #facebookreel

#note counting macine #paper shredder #cash counting #bundle note counting machine #cash machine

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celestiaonlyknows · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 10: Albedo- Sex Machine

R18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Read on Ao3. <- Day 9 Day 11 ->

“One, ah, thank you. Two, uhmah… thank you.” You moan out as you feel the invention piston the dildo in and out of you at a blinding speed.

When you agreed to test out the new machine Albedo had created for an experiment you had no idea it would be like this. Now you were face down on an exam table with your ass up in the air and arms pinned behind your back. The machine worked at an even pace as it moved the toy in and out of you. It had you panting and dripping all over the table while it continued to pleasure you with no need for respite.

Albedo sat and observed you with a cold look in his teal eyes while noting something on his chart. He sits in the wooden chair with his legs crossed, though you have a feeling it's to hide the obvious arousal he had at the current situation. Still, watching him observe you in such an even and calculated manner excites you more.

“Keep counting,” Albedo instructed as you forgot to announce your third orgasm. “I can’t accurately note the effectiveness of this machine if you don’t tell me how many times it makes you climax.”

“Three, sorry,” you apologize with a small whine as you feel another beginning to build.

“No need, though a thank you would be nice,” Albedo said with a mischievous smirk that told you all you needed to about how much he was enjoying this. It was always the quiet ones like him that no one suspected, after all.

“Thank you, ah, four thank you,” you manage in quick succession.

“Very good,” Albedo says before standing–his hard-on obvious now through his shorts as he moves to turn off the machine when you slur something along the lines of five and thank you. “Five in such a short amount of time. Quiet fascinating indeed.”

He makes the note in his chart before unfastening you and giving your forehead a quick kiss. It made you feel warm as he held you, even in the cold of his lab in Dragonspine.

“Shall we move to the manual part of the experiment? Or would you prefer to rest first?” Albedo asked as he bundled you up in a blanket and pulled you into his lap.

“Sleep,” you murmur and he chuckles before kissing your head.

“Of course, whatever you want,” he agrees before humming a song as you drift off to sleep.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #Albedo #albedo kreideprinz #albedo x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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elbiotipo · 8 months ago

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completely random question, i was scrolling through the notes of a post about silly ttrpg stats (gumption, chutzpah, moxie, etc) for fun, which you reblogged about a year ago. you added a tag that said "there's an indie funk rpg set in the disco scene of the 60-70s that has these stats. one of the stats is just 'funk'". i am very curious about what rpg this is, because i googled around and couldn't find anything. if you happen to remember, i would love to know!

Oh, this ask took me on a trip!

I found it on 1d4chan, the wiki for 4chan's /tg/ board, the traditional RPG board. Which was rather more palatable than the rest of 4chan, and incredibly fun, with lots of homebrew settings. Unfortunately, it's defunct.

I thought it was lost forever, but it was saved in the Internet Archive!

It's called Joints and Jivers and it's based on 60s-70s funk, disco and martial arts B-movies. Disco kings and queens, kung-fu masters, hippies and bikers are all playable classes. Stats include hair (if you're bald, a moustache can count), boogie, and funk, in the words of the manual:

You can probably make ABBA or the Village People with the stats provided, as well as any kung-fu or action movie from the 70s-80s. It also came bundled with Modempunk, which is a short phreaking (phone hacking) RPG based on 80s movies like Hackers.

1d4chan had a lot of cool stuff, I need to do some digging and rescue stuff out from it.

#RPGs #TTRPGs

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joels-darlin · 1 year ago

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Monday Morning - The Rescue

Chapter 1 can be found here - Ch 1: Monday Moring - The Situation

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ only. kidnapping/hostage situation, violence, angst, hurt, allusions to rape, mentions of weapons, restraints/being tied up, mentions of blood and injuries. (I think that's all sorry if I missed any)

Summary: A standard Monday morning commute to the DEA office takes a harrowing turn of events. Now Javi and Steve are here to rescue you.

Word count: 2469

Author Note: Apologies this took so long to get out but have been hit with huge writers block recently and finally got through it!! I am debating (being a strong word here) wrapping this all up with a Chapter 3, so if you want it please let me know! Any feedback is appreciated, thanks all ♥️

Special thankyou to @ladybess-a03 for your help/support on this and providing your amazing Beta reading services which I am forever grateful for ♥️ AO3 Link

Javier was losing his mind, anxiety bubbling in his chest an unusual feeling for him. Taking another glance around, his eyes landed on the clock that hung on the yellowing walls of the office.10:43am, and you still hadn’t stepped through those heavy brown doors. He knew you liked to be in earlier than the rest, taking the first couple of hours of peace to catch up with any leftover paperwork and enjoy the coffee you grabbed from near the markets on your short commute in.

His fingers drummed against the solid oak desk, shifting to grab another file from the growing pile of paperwork next to him. Having only drained his coffee cup a mere five minutes ago, file still in his hand closed, Javi pondered for a second thoughts of you filling his mind.

“Fuck this!” he thought shoving the chair back with force and standing to his feet. Snatching the cup from the desk he stalked to the kitchen; he needed a distraction, and fast.

In the kitchen was where he ran into Steve who seemed to have a similar need for a caffeine fix. Javi made himself busy washing and drying his cup before leaving it next to the coffee machine, signaling he was next in the queue.

“You heard from her?” Steve spoke first, breaking the unusual silence between the pair.

“Nothing, she must be on holiday or sick?”

“I spoke to the front desk earlier, but no phone calls or requests have come in,” Steve responded in a flat tone.

As far as they were concerned this was unusual behavior, and something felt really wrong. You had never missed a day's work, always opting to call in at the earliest convenience if you were sick or unable to come in. After Steve left, Javi busied himself again now that the coffee machine was free, retreating back to his desk shortly after. A sigh left his lips on approach as he spotted the paperwork pile which he swore had increased since he had stepped away.

The day dragged on like any other; go through the never-ending paperwork, look at leads on Escobar, review new (but also useless) intelligence. It was the conversation between some other colleagues that caught his attention on his seventh visit to the kitchen for a refill.

“Did you hear about the trouble this morning? At the markets, I heard some young woman was bundled into the back of a car. They must be in trouble with Escobar and his cronies” he overheard.

Javi’s ears pricked up at this, craning his neck towards the conversation happening in the other room. Paper thin walls meant no secrets were safe in this office. His mind suddenly went into overdrive. The markets? Wasn’t that near where you usually frequented for your coffee? Shoving his cup in the sink, not even bothering to clean it this time, he rushed back to his desk.

“Steve…can we talk…in private?” he asked. He leant over the desks, getting as close to his partner as possible trying to avoid causing any commotion. Moving his head to gesture at the storage cupboard across the other side of the room. Steve nodded, rising from his desk before following, closing the door behind.

”This better be good, I have a pile of paperwork to-” he began.

“I was just in the kitchen…overheard a conversation about someone getting kidnapped by possibly Escobar’s men near the markets early this morning…you think it could be her?”. It had been radio silence all day, still not hearing anything from you, definitely a cause for concern.

“Wow, you really like her don’t you?” his partner chuckled. Steve knew Javi had a slight infatuation for his female partner but didn’t think it ran this deep. It was obvious sometimes though, the extra glances across the office towards your desk whilst working or the way his partners eyes lit up upon you entering the room.

“Steve…not now…seriously…could it be her?”

“What makes you think it could be? These things happen on the streets pretty much every day!”. Javi sighed, lifting his hand to card his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know, I just have a bad feeling and it won’t go away…”.

What Steve failed to mention was also the sinking feeling in his stomach that had been churning around for most of the day; in his eyes you were a friend and even he was starting to get concerned.

“I guess it won’t hurt to go ask around” he said.

~~~

Absolutely useless, the pair might as well have stayed in the office, having not gotten a single lead on your whereabouts. With the endless shaking of heads and “No’s” they were met with, the frustration was grating. Not a single person had recognised your face in the picture they were showing around, but there had to be someone here.

From the corner of his eye, Javi spotted it; the coffee cart. Still manned, an old looking bloke who must have been late sixties maybe. In all of ten minutes the man in question had identified you, and even made note of the number plate of the vehicle he saw you being carted into; it was like some sort of miracle. Javi and Steve left not long after, graciously thanking the man for his information, even grabbing a quick coffee whilst there as a token gesture.

He might have just saved your life.

~~~

It took less than an hour for them to find the location once back at the office. A small group of the team pulled off their current assignments, their new focus now being tracking the whereabouts of the black SUV they now knew you had been taken in. It wasn’t long before they got a hit. The vehicle was last spotted in a location known to Escobar - owning establishments up and down the country.

As soon as the approval was given they were out of the office and into the car, the location being a disused house just a few miles from the market. It was a huge risk just two of them versus however many of Escobar’s men were guarding you. But Javi had to get you out if it was the last thing he ever did.

Under the cover of darkness they parked just up the road from the house, in the hopes to not raise any suspicions. Slipping out into the warm air, both quietly approaching the two doors on the building, splitting them evenly. Luckily, for once, there were only two men inside; taking one each the bodies dropped to the ground in the blink of an eye. The partners opted for a quick scan of the premises for any further Sicarios before giving the all clear.

“Cariño” Javi’s voice came out barely a whisper, catching sight of you from through the doorway. Eyes scanning your frame he could see you were stripped to just your underwear. Beaten, bruised, blindfolded and currently slumped over in a rusty metal chair. It wasn’t hard for him to miss your chest heaving with sobs. His heart sank, stomach twisting and turning in a sickly way - the bile starting rising in his throat. Then came the wave of rage. How could someone do this to you, a small, fragile but beautiful human being?.

Checking his surroundings again before holstering his gun he approached you cautiously, your head lifting slightly at the sounds of footsteps in the room.

“Please ...no…not again…please” you begged, screamed in fact. Evidently choking on a fresh set of tears. Javi stood frozen for a second a million thoughts whizzing around his head; what the fuck had they done to you?

“It’s Javi…sweetheart…you’re okay, Steve is outside the door…you-you’re safe now” he said, his own voice stammering as he processed the sight of you, the sickening feeling in his stomach not having passed yet as his mind ran with thoughts of what had happened to you in this room.

“J-J-Javi….H-H-How?” you croaked.

“Shhh now, it’s okay. I’m going to undo the ropes and blindfold for you. But it’s just me; I won’t hurt you” he said.

Javi waited and the small nod of approval was enough for him to step closer. Approaching the back of the chair his eyes fell to your hands bound together with an old dirty rope. Releasing the knot took him longer than expected and he let out a sigh of relief upon seeing it hit the floor - not missing the angry bleeding marks which embellished the soft skin there.

Circling back around Javi wasn’t prepared for the sight he lay his eyes on; breaking his heart into pieces. The mixture of pain and blind rage bubbling up in his chest; insistent that he was going to make every single one of them pay. Fighting with his demons he wanted nothing more than to pull you into an embrace. Now was not the time for that though, as he was unsure how much physical damage you had endured, and wanted to get you straight to the hospital to be checked over.

“Hey…” a soft voice made you lift your head, eyes locking for a brief moment with those brown orbs, it being hard to miss the sadness and guilt swimming in them “…think you can stand?” Javi asked.

You nodded, taking a minute for a deep breath in and out before shakily standing from the chair - feeling his eyes watching intently, ready to intercept at any moment. It wasn’t long before your shaking legs gave out, landing on the cold hard floor with a thump. At this point what was just another bruise for the ever growing collection.

“Okay cariño I’m going to carry you, alright? If you get uncomfortable at any point tell me, okay?”. Javi waited for your approval and after another slight nod he approached slowly, sliding one arm under the back of your knees and the other around your back, lifting your frame from the floor to carry you bridal style. Ever so careful with hand placement.

Cradled against his chest it was hard not to close your eyes, the sheer warmth radiating from his skin, your head nestled in the crook of his neck; forehead brushing against the exposed skin there. The smell of Javi filled your nose as you tried to control your breathing - a mix of leather, tobacco and coffee.

“You good, hermosa?” he asked. No words came out, just the nod of approval again to signal that you were okay. Making sure he moved slowly out of the house, he carefully bundled you into the backseat of the car.

“Is she alright?” the familiar voice cut through the darkness, and it took a second to realise that it was in fact Steve. You don’t remember much after that; the world plunged into darkness.

~~~

Coming to your senses, you slowly started blinking, desperately trying to open my eyes and see what’s around. The blinding light slowly subsided as you craned to take in the surroundings. Okay so this was a hospital, you knew that for certain, obvious by the pristine white walls and that goddamn awful bleach smell that made your nose crinkle in disgust. It was the soft voice from the right which caught your attention more though.

“Cariño…”. Turning your head, you saw him. There was Javi, sat in the sickly green looking hospital chair, standing the second your eyes locked. “…it’s okay we got you, you are safe now”.

A heavy sigh left your lips, the events of the morning playing vividly in your head. “I mean…I th-think so” your voice was hoarse and weak.

“I’ll go tell them you are awake” he smiled and reached out a soft warm hand, taking yours and giving it a quick squeeze before heading towards the door.

Taking in the surroundings, you quickly noticed it was dark outside from the slight crack in the blinds over the window. How long had you been out? Looking down at your body, the tangle of wires and IV’s all connected into your skin causing a shudder to run up your spine. Not failing to notice that you were still just in your underwear, the scratchy feeling of the hospital blanket against your skin was uncomfortable, but at least it was covering you from the chest down. The door creaked open again, in strolling Javi moving to stand next to you.

Your skin was a mass of purple bruises and luckily only a few superficial cuts which were taken care of whilst you were out, your face being the part that had taken the brunt of the beating. They had left you with a hefty black eye, split lip, and fractured cheekbone. Javi was seething hearing the damage they had inflicted. But there was one thing he couldn’t get off his mind, the thought plaguing him for the many hours he had spent sitting in that goddamn chair.

“Sweetheart…I need to know…did-did…they touch you?” he stuttered, locking eyes with yours again, emphasis on the word he needed to get across so you understood what he was asking. Taking a moment to answer, you were obviously reliving the previous trauma and he could see it behind your eyes, tears just starting to collect at the lash line.

Gaze drawn back down to your lap all you could do was nod, not baring to look at him again knowing the tears will spill over. He had an idea but wanted it to come from you and the non-verbal response was enough. It took a lot for Javi to show his emotions but that was when he broke.

It was only when a nurse entered the room, fresh hospital gown in hand, that he turned away. More so to give you privacy whilst she helped you into the clothing, he let a single tear slip down his face whilst his back was turned, wiping it away with the heel of his hand. Gods above, he was going through it right now, unable to comprehend how someone could even do that to you. The feeling in his chest was insufferable, his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces again. He couldn’t even imagine the pain you must be feeling right now.

It was only when he caught sight of the nurse leaving that he turned back around. Glancing over at the bed, you looked so small…so frightened. Javi wanted nothing more than to scoop you up into his arms and make the pain go away. But right now, that wouldn’t achieve anything, for as much as he wanted to. He was going to have to be so careful with you for a long, long while.

This was going to take time, but he swore then and there to be by your side every step of the way.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena #narcos fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javi pena #pedro pascal characters

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imaginatorcreates · 7 months ago

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Commission for Kewkies (@xxxkewkiesxxx)

Kewkies here asked me to write a little scene about her Welcome Home OC, Sabrina Spool, and the neighborhood's famous painter, Wally Darling. There weren't a lot of requirements nor requests for this piece by Kewkies, and the idea and general plot came to me when out and about.

Enjoy this written piece!

Stitch Some Time For Yourself

14 May 2024 — 29 May 2024

Summary: Sabrina, the neighborhood's resident seamstress, suddenly finds herself under a time crunch to make costumes for Sally's upcoming play. How does she deal with the pressure?

Word Count: ~3.1k words

TW: None

Author’s Note: Enjoy! Also on AO3 as a gift.

Sabrina Spool was Home’s resident tailor. Seamstress sounded more elegant to her, but she wasn’t fussy over the details of her job’s name. No, her fussiness instead came over the details of her job. What was it that carpenters said?

Measure twice, cut once.

For Sabrina, not only did she measure twice — sometimes thrice — and cut once, she stretched sheets of fabric between her hands and made calculations in her head. Would this fabric stretch enough to accommodate her customer’s body type, or would she have to allot extra fabric to make up for it? What type of fabric would the customer want; cotton for comfort and breathability, or perhaps silk for the texture and smooth feel?

And don’t get started with her about colors!

While she preferred darker shades herself, she knew that everyone had their favorite colors and patterns to wear. The colors and patterns, when stitched together in just the right size and paired with the right clothes, made the ideal outfit.

Yes, that was what she was fussy over.

Sabrina loved her job, now don’t get her wrong. Nothing can really quite match the exhilaration that she got when someone’s eyes lit up after seeing her work, nor the warmth that filled her body from words of praise once her customer tried on the article of clothing she made for them.

Well, there were quite a few things, she supposed. A good hug or a gift as her payment, for one thing. A large, sweet watermelon or a tart green apple. Her morning ritual with Llyod, as annoying as he was.

And a certain, little puppet of the neighborhood: Wally Darling. He loved apples with just as much — quite possibly more — gusto as she does. His half-lidded eyes and blue, swirled pompadour were part of the charm that drew so many towards him, Sabrina included. From his hands burst painted portraits of still life and of his neighbors that he loved so dearly. And when he pressed those hands against his mouth? A blown kiss with a monotonous “Mwah!”

Oh, even now Sabrina wondered how the two of them managed to get together! It was all so new, like an apple that just ripened to optimal sweetness. If she thought about it too hard, she may accidentally poke herself while sewing.

What have they done already?

They’ve held hands — Wally’s small gasp of “Oh! You’re holding my hand!” made her grin to no end when her mind wandered to it. They’ve certainly spent time together, enough to consider them dates (to her).

But what else can they do?

Knocks on the front door beckoned her out of her thoughts. She turned away from her sewing machine and paused. “Llyod, I swear if you locked yourself out again — !”

“Mailman! Eddie Dear here!”

At the kind southern accent, the vampiric seamstress turned off her sewing machine and hurried to the front door. She turned the doorknob, then opened the door so only a slender crack was visible. Bright sunlight poured through and she squinted outside with a small wince. Beyond flashes of color and small floaters in her vision, she could catch glimpses of the portly mailman waiting for her with bundles of wrapped packages in his arms.

After a few minutes of acclimating herself to the sunlight, she fully opened the door. “‘Ello Eddie,” she greeted him.

“Howdy Miss Spool.”

“Please, call me Sabrina.”

Eddie sputtered. “Sabrina! Apologies Miss Sp– Sabrina.”

Sabrina chuckled and lightly shook her head. All predictable Eddie. “Do you have any mail for me?”

“Ah, well…” Eddie jutted his chin towards the bundles in his arms. “Cloth orders for ya. Howdy was particular ‘bout these gettin’ to ya in one piece.” He shifted the packages and Sabrina took the cue to take them in her arms.

She knew what was inside: lengths of dark cloth, a few dozen sewing needles for her machine and for her hands, and several spools of thread. Still, her eyes widened and she mumbled “Huh” as she took the wrapped packages. They were heavier than she expected.

“Oh, ‘n Sally wanted to give this to ya,” Eddie said as he placed an envelope on top of the packages. “She said it was important, ‘n to read it ‘a-sap’. Whatever that means?”

Sabrina blinked a few times at the envelope, and at Eddie’s words. “I will do that Eddie. Thank you.”

Eddie tipped his hat and took a few steps backwards before he turned on the balls of his feet to head off towards his next delivery.

Sabrina would’ve waved goodbye to him, but her hands were full.

She closed the front door with a bump of her hip and maneuvered back to her room with the caution and grace of a dancer who was paired with someone who never danced before. Her feet knew where to step in her dim house, and she could nudge open doors with ease. But the packages in her arms caused her center of gravity to be located somewhere else, so her elegant movements were hindered. Twice, she dangerously tipped too far and nearly caused any number of packages to slide out of her grip and onto the floor.

In the comfort of her workroom, she ditched her ungraceful packages gently onto the floor and shook out her arms. She shut her door and lowered the lights down, letting the dimness of the room calm her senses once again. She knew that most of the neighborhood preferred a warm sunny day for one reason or another: Frank found sunny days to be optimal for insect observations, while Julie enjoyed making games that made everyone scratch their heads at the rules but at least no furniture would be broken by the end of it.

Sabrina, on the other hand, preferred the night and overcast waking hours. She was aware that this might feed into the fact that she — and Llyod, but this wasn’t about him — were more vampiric than their neighbors, but no one commented much about it nowadays, so she assumed that no one really cared anymore.

She unwrapped her packages and placed the contents where they belonged, taking extra care to not misplace her new batch of needles. She already lost too many to the cracks of her house and carpet. Even when she does her customary sweep of her workroom with a magnet (also from Howdy’s), at least one needle would surprise her when walking barefoot.

Then again, sometimes they would surprise Llyod.

But she couldn’t have any stray needles surprise any of her customers. That would lower her customer service for sure.

Sabrina’s eyes glanced over the letter Sally wrote for her. The playwright’s circular handwriting on the envelope said “To: Sabirella”, and underneath it said “Read ASAP” almost as if Sally didn’t trust Eddie to remember to tell Sabrina to do so.

Sabrina’s nose wrinkled at the elongated version of her name, but she’s long gotten used to the fallen star’s quirks. “Please, it’s Sabrina,” she murmured to herself as she opened the envelope and read the letter inside. For everything that Sally was, at least she was trying to understand what did and didn’t work when trying to communicate with Sabrina. The star’s bright aura — literally and figuratively — drained Sabrina’s energy quicker than she could drain fruit of its juice.

Dearest Sabirella,

I’m sure that you remember my request for your work last month. I remember it like it was yesterday: I, Sally Starlet, gracing you with my presence to craft costumes for my upcoming petrifying play. I can still see your eyes squinting and widening as I slipped you the list of costumes I required.

Now, I know that I said that I’d give you as much time as possible.

Darling, that’s changed.

I need what you have as best as you can by the end of this week. It’s a shame, but I will settle for simplified designs if that is what will work. Your payment will still be front row seats to the play where I’ll be featuring your costumes.

I’ll be expecting the gothic garbs soon.

Sincerely,

Sally

Sabrina paused. She read the letter again. Once more for good measure.

The letter’s edges started to crumple as the seamstress’s fingers gripped the paper with more force than necessary. “A week?” she whispered. “I thought I had two weeks. You– Sally!”

Almost as if the star herself was here instead of the letter in her place, flourishing her hands and beaming from her rays, the vampire felt her energy drain. Her pep and love towards her work left her and was replaced with only a burning annoyance.

“By the end of this week? And simplified?” she hissed. “When I had plenty of plans to give only the best?” She slammed the letter down onto her work desk, causing the items on top to rattle and move slightly from the force. “Do you know how difficult it is to have to rework this?”

Sabrina huffed and pulled out her sketches. She viciously grabbed a pencil and was ready to violently scribble out the costumes she had yet to start. She could already feel the lead of the pencil tear through the paper, tearing her plans into nothing but black graphite and ripped paper.

She paused.

She breathed in, and out.

She let out a sharp sigh and threw the pencil down onto her table. “Simplified. End of this week.” She snapped her mouth shut and went about her work.

The days ticked down. Sabrina spent them all in her dim workroom with only the rhythmic whirr and hum of her sewing machine filling the silence. Multiple times, she poked herself with the needles, but not once did those pokes lead way to any larger injuries.

Lloyd quickly learned to not walk in without knocking, or to not even bother trying at all. The first time he had tried, Sabrina had abruptly stood up and slammed the door on him. His fingers had gotten caught in between the door and the frame.

In hindsight, she was sorry. She would’ve apologized if she had enough time, but that was what she was low on. She was low on time and patience, and she let everyone who interacted with her know.

She got her work done though. She projected as much mercy as she could towards her work, but even those couldn’t escape her wrath when the stitches couldn’t work just the way she wanted them to, or when the colors were just a little bit off. She probably sounded like a madwoman, yelling at the clothes to just fit together better. Several times, she threw the shabbiest of her works onto the floor and stared at them with a look that could kill.

She got her work done. That was what was important.

She got her work done. It was simplified and not as fancy as she imagined, but she got her work done.

Still, she yearned to add some of the additions that she had imagined. The fluffy flowers and the drapes on the shoulders. The cape and ruffles.

On the night before Sally was supposed to pick up the costumes, Sabrina was certain that she hadn’t left the house in forever. She could hear her sewing machine in her sleep, even though she was certain that she turned it off and unplugged it. She could feel the fabrics underneath her fingers and she could feel every stitch that she was certain was misplaced.

She was proud of her work, but at the same time, she wanted to take them all and rip them apart. Start over again. Do it better. Make what she imagined in her head come to life in front of her.

A knock on her door.

She didn’t have the energy to answer it.

Her door creaked open. “Sabrina,” Lloyd called. “Your aim better be good so you don’t hit your actual guest.”

Sabrina opened her mouth to retort, but words had been failing her lately. Still, a whole different reason as to why she said nothing was revealed to her as the guest turned out to not be Llyod but instead —

“Hello Sabrina,” a quiet, monotonous voice said. It echoed throughout the vampire’s workroom and cut through the sewing machine’s constant noise.

She looked up from her work, but she didn’t turn around. Oh, just when she was almost done, she was hallucinating.

Quietly, two sets of footsteps entered. Several thumps as multiple objects were placed on a free portion of her work desk, then one set of footsteps left. The one that left was heavier and larger, less graceful.

The one that stayed was smaller and quieter. There was a certain way that this one walked.

Sabrina turned off her sewing machine.

“Hello Sabrina,” Wally said. “I got you some fruit from Howdy’s. Llyod was also there, and he helped me carry the watermelon back.”

Watermelon. The vampire had cut herself off from her favorite fruit halfway through her work last week, before she even got Sally’s letter. Convinced herself that she would get it when she was done, as a treat.

“And I carried the apples.” Sabrina heard Wally shuffle closer to her work desk, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him poke a finger at one of the green apples. He hummed and added, “I don’t understand why you like green apples. Red ones are better to me. But you like apples, so I think the color doesn’t matter too much.” He turned his head to look at her as he nudged one of the apples closer.

Sabrina took one of the green apples in her hand. It was unblemished and smelled perfectly ripe. Howdy’s bodega only contained things that he deemed were of a certain quality to sell. So obviously this fruit was perfect.

It was even more perfect as she pushed her chair away from her work desk, brought it up to her mouth, and sank her fangs into the fruit. She easily pierced through the skin and flesh of the apple, and the juice was sweet and tart.

She almost forgot that there was a watermelon there as she dove after all the apples gifted to her, drinking all the juice until the fruit was nothing more than dried skin and disgusting flesh. Then Wally nudged the large green and striped fruit towards her and she dove after that as well.

Sabrina was a clean drinker when she fed from fruit. She performed the actions with a lady-like poise and prevented as much juice from spilling as possible.

But after she’s deprived herself of her favorite fruits for a while? Add on top of that how she had been stressed from the moon and back, and she threw her finesse out the window. Juice spilled from her mouth and onto her skirt, but she didn’t pay any attention to it until the watermelon was a water-less-melon.

“Sabrina,” Wally said as Sabrina wiped her mouth. “I haven’t seen you for over a week.” He tilted his head and blinked once. He never really blinked much when around his neighbors, and much less around his close friends. He seldom blinked around Sabrina, as if each blink was a full day away from the vampire.

Sabrina looked away. She could’ve pulled her chair forwards and continue working. But her hands were a bit sticky from apple and watermelon juice, and she would hate to ruin the clothes. So she avoided his gaze and fiddled with her fingers.

“Sabrina,” Wally repeated. “I heard from Sally that her play will be tomorrow instead. I know that you’re making her costumes. Have you been taking breaks?” He leaned against her and breathed out a little “Oh!” when she wrapped an arm around him. He went limp and hummed, content with the touch.

“I have to finish this.” Sabrina’s voice came out softer than she expected, with more force than she expected. Talking had become difficult the closer the deadline was, until she could no longer bear to. “I have to finish this.”

“You look almost done.”

“But — ”

“I think Sally would not mind if you gave her something simple.”

“I would mind.”

Wally hummed. “I think your work always looks nice. Something simple made from your hands is always nice. It also feels nice to wear. I like wearing the cardigan you made for me, and I think it makes me look handsome.”

Sabrina chuckled and softly shook her head. “You’re always handsome, my candy apple.” When he laughed that soft, monotonous laugh that Sabrina loved so dearly, she gently squeezed him and leaned over to give him a small kiss on the cheek.

Wally’s semi-permanent smile widened, causing the edges of his eyes to crinkle. “Oh! You are very sweet Sabrina.” He reached towards her face and brushed a thumb against her cheek, his dark eyes looking deeply into her own. “You’re very, very sweet,” he whispered.

One moment, the two of them were staring into each other’s eyes. The next moment, in Sabrina’s opinion, was very sweet and very soft.

She realized, only then, that she forgot one thing when trying to remember what the two have done already since becoming an official couple. Maybe because it was a bit unorthodox, seeing how it was only brought up once then never again. She had made hints towards it, but he never picked up on them. It was only when she had asked him directly did he realize what she was asking. No wonder he didn’t pick up on it; he thought she was being friendly still, just in a different manner.

So when the two parted, it was soft and sweet. Sabrina lightly pinched his cheeks and cooed about how lovely it was. Wally leaned into the touch and softly shut his eyes.

That was the longest break Sabrina took where she wasn’t sleeping or eating. The two simply lingered in each other’s presence, asking about the day and the week. The dried fruit was discarded and Sabrina’s hands were cleaned of the spilled juice.

Wally stayed for a little longer while she worked. He was hypnotized by the sewing machine and his hands stroked some of the fabric as Sabrina fed it into the machine.

All the fuzz in her mind cleared and her work became less muddled and misshapen. They were already good.

And the next evening, when she sat in the front row to Sally’s gloomy gothic play and watched the actors glide upon the stage with her garbs on display, it didn’t really matter how much the play went sideways.

She was just glad that she could do what she enjoys.

#Ima Writes #mutuals #writing #my writing #original writing #commission #written commission #Ima's Commissions #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #wally darling

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