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midnight-shadow-cafe · 3 days ago

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The Emperor’s Gaze Part 2

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Maid! reader

Warnings: Fluff, smut, Caracella being an ass

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I unintentionally made this a series and I love it-

Word Count: 3.8k

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MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The days following your time in the garden blurred into a strange mix of normalcy and heightened awareness. While you carried out your usual tasks, your mind wandered back to the emperor’s words, his touch, and the way he had looked at you—as though you were the only person in the world who mattered.

The garden had become your sanctuary. He summoned you there often, under the guise of needing someone to help with tasks like arranging flowers or cleaning the statues. Yet, you both knew it was an excuse.

He didn’t just speak to you as an emperor to a servant. He asked about your life—your family, your dreams, your fears. Slowly, your guarded responses began to crack, and you found yourself sharing pieces of yourself that no one else knew.

In turn, he shared fragments of his own life. He spoke of the weight of the crown, the constant fear of betrayal, and the loneliness that came with power. For all his authority, Geta was just a man, burdened by expectations and longing for something real.

But not everyone was blind to your growing connection.

One evening, as you returned to the servants’ quarters after another day spent in his presence, you were cornered by one of the senior maids. She was older, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of your flushed cheeks and the faint smile you hadn’t realized you wore.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, girl,” she hissed, her voice low but cutting.

You blinked, startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me,” she snapped. “The emperor may have taken a liking to you, but do you think that makes you safe? There are people in this palace who would kill to gain his favor—or to destroy it.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine. You tried to brush past her, but she grabbed your arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Whatever he’s promised you, remember this: you’re replaceable. Don’t get too comfortable.”

You yanked your arm free, her words echoing in your mind as you hurried away. That night, sleep eluded you, the weight of her warning pressing heavily on your chest.

The next day, as you worked quietly in the garden, Geta noticed your unease immediately.

“You’re quiet today,” he observed, watching you as you arranged a vase of flowers.

“I’m always quiet,” you replied softly, not meeting his gaze.

“Not like this,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him. But the concern in his eyes, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you—it made it impossible to lie.

“Someone warned me,” you admitted finally, your fingers trembling as they adjusted the flowers. “They said I’m… replaceable. That being near you puts me in danger.”

His expression darkened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. “Who said this to you?”

You shook your head quickly. “It doesn’t matter. They’re right, aren’t they? I don’t belong here, my lord. I don’t belong with you.”

His hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing yours and stilling your movements. “Y/N, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze to meet his. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“No one decides where you belong but you—and me,” he said firmly. “Do you think I’d let anyone harm you?”

“It’s not just about harm,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to be used to hurt you, either. I don’t want to be a weakness for you.”

His grip tightened on your hand, though his touch remained gentle. “You’re not a weakness. You’re a reminder of the man I want to be. And if anyone thinks they can use you against me, they’ll learn how wrong they are.”

You swallowed hard, his words both comforting and terrifying. How could he be so certain? How could he promise to protect you in a palace full of schemers and spies?

Before you could respond, the distant sound of voices reached your ears. Geta’s head snapped up, his expression hardening.

“Come,” he said, pulling you toward a hidden alcove tucked behind a wall of ivy.

You barely had time to protest before a group of noblemen entered the garden, their voices loud and full of laughter. Geta’s grip on your hand remained firm as he pressed you into the shadows, his body shielding yours from view.

“Your Majesty,” one of the men called, scanning the garden. “Are you here?”

Geta sighed quietly, his breath brushing against your temple. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t move until I come back.”

You nodded, your heart racing as he stepped out of the alcove, his demeanor shifting instantly to that of the confident, commanding emperor.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, his tone light but firm. “What brings you here?”

As the noblemen launched into a discussion about some trivial matter, you watched from the shadows, your chest tightening. This was the reality of being close to him—the constant need to hide, to tread carefully around those who might twist your connection into something dangerous.

And yet, as he glanced back at the alcove, his eyes briefly meeting yours, you felt a flicker of hope.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, one thing was clear: you weren’t facing them alone.

——

The next week passed in a tense haze. You tried to stay out of sight, avoiding the prying eyes and whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. Despite Geta’s assurances, the warning from the senior maid still lingered in your mind.

But Geta had other plans.

It was a week after the incident in the garden when a grand feast was announced. The palace erupted with activity, servants scurrying to prepare the banquet hall, polish the silverware, and arrange the finest delicacies from across the empire. You were swept up in the preparations, your every moment occupied with tasks, though you couldn’t shake the sense of unease that hung in the air.

The evening of the feast arrived, the palace glowing with the light of a thousand torches. Nobles from across the empire filled the grand hall, their laughter and conversation blending into a cacophony of sound. You stood at the edge of the room, hidden among the other servants, your gaze flickering nervously to the head of the table where Geta sat, his expression calm and composed.

The feast began as expected, with music, dancing, and an endless parade of food and wine. You kept your head down, trying to ignore the way your heart raced every time his gaze drifted in your direction.

And then, as the night wore on and the hall began to quiet, Geta rose from his seat.

The room fell silent instantly, all eyes turning to him. He surveyed the crowd with the air of a man who commanded absolute authority, his expression unreadable.

“My friends,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly over the hall. “Tonight, we celebrate the strength and unity of our great empire. But I must confess, I have another reason for calling you here.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, curiosity lighting the faces of the assembled nobles. You felt your stomach twist, a sense of foreboding washing over you.

“For too long, this empire has lacked an empress,” Geta continued, his gaze sweeping the room. “A partner who will stand beside me, guide me, and share in the burdens of rule.”

The murmurs grew louder, excitement and speculation buzzing through the crowd. You felt frozen in place, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it.

“And so, I have made my decision,” Geta said, his voice steady and resolute. “I have chosen my empress.”

The hall fell silent once more, every eye fixed on him. He paused for a moment, letting the tension build before his gaze turned directly to you.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name seemed to echo in the vast chamber, drawing every head in your direction. You felt the weight of their stares, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and anger radiating from the crowd.

You took a step back, your mind racing. *This can’t be happening.*

“Come forward,” Geta commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you toward him even as your mind screamed at you to stop. The sea of nobles parted as you passed, their whispered words slicing through the air like knives.

When you reached the dais, Geta extended his hand to you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But then you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the promise of protection and devotion, and you found yourself nodding.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He smiled, a genuine warmth breaking through his composed exterior. Taking your hand, he turned back to the crowd.

“This woman,” he declared, his voice strong and unwavering, “has shown me courage, kindness, and strength unlike any I have ever known. She will be your empress, and you will honor her as you honor me.”

The room erupted into chaos. Some nobles cheered, their voices filled with forced enthusiasm. Others whispered furiously among themselves, their faces dark with outrage. But Geta paid them no mind, his focus entirely on you.

“You’ve just made a lot of enemies,” you murmured, your voice shaking.

“So have they,” he replied, his grip on your hand tightening. “But let them come. I’ll face them all if it means keeping you by my side.”

In that moment, as he stood beside you, his presence a shield against the storm brewing around you, you realized there was no turning back. You were no longer just a maid—you were the chosen empress, a target for intrigue and danger.

But with Geta at your side, you felt a spark of hope. Together, perhaps you could navigate the treacherous waters of the court and forge a future where love and loyalty triumphed over fear.

——

The days following the feast were a whirlwind. The announcement of your elevation to empress had sent shockwaves through the empire. Courtiers whispered behind your back, and the palace was abuzz with speculation. Despite the overwhelming attention, Geta stood firm beside you, his presence both a comfort and a shield.

But not everyone celebrated the news.

Caracalla had been away from the palace on a campaign when the feast took place. His sudden return only days later sent a ripple of unease through the court. Known for his ruthless nature and volatile temper, Caracalla was a man who inspired both fear and respect.

The first time you saw him, you understood why.

He entered the throne room with an air of authority, his dark eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up its prey. Taller and more imposing than Geta, his presence seemed to suck the air from the room.

Geta stood at your side, his expression carefully neutral as his brother approached.

“So,” Caracalla said, his voice low and sharp, “this is the woman who has bewitched you.”

You stiffened, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The way he looked at you was unnerving, his gaze cold and calculating.

“She’s my chosen empress,” Geta replied evenly. “And you’ll treat her with respect.”

Caracalla’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “Respect is earned, brother. Not given.”

The tension between them was palpable, the unspoken rivalry hanging thick in the air. You felt like a pawn caught between two kings, each vying for dominance.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Caracalla continued, his eyes flicking back to you. “Bringing her into the palace—it’s a bold move. But boldness doesn’t always equal wisdom.”

“She’s under my protection,” Geta said firmly. “Anyone who threatens her will answer to me.”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Careful, little brother. Threats like that can come back to haunt you.”

With that, he turned and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him. The room remained silent until he was gone, the tension slowly dissipating like a storm passing.

“Are you all right?” Geta asked, his hand brushing yours.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “What does he mean by ‘come back to haunt you’?”

Geta’s jaw tightened. “Caracalla doesn’t approve of anything I do. He sees me as a threat to his power, and now he’ll see you the same way. But don’t worry—I won’t let him hurt you.”

Despite his words, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Caracalla’s return marked the beginning of something dangerous.

---

In the weeks that followed, Caracalla’s presence loomed over the palace like a dark cloud. Though he remained outwardly cordial, his every word and action seemed calculated to sow doubt and discord.

He would make veiled comments in court, questioning your suitability as empress without ever addressing you directly. He lingered in places he wasn’t expected, his sharp gaze always seeming to find you.

One evening, as you walked alone in the gardens, you felt a presence behind you. Turning quickly, you found Caracalla standing there, his expression unreadable.

“You should be careful wandering alone,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with menace.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you replied, though your voice betrayed a hint of unease.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Brave words for someone so far out of their depth.”

“What do you want?” you asked, your hands clenched at your sides.

“To understand,” he said, stepping closer. “What is it about you that has made my brother so reckless? What spell have you cast over him?”

“I’ve done nothing but be myself,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “If that’s a threat to you, perhaps you should look inward.”

His smile vanished, replaced by a hard, calculating expression. “You’re clever,” he said quietly. “Clever enough to know that your position is precarious. Be careful, little empress. The palace is a dangerous place, and loyalty is a fleeting thing.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

——

The days following your tense encounter with Caracalla passed in a haze of unease. The palace seemed colder with him there, his shadow casting a long, dark presence that crept into every corner. But in the quiet moments, when the court had settled and the whispers died down, Geta found ways to draw you away from the chaos.

He would pull you into hidden alcoves, his hand warm against yours, his touch grounding. Sometimes, he’d bring you to the gardens at night, the moonlight casting silver over his sharp features. In those moments, it felt like the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you.

One evening, after a particularly tense council meeting where Caracalla had all but accused you of manipulating Geta, the emperor found you in your quarters.

You were seated by the window, staring out at the flickering lights of the city below. When he entered, you glanced at him, your expression guarded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, though your heart leapt at the sight of him.

“And yet here I am,” he replied, his voice low and steady. He crossed the room, his presence filling the space, and knelt before you, his hands resting on your knees. “You’re worried.”

“Of course, I am,” you admitted. “Your brother… he hates me. He hates that you’ve chosen me. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, and one wrong step…”

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not alone in this. I’m with you, every step of the way.”

His words were a balm, but the tension in your chest didn’t ease. “Geta, you’ve made enemies because of me. What if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” he interrupted gently. “You’re my empress. My choice. And I would choose you a thousand times over, no matter the cost.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt. But his gaze was steady, filled with a quiet resolve that stole your breath.

He leaned closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he murmured, his voice a bare whisper.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and warm, a promise in every touch. He kissed you like you were the only thing grounding him, like the rest of the world could fall away and it wouldn’t matter as long as you were by his side.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

“I love you,” he confessed, the words slipping from his lips like a vow. “Not as an emperor. Not as a ruler. Just as a man who’s hopelessly, irrevocably yours.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. “Geta, I—”

“Say it when you’re ready,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

---

Later that night, Geta insisted you join him in his private chambers, away from the prying eyes of the court. The room was warm, the golden glow of the fire casting soft shadows across the walls. He had dismissed his attendants, insisting on pouring wine for the two of you himself.

You sat together on a plush divan, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. The closeness was intoxicating, the weight of his presence a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Something no one else knows.”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your goblet. “There’s not much to tell. My life before the palace was… ordinary.”

“Ordinary is relative,” he countered. “To me, everything about you is extraordinary.”

His words brought a flush to your cheeks, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “Fine. When I was a girl, I used to sneak into the fields near my village to watch the stars. I always imagined they were the gods’ way of watching over us.”

Geta tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “And what do you think now?”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered. “Now, I think the stars are reminders to find light in the darkness.”

He leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. “Then you must be my star,” he murmured. “Because you’ve brought light to my life in ways I never thought possible.”

His lips found yours again, the kiss deeper this time, filled with a longing that left you breathless. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you closer, his touch igniting a fire that burned away every fear, every doubt.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, your foreheads pressed together as you shared a quiet moment of intimacy.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You nodded, your heart swelling with a love that felt too big to contain. “Always.”

Geta's hands roam your body as he pushes you down onto the silk sheets, his golden jewelry glinting in the candlelight. He kisses a trail down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "You're mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "Mine to claim, mine to protect."

He settles between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your gown, and you arch up to meet him, desperate for more.

Geta's fingers find the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch until cool air meets your heated skin. He pauses, drinking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his hand skimming over your stomach, your ribs, your breasts. "So beautiful."

He leans down, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. "I'm going to worship every inch of you," he promises, his words sending shivers down your spine. "I'm going to make you forget everything but my name."

His mouth trails down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake. He kisses your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

Geta looks up at you, his eyes locked with yours as he parts your folds with his fingers. "You're already so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. "Is this all for me?"

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as his tongue makes contact with your most sensitive parts. He groans, the sound vibrating against your skin, and he sets about his task with a single-minded determination that leaves you writhing beneath him.

He brings you to the edge again and again, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to drive you higher and higher. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Not yet," he pants, his voice strained. "I'm not done with you."

He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick heat. "Tell me you're mine," he demands, his eyes boring into yours. "Tell me you belong to me."

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm yours, Geta. All yours."

With a low groan, he thrusts forward, sheathing himself inside you in one smooth stroke. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your back arching off the bed.

Geta sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that rocks the bed. Each thrust drives him deeper, harder, until the room is filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the creaking of the mattress.

You meet him thrust for thrust, your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until it explodes, washing over you in waves of ecstasy.

Geta follows soon after, his body tensing above you as he spills himself inside you with a guttural moan. He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck.

"My star," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My beautiful, perfect star."

You hold him close, your heart swelling with a love that feels like it could burst. In this moment, the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms.

It's a perfect moment, a rare glimpse of peace in a world that's constantly at war. And you hold onto it, cherishing it, knowing that it's a gift that can't last forever.

But for now, you're content to stay in Geta's arms, to let the rest of the world fade away. Because here, with him, you're exactly where you belong.

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Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

Tag list: @captainostella

#x reader #emperor geta x y/n #emperor geta x female reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader #geta x you #geta x reader #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #emperor geta x reader smut #joseph quinn gladiator #gladiator ll #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie #gladiator x reader

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seoups · 1 day ago

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voodoo doll- s. geto

he hated how you were always in his head, no matter how hard he tried to get you out. cw: pre-relationship, fluff, geto not getting the memo, miscommunications but it works out in the end wc: 0.8k song: voodoo doll by 5sos

"TELL ME WHERE YOU'RE HIDING YOUR VOODOO DOLL CAUSE I CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF."

Suguru Geto hated the way that you had him sticking around after class to hear your god awful storytimes.

He hated the way that your laugh lingered in his mind even when you weren’t there- echoing in moments he was supposed to be studying.

He hated the way that your voice would enter his mind when he least expected it, taking away his focus.

He hated the way that you had him groaning in the middle of the night after waking up from a dream about you.

He hated how infatuated he was with you. He wondered if it was a side effect of your cursed technique. Maybe that one time you sparred together is what cursed him to fall for you. That had to be it. Maybe you had some form of emotional voodoo technique that you hadn’t discovered.

“Suguru, you’re staring,” you pointed out, a smile tugging at your lips as you pulled him back to reality. “Apologies,” he replied smoothly, hiding his flushed cheeks with a witty retort. “I was wondering what you’d look like as a monkey.”

There were only so many witty comebacks he could make. Only so many ways he could deflect from the situation.

“You like me, don’t you, Suguru?”

His body froze at your accusation.

“No.” “Liar.”

The accusations continued for weeks on end. It was your favorite game- teasing him and seeing his lightly flustered face. Not just you. Gojo and Shoko had happily joined in.

“Just confess and get it over with,” Gojo insisted, lounging across Geto’s bed as if it was his own. “There’s nothing to confess,” Geto tried to convince himself. “You’re just embarrassing yourself at this point,” Shoko added, cigarette lazily hung from her lips as she continued to look down at her book.

It wasn’t like they were wrong either. No matter how much he denied it, they were right. You’d spent the past 2 years together, side by side through missions, training, and dozens of late-night conversations when neither of you could fall asleep. And other than Gojo, you were the person he spent the most time with. Even if you drove him insane, it made sense for it to have happened eventually.

But no matter the ‘sense’ of the situation, he still hated the way that you’d always caught him slacking. Every glance. Every time he stared at the vending machine, wondering if he should get you something as well. Every time he got distracted while talking to Gojo and would accidentally slip out your name mid conversation.

He hated the way you always managed to get under his skin. How every time you had a study session with the four of you, your arm would always end up resting itself on one of his limbs.

He hated the way you’d always find him in moments when he finally got you out of his head- catching him off guard with a teasing smile and some ridiculously witty comment.

“You’re staring again, Suguru,” you teased. “Should I pose next time? Maybe you can snap a picture?”

He choked on his response, earning a laugh from you that made his chest ache.

Geto felt like he was being set up when he ended up on a one-on-one mission with you. He was cornered and painfully aware of your presence- how you stood just a little too close, how you glance at him out of the corner of your eye like you were waiting for him.

He kept his distance on the way back, trying to be as silent, brooding, and nonchalant as possible. But for a moment, he turned to you, stealing another glance. The look on your face- serious, earnest, nervous, and stuck in thought- was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

“Why won’t you just admit it?” you asked softly. “Nothing to admit.” You furrowed your brow, stepping close enough to him that he could see it, “I don’t know why you need to lie. I wouldn’t be teasing you so much if I didn’t like you back.”

He froze in place.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to say it first, Suguru.” “Fine,” he admitted at last, his voice low. “You win. I like you. A lot.”

Your grin was immediate and radiant, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Suguru felt free. Before he could let his brain think rationally, his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as his thumbs drew circles on your hips.

He silenced the comment you had brewing by quickly leaning in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that stopped you from making fun of him. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer as your fingers gripped his uniform shirt- holding tight as if you never wanted to let go.

“I should have made you admit it sooner,” you teased as you pulled away. “Shut up.”

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starrrcane · 18 hours ago

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spilled coffee

sevika x reader angst

summary: sevika struggles once silco dies and doesn’t quite really understand how hard it was for him to turn over his daughter for what he’d been fighting for. until she had to pick between you and her nation.

warnings: none in the chapter

notes: this is going to only be three chapters ! And I already have the all written so it’s going to take everything in me not to post them all at once

The sound of frantic knocking woke you up. It was sharp and desperate, reverberating through the quiet. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you stumbled toward the door. The hour didn’t matter; something about that knock made your chest tighten.

When you opened the door, Ran was standing there, their face pale, breaths coming in short gasps like they’d sprinted the entire way.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep. “It’s Silco,” they said, their voice shaking. “He’s dead. And Sevika… Sevika locked herself in his office.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What?” Ran nodded grimly, glancing behind them as though expecting the shadows to swallow them whole. “She hasn’t come out since. I think she might—” They hesitated, swallowing hard.

You didn’t need convincing. Grabbing your coat, you followed Ran into the cold, damp streets of Zaun. As you ran, their voice cut through the silence. “Some of the others… They think Jinx might’ve done it.”

You stumbled for half a step, your heart lurching. “Jinx?”

Ran nodded, their expression tight. “She’s gone. No one’s seen her.”

Your mind reeled. Silco loved Jinx like a daughter. She was the center of his world—the reason for so many of his choices, good and bad. What could possibly drive her to kill him?

“She’s always been unstable,” Ran said. “But to do this? To him?”

You shook your head, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. Whatever had happened, you knew it wasn’t going to make sense—not tonight, and maybe not ever.

When you reached Silco’s office, you heard muffled noises through the thick door. You knocked, but Sevika’s voice cut through immediately.

“Go away!”

“It’s me,” you called.

There was a pause, and then the door unlocked. Sevika stood there, her shoulders slumped, her face hollow. She looked… broken.

Without a word, she collapsed into your arms. You held her tightly, shutting the door behind you with your foot. Guiding her to the worn leather sofa, you sat down, pulling her close as she leaned against you, her breaths ragged but steady.

After a long moment, she finally whispered, “He’s really gone.”

“I know, my love,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know.”

Her body trembled against yours, though no tears came. “She killed him.”

You closed your eyes, a deep sigh escaping your lips. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“He didn’t even get to tell her,” Sevika said, her voice cracking. “He wasn’t going to give her to Piltover.”

You blinked, shocked. “What?”

“He became weak for her,” she said bitterly. “Just like Vander did. Just like every man who gets tangled up with kids that aren’t theirs. And now look where we are.”

“Sevika—” you started, but she cut you off.

“No,” she snapped. “Listen to me. Vander was weak. He let Piltover walk all over him, and when it came time to choose, he abandoned us. Silco was supposed to be different. He was different. But then he got soft. He let her in, and now he’s dead. And Zaun is left without a leader. Again.”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

She snorted, the sound bitter and sharp. “Who else is there?”

Her words stung, but you didn’t let go. “I’m here. Always.”

Her gaze softened, just enough for you to see the exhaustion beneath the anger. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted quietly. “But someone has to.”

“And you will,” you said firmly. “But not tonight. Tonight, we grieve. Together.”

Sevika didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned back into you, her body heavy with the weight of her grief. You held her close, rocking gently as the silence swallowed the room.

For now, that was enough.

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika angst #arcane #sevika arcane x reader #arcane x reader #lesbian #light angst #no happy ending #no happiness

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flamingspud · 7 hours ago

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Now, Cleo couldn't speak for every family, but if they had to take a guess most families wouldn't really have more than one Christmas A&E story, maybe two in the worst cases. Cleo's family had six.

It’s once again Christmas at the Clocker’s house, but this year Cleo is determined to keep anything from going wrong.

Fic under cut

It was midday on Christmas Eve at the Clockers' house, and Cleo was getting ready as they had invited a few people over for a festive party, (the idea hadn't originally been theirs, but now that it was approaching they had to admit it was something to look forward to.)

There was one problem though: her family's record at getting themselves injured on Christmas.

Now, Cleo couldn't speak for every family, but if they had to take a guess most families wouldn't really have more than one Christmas A&E story, maybe two in the worst cases.

Cleo's family had six.

The first time was when Joel was eleven, he had managed to swallow one of Jellie's chew toys. In retrospect it was funny as hell, but at the time Joel's distressed squeaks frightened the lot of them.

Next was Scar, when Jellie had managed to bring the tree down on the two of them in a cacophony of screams and smashing ornaments.

The year after that was Grian, who had slipped on an icy footpath and broken his elbow. It had taken them a little longer to bring him to the hospital than ideal, as they hadn't immediately realised it was broken. He still hasn't forgiven them for that one.

Then it was Jimmy, he had reached across the table to grab some more roast potatoes, and his sleeve had dipped just close enough to one of the candles to go alight. They managed to put him out right away and he only had minor burns on his arm, but lets just say they don't have candles at the dinner table anymore.

The year after that… Cleo shuddered at the thought, not wanting to think of that incident ever again.

And finally came last year, when Bdubs ate rat poison as part of a dare.

This year, however, was going to be different, as Cleo vowed that she wasn't going to let anyone get hurt. Well, at least not enough to require professional medical attention.

Baby steps.

It wasn't quite Christmas yet, but as there would be a lot more people around they figured it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

They had just finished cutting up some brownies they had made when their two sons ran in from outside, where they had been having a snowball fight with their friends.

"Mom!" Fourteen year old Bdubs yelled as he ran inside. "Scar maimed me!"

"No I didn't!" Sixteen year old Scar protested, "it was just a snowball!"

Cleo turned to face them, leaving the knife on the counter.

"That's what we thought when Grian broke his arm," she said, "Here, let me see." She then took Bdubs' face in her hands so that she could take a look at it. It was probably fine, but this year Cleo wasn't going to risk it.

Scar rolled his eyes.

"Scar, why don't you put the brownies on the table?" Cleo suggested, their tone indicating that it wasn't a request.

Scar groaned. "Fine."

Once she had decided that Bdubs was fine, she sent the two boys up to their rooms to change into dry clothes.

It wasn't long after that that guests started arriving.

Ding dong.

"I'll get it!" Seventeen year old Joel called, making his way to the front door. Him and his brothers had been to the first to arrive, as always.

When he opened it, who was on the other side but Jimmy's boyfriend-not-boyfriend, Martyn. He supposed Scott was there too.

"Hi," Joel said, somewhat disappointedly. He was hoping it'd be Lizzie.

"Well would you look at that, it's mistletoe!" Martyn, who was nineteen, said, pointing to the headband on his head. A wire stuck out from it, a piece of mistletoe stuck to the end.

It hung right above Scott and Joel's heads.

Seventeen year old Scott shook his head and let out a groan. "Martyn, it's not as funny as you think it is-"

"Ew, get away from me!" Joel exclaimed, cutting Scott off and shoving him away from him. And into an end table. Oops.

"Joel!" Cleo scolded, rushing in from the kitchen.

"It was deserved!" Joel quickly retorted.

"Still, we don't need anyone getting seriously hurt."

Joel rolled his eyes. "I didn't even push him that hard."

"I'm fine," Scott insisted, righting a photo frame he had accidentally knocked over in his stumble.

"You sure?" Cleo asked, shooting Joel a pointed look.

Scott nodded. "Yep."

"What're we standing around for? Let's go party!" Martyn said, making his way down the hall and further into the house.

The others followed, but not before Cleo could grab Joel by the shoulder. "Don't do something to break any of your necks."

Joel sighed. "Yes Cleo."

"Good."

While this was going on, some of the others were in the living room trying to find something to do.

Fourteen year old Pearl absently grabbed a bottle of water and flipped it. She hadn't thought much of the action, but the others were impressed.

Mumbo, who's also fourteen, scoffed. "Anyone could do that."

"Oh yeah?" Pearl asked, "prove it."

Grian and BigB (both fourteen) were watching him, so of course Mumbo grabbed the water bottle.

He tried to flip it, but it landed on its side.

Pearl was not impressed, but Mumbo was not about to give up.

"That was a warm-up."

He quickly grabbed the bottle and threw it again, and this time it landed upright.

"See! In fact, I can do it twice in a row." He then proceeded to flip the bottle again. He smiled smugly at Pearl.

The girl rolled her eyes, and snatched the bottle from between them. She then proceeded to flip it four times in a row, only messing up on the fifth.

She smiled at him, while he frowned, and before they knew it they were going back and forth to see who could do the most bottle flips in a row while the others watched.

BigB turned to Grian. "Who do you think's going to give up first?"

Grian tilted his head from side to side. "Knowing them it could go either way."

Meanwhile, nineteen and sixteen year old Jimmy and Scar found themselves by the tree, examining the presents underneath it.

"What're you two up to?" Martyn asked, approaching them.

"Trying to guess what we got for Christmas," Jimmy replied, shaking one of the boxes next to his ear. "There's something loose in here."

Martyn crouched down next to the two of them, and Scar scooched to the side to make room for him.

"This one's from Bdubs," Scar said, picking one up. It had candy-cane wrapping paper on it.

"What do you think you're doing?" The fourteen year old brother in question demanded, seemingly appearing out of nowhere behind them.

"Trying to guess what's in our presents," Scar replied nonchalantly.

Bdubs was not happy with this response. "You're not meant to do that! Those are surprises for tomorrow!"

"It's not like we're going to open them," Jimmy explained.

"Mom!" Bdubs called, "Jimmy and Scar are trying to find out what presents they got!"

"Don't upset your brother," Cleo shouted back from where they were in the kitchen.

"But we weren't even doing anything!" Scar complained.

"I don't care!"

Bdubs' smile made Scar want to punch him in a way that only brothers can, however he put the present back. Jimmy did the same.

He was staring daggers at him when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Joel called, running for the door.

Unfortunately, it was just Etho.

"Hi Joel-"

"Ugh, it's just some loser," Joel muttered, turning away and walking back to the living room without any sort of a greeting.

"Ok…"

"You can hang out with me you know," Scott told him.

Joel made a face at him.

"I thought you were warming up to me after the funfair?" Scott said, putting his hands in his pockets.

"That doesn't mean I like you," Joel said with a huff.

Scott shook his head with amusement.

The doorbell rang again. "I got it!"

This time when Joel opened the door, he saw who he was waiting for.

"Lizzie! Hey." He leaned on the doorframe to give the illusion of being cool.

"Hi!" The other seventeen year old smiled at him. "Thanks for inviting me."

"It was no problem," Joel responded.

"Hi Lizzie," Scott greeted, suddenly behind Joel.

"Hi Scott," she replied cheerfully, before turning back to Joel. "You didn't tell me Scott was invited."

Joel tried to hide his frown. He had forgotten about him. This proved quite the problem, as he had been hoping to spend some alone time with Lizzie.

"It hadn't come up in conversation."

Joel closed the door behind Lizzie.

"Should we play a game or something?" Scott suggested.

"Sure!" Lizzie agreed.

"I'll see what we have," Joel said, turning and heading for the press where they kept their board games.

"Excuse me-" he said as he stepped between Pearl and Mumbo's bottle flipping contest.

The bottle Mumbo had just tossed landed on Joel's foot and fell over.

"That's not fair!" Mumbo insisted. "Joel intercepted it!"

"Well you're going to have to start again," Pearl informed him without remorse.

Grian groaned loudly. "For the love of god, can you do something else? You've flipped that thing hundreds of times at this stage!"

"It is getting a bit repetitive…" Pearl admitted.

"You're just saying that because you're in the lead!" Mumbo exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Pearl.

"You could always try doing cooler tricks," BigB suggested.

"Yes!" Mumbo snatched the bottle. "I can have it flip twice in the air before landing, watch."

It took him a couple of attempts as the others awkwardly watched, but he eventually managed to complete the trick.

"Hah. Beat that."

Pearl considered her options before picking up the bottle. "I'm going to flip it with the lid off."

The others watched in anticipation as she took the lid off of the bottle. She took a deep breath, gathered her thoughts, and threw the bottle;

It proceeded to fly into a lamp, knocking it to the floor.

Grian quickly picked up the bottle before it could pour too much water onto the ground, while BigB picked up the lamp.

It didn't take long for Cleo to come into the room after the racket they made. "What are you guys doing?" She exclaimed.

"…bottle flips?" Grian answered sheepishly.

"Hand me the bottle," Cleo said, putting their hand out.

"But-"

"Now."

Grian sighed and gave the half-full bottle to his aunt.

"Thank you."

The teens all watched as she took the offending object out of the room.

"…so does that mean I win?" Mumbo asked hopefully, breaking the silence.

"Mumbo!" Pearl exclaimed, "I was clearly better than you."

"Were not!"

"Were too!"

"It felt a bit overkill to take the bottle away from us on the first offense," BigB thought out loud, breaking up their bickering.

"That's probably because 'our family has a knack for trying to get ourselves killed on Christmas' or however she puts it," Grian explained, using airquotes to exemplify how ridiculous he thought the whole thing was.

"Seriously?" BigB asked.

Grian nodded. "Yeah… once I broke my arm and it took six hours and thirty four minutes for anyone to believe me."

"Oh. That's…" Mumbo said, surprised.

"I know, I'm truly a martyr."

He then got up to go get something to clean up the water.

Cleo put the water bottle on the counter before going back to join the other adults.

"This is quite the party you have going on here," Etho commented, looking around at some of the Christmas decorations.

"I know," was Cleo's response.

Etho nodded awkwardly, unsure where to take the conversation from here.

Luckily for him, Martyn intercepted.

"Etho, hi!" He greeted, standing between them.

"Hi?" Etho was realising he didn't actually know Martyn, only hearing of him third hand from Tango talking about Ren and Jimmy.

"I wanted to ask on behalf of Scar and Jimmy if they could try and guess what you got them-"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Bdubs yelled.

"I mean, you said BigB got some of his presents early because his parents are divorced."

"Yeah but Etho's spending Christmas with us so it doesn't count!"

"Guys just leave the presents alone," Cleo asked them, as Scar and Jimmy joined them in the room.

Jimmy raised his arms in the air in frustration.

"That's a shame…" Martyn said.

He then glanced up. "Oh, would you look at that-" the others in the room moved their eyes up to see what Martyn was referring to- "it's mistletoe."

Bdubs' jaw fell open, Scar threw his hands back and into the air, and Jimmy was coming up with excuses as to how he didn't actually know Martyn, he must've just broken in.

"Um…" Etho glanced quickly between Cleo and the plant attached to Martyns head, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

Cleo took a big step backwards. "No way, not gonna happen."

"That's a shame," Martyn said, before going back to join the others.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cleo heard Jimmy hiss as they left the room.

As Martyn was shunned from the group for his antics, he went to see what Scott and the others were up to.

"What's going on over here?" He asked.

"Cluedo," Joel responded. He was still annoyed by the fact that Scott was third wheeling with him and Lizzie, but he couldn't come up with and excuse to make him go away.

"Oh, fun! Can I play?" He asked.

"Sure, but you're not being on my team," Scott replied, picking a card to show Lizzie.

"Fine; Joel I'll be with you," Martyn decided, sitting next to him.

"What? No, I want to be on my own…!" Joel insisted.

"We're gonna make a great team Joel, I can feel it."

"You can be with me if you want," Lizzie suggested, patting the ground next to her on the other side of Joel.

"Nah, I'm alright here with my buddy Joel." Martyn put an arm around Joel's shoulder, who was scowling.

A few more rounds were played when a grin formed on Scott's face.

"Oh no, he knows it," Lizzie said as realisation dawned on her.

"Dammit…!" Joel cursed.

"Um- was it Mr. Green in the kitchen with the candlestick?" Lizzie guessed, before looking in the envelope.

She dropped it back into the middle of the table in disappointment. "No dice."

"Ok, Martyn it's down to us," Joel said, looking at his options. They had figured out who did it and where; Colonel Mustard in the kitchen, the only question left being was it with the gun or the dagger?

"I'm going to guess the gun-"

"Hold on," Martyn interrupted, "I think it was the dagger."

"Why?"

"Because Scott smiled when I said it."

Joel shook his head. "No, he's obviously bluffing."

"I've known him longer than you, and I'm pretty sure it's a double bluff."

Joel looked Martyn in the eyes. "And you're one hundred percent sure?"

"Absolutely."

Joel sighed. "Fine. Was it Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the dagger?"

Joel reached for the envelope and opened it up. Colonel Mustard. The Kitchen. The Gun.

Joel let out a slow exhale before putting the cards back.

"Oops," was Martyn's feeble response.

"Martyn," Joel said dangerously, "I'm going to kill you!"

Martyn took that as his cue to run, and Joel was right on his tail. "Get back here!"

"So, I guess I win," Scott said.

"Guess so," Lizzie agreed, sorting her cards.

"Honestly, I had no idea what it was, so it was handy you two threw your guesses away."

Lizzie frowned.

Meanwhile Joel was chasing Martyn around the house. It was during this hazardous chase that Joel accidentally knocked the bottle Cleo had put there earlier off of the counter, spilling water onto the ground.

It was around this time that Scar had made his way back to the tree, and was rooting around the presents once more.

"Scar! Don't make me get mom again," Bdubs threatened.

"She'll have to rip the present out of my cold dead hands," was Scar's response.

"Oh, that's it!" Bdubs snapped, and tried pulling the present out of Scar's hands.

"Give it back!" Scar shouted, pulling back on it.

"Mom! Scar's trying to open his presents again!" Bdubs yelled.

"For goodness sake you two will you give it up-" Cleo said, speed walking over to the tree. As they went by the counter they didn't notice the water on the ground.

"Woah!-" As she slipped she went to grab the counter to catch herself, where the knife she had been using earlier still was, as she had forgotten to put it away in the chaos.

Cleo then said a string of words that I am not allowed to repeat here as their hand made contact with the knife.

In their quest to make sure nobody got hurt, they forgot to look out for themselves.

"Cleo!"

Everyone gathered around her in seconds, her right hand being clutched by her left.

"That looks bad," Etho commented.

"Looks like you'll need stitches," Scar added.

"It's not that bad! Bdubs, get me my sewing kit from the other room-"

"No! No one's getting the sewing kit, you're going to a hospital!" Jimmy told her.

"Seriously, it's fine-"

"I'm already getting the car keys," Jimmy said finally, walking out of the room.

Cleo groaned. "Party's over everyone."

"Wow, someone going to A&E on Christmas Eve? That's a new record for us," Joel commented.

"It's not as bad as swallowing a chew toy," Jimmy commented with grin.

"At least I didn't light myself on fire!" Joel shot back."

"Hey! That was traumatic for everyone involved, yours was funny."

"At least everyone believed you when you said you were injured," Grian interjected.

"Shut up about your arm Grian, it's been four years!" Joel retorted.

"Remember when you made me eat rat poison-" Bdubs started.

"Guys!" Scar suddenly shouted. "Mom needs to go to A&E, remember?"

"Oh, right-" Jimmy quickly left with Cleo (who had wrapped their hand with gauze by this point) to go to the hospital, and it wasn't long until most of the guests had left.

Joel was in the middle of cleaning up the puddle that got them into this mess when Lizzie approached him. "Hey."

"Lizzie?" Joel stopped what he was doing. "What are you still doing here?"

"Well, I figured I'd give you a hand with the cleanup," she explained.

Joel waved her off. "Nah, I've got it covered, you don't need to stick around."

Lizzie frowned and grabbed the mop in Joel's hand. "Joel."

"Huh?"

"I have been trying to get a moment alone with you all night, I even tried catching you under Martyn's stupid mistletoe at one point, and when I finally get one all you want to do is clean a puddle."

Joel dropped the mop. "You were???"

"Yes! I thought I was being obvious about it too."

Joel hadn't even realised.

As he was busy staring at her like an idiot, she leaned closer to him. "There isn't any mistletoe, but I was hoping that maybe I could still get a Christmas kiss…?"

Joel blinked, snapping himself out of his stupor. "Y-yeah!"

The two leaned closer, and Joel could confidently swear that that was the best Christmas present he got that year.

"Ew."

"Grian!" Joel exclaimed, suddenly jumping back from Lizzie. "Aren't you supposed to be doing dishes or something?!"

"I finished those and decided to come in here. Now I'm going to need to bleach my eyes."

Joel rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics.

"I should probably get going now," Lizzie decided, "Merry Christmas you guys!"

Joel followed her to the door. "You too!" He called after her. Once he closed the door after her, he turned on Grian. "What was that for?"

Grian shrugged. "I was making sure you didn't forget about me again."

"Grian!"

"Merry Christmas Joel!"

It was the early hours of the next morning when Cleo and Jimmy finally made it back, just in time to spend Christmas morning with the others.

If you asked Cleo, they would take a guess that most families wouldn't really have more than one Christmas A&E story, maybe two in the worst cases.

Cleo's family had seven.

#clockers family modern au #christmas #zombiecleo #goodtimeswithscar #bdouble0 #joel smallishbeans #martyn inthelittlewood #scott smajor #grian #pearlescentmoon #mumbo jumbo #bigbstatz #jimmy solidarity #ethoslab #lizzie ldshadowlady #fanfiction #fire’s stuff #Oneshot

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fandomfablesunleashed · 14 hours ago

Text

Imperfectly Yours

Ace x reader (she/her)

MODERN AU. Christmas movie rom-com vibe. Reader is the daughter of Whitebeard and is shorter than Ace.

Honestly, I feel like it could use some more work, but I really wanted to put it out here during the Christmas season. I doubt I’ll have more time to work on it soon, so here it is. Happy holidays to those who celebrate! ❤️🎄

English is not my first language

🫶 @captainportgasdace 🫶

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You stepped out of your car and looked around. While you had grown up in this small town, you hadn't been back for quite some time. The air felt crisp against your face, and it felt almost unreal being back. You took a deep breath in and looked towards the bar across the street. It was a familiar place to you, your dad's pub being as dear to you as your own home.

Without any more hesitation, you began walking across the street towards it, passing by the small shops on the sidewalk. Each one was decorated to match the Christmas season, with colorful lights being strung outside and in the windows. The sight brought a small smile to your face.

Opening the front door, you walked in, the warm air and smell of alcohol and food almost enveloping you entirely. The place was lively with the music and the sounds of multiple people chatting. You even recognized some of them as regulars.

You could faintly hear your dad talking to one customer before he finally looked up and saw you. His face immediately lit up into a big smile.

Your father, Edward Newgate—better known as Whitebeard—was a renowned figure in your small town. His bar, the Moby Dick, was nothing short of legendary, a place where he commanded respect effortlessly while making everyone who walked through its doors feel genuinely welcome.

“Long time no see,” he said, putting down a glass he was wiping on the bar and leaning on it with both hands.

“Heya, Dad,” you said with a small chuckle. "Sorry, I haven't been back in a while. Things got hectic in the city.”

“You've got your own life going on; can't always be home. Now, give your old man a hug,” he said, stepping out from behind the bar, arms wide open to embrace you.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You’re not that old yet, Dad,” you said with a grin, wrapping your arms around him in a warm hug. He hugged you back tightly.

When you pulled away, your dad patted your shoulder. “Still got plenty of life left in me,” he said with a hearty laugh. Then, turning to the room, he raised his voice joyfully. “My daughter’s home! Let’s celebrate! The next round is on me!”

A loud cheer erupted from the crowd, filling the bar with energy.

“Dad!” you scolded, laughing. “That’s not how you’re supposed to run a business!”

He only laughed harder. “Oh, don’t worry! I can afford to treat them every now and then—especially for an occasion as amazing as this!” Then, turning back to you, he gently guided you toward the bar, pulling out a stool for you before sitting down beside you. “And how is the city life treating you, sweetie?”

"It's alright," you said with a small smile. "I'm still working at that company, but things have been a bit hectic there lately. Kind of burned out on the whole thing."

Your dad nodded in understanding and gave you a sympathetic smile. "I hear ya," he said, patting your shoulder. "Work stress can get to everyone. You take some time off for yourself?"

You sighed, resting your cheek on your hand. “That’s the problem, Dad,” you said with a slight pout. “Every time I try to take a break, some new problem pops up, and I get dragged right back in.”

"Sounds stressful," he said. "Sounds like you could really use a break from all that, huh?"

You laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah, that’s part of why I decided to come back here,” you admitted with a sheepish grin. "Thought I could take a break from the city and come help you out a bit here."

Your dad’s face lit up with a wide smile. "Well, I'm glad to have the help, honey," he said with a chuckle. "I can never turn away help from my lovely daughter, of course."

Just then, something caught your dad’s attention. He looked past you with a wave. “And don’t worry, you don’t need to worry about me,” he said, with a reassuring smile. “I’ve got some help. Like this young man here.”

He pointed behind you, and you turned around to look. You instantly recognized the man walking into the bar, carrying a couple of boxes in his arms.

Ace.

He had definitely changed since you last saw him. He seemed more mature, his muscles more defined, and he looked even more handsome than before.

Your eyes stayed glued on Ace as he walked over to the bar, set down the boxes with a thud, and looked up to see you and Whitebeard watching him. He looked between the two of you, and a familiar big grin appeared on his face.

“Oh man, you’re back in town!”

“Ace, hey,” you said, trying to hide your surprise. “Yeah, I’m back for the holidays.”

“Well, damn, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said, glancing you up and down.

“Yeah, it has,” you said, trying to ignore just how attractive he looked now. Not that he wasn't good-looking before. “Looks like you got a lot bigger since the last time I was here.”

He chuckled and flexed his arms. “A lot of lifting and stuff like that—made me bulk up a good amount.”

“Yeah, I see that,” you said, trying not to stare too much at his toned arms.

“It’s kinda my best feature now,” he joked.

You almost protested his words but stopped yourself. While his muscles and body were obviously impressive, you had always liked his face more than anything. That cocky grin that always got to you, and those freckles…

His freckles used to make him look cute when you were kids, but now they only added to how unfairly handsome he had become. Damn him for growing up so well.

You tried to brush the thoughts away and crossed your arms. “Well, I see you've gotten even more arrogant and smug than before, somehow.”

He let out a barking laugh at your words, that same cocky smirk still on his face. “And you still have those snarky remarks.”

You rolled your eyes as he laughed at your quip but couldn’t help a smile of your own. “Well, you're still easy to taunt.”

Before Ace could come back with a retort, Whitebeard cut both of you off. “You two can flirt later,” he said, a slight smirk playing on his face.

Both you and Ace immediately became flustered and stumbling over denials.

“W-we weren’t—!” Ace protested, glaring at Whitebeard, though the intensity was lost behind his flushed cheeks.

“Sure you weren't,” Whitebeard chuckled, still watching your faces burn. “While you've been busy making a name for yourself in the city,” he said, “Ace here has been a big help around the bar while you were gone.”

Your face was still flushed, but you glanced at Ace at your dad's words, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve been helping out here?” you asked.

Ace smiled sheepishly, hands shoved into his pockets. “Yeah, after I got back from my travels, and with Sabo and Luffy moving away, I needed something to keep me busy,” he said with a small chuckle. “And Pops was nice enough to let me work here and help him out.”

Whitebeard chuckled and reached over to ruffle Ace's hair, like he was still a kid. “He's definitely a loudmouth, and can be a pain in my ass when he's bored,” he said, and Ace protested, but Whitebeard waved him off. “But he's a good worker and has been a huge help around here.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you watched the two of them, clearly entertained by Ace’s protests. “I bet he keeps things interesting around here,” you teased, smirking at him, and he stuck his tongue out in response.

Whitebeard chuckled again, letting go of Ace's hair. “He certainly keeps things from getting dull,” he said with a warm smile. “And he gets along with the regulars just fine, which is a plus. and the girls are always all over him,” Whitebeard joked, and Ace’s face turned red at the comment. You laughed, watching his tomato-red face, finding it amusing how easily flustered he was.

“They are not!” Ace argued, looking between the two of you, but the blush on his face made it clear he was lying.

“Yeah, I bet you're a hit with all the customers,” you remarked, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Girls must be swooning all over you every day.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “It's not that bad…”

“Damn, I hope my presence here doesn’t scare your fan girls away.”

“Fan girls… they are not fan girls! It's not that many!” Ace protested again, trying to cover his embarrassment with annoyance, but the blush on his face betrayed him, making him look like a pouting child. It was kind of adorable.

“Sure, sure,” you smirked at him.

“Hey, a customer is a customer,” your dad finally chimed in with a grin. “I’m not about to complain about some extra business—even if it’s just for the chance to ogle him.”

"Pops!" Ace protested again, looking betrayed, while you continued chuckling, enjoying his reaction.

Whitebeard continued to make fun of Ace's protest, clearly reveling in his reaction. Slowly he stood up, his towering figure casting a shadow over the bar. “Since you'll be in town for a while, and you'll be helping out here too, I have a few things for you to keep in mind,” he said as he fixed you with a knowing smile. You rose to your feet as well, nodding toward Ace with a playful smirk.

“Catch you later,” you spoke before following your dad toward the back of the bar.

Whitebeard and you stepped away from the lively clamor of the bar, moving deeper into the quieter, more secluded space. You paid close attention to what your dad had to say, listening as he went over the recent changes and new things that you needed to know for your time here.

You took in all the information given to you, making mental notes of the changes and additions to the bar's operations. You nodded along to his words and asked a few questions to clarify some points, making sure you had everything straight in your head.

While going over the new things in his bar, your dad also took the time to talk about Ace and how much he had helped since he started working here. He spoke highly of Ace's dedication, work ethic, and reliability. He even laughed a little, shaking his head fondly. He clearly liked that boy.

“And he might even make a good son-in-law one day,” he added, his tone suddenly teasing, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“D-dad, that's-!” you stammered, the warmth creeping up your neck. Embarrassment washed over you in waves at your dad's cheeky suggestion.

Whitebeard, always one to enjoy your reactions, couldn't help but laugh at your state. He smirked, glancing between you and Ace, who was hard at work behind the bar. “I’m just saying,” he continued, his grin widening, “you two would be a good match.”

“Dad, that's—I mean… no, I—” The flustered stammer was all you could manage as you tried to find some coherent response to his teasing.

Whitebeard let out another rich laugh at your discomfort, thoroughly enjoying every moment of it. With a sly grin, he gave you a gentle pat on the back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just something to think about,” he said with a wink, clearly relishing your embarrassment as he turned to walk back toward the bar, leaving you baffled.

Deep down, you couldn’t deny that the idea of being with Ace wasn’t entirely unappealing, even if it felt a little embarrassing to admit. Still, you reminded yourself of the reality. You were leaving for the city soon, while Ace would stay here. Thinking about something that couldn’t happen felt pointless, so you convinced yourself he didn’t feel the same way and decided not to dwell on that anymore.

When the bar finally closed for the night and the customers had left, a few workers and some friends stayed behind, socializing and enjoying themselves a bit more. You lingered as well, chatting and catching up with some of the bar's staff. As you looked around, you spotted Ace in a corner, talking to a few of the other workers.

For a moment, you simply watched him. His laughter rang out warmly, his easygoing charisma drawing the group closer. You admired the way he carried himself, effortlessly connecting with those around him. Finally, gathering your thoughts, you stepped closer and called out to him.

“Hey, Ace,” you said.

Excusing himself from the group, he turned his full attention to you and approached, leaning casually against the wall beside you.

“Hey,” he greeted, his smile growing as he met your gaze. “What's up? Need something?”

You smiled back warmly. “My dad told me how much you've helped out here,” you replied, your voice filled with gratitude. “I just wanted to thank you for everything. I really appreciate it.”

Ace shrugged, brushing off your thanks. “It's no big deal,” he responded. “I was just lending a hand. Besides, it’s nice to keep busy.”

You exhaled softly, your expression tinged with worry. “Honestly, I was a little concerned about how things would go here while I was in the city,” you admitted, guilt creeping into your voice. “I felt bad leaving for so long.”

“Hey, don't worry about it,” he comforted you. “We managed just fine while you were gone. And besides, it’s not like you were slacking off or something. You were working hard and doing your thing.”

You couldn’t help but beam at his reassurance, a small weight lifting off your shoulders. “Yeah, I know. But still… I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about this place and everyone here.”

“You worry too much,” he said, his fond smile making it hard not to feel at ease. “This place is in good hands. We're all doing fine—you don’t need to stress yourself out so much.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you admitted, exhaling as some tension left your body.

Ace leaned casually against the wall beside you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity. “So, how’s city life treating you?”

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes at his teasing. “Oh, you know, it’s the city,” you replied with an exaggerated shrug. “Hectic, busy, chaotic—exactly what you’d imagine.”

Ace grinned, a flicker of nostalgia crossing his face as he tilted his head slightly. “You always used to complain about how overwhelming the city was when we were younger,” he said, his voice warm and thoughtful. “So, what is it now? Have you grown to like it, or do you still prefer the quiet life?”

His words surprised you, and for a moment, you just stared at him. The fact that he remembered such a small detail about you from years ago struck a chord. “I’m impressed you remembered that,” you answered. “I didn’t think you paid much attention to me back then.”

Ace shrugged, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Of course I did. I might’ve been a bit of a handful, sure, but I wasn’t blind to everything around me.”

His words left you smiling, warmth blooming in your chest. It was such a simple thing, but the thought that he’d noticed and remembered something about you felt deeply touching.

You decided to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “I wouldn’t say I love the chaos,” you admitted, shaking your head slightly. “But I’ve gotten used to it, I guess. I can handle the hustle and bustle a bit better now...”

“So, you've learned to adapt to the city life, huh? I must say, I'm a little disappointed. You always seemed like more of a small-town type of girl.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or insult?”

“Take it however you like,” he said with a carefree shrug. “I’m just surprised the city hasn’t driven you completely crazy yet.”

You hesitated for a moment, considering whether you should reveal how difficult the city life had been for you. The urge to tell him the truth was there, but a part of you was reluctant, unsure if you wanted to open up about the struggles you’d been facing. You glanced at him, uncertain if you should share your truth.

After a few moments of internal debate, you decided to take the leap. “Actually,” you began, your voice quieter than usual. “If I’m being totally honest, it kind of has driven me crazy. Living there by myself has been… harder than I thought.”

Ace’s expression softened when he heard the vulnerability in your voice. There was surprise in his eyes, but also understanding. He tilted his head slightly, listening more intently now.

“It’s just…” you continued, your voice faltering a little as you spoke. “Living alone, everything feels so chaotic, so overwhelming. I’ve been struggling to adapt, to keep it together on my own. Maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of life.”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head at yourself. “It’s ironic,” you said, your words carrying a sense of regret. “I used to dream of escaping this small town, to see something more, to do something different. But now that I’m living in the city, I find myself missing the simplicity and comfort of this place more than ever.”

Ace opened his mouth to respond but paused when you glanced at him, waiting. He thought for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair, his eyes thoughtful. “I get that,” he said, his tone more serious now. “I’ve felt that way a lot during my travels.”

“I missed the familiarity,” he continued, his voice softening. “The comfort of being somewhere you know, with people you care about. That’s partly why I came back.”

You looked at him, your eyes slightly widened. Hearing that he could relate to your struggle made you feel a little less isolated. “Really?” you asked, not even hiding surprise in your tone. “You actually missed this place, even while you were out there seeing all sorts of different places?”

“Yeah, I did,” he nodded. “There were moments when I was far away, when the road stretched on and on, that I found myself missing this small town. The people, the way everything felt familiar… After a while, the constant moving, the not having a place to call my own, it started to wear me down, I guess.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you found yourself relating more than you expected. You had always seen Ace as someone who thrived on adventure, always moving, never tied down. Hearing him say that even he missed the comfort of stability gave you a strange sense of connection.

“So, that’s why you came back?”

Ace’s smile widened slightly at your question, and he gave a casual shrug, though there was something deeper behind it. “Partly,” he replied, his voice carrying a thoughtful tone. He paused for a moment, as if weighing something.

“Partly?” you pressed, your tone a little more insistent, urging him to share more. “What was the other reason?”

Just as Ace opened his mouth to respond, the sound of Whitebeard’s booming voice echoed through the bar, cutting your conversation short. “It’s getting late,” Whitebeard announced, his voice carrying authority. “Time to close up and head out.”

You and Ace exchanged a look, the moment slipping away too quickly. You both knew there wasn’t enough time to continue your conversation now. You let out a small sigh, your curiosity still swirling inside you, left unsatisfied. There was something in Ace’s eyes, something he hadn’t shared yet, and you found yourself wondering if you’d ever get to hear it.

You wiped the last of the spilled beer from the counter with a rag, your eyes scanning the empty bar. The clinking of glassware and the muted hum of the old jukebox had faded into silence, signaling the end of another long night. You'd been home for a few days now, back in the sleepy town where you’d grown up, and the quiet had started to finally feel familiar.

You sighed as you stood up from the counter, glancing at the clock. The bar’s last patrons had left hours ago, and it was finally time to close. Just as you moved toward the back to grab the cleaning supplies, the door swung open again, the sound of the bell jingling.

“Hey. You still here?” Ace’s voice called out, playful as ever.

You turned and saw him standing in the doorway, his jacket slung over one shoulder, the familiar grin on his face. You couldn’t suppress a smile. Ace D. Portgas. The same as ever. He'd always had a way of showing up at just the right time, or maybe it was more like the wrong time, depending on how you looked at it.

“Of course I’m still here,” you replied, setting the rag down. “You don’t think I intended to leave without cleaning up, do you?”

Ace chuckled, walking into the bar like it was his second home—because, in a way, it kind of was. Whitebeard saw Ace as part of the family, after all, and he reminded you about that far too much, hinting how much he would love for it to be official.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve got your work ethic and all that, but c'mon, take a break. You’ve been at this all night.”

You shook your head, laughing. “I’m fine. You know how it is, Ace. People come in, they want to drink, and we keep it running. Besides, someone has to make sure Dad doesn’t overdo it on his own.”

“You know, it’s not your job to babysit him.”

You shrugged, leaning against the bar yourself. “Someone has to.”

Ace just rolled his eyes and started to help out. You were still surprised why he showed up here now, but you weren't to question him, especially when he was helping you out.

“You seen the festival yet?” Ace asked you suddenly.

“Festival?”

“The Winter Starlight Festival,” he clarified. “It’s a big deal around here. You must remember that.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning on the counter again. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been… busy with, you know, running the bar and getting back into the swing of things. I’m sure it’s the same old thing.”

Ace’s grin widened. “No way. You have to see it. It’s part of the charm. You grew up here, you can’t skip it now that you’re back.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I wasn’t exactly planning on reliving my childhood.”

But Ace wasn’t deterred. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, and looked at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye. “Well, too bad. You’re coming with me tomorrow night, no excuses. I’ll drag you if I have to.”

You hesitated for a moment, then sighed, your smile softening. “Fine. But only because you’re not going to let me hear the end of it if I don’t.”

Ace straightened up, looking pleased with himself. “I knew you’d come around. It’s going to be great. You’ll see.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“And you love it,” he shot back, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes again, but there was warmth in your chest you hadn’t expected. Maybe, just maybe, you could use a little more of the charm this town had to offer—and a little less of the city hustle that still clung to you.

When you went to the festival, the night came alive with the vibrant hum of the winter festivities. Lanterns were strung across the town square, casting a warm, golden glow over the snow-dusted ground.

You pulled your scarf tighter against the sharp winter chill, glancing at Ace beside you. His grin was as bright as the lights surrounding them, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold—or maybe from the excitement. He was holding two steaming cups of hot wine, one of which he handed to you.

“Here, this’ll warm you up,” he said with a wink.

You took a sip, sighing at the way the spiced drink thawed your insides. “I almost forgot how charming this festival is.”

“Almost?” Ace raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Come on, this is the highlight of the year!”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder against his. “Maybe. What’s next, the snowball fight tournament?”

Ace smirked, shaking his head. “You wish. I signed us up for the partner’s sled race.”

Your eyes widened. “You what?”

Before you could protest, the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, calling for participants to gather at the starting line. Ace grabbed your free hand, tugging you toward the race area.

“Oh, come on,” he said, his voice laced with mischief. “You’re not afraid of a little friendly competition, are you?”

The sleds were lined up at the top of a hill, each designed for two people. You groaned when you saw the steep slope and the sharp twists in the track.

“This was your idea of fun?” you asked, glaring at Ace. He only grinned wider.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got the steering, and you’ve got… uh… balance.”

“That doesn’t sound like an equal division of labor!”

“Relax,” Ace said, climbing into the sled and patting the space behind him. “I promise I won’t get us killed.”

Grumbling under your breath, you settled behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’d better not.”

When the whistle blew, the sleds shot forward down the hill, the crisp wind biting at your face. Your initial scream of protest quickly turned into laughter as Ace expertly navigated the twists and turns, leaning into each curve with practiced ease. You gripped him tighter when they hit a jump, the sled briefly airborne before landing smoothly.

By the time you crossed the finish line, you were both breathless, laughing, and covered in snowflakes that clung to your hair and clothes. You didn’t win, but it hardly seemed to matter.

“See?” Ace said, his eyes sparkling. “Told you it’d be fun.”

You shook your head, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you’re stuck with me for the rest of the festival,” he replied, offering you his hand to help you up.

As the evening wore on, you both wandered between the booths, sampling festival treats and watching the performers. But it wasn’t just the music or the festivities that kept you there. You couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the amount of hot beverages you’d consumed.

You were starting to realize that the small, quiet moments with Ace—no matter how absurd—were the best part of being home.

The next day, you dedicated your time to transforming the bar into a Christmas spectacle. You adorned the space with festive decorations, creating a cozy and merry atmosphere. Garlands and tinsel hung from every available surface, while Christmas trinkets and baubles were strategically placed around the bar.

You were standing on a stool, tying a garland around one of the bar's rafters, when you heard the door creak open. You turned to see Ace walking into the bar.

“Hey, Ace,” you greeted him, a small smile on your face. “Just the person I wanted to see. Would you mind giving me a hand with something?”

Ace raised an eyebrow at your request, a hint of curiosity and amusement in his eyes as he took in the sight of you balancing on the stool with the garland in hand. “Oh?” he said, walking closer to you. “What do you need me to do?”

You chuckled at his response, lowering the garland from the rafter. “I need help with these garlands,” you said, gesturing toward the rest of the undecorated areas of the bar. “They're a bit too high for me to reach. Could you hang them for me?”

Ace looked at the remaining garlands and the high areas of the bar, a cocky grin appearing on his face. “Sure thing,” he said with a smirk. “Step aside, I got this.”

You stepped down from the stool, watching as Ace confidently climbed. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his overconfidence. You handed him the garlands and stepped back to watch and guide him if needed.

Ace took the garlands from you, and he hung them with ease, his eyes darting around the bar to ensure everything was perfectly placed. You watched him, a small, impressed smile playing on your lips. You had to admit, Ace was surprisingly good at this unexpected task, and he seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much.

Ace finished hanging the last of the garlands and stepped down from the stool, a satisfied smile on his face. “There you go,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Perfect placement, if I do say so myself.”

You chuckled at his pride and rolled your eyes playfully. “Yes, you did a great job,” you admitted, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “You're such a natural at Christmas decorating.”

“What can I say? I'm a man of many talents,”

You folded your arms and looked at him. “Speaking of which,” you said, your tone slightly coy, “do you think you could help me get a Christmas tree for the bar?”

Ace raised an eyebrow, pretending to think for a moment. “A Christmas tree, huh?” he replied, a sly smile spreading across his face. “I suppose I could spare some time to help you with that.”

“Oh, thank you,” you spoke, your voice sincere. “I've been struggling to figure out how to get one all by myself. It's a bit challenging to transport a Christmas tree by myself. And I didn't want to trouble Dad.”

“I can imagine. Don’t mention it. I’ll help you get the tree. I was thinking of getting one here anyway.”

“Great,” you said, a hint of excitement in your voice. “I really appreciate your help.”

“No problem. I can't have you struggling with Christmas decorating all by yourself. Besides, it'll be fun.”

You smiled at his easygoing attitude, once again noticing how willing he always was to help. “Fun, huh?” you said with a slightly sarcastic tone. “I'm sure hauling a Christmas tree to the bar will be a blast.”

Ace chuckled, his smirk widening. “Hey, any activity can be fun with the right company,” he said, his eyes meeting yours briefly.

You felt a slight flutter in your chest at his words, but quickly pushed it aside. “Oh, so I'm the right company, huh?” you teased.

Ace shrugged. “Of course,” he said nonchalantly. “Who else would I prefer to spend my time with on a Christmas tree-picking adventure?”

You couldn’t resist a small jab. “One of your fangirls, maybe?”

Ace shook his head, the smirk on his face unwavering. “Nah,” he said, his tone casual. “They're too clingy. I prefer you and your sarcastic remarks.”

A hint of satisfaction and something resembling flattery crept up on you, but you quickly regained your composure. “Better not tell them that.”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “I don’t need them getting jealous over our little Christmas tree-picking adventure.”

“Oh, I'm sure they would be devastated,”

Ace laughed and pushed himself off the wall. “Let’s go find ourselves a tree.”

As you both turned to head out, you caught a glimpse of the clock hanging on the wall of the bar. It was earlier than you initially thought, and a look of realization crossed your face. You paused for a moment and looked back at him.

“Wait a minute,” you said, furrowing your brow slightly. “Why did you come here so early?”

Ace, already heading towards the door, stopped in his tracks and turned back to you. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence.

You stood there, arms crossed, a skeptical look on your face. “I mean,” you continued, your tone slightly amused. “It’s a lot earlier than you should come in.”

He scratched the back of his head and shrugged casually. “Yeah, I guess I did come in a bit earlier today,” he admitted, trying to maintain his nonchalance.

“Why is that?” you asked, a small, puzzled smile on your face. “What brings you here so early today?”

Ace scratched the back of his head again, his casual demeanor faltering slightly. He looked a little awkward and admitted, “Well, actually, Pops may have mentioned that you were coming in early to decorate the bar. So, I thought I'd pop in and see if you needed any help.”

You were taken aback by his sudden shyness, a rare sight from the usually confident Ace. “Ah, I see,” you said, a soft smile spreading across your face. “So, you came in to offer your assistance, huh?”

“Yeah, figured I might as well lend a hand if you need it.”

You sensed his slight discomfort and decided to ease the tension. “Well, I did use a hand,” you said, your tone lighthearted. “Especially since you were so good at hanging garlands.”

“Yeah, I do have a talent for decorating.”

“Sure, sure,” you teased. “Now, come on, let’s get that tree, and we’ll see later if you can decorate one as well.”

“Oh, you doubt my tree-decorating abilities? Challenge accepted.”

“Just don’t disappoint me.”

As you walked toward the door, you didn’t notice how Ace mumbled quietly behind you. “I'd never want to disappoint you…”

His voice was soft, barely audible, but he had said it regardless.

Unaware of his whispered words, you continued walking to the door, your mind focused on the upcoming tree-picking adventure. Little did you know the impact of those soft-spoken words that had escaped Ace’s mouth.

After a small drive in Ace's pickup truck, you and Ace reached the tree-hunting spot. The area was filled with rows of Christmas trees of various sizes and species. The smell of pine filled the air, and the trees swayed gently in the cool winter breeze.

You glanced around at the vast array of trees, a touch of awe on your face. “Wow,” you said, a hint of excitement in your voice. “There are so many to choose from!”

Ace stood next to you, his hands in his pockets, scanning the trees with a critical eye. “Yeah, there's quite a selection here.”

You nodded, your eyes darting from tree to tree. “Right,” you agreed, a determined expression on your face. “We need to find one that's just the right size and shape for the bar.”

He chuckled a bit at your determined expression, finding it somewhat endearing. “Don't worry,” he said, a note of amusement in his voice. “I'm sure you will find the perfect one.”

You shot him a quick glare, your determination unwavering. “Oh, I will,” you said, your tone slightly sassy. “I won't settle for anything less than perfection.”

As you surveyed the trees with keen focus, you didn’t notice the subtle shift in Ace’s expression. Your remark about not settling for anything less than perfection seemed to hit him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. His jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, his usual carefree demeanor evaporated.

“Hey, what do you think of this one?” you asked, turning to him and gesturing to a tall, full tree.

Ace blinked, shaking off his thoughts as he glanced at the tree you pointed out. He forced a casual tone. “Looks pretty good,” he said, his voice returning to its usual easygoing cadence. “Should make a nice centerpiece for the bar.”

You studied the tree, your eyes dancing over its lush branches, a pleased smile curling on your lips. “Yeah, I think you're right,” you agreed. “It has the perfect shape and size, plus it's really full and lush. Let’s go get it!”

“Alright then,” he said with a smirk. “Lead the way, Christmas tree connoisseur.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Hey, I just know what I want,” you defended with a small smile. “You haven’t even tried to help me pick a tree.”

“Well, you seemed to have it all under control,” he teased. “I didn’t want to interrupt your quest for perfection.”

The bitter edge that had briefly crept into his voice when he mentioned your search for perfection didn’t go unnoticed by you. You shot him a questioning glance, but before you could ask, the salesman, a jovial middle-aged man, approached with a friendly greeting.

“Are you both here to pick a Christmas tree today?”

You smiled politely at him, momentarily distracted from the conversation. “Yes, we are,” you replied. “We’d like to get this one here.”

The salesman examined the tree you had chosen, nodding approvingly. “Excellent choice,” he said with a grin. “This one will look lovely in your home.”

You opened your mouth to correct him, but before you could speak, Ace quickly interjected with a smirk.

“Yep, she’s got a good eye for these things,” he said, his voice still laced with mockery. “She won’t settle for less than perfection.”

The salesman chuckled, clearly interpreting the playful banter as a sign of affection. “Well, it seems you’ve got yourself a determined partner,” he remarked, nodding at the tree.

You shot Ace a pointed glare, clearly unimpressed by his teasing or the salesman's assumption. But before you could respond, the salesman continued, “Shall I bring it over to checkout for you?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Ace said, his voice casual.

The salesman nodded and walked off to get a tree and arrange the payment. You stood for a moment, your gaze still locked on Ace, not hiding the irritation in your eyes.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You look a bit irritated.”

“I’m not irritated,” you huffed, your tone sharp. “I just don’t appreciate your mockery, that’s all.”

“Oh, come on, I was just teasing,” he said lightly. “Can’t a guy have a little fun?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just don’t understand why you got so hung up on my comment about wanting perfection,”

As soon as the words left your lips, Ace’s playful smirk faltered. His expression hardened, his jaw setting. “Let’s just pay for the tree,” he muttered, his voice more serious.

Without another word, Ace turned and walked toward the salesman, leaving you standing there, your confusion mounting. What had just happened? Your comment about perfection had clearly struck a nerve, but why?

Shaking your head, you let out a quiet sigh and followed him to the salesman. “All set to pay for this beauty?” the man asked.

“Yes, we’re ready,” Ace replied politely, though his voice was a little distant.

You waited silently beside him, your curiosity about Ace’s reaction still nagging at you. You glanced at him briefly, noting how his jaw remained tense, but you said nothing. Not here, not now.

The payment and arrangements for the tree felt like a blur to you. Your mind kept drifting back to that moment—Ace's abrupt shift in mood, his strange reaction to your words about perfection. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was going on, but for now, the Christmas tree was the priority.

“Ugh, can you shift it a bit to the left?” Ace grumbled, his patience wearing thin.

“I'm trying!” you retorted, your voice matching his frustrated tone. “It's not exactly easy when you're stuck holding all the branches.”

“Well, maybe if you had chosen a slightly smaller tree, we wouldn't be struggling like this,” he fired back.

“Oh, like you were any help with choosing,” you shot back, your eyes narrowing. “You just stood there making weird comments.”

“I-”

He was about to spit out a retort, but before he could, you both heard a booming voice come from behind you, “What's all this noise about?”

Turning around, you saw the large figure of your dad approaching, a curious expression on his face.

“Uh, we, um,” you started, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish at being caught bickering. “We're just trying to bring the tree in.”

Whitebeard eyed the large tree you were struggling with and chuckled heartily. “Quite a big one you've got there.”

Ace shifted his grip on the tree, a hint of embarrassment on his face. “Yeah, it was the only one that fit her standards,” he said, casting a quick glare your way.

You shot him a withering glance in return, not appreciating his comment. Whitebeard let out another hearty chuckle, amused by your banter. “I see,” he said, crossing his arms. “Well, let me give you both a hand, then.”

Both you and Ace accepted the help gratefully, and with his assistance, you finally managed to maneuver the tree through the doorway and into the bar’s main room. Exhausted, you leaned against the bar, taking a moment to catch your breath.

Whitebeard looked over the tree and gave an approving nod. “Not bad, not bad at all,” he said, a satisfied smile on his face. “It’ll make for quite the centerpiece for the bar.”

You nodded in agreement, your earlier irritation with Ace momentarily forgotten. “Yeah, it looks perfect,” you expressed, a slight sense of accomplishment in your voice.

“Looks like you two make a pretty good team, even with the bickering,” he teased, which earned him a small mock-glare from both of you.

“We manage, don’t we?” Ace said, glancing at you with a small smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Yes, we do.”

Whitebeard watched the exchange between you two with a knowing smile, not missing the slight tension in the air. Deciding it was time to leave you both be, he patted you both on the backs.

“Well, best leave you both to it then,” he said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “I'm sure you've got plenty of decorating ahead of you.”

You both nodded and thanked him for his help, watching as he made his way back toward the back.

“I've got it from here,” you said the moment your dad left you two alone. “You don't have to stay for the decorating part.”

Ace, who had been leaning against the bar, looked a bit surprised at your statement. “No way! I'm helping.”

You were taken aback by his insistence to help, surprised that he was still willing after the previous bickering. But a small, relieved smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Really? You want to help with decorating?”

Ace pushed himself off the bar and straightened, a smirk on his face. “Of course. Can't let you hog all the fun, can I?”

You chuckled, a feeling of gratitude fluttering in your chest. “Alright then, if you insist,” you said, your tone softer now. “I'm not going to turn down the help.”

Ace chuckled lightly and began rolling up his sleeves. “Let's get started then.”

You nodded and dug through the decorations you had left there earlier, pulling out string lights, tinsel, and various ornaments. Together, you started decorating the tree, hanging the lights, and placing baubles carefully on the branches.

Ace teased you lightly as you worked, making fun of your attention to detail and your need to have everything just so. You rolled your eyes at his comments, but a small smile lingered on your face as you adorned the tree.

Surprisingly, you worked together well, bantering back and forth as you decorated. The tree slowly took shape, lights twinkling and baubles glittering under the glow of the bar's lights. As you stepped back to admire the progress, Ace let out a low whistle.

“Looks like all of your perfectionism wasn’t for nothing,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone. “This tree looks quite impressive, I must admit.”

You laughed and nudged him lightly, a genuine smile on your face. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

You stopped and looked up at the tree, observing the nearly finished work. “There's only one thing missing,” You turned to Ace, holding up a small star for a tree topper. “Can you grab a chair and place this on top?”

“No need for a chair,” he answered confidently, and before you could respond, he stepped forward and easily picked you up in his arms.

You let out a surprised gasp, your eyes widening as you found yourself being lifted into the air. “Hey, what are you doing?! Put me down!” you protested, even as a small giggle escaped your lips.

“Don't worry, I've got you,” he assured you, walking closer to the tree. “And I'm not putting you down until this star is properly placed on the tree.”

You grumbled lightly, but your complaints were half-hearted, and you secretly enjoyed the sensation of him carrying you. You reached the tree, and he held you up next to the topmost branch.

“Ready?”

With a bit of a flourish, he lifted you higher, steadying you against the tree trunk. You placed the star at the very top, and he lowered you back down to the ground. A triumphant smile spread across his face as he looked up at the fully decorated tree.

“See? We made it just fine without the chair.”

“Show off.”

As you both looked at each other, you suddenly became aware of your proximity. Your bodies stood mere inches apart, his hands still resting on your waist. The realization sent a small flutter, but neither of you made a move to step away.

Your breath hitched slightly as your eyes met, and you could feel the solid warmth of his hands through the material of your shirt. You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest. But rather than stepping back, you remained where you were, strangely aware of every point of contact between you.

Your gaze dropped to his hands on your waist, his long fingers splayed against your sides, and you swallowed again before looking at his face once more. His own eyes flicked down to your mouth, and your lips parted slightly in your shared surprise.

All the playful banter of earlier was gone, and now the silence between you was broken only by the sound of your breaths, mingling together in the small space between you. Then, as if by some unspoken cue, you both leaned in towards each other simultaneously.

Your lips were just a breath apart, and just when you thought you would feel his lips on yours, the bar door opened loudly, punctuated with the sound of the bell above it.

You snapped apart abruptly, both jumping back as if waking up from a dream. The cold air was a cruel blow against your heated skin, and the reality of the situation dawned on you. The spell was broken, and you were left standing there, awkwardly apart and aware of how close you'd come to kissing one another.

You both turned to see who had entered the bar, finding several familiar faces of Whitebeard's friends. A few of them raised eyebrows in surprise at the sudden distance between you two; one of them—Marco—even winked knowingly, but no one mentioned anything out loud. They all came in, chattering away, but neither of you could fully focus on the conversation. Your thoughts were still stuck on that interrupted moment, the memory of how close you'd come to crossing a line burning in your mind.

Soon after, your father joined you, and surveyed the room, his face lit up with approval. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he boomed, making his way over to where you stood. “Looks like you two have been productive.”

A surge of panic bubbled up inside you as you scrambled for something to say, your mind racing through possible responses. What would Ace say? What could you say to brush past this?

But before your thoughts could spiral out of control, Whitebeard mercifully continued:

“The tree looks splendid. You've done a fine job indeed.”

You both turned to your dad, doing your best to appear composed, though your racing hearts betrayed you. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice wavering just slightly. “We, uh, got it all done.”

“Yeah,” Ace added, “um, we did.”

You grimaced internally about how awkward both of you sounded, wondering if your father would figure something out or, worse, comment on it.

Whitebeard’s sharp eyes flicked between the two of you, a knowing glint in his gaze. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he chose not to address it. Instead, he gave you both hearty pats on the back that nearly knocked the breath out of you. “Good work,” he said warmly. “I’m proud of you both.”

You cracked a brief smile in return, though the charged energy from earlier still coursed through you. The memory of how close you had been persisted like a flame refusing to burn out.

Soon, Whitebeard launched into a conversation about the holiday season and the upcoming celebrations. You nodded along, replying where needed, your words measured and careful. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, your thoughts kept drifting back to Ace. Each time your eyes accidentally met his, a flicker of shared awareness passed between you before you both quickly looked away.

The almost-kiss had changed something—a crackling tension that neither of you knew how to address. You continued interacting with others, keeping with a casual conversation. Yet, beneath it all, your pulse quickened with every stolen glance, the unspoken moment between you refusing to be forgotten.

It was just a few days after the near-kiss accident, and the bar was quieter than usual. The holidays were fast approaching, and you had spent most of the day restocking and preparing for the annual Christmas party Whitebeard hosted at the bar. Yet, your mind kept drifting back to that one moment—the one you couldn’t quite shake.

You could still feel the warmth of his breath as he leaned in just a little too close, the way your heart had skipped in your chest when he looked at you like that. It had felt like the perfect moment… You’d nearly kissed him, but you didn’t. Neither of you had. And neither of you had said a word about it since. It was as though it hadn’t happened at all, like the moment had been a figment of your imagination.

You pretended it didn’t happen, and both of you went back to your routine, working side by side in Whitebeard’s bar, the tension between you buried beneath the normalcy of your lives.

You were just about to step into the back to grab some more supplies when your phone buzzed on the counter. You glanced at the screen. It was a number from work—a colleague from the city you hadn’t spoken to in weeks.

“Hey,” you answered, walking into the back room. "How’s city life? Anything changed?"

His cheerful voice filled the line as you absently scanned the shelves, picking out a few items you’d need later.

“Yeah, it’s been a while! How’ve you been?” You picked up a few things, putting them together for easier access later. “Oh, no, I haven’t had the chance to—wait, what? You want to go on a date?” You paused your action, surprised by his question.

“I’m flattered, really. But no. I’m not—no, it’s not that. I’m just not interested like that.”

You finished your conversation quickly, grabbed the items you wanted, and headed back to the main room, slipping behind the bar. Ace was there, wiping down the counter with a level of intensity that felt... off. You turned to ask him a question, but the tension radiating from him stopped you. His jaw was set, and the cloth in his hand moved aggressively over the same spot.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

You furrowed your brow. “You sure? You’re acting kinda weird.”

Ace let out a short, humorless laugh. “Weird, huh? Like you care?”

That was not the answer you expected. “Come on, what’s up, Ace? You’ve got that look in your eye.”

He stared at you, his eyes narrowing. “That look in my eye?”

“Yeah” you said, crossing your arms and leaning slightly against the bar. "That look. The ‘I’m-a-little-annoyed-but-I-don’t-want-to-tell-you’ look.”

Ace didn’t respond right away, instead shifting his gaze to the empty glasses in front of him. After a long beat, he looked up at you, a bitter edge in his voice. “You know that guy from the city must be perfect for you. He asked you out, didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah… but—”

He cut you off before you could finish. “You’re the city girl, the one with the perfect job, the perfect life. And then there’s me… I’m not that. I have nothing to offer. You wouldn’t want a guy like me. You can’t settle for less than perfect. I was so stupid to believe otherwise.”

Without another word, Ace turned on his heel and stormed out of the bar, the door closing with a sharp bang.

“Hey, kid. You look like you’ve got something heavy on your mind.”

You looked up, surprised to see the concern etched into your father’s weathered face. You hesitated, fiddling with the rag in your hands before sighing. “It’s nothing, Dad. Just the usual holiday stress.”

The bar was alive with the soft glow of Christmas lights; the smell of spiced cider filled the air, and cheerful decorations hung in every corner. But something was missing. Or more like someone.

Ace was nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t come back, and no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter, the truth was unavoidable. The empty space where he should have been felt cruelly obvious, hitting you with an ache that settled in your chest.

Was it too late to fix this?

Your dad's gaze stayed fixed on you, his eyes sharp and perceptive despite the softness of his tone. “Don’t give me that. I know when something’s bothering you.”

You bit your lip, your fingers brushing against the counter as if grounding yourself. “It’s Ace.”

Your father didn’t press for details. He didn’t need to—he already knew. “Ace, huh?” he said with a knowing chuckle. “You two have always had a funny way of dancing around things, but I can tell something’s different now.”

Your shoulders slumped, and you let your gaze drift to the empty stool where Ace usually perched, cracking jokes or lending a hand. “He… said some things. Things that I don’t know how to process… And then he left… And now, I don’t know what to do about it.”

Whitebeard leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms with a thoughtful nod. “Listen, kid. I know you’ve been through a lot in the city. You’ve always carried the weight of everything on your shoulders, always thinking about everyone else first—even your old man. But what about you? What about what you want?”

“Dad, I don’t know what I want. I—”

“You do,” he interrupted gently. “You’ve always known. You’re just scared of admitting it. You’ve always been afraid of choosing the wrong thing, of making the wrong choice, but sometimes—sometimes the right choice is the one that makes you the happiest, not the one that’s safe or easy. And I can see it, kid. Ace is important to you. He’s always been, even when you didn’t want to see it.”

You took a deep breath, your resolve solidifying as you straightened. “Thanks, Dad. I think I know what I need to do.”

His hand landed on your shoulder, heavy and reassuring, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Go get him. I’ll hold down the fort here. And you both better show up for the Christmas party. Happy and disgustingly in love.”

Grabbing your coat, you slipped out of the bar, heading for the small apartment where you knew Ace stayed when he wasn’t on the move. You knocked first, but there was no answer. So, you pushed the door open—just a crack.

“Ace?” you called, stepping inside.

The apartment was lit only in a soft, dim light, the only source a string of flickering Christmas lights wrapped around a tiny tree in the corner.

At first, you didn’t see him, but then your eyes found him—sitting by the window, his back to you, staring out into the snowy night. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence at first.

You swallowed, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves crawling up your spine, but you knew this was something that couldn’t be left unsaid. Not anymore.

“Ace,” you said again, stepping closer. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t move, but his voice—low and heavy with exhaustion—came out before you could continue. “Thought you might show up.” His tone wasn’t angry anymore. It was just… resigned.

“You should’ve waited until the end of that phone conversation. Or at least hear me out later.”

That finally caught his attention. He turned his head slowly, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

But instead of answering him, you asked, “When we talked the first day, you said that missing familiarity was partly the reason for you to come back. What was the other reason?”

Silence.

“Ace,” you pressed gently.

“You,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, and I was hoping you would come back too.”

“Then why didn’t you just call or text—”

“When I got here, your dad kept talking about how good you felt in the city, and I knew there were better guys there for you than me. And I was right…”

You exhaled, the weight of his words pressing against your chest, but you forced your body to relax. You stepped back, crossing your arms, your heart beating faster. “I turned him down. The guy? I turned him down. I’m not interested in going back to the city with him. I don’t want that.”

Your heart beat a little faster as you met his gaze. You didn't plan on saying this, not like this. But now that the words were coming, you couldn’t stop them.

“Don’t you get it? I don’t want perfect, Ace. I have no idea why you ingrained that thought in your brain. I don’t want someone who has it all figured out. I want something that feels real, something that feels safe and comfortable. Something I can count on.”

Ace’s eyes flickered with confusion, but you could see the shift, the moment the words started to sink in. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the final part.

“And what I want…” Your voice softened. “What I want is you.”

“You want me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was full of disbelief.

“Yeah.”

Before he could say anything else, you stepped forward, closing the space between you in an instant. Your hands found their place at the back of his neck, pulling him into you as you kissed him—soft, slow, but certain. This time, there was no hesitation.

And at that moment, you realized you didn’t need anything else. You weren’t looking for perfect. You were looking for this—this moment, this connection, this person who had always been there, waiting for you to see what was right in front of you.

#onepiece #one piece fic #ace d portgas #ace x reader #ace one piece #ace portgas #ficmas 2024

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i-like-forcefem · 1 month ago

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Being a Forcefem hacker really got so easy since July

Back in my day we had to take over their YouTube account, make it push femboy videos, push TG comics on their twitters, make them win Guilty Gear give always, put Blahaj’s in their carts when shopping for furniture, make up tutorials, cosplay guides, so so much effort for just one cute girl

Now all I do is take over the pc, put on “I watched the TV glow” and it does the rest

#back in the day we had phases!!!#I had to gradually introduce them to being an Ally #who just cares a lot about trans folks #then make them intrastate in femboys #maybe take a side step in furry-dom #and only THEN could I make the final step to getting her to admit her girlhood #but *noooo* now all we need is one movie #no blackmail #not even a forceful takeover!#just put it on and it does the rest!!!#kids these days have it so easy #but I can’t deny results :/#.#gentle #forcefem #i-like-talking #..#GO WATCH I THE TV GLOW RIGHT NOW!!!#DO IT!!!!!

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princessbellecerise · 4 months ago

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Court Shenanigans

Summary ✩ Missing their father, your children decide it’s a good idea to interrupt him in the middle of court

Warnings ✩ Mentions of pregnancy

Authors Notes ✩ Everyday I cry cause this man isn’t real but at least I have fanfic

You tried to stop them, you really did.

But being almost nine moons pregnant and having the most swollen feet known to man, it was almost impossible to chase after and keep up with two rowdy tots.

Usually, their nursemaids would have them by now and would be helping to assist you, but Aliza was sick and Joanna was with her family. Both of them would have scolded you for trying to run when you couldn’t even see your feet, but your kids were a mischievous bunch and you had a sinking feeling on where they were headed.

Aemma, the eldest of the two twins, had been complaining all day about not being able to see her father, as Jace had missed out on breakfast and lunch with her in order to hear a few extra petitions.

It seemed as if the Kingdom was more unruly than usual, and Lords had come from all over the realm to plead their cases.

Wanting to be a good King and make sure that he could adhere to all of his subjects, Jace had opted to spend a little extra time on the throne and a less with his family.

This of course didn’t sit well with Aemma, and as her shadow Jaelin followed right on along with her.

Try as you might have, you weren’t fast enough to catch up to them and your protests for them to stop didn’t do much good, either.

Before you could even blink, your twins were flying past the Kingsguard and bursting into the throne room, with little Aemma’s excited shouting making you want to crawl into a hole right there and then.

“Kepa!”

In no time your baby girl ran across the room, interrupting some poor Lord under a pink banner. You thought that he might’ve been from White Harbor, or maybe he was from Maidenpool.

Whatever it was, you didn’t pay much attention as suddenly, all chatter stopped, and you were the center of attention as you wobbled towards Jacaerys and fixed Aemma with a stern glare.

“Aemma! Come back here!” You shouted after her sternly, and thankfully Jaelin was too afraid of your ‘motherly voice’ to get any closer.

He stopped just short of the Iron Throne, choosing to remain by Ser Darklyn’s side rather than follow his sister up the steps. With horror, you realized that Aemma was headed straight to Jacaerys, exclaiming happily as she threw herself in her father’s open arms.

“Kepa!”

She bounced excitedly as Jace pulled her on his lap, looking amused while you struggled to catch your breath.

Running at your size was no joke, and you ached to sit down somewhere and rest. You couldn’t do that though while your two year old twins were causing mayhem.

It was unbefitting of a Queen, you knew that, but desperation had you hiking up your dress, climbing the the steps, and holding your arms out expectantly while Jace chuckled.

“Aemma. It’s time to say goodbye to Kepa and go back to our chambers. Now,” You told her, but that only resulted in the toddler shaking her head and burying herself even deeper into Jacaerys’ arms.

“No! I want to stay with Kepa!” Her defiant little voice shouted, and you winced as a few murmurs echoed through the court.

You were painfully aware that everybody was staring at the scene, which made it even more embarrassing when you reached out again and failed to grab Aemma.

After about the third attempt to pull her away with no avail, your husband seemed to finally take pity on you and sighed.

“It’s alright my love. She can stay,” Jacaerys said, and upon hearing this Aemma beamed. “It’ll be her seat one day after all. Let her gain some experience; even if it is during the middle of a petition.”

You gave him an apologetic look, and you made a mental note to apologize to Lord…well, whoever you were currently interrupting. You had to admit, the sight of Aemma babbling broken phrases to Jace while she tried to grab his crown was adorable.

You sighed reluctantly.

“Alright,” You said, willing to leave Aemma where she was. At the very least you could persuade Jaelin to follow you and take him away, but as you turned to go back down the stairs you suddenly paused.

Had there always been that many, you wondered?

You hadn’t really paid attention that much, but now that your feet were practically screaming at you to sit down, the idea of going down so many steps didn’t seem so appealing.

Of course, you could’ve just asked one of the Kingsguard to help you down, but you didn’t want to be a bother—as silly as it sounded. You also didn’t want to risk your knees giving out and falling, either.

You were in a dilemma, but before you could even decide, Jace did it for you. Your husband, ever attentive, noticed your hesitation and immediately got up.

“Here, my love. Why don’t you rest and I’ll stand for now,” He suggested.

Even more whispers broke out at this. What Jacaerys was proposing was sweet, but it had never happened before and the idea of the Queen sitting on the throne in the presence of the King was…well it was simply unheard of.

You were sure a few people would call the action scandalous, but at the moment though, you didn’t really care what they thought. Your feet were aching and you needed a place to sit down before your knees decided where for you, so you nodded and accepted his offer.

“Thank you, my love.”

You sighed in relief as you sat on the throne. Albeit, it wasn’t the most comfortable of seats with all the swords and points, and you would’ve much rather been in your cushioned chair in your chambers, but it was better than nothing and the pressure on your feet was gone.

Nodding his head, Jacaerys gave you a small kiss on the side of your head and then he stood with Aemma in his arms, and gestured for Lord whoever to keep speaking.

Had you not been out of breath, you would have laughed at his face and the face of many others as they not only witnessed their King give the most powerful seat in the realm to his pregnant wife, but also witnessed him stand up while bouncing his baby daughter in his arms.

It was an unusual sight, but an adorable one that you cherished.

Motioning to Ser Darklyn to bring Jaelin up so that your family would complete, you smiled in content and Jacaerys once again motioned for the man who had been interrupted to continue his petition.

“Lord Mooton. Please, do continue,” He said with a large smile.

You giggled.

Ah, so that was his name.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader

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whytheylosttheirminds · 3 months ago

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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 2

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.9k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

After weeks of all-nighters and cramming for finals, sleeping in on your first morning at the beach house felt incredible. It was only 9:30 when you finally stirred in the comfy bed, but it felt late in the day.

Coming down the stairs in your pjs and slippers, you smiled at the sound of your sister’s voice, joking around with her old friends. Your goal this trip was for her to have a good time, and despite the emotional rollercoaster of seeing Rafe yesterday, at this moment, you were glad you decided to stay. You entered the room to see half the house was awake, though neither Rafe or Tom had made an appearance yet.

“Ladies and gentleman, it’s Kerri Walsh Jennings!” Topper deepened his voice like a sports announcer when you entered the kitchen. The few people who were up all turned to you, playfully bowing and applauding like you were a true Olympian. You grinned and rolled your eyes, surprised at how comfortable you felt with the unprecedented attention.

Topper was at the stove flipping pancakes for everyone’s breakfast, wearing an apron that said “kiss the cook.” As you approached the kitchen island to grab a stool next to your sister, he leaned over, holding the spatula like a microphone.

“So tell us, Kerri, now that you’ve won the gold what will you do next?”

“Well, Top,” you played along. “First, I’m going to get some coffee…then I’m going straight to Disneyland!”

Everyone in the kitchen laughed, making the tips of your ears turn red. No one ever laughed at your jokes in high school, not that you were confident enough to make many. Rafe would tell you sometimes that you were funny, so long as no one was around to hear him admit it.

“Well I can help you with the first part,” Topper said, grabbing a mug and the coffee pot.

“Wow, so domestic of you, Topper,” you teased as he poured your steaming coffee in front of you.

“He’s our house mother,” Carter said, smiling wide at Topper who did a jokey little curtsy motion. Clearly this was a running joke between them.

Topper handed you a plate of pancakes, which Kelce promptly reached over your shoulder to steal.

“Since when are you such an athlete?” Kelce asked, his mouth already full with your breakfast.

You told them all about your team at school, surprised out of your mind that everyone was actually listening intently.

Rafe woke up groggy and sore, ducking his head as he walked through the basement and made his way up the rickety steps. As he reached for the handle of the door which opened into the kitchen, he smiled at the sound of your voice on the other side. His smile quickly faded when he heard Kelce interrupt you with, “Yeah and you kicked Rafe’s ass, too, made him your bitch.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Every head in the kitchen whipped towards the sound of Rafe’s voice as he emerged, except for yours. You shuffled slightly on your stool and sipped your coffee. Rafe didn’t miss the way you were ignoring him, his eyes grazing quickly over the smoothe skin of your shoulders before redirecting to anything he could find.

“Cute apron, Top,” he landed on.

“Thanks man,” Topper said, ignoring his mocking tone. “Want some flapjacks?”

“Ew, who calls them flapjacks?” Carter burst out laughing.

“Well now you don’t get any,” Topper scolded, pulling her plate away from her and handing it to Rafe.

“I don’t want ‘em if Carter’s put her mouth near them,” Rafe mocked. “We don’t know where she’s been.”

“Says the guy who licked the gym floor in seventh grade,” you said quietly.

The entire room came to a halt, everyone surprised at the sound of you joining in on the teasing. No one had actually heard you address Rafe yet. The awkwardness hung in the air, all eyes going wide as they waited to see if the notorious hothead was going to be able to take what he was dishing out. You just picked at your pancakes with your fork and hoped everyone would move on, but Rafe smirked at you, a playful twinkle in his eye.

“That was on a dare,” he defended himself.

When you finally looked up at him, your stomach twisted into a knot as you noticed how cute he looked in his white undershirt and grey sweats, messy bedhead and sleepy eyes. You immediately regretted acknowledging that you remembered something he did so long ago. Now, he was looking at you with something like excitement, smug that you were talking to him, like your big triumph the day before had never happened.

“Oh, I didn’t remember that part.” It was a lie, you remembered everything he ever said or did.

Rafe’s face dropped at your impassive tone, his brief window of hope that all was forgiven slammed shut.

To your great relief, Tom chose that moment to enter the room, drawing the attention away from you and Rafe. He had apparently been out on a run, and his under armor shirt, wet with sweat, clinged to his form to reveal a sculpted chest below.

“How we doin’ everyone?” His cheery voice boomed. He slapped Topper on the back before giving Kelce a frat bro handshake across the counter. “What do we have here?” He whistled appreciatively at the spread Topper had put out.

As Topper rattled on about the many flavors and shapes of pancakes he could offer, Tom looked over at you with a cheeky smile and mouthed “good morning!” You smiled back with a little wave, butterflies erupting in your stomach at the way he was singling you out.

After the volleyball game last night, you’d all gone to a seafood restaurant on the water. Tom had chosen the seat next to you, and made extremely pleasant dinner company. He asked you all about yourself, about school and what you were planning for the future. He was a great listener, and you were so glad to have someone to chat normally with without the baggage of your childhood hanging over your head. You hoped the week would hold many more cozy conversations with him.

Unbeknownst to you, Carter was watching as you smiled at him in the kitchen, and so was Rafe. They had very different looks on their face as they realized at the same moment that something was happening between you and Tom.

After Topper and Kelce reclaimed Tom’s attention, talking over each other about their plans to go fishing later, Carter squeezed your elbow and motioned with a nod for you to follow her out onto the patio.

“Ummm, okay, what was that?” Carter asked with arched eyebrows once you were settled on the patio couch next to her.

“Oh my god I know. I shouldn’t have said anything, do you think everyone will think it’s weird I remember something he did in seventh grade?” You asked worriedly.

Carter scrunched her brows in confusion for a minute before waving you off with her hand. “Oh, no not Rafe, he’s old news. I’m talking about your little moment with Tom!”

“Oh, uh,” you cleared your throat, embarrassed that you were still lingering on Rafe when she clearly wasn’t. “I don’t know, he’s nice.”

“He’s fucking gorgeous is what he is,” she fanned herself theatrically.

“Are you into him?” Your stomach dropped at the thought that she might be interested. In your eyes, Carter always had first pick, and surely if Tom thought she was interested he’d choose her over you in a heartbeat.

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m having too much fun messing with Topper.”

You laughed hard at that, “yeah, I noticed. Are you two back on again?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You think if I play my cards right I could get him to propose?”

“I think you could probably get him to do just about anything,” you chuckled.

“Okay, then it’s settled, I’ve got Topper and you,” she poked at your side and you swatted her hand away, “will make a move on Tom.”

“I don’t know about ‘make a move,” you took a long sip of your coffee, suddenly anxious.

Carter eyed you curiously, recognizing the insecurity she hoped you had left behind now that things were going so well. She didn’t understand how you still couldn’t see how amazing you are, but she was determined to prove it to you by the end of this trip.

Rafe did his best not to stare at you through the sliding door, but when he heard your melodic laugh float in through the screen, he couldn’t help the way his head snapped toward the sound, wishing desperately that it was him making you laugh like that. You used to laugh at all his jokes, and he’d taken it for granted. The sad thing was, he actually loved hanging out with you. You had a great sense of humor, and he always felt so comfortable when it was just you and him. He knows now he should’ve just called it what it was, been with you in public too. But he had so many eyes on him back then, and he was worried what people would think. Plus, he knew you’d stick by him even if he treated you like shit, and he took advantage of that. He kicked himself mentally, feeling like a Grade A chump while you sat there, looking beautiful in the ocean breeze, smiling through the window at some guy you’d met yesterday.

As he lost himself in his thoughts, Topper noticed him staring at you, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“She looks good, huh?” He asked Rafe.

“What?” Rafe shook his head as if he could erase the thoughts that were plaguing him. “Who?”

“Oh, come on,” Topper nodded towards you and Carter on the deck.

“I dunno,” Rafe tried to play it off. “She looks the same I guess, a little different.”

“Bro,” Topper gave him an incredulous look. “She’s a fucking smokeshow. You’re into her, don’t even try and fool me.”

“If you're so into her, why don’t you go for her?” Rafe snapped at him.

Topper shook his head, “maybe because I’m not the one she was obsessed with for a decade.”

“She wasn’t obsessed with me,” Rafe protested. “We were friends.”

“Right,” Topper said sarcastically. “And I was a number one draft pick. Dude, she was in love with you, everyone knew it.”

Rafe leaned forward on the counter, propped on his elbows, looking down at his uneaten pancakes with a frown. His stomach twisted with guilt. Of course everyone knew, he knew it too. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use your adoration of him to his advantage from time to time. Okay, all the time. He couldn’t really blame you for still being mad at him, he was a dick. But he liked to think he’d grown some since then, not that you had any reason to give him a chance to prove it.

“I think she’s into your buddy, Dom, or whatever his name is,” Rafe grumbled.

“First of all,” Topper pointed the spatula at him, “you know his name is Tom. And second of all, I love the guy, but he’s got nothing on you. Give me one day, she’ll be back.”

“Don’t do anything weird, man,” Rafe warned, cringing at the thought of what kind of damage an unsupervised Topper could inflict.

“Don’t worry dude, I got it handled,” Topper assured him.

Rafe just chuckled and sipped his coffee, knowing this was a losing battle, “whatever you say, Top.”

The door slid open and you and Carter reentered the kitchen. Tom stood from his place at the little breakfast nook when you walked in, and you were relieved that he ended his conversation with Maddie and Sabrina so abruptly at the sight of you. He smiled down at you before heading into the kitchen to help Topper clean up. Rafe was noticeably not helping, sitting at the counter scrolling on his phone.

“No phones,” Carter said, swiping it from him.

“Give it,” he held his large hand out to her, jaw ticking with annoyance.

“C’mon Rafe, don’t you want to live in the present?” She badgered.

He tried to grab it quickly, but she lifted it above her head, tossing it to Kelce on the other side of the counter, who tossed it to Topper, and the game of hot potato continued, much to Rafe’s chagrin.

“Y’all are children,” he scowled, sitting back on the stool in defeat.

“Who are you even texting? All your friends are here,” Carter jeered.

“I was looking up directions to the grocery store, seeing as there’s no fucking food in this house besides beer, and apparently pancake mix,” Rafe explained.

“No need,” Topper said. “Tom, Kelce and I are spending the day on the water and we’ll grab some stuff on the way back.”

Carter frowned at the thought of both of your boys being gone the whole day, leaving little to distract you from Rafe. This wouldn’t do.

“No, you can’t go out today, we're having a cookout!” She announced to the room.

“We are?” Kelce scratched his head.

“Yes, we are,” Carter nodded confidently, wrapping her arm around Topper’s waist, which you knew was all it would take to get him to agree. “And mom here is going to grill for us.”

“Oh am I?” Topper asked, eyebrows raised in amusement, not exactly protesting.

“Yes, so someone else will need to go get the food,” Carter continued. You knew her well enough to see that a whole plan was unfolding in her head. “Sissy, why don’t you go?”

“That’s…fine,” you agreed reluctantly, narrowing your eyes at her, trying to figure out her play. “I need someone to go with me though, we’ll need a lot of stuff.”

Carter and Topper smiled in sync, both thinking they’d just come up with the best idea anyone has ever had.

At the same moment that Carter blurted out, “Tom can go with you!” Topper loudly suggested, “Rafe can take you!”

Your lips forming a tight line, you gave them both an exasperated look. Their heads snapped toward each other, eyeing each other suspiciously. Rafe scratched the back of his neck, annoyed at Topper for butting in and hating himself for hoping you’d choose to go with him and not Tom.

Tom, meanwhile, was watching all four of you from the corner of the room, never more confused in his life.

“It’s cool,” he said hesitantly, the awkwardness palpable. “All three of us can go.”

“Fine, but I’m driving,” Rafe stood from his seat. “Can I have my phone back now please?”

He reached his hand to Kelce, who was the last to have it. Kelce panicked, wanting to keep the game going, and tossed it to you. You very nearly dropped it, letting it bounce between your hands but eventually securing it before it fell.

You just looked at it in your hands, then up to Rafe and Tom, searching for any way out of what was sure to be an uncomfortable outing without being rude. You came up with nothing.

“I guess I’ll go get dressed,” you handed Rafe his phone, making Kelce shake his head at you in disappointment.

The hum of the truck’s engine was the only sound in the car for a solid five minutes. You sat in the front seat, Tom having opened your door for you, while Rafe drove. You suddenly couldn’t remember what people do with their hands when they’re not driving. Where the hell do you put your hands? Tom’s voice cut through your internal panic.

“So, uh Rafe, Top says you went to Chapel Hill?” He inquired, sitting forward in the backseat so his head appeared between you and Rafe,

“Still do,” Rafe said curtly.

You looked at Rafe for the first time since pulling out of the beach house driveway. You wanted to ask him why he hadn’t graduated on time, always more invested in his academics than he was, but you were trying to pretend you didn’t care.

“Nice, man,” Tom tried to keep the conversation going. “I applied there, it’s hard to get in.”

“I guess I just hit the books a little harder than you then,” Rafe shrugged.

A scoff escaped you before you had the chance to stifle it. Rafe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“What was that?” Rafe looked sideways at you for a moment.

“Nothing,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, please share,” he prodded. You couldn’t believe he was copping an attitude with you.

“It’s just, I’m sure your last name had nothing to do with your acceptance,” you quipped.

Rafe’s jaw clenched and you smirked in satisfaction, pleased that you had gotten under his skin. Tom’s eyes flicked between the two of you, trying to decipher the vibe.

You were glad he didn’t try to attempt any further small talk. Once you got to the grocery store, you divided the shopping list three ways and split up to your designated aisles. You filled your cart as fast as you could, eager to get this shopping trip over with.

After checking everything off your list, you rounded the corner of the produce section toward the registers, your cart nearly crashing into Rafe’s. His entire shopping cart was filled with alcohol. You laughed at the sight.

“What?” Rafe asked defensively.

“What are the rest of us gonna drink?” You smirked.

“Shut up,” he grinned. “It’s not all for me.”

“Okay but where is the stuff you were supposed to get?”

“It’s under there somewhere,” he mused.

“Sure,” you just shook your head with a smile and kept walking towards the register.

“Shit, wait,” Rafe rolled his cart to you and ran back down one of the aisles.

“No don’t worry about me, I got it,” you muttered to yourself bitterly.

You started pushing both carts but Rafe appeared quickly at your side again.

“Got it,” he breathed, adding one more thing to his cart.

It was a case of Redbull. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably, looking down into his cart. Redbull was his drink of choice in high school, you used to buy him one every day and bring it to him after practice, like a puppy fetching the morning paper. Rafe eyed you nervously, your soured expression leading him to believe you remembered just as well as he did.

“Old habits die hard, huh?” You joked, trying to break the tense moment.

“Yeah, can’t seem to kick that one,” he replied, relieved that you were the first to acknowledge it.

Tom caught up with you at check-out, his cart actually full of the things he was supposed to get. The three of you unloaded your goods to be rung up by a 16-year-old cashier who could not have been more annoyed that you had chosen his register.

Tom jumped in to help bag the groceries, chatting happily with the bag boy as he assisted. Rafe, however, stood there staring at his phone.

After you finished emptying your cart, you watched Tom with a smile while he charmed the grocery store staff. Rafe looked up from his screen with a frown, stomach dropping when he saw that you were watching Tom with an affectionate smile.

“Is that everything?” The cashier asked hopefully.

You were about to say "yes" and also maybe "sorry" when Rafe cut you off.

“No wait, these too,” he reached toward the shelf and grabbed your favorite candy, looking at you expectantly as he handed it to the cashier.

“Your favorite,” he explained bashfully at the sight of your furrowed brows.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. “Just surprised you remember. Thanks.”

You looked at him for a moment longer than you should, your eyes lingering on each other’s as you shared another silent memory. You felt a twinge of nostalgia that you knew you shouldn’t.

While you and Rafe looked at each other, Tom pulled out his black card and entered it into the machine. Rafe noticed a moment too late and scrambled to pull his wallet from his pocket, fumbling for his credit card.

“Oh no, hey man, I was gonna get it,” Rafe finally pulled out the credit card he was looking for but Tom was already signing the screen with his finger.

“No worries dude,” Tom brushed him off politely. “You can get me back later this week.”

Rafe was the most competitive person you knew, and the richest, surely he wasn’t going to let another guy pay for everything and walk away. He opened his mouth like he was going to argue with Tom, but with a glance back at you he closed it again. Then he carried as many bags to the car as one person could possibly hold, mumbling something like "multiple trips are for pussies."

Another fifteen minutes of painful silence might just make your head explode, you thought. The second you were back in the truck, the bed overflowing with groceries, you asked Rafe for the aux.

“What are you gonna play?” He sideyed you as he held it just out of reach. You leaned across the console to snatch it from his hands, and he felt pins and needles where your hand had brushed him. He wondered if you realized it was the first time you'd touched each other in four years.

The two of you had always fought over the aux, you’d eventually give in to his pouting and listened to his shitty house mixes and soundcloud rappers.

“Don’t worry about it,” you waved him off with a grin.

Four years ago, you would have been way too nervous to play what you truly wanted to listen to, afraid Rafe wouldn’t think it was cool enough. But now, you pressed play on your go-to playlist with gusto and beamed when your absolute favorite song started booming through his subwoofers.

Rafe tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t stop them from dancing back over to you as you sang along happily to your music. You rolled the window down, letting the humid Florida air raise your hair in a wave around you. You giggled and tried to tame it, eventually giving up and letting it whip around your face.

There was something so light about you. Something joyful and at peace. He placed both hands on the steering wheel, trying to ground himself, jealous of your carefree spirit. Whatever intangible thing you had managed to capture in your years apart, he wanted it. And it hit him like a lightning bolt, a bittersweet truth he had fought for so many years - he wanted you.

One song rolled into the next, and Rafe searched for something to say to keep up the almost-friendly banter you had begun in the store, but before he could come up with anything, Tom sat forward suddenly.

“Oh hey I love this song!” Tom informed you.

“Me too!” You turned to smile at him, and Rafe listened enviously as you and Tom chatted about the many favorite artists you have in common the rest of the way home.

The house was quiet when you returned, everyone either taking their daily hangover nap or down lounging by the beach. Rafe’s hands turned white from once again carrying as many plastic bags as he could. You tried not to laugh, and tried not to notice the way his biceps bulged under his tight t-shirt, but you failed at both.

“Are you laughing at me again?” He raised his eyebrows in amusement, placing the bags on the counter. “What is it this time?”

“Sorry, you’re just so helpful all of a sudden,” you pointed out with a smirk.

“Well bag boy over there wasn’t helping,” he nodded towards the patio, where Tom was taking a phone call.

“He said it’s a work call,” you defended him. “He just got a job in New York apparently, a Wall Street thing.

“Whatever,” Rafe mumbled. What he wanted to say was “since when are you two best friends?” but he had already been fairly gruff with you today and he was trying to refocus on his goal of getting you to like him again.

You and Rafe put the groceries away in silence for a while. You tried to find the right way to approach the question you were dying to ask, failing to convince yourself you didn't care about the answer.

“So,” you started nervously. “You didn’t graduate this year?”

Rafe’s shoulders tensed as he tried to make more room in the pantry.

“Nope,” he said shortly.

“Did you take some time off?”

He was torn between being glad that you were talking to him and mad that this was the topic you’d chosen to break the ice with.

“No, I-uh,” he cleared his throat. “I failed a couple classes my first year so I’m still a few credits behind.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, leaning down to put the ribs for the cookout in the large freezer.

“It’s my own fault,” he shrugged. “I was an idiot back then.”

When you stood from the freezer to grab another rack of ribs, you were surprised to see Rafe standing close, his body looming as he looked down at you.

“I was an idiot before then, too,” he continued, voice low and uncertain.

Everything in your mind went fuzzy as the blood rushed to your face. This was the first time you could smell him, and it familiarity of his scent made you feel like you were being transported back in time. You fought the urge to inhale deeply, greedy for the rush of him filling your senses.

“Before then?” You blinked up at him.

Rafe struggled to find his next words. It took everything in you not to fill in the blanks for him, like you were back in high school slipping him the answers to a test he hadn’t studied for. But this time, you needed him to find the answers all on his own. You swallowed hard, leaving silence for the words he was searching for.

Before he could find them, Topper and Carter came barreling into the kitchen, mid-argument as always. They stopped short when they saw the scene in front of them. Rafe stepped away from you so quickly you could feel a woosh of wind in his wake. It was eerily reminiscent of your teenage years, Rafe separating himself from you as soon as there was anyone around to see you together.

“Everything okay?” Carter asked tensely, noticing the way your shoulders had fallen.

“Fine,” Rafe said, tossing the rest of the plastic bags in the trash and heading down the stairs to his basement bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Damn, you two did good,” Topper said, admiring the cornucopia of food you’d brought back.

“You three,” Carter corrected. “Tom went too.”

She walked up next to you and lowered her voice, a sly smile on her face, “and how did it go with Tom?”

You didn’t match her playful mood, completely preoccupied thinking about the moment you and Rafe had just shared. Was he about to apologize to you? What would you have let him do if your sister and psuedo-brother-in-law had entered the room just a minute later?

“It was fine,” you said distractedly, closing the fridge and heading upstairs to your room.

Carter turned on her heel and looked at Topper with a frown, shocked to find him beaming back at her.

“What are you smiling for?” She snarled.

“Oh nothing, seems like my plan is working is all,” he grinned. “They were standing awfully close when we walked in.”

“Your plan?” She stepped closer to him, arms crossed. “What are you up to Thornton?”

“Just playing a little Cupid,” he smiled proudly.

“Okay well you can go ahead and put down the bow and arrow, because I’ve already got that covered,” she informed him.

“Really?” He asked in surprise. “I thought you hated Rafe.”

“Rafe? Ew, no, I’m talking about Tom, obviously,” she snapped.

“Your sister and Tom? Nahhh, do you not see how she and Rafe have been looking at each other? It’s so obvious,” he scoffed.

“You know what else is obvious? That Rafe’s still a dick and he doesn’t deserve her,” Carter argued.

“He’s actually grown up a lot,” Topper said, surprising Carter with the serious shift in his tone. “He’s been through some stuff, college hasn’t been easy for him. He could use a win.”

Carter considered this, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the years of bitterness she held for Rafe.

“Well, he had his chance. He had millions of chances with her and he fumbled every one,” she said.

“I know he did, but under it all he’s a good person. And I think good people deserve second chances,” Topper explained.

“Not when they hurt my sister,” she concluded. “I won’t allow it.”

Topper's eyes creased with his smile as he looked down at her, loving her steely look and pursed lips as she put her hands on her hips.

“You’re still so bossy,” he smiled, sliding closer to her until their chests were nearly touching. “I know we’re supposed to be fighting, but it’s kinda hot.”

He leaned forward to plant a little kiss on her lips, like he’d done a million times before. Carter leaned back, leaving his puckered lips hanging.

“Oh no,” she pushed him back, making him frown. “You don’t get to touch me until you join Team Tom.”

“Nuh-uh! Team Rafe for life baby,” he crossed his arms to match her stance, recovering quickly, more than used to being rejected by her.

She studied him suspiciously, wondering how quickly he’d crack if she actually withheld their inevitable beach trip hook-up. But he didn’t budge, he was as serious about this as she was.

“Fine,” she said. “The game is so on.”

(Chapter 3)

a/n: so tell me... are we Team Tom or Team Rafe?

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

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xhyjin · 12 days ago

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husband geto! who always carries two hair ties on his wrist one for his own hair and one just in case you need it. it doesn’t matter if you don’t usually tie your hair up; he insists on keeping one there “just in case” because it’s his way of taking care of you. if you ever ask to borrow it, he’ll grin, tie it gently into your hair, and murmur, “told you it’d come in handy.”

husband geto! who wraps you up in his oversized robes when you’re cold, the fabric so big it drags along the floor and picks up dust with every step you take, but he swears you look so much cuter like that than in any regular jacket. sometimes, though, instead of giving you a robe of your own, he’ll just untie the one he’s already wearing and wrap it around the both of you, pulling you against his chest. “warmer this way, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his chin resting gently on top of your head as his arms tighten around you. you grumble at how snug and immobile it makes you feel, but he just smiles softly, completely content to hold you there, sharing his warmth and his space with you.

husband geto! who lets you sit in on his cult meetings even though he insists it’s “no place for someone like you.” he doesn’t mean it harshly—he just doesn’t want you to hear something he isn’t ready to explain yet. still, he brings you along anyway, trusting that his followers will take the hint to speak carefully when you’re around. to them, you’re almost untouchable, a divine figure worthy of devotion simply because you hold his heart. sometimes, when the meeting drags on and grows dull, he’ll catch your eye across the room and give you a subtle wink. the smirk that threatens to tug at his lips only deepens when he sees you look away, flustered. later, as you leave, he’ll tease you softly, “you’re too cute when you get embarrassed, you know that?”

husband geto! who has his followers bring back gifts for you from their travels—anything from small trinkets and rare teas to fine fabrics he knows you’ll love for new kimonos. he’s too proud to admit how often he talks about you, dropping little hints about your interests here and there, and his followers, eager to please, can’t help but return with offerings they hope will make you smile. whenever you question why you receive so many gifts, reminding him that you don’t play a major role in his cult, he’ll simply shrug and say, “because they respect you. you’re important to me, so you’re important to them.”

husband geto! who can only find comfort in you after long days spent exorcising curses and managing his followers. the moment he steps through the door, the outer persona he shows to the world falls away, leaving only the man who craves your warmth. without a word, he pulls you into a quiet embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his breathing speaks louder than anything he could say. for a while, he just holds you, steadying himself in your presence, before he finally pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. his eyes meet yours, soft and vulnerable, as he whispers, “you’re the only peace I have left.”

husband geto! who asks his followers to leave when he wants time alone with you. he can be in the middle of a meeting or just anywhere his followers are present, and he’ll dismiss them. he’ll feel a strong urge—a need—to be with you at that very moment. if he’s ever in a meeting, crowded and the air serious, but the second you walk in with that adorable smile he fell in love with, he’ll be quick to wave his hands and dismiss them. “leave us,” he says with an air of authority before smiling softly and pulling you onto his lap, immediately attacking your face with kisses.

husband geto! who loves seeing you interact with the two little girls he took in. his heart swells whenever he sees you braiding their hair just like how you braid his, helping them with homework, or doing activities that a mother would do with her daughters. it makes him want to have his own kids with you (not that he doesn’t consider them his kids), and the thought of that both scares him and excites him. he doesn’t want to bring something so precious into a world so cruel.

husband geto! who sometimes lets you tie his hair back for meetings or missions. you carefully smooth out any stray strands as he watches you, always either on your tiptoes or standing on a chair to reach his head. sometimes, he’ll hold you up, your legs dangling in the air as he grips you firmly by your waist, a loving gaze and smile on his face as he watches you concentrate on making sure his hair is perfectly tied. your tongue pokes out to the side, and your brows furrow in focus. when you’re done, he’ll say, “perfect. you’re better at this than i am,” before pressing a kiss to your knuckles and wrists.

husband geto! who holds you close at night, whispering his fears when he thinks you’re asleep. he rarely shows weakness during the day, but in the darkness of the night, when your breathing is soft and steady, he finds himself snuggling closer into your warm embrace, admiring you. “i don’t deserve you… but i won’t let anyone take you away from me.” so many times, you have to stop yourself from opening your eyes and hugging him tightly, wanting to tell him that he does deserve you. but you know he’d probably stop once he realizes you’re awake, not asleep.

husband geto! who would destroy entire villages if someone hurt you. his calm demeanor would shatter the second he thought you were in danger, to his followers, he's a leader, but to anyone who threatens you, he becomes something far more terrifying. "if you lay a hand on her," he'd warn coldly, "there won't be enough of you left to bury."

husband geto! who swears he'll leave it all behind someday-for you. there are moments, late at night, when he tells you softly about his dream of a peaceful life with you. no followers, no curses, no battles— just the two of you in a quiet home, free from the weight of the world.

"someday," he promises, brushing your hair back as you rest against him.

"someday, it'll just be us."

and that someday is sooner than he thought it would be.

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monzamash · 1 month ago

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★ last chance; long live the inbox graveyard! —i pick a long forgotten request in my inbox and write a short blurb or musings

hot tub time machine lando norris x you —no warnings, just fluff "could we get a number 14 (pool/hot tub sex) with lando pleaseeee? so excited that you’re writing again!!" —requested by anon on october 8th, 2024

“happy birthday, sweetheart...”

“i really needed this," he sighed, "knowing i would be home with you for this was the only thing getting me through the last few of weeks.”

lando could feel every single ache and pain wash away as he slid into the hot tub, stomach full of the gorgeous italian spread you’d ordered for dinner. his favourite. he swore you were an angel sent to earth, everything you did for him was heavenly, he could never find the words to tell you how much he loved you.

“you look so happy lan,” you smiled, dropping the kimono you’d worn during dinner as lando’s eyes cast across your body, luring you into the tub.

“i’m very happy - especially when i get to enjoy all of this… c’mere pretty girl.”

a soft giggle slipped from your lips as you grasped his hand, "let me get a bottle of red wine for us to share and i'll join you — do you wanna open the one daniel gave you?"

"ooo, are we entering that portion of the night?" lando asked suggestively as you stood up, shooting him quizzical look.

"what do you mean?" you asked earning a loud laugh from the tub, water splashing a little as lando pulled himself up to the edge, smiling over at you with a look you knew all too well.

"as soon as you start on the red wine, you get so frisky," he stated as if it was a well-known fact, one that you certainly weren't aware of.

"i do not!" you staunchly defended, earning another loud scoff.

"oh, wow," lando laughed, "yes, you do baby and i'm not complaining so crack her open..." he teased as you carefully stepped into the tub, with lando's help of course, eyes still narrowed in annoyance.

"okay so maybe wine makes me a little more amorous than usual but i think i'm just like that when i drink, no?" you pouted, earning yourself a pity kiss from the birthday boy.

"red wine makes you horny and that's okay," he teased again with a cheeky smirk on his face as you handed him the stemmed glass, "ta."

"we'll see then, won't we," you tutted, pouring two glasses of wine while lando chuckled to himself.

"i already know what's gonna happen but sure," he baited with a wink as he slowly dunked his head under the water and emerged with a shake of his wild curls, sending water flying across the room and all over you.

"you are so sure of yourself tonight."

lando's eyes skimmed across your body briefly while you claw-clipped your hair up, not wanting the hassle of having to dry it before going to bed. secretly you knew where the night was headed, red wine or not— it was his birthday after all, but you weren't about to admit that to the man hypnotised by your every move, jaw slack from the glorious view of your cleavage.

lando was a simple man.

"well, i am the birthday boy after all so i reserve the right to be cocky once a year, yeah?" he taunted from the other side of the tub.

"yeah, only once a year..." you rolled your eyes humorously.

the distance between the two of you seemed too far for lando, so he sculled the rest of his drink and carefully placed the glass on the floor before giving you a mischievous smile.

"steady on, party boy," you chuckled as he leaned forward and snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his warm hold.

"i just want to focus all of my attention on you," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of your clip, his emerald irises darted over your face, finally resting on yours.

"i missed you a lot, you know."

you took that as an invitation to straddle his lap and rest your elbows over his shoulders, wine glass dangling from your fingers. lando smoothed his hands down your back and and pressed fiery kisses across your chest. his lips travelled back up your neck, along your jaw before finding your soft lips in a slow, passionate kiss. you moved in sync with him, bringing one of your hands up to trawl through his wet, tangled curls. the chlorine always got the best of them.

lando hummed quietly into the kiss before pulling back slightly, "this is the best birthday i've ever had... and i couldn't be more in love with you," he confessed as you took the chance to admire the sweet boy you'd chosen to share your life with.

you grasped his face gently between your hands and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, making sure he knew just how much you loved him, no matter what life threw your way.

"i love you too, darling... happy birthday."

a/n — the first of the end of (f1) season sale!! this hot tub request actually wasn't forgotten, just half-baked so thank you anon for sparking up the inspiration to finally finish it! hope you enjoyed it 😌

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 writing #monzamusings ✨#monzamashmasterlist #end of (f1) season sale!!

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r3ynah · 11 months ago

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I Can be everything and anything, at once

A 27 years old Phantom was challenged to a bet, by his co-workers at the watchtower. Green lantern stated along with the the other heroes that If he could help every single one of them at least once in a month while not using any his powers and he also had to be physically and mentally there as he helps them. the cherry on top was that he needed to use his real identity instead of his ghost form in this mission.

If Phantom successfully conceals his civilian identity, while helping them, he gets to know everyone's deepest darkest secrets.

But if he loses, he must do everyone a favor and must keep it no matter how outrageous it is.

Ofcourse Phantom agreed, because he was no bitch, okay so maybe he is, he only accepts bets like this if he knows that'll he'll win. so yeah.

Besides, having no powers for this, is really a piece of cake, if you're a raging gender fluid that knows his way around makeup and can easily change the sound of his voice, to be honest the shapeshifting parts that he got from his powers are basically just add-ons.

Well what was he waiting for? afterall he needed all the blackmail he could get, not as Phantom but as Daniel James Fucking Fenton, this was an opportunity to go batshit crazy and he was absolutely stealing it.

The very first hero Danny approached to help was Wonder Woman, who thanked Danny who was now disguised as a woman wearing a long ass Red wig, and some clothes he "borrowed" from Jazz who just joked about Danny being her twin, and wished him luck.

"Thank you, young lady for your brave actions to help me." Wonder woman sincerely thanked the boy in disguise as she held both of Danny's hands as gratitude "may I ask the name of my savior? "

"My name's El, It's a pleasure to know you." Danny smiled a little wider.

The second was Flash, which Danny found completely amusing because of the way he helped the speedy hero, who tripped while patrolling around the city.

Danny who was now in a more gothic attire( thanks to Sam's help) caught the hero's wrist before he embarrassingly fell face first on the ground.

"You okay there sir?" Danny asked, as he kept a firm grip on the man's wrist to make sure he doesn't fall.

Meanwhile Flash who thought he was in those korea tv romance dramas only blue screened for a few seconds before finally get his shit together. "yeah- um- name's Flash, and you are?"

The hero tripped on his own words, making Danny amused as fuck. "James, it was nice to finally meet you"

Okay, about like three weeks in, and Danny managed to help almost everyone in the watchtower, and only a few more to go,( he didn't get why most of the heroes he helped either started to stutter or blue screen in their spot once they talk to him. like damn is this how all of you treat every civilian who interacts with you? that's just sad) but at this time, Dan and Elle found out, and were now demanding to join, with the excuse of basically being Danny but in alternate or clone form, which Danny had no choice but to give in, I mean he wasn't breaking any rules so technically this was alright.

Danny wanted to take a break so Dan took over this time.

currently Nightwing was observing the outside of the gala, Bruce was invited to, something about a bunch of drugs being hidden within the crowd, and was now being passed around.

He intently remained focused on his observation, while also keeping a conversation with Oracle and the others on the comms, he didn't realize that he was too far off the edge of the railing he was standing on, until he missed a step.

Nightwing would never admit that he let a quiet squeal to his siblings ever as he fell, he closed his eyes and braced for impact, he would never expect to fall into the arms of a man 3x bigger than him, he stared at the man, and the man stared at him. 'holy shit' Nightwing thought.

The man, chuckled making Nightwing internally scream. "When I wished for Desiree, to make someone from above to save me from this trash party, I didn't think it would be one of the birds of gotham, to come and fall for me let alone the handsome one."

Okay Nightwing was now full on red from blushing, he was put down gently by the man on the ground, before offering a handshake, once Nightwing accepted the handshake, Dan pulled the hand closer to his mouth then gave a quick peck on the back of the hand vigilante's hand. "My name's Dan Masters, it's a pleasure to meet you."

his siblings can eat dirt on how they were teasing Nightwing Right now, but this was fucking worth it.

And the last to have gotten help from Danny was John Constantine, Danny actually had a reason on why he saved John for last, and that's because John actually knows Danny's identity, so for this mission he asked the help of his daughter Elle.

Elle had helped John by fixing a ruined summoning circle, who also helped him negotiate with a demon, and somehow all day, Elle just stuck to Constatine's side, her explanation? 'He'll die without me' fair point John thought as he took the kid, to order ice cream and to hangout in the park.

"You know kid, you remind me of someone." Constantine stated while keeping his eyes on what's infront of him, which was just a bunch of trees.

Elle who sat next to him, still eating her Ice cream looked up at him and said. "Really?"

"Yeah like you two literally have the same aura and all just a little different, but I don't know who yet." He replied and ruffled the kid's hair. making the girl laugh.

"Hey John!" Danny greeted behind them, and then all the gears inside of Constantine's head began to work. he let out a groan as he realized the girl beside him was the clone of the man behind him, well he needed to kiss that secret of his goodbye. here on this spot right now or he'll die of embarrassment if he waited any longer.

"Danny, let's go on a date." Constantine stated, not facing the Man.

this comment made the Father and Daughter choke on literal air.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc prompt #dpdc #danny is nonbinary #almost everyone atleast has feelings for civilian Danny #this was made while half asleep #Danny takes a selfie everytime he disguises #first failures #king con

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vunblr · 8 days ago

Text

The Recipe for Us

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

Summary: Bucky sets out to surprise his girlfriend with a simple yet meaningful gesture, but quickly learns that some things are easier said than done.

Word Count: about 9k.

notes: Second Christmas story for the Roots and Branches AU

The hot water streamed over Bucky’s shoulders, washing away the day’s grime and easing the tightness in his muscles. Sawdust and sweat swirled down the drain in pale rivulets, a tangible reminder of the hours spent at Sam’s workshop. He reached for the long-handled loofah hanging on the wall, pausing for a moment as a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Seven months ago, he’d never have imagined himself using something like this. Hell, he hadn’t even known such a thing existed. But she’d gifted it to him after he’d grumbled too many times about sawdust getting into places it had no business being. “Just try it,” she’d insisted, eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and determination. “It’ll make your life easier, I promise.”

At first, he’d been reluctant, because why did he need a fancy shower tool? But now, as he scrubbed his back with the bristled brush, he had to admit that he couldn’t shower without the damn thing. It worked like a charm, reaching spots his stiff shoulders couldn’t. Another one of her small but thoughtful gestures that made his life just a little better, a little easier.

That thought lingered as he rinsed off, the scent of pine-scented soap filling the steamy bathroom. Christmas was coming up fast, and he hadn’t figured out what to get her yet. She was always cooking for him, spoiling him with meals that somehow tasted even better because she’d made them. Maybe it was his turn to return the favor.

His brow furrowed as he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and scrubbing it over his damp hair. Cookies, he thought, wrapping the towel around his waist. How hard could that be?

The bell above the library door gave a soft jingle as Bucky stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the late morning air. The faint scent of old books and polished wood greeted him, a familiar comfort. He adjusted his jacket, glancing around until he spotted Martha at the front desk.

The elderly librarian looked up from her paperwork, her face breaking into a warm smile. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mystery man,” she said, setting her pen aside. “You’re just in time, I was about to set aside a copy of All the Colors of the Dark for you. Brand-new, hot off the presses.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his fingers brushing the edge of the counter. “Not today,” he muttered. “I, uh, need something else.”

Martha tilted her head, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Cooking books.”

There was a beat of silence before her expression shifted, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Cooking books? My, my, that’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.”

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, suddenly regretting his decision. “Yeah, well… I just need something simple.”

Martha leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking in her gaze. “Simple, huh? Expanding your repertoire, are you?”

“Not exactly.” His hand tugged at his jacket zipper, his eyes fixed on a spot just past her shoulder. “It’s for… someone. A gift.”

Martha chuckled, her gaze warm and knowing. “A gift, huh? Have you already decided what you’re making, or are you here to brainstorm?”

Bucky hesitated, his ears tinged pink. “Cookies,” he admitted finally.

Her face lit up, and she clasped her hands together. “You’re an absolute sweetheart, you know that? She’s lucky to have someone as thoughtful as you.”

He fumbled again with his jacket, the zipper slipping through his fingers as he looked anywhere but at her. “Thanks,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t worry,” she said kindly, moving to the shelves. “I’ve got just the thing for you. A beginner’s guide, easy recipes, step-by-step instructions. You’ll do great.”

As she handed him the book, Bucky accepted it with a quiet nod, clutching it like it was a secret dossier. “Appreciate it,” he said gruffly before turning toward the door, his heart thudding a little too fast as he stepped out into the crisp afternoon.

Sitting in his truck, he flipped through the pages of the brightly colored cookbook, furrowing his brow as he skimmed the recipes. The instructions seemed straightforward enough, at least none of them required anything he couldn’t pronounce. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he realized he had just enough time to swing by the general store before heading back to the workshop.

The bell above the store’s door jingled as he stepped inside, the warm air carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. He grabbed a basket and made his way through the aisles, collecting the essentials: flour, baking soda, vanilla essence, and a few other things he didn’t recognize but trusted the book’s guidance on.

As he reached the seasonal display near the front, he paused in front of a rack of Christmas-themed cookie cutters. There were stars, trees, and even a set of reindeer shapes. He frowned, holding up two options and debating which would look more impressive.

He was still deliberating when the familiar sound of the doorbell chiming caught his attention. His stomach flipped as he saw Y/n walking in, her coat and hair dusted with snowflakes.

Panic shot through his brain. Without a second thought, he shoved both sets of cookie cutters to the bottom of his basket, quickly covering them with the flour and sugar. He angled himself away from the entrance, his heart pounding as if he’d been caught committing a crime.

He took a steadying breath and glanced at his basket. The cutters were well-hidden, but now he was hyper-aware of the faint clinking of metal every time he moved. Muttering to himself, he steeled his nerves and started toward the checkout, keeping his head low and his focus on not drawing her attention.

And that might have worked if Bucky’s frame didn’t stand out so much. The low shelves did little to hide him, and before he could edge toward the checkout, her gaze landed squarely on him.

Her face lit up with that familiar, heart-stopping smile, and she made a beeline straight for him. He froze, gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow shield him.

“Hi honey,” she said warmly, slipping her hand into his free one. Her touch was light, and casual, but it sent a wave of nervous energy coursing through him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Hey,” he managed to squeak.

Her eyes dropped to the basket with curiosity as she leaned closer. “What do we have here?” She peeked in, eyebrows lifting as she spotted the ingredients nestled at the bottom. “Flour? Sugar? Vanilla ext-

“It’s for Sam.” he cut her quickly, too quickly. “He asked me to grab some stuff for… for the shop. I needed to come here anyway to buy something for lunch.”

“For the shop?” she echoed, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “He forgot to pick it up earlier.”

Her eyes darted back to the basket. “Okay, but what about you? What are you grabbing for lunch?”

His chest tightened. He should’ve thought this through. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, his voice clipped.

“Not hungry?” she asked, her smile fading slightly. “You’ve been working all day, Bucky. You should eat something-”

Her genuine concern made his shoulders tense. He didn’t want her prying, didn’t want to screw up the surprise. “I said I’m fine,” he replied, harsher than he intended.

She blinked, taken aback. “Okay…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the guilt creeping in as he saw the shift in her expression. Still, the panic swirling in his chest made it impossible to backtrack. “I just… I don’t have time to explain, alright?” he said, in a hurried tone. “I need to get back to work.”

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but he didn’t give her the chance. “I’ll see you later,” he added, moving past her with a quickness that felt borderline rude.

“Wait, Bucky-”

“I’ll call you,” he said over his shoulder, already heading for the register. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, avoiding the weight of her gaze as he paid and left the store, the bell above the door jangling behind him.

Outside, the cold air hit his face, but it didn’t ease the heat of frustration prickling under his skin. He hated how his tone had come out. Too rough, too abrupt, but he was incapable of handling it differently.

She stood by the shelves long after Bucky had hurried out, the bell above the store’s door still faintly ringing in her ears. She replayed their conversation, or lack thereof, in her mind. His curt tone, the way he barely looked at her, it was unlike him. Maybe he was just having a bad day. She hoped that was all it was.

But then a few days passed, and she didn’t see him, and the messages were almost nonexistent.

What she didn’t know was that Bucky had been using every spare moment to tackle the recipes in that cookbook. Each attempt ended worse than the last: a disaster of burnt edges, underbaked centers, or cookies that crumbled to dust at the lightest touch.

He stood in his kitchen, staring at the latest batch, which somehow managed to be both rock-hard and sticky at the same time. He rubbed a hand down his face, the other gripping the counter as frustration curled tight in his chest. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

It wasn’t just the cookies. It was the nagging feeling that he was failing at something so simple. The harder he tried, the worse it seemed to get. Maybe there was something wrong with his brain. He threw himself into fixing it, retreating further into his house and unintentionally pulling away from her.

Each time she asked to meet, he had an excuse ready.

“I’m exhausted, darlin’.” he’d said one evening.

“Not feeling great, the migraine came back,” he told her the next day.

“Now’s not a good time,” was the worst.

When she offered to bring him lunch at the workshop, hoping for at least a few stolen minutes together, he deflected. “Shop’s too busy these days,” he had added gruffly. “Wouldn’t look good.”

Her chest tightened every time he brushed her off. She tried not to take it personally, but the doubt crept like frost on a windowpane. Had she done something wrong? Was she being too pushy? Too clingy?

Sitting at home with her phone in her lap, she stared at his last message. The usual warmth in his words was absent. She bit her lip, scrolling back through their conversations, searching for some clue as to what had changed.

Eventually, Bucky grudgingly texted Sam's sister to ask for help. He stared at the phone screen, his thumb hovering over the send button. Every fiber of his being wanted to delete the message, but he was out of options. His fingers itched to toss the phone onto the counter and forget this ever happened, but instead, he hit send.

The reply came quickly:

Sure. Meet me at the diner during my break. You’re buying lunch.

The last part made him groan, but at least Sarah had agreed. She was the only person he could think of who could help him without making it a big deal. He’d dreaded this conversation from the moment he realized he couldn’t pull off the cookies on his own.

When lunchtime rolled around, Bucky made his way to the diner, his stomach twisting with nerves. He slid into the booth across from Sarah, his shoulders tight and his hands fidgeting on the table.

“All right,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “You dragged me out here, so spill. What’s going on?”

Bucky shifted in his seat, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I need help,” he muttered.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “With…?”

He sighed. “Cookies.”

“Cookies?” she repeated, clearly holding back a laugh.

“Yeah, cookies,” he grumbled, lowering his voice. “I’ve been trying to make them for Y/n. It’s supposed to be a Christmas gift, but I can’t get it right. Every batch is worse than the last.”

Sarah tilted her head, her expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “Wait a second. How many batches are we talking about here?”

Bucky hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. “A lot,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’ve been working on it for… a few days now after work.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A few days? What, have you just been locking yourself in your house this whole time? Baking?”

The remnants of his grilled cheese sat on the plate in front of him, barely touched. she, on the other hand, was halfway through her fries, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she listened to him stumble through his explanation. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heat. “Maybe. You know already that when I’m fixated on something I can get-”

“So let me get this straight,” Sarah interrupted, crossing her arms and leaning back in the booth. “You’ve been holing yourself up in your cabin, failing at baking cookies, and ignoring your girlfriend because you’re too proud to ask her for help?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, no? Then what is it like?” she questioned, crossing her arms.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heavy weight of her stare. “I just… wanted to surprise her. She always does so much for me, and I thought I could do something nice for her for once. But nothing’s working, and-” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Sarah softened, her teasing giving way to something gentler. “Look, Bucky. It’s sweet that you want to do this for her. But you’re overthinking it. Cookies don’t have to be perfect; they just have to come from the heart, she would love them anyway.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered.

Sarah laughed. “You think I was born knowing how to bake? Trust me, it took plenty of trial and error. And maybe a few smoke alarms.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost a smile.

“Okay,” she said, brushing her hands off on a napkin. “Let’s start with the basics. What recipe are you trying to use?”

Before he could answer, the bell over the diner door jingled, drawing both their gazes to the entrance. It was just a regular patron, and Bucky’s attention began to shift back to Sarah. But then, in the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her. Y/n stood just outside the window, frozen mid-step, a paper bag from the bakery clutched tightly in her hands.

Bucky’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t hear them through the glass, but the scene must have looked... bad. Him sitting with Sarah, leaning casually across the table, her easy smile lighting up the booth, while his phone sat untouched, the unanswered messages from Y/n still lingering in his inbox.

He swore under his breath.

Her lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something, but then she looked away.

He could see the shift, the moment her walls went up. She adjusted her grip on the bag, straightened her posture, and turned on her heel, walking briskly down the sidewalk.

“Uh-oh,” Sarah muttered, her gaze flicking between them. “Good luck with that,” she added dryly, biting into another fry as he scrambled out of the booth.

His long strides closed the distance quickly, but as he reached out to touch her shoulder, he hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment before dropping to his side. Instead, he called her name.

She didn’t stop right away, her pace faltering for half a second before continuing, though slower this time.

He tried again and she finally stopped, turning around slowly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. That sight hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, the words he had lined up fled his mind.

“I can explain,” he said, stepping closer but keeping a careful distance.

She made a small motion with her head, a tilt that told him to continue. She didn’t trust her voice to speak just yet, her grip tightening around the bakery bag.

“I was talking to Sarah,” he began, his voice low and uncertain. “About... about a problem I’ve been having.”

Her brows furrowed, and he stumbled over his next words. “It’s-it’s nothing serious, just something I needed... advice on.”

“Advice?” she repeated, her tone soft but tinged with something sharper.

He nodded, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah.”

She exhaled, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled but held firm. “You know, I always thought I was the person you’d turn to if you needed help.” Her gaze locked on his, vulnerable yet unyielding. “It seems like it's not the case lately.”

“That’s not true,” he stated quickly, words rushing together. “I… God, I’m sorry if I’ve been... distant. Absent. It’s not you, it’s-” He paused, groaning softly as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I have my reasons.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her next words were calm but carried an edge. “We’re grown adults, Bucky. This isn’t one of those predictable novels where the characters dance around their miscommunication until everything blows up.” She crossed her arms, the bakery bag crinkling slightly. “If something’s going on, I expect you to be concrete with me, not feed me veiled comments or excuses.”

“I know,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You deserve better than that. I just... I didn’t want to mess this up.”

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t drop her stance. “Then stop treating me like I’m someone you could mess things up with, and just talk to me.”

Bucky let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, with a low but resolute voice. "I’ll just… come clean."

Her expression stayed guarded, but he could see a flicker of curiosity as he shifted his weight, looking anywhere but directly at her. "I don’t… I’m not great at this kind of thing. Talking, explaining. But I know this. You, us… this thing doesn’t mean anything if it’s making you upset." She blinked, her features softening just a fraction. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. "I’ve been working on something. For you."

“For me?” she asked, brows raising slightly.

“Yeah.” He looked at her briefly before glancing away again, his lips twitching with nervous energy. "Cookies. I’ve been trying to bake cookies for you. For Christmas. I thought… you’re always cooking for me, always doing things to make my life easier. I wanted to do something for you. Something meaningful." He exhaled roughly, the words spilling out faster now. "But I’m awful at it. Every batch gets worse, and I’ve been so damn focused on trying to get it right that I didn’t even realize how I was shutting you out."

As his story progressed, she could see the tension in his posture, the way his hands flexed and fidgeted at his sides, and his eagerness to make things right even as he stumbled over his words. Her expression shifted, the initial frustration melting into something gentler as she bit her lip, her emotions caught between amusement and tenderness.

“Bucky,” she murmured, stepping forward before he could say more. She dropped the bakery bag and hugged him tightly, her arms wrapping around his waist.

He froze for a moment before leaning into the embrace, his arms hesitantly circling her back. They stayed like that, wrapped in silence, until she broke the quiet.

"You could’ve just bought me a can of cookies, you know. Then I could’ve used it to put my sewing supplies in there.”

He let out a low laugh against her hair. "Yeah, but what kind of gesture would that be?"

"A less stressful one," she teased, pulling back just enough to look up at him, with a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Maybe," he admitted, his blue eyes searching hers. "But it wouldn’t have been the same."

“How about this,” she began, her voice soft yet playful. “We make them together.”

Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Together?”

“Yeah,” she said, her smile widening. “I’ll teach you how to make them. We’ll turn it into a little… date. You’ll learn how to do it right, and my gift will be spending time with you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a raised brow. “Before you argue, think about it. I don’t need some perfect Christmas cookies, Bucky. I’d much rather spend time with you, and make sure you don’t burn your kitchen down in the process.”

He hesitated, then gave her a slow nod. “Alright. We’ll make ‘em together.” Then a determined smile played on his lips. If learning to bake with her would give him another shot at perfecting those cookies on his own later, it was a win-win. And this time, he wouldn’t mess it up.

That afternoon, as planned, Bucky arrived at her house. When she opened the door, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him standing there with two overstuffed grocery bags in hand.

“You didn’t have to bring everything-,” she started, stepping aside to let him in.

“I did,” he cut in firmly, gripping the bags. “I’m the one learning here, and I’ll be damned if you’re the one paying for my mess-ups.”

She chuckled. “Don’t sell yourself short just yet. You might have a hidden talent.”

He gave her a doubtful look but didn’t argue. Turning fully to her, he gave her a quick, self-conscious smile before she leaned up to kiss him, a soft, reassuring press of her lips against his.

“Come on,” she said, pulling back and taking his hand. “I’ve got everything set up.”

She led him to the kitchen, where bowls, measuring cups, and utensils were neatly arranged. A checkered white-and-blue apron lay folded on the counter, which she promptly picked up and handed to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the apron like it might bite.

“Your apron,” she said simply, unfolding it and holding it up to him. “It’s going to save you from ruining that nice shirt of yours. Plus, it suits you.”

He muttered something under his breath about dignity, but he didn’t resist when she slipped it over his head and tied the strings at his back. She stepped back, tilting her head as if admiring her handiwork.

“There. Perfect,” she said with a grin.

He shook his head, but his lips twitched in a faint smile. “Alright, what now?”

“Well, first,” she began, pulling out a notebook and pen, “which recipe were you trying?”

Bucky hesitated, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… if you’ve got a favorite, we could try that instead.”

“Nope,” she replied, crossing her arms with a playful smile. “This is your project. I want to see what you picked.”

His ears turned red as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled recipe card with his handwriting, handing it to her.

She smoothed it out, scanning the list of ingredients and instructions. “Alright,” she said, looking up at him with an amused and encouraging smile. “Let’s see if we can make some magic happen.”

Bucky grabbed an elastic band from his back pocket, pulling his hair back and tying it into a short ponytail. His movements were quick and practiced, but to her, it was a sight worth pausing for.

“You know,” she said, leaning against the counter with a teasing grin, “you look ridiculously handsome like that.”

He glanced at her, his cheeks warming as he muttered, “It’s just a hairdo for workin’. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Still counts,” she replied with a shrug, stepping closer to nudge his arm.

He ducked his head with a quiet huff but didn’t say more, focusing instead on the task at hand.

When they started reading through the recipe together, Bucky's brow furrowed in concentration. “Okay,” he muttered, “this part says a cup.” As he spoke, he reached for a mug she hadn’t even noticed sitting on the counter, a large, oversized thing that looked more suited for a vat of coffee than precise measurements. She blinked, then glanced up at him.

“Bucky,” she said gently, pointing at the mug, “what have you been using for this?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight. “Uh… one from my cupboard,” he admitted, his tone almost defensive. “The grey one with the red star?”

Her lips twitched, and she pressed them together to suppress a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Not all cups are the same, especially when you’re baking. It’s not about a drinking cup, it’s about measuring cups.”

She picked up her set of cups, holding them up for him to see. “These are what you use for recipes. They’re standardized so everything comes out the way it’s supposed to.”

Bucky looked between the measuring cups and his oversized mug, realization dawning on his face. “So… that’s why every batch turned out so bad,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Baking is like chemistry.” She added with a chuckle, “The right proportions make everything work smoothly. I guess you didn’t differentiate the size of the spoons either.” When she saw his disappointed face she reached up to gently pat his shoulder. “You’re not alone. A lot of people make these mistakes when they start. That’s why we’re doing this together.”

They moved through the recipe step by step, she perched beside him, offering quiet guidance while letting him take the lead. Bucky tried to focus on the instructions, but each step felt like a puzzle missing a crucial piece. As he measured out flour and sugar, he couldn’t help but second-guess every motion, leveling off scoops with exacting care that bordered on obsession.

It wasn’t just the baking, it was her watching him. Her eyes followed his hands with a soft patience that should’ve soothed him, but instead left him hyper-aware of every move he made. He could feel her gaze like a weight, one he didn’t know how to carry. His shoulders stiffened further when he noticed a bit of flour scatter onto the counter.

When he started mixing the dough, frustration began to creep in. “This stuff doesn’t want to combine,” he muttered, glaring down at the stubbornly clumpy mixture.

She leaned closer, brushing her hand lightly against his back as she peered into the bowl. Her touch sent a jolt through him, not unpleasant, just… distracting. “It takes a little patience,” she said softly. “You’re doing fine, Bucky. Really.”

He wanted to believe her, but self-doubt crept intrusive inside him. What if I screw this up? The thought lingered on a loop, heavy and unwelcome. He worked the spatula harder, tension tightening his jaw and making his movements stiff.

She noticed, of course she did. She always noticed. Setting her utensils aside, she slipped an arm around his waist, pulling herself close to his side. Her nose brushed against his chest as she nuzzled him gently, the warmth of her body cutting through the wall he didn’t even realize he’d been building.

“Relax,” she murmured, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You’re not dismantling a bomb here. No one’s born knowing everything, and you came today to learn. That’s already the hardest part.”

He let out a breath, her words chipping away some of the tension clawing at him. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his movements were still careful and deliberate as if the dough would mock him for messing up.

She tilted her head, a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. He recognized that look and braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what she did next. Without a word, she grabbed his hand, still sticky with half-mixed dough, and brought it to her mouth.

His eyes widened as two of his fingers disappeared between her lips. The room stilled, and his focus narrowed to her. Her tongue swirled over his skin, warm and deliberate, as she sucked the dough clean. His heart thudded against his ribs, his breath catching somewhere in his throat.

“What… what are you doing?” he managed, his voice raspier than intended.

She released his fingers with a soft pop and a smug expression. “Waking you up,” she teased. “And there’s no way you could disappoint me anyway. I’ve barely been paying attention to the recipe.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

Her lips curled into a grin as her gaze swept over him, slow and deliberate. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Big guy in my kitchen, wearing my apron, looking way too good with his hair pulled back. Take your pick.”

Heat crawled up his neck, but he couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to the bowl.

When the time came to cut the cookies, Bucky rummaged through one of the bags he’d brought and pulled out a set of festive cookie cutters. He laid them on the counter, and she squealed in delight, clapping her hands together.

“These are so cute!” she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over.

Bucky’s half-smile turned bigger. “Yeah?”

She nodded enthusiastically, picking up one of the cutters shaped like a snowflake. “Good choice, honey.”

His chest warmed at her praise, and for once, he didn’t feel quite so out of his depth. They worked side by side together, cutting the dough into cheerful shapes. She was quick, deftly pressing cutters into the rolled-out dough and transferring each piece to the baking tray with practiced ease. He followed her lead, slower but methodical, determined to match her precision.

In what felt like no time, the oven was full of cookies, their sweet, buttery scent already starting to fill the kitchen. Bucky leaned back against the counter, pulling her into his side with one arm. She nestled into him, her head resting against his chest as they both stared at the timer ticking down.

“You’re getting pretty domestic.” she teased, tilting her head up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, her lips lingering there for a moment. “So,” she began, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “how are you planning to decorate these?”

He froze. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the trays, panic flickering in his blue eyes. “I, uh…” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t… I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Her laughter was light but not unkind. “It’s okay,” she said, patting his chest reassuringly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“That wasn’t the idea,” he protested, frowning. “This is supposed to be my thing. For you.”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll teach you how to make royal icing, and then you’re on your own.”

The timer dinged, and they set about transferring the cookies to cooling racks. Once the cookies were ready, she walked him through the steps of making royal icing, from mixing the powdered sugar to coloring small batches with food dye.

At first, his hands were clumsy, unfamiliar with the delicate work of piping, but soon enough, Bucky found his rhythm. He focused intently on each cookie, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he carefully outlined a reindeer’s antlers or added intricate snowflake details.

She stood back, watching with growing amazement. “You’ve got a steady hand,” she remarked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter.

He shrugged, still concentrating. “I’ve had practice. Just… not with this.”

By the time he finished, the cookies were nothing short of impressive. Each one was decorated with precision, from cheerful Santas to elegant wreaths. He turned to her, brushing a streak of flour from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Well?”

She grinned, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “They’re perfect, Bucky.”

The sky was painted in soft strokes of pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Bucky stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping after hours spent hunched over the kitchen counter. “I’ll leave the cookies here to set overnight,” he said, glancing at the rows of perfectly iced cookies spread across her counter. “But I need to head over to the workshop. Got some decorations to drop off.”

“Decorations?” she asked, tilting her head.

He nodded toward the door. “Yeah, Sam thought it’d be nice if everyone pitched in this year. Made something personal for the display. I’ve got mine in the truck.”

Her face lit up. “Can I come? I’ll help you set everything up.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in her gaze was hard to resist. “Alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Let’s go.”

By the time they reached the workshop, the place was dark and locked up for the evening. Bucky fished his keys out of his pocket, the metal jingling softly in the quiet air. “Here we are,” he muttered, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.

The workshop smelled faintly of sawdust and varnish, even in the chill of winter. A few decorations already hung from the rafters: wooden stars, garlands crafted from pinecones, and even a clumsily painted reindeer that had Sarah’s handiwork written all over it.

She wandered further inside, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in the holiday cheer. “This is so cozy,” she said, her voice echoing softly in the empty space.

Bucky stepped past her, setting a large box on the workbench. She peeked inside, her grin widening as she spotted a tangle of string lights. “Oh, these are perfect! Did you really make these?”

“They’re just lights,” he replied with a shrug, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed his modesty.

She picked up a strand and held it aloft, the tiny bulbs catching the last traces of daylight filtering through the workshop windows. “No, I can tell you put effort into this, they are gorgeous.”

Her words made his chest tighten, and a mix of pride and awkwardness settled over him. “Come on,” he said, reaching for the box. “Let’s get these up.”

They worked side by side, untangling the string lights with care. She gently teased him when he accidentally knotted a section tighter, but as they kept at it, she couldn’t help but praise him again.

“You’re so good at manual labor,” she said, handing him the next strand. “Carpentry at Sam’s, the cookies earlier, fixing things around my place... and now these lights? Is there anything you can’t do?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile, but her words stirred darker thoughts within him. Oh, if she only knew what else his hands were good at. Things that involve a knife, a rifle, or worse. The memories flickered like a shadow across his mind, a sharp contrast to the festive glow they were creating.

“Bucky?” Her soft voice pulled him from the spiral.

“Hm?” he mumbled, blinking as he looked at her.

“Maybe you could make some lights for me next year,” she suggested.

He exhaled softly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. “Sure.”

Sensing the remnants of whatever had crossed his mind, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his chest. Her embrace relaxed him, the warmth of her touch chasing away the cold corners of his thoughts.

“You still have the ponytail,” she pointed out, glancing up at him with a grin. “I love it.”

He rolled his eyes, though a faint flush touched his cheeks. “It’s practical,” he repeated, focusing on arranging the next strand of lights.

“It’s sexy,” she countered, her grin turning mischievous.

As he worked, her eyes fell on the remaining strand of lights still in the box, and a mischievous idea sparked in her mind.

“You know,” she began, picking up the last strand, “these could do more than just decorate the workshop.”

He looked up at her, brow raised. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

She shrugged, holding the strand up and letting it dangle between her fingers. “I don’t know. They seem sturdy enough to, I don’t know... tie something up?”

His head tilted, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the teasing edge in her tone. “You mean like a post?”

“Sure, Bucky. A post,” she replied, her lips quirking into a smirk.

He took a step toward her, his broad frame closing the gap between them. “Or something else?”

Her grin widened. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable. Without a word, he plucked the strand of lights from her hands and looped it loosely over her wrist. Her heart skipped, as he moved with the careful, deliberate precision she’d just been praising. Before she could react, he had her wrists gently bound together with the lights, tying them off to the sturdy handle of the workbench vice.

“Bucky,” she murmured, tugging lightly at the restraint, “I didn’t mean... here.”

His brow quirked, as he leaned back, casually admiring his handiwork. “Oh, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she squirmed a little, testing the hold. “What if someone comes in?”

“No one’s coming in,” he said, his voice calm and confident.

“You don’t know that,” she countered, her eyes darting toward the locked door as though willing it to stay closed.

He stepped closer, crowding her space in that way that always made her pulse race. “Well,” he drawled, one hand tracing the strand around her wrists, “you should’ve thought about that before suggesting this creative use for my handiwork.”

Her lips parted, a retort bubbling on her tongue, but it fizzled under the weight of his heated gaze. “I didn’t think you’d actually... do it,” she whispered.

“That so?” His voice was low, teasing as he leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. “Then maybe you shouldn’t dare me next time.”

Before she could muster a reply, his free hand cradled the back of her neck, pulling her into a rough, searing kiss. He took full advantage of her startled gasp to deepen it, lifting her effortlessly and laying her back on the workbench. Her arms were stretched above her head, her wrists binded to the workbench handle, a tether she couldn’t help but tug against instinctively.

“Bucky,” she breathed, her voice laced with a mix of arousal and reason. “We can’t... not here.”

“Can’t we?” he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. His hands, strong and sure, settled on her hips as he positioned himself between her legs.

Her protests faltered as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, trailing wet, deliberate kisses down to her collarbone.

“This is insane,” she whispered, though her fingers flexed against the strands holding her wrists.

“Maybe,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “But you don’t seem to mind.” Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, inviting his touch as he continued his slow, torturous path down her neck.

As he spoke, his hand traced up her thigh, slipping beneath the woolen skirt she’d worn to keep warm in the crisp winter air. His fingers traveled with deliberate slowness, brushing over her stocking-clad legs until they reached her mound, cupping it through her already damp panties. She gasped, tugging against the makeshift restraint at her wrists as his touch sent a jolt of heat through her body.

“In fact,” he murmured, pressing his fingers more firmly against her, “you’re enjoying it.”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t summon a denial, not with the way her body was reacting. He smirked at her silence, leaning back slightly to survey the sight of her stretched out on the workbench.

His hands shifted to her hips, sliding her skirt up higher, bunching it around her waist. His gaze darkened as he poked at her clothed entrance, watching the way she arched toward him, needing more. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he let out a low groan.

“The jacket stays on,” he growled, commanding. She blinked at him, a question forming at her lips, but he shook his head. “It’s cold, and I’m not letting you freeze on me.”

Before she could respond, he shrugged off his own jacket, tossing it onto a nearby stool. His hands moved to his belt, fumbling with the buckle and zipper in his urgency. “I was gonna take my time,” he admitted, his voice rough with restraint, “but seeing you like this…” His gaze raked over her, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her jacket, and the way her legs spread just enough to accommodate him. “I need you now, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted softly “I want you too, Bucky.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he tugged them down her thighs, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly before he discarded them onto the floor. His own pants and underwear followed in quick succession, pooling around his boots as he climbed back over her.

The heat of his body pressed against hers was a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His rough hands held her hips as he shifted between her legs and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss, grinding his cock against her slick folds. She moaned into his mouth, her body instinctively lifting toward him, chasing the friction.

“Fuck,” he rasped against her lips, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. “You feel so good, sugar. So wet for me.”

Her only response was another needy arch of her hips, and he growled softly, gripping her thighs as he lined himself up with her entrance. The tip of his cock teased her, as though he was savoring the moment despite his earlier haste.

“Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice raw with need, “please.”

His jaw tightened, his resolve barely hanging by a thread. “Don’t be impatient” he murmured, his voice a rough, gravelly tease. “I want to-” He broke off, swallowing hard as his cock pressed against her entrance, her heat almost enough to make him lose control. “I want to just fuck you right now, but I didn’t prep you. I’m not risking hurting you.”

She groaned in frustration, her head tipping back against the workbench. In her heated state, her filter was long gone. “I don’t care, Bucky. I want it all, right now.”

His blue eyes snapped to hers, darkened with lust but narrowing with a hint of reproach. “Don’t say things like that,” he growled with a strained voice. “You’re making this harder for me.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile, even as she squirmed beneath him. “Good.”

Bucky let out a low, frustrated groan, his hands gripping her hips a little tighter. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was no real heat in his words. She could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as he fought to stay focused.

He shifted, one hand moving between them to guide himself, his other hand keeping her firmly in place. Slowly, carefully, he began to push inside, stopping to let her adjust with each inch. Her walls stretched around him, the delicious burn making her moan, her bound wrists pulling reflexively against the lights as she arched her back.

She whimpered his name, her legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer. “More,” she pleaded, her breath coming in short, needy gasps.

“Darlin' I’m trying,” he rasped, pausing to catch his breath, his forehead pressing against hers. “But you gotta let me take care of you.”

Her head tilted, her eyes locking with his, and there was so much trust and desire in her gaze that it almost undid him. “You are, Bucky,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I need it now.”

His restraint cracked, and with a low groan, he pushed deeper, sinking into her inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her.

Bucky groaned as her walls clenched around him. She mewled softly, tilting her head back, her bound wrists tugging at the lights as she instinctively moved her hips upward, desperate for more.

“See?” she murmured, her lips brushing his, her breath warm and teasing. “I told you I could take it.”

His jaw tightened, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. “You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to thrust forward again, deliberately slow despite the tension tightening every muscle in his body.

Her whimper sent a jolt of desire straight through him, her legs tightening around his hips as she arched up to meet his shallow movements. “Please, baby,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “I need you to move.”

“Just… wait,” he ground out, his jaw tight as he tried to keep himself in check. His restraint was hanging by a thread, but he was determined to go slow, to make it good for her despite the fire licking at his nerves. The way she shifted beneath him, her hips rolling against his, hot, wet, and utterly desperate, was unraveling him inch by inch.

And then she did it, arching her back, her chest pressing into his, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip before her tongue darted out to soothe the sting. “Please,” she whispered, her voice sultry, pleading, her eyes locking onto his with wild abandon.

He snapped.

With a guttural groan, he slammed into her, hard and deep. She cried out, a sharp sound that made him freeze with guilt.

“Shit,” he muttered, his body taut with tension. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head furiously, her eyes glassy with need as she squirmed beneath him. “No. God, no,” she whimpered, her voice broken. “Don’t stop. Please, Bucky, don’t stop.”

He exhaled slowly, rough and ragged as he fought to steady himself. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, with a strained voice.

He started again, his movements slow at first, but the way her body responded to him, -arching, trembling, pushing- had his resolve crumbling all over again. He tried to quicken his pace, thrust harder, deeper, but the workbench beneath them was unforgivingly hard, and he growled in frustration, halting mid-thrust. With a muttered curse, he pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips, lifting them slightly as he pushed her skirt higher and entered her again, this time setting a punishing pace, the new angle pulling a sharp cry from her lips.

“Better?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You just couldn’t wait, didn’t you?” he grunted, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he drove into her.

Her only response was a desperate moan, her hips rolling back against him as though to urge him deeper.

The sight of her body rippling down his, her restrained hands trying to hold onto something, and her flushed face pressed against the wood was enough to drive him wild. “Look at you,” he muttered. “So perfect like this, all laid out for me.” He pulled back, straightening, and gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks as he plunged into her with renewed force. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as he pushed her higher and higher.

Every time she gasped his name, every shudder that ran through her body, spurred him on. He felt her tense and start to tremble, and he knew she was close. His fingers slid down to where they were joined, brushing against her clit, and she nearly screamed, trembling and spiraling closer to the edge.

“Come on,” he murmured, rough and coaxing. “I know you’re close. Give it to me, sweetheart.”

Her body obeyed before her mind caught up, crying out his name, dragging him into his own release with a hoarse groan as he buried himself deep inside her one last time.

They stayed like that for a moment, his body draped over hers, ragged breaths mingling in the chilled air of the workshop. He pressed a soft kiss at the back of her neck, and gently napped the sensitive skin peeking through her jacket.

As the heat of the moment faded, a flicker of practicality broke through the haze clouding Bucky’s mind. His gaze drifted to the polished surface of the workbench beneath her, and a realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. If he weren’t careful, they’d leave an undeniable -and very permanent- mark on the wood.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pressing another soft kiss to the nape of her neck.

Her head turned slightly. “What’s wrong?” she asked, voice soft and hoarse from her cries moments ago.

“The bench,” he grumbled, his hands steadying her hips. “I didn’t think it through. If we…” He hesitated, the thought of explaining a stain on the workbench’s varnish almost as mortifying as the act itself.

Her chuckle was low and warm. “Are you serious?” she teased, her body still pliant under his hands.

“Very. Sam’ll notice, and I’m not about to answer questions about this.”

“Fine,” she giggled, smirking over her shoulder. “So, what’s the plan?”

First, he tugged at the string to sever it and free her from the handle, then, instead of pulling out abruptly, he eased back, his hands steady on her hips as he helped her shift, guiding her carefully to sit on his lap. Her knees wobbled, still weak from the ordeal

“Bucky,” she began, her voice playful but still breathless, “if this is your way of sweeping me off my feet-”

“Shut up,” a soft laugh rumbled from his chest. He adjusted his grip, shifting slightly until he was closer to the edge of the workbench. With a deliberate steadiness, he leaned forward and gently lowered her until her feet touched the cold floor.

She gasped at the chill against her bare toes, instinctively leaning back into his warmth as she steadied herself. “Not exactly a graceful dismount,” she quipped, her lips curving into a smirk as her hands found his forearms for balance.

Bucky winced, a hint of pink creeping up his cheeks. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he muttered, half under his breath.

She grinned, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “You can thank the Wild West novel I’m working on for that one.”

His brow arched as he helped her steady herself. “Oh, so you traded the laird’s sword for the cowboy’s long gun, huh?”

Her laugh bubbled out, leaning into him as her shoulders shook. “You know,” she teased, poking his chest lightly, “you’re catching on a little too quickly to these tropes.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to her wrists, still loosely bound by the string of lights he severed from the bench. His lips quirked into a mischievous smirk as he reached down, gripping the strand and giving it a gentle tug. “Oh, maybe I’m just entertaining the idea of you being my captive, in retaliation for the sheriff messing with my business,” he said, his voice low and playful.

Her laughter cut off with a soft gasp, and she feet her cheeks starting to heat. “Y-you talk about your sister’s novels,” she stammered, narrowing her eyes at him. “But I’m starting to think you’ve totally read this kind of thing. As a horny teenager, or… I don’t know!”

He chuckled. “You think I spent my teenage years reading romance novels?

“Well,” she said, her tone turning playful, “not everyone had the internet back then, and I’m sure there was a limit to how many dirty magazines a boy could buy with his allowance. Especially in a small town.”

Bucky’s brow shot up. “Dirty magazines, huh?”

She grinned, shrugging as she leaned into him. “What can I say? I can totally imagine young, innocent Bucky Barnes, desperate for... enlightenment, flipping through anything he could get his hands on.”

“I didn’t-“

“Don’t try to deny it. It’s not like you had endless options. A boy’s gotta make do.”

Bucky shook his head, his ears visibly red as he muttered, “We are not having this conversation.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” she teased, her grin widening as she poked his chest again, delighting in his flustered expression. “Come on, enlighten me. What did you do for fun in a town like this as a teenager?”

“Worked,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as if that would end the conversation.

“Worked?” she echoed, incredulous. “That’s it? No sneaking out, no rebellious shenanigans, no awkward first crushes?”

Bucky sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor as if avoiding hers might shield him from the conversation. “I guess eventually you’ll find out,” he muttered, “since it seems the people of this town love to gossip like it’s a local sport.”

She tilted her head, intrigued by his sudden reluctance. “Oh? And what juicy tidbit am I missing out on?”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before finally relenting. “I was... erm, popular with the girls ’round here,” he said, his voice low and gruff, like he was confessing a crime.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she barely contained a laugh. “Popular? Like, homecoming king popular or...?”

“Not exactly,” he cut in quickly, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Let’s just say I didn’t exactly have to grab a magazine to see... you know...” He trailed off, making a vague gesture with his hand that only deepened the flush on his cheeks.

Her mouth fell open in mock shock, one hand flying to her chest. “Bucky Barnes,” she gasped, “are you telling me you were the town’s resident heartbreaker?”

“I didn’t say that!” he shot back, his ears turning red.

“You didn’t not say it,” she teased, leaning closer with a wicked grin. “Now I need details. How many hearts did you leave shattered? How many windows did you sneak out of at the crack of dawn?”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he insisted, though his flustered tone betrayed him. “And I didn’t sneak out of anyone’s window, thank you very much.”

Bucky’s hand dropped from his face, his expression shifting into something more subdued. “Anyway,” he said, his voice quieter, “it was a long time ago. Sometimes it feels like it was another life.”

Her playful grin softened at his tone, her teasing instinctively halting as she watched him carefully.

“I left the town when I enlisted,” he continued, glancing away as if looking for the right words. “And only came back after fifteen years. When they...” His jaw tightened for a moment before he finished, “...decided I wasn’t enough anymore to be serving.”

Her heart ached at the weight of his words and she stepped closer, reaching for his hands as she studied his face. “Bucky…”

He shook his head slightly, offering a small, forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “’s fine,” he said, though the tightness in his tone suggested otherwise.

Her grip on his hands tightened. “You’re more than enough. To me. To everyone who really knows you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile turned genuine, though still tinged with a trace of sadness.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

Suddenly she sneezed, the sound sudden and sharp, breaking the fragile silence that had settled between them. Bucky blinked as if pulled out of a trance, and his gaze swept over the two of them.

He was naked from the waist down, her feet still bare on the cold workshop floor. His brows knitted together as he tousled his hair, a flush creeping up his neck. Without a word, he reached for his boxers, handing them to her in a silent but clear gesture.

She took them, understanding immediately, and began to clean herself as he turned away slightly, reaching for his pants. The sound of fabric sliding and belts clicking filled the space, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Once his jeans were on and fastened, he turned back to her with a soft expression. “We should go. We already did what we came to do…” his lips quirked in a faint, amused smirk, “and more. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

She stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Do you really have to go back to the cabin?” she asked, her voice gentle but hopeful. “My house is closer to the workshop. You could sleep a little longer before work... and you’d get a proper breakfast.”

Bucky paused, studying her face as if weighing her offer. “You trying to bribe me with food?” he asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

She arched a brow, feigning indignation, “Do I really have to bribe you to sleep with me?” she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head.

“I-” He opened his mouth, then closed it, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted to the floor. “T-that’s not what I meant,” he muttered.

She tiptoed and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “I know, honey,” she murmured, affectionally. “I was just messing with you.”

“Still,” she continued, her eyes searching his face as her hands settled gently on his chest. “Will you come? I really missed my man these days of cookie quarantine.”

Every time she called him her man, Bucky’s chest swelled with an unspoken pride. His blush crept up from his collar, painting his cheeks faintly pink as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a low murmur, a small but shy smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll give my woman whatever she needs.”

Her grin was warm and triumphant, and she gave his chest a playful pat. “Good answer,” she said.

Bucky chuckled softly, pulling her into a loose embrace. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, you know that?”

She tilted her head, an amused glint in her eyes. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice lilting with curiosity. “Well, if you were a little more selfish, you’d know that you could ask me anything, and I’d give it to you.”

His brow furrowed slightly at her words, the teasing note in her voice doing little to mask the sincerity beneath them. “Anything?” he asked softly as if testing the weight of her promise.

She nodded, her fingers brushing lightly over his chest. “Anything,” she confirmed warmly.

For a moment, Bucky didn’t reply. Then he gave her a faint smile, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a soft arc along her back.

His gaze flickered to the window where the night stretched on and cleared his throat. “We should head back,” he suggested. Then, after a beat, his lips quirked into a soft smirk, and he added, almost shyly, “Maybe I’m feeling a little selfish tonight.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, the corner of her mouth tugging into a grin. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Bucky shrugged, his hand drifting to the small of her back as he gently nudged her toward the door. “Guess you’ll just have to come home with me and find out.”

Dividers by: @/saradika

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