#at least I'm leaving in december | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ferociouslycreativemystery · 5 months ago

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En såndär bockjävel eller vad fan det heter

↳ sytråd och virknål 0,6 mm + bonus: biblically accurate julbock

Note: I moved this under a read more since donations can no longer be made here. Feel free to make some to a charity of your choice though!

Did you know it used to be the Christmas goat that brought you your presents in Sweden?

To keep the spirit alive, you can officially make a donation in the name of this little crochet goat to support everyone's right to survive their pregnancy! Just go to this link and follow these steps:

Please note that this collection only remains active until 15 Dec 2024! More information about the organisers can be found at the bottom of this post.

On the right hand side/top of the linked page, you can see the current sum of donations. Below that are some options we need to fill out to make a donation of our own.

First we need to disclose whether the donation is being made by a private individual (Privatperson) or a business (Företag). I'm assuming you're a private individual, so leave the first option selected (on the left).

Next we choose the method of payment. "Swish" is a Swedish payment service that won't work for foreigners, and if you're Swedish I'm assuming you already know how it works. Foreigners, please choose the second option to pay by card (Kort).

Now for the fun bit! How much do you want to donate? The standard options are presented in Swedish krona (kr). I have put the rough exchange rates to US dollars for each option below:

50 kr ≈ $4.56 | 100 kr ≈ $9.13 | 300 kr ≈ $27.38

You can convert from your currency to Swedish krona using this tool. Just choose your own currency in the first drop-down menu ("from").

In the final field you have the option to instead enter your own amount, if you want to give less or more or in between any of the previous options. Note that the amount you enter is in Swedish krona, so look up the exchange rates so that you know how much you are giving if you choose this option!!

The final two check boxes are options that relate to the public display of your donation (see the bottom of the page). If you don't check either option, your donation amount will be visible but your name will not be.

Check the first box if you want your name to show up in the public list of donations, leave it unchecked to remain anonymous. Check the second box if you want to hide the amount you've donated, leave it unchecked to show the world your donation amount.

Finally, hit the red button to be taken to the payment page. Fulfil the payment, and be sure to double check the amount you're donating. Note that we use commas instead of dots to separate decimals in Swedish, so 50,00 kr means simply 50 kr.

And that's it! Thank you so much for your donation!! 🥳🐐

Please reblog this post so that more people will hopefully donate, or at least get to enjoy a tiny Gävlebock!

What is this charity thing?

Musikhjälpen is an annual charity event organised by the Swedish public broadcasters. Every year in December, 3 hosts are locked in a glass cage for a week and they broadcast in shifts, nonstop for 144 hours (6 days, 24 hours per day) to create an occasion for charity donations. They are visited by various music artist, celebrities, and talk to people who have special knowledge about the donation theme of the year or who organise initiatives for donations. You can watch clips of previous performances on their youtube channel here.

The event's official donations website also allows the public to set up their own "initiatives", to which donations can be made. This is what I have done! The money goes directly to the event organisers (the public broadcasters' aid agency, Radiohjälpen), who then pool all the money that is collected during the week. After the week is done they will begin portioning it out to trusted charities that are relevant to this year's theme. This year's theme is Alla har rätt att överleva sin graviditet, or in English: Everyone Has a Right to Survive Their Pregnancy.

Learn more about musikhjälpen on English Wikipedia or on Sveriges radio's website (in Swedish).

If you prefer, the goat will be just as happy if you make a donation to a charity of your choice. You'll have to find links to other causes on your own though! 😊

I should probably also mention that I am in no way officially affiliated with Gävlebocken, I just crocheted a little guy and thought it would be nice to spread some constructive spirit among all the calls for arson. 😇

#got a bunch of old crochet hooks from my grandmother in gästrikland (where gävle is)#so of course this had to be the first project I made with them #that said. fuck those horns #stitching it all together was fun though #tiny crafting is my favourite #maddie's yarn tag #gävlebocken #gävle goat #gavlebocken #gavle goat #sweblr #all makt åt tengil vår befriare #sa du sten #crochet #crochetblr #fiber art #fiber crafts #musikhjälpen

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noirscript · 1 month ago

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filial son

(note: happy new year, everyone! thanks for hanging around despite my inactivity most of the time. enjoy!)

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Iori Ishimoto was your boyfriend.

The perfect one, at first.

A man so impossibly kind, so utterly devoted, that it seemed like the universe had crafted him just for you. He was attentive in ways no one else had ever been, watching you with a quiet, unwavering focus that made you feel seen. Cherished. Safe.

At least, that’s what you had believed.

You used to think his devotion was something tender, something precious—how he memorized your coffee order after the first date, how he always pulled you closer on crowded sidewalks, how he texted good morning and good night without fail. He paid attention. To the little things, the fleeting moments. If you sighed after a long day, he already knew what to say to make you smile. If you shivered, his jacket was already around your shoulders before you could even register the cold.

At first, it had been sweet. Then, it became inescapable.

Three months into the relationship, the world around you began to shrink.

At first, it was just your friends cancelling on plans—apologies sent in rushed texts, one after the other, until it became a pattern too obvious to ignore. Then, it was Iori’s misfortunes, so conveniently timed. He would get injured, sick, called away for an emergency right when you were supposed to meet someone.

At first, you dismissed it as coincidence.

But coincidences don’t happen every time.

And so, you tested it.

You didn’t tell him about the next meetup.

Left your phone at home, used cash instead of your card, picked a small café off the beaten path—one he’d never taken you to, one you’d never mentioned before.

And for the first time in months, you felt free.

The café was quiet, filled with the rich aroma of coffee and warm pastries, the soft hum of conversations blending into the background. The familiarity of your friends’ faces brought a deep, forgotten sense of normalcy, of comfort.

But that comfort lasted only a few fleeting minutes.

Something was off.

You noticed it in the way your friends hugged you—warm, but stiff, their hands lingering on your shoulders a second too long, as if checking for something. Their smiles didn’t reach their eyes. They kept glancing at each other, communicating in small, unspoken gestures, their voices light but their shoulders tense.

Then there was Gio.

He sat beside you, close, but not in the way a friend usually would. It was protective. Guarded. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his glass of iced tea, his other hand sliding under the table.

A crumpled napkin pressed into your palm.

Confused, you smoothed it out beneath the table.

Your breath caught.

"Don't look behind you. He's in the café."

A chill crawled up your spine.

You swallowed hard, hands suddenly clammy against the paper.

The urge to turn around was overwhelming. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against your back, an unnatural heaviness in the air making it hard to breathe.

Your grip on the napkin tightened.

He was here.

He had always been here.

Gio’s voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the forced conversation around you. "Are you sure about staying with him?"

Your fingers curled tighter around the napkin.

Iori was kind to you. Gentle. He had never raised his voice, never hurt you. But still, something dark and nameless slithered beneath your skin, something that had been growing for months but had never fully taken shape until now.

"You don't have to stay," Gio murmured. "If things ever—" He exhaled sharply. "If things ever get bad, call me. Call any of us. We'll come for you."

The words should have comforted you.

But instead, they felt like a warning.

And then—

A hand brushed against your shoulder.

You flinched.

One of your friends laughed, the sound loud, abrupt—too forced. A distraction. A diversion. You knew it before you even heard his voice.

"Hey," Iori greeted warmly.

The world around you dimmed.

Slowly, carefully, you turned.

He was smiling.

Calm. Casual. Like this was any other day, like he had just happened to find you here by chance. His dark eyes met yours, unreadable, unwavering.

"I thought you were home today," he said softly.

Your pulse was a deafening roar in your ears.

"I—" The lie caught in your throat, sticky and suffocating.

Iori tilted his head, expression unreadable. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached out and plucked the napkin from your hands.

Unfolded it.

Read it.

The smile never left his face.

But his fingers curled slowly around the paper, crumpling it again.

For a moment, everything was too quiet.

Then he chuckled. "You always were easily spooked."

The tension shattered with the ease of his voice, like glass breaking in slow motion.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Your friends forced laughter. Someone made a joke. You smiled, pretended.

And yet, when Iori placed a hand on your back, guiding you out of the café, you didn’t resist.

Didn’t even try.

Because somehow, you knew—

It was already too late.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

You shouldn't have lied when he asked about your day.

Iori had already known. He had always known.

The last thing you remembered was dinner—the soft clink of silverware, the rich taste of wine, the warmth spreading through your body.

Then—nothing.

When you woke, everything was soft. The sheets smelled of fresh linen, the room quiet, dimly lit.

But your body ached.

A deep, lingering soreness, as if you hadn’t moved in days.

Iori sat beside you, fingers idly threading through your hair.

"The pests wouldn’t stop calling," he murmured, his voice light, casual. "So I had to block them all."

Your throat was dry.

He turned your phone over in his palm, watching you. "Oh, and your mother called. She was surprised to hear about me."

The words sent a deep, suffocating dread curling around your ribs.

"You never mentioned me to them." His fingers smoothed over your cheek, deceptively tender. "Are you ashamed of me?"

You swallowed.

"Or..." His grip tightened, fingers curling into your hair.

A sharp pull.

Your gasp barely escaped before his hand yanked your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Your breath shuddered out. His eyes searched yours, waiting. Watching.

Then, after a long moment, he released you.

"I’ll let this pass," he murmured, smoothing your hair back into place. "This time."

Your entire body trembled.

"But there won’t be a next time."

You nodded frantically, a pathetic, desperate movement.

Iori smiled.

"We're visiting your family this weekend," he continued, as if nothing had happened. "I’ll prepare everything for you. As usual."

And deep down, you knew—

You would never truly leave him again.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The drive to your family home was quiet.

Too quiet.

Iori’s hands rested easily on the steering wheel, his posture relaxed as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t drugged you. As if he hadn’t pulled your hair back so hard you had to check for bruising at the base of your skull.

He hummed softly, the tune familiar but distant, like something you’d once heard in a dream. The world outside the window blurred past—gray skies, passing cars, the skeletal remains of trees shedding their leaves in the cold.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

But every now and then, his fingers reached across the console to brush against yours.

A gentle, lingering touch.

A reminder.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling deep in your gut.

You had considered running.

Last night, when he finally fell asleep beside you, you had shifted your aching body to the edge of the bed, inch by inch. His breath had been slow and steady, his warmth suffocating against your side. If you could just make it to the door—

But then his hand had curled around your wrist, fingers tightening.

Even in his sleep, he didn’t let you go.

And in that moment, you had known.

There was no escaping him.

Not now.

Not ever.

The car slowed as he turned onto the familiar street of your childhood home. The sight of it—warm light spilling through the windows, the faint outline of your mother in the kitchen—should have comforted you.

Instead, it made the air in your lungs feel like lead.

Iori parked the car, put it in park, and turned to you. His dark eyes softened, his lips curving into something affectionate.

"Ready, sweetheart?"

You forced a nod.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

"Good girl."

The words made your stomach churn.

You stepped out of the car, legs stiff, body tense.

The moment the front door opened, your mother beamed, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling you into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetie! It’s been so long!"

Her embrace should have felt safe. Should have felt like home.

But all you could feel was Iori’s presence behind you.

Standing close. Watching.

His hand found the small of your back, warm and claiming.

Your mother’s attention shifted, her eyes lighting up as she turned to him. "And this must be Iori!"

He smiled—charming, polite, the perfect son-in-law.

"Thank you for having me, ma’am," he said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. "It’s an honor to finally meet you."

Your mother practically swooned. "Oh, you’re just lovely! Come in, come in! I was just finishing up in the kitchen. Your father is in the living room."

She ushered you both inside, the scent of roasted meat and warm spices thick in the air.

Iori's fingers never left your back.

You could feel them through the fabric of your sweater, tracing slow, absent patterns.

Possessive.

The living room was warm and familiar—framed family photos lining the walls, the soft hum of classical music playing from the radio. Your father sat in his usual chair, newspaper in hand.

He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Iori. A brief pause. Then, with a small nod, he stood, extending a hand.

"You must be the boyfriend," he said gruffly.

Iori shook his hand, his grip firm but respectful. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Your father grunted in approval before turning back to his paper.

Your mother, already smitten, pulled Iori toward the kitchen, gushing over how "handsome" he was and asking if he wanted tea.

You stayed in the doorway, fingers digging into the sleeves of your sweater.

Your father glanced at you over his paper, his brow furrowing slightly. "You okay, kid?"

The words nearly cracked something inside you.

Your lips parted. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, a leaden weight pressing against your ribs.

No.

I'm not okay.

Help me. Please, help me.

But then—

A shadow shifted in the corner of your vision.

You turned your head just enough to see Iori in the kitchen, talking with your mother, his posture relaxed.

And yet—

His gaze flicked to you.

Just for a second.

A brief, fleeting glance.

But it was enough.

Your throat closed.

Your fingers clenched tighter in your sleeves.

And the words never left your lips.

Instead, you forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired from the drive."

Your father grunted again, already losing interest.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Dinner was a blur of laughter and conversation, your mother practically feeding Iori herself, gushing over how wonderful he was, how lucky you were to have found such a devoted man.

Iori played the part effortlessly.

He smiled at your mother’s jokes, answered your father’s questions with perfect humility, refilled your drink before you even realized it was empty.

And through it all, his hand never left yours.

Lacing your fingers together beneath the table.

Tight.

Restraining.

A reminder.

By the time dinner ended, the air felt thick, suffocating.

Your mother clapped her hands together, eyes twinkling. "Why don’t you show Iori your room while we clean up?"

The words sent a spike of cold terror through your spine.

Iori turned to you, his smile soft, expectant.

You forced a laugh. "Oh, that’s—uh—probably not necessary. Iori’s probably tired from the drive—"

"Nonsense," your mother said, waving a hand. "We wouldn’t want to overwhelm our guest!"

Your stomach churned.

Iori’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured.

Your mother beamed.

And just like that, you knew.

There was no getting out of this.

Your legs felt heavy as you led him down the hallway, past framed childhood photos, past the memories of a life before him.

You opened the door to your room, stepping inside.

The second the door shut behind you—

His hands were on your hips.

His breath warm against your ear.

"You almost slipped," he murmured, voice light, teasing.

Your pulse pounded in your throat.

"I—"

His fingers trailed up your spine, slow, deliberate.

"But you didn’t," he praised, pressing a soft kiss just beneath your jaw. "Good girl."

Your stomach twisted violently.

His arms circled around you, pulling you against him, his chin resting atop your head.

"You belong with me," he whispered. "You know that, don’t you?"

You swallowed thickly.

He exhaled, content.

"Now," he murmured, "let’s practice what you’re going to say when they ask about us."

Your heart sank.

Because you already knew—

By the end of this night, whatever pieces of yourself you had left wouldn’t be yours anymore.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

You didn’t sleep that night.

The bed beneath you felt foreign, the childhood blankets that once brought you comfort now stifling, tangled around your legs like shackles. Iori’s warmth pressed against your back, his arm draped over your waist, his breath steady, unbothered.

You stayed still.

Motionless.

Even though every nerve in your body screamed at you to move.

Your parents were just down the hall. A locked door was the only thing keeping them from seeing what was really happening. You could run. You could scream.

But Iori’s fingers rested just over your ribs, his grip lax but ever-present. Even in sleep, he held on.

You had tried once before, after all.

The weight of that failure still ached in your bones.

The night stretched on, the darkness thick and suffocating. The faint glow from the streetlights cast long shadows against the walls, distorting the familiar childhood posters, twisting them into something sinister.

Time crawled.

You counted the hours by the distant chime of the grandfather clock downstairs. The whisper of wind against the window. The soft creak of the house settling.

Then—

A shift.

Iori’s fingers twitched against your side. His breath, once even, stuttered slightly before resuming its slow, measured pace.

Awake.

You knew it before he even moved.

His grip on your waist tightened—just enough for you to notice, just enough to remind you he knew you hadn’t slept either.

"Still awake, sweetheart?" His voice was soft, thick with sleep, his lips brushing against the back of your neck.

You swallowed hard.

A long pause. Then—

"I don’t blame you."

His fingers traced idle patterns against your stomach, slow, languid movements that sent a shudder crawling down your spine.

"It must be overwhelming, right?" His voice was gentle, affectionate. "Being back home. Seeing everyone."

His arm curled tighter around you, drawing you impossibly closer.

"But you’re not really home anymore, are you?"

Your body stiffened.

His lips pressed against your temple, slow, deliberate. "Your home is with me now."

Something cracked deep inside you.

And you hated that part of you that almost wanted to believe him.

The next morning was suffocating.

Your mother’s warmth, once comforting, now felt like a trap. She smiled so easily, beaming as she served breakfast, blissfully unaware of the noose tightening around your neck.

"Iori, dear, you have to try this!" She placed a plate in front of him, her eyes practically twinkling with delight. "This was always her favorite growing up!"

Iori chuckled, the sound light, natural. "Well, if it’s her favorite, then I’m sure I’ll love it."

Your stomach twisted.

Your mother wasn’t just charmed by him—she adored him. Every word from his lips was met with praise, every small courtesy met with gushing appreciation.

She had no idea.

No idea what he was.

No idea that you weren’t eating because of nausea, because the mere act of swallowing felt impossible under his watchful gaze.

"You two are just so adorable," your mother continued, pouring more tea into Iori’s cup. "I can tell how much he loves you."

The words sank into your skin like knives.

Iori turned to you then, his dark eyes soft, filled with something gentle—something manufactured.

"Of course I love her."

His hand found yours beneath the table, lacing his fingers through yours.

You couldn’t pull away.

Not here.

Not now.

He squeezed lightly, an encouragement.

Go on.

Say it back.

Your throat closed.

"She’s always been independent," your mother mused. "I worried she’d never find someone who truly understood her."

Iori’s smile didn’t waver. "She doesn’t have to do everything alone anymore."

There it was.

The final thread being cut.

Your mother—sweet, oblivious—nodded approvingly.

And just like that, you knew.

No one was coming to save you.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The drive home stretched on, the silence between you thick and pressing, a weight that sat heavy on your chest. The hum of the engine was steady, unbroken, but each passing mile felt like another nail being driven into the coffin of your freedom.

Iori’s hand rested on your thigh, a steady presence, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. He hadn’t spoken in a while, but he didn’t need to. His silence was calculated, deliberate—a leash wrapped around your throat, tightened just enough to remind you it was there.

Your family was behind you now. The warmth of your childhood home, the smell of your mother’s cooking, the feeling of safety that had once existed there—it was all gone. Or maybe it had never truly been there at all.

Because no one had seen it.

Not your mother, who had beamed at Iori like he was the best thing to ever happen to you. Not your father, whose watchful gaze had lingered, suspicious, but not enough to say anything. Not your friends, who had tried—who had warned you—but were now little more than distant voices blocked from your phone.

They had all let you leave with him.

And now, here you were, returning to the place you had once thought of as yours.

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed out the window, watching as the familiar city streets blurred past. The closer you got, the harder it became to breathe. The walls of your apartment—his apartment—were waiting for you. The locked doors. The carefully controlled world he had built around you, where every choice was his to make, every movement his to dictate.

"You did well today," Iori said suddenly, his voice smooth, warm, like the words were meant to soothe.

A chill crawled up your spine.

"You played your part beautifully," he continued, his fingers pressing just a little firmer against your thigh. "Your mother adores me now." A soft chuckle. "Not that I ever doubted she would."

You kept your mouth shut.

His thumb stroked your skin absently, a quiet, rhythmic motion. "And your father… well. He’s still watching, isn’t he?" Another laugh, quiet, amused. "But that’s alright. He’ll stop, eventually. They always do."

A lump formed in your throat.

You wanted to tell him he was wrong.

That your father wouldn’t stop watching. That he had seen something, even if he hadn’t said it aloud. That maybe—maybe—this wasn’t over yet.

But you knew better than to hope.

Iori never let anything slip from his control.

And if there was even the slightest chance of a problem—he would take care of it.

The realization settled in your bones, cold and heavy.

"You almost slipped up," he murmured, so casual, so easy, like he was commenting on the weather.

Your breath caught.

"You thought about saying something, didn’t you?"

The streetlights flickered through the windshield, painting his face in sharp shadows. You couldn’t see his expression fully, but you didn’t need to. You felt it.

Felt the weight of his eyes on you, waiting.

Judging.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling in the back of your throat.

"I—I wasn’t going to," you managed, your voice hoarse.

Iori hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Mmm." A sound of consideration. Thoughtful. "You’re lying."

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

The fingers on your thigh tightened.

Just enough to make you flinch.

The car slowed slightly, a deliberate action, as if he was giving you time to think.

"You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?"

There was no malice in his tone. No anger. Just soft, patient expectation.

A choice—one that wasn’t really a choice at all.

Your nails dug into your palms.

"No," you whispered.

The car accelerated again.

His grip on your thigh loosened, returning to slow, gentle strokes.

"That’s my girl."

The city grew closer, buildings towering, the streets narrowing as he turned onto the familiar road leading home.

Home.

The word felt foreign now.

The apartment complex loomed ahead, its windows dark and reflective, revealing nothing beyond the tinted glass. You used to find comfort in the sleek, modern structure, in the quiet anonymity of the place.

Now, it felt like a mausoleum.

Iori pulled into the garage, the overhead lights flickering as the car came to a smooth stop. He shifted into park, then turned to you fully, his gaze steady.

"We won’t be doing this again."

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t a warning.

It was a fact.

His fingers reached for your chin, tilting your face toward him. His touch was deceptively gentle, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, a ghost of a smile tugging at his own.

"Tell me you understand."

The breath in your lungs felt too thick. Your skin burned where he touched it, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run—fight—do something.

But you didn’t.

You nodded.

"I understand."

His lips curled, satisfied.

"Good girl."

A quiet click.

The car doors unlocked.

And somehow—

That sound was more terrifying than anything he had said.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

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lilithslittleworld · 10 months ago

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New To This

A/N: I made a poll a few weeks ago about wanting to write a new smut with several different scenarios/characters with a winner of "Jacob Black x Reader"!

I initially wanted to write a really steamy, sexy scene but it ended up evolving into a steamy but also loving/fluffy sex scene! *i feel like this is werewolf Jacob meets cute, pre-wolf Jacob* I hope you all enjoy ;)

(PS: Nessie does not and will not exist in this fanfic, aka you and Jacob will live happily ever after. Also both of you are 18 or above ).

Summary: A few weeks after Bella and Edward's wedding, Jacob teaches you how to cliff dive. You're sure you could teach him a few things too...

The wind howled viciously, sending your hair flying in every direction and shivers that racked your body. You stepped closer to the cliff's edge, peering slightly over to catch a glimpse of the angry waves below.

Jacob stood behind you, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he scowled at you. "This is a terrible idea," he huffed, his dark eyebrows pinching in worry.

Jacob never wore shirts, or at least that's what it seemed like. "It was your idea," you reminded him. Jacob glared at you in response but took a step forward.

"You're really going to do this, aren't you?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. It was a silly question to ask, since you both knew the answer.

"You better believe it," you grinned back at him. You pulled off your thick coat, leaving it folded on a rock beside Jacob's truck. You two would have to come back up for both sooner or later and the idea of being weighed down by a water-soaked winter coat didn't sound ideal. Your boots came off as well, for good measure.

The cold made your hands sting, turning your knuckles an angry red as you stood in your thin, long sleeved shirt, jeans, and socks. Jacob on the other hand, stood comfortably, despite lacking a shirt and in shorts.

"H-how are you not freezing?" you asked incredulously, your teeth chattering, "It's the middle of December!"

"I'm just a little hotter than most," Jacob winked at you, holding out a hand. "Ready whenever you are."

You rolled your eyes at him but brought your hand to his. You couldn't help but notice how much bigger they were, most of Jacob was anyway. They were also exceptionally warm just as you had expected. Maybe he did run warmer than the rest of people...

"Okay," you breathed, as Jacob guided you both to the cliff's edge, the waters below you lapped furiously at the rocky coast, "On the count of three. One, two, th-"

And suddenly you were falling. You screamed at Jacob for not having respected the countdown but it was useless, the fall was short and the wind howled even louder as you plummeted into the cold, dark water.

Your body sank like a stone, the weight pulling you down deeper into the frigid water. You thrashed your arms, desperate to make it to the surface once again. Thousands of little ice-like knives sank into your skin with every movement. You wondered how Jacob was handling the cold. But there were more important things to think about now. You were running out of air.

Now only a few feet from the surface, you felt a strong arm pulling you up towards it at an incredible speed. Your head broke through the surface, your mouth opening automatically to gasp the free air greedily. As your panic started to ebb, your sight began to unblur slowly, taking in your surroundings and the breathless boy before you.

"Y/N!" Jacob gasped, partially due to the little stunt he'd pulled with the jump, having swam around to find you, and worry. "Can you hear me?"

You nodded quickly, taking into account how clogged your ears were. "I'm good," you croaked, followed by a tamer fit of coughing.

Jacob wrapped a protective arm around you, dragging you along with him as his legs and free arm paddled you both towards the shore. You protested at first until it became clear that you were unable to swim that distance and that Jacob would never let you go.

"That was fun," you noted cheerfully, as the ocean floor below you began to rise enough for Jacob to stand. It would take you a little longer to reach.

"Yeah, well it's never happening again," he scoffed, wading out of the shallow water, "You could've died." You watched as little water droplets dripped from his short hair down his toned back and shoulders, secretly hoping swimming with him would happen again soon.

It was no secret that you were attracted to Jacob. Besides, he rarely hid the fact that he was interested in you as well. You two had met at Bella Swan's wedding. It wasn't a great introduction, to say the least, but it eventually blossomed into whatever this was. Jacob was always honest about what he felt but he had never made any grandiose confessions or even really specified what you were to him, apart from a girl he liked. He was careful around you.

Jacob's voice interrupted your thoughts and so did the cold. "You're going to freeze to death if you stay in there," he called out, a hint of superiority in his voice.

"Stupid fireboy," you muttered under your breath, as you dragged your nearly numb legs forward. He was right. Your fingers had started to turn blue and you became aware of how little of your body you could feel.

"What was that?" he grinned, amused at your suddenly cranky mood.

"Oh, I know you heard me," you hissed, swatting his arms away as he tried to pull you into them. "Stupid supersonic hearing."

Jacob laughed, clearly still thrilled. "Come here," he said, scooping you into his arms. You were so grateful for the warmth that radiated from his skin that you said nothing as he carried you across the woods.

"I could teach you thing too, you know," you said sullenly, watching the little beach disappear from your sight.

"I'm sure you could," he replied, "But no one's teaching anyone anything until you're out of these wet clothes and showered."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Was he intending to shower with you? You had never done more than makeout with this boy but the idea of him in a shower with you sent your pulse overboard.

Neither of you said anything else until Jacob's house. You had never really been inside before. Any ideas you had of it were based on the little you had been able to see when you peeked through the front door, waiting for Jacob in other occasions. Now, you stepped through the doorframe, taking in the small but cozy house.

Jacob walked you towards a little wooden door. "My room," he noted quietly, scratching his neck embarrassed, as you peered inside. It had a twin bed, a wooden desk, and a handful of tiny, wooden sculptures. On his bedframe, right above his pillow, hung a delicate dreamcatcher.

How many times had you imagined his room? Now you were in it, your past daydreams and fantasies coming to life.

"Do you want to shower first?" Jacob asked, pulling out a clean towel from the bathroom closet. Oh.

"Sure," you said, hoping he wouldn't pick up on the slight disappointment that dripped in your voice. This was, after all, the first time in his house, he wasn't going to rush into anything just because you were here.

Showering brought back the humanness in you that had been lost to the cold. Your skin returned to its normal feel, slightly tingly from the warm water and you could now feel every inch of yourself. You lathered yourself up in soap, scrubbing extra in all the places that might be the slightest bit smelly. You washed your hair too, getting rid of any sand or seaweed that had found its way there.

You wrapped yourself in the large towel that Jacob had given you, grateful that it covered you almost entirely. With the edge of the towel, you wiped away a circle on the foggy mirror. You looked almost the same as you had this morning, which was a relief.

Jacob sat on his bed, fiddling with his hands as you tiptoed into his room.

"You can go," you said softly. Jacob looked up at you. You could tell he was trying his hardest to keep his eyes on yours. A hint of blush spread along his face, as his eyes made their way down from your mouth to your neck and finally landing on your collarbones.

Jacob stood up quickly, pulling pieces of clothing from his drawers. "Cool," he smiled at you, "Don't go anywhere."

Jacob's room felt cozy, even with just you in it. Your hands unfolded the lumps of cloth he had laid out for you: one oversized t-shirt and a pair of what seemed to be old boxer shorts. You pulled them on gratefully, now really feeling warm and cleaned up. They smelled like Jacob, a scent that sent your heart into an excited flutter.

The sound of running water sent an excited shiver down your spine. You had imagined Jacob showering so many times on your own, taking your time to really focus on what he did in there. If only you could see him now. The idea of Jacob naked now, made your breath hitch in the back of your throat.

The silence broke your train of thought. Jacob would be back in his room in just minutes and here you were, fantasizing and hyperventilating over him. You sat down on the edge of his bed, making an effort to take deep breaths, an attempt to look as normal as possible. You sat awkwardly on the corner of his bed, trying hard not to be suggestive or the opposite of that.

Jacob walked in, his hair still damp and holding the tightly wrapped towel around his hips. Your eyes made their way to where his towel met his bare skin, your imagination wild. Seeing him now was so different to all the other times, this time there was almost nothing between you except a little towel, ironically.

"Enjoying the view?" Jacob's voice pierced the deafening silence but his playful tone didn't match his eyes. His deep, dark eyes burned into your own, a want behind them that was almost palpable. You felt your face growing warm at his words but there was not an ounce of regret in you.

"I think you're wearing far too much clothes," you answered boldly, an answer he seemed to enjoy as you watched a smile creep onto his lips.

"You're one to talk," he chuckled, turning away from you as he searched for his next change of clothes.

"I think that's an easy problem to solve," you said softly, pulling off the boxers you wore and tossing them over to him. Jacob caught them easily, pulling them on quickly before dropping the towel.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. He was getting dressed, not undressed. You felt stupid now, feeling significantly naked despite the dress-like shirt that covered you.

Jacob seemed to pick up on your puzzled expression. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, exhaling before he spoke. "I've never done this."

It actually came as a great surprise that Jacob was a virgin. You had expected him to be fairly experienced, given his attitude and the obvious physical attractiveness. Now you were thrown off your game.

"I-I really thought you had," you confessed, "A few times actually."

Jacob shook his head, his eyes still trained intently on the floor. "Never really got the chance," he said softly.

A pang hit your heart. Jacob seemed truly embarrassed and almost hurt. It had never been your intention to make him feel bad about the matter. You knew something had hurt him far before your had come along. You didn't know much about his past attachment to Bella Swan but you were sure that she wasn't a person that had brought him much joy during that time.

"It's okay, Jake," you assured him gently, "I was just curious but it doesn't matter."

Jacob brought his gaze up to you, his eyes soft. "I'd like to try but I don't want to hurt you, Y/N."

"You won't hurt me, Jake," you replied, walking over to him before reaching your hand out to his. He took your hand in his, the warmth of his skin spreading all over you.

You pulled him towards you, your eyes never leaving his. "You have to promise me that you'll tell me if I hurt you," Jacob said earnestly, his grip on your hand tightening faintly.

"I trust you," you whispered, wrapping an arm around his neck, placing your other hand on the side of his face.

Jacob leaned his face against your hand momentarily before taking your face in his hands, pressing his lips softly against yours. It was no surprise that his lips were just as warm as the rest of him. A shiver ran down your back as you kissed him back, your lips moving gently against his. Your hands found their way to his hair, running your fingers through it. Jacob groaned, pulling you closer to him, his breath quickening. Soon, every bit of you was touching him, every inch of skin against him. You could feel the little droplets of sweat beading on your forehead and running down your back from the heat of his body.

The need for him gnawed at you, the flutters in your stomach grew as Jacob took you into his arms, your legs straddling his hips. A ripple of pleasure went through you as you made contact with his hardened length, barely concealed by the boxers you'd thrown at him earlier. Jacob walked you over to his bed, his strong arms holding you up against him, his lips never leaving yours. He laid you down slowly, placing a steady hand against the mattress on either side of your body.

You brought you lips back to his eagerly, hoping he wouldn't be as careful with you anymore. You knew you weren't going to get anywhere as long as Jacob tiptoed around you. You were going to set the pace. Your kisses deepened as you ran your fingertips lightly down his neck towards his chest, Jacob's breathless sighs mixing with yours as you touched him. Your fingers trailed down along his chest, making their way towards the edge of his boxers. You could feel Jacob's stomach quivering as you brought your touch closer to him. You wanted so badly to feel him trembling beneath your hands.

You dipped a finger under the band of his boxers. He felt so much warmer than anywhere else. You wanted to feel that heat everywhere. Jacob's breath hitched when your hand came in contact with him, so hard and hot on your fingertips. Instinctually, you wrapped your hand around his throbbing length, not surprised its size. He was so big. You brought your gaze back up to Jacob, who now had his eyes shut tightly and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. You watched him as you gave him lazy, long strokes, practically drooling at the noises that came out of his mouth. He looked so beautiful, so lost in your touch, his muscular arms beginning to shake as he kept himself propped up above you. A finger rubbed softly against his already wet tip brought a strangled moan out from Jacob. Your strokes became quicker, mesmerized at the feeling of him growing harder in your hand.

Jacob slowly began to come undone above you, his whole body shaking as he held himself up above you still. "Please," was all he could coherently plead. And you loved it. Seeing this vulnerability in Jacob was something you were not expecting and it only made you want him more. Your strokes returned to the slower pace you had started with, knowing he was just minutes away from cumming.

Jacob opened his desire-filled eyes as your hands came to a stop. You pushed him back gently, your hands on his muscular chest, until he was sitting on his knees. You propped yourself up on your elbows, pulling his shirt off of you, as Jacob watched you with wide eyes. Now fully exposed before him, excitement coursed through your veins. Jerking him off had made the heat pool between your legs almost impossible to ignore. You were desperate for any sort of release and you were going to get it.

You laid yourself back on the bed, Jacob still kneeled at the foot of it, his eyes trained on you, running up and down your naked body. Slowly, you ran a hand down your chest, pausing to squeeze your boobs before trailing your fingers down your stomach. Your legs parted, knowing very well what view Jacob would have from where he sat. And you began.

After years of knowing your body, touching yourself was simple and well known. Your fingers brushed your clit lightly, gasping at the shock that ran through you. The circles started slowly, pacing yourself as the tightness in your stomach began to build. You lost yourself in the pleasure, not holding back the moans that sprang from your lips. You knew very well Jacob too, was touching himself. You could hear it. The noises of his slick hand running up and down his length, mixed with his soft groans and breaths.

You opened your eyes to the vision of Jacob touching himself, his eyes dripping with lust as he watched you do the same to yourself, the veins on his arms bulging from the movement.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked slyly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"You," he panted, his chest rising and falling as he responded.

"Mmmm," you breathed, "What about me?"

"About touching you. Tasting you. Being inside of you and making you feel so good," he said, his deep voice strained as he tried to contain himself.

"I want you to," was all you said.

Jacob was back on top of you in the blink of an eye. He was everywhere. Kissing, touching, and licking every inch of you. He felt like the sun, spreading a delicious warmth all over you. His mouth was on your stomach, parting your legs with his arms before trailing down to your inner thighs. You wanted him so badly and he knew.

His mouth found your clit, giving it a light lick as your eyes rolled back, gripping his hair tightly. You moaned as you felt Jacob's tongue drawing circles, your hips bucking involuntarily seeking more.

"Mmm," Jacob hummed, sending vibrations through your core as he did. You were so close.

"Wait," you breathed, your mind foggy from the pleasure. Jacob looked up at you, his expression slightly worried.

"Is everything okay?" he whispered, his mouth still wet from you.

"Kiss me," you commanded, pulling him to you eagerly. Your lips met in a frantic effort, tasting the sweet, slightly salty taste of yourself on his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, moaning softly at the feeling of his hardened dick against your bare stomach.

Jacob rolled over onto his back, his hands on your hips as you now straddled him. Your hips moved automatically against his, brushing your clit against his cock, your wetness dripping onto it.

"God," Jacob groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he guided your movements to an even quicker pace. "So hot."

"I need you," you breathed, throwing your head back as you neared your orgasm again, "Inside of me."

Something snapped inside of Jacob as you moaned those words. His hands fumbled to find a condom on tiny nightstand beside his bed, wasting no time in pulling it down his cock. You lifted your hips as he positioned himself below you before pulling you down for another kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" he murmured, his eyes searching yours as his thumb stroked your cheek.

"I am," you replied, kissing him gently.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered against your lips. Your heart leaped.

"I love you too, Jake," you sighed back.

You lowered yourself onto him slowly, taking time to adjust to his size, listening to Jacob gasp as you took more of him in. He stretched you perfectly, the tip of his dick hitting your G-spot as you started to tentatively bounce up and down him. As you sped up, Jacob's hands found your boobs, taking them into his mouth as you moaned his name, his hands snaking their way down your back.

"Jake," you moaned, as his tongue swirled around your hardened nipple.

"Tell me," he groaned, "Tell me how good I make you feel."

"So good," you panted as Jacob's lips found your neck, biting your soft skin gently.

"That's it," he pleaded, "Ride me just like that. Please, Y/N."

Your hips were moving at an incredible speed, bringing you so close to the edge. You could feel Jacob's cock twitching inside of you, signaling his approaching orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, no longer worried about what you said or how. All you could think about was Jacob.

"Mmmm, cum all over me," he breathed, his fingers gripping your ass tightly as he made you ride him even faster. It was all too much. Jacob inside of you, Jacob groaning your name, his breathless pleads, the heat of his body. Your orgasm shook through you, you threw your head back and cried out in pleasure. Your sight even blurred momentarily. Jacob's orgasm quickly followed your own, your name falling from his lips repeatedly as he buried himself deep inside you one last time.

It took you both a few minutes to catch your breaths, entangled in a sweaty mess as you did. Jacob stroked your hair softly and you traced imaginary swirls along his chest.

"So," you began, "you love me?"

Jacob laughed, his whole body shaking and ultimately shaking you as well. "Of course I do, Y/N."

You shrugged. "You'd never mentioned it."

"Well, my past love confession didn't go too well," he sighed, "Which I know is unfair to you but I wanted to use those words carefully this time, especially with someone as special as you."

"I understand," you smiled, propping your head on your hands to meet Jacob's gaze, "It's just nice to hear is all."

"It's nice to say," he said, his smile reaching all the way up to his eyes.

"Hmmm," you said thoughtfully, "Are you going to tell your dad?"

"Got nothing to hide," he winked at you, "I'll tell all of Forks if I have to."

"Jake!" you squealed, though you knew he truly would. Jacob was the showing off type.

"Kidding," he said, poking you in the side, "Unless..."

"Knowing you, you'll probably call the local radio or put up posters," you rolled your eyes at the idea of either of those happening, "Why don't we go cliff diving again tomorrow?"

Jacob's smile tugged even harder at the corner of his lips. "I've got an even better idea. Something you taught me today."

-----------

A/N: honestly I didn't know how to end this oneshot I'm so sorry it's a little meh :/ but I really loved writing Jacob x Reader sm I might turn it into a oneshot series!!!

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #jacob black #team jacob #jacob black x reader #jacob black imagine #jacob black smut #twilight smut #twilight saga #twilight imagine #twilight fluff #jacob black fluff #the twilight series #the twilight saga

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alchemistc · 5 months ago

Text

Once again I need to get off my ass and go work but instead all I'm thinking about is Them:

Buck's mostly got his breathing under control by the time he hears the side door slide open, and he adjusts his weight automatically, tips his chin as he straightens his spine, tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket like that will fix the wrinkles he'd made bending at the waist for the last ten minutes.

"Buck?"

He's turned away, thank god, so Tommy can't see the wince.

"I'm fine," he says, annoyed with himself and the world at large when it comes out wobbly. "Go back ins-." When he hears the door click shut again he takes a moment to hope Tommy's just left, again, but -

No such luck.

"That door locks from the inside," Buck murmurs, and tears his gaze away from the gentle expression on Tommy's face. There'd been a cardboard box wedged up in there by whatever line cook had been out here smoking when Buck burst through the doors, and the guy had left it with a warning about how insanely large this building was and how few doors along its perimeter were unlocked, and now the broken down box is somewhere beneath Tommy's left foot.

Tommy tries the door anyway.

It doesn't budge. "We could just call Eddie," Tommy says, and Buck feels the ire rise in his throat.

"Eddie's not here," he spits, and it feels like a knife under the ribs. Everyone fucking leaves, eventually. "Call your date, if you want. I'm walking."

Buck heaves himself up from his lean against the brick, takes two large strides to make it past Tommy and keeps going.

He should have known better than taking Bobby at his word that this stupid gala would be worth his time. So far he's dodged conversations about the curse of the 118, spent an unbearable five minutes smiling blandly at Gerrard before he could excuse himself, and tossed two numbers written on raffle tickets into the trash in his mad dash through the kitchens because apparently Tommy had been chosen as the rep for 217 and he looks fucking good in his suit, and he'd been pretty sure they'd be spending this Christmas together, until last month.

He's twenty yards down the alley when he hears footsteps catching up to him. Light, brisk - he's jogging to catch up and Buck doesn't want to deal with -

"Not my date," Tommy says, and Buck curses his own body for automatically slowing to allow him to catch up.

Buck snorts. "Okay." The guy was older - than Buck, at least. Grey around his temples, fat lips and clever eyes that caught Tommy's mid-sentence and sent them both into quiet hysterics.

"Buck, would you just -."

He's close enough to reach for Buck's arm, so Buck wrenches it away before he can make contact. "Don't call me that."

December twenty-third is one of those weird days where the world doesn't quite work the same. Traffic is heavier or lighter in weird places, people with nothing to do wander the streets or hole up in their homes making too much food and watching weird holiday movies, and even in LA it gets chilly enough at night to need a jacket. This one isn't doing shit to keep Buck warm, but the anger catching in his throat sure is.

"It's your name," Tommy says, exasperated.

"Not to you." Buck stops dead in his tracks, watches Tommy take another three steps before he realizes he's alone. When he turns, Buck doesn't allow himself to turn away from his gaze. Annoyance isn't a new look - Buck has tested the waters enough in six months to know intimately exactly how far he could push it before Tommy stopped indulging him.

He looks upset. Frustrated. Tired. Hot as fuck. Buck sort of wishes he'd do something about those first two.

Something other than walk away.

Tommy sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, and the sides aren't as high and tight anymore. There's a piece curling over the tip of his ear and Buck wants to tug at it, slide his fingers in there and tuck it back. "That was Sal," he says, and Buck flicks through the sadly small Rolodex of names Tommy has mentioned in the past. Another boundary Buck hadn't realized was a brick fucking wall in the way of getting to know his boyfriend.

Ex.

Sal. He'd been at the 118 with Gerrard, in the early days. Before Chim and Hen, before Bobby. He'd been the one to prompt Tommy into filing a complaint against Gerrard even though he'd been scared out of his mind to do it.

"I don't care."

He does care, is the problem. He cares so much. He's got a pile of fruit cakes and half a dozen pies sitting on his kitchen island right now that prove it. He can't seem to stop caring.

Tommy looks sceptical.

Buck brushes past him again, keeping his strides long. Tommy's the same height, but both literally and metaphorically he's always struggled to keep up when Buck had somewhere to be.

At least the panic attack has passed. Maybe he could take up running, as a cure all, instead of the weak ass recovery period he usually takes that involves him drinking a bottle of water and staring at the same spot on the wall until he sees stars.

So, fine. Tommy hadn't brought a date to the work function it was entirely possible Buck would be at six weeks after breaking up with him and disappearing into the damn wind. He'd bubbled Buck seven times that Buck knew of, and he hadn't brought a date.

Fine.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked -."

Buck had watched Tommy wheeze with laughter and curl a hand around the dudes - Sal's - wrist and he'd felt like maybe he was gonna throw up. Like six months and the something he'd been working his way up to defining hadn't meant a damn thing. Like Tommy could just move on like he seemed to think Buck could.

"Doing great, Tommy. My best friend is moving to Texas and the man I thought I could -." Buck clears his throat. Shuffles sideways just a bit because Tommy is keeping pace now and his cologne is familiar and devastating. He doesn't have anything inside. Once he rounds this corner he could just order an Uber and go home.

There's nothing keeping him here.

"Eddie's moving?"

The no contact thing had extended to everyone at the 118, apparently. At least Buck wasn't alone in that.

Buck digs out his phone, slows his pace just enough to pull up the app he needs. He can feel Tommy's eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

"Yeah, well. I'm getting used to people leaving at this point," he says, filling it with as much ire as he can. His voice doesn't wobble this time.

"Buck."

It's soft, this time, same inflection as when he'd cage Buck against a counter and lick into his mouth. "Don't worry about me, Tommy. You made it a point not to."

"That's not fair."

Buck couldn't care less. He's spent six weeks on a depression baking spiral and now he wants to go home and destroy every bit of baked goods he's made that are still left.

It only takes a few taps. They're surging prices, but that's not exactly a shocker.

He'd really thought the next time he saw Tommy he'd just be sad. Maybe he'd feel a little wistful about all the moments they'd shared that had meant something to Buck even if they hadn't meant the same to Tommy.

He wants to swing a fist, if he's being honest. He wouldn't. Not ever. But the desire is there and he hates it.

"Buck, could we just -."

"Stop calling me that!"

"I pay a mortgage, Evan!"

Buck can't remember Tommy ever raising his voice. It's - weird.

"I'm forty years old and I own a house and you asked me to move in to your loft after you told me you admired me." The emphasis isn't lost on him.

His ride is three minutes away.

"I got it the first time, Tommy. Haven't sucked enough cocks or done enough tests to know what I really want, so. Go enjoy your evening with Sal and -."

"That is not what I said." Cool, calm. Infuriating.

"Well that's what I got from it, so clearly we were never on the same page. I wanted a future with you and you've been eyeing the expiration date the whole time so -."

He's definitely not expecting Tommy's lips. But there they are, on his, and Buck's stumbling back, fully expecting the sharp crack of the brick at the back of his head as Tommy surges forward with him, only Tommy's hand curls around his skull at the last second and takes the brunt of the landing. His mouth opens on a groan and Buck licks up into it. Their noses clash and rather than shifting for better positioning they just press closer. Tommy's free hand finds the soft give of Buck's waist and his thigh finds purchase between Buck's legs and -

"You're willfully misunderstanding me," Tommy says, lips on Buck's jaw, heart pounding under Buck's hand, his breath ghosting along Buck's cheek.

"Never really gave me the opportunity for clarity," Buck bites back, and Tommy huffs, rolls his hips, tucks his forehead into the juncture of Buck's shoulder.

His pulse is pounding in his ears and there's a cloud of Tommy Tommy Tommy obscuring his senses.

"Do you still want that?"

Buck's phone dings in his hand.

His ride is here.

"Not if you're just gonna walk away again," Buck bites out, and shoves. Hard.

It barely moves Tommy, but it's enough to slip out of his grasp.

He doesn't glance behind to see if Tommy follows as he pulls at his suit jacket again and rounds the corner to try to catch - he eyes his phone - Sheri before she cancels the ride on him.

Doesn't stop him from hearing the footfalls behind him while he searches out the blue Honda Civic.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #maybe i'll even finish this before christmas

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