#dark wood adirondack chairs

[girlfurniture]

Uncovered in Los Angeles Inspiration for a huge transitional rooftop deck remodel with no cover

[outoftokenscast]

Uncovered Los Angeles Inspiration for a huge transitional rooftop deck remodel with no cover

[smilecupcake]

Inspiration for a small rustic rooftop deck remodel with a roof extension Ideas for a small, rustic rooftop deck renovation that includes a roof extension

[morningstarseniorlivingblog]

Rustic Deck

Inspiration for a large rustic rooftop deck remodel with a roof extension

[metenee]

Beach Style Porch Ideas for a substantial coastal screened-in back porch renovation that will include decking and a roof extension

[bigjerkart]

Philadelphia Rustic Deck

[moondirti]

Hello! So not a request but a Dahlia thought: when getting to the boys place she's a little anxious but then she sees the perfectly set up spare room they just happen to coincidently have set up perfectly. And it's so comfortable and peaceful after a shit day and a equally shittier couple of months that reader just kind of releases the damn of tears. Which you know just inforcess that they are doing the right thing by taking her. It's for her own good.

PART 1 • PART 2 • PART 3 tags: simon x f!reader x johnny. alluded abuse (not by ghoap). kidnapping (but is it really kidnapping anymore?) pregnancy.

Their home is nice.

You don't know what you expected. Nothing bad, certainly – one look at their car and you guessed they were comfortable – but whatever approximation you rendered in your head didn’t come close to hitting the mark. Perhaps it was the remnants of your misgivings, then, that convinced you they lived in some squalid house off the side of the freeway. No one is kind enough to offer free room and board without there being some sort of catch. 

But it's nice. Spacious. Secluded, though not to a concerning degree. You pass through a quaint town in order to get to it, and it's only another two miles out, tucked on the outskirts of a neighbouring forest. A two-story chalet, understated and painted dark to deliberately sink into its surroundings. If you had to guess, it was the pick of the one in the mask; the style suits him more than the other one, you think. Elevated inches off the ground. Weathered cedar exterior, softened by time, and a modest front porch with three Adirondack chairs positioned around a bonfire pit. 

“Did someone else live here with you?” You ask, tucking your thumb into your bag strap as you follow them to the front door. The shorter of them throws a look over his shoulder, brows furrowed in an endearing way. “I just ask because– well, you mentioned a spare bedroom, and there are three seats out here. So…” 

“Johnny’s mum stayed with us for a while after his father passed.” The masked one says, unlocking the entrance before pulling it open for you. Your heart twinges uncomfortably in your chest, and you give a sad smile to ‘Johnny’ on your way in.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

He appears astounded for a second, gaze flickering back and forth between you and his partner, before settling in place. “Ah, dinnae be. Wis a long time ago.” 

You’re pleased to find that the interior is a lot brighter. Where the outside boasted a dark green paint job, the inside glows in a smattering of honeyed wood and sage tones. All open-plan; you can see the dining table and kitchen from where you step into the living room, brown leather couches serving as the only divisors of the space. You allow your eyes to rove over the walls, the plush carpets underfoot, up and over to where the lofted second-story overlooks the bottom floor. Large picture windows allow ample light to flood in, yet it seems to have the particularly concerning effect of illuminating how… empty it all is. Because apart from a strew of personal belongings – boots by the foyer, a half-filled water bottle on the breakfast bar, a coat thrown over the back of an armchair – there’s nothing to indicate that they actually live here. 

For all you know, they could’ve rented the car and the house to lure you in. 

A pit opens up in your stomach. You pat your pocket for your phone, then turn to where they await your reaction. 

“I didn’t catch your names.” You ask, cringing internally at how straightforward you seem. You have to remind yourself that it’s better to be blunt, to scope this situation out before you’re in too deep. If it takes playing oblivious, then so be it. “I’m embarrassed I don’t know. You’re being so kind, after all.” 

“Johnny. John Mactavish, if ye wanna be proper.” The Scotsman beams, stepping forward to take your bag off your hands, that which you tentatively. The other one merely stays still, peering out on you from above his fabric mask. You shift from foot to foot, waiting. 

Eventually, he blinks. “Ghost.” 

The pit deepens. You breathe through the nausea climbing up your chest. That’s not a name, you’re tempted to say. Tempted to take your bag back over your shoulder and call a cab. But it’s so early in the morning that you know you’ll have a hard time reaching one. And even if you manage, where would you go? Certainly not home. 

The callous echo of your ex’s voice still bounces around in your skull. It’s just a matter of probability. Risk it here with these perfect strangers, who may or may not be ill-intentioned. Or risk it back home, with a man you know only means to do you harm. 

So, you give them your name. 

(Just the first. Though that isn’t without its precautions, either; later, when you finally tuck in, you’ll be sure to send your location and the name Mactavish off to a trusted friend.)

Johnny’s grin widens, something warm and molasses-thick radiating from the lines it carves into his cheeks. It’s so genuine, so welcoming and hospitable, that you have a hard time imagining him as a bad guy. And however Ghost unnerves you, he’s obviously decent enough to have bagged such a positive force of nature. Decent enough to have offered you a ride, and a place to stay when you were so desperately in need of one too. 

It all tallies up in your head, sand on a scale that dips in favour of one side. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or the pregnancy hormones schooling your common sense into accepting the two, strong men who have demonstrated their willingness to provide – but you’re quickly softening up to the possibility that this is something good without exception. A reward for putting up with so much over the past few months. Some reality where life isn’t looking to beat you down.

If only for the night. 

You blindly follow as Johnny gives you a brief tour. Their bedroom is just to the left of the living space, and he tells you to knock if you need anything at all. 

“Ye'll be staying upstairs, hen. Unless th' stairs ur awfy much fur ye?” 

“No.” You shake your head, stricken by the utter graciousness. “Please. I’m so thankful you’re helping at all. Upstairs is just fine.” 

“Promise?” He demands, eyes wide like a quizzical pup. Ghost sidles up behind him, large hand clasping onto his shoulder, right where his shirt's collar ends to reveal the base of his neck. You stare at that touch, that point of skin-on-skin contact, for what must be too long before you can bring yourself to respond. 

“I- Yeah. I promise.” 

Your room isn't really a room at all, but a loft as large as half the first floor. Three walls and a missing fourth, polished wood railing and opaque curtains offering a degree of separation from the rest of the home. It's all you can do not to flop down on the bed immediately, stripping down to your panties and undershirt before relieving yourself in the attached bathroom.

Despite the modicum of hesitation still planted in your gut – which you doubt will go away until you’re absolutely sure you haven’t made yourself victim to a pair of crazy sexy serial killers – you unwind at record speed. Surprising how easy it is when you aren’t confronted with the burden of your real life. When everything is warm and provided for. When your bed is made with crisp clean sheets, a homemade quilt folded neatly on the edge, and the outside ambience isn’t singing drunks but quiet. 

And of course, once your guard comes down, so too does your strength. A ball of devastation snowballs in your chest. Your sternum burns and your nose grows hot. You hardly remember to clasp a hand around your mouth before you burst into an ugly sob, fat tears slipping off your lash line. Only when a stressed hiccup seizes your frame do you become thankful for your sense; you’d really hate for them to hear you cry after having been so kind. You’re not ungrateful in the slightest, but already you prep yourself for the disappointment of returning home come night. A preemptive grief for the life you can never give yourself.

A chorus of morning birdsong and your own, miserable sniffles lull you to sleep.

if anyone's curious, here's the floorplan i used to imagine ghoap's chalet! (source)

[joelswritingmistress]

My Boss: Chapter 1

Summary: You're about to enter your senior year of college and Joel Miller is your boss at your summer job. He's a great boss, your coworkers are great and he's even brought up a possible promotion for next summer. The problem is, you're starting to fall for him and you want your constant daydreams to become reality.

Joel Miller x f!reader. Age gap. Smut in future chapters. No smut in chapter 1. 18+

The first time you realized how attracted you were to Joel Miller it felt like electricity shocked your entire body. He was sweating through his white t-shirt chopping wood. The snapback hat he wore was just as saturated and his dark hair peaked out the sides, just barely curling over his ears.

Cliché, sure, but it had kickstarted a laundry list of fantasies that you couldn't reel back in.

Joel, your father's friend. Joel, the boss of your outdoorsy, summer job. Joel, nearly twenty years older than you. It had become an obstacle you had no idea how to tackle, other than manually in your room in your cabin at night. And then you saw him first thing in the morning for campground meetings and assignments, and it started all over again.

"Y/N." Joel's voice snapped you out of the daze you were in.

"Yeah?" Your voice came out in a desperate yelp as you addressed him and you cleared your throat, looking around at your other coworkers. No one looked at you funny, so that was good. And as long as Joel couldn't read your mind you were safe there, too.

"You're with me down at the lake today." He motioned at you with the cap end of a pen. "But we're only going to take out a couple of the canoes and kayaks because it's supposed to rain in about an hour or so." Joel glanced at his watch.

You nodded, feeling tingles in the pit of your stomach that fluttered downward to give you an extra dose of desire. Lust was most certainly a drug.

"Stuck with the boss," your friend whispered, poking you in the ribs with her fingers, making you laugh and squirm.

All heads whipped in you direction, including Joel's and you sat up strait. "Sorry." Your face reddened and a few others around you smirked.

"Alright." Joel clapped him hands and smiled. "You all know the drill by now. Head out to your stations and let's entertain our guests. Show them a-"

"Good time," the group chorused, making him chuckle.

You discreetly smacked your friend's arm and then trailed Joel out of the little pavilion where you often gathered for meetings.

Once you were out on the little trail that led to the lake you apologized for the brief interruption a few minutes before.

"Sorry for laughing in the middle of your talk," you said, causing Joel to glance over at you. He smirked and you smiled and looked down. The rest of the walk was rather quiet until you got to the oversized shed that housed the boating equipment.

"How about two canoes and two kayaks?" Joel suggested, flinging the doors open.

"Sounds good to me."

You worked together to pull out the four water vessels and laid them in a neat line by the little beach. It wasn't longer than two or three minutes before the rain began its steady beat on the otherwise still waters.

"Take cover." Joel waved a hand towards the shed and turned a pair of Adirondack around to face the opening. "Might be an easy day."

You sunk down into the chair on the left and Joel sat beside you on the right.

"So, what's the plan for next year when you're out of college?" He asked. "Any internships lined up?"

You shrugged. "Not yet but the university has helped out a lot of us in getting them, or getting a foot in the door somewhere."

"I take it this may be your final summer working here for me." Joel smiled and your cheeks glowed a shade darker again.

You looked down and back up, meeting his gaze. "I think I may need one more summer to get it out of my system." You smiled, he snickered.

"Angela's leaving us next year," he explained. "If you don't have anything lined up by then maybe you could step in, take her place, be my assistant."

Yes, yes and yes! You were already mentally signed up.

"I think you can sign me up right now." Was that too eager? "You know, in exchange for a recommendation letter?" Was that too much? Was it obvious you were joking.

Joel smiled wide and held a hand over. "Deal."

You glanced down at his palm that helicoptered over your lap and let out a little sigh before shaking his hand. It was electric, at least for you.

Joel's eyes remained on yours and the handshake lingered before he eventually released you from his grasp.

"I gotta keep my better workers around as long as I can, ya know?" He added.

"I'm glad you think I'm a good worker. I try, I mean-"

"You are," Joel cut you off. "It doesn't matter what you're doing here. You do it well, and the guests always compliment how personable and friendly you are."

"Really?" His kind words had you gushing inside.

"Yeah." He nudged you with his elbow, "Just need to get you lifeguard certified and you'll be the Jack of all trades." Joel winked and your heart exploded.

Fuck. He was so hot. Did he know what he did you when he winked like that? How could he not?

"Maybe I should. I'm already CPR certified. It expires at the end of summer, though. I need to renew it."

"I'm actually a certified CPR instructor. I'll give ya the class for free. We'll renew it before the end of summer. You'll be all set."

Can I practice on you? You thought to yourself and then immediately told your brain to cut it out. Your thoughts were becoming too much now that you were sitting alone with him.

Joel's eyes lingered again and he was the one to glance away this time out at the pouring rain that fell just a few feet in front of you.

"Thanks," you said finally, smiling to yourself. "You're a great boss."

He turned to you again.

"I mean it," you went on, unable to control your word vomit. "I love working here. You make everything fair. And fun. I don't know how you organize so many people and keep the guests happy. You get all five star reviews online and the one or two who give fours are just assholes."

Joel laughed at that and you smiled big. Were you batting your eyelashes at him? It was very possible that subconsciously you were.

Damn, why did you have to see him chopping wood? Why did he have to be perfect in every category you could think of? Your hormones were on full blast and you suddenly wondered if he could sense it. You had read an article on pheromones and maybe your body was projecting your feminine attraction onto him.

"Well, thank you." Joel grinned. "I put my life savings into starting up this place so I hope we can maintain this as the years go on. Who the hell knows with technology. I hope families will still take time to get away and enjoy the great outdoors."

"It'll thrive," you tried to reassure him. "People need their escape from the screen now more than ever."

"I can agree with you there." Joel sighed and placed his hands behind his head, slouching a bit in the seat. "Man the arts and crafts tent is gonna be swamped today." His eyes danced across the lake that was spotted with rain.

"We better think of something to stay busy down here," you blurted and suddenly wished you hadn't when Joel turned back to you. His eyebrows raised and the blush returned, yet again, to the sides of your face.

"I'll make my way up there in a bit to make sure they're alright," he explained. "But in the mean time, let's just enjoy a few minutes of downtime. You and I haven't gotten much of that this summer."

You and I. The sound of him pairing you together, even in an innocent way, was music to your ears. This crush was in full bloom.

"Can't argue with that." You settled deeper into the seat and mirrored his position, closing your eyes.

There wasn't a better way you could imagine the start of a morning. Sitting in a shed tucked away from the rest of the world listening to the sound of the rain with Joel by your side. This was kind of how every fantasy of yours began.

[paulinesuarez]

Why Pick Cedar Garden Furniture

Gardens and garden furniture have been acquiring popularity in the finishing of many yards. Decorations utilized in gardens can be made from many different materials. Wood, plastic, and metals have been utilized in making outdoor furniture click here to learn more for a really long time.

Wooden garden furniture should be climate safe. A wood that isn't climate safe will spoil or rot in a brief timeframe. If you would rather not utilize synthetically treated wood in your goods you have two or three woods to look over that have a characteristic protection from water. Cedar and redwood are woods that have a characteristic protection from rot and decay.

Cedar in many styles can be utilized in garden furniture. It gives yard goods a characteristic marvel and has an interesting new smell. You might buy or specialty furniture out of logs or timber. There are many pieces that can be made from the two logs and timber. Assuming you have the important abilities you could actually make a few pieces yourself and let your creative mind fly to make a few novel pieces.

You can make sitting regions by or in your garden utilizing cedar seats. These seats will separate a stroll around your yard too. They make pleasant spots to unwind and partake in the magnificence and new aroma of your blossom region. You may likewise have highlight tables situated by your seats so you might partake in a bite or an ice tea while you are unwinding. Adirondack style chairs could be a great resting place too. The fan style backs and it are entirely comfortable to interest structure. Cedar furniture will come to fruition in a swing too. These can be made to sit at least one and could be made with a log frame. These swings overlooking your blossoms are a perfect spot to sit and partake in the landscape. You might need to hang a cedar seat swing from a tree close to your garden to appreciate.

Cedar with its normal magnificence might be utilized in rustic log structure as well as the harsh cut look or even planned. You might complete the furniture in an unmistakable completion to draw out the regular magnificence in the wood. You can stain it many different shades and colors. The choices are unending with cedar. You can likewise allow it to climate and mix with nature. This enduring will normally dark the wood and it will look normal in your garden setting. It has a characteristic protection from decaying however a sealer or complete will safeguard it for a more drawn out period. Cedar garden furniture will give you many long periods of fulfillment.

[thirsty-n-indulgent]

Sneak peak at the next chapter of ‘Nature and Science’

Her cabin sat dark and lonely among several trees. It was small and one story, with a stone chimney that peaked out of the worn cedar shingles from the rear of the snow-dusted roof. Two windows dotted the front on either side of the door, giving it some symmetry, and there was a front porch that made the entire thing seem bigger. To one side of the barren yard sat a firepit stacked with stones and two Adirondack chairs which, upon drawing closer, Otto noted looked splintery and decidedly unfriendly. The near empty property looked picturesque, save for the truck parked in the bushes to the side of the cabin, rusty and covered with a ragged and worn blue tarp. Another car sat beside it sporting a cracked windshield and destroyed front bumper; the hood was bent inward, and Otto wondered if Elle had perhaps hit something with it. Wood piles were scattered everywhere, and Otto could hear the gentle trickle of a stream over the wind.

Elle lowered herself to the ground and Otto barely had time to slide off before she had begun to shrink into her skin, fur shedding and limbs cracking as they reformed themselves. She shook herself, lifting each foot off the ground and swinging her legs to ensure everything worked as it should. Then, she unceremoniously grabbed her jacket from Otto’s clutching hands and began fishing about in her pockets.

“They don’t suit you,” she said, eyeing her sunglasses on his face. 

Finding what she was looking for, a small brass key like any other, she slid her jacket back on.

He watched her step up to the front door and unlock it, marveling at how healed her skin looked. She bore fresh, vicious scars that raced down her arms like lightening.

Of course, he thought. If she didn't have some sort of healing factor, like Peter, her bones couldn't reshape and she'd be crippled by her... shifting.

She pushed through the door and waved him into the darkness beyond the threshold. Otto hesitated momentarily, looking from Elle to the gun still clutched in his hand.

“Should I leave this outside?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Elle answered quickly. With her hat, she gestured to somewhere on the other side of the door before she disappeared into the black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The whole story so far can be found at https://archiveofourown.org/works/43330521/chapters/108920187

[aboenfurniture]

Crafted from heavy-duty hardwood, this chair is built to withstand the elements and resist wear and tear. Treated with a protective coating, it ensures a timeless appearance that lasts for years. Our team has meticulously selected super-sturdy pine wood, stained, oiled, and polished to perfection, ensuring unmatched quality and longevity.

Designed to excel outdoors, this rocking chair showcases impressive craftsmanship and premium materials, making it a perfect fit for any patio, backyard, or garden setting. With its durability and aesthetic appeal, it’s an ideal addition to create a cozy outdoor haven.

While our chair stands up to the elements, we recommend providing extra protection during harsh weather conditions. When not in use, consider covering or storing it in a shed or garage to maintain its pristine condition.

The assembly process is a breeze with clear and easy-to-follow instructions, allowing you to set up the chair quickly and hassle-free.

Colors: – Dark Brown

Materials: – Solid Pine Wood

Transform your outdoor space with our Adirondack Rocking Chair, where comfort meets durability and style. Embrace the joy of relaxation while cherishing moments in nature like never before. Don’t miss out on this exceptional piece that elevates your outdoor living experience.

shopping:https://aboen.com/product/solid-wood-rocking-chair

[imaginedreamwrite]

Unburdened: Part 10

The thick corded logs that had been stacked and held together by bindings and sealant had stood out against the dense forest behind the back half of the wrap-around porch, and the soft sandy beach and clear water that lapped at the edge.

There was a sitting area outside of the cabin’s main door, set in perfect sight of the beach and the water’s edge with a circular bistro table set between two Adirondack chairs draped with blankets and two cream-coloured pillows. In addition to the bistro set and chairs, the had been an outdoor patio heater that stood a safe distance from the walls of the cabin.

There was a sign above the door of the cabin that was greeting you and Bucky before you had walked inside, the black cursive set against white stained wood was typical and ordinary yet it seemed to pull the whole aesthetic of the exterior of the cabin together.

It was an added detail that made this whole place feel homey and comforting as if this was welcoming you with every detail into a haven that transcended any anxieties you may have had.

“Welcome home,” Bucky had stepped inside before you, the muscles in his broad and strong back flexing momentarily as if he was gauging any potential threats or risks, “for a week anyway.”

“This is perfect.” You followed behind him, signing against his shoulders so he could feel your message, and had only let your hands fall when you had to stabilize yourself to kick off your shoes.

As you had set them to the side and took a look at the cabin from the front door, you were pleasantly surprised at the comfortable space that had been carried well from the front to the back. To the left of you was a mudroom that was only visible from the glass set into the wooden door that had given you a look at the hooks made for coats, and the metal rack set on a tray to catch water or mud.

To your right had been another sitting area to the right of a stone encased fireplace, the two armchairs were made of inky black leather and had paired patterned blankets, that were also a match for the blankets on the porch. There was a single stand between the armchairs that had two coasters sitting on the finished top, and on the coasters sat two long-stemmed wine glasses.

Directly across from the fireplace was a sectional that was made of the same dark leather the armchairs were made of, and in front of the sectional was an oak coffee table with wooden legs that were carved to look like heads of animals that continued from the top of the legs to the feet.

Sitting on the surface of the coffee table was a tray divided into three sections, and in each section was a single item, with the middle being a remote for the television. The other two sections had been empty, but you imagined they could be used to hold drinks if wanted.

“This is nice,” your fingers moved with your message as you studied the surroundings and the breathtaking homeyness of the cabin, “I love it.”

“Are you hungry?” Bucky had called from behind you, stealing your attention from the living room of the cabin. “I can make you something to eat.”

As you had turned on your heel to look at him, you had gotten a good chance to study the kitchen he was standing in and the details that had matched the aesthetic of the cabin. Where Bucky was standing, you could surmise that the stove was behind him, likely natural gas powering the stove, and the fridge was off to the left.

The stainless steel appliances run throughout the kitchen with even the smaller appliances matching. There was a breakfast bar built into the island, a set of four barstools tucked under the edge. A bowl of fruit had been sitting in the middle of the island, directly below the simple yet dainty chandelier lights that had hung over the kitchen.

“I’m going to look around.” You signed while already shuffling out of the kitchen, headed toward the stairs that would take you up to the top level of the cabin.

“There are two bedrooms down here and two up top,” Bucky had called after you, stalling you before you could take the second step, “you can have whatever bedroom you want, doll. I’m going to make something for you to eat.”

You had looked back at Bucky, swept your eyes over him as he stood with his back at the stove, his hands pressed against his hips. He had appeared to be a little off, perhaps a little uncomfortable in the space though no worse for the ear.

His eyes were still as bright as ever, though there were some bags under his eyes that had been a testament to the sleepless nights he was still afflicted by. His hair was growing longer since his last cut and you could see a curl to his hair that was reminiscent of his hair in the ‘40s.

The longer you looked at him the easier you could make out the slight grey to his scruff that was a sign of him aging naturally without the aid of cryogenic freezing. He was beautiful; he always was beautiful.

You pressed your fingers against your bottom lip and extended your hand in a physical sign of thanks, then you turned and continued up the stairs to the second level of the cabin.

Once you had taken off the last step and had come to the top level, you had rest your hands against the railing and swept your eyes around the immediate area, looking and analyzing the small hallway that had extended from the staircase to the left and the right, leading to the two bedrooms, one of which was the master.

You first walked to the left, your feet dragging aimlessly as you shuffled down the hall. You had stopped by the first door and peeked inside the room to see a bathroom with a shower/bathtub combination with sleek brass fixtures that were made to appear vintage.

The shower/tub was against the far wall with a small window that allowed natural light to come into the bathroom, and a basic toilet and standing sink nearby. The bathroom was light in colour, grey or maybe an off blue, and was decorated only in pictures taken from around the cabin.

You had left the bathroom when there wasn’t much else to see and continued down the hall to the bedroom at the end. As you grabbed the handle and started to turn, you hesitated and listened to the sound of Bucky rummaging in the kitchen and the clanging of a metal pan or pot on the stove.

He was nervous, maybe even more so than you first thought, and his scent was reflective of that. It was still as comforting as ever, with the notes of nature and his vibranium arm combining to create a density that was addictive and equally comforting.

His scent was pure alpha, without the toxic aggressiveness that others seemed to radiate.

Bucky made you feel safe, he made you feel wanted and protected.

“It’ll be done in fifteen minutes!” He called up to you, still rummaging around the kitchen, the smell of cooking spices and vegetables was stirring the hunger that you had largely ignored.

Fifteen minutes would have given you enough time to explore both rooms, and you had made haste with opening the door to the first bedroom, slipping inside.

Like the rest of the cabin, the floors were made of hardwood that complimented the colours of the wooden walls and had been illuminated by a large window to give natural sunlight. There were blinds tied to the side, dark blue and thick white stitching along the hems.

The room was decorated simply, with a sleigh bed that was made with a patterned blanket that stretched from one end to the next and hung over the edge. Two fluffed pillows had rested against the mattress with only a peek at the duvet below the comforter. There was a wardrobe to the right of the bed, and a closet to the left, both of which had doors opened to show their lack of contents.

There was minimal artwork in the bedroom, only some of which had captured the ethereal beauty of the surrounding views and others that had been a look at NYC a few hours away.

With one bedroom down and another to go, you had left the bedroom you were in after closing the door softly behind you. You’d made your way across the hall to the other bedroom and had first taken note of the fireplace that was a sister to the one downstairs. The stone encasing the fireplace had almost mirrored the one downstairs entirely, with only a few differences in the colours of stone chosen.

Unlike the bedroom you were just in, this bedroom was much larger than the other with both an ensuite and a walk-in closet that was waiting to be used. The colours were largely the same and had been as inviting as the rest of the house, with the exception of there also being a private patio that you could out onto.

The bed was a four-poster made of deep, rich wood that stood out against the light-coloured walls, and unlike the previous bed had seemed to be a king or California king.

The supports of the bed were thick and heavy, with fine detailing carved into the posts that had continued the imagery of wildlife that had been started downstairs on the coffee table. The images were detailed enough to nearly jump out at you with surrealism.

As you approached the bed and rest your hand upon the bedding, the comforter was patterned in green, red, brown and white stripes that had been broken by the image of black bears spread systematically against the brown stripes, and elk against the green. The comforter was soft to the touch and the bed looked inviting and cozy, the kind of place and materials that made you want to nest in the depths.

From where you were standing, you could see the ensuite with the same aged and vintage style fixtures attached to the deep soaker tub and the double vanity sinks. There was stylized minimalism that had been spread throughout the bathroom and the bedroom, relying more on the surrounding nature to wow you than the designs implemented in the cabin.

“Y/N,” Bucky had called from the middle of the stairs, his voice and scent carried toward you, “come eat, omega. It’s done.”

You removed your hand from the bed and returned it to your side, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty around you before you slowly turned and left the room to join Bucky.

Soft hues of red, and orange and flecks of pink run across the sky like a wide banner that touched the lake’s surface and illuminated the clear water. The sound of some nature bedding down for the night had been matched with creatures that were becoming awake to spend the night in the cover of darkness.

It was the clutch of sleep for some and the openness of night for others that had aided the idea and feeling of peace in the late hour.

It had stretched to you and Bucky as well, the two of you settling into the cabin and basking in the glow of the sun as it set and cast its beautiful spread of colour against the skyline. It was peaceful and quiet, the moment that the two of you had taken to the front porch after unpacking and getting to know the surroundings that would be yours for the next week.

You’d spent the hours since you’d arrived, eating, unpacking and exploring the surrounding area before you’d both returned and ate again. After dinner, Bucky asked what you wanted to do offering suggestions like playing a board game or watching television.

All you could think of wanting to do was sit outside and enjoy the setting sun. All you had wanted to occupy your time with was the setting sun and the Adirondack chairs on the porch, the soft blankets that were provided and a cup of tea.

“It’s beautiful out there.” Your sign language was slow and languid, no rush necessary.

“It’s quiet,” Bucky replied as he sat next to you, some tension still lingering in his shoulders and chest, his eyes almost hazy in thought, “I’ve been here before.”

“Have you?” You questioned with the subtle movements of your fingers as you silently asked. “When?”

“In a dream,” he was quiet, speaking in a husky whisper, “one of the best dreams I’ve ever had.”

“You deserve good dreams, Bucky. You deserve so much in this world.” You turned your head and looked at him, your eyes sweeping over his face while he studied the edge of the water, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“Do I?” It was as if he was asking himself as if he was doubting his worth. “Do I deserve the world?”

“Yes.” You reached over toward him, mouthing your answer and using one hand to communicate. “You do.”

“And if I don’t want the world?” He finally looked at you, finally settled his warm gaze upon your face in a manner of appreciation that should have been placated onto a piece of artwork. “What if my world is…someone…”

“I know what’s going to happen here,” you had silently sighed, the back of your head resting against the right side of your chair, “I know I’m going to leave here a different omega.”

“We don’t have to do this.” Bucky had resigned himself to self-doubt, misconstruing your words. “Y/N, sweetheart…your heat is going to set off my rut and I don’t think I have the ability to stop myself.”

“I don’t want you to stop yourself. I don’t want you to hold back, I knew what would happen if we came here together. I knew that we would end up mating, but I also know that there’s no one else in the world I would rather be with.” You had turned to face him, your fingers moving at a pace that was set by your brain as your mutism had required you to speak with your hands.

“You want to be my omega?” Bucky had still doubted himself, it was there in his mind just as boldly as it was there on the tip of his tongue. “You want to be my mate?”

“I want to be your everything.” You reiterated your feelings, your wants and desires. “You are a good man; a good alpha. You’re my hero Bucky and I don’t mean that lightly.”

“Omega-“

“I’m adopted,” you relayed your message as you faced him, your mouth moving in time with your fingers as you communicated with ASL, “not many parents want a broken omega. Not many parents are willing to adopt an omega who’s damaged, who can’t speak and can only make small sounds.”

“You’re not broken, you’re perfect-“

“The Barton’s adopted me, their first choice was an omega who couldn’t speak and who very likely would never speak. They gave me a family, a brother who I adore and love endlessly. They gave me a chance to thrive and become an omega who’s worth something.” You spoke of your family with only the highest regards, knowing that they had saved you when your biological parents didn’t want you nor had any others.

“You are my hero, Bucky. You will always be my hero.” You leaned over to Bucky and pressed your hands against his chest, palms flush with his body. “I will always want you, I will always need you.”

“You want to be my mate?” Bucky asked, airily. “You want me to be your alpha?”

“Yes.” You signed with assuredness. “You are the only one I want. When we leave here, I hope I have the honour of bearing your mark.”

Bucky grasped your hand and turned it over before he lift your palm to his lips and kissed your flesh softly. He had let his lips linger before he touched the inside of your wrist with his nose, breathing you in and scenting you all the same.

An answer came softly and tenderly, spoken against your flesh. “I’ll be a good alpha for you, I promise.”

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[prurientpuddlejumper]

Cabin in the Woods [18+]

Jackson Neill x Female Reader

For @storiesofsvu​’s Fall Bingo! Requested by @resparza​​! 

Summary: You and Jackson take a trip to New England that goes slightly awry.

Warnings: NSFW, nipple play, fingering, praise, slow gentle sex until the end when it gets a lil rough. Fluffy fluff & the tiniest bit of angst (so Jackson can reassure you). Trans male version here

3,350 words

Jackson made a tiny mistake with the timing. He booked your leaf-peeping getaway for mid-October, when the leaves in the city were just beginning to turn.

When you arrived at your cozy Airbnb in the mountains of Vermont, you were greeted by the awe-inspiring sight of… sticks.

“Goddammit. I forgot how geography works,” Jackson griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d been in a sour mood for most of the drive up I-91 when the scenery started to look distinctly more ashen than orange halfway through Massachusetts.

“It’s like we time-traveled two weeks into the future,” you marveled at the bare tree branches rattling in a chilly breeze. Your rustic cedar-shingle cabin was surrounded by forest and at the end of a long dirt driveway. Even without the screen of leaves, you couldn’t see any neighbors.

“So much for leaf-peeping. There are no leaves.”

You picked up a bright red maple leaf from the driveway. “Found one!”

He chuckled at your enthusiasm and shook his head. “If I made our reservation a week earlier, the foliage would be, you know, in trees.”

“Found another!” you pointed at the colorful ground, grinning. “There’s another!” You picked each one up and tossed them at him like confetti.

“Alright!” he groaned, curling his elbow about your neck like a shepherd’s crook to wrangle you in. “I see you refuse to have a miserable time. Won’t even wallow with me for two seconds?”

“I think it’s pretty.” You turned in his arm and kissed him.

The tip of your nose was cold, but your lips were warm as he kissed you back and tried to look on the bright side. Just because things weren’t going to plan didn’t mean he had to relapse into his ingrained Catholic guilt.

***

Since the publication of his book, Meyerism: A New American Religion, Jackson Neill had been receiving threats from the eponymous cult that had him on edge. Not only was he afraid for himself—he wasn’t so macho to pretend otherwise—but he worried about you or his kids getting caught in the crossfire. The deeper he dug into the Meyerist Movement, the more he was convinced they were capable of anything.

This vacation was supposed to be a way to leave all that behind for a weekend, but stress clung to him like spiderwebs.

At least the weather was cooperative. Friday afternoon was clear and sunny—just the right temperature to sit out on the porch with a hot cup of cider. After unpacking, you settled down with Jackson on Adirondack chairs and listened to the sounds of nature as the fading sun slanted orange and red through the forest.

Pops of bright color still stood out amid the dull grey-brown landscape like flames—late trees that had waited for your arrival to change.

“You’re right: it is pretty,” Jackson conceded, your hand nested in his. Your fingertips were getting cold, so he held them to his lips and blew on them.

Tomorrow, you’d go on a nice hike with a beautiful view of the snow-capped Green Mountains. The trip wasn’t a total waste, Jackson thought. He tried to relax.

***

The next morning, you awoke to the pounding of rain on the roof and Jackson pacing downstairs in the living room. The entire cabin creaked and groaned with the force of the wind, and you quickly pulled on a sweater and wool socks before padding down the stairs.

Jackson was tapping at his phone, muttering under his breath, before finally tossing the useless device on the couch with a dry laugh. His apparent crankiness couldn’t have been that bad, though—he’d gotten up early to light about a hundred votive candles, filling the dim living room with flickering golden light. He must have been planning something romantic.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“No signal out here in God’s country,” Jackson rolled his eyes at a wooden cross decorating a door frame, which had not been visible in the listing photographs.

“Isn’t there Wi-Fi?”

Jackson stared at you with lips so thin they vanished into a fine line, and eyes that looked ready to shatter like exploding light bulbs at any moment. “Storm knocked out the power.”

Oh. That was why he lit candles.

“And our hike is canceled, unless you want to go out in that.” A freezing mix of rain and sleet rattled the window panes.

It was easy to let another person’s bad mood get you down, but you tried to stay positive. He’d been so tense lately, he needed support. You both needed this vacation to go well. “That’s OK. We can stay in and get cozy with the fireplace.”

“You would think so,” he gave a humorless chuckle, shaking your arm off to sulk into the open-plan kitchen. “The listing said breakfast was included, but the refrigerator is empty. We’ve got… toast.”

“Maybe we can drive into town? Find one of those quaint little bakeries.”

“Out into the cold,” he sighed. “And we don’t have internet to look a place up. No wonder the host thinks they can get away with starving us—I can’t even call to complain!”

The wall of positivity you’d constructed groaned and cracked, and the anxiety it held back began to stream through. You sank down onto the couch.

Oblivious, Jackson hunted through the charmingly rustic (and empty) cabinets with an increasingly frustrated frown. “This trip is a disaster.” The words stung as surely as if he called you a disaster.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” He turned. Your voice was so quiet he barely heard you say anything.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated so he would hear, lower lip trembling with the effort.

It took him three strides to cross the entire cabin, and he was on top of you, kneeling in front of the couch, stroking your face. “Hey, no, no… What are you talking about?” His green eyes were soft as the hay fields you’d passed yesterday as they searched yours.

“It was my idea to come here,” you sniffed.

“I know.” His head tilted, and frown lines creased his forehead. “I wanted this weekend to be perfect for you, and I can’t get anything right. I don’t know why you’re sorry. This is my fault.”

“But it’s my fault you’re miserable. I thought getting away from the city would be relaxing. I wanted some alone time with you. But you’re not having any fun. I just don’t want you to be upset…”

Something changed in his eyes.

“I… I’m not upset.” His thumb gently stroked your cheek. “I’m not upset at all—not at you. Maybe at myself. Fine, entirely at myself. This was your trip, and I fucked it up. I hate disappointing you.”

A hint of a smile crept back into your face. You covered his hand with your own and turned into it to kiss his palm. “Jax, you could never disappoint me. All I wanted out of this trip was to spend time with you. So long as we’re together, I’m happy.”

“You don’t look happy.” A flicker of a self-deprecating smirk. “Guess I ruined things by being a grouch, huh?”

Your face once again threatened a smile. “No…”

“Yes. I’m a big mean grouch. Come on, you can tell me off,” he grinned, leaning close to your neck and purring his words against your earlobe. “Punish me. Throw a handful of sleet down my shirt. Push me into a pile of wet leaves.”

“Nooo!” you squirmed beneath him, fighting a laugh as he invented tortures for himself and kissed them into your skin.

“Come on, I deserve it.” He pulled back, and a smile broke across his face like dawn to see how your eyes had brightened.

“Alright, alright. Maybe just a little sleet.”

“From now on”—he pressed his lips against your neck again and sucked lightly at the beat of your pulse point—“I promise”—he nibbled his way over your jaw—“to appreciate every moment of our vacation”—his lips ghosted against yours—“and make sure you feel good.”

You pulled him down onto the couch with you, falling back onto the cushions as his lips melted with yours and his tongue hunted for a moan inside your mouth. He found one, long, slow, and tortured as you tasted the raw heat of his apology.

“Mmm,” you hummed as if a chocolate truffle were melting on your tongue. “You want to make me feel good?”

“Yes,” he sighed back, lips moving against your cheek and his hips lazily grinding against your thigh.

“I have a few ideas about how you could do that…”

“So do I.”

His long fingers slid down your stomach and slipped beneath the waistband of your flannel pajama pants. You drew a sharp breath as his pads grazed the top of your slit, and he paused, looking to you with lust-blown eyes for permission to continue. Sucking your lower lip between your teeth, you angled your pelvis to move his fingers onto the aching bud of flesh that sent hot shivers out beneath your skin at the contact.

“Seems we’re on the same page, Dr. Neill,” you whispered, and captured his lips again.

Moaning into the kiss with a dark, gravelly rumble, Jackson let his fingers venture deeper into your folds. You weren’t drenched for him yet. Moments ago, you had been on the verge of crying, and he still had to reassure your body that it was wonderful and loved—but he was a patient man and enjoyed taking his time. Each breath and sigh was a signal he attended like a rapt student in the front row of the classroom, his own pleasure coursing through his veins as he played with your pussylips and brought out your trust and desire.

“Shirt off.”

Nodding, you peeled the hem up over your stomach, and he sat up to help you wriggle it off over your shoulders. While he was at it, he pulled off your pajama bottoms and stripped to his boxers.

“Hey, I’m cold,” you whined, pouting as goosebumps began to prickle over your naked arms.

He pulled the fleece blanket off the back of the couch and covered you both with it. “I’ll keep you warm, querida,” he purred as he lowered himself over you.

A hot flush spread over your skin. You loved when he spoke Spanish—sweetly, with the vocabulary of a 1950s telenovela, and full of diminutives the way his mother used to speak it to him as a child. A well-placed querida or cielito could send shivers up your spine. It was nothing compared to the back-arching jolt a moment later when his tongue teased your nipple.

You cried out, fingers curling sharply into his hair as if his tongue carried an electric charge, unsure if you were trying to push him off or pull him closer and make sure he never stopped. As he gently sucked and your sensitive flesh pebbled into a stiff peak beneath his circling tongue, you were leaning toward the latter. Head thrown back, you gasped out his name, begging for more.

He worshiped your chest, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful, attentive expression, but he didn’t give you more, no matter how you clawed at the back of his scalp. His tongue worked in gentle, leisurely circles, tracing one fully before moving on to give attention to the other.

Fingers delving back between your thighs, he found your clit swollen and throbbing. You let out a startled, sobbing moan as he stroked it, your back arching, clinging to his head almost painfully tight to brace against the overwhelming sensation. If he kept touching your two most sensitive areas at the same time, you were going to come fast.

“Easy…” he soothed, sensing your agitated level of arousal. “I want to make this last. Can you be good for me and wait?”

Whimpering, you nodded and loosened your tight grip.

“Yes, Dr. Neill.”

“Good girl.”

As he languidly serviced your nipples, he dragged his fingers lower, through your folds. It still made your skin prickle with wanting, but without direct contact with your clit, you wouldn’t come as fast.

When he found your entrance with the pad of a finger, it was slick enough to press inside without resistance. You let out a delicious, tortured moan as the long digit penetrated your tight walls, opening them a little at a time.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. So wet. That’s my good girl.” He lifted his face from your chest to kiss you in praise.

Your hips writhed to push the finger deeper as you kissed him back. He was hungry to reconnect with you—to go slowly and spend as much time as he could sharing pleasure with your naked body—but you were starving. You might explode if he didn’t fuck you.

He moaned softly as your wetness swallowed more of his finger. “Feels like you’re sucking it. Trying to pull me in. You must want more.”

“Yes… please,” you whined, your hands gripping at his broad shoulders.

A second finger stretched your entrance, and he began slowly fucking you with both.

“Oh, fuck. More! Harder,” you moaned.

“You sound so desperate,” he observed casually. “Like one of my students trying to cram for a test.” Heavy-lidded bedroom eyes betrayed his desire, but he wore a cheeky grin and did not increase his pace.

Wet sounds of flesh filled the cabin, so slow it was torture. “Please, Jackson… please let me come. Please…” you begged, but he just kept watching you studiously, worshipfully, as he fingered you slowly. Enough to keep you begging, but not enough to let you finish.

He was straddling one of your legs, and his cock pressed rock-hard into your thigh. Every so often, you would feel it twitch, usually when his fingers massaged a sensitive spot inside that made you give a satisfying noise, and he could feel your pussy gripping around him. Then he would murmur, “You’re so beautiful. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Only when you were a drooling, trembling mess that could barely string two intelligible words together did he start to actively roll his hips, rubbing his erection against your leg.

“Do you want more?”

“Y-yes,” you sobbed.

He sat back on his haunches, and you wailed as his fingers slipped from your yearning wetness, leaving you so empty. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked softly, so tenderly that “fuck” sounded like the most romantic, poetic word in the English language.

“I love you,” you replied, which wasn’t technically a yes, but made Jackson’s breath catch suddenly in his throat.

“I love you, too, mi corazón.” He tugged the elastic waistband of his boxers down over his straining cock, and, taking it in his hand, notched its thick head against your entrance. His forehead rested against yours as he demanded huskily, “Now tell me you want me inside you.”

You gasped. He was so big and blunt against your tight pussy, you almost didn’t think he could fit. But you knew he could—and you knew that was why he always warmed you up so gradually, so agonizingly, so he would never hurt you. With the crown of his cock stretching your opening, the temptation of being filled by him was so close that an unbearable ache drowned out every other thought.

“I want you, Jackson. I need you.”

A thrill rushed through you as his walls came crashing down. His hips canted forward, and a pleasurable burn filled your depths as his cock stretched you open farther than seemed possible—and you watched his mind empty in that moment. All the stress and worry were gone. Nothing was on his mind but you and how good you felt wrapped around him. Nothing existed for you but him between your legs and the ragged sound of his breathing.

As if to seamlessly replace his fingers with his cock, he set the same languid pace. At first, the difference in girth was enough to make it infinitely more intense. Relief cascaded through you as your pleasure finally began to build toward a finale, heat pooling in your lower body with every thrust. Dipping his head, Jackson found a hardened nipple and sucked it until you were babbling incoherently, hips jerking to add to the depth and friction he was giving you.

“H-harder,” you whispered, and this time, he didn’t tease you.

Your pussy coated his cock with so much cream, he knew you could take all of him. Knew you were ready to snap, and so was he—so his hips pounded faster, thighs slapping your skin, heavy balls swinging against your ass.

“Yes… yes… yes…” he breathed rhythmically, chasing his climax as your arousal coated his cock and slicked your thighs.

“More,” you rasped, though your fingernails were already digging red crescents into his back, the stretch almost too much. He needed a stress release, and you wanted to be his outlet. “Let yourself go.”

A final barrier broke inside him, and he took you so quickly, it was more like jerking himself off with your body than making love. Nothing went through his mind but seeking his own release. For a moment, Even you vanished, and there was nothing but his cock surrounded and gripped by unbelievable warmth. You cried out in pleasure at the new depths he struck with reckless abandon.

His hips stuttered. “Fuck!” he gasped, fingers gripping the couch cushion as his hot seed painted your inner walls.

He panted, going still. After a few moments of catching his breath, cock twitching the remainder of its contents into you, he wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow and opened his eyes.

“You didn’t come, did you?” He gave a sheepish sigh.

“It’s OK. Sometimes it takes me too long… It was fun anyway.”

“Stop that. Whoever gave you those excuses is a fucking idiot.”

Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he reached between your bodies to stroke your clit. You gasped out, finding your body responded quickly with waves of molten heat exploding between your thighs. You were still close to finishing.

Jackson circled his hips, using his spent, tender cock while it was still hard. Though each movement was overstimulating and made his body cry out to stop, he savored the way you responded to the pressure: your eyes squeezing closed, your breath growing shallow. He lowered his mouth to your chest again, stroking your clit faster as he flicked his tongue and rocked his hips in shallow thrusts. Your moans built, louder and more strained, back arching beneath him until finally, you came, walls crashing around him, convulsing and releasing, then clenching down again as your whole body shuddered with wave after wave of ecstasy.

Jackson’s mouth popped off the bud of your nipple as a pained moan tore from his throat. His exhausted cock suffered as your pussy involuntarily tried to milk another orgasm from it, but there was a smile on his lips. A breathy laugh.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re perfect.”

You lay together for a while under the blanket. Even after you’d recovered, your shared body heat was incentive enough not to want to get up yet. The storm outside didn’t relent, and despite the warm light of a hundred flickering candles, the air inside the cabin was chilly. Soon, you would start up the fire in the rustic stone hearth, and you could stay cozy inside all day roasting marshmallows and reading books or playing board games. After a brief trip into town for supplies, that is. Besides, you would have to brave the storm to make good on your promise to slip some ice down his shirt.

For now, Jackson’s face was buried contentedly in the curve of your neck, hot puffs of breath tickling your skin. You held him in your arms, combing your fingers through his hair.

“So,” you murmured. “Enjoying our vacation yet?”

You felt him smile. “It’s everything I needed.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @detectivebarba​

[thiswasinevitableid]

88. I dropped my watch in an open grave, jumped in to get it, and while you were visiting your dead grandmother, you saw me climbing out of the grave (credit to @enchantedcass)

Indruck, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here it is! This is technically SFW, though there's some discussion of sex and a bit of steaminess at the end.

“Here, these are fresh.” Indrid sets the wildflowers on the small, stone marker, so covered with moss and worn with age that no one can read it. He only knows where to find her because he watched from the Barrens as she was put in the ground.

Temperance Leeds. His grandmother, the one who narrowly avoided accusations of witchcraft, the only human who ever set foot deep enough in the trees to bring him food, to drape blankets over his shaking shoulders. She never forgot him, and he shall return the favor as long as he lives.

There’s a thump of earth behind him and he whirls; it’s midnight in a graveyard, who could possibly be here? The ghosthunters usually wait for darker nights to come. In his periphery, a hand rises from an open grave.

Great, if the dead rise he’ll probably be blamed for that too.

“Fuck” A young man pulls himself from the grave, staring at his cell phone, “c’mon, please don’t be fuckin cracked.” Light illuminates his face and sighs, “thank fuckin christ.”

The light disappears and he blinks, eyes adjusting to the dark. Indrid, too caught up in working out why he’s in the ground, hasn’t bothered to hide as he should. The human notices.

“Uh. I. Uh. Dropped my phone checkin the time. I, uh, definitely wasn’t smokin in the off limits, uh, fuck, graveyard I, uh, I fuck, promise I’ll clean up my beer bottles I mean, uh, fuck.” He scratches the back of his neck, “please don’t call the cops?”

“Can you see me?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Yeah?”

“And you are worried about me alerting the police?”

“I mean, guess we’re both breakin the rules but I kinda figured you were staff here because of the clothes.” He gestures to the ensemble Indrid cobbled together from clothes lines.

Indrid stands, stretches his wings, flicks his tail and watches the human slowly notice the color of his eyes and the outline of his horns.

“Fuck. Look, man, whatever you are, I swear I won’t tell, I’m just tryin to keep busy, please, my folks are already worried about me-”

“I’m not going to harm you.” Lightning cracks through the sky, flashing his shadow across the frightened human, “I just wanted you to see me clearly.”

Rain patters on the leather of his wings. The man looks up at the sky, face seeming even younger as it fills with resignation. Indrid recognizes it’s source.

“You have nowhere to go, do you?”

“No. I, uh, decided I wanted to get outta town and never come back, made it as far as here before I ran outta money.”

Indrid offers his hand, watches the man’s face zero in on the claws, “You may spend the night with me, if you wish. My home is a ways into the woods, but it is dry and warm.”

“Okay.” The young man replies softly, letting Indrid help him up as the dirt turns to mud. Indrid shelters him as best he can with a wing until they reach the cottage. Indrid kneels by the fireplace, lumps kindling into a pile as the young man sets his backpack on a chair.

“Nice place. Gotta admit I was expectin somethin more dilapidated. On account of the whole, uh, y’know.” He gestures to Indrid’s horns and cloven feet.

“It was much like you expected, once upon a time. But a human named Arlo Thacker took pity on me and helped me build it with the aid of a few friends. There.” The fire flickers merrily, “that should keep us warm. You may--ah, what are you doing?”

The young man has removed his jacket and shirt, revealing what Indrid recognizes from human magazines as a sports bra. His hands are now on the fly of his jeans.

“You said I was supposed to, uh, spend the night with you?”

“Yes, in that you may sleep here to be safe from the weather and any who might wish you harm. Not so that you may keep me warm. So to speak.”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?”

Indrid flicks his tail, surprised, “You would offer yourself to me, looking like this?”

The man nods in a way that suggests he’s run a calculus in his head and decided Indrid’s desire was less abhorrent than some other option. Indrid crosses the small living room, bringing them face to face. He reaches out a hand, runs his claws through black hair until the human closes his eyes. Then his hand slides to cup his cheek, one nail tracing fond little shapes on the skin as the man sighs. Against his better judgement, he tilts his head down to nose the dark locks; smoke lingers there, just as alcohol hangs on his breath. He’s so warm, so willing and so very soft. Indrid wants nothing more than to undress him further, carry him to his cozy bedroom and discover what sounds come when he fits their bodies together.

“What’s your name?”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

“A charming one. But no, Duck, I will not take such advantage of you. I may be called a devil, but I do not believe in making one trade their body for basic kindness. Come along, the bedroom will allow you more privacy.”

“Thanks.” Duck sways, and Indrid senses a weariness he’s not certain a good nights rest will fix. Tomorrow he will be sure to be gone when Duck awakens, leaving his dry clothes and a map back to town outside his door so that he can do what Indrid can dare to; leave the Barrens and find a life waiting for him in the world beyond.

-----------------------------------------------------------

There are some days when Duck thinks his encounter in the woods was a dream. The hand-drawn map he keeps folded among his books tells him otherwise.

He’d come home after that night, made his peace with Kepler for a few years more, and often awoke from dreams where he was pushing through brush in pursuit of a strange shadow. He never cites these as a reason for his taking a job at a state forest in New Jersey that includes the Barrens.

Now, he’s decided to upgrade from his apartment to a house in the woods that’s been listed for over two years and is a goddamn steal because of that.

“As you can see, there’s another residence across the clearing; that’s why the company that built this lovely dwelling was able to do so. They intended to build a nice little community here.”

“The fact that ain’t happened got anythin to do with the reason I gotta stay the night before I make an offer?”

Ned’s smile falters, “Indeed, dear boy. I like you, so I’ll be forthcoming; we’ve never seen anyone in the other house. But they have most certainly seen us.”

Duck settles in for an uneventful afternoon and evening, reads his book and considers whether he could fit some windowboxes on the house for garden space. It’s not until it’s pitch black outside that it starts; footsteps on the roof, followed shortly by red eyes peering in through the living room window.

He opens the front door, the undergrowth rustling hurriedly to his left.

“Uh, hey there. You may not remember me but, uh, we’ve actually met before. About ten years ago. You uh, you let me stay the night?”

Only some crickets, unaware of the tension in the air, reply to him. Then the bushes grow two, ruby red flowers.

“Duck?”

“Yep. Y’know, you never told me your name. If we’re gonna be neighbors, feels like I oughta know what to call you.”

A shadow moves from the trees, stopping when it reaches the light spilling from the windows. He’s as Duck remembers him; short horns sprouting from a mop of silver hair, claws on his fingers and black wings folded on his back. His skin is a swirl of ashy grey and ember red. And his face, while striking, is human. That was the part that always tripped Duck up; the Jersey Devil was always drawn with a goat or horse face, making him question whether that’s who he met all those years ago.

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

“Nice to see you again, Indrid.”

The other man smiles, and Duck knows what will replace the mad hunt through the brush in his dreams, “Likewise.”

-------------------------------------------------

“You know, she had three more children after me. None of them suffered the same curse.” Indrid kicks idly at the long decayed remains of his family home. Their nightly walk brough them close to it this time around, and Duck had been curious. His interest is never prurient or morbid; Duck wants to get to know Indrid, not his legend.

“That fuckin sucks.”

Indrid chuckles, “I do enjoy how you put things so plainly.”

“I’m serious, what kind of folks put their kid out when it’s a baby? I mean, mine weren't always the fuckin parents of the year but at least they understood lookin after me was part of the deal.”

“It was a different time.”

“Fine, but I’m still judgin the hell outta them.”

Indrid looks fondly down at the human, “That’s as fair a fate for them as any.”

---------------------------------------

“It don’t weird you out?” Juno indicates Indrid’s house from where she and Duck are sitting on his front porch. The twin Adirondack chairs are a new addition, as the warmer months mean he and Indrid spend ample time trying to see the stars through the treetops.

“Nah. Indrid’s a real good neighbor when he’s around. He’s uh, from an old family so he don’t gotta work. Part of why he keeps such weird hours.” Duck wishes he could introduce them; it’d be nice for the three of them to have dinner before Juno heads south again. But Indrid has several centuries of shitty human encounters that dig under his skin like splinters, and Duck will never push him to ignore that pain. Besides, there will be other visits.

The summer and fall pass in much the same ways last winter and spring did. Duck works in the park, visits friends in town, runs errands, and generally goes about all the mundane moments that make up a life. Then he spends his evenings in one of the two cottages, or walking alongside Indrid on long-overgrown pathways.

The hardest part of it all is not mentioning Indrid in every single conversation; Duck is already tempting disaster being unable to lie and the neighbor of a cryptid. He doesn’t want to also drive his friends up the wall talking about said cryptids art, or his laugh, or the little herb garden Duck is helping him grow.

They’re in the stretch of days between Christmas and New Year, and Indrid has just finished opening the gift Duck brought him; a thick, soft sweater that Duck stitched a “I” into the front of along with a few little pine tree patches. Indrid smiles at him and notices that Duck’s sweater is done in a similar fashion (in fact, everyone in the Newton family wears one like this). The grin turns bashful and Indrid rubs his cheek against the fabric.

“Thank you, Duck. I, ah, I’m sorry I do not have anything to give you. Holidays are not my strong suit.”

“Just gettin to see you is enough.” Duck stands to refill his tea, Indrid’s gaze caressing his back as he moves through the room. He almost hadn’t gone home, had offered to stay and keep Indrid company. But his friend insisted, reminding him that while it felt odd to be without each other, they both had spent plenty of time apart and been fine. All the same, when he got home yesterday Indrid was knocking on his door before he even put his bag down.

Duck didn’t mind at all. No more than he minds when Indrid sleeps with his head in his lap or strokes his hair while they read on the couch.

The cryptid stokes the fire as the snow gives way to sleet, streaking the windows with icy drops.

“Goodness, what a frigid night.”

“No kiddin.” Duck sets his mug down, turns just as Indrid gets to his feet, “can’t say I mind, kinda reminds me of the night we met.”

The colors of Indrid’s skin make a blush difficult to spot, but Duck’s learned which dip of his head and quirk of his lip means it’s there.

“‘Drid? Did you ever think about that night? Because I did. I, uh, I do.”

“Yes.” Indrid’s tail twitches.

“What do you think about?”

“I, ah, I...you first.”

Duck crosses the creaking floorboards, looking up into red eyes, “I think about how safe it felt when you brought me here. How when I woke up, I felt like this was some kinda weird sign, that I needed to rethink some things and that’s how come I went home, which turned out to be a good call. And” he smirks, “I think about how I was drunk and desperate enough to ask the fuckin Jersey Devil if he was gonna fuck me.”

Indrid blushes once more, studies the ground as Duck touches his shoulder, “I must say that is the part that dominated most of my thoughts. Not right away; for the first few weeks when I thought of you I only hoped you were alright. Then I would let myself imagine that I had been devilish indeed.”

Gently, Duck raises Indrid’s hand and cradles his cheek with it as they did that night, “What would you have done, devil of mine?”

A snicker, “I will answer that only if you tell me whether you are angling for the demonstration that I think you are.”

“Damn right.” He closes his eyes, heart swelling and skin prickling as Indrid steps closer and nuzzles the top of his head.

“I would have asked if you were tired of running. If you wanted a home. And would you like to make it here, so that we could keep each other company. I know in my heart this would have been a selfish offer. I am glad I did not make it, did not trap you here, resign you to a fate that was not what you would have chosen freely.”

“I’m pretty fuckin free these days.”

“And that all on it’s own fills me with joy. But yes, there were nights where I wished I’d been selfish.”

Duck tips his head up, brushing their noses together, “Say you made that offer and I accepted. What then?”

Indrid cups his face with both hands. The kiss is chaste, Indrid sighing against his lips as he twines his claws in his hair. Duck wraps his arms around his waist, lightly teasing the edge of one wing.

“Then” Indrid murmurs, “I’d carry you to bed.”

“Yeah, that part woulda been easier when I was seventeEEN” he laughs as Indrid scoops him into a bridal carry with ease. He’s never been in Indrid’s bed, so he giggles again when he discovers it’s ten times squishier than his own. The cryptid sinks onto it with him, guiding him so they’re face to face on their sides.

“May I undress you?”

“Knock yourself out, darlin.” Affection deep and warm as a thermal spring wells up in him as Indrid carefully removes his sweater and shirt before dainty setting his claws to work on his fly. When Duck is down to his boxers, hunger enters Indrid’s eyes for the first time.

“Oh you are divine.” One hand strokes his leg, pausing at the crease of his thigh each time it reaches there. The other curves along his belly up to his chest before caressing his face, the black claws making his skin seem oddly pale and very fragile in comparison.

Duck touches the hem of Indrid’s shirt and the cryptid freezes.

“‘Drid? Is this okay?”

“Do you...truly wish to see me unclothed?”

Duck surges forward to kiss him as he rucks up his shirt, the movement a sufficient answer for Indrid to raise his arms and let him pull the sweater and battered shirt beneath it away. His skin here is the same swirl of colors as the rest of him, but there’s a dusting of peach fuzz fur across it. It’s delightful under Duck’s tongue, though the little keen of pleasure from Indrid is even better.

“It’s strange” Indrid traces hearts and zig-zags with his claws along Duck’s sides as the human continues kissing his chest and neck, “I thought that seeing you like this would so overwhelm me with need that I’d beg to have you this instant. But it seems I feel much the same way I did in my fantasies of that night.”

“Oh” Duck reaches up to toy with the base of a horn and Indrid groans happily before continuing.

“Had you stayed, knowing you were now mine, I’d have taken my time. Nestled you under the blankets, opened you up on my tongue until you were weak from pleasure. That way it would be easy to take you when I was ready. Perhaps on your back, so you had me to hold onto if you needed. Or on your belly, so you would be even more sheltered from the cold, cruel world by my body and wings. And I’d stay there for hours, make up for decade after decade of touch starvation by glutting myself on your young, willing body.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid.” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, “christ that’s a fuckin good image.”

“Mmmm” the cryptid licks his cheek, “it is, isn’t it. But since you are not going anywhere, and we are not limited by the confines of my imagination, I am even less inclined to rush. Will you indulge me with just kisse tonight?”

Duck brushes silver hair from his forehead, planting a kiss there when he’s done, “Of course.”

----------------------

The morning brings several feet of snow and announcement that those who can stay in their homes and shelter from the ongoing storm should. The pines drop heaps of white across the ground, and frost makes the windows so icy it’s better to draw the curtains and stay curled up in the dark.

Duck doesn’t mind at all.

[phases--ofthemoon]

PHASES CH. 7

Warnings some language, grief

Emerson

Come Monday Mary got me in touch with a friend of hers who had a house for rent that she thought I might be interested in. The woman had retired further south so her house here in Forks had been empty for some time. It was out beyond the outskirts of town surrounded by woods just off one of the main roads. With the small inheritance I had left behind from my Mom plus what I would get when my house in North Carolina officially sold, I had enough to be comfortable for a long while. I could probably even buy a house if I wanted but I figured it was probably smart to rent for now at least until I found myself a decent job here.

When I met the realtor at the house I was pleasantly surprised. It was a small cozy cabin built out of pine logs with dark green shutters and it had a covered front porch with a rocking chair. It looked very picturesque from the outside, like something you'd see in a vacation rental brochure.

Once inside it was just as inviting, there was a small living room with a beautiful rustic stone fireplace. The living area led into the kitchen and dining area. There was a half bath downstairs and a full bath and two bedrooms upstairs. It wasn’t a big house but it felt cozy which was perfect. All the wood gave it a warmth that just felt comforting. Maybe I’ll get a dog. I could picture a dog sleeping in front of the fire place, the thought brought a smile to my face.

Walking through with the real estate agent I was already sold but when the lady led me back downstairs and toward what I assumed was the back door it led out to a back deck nearly the size of the living room. There were four Adirondack chairs in a circle facing a little metal fire pit above the chairs was an open pergola strung with glass string light bulbs. I could only imagine how beautiful it looked at night. Standing on that deck felt like a private oasis with no neighbors in sight just the majestic woods surrounding this little log cabin. I was sold. This was my new home.

The next few days were spent with the agent getting the documents and paperwork filled out for renting my new place. I was so grateful to Mary for helping me find this place and she even insisted I use her as a reference on the application. I was excited I could already envision decorating the place and what it would look like once I moved in.

It was partially furnished, there was a four poster wooden bed in the master bedroom with a matching oak dresser and a loveseat and matching chair in the living room. They were Items that the owner had left behind since she didn’t want to move them all the way to her new home. They were nice pieces that were very well taken care of which I was super grateful for. It was a really good start but I would definitely need to get more pieces once I moved in. Mary was already giving me suggestions of places to go shopping telling me about a few good options right here in town.

By Thursday all the paperwork was finalized and I was given the keys, I was so excited. I drove over to the Inn and thanked Mary profusely, she was just happy she could help and knew it would be a good fit for me. She was sad to see me leave the Inn she had enjoyed my company these past two weeks. I assured her I would be stopping by quite frequently and would have to have her and Ralph over for dinner once I got settled.

I loaded up my car with my belongings and headed to my little cabin. Even though it felt like it was well out of the town area it was only a 15 minute drive from the Inn and a 10 minute drive from downtown. It was nice that it was close enough to everything but still had that out in the woods vibe. I settled in quickly that evening. I ordered some pizza and did some cleaning in the kitchen and the bathrooms but everything was pretty tidy already especially for being vacant for awhile. I looked around and made a list of what I would need to finish furnishing the house as well as made a grocery and kitchen essentials list. I had a few boxes to unpack but I decided that would be my plan for tomorrow as well as going to the grocery store and furniture store. I slept surprisingly well that night. It was so quiet and peaceful here. I thought I would have been a little scared in a new house all by myself but I oddly enough felt very safe here.

The next morning I rolled out of bed grabbing my blanket and headed downstairs to make some coffee, I had been pleasantly surprised to find a coffee maker in one of the cabinets also left behind by the owner. Mary was sweet enough to send me off with a basket of coffee essentials; a bag of her favorite ground coffee beans, filters, sugar, creamer packets, stirrers and a mug that read the ‘Calawah Inn’. I smiled at her thoughtfulness it would go perfect with my mug collection that was yet to be unpacked. Mary also stocked the basket with some baked goods to tide me over for a couple days which I was more than excited to dig in to.

After I finished brewing and preparing my coffee I took my blanket and walked out to the back porch. I took a seat in one of the chairs and just took in the beautiful morning. It was still early but the sun was steady rising as it peaked a bit through the clouds. It was pretty chilly, fall was definitely on its way. I wrapped my blanket around me tighter as I took a sip of my hot coffee. I sat there for a while enjoying the peacefulness around me and the sounds of the forest. As I finished my coffee I let my mind wander soon I only had one thing on my mind, Jacob.

We hadn’t seen each other since he gave me a tour around town last weekend and the only talking we had done was when he called me Wednesday morning to let me know my car was done. Mary had driven me over to the shop but when I got there it was just Joe and Josh one of the other mechanics. I had to admit I was bummed Jacob wasn’t there. He had been on my mind pretty consistently over the past week. I wanted to see him again and hang out with him again but I didn't know if he even wanted that.

I almost texted him a few times but chickened out. Other than that one phone call I hadn’t heard a word from him. I didn’t want to come off super eager especially if he just wasn’t interested in being friends or whatever else.. I let out a sigh. I would think over it today and maybe I’d call or text him tonight. With that I finished my coffee and went back inside to get ready and start my day. I had plenty of errands to run but I was just excited to get this house looking like a home.

After I got ready, I grabbed my lists and keys and headed out the door. There was a little second hand furniture store Mary had given me the name of to go check out so I decided to go there first. It was a little storefront with a small warehouse in the back. The lady whose name I learned was Anne, was the very sweet shop owner and I could tell her and Mary were good friends by the way she gushed about her. She let me browse the entire warehouse and even told me there were some extra items around back that were still on a truck waiting to be put into inventory.

There were a lot of nice solid wood pieces that I could refinish, my mom and I had done tons of DIY projects like that when I was growing up. We were never poor but there were some harder times when I was growing up where we had to keep a tight budget so I was taught to be thrifty. I honestly had loved it, working on projects, finding hidden treasures it became our thing. I wondered what she would have thought of Forks, what she would have thought of me moving all the way out here, I just hoped that she would be proud of me and not think I was a coward from running away from our home in North Carolina. I had to shake the thoughts away if I thought about her too long I would be crying in no time, I missed her terribly. Would it ever get easier?

After about two hours combing through the warehouse I found several pieces that has a ton of potential. I found a round walnut dining table with four matching chairs, that was probably the best find since It didn't even need refinishing. I also picked out an off white wooden coffee table that I planned to give a fresh coat of paint to and some new hardware. I also snagged a couple nightstands for the bedrooms, a vanity for the master, an end table for the living room, and a small corner hutch for the dining area. I was so thrilled with everything I found and most everything didn’t need a ton of work, mostly some sanding, maybe some new stain and paint. I could already envision how things were going to look. 



Anne tagged everything I picked out and I went ahead and paid for everything. She said she’d have her sons move everything to the back so they’d be ready to be loaded whenever I could come pick all of it up. I was able to fit the two night stands and end table in my little sedan but I was gonna need someone with a truck for the rest of the furniture and some man power…Hmm. Jacob. He definitely has the physique for doing some heavy lifting and Mary did say he had a lot of young guy friends on the reservation that I’m sure could help and at least one of them was bound to have a truck right? With that I made the decision to call Jacob tonight to see if him and some of his friends could potentially help me out this weekend and I would make sure to cook lunch or something for them as a thank you. It would give me the perfect excuse to talk to him again and see him if he agreed…I was already getting butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it.

Before I left the furniture store I made sure I still had enough room for groceries and headed toward the only real grocery/convenient store in town. It was smaller than most of the grocery stores back home but I was able to get just about everything I needed. I’d probably have to make a trip up to Port Angeles soon to find a Walmart to get some house hold items like extra bed sheets, towels, rugs and additional decor. Once I finished at the grocery store I headed back home to unload everything, stock the kitchen and start unpacking the boxes I had taken with me.

I hadn’t brought a ton of stuff from North Carolina most of the items I decided to take besides clothes were family heirlooms or had sentimental value to them. Like my mom and I’s coffee mug collection, some quilts and linens, our family china and some other miscellaneous appliances and cookware. By late that afternoon everything was cleaned up and put away and I was happy with my productivity.

It was a little chilly so I started a fire in the fireplace, I was thankful there was a large pile of chopped wood against the side of the house and for summer camp teaching me how to start a fire. It was a skill that did come in handy, after the fire was nicely going I grabbed my favorite candle and lit it and placed it on the kitchen counter. It was from a local little shop back home that made homemade candles a the scent was called “Hometown” which was supposed to smell like coastal North Carolina. Within a few minutes the warm Sandalwood, beach grass with a hint of sea salt filled the room. I closed my eyes and for a second I felt like I was back home. I felt like any moment I’d hear my mom’s voice. I hadn’t lit this candle since she passed.

I walked over to the couch where I had placed the blanket that was always on her bed. I laid down and wrapped myself in it, I could still smell the faintness of her perfume on it. I inhaled deeply and hugged the blanket close and released all the tears I had been suppressing since I had arrived in Forks. I must of cried myself to sleep because I woke up out of sorts and saw it was now dark outside the only glow in the house coming from the fire which was mostly just embers now and the flickering of the candle in the kitchen. I threw some more logs on the fire and walked into the kitchen and turned on the lights looking over at the clock that read 6:15pm. I should probably make some dinner. First I needed a hot shower thought, all that crying took a lot of out me. I felt emotionally and physically drained. I headed upstairs to wash off the long day.

The hot water felt amazing I took my time and did a little extra pampering, exfoliating, shaving even gave myself a hair mask. I exited the shower feeling like a new woman. That cry was definitely cathartic. I dug out my favorite nightgown, it was my mom’s and when I was little I liked to play dress up in it. It was white cotton with with lace trim around the v neckline and the camisole bodice laced up the front. It had lace appliqué detailing around the waist and down the two front seems and the ruffle hem came right above my knees. It had these romantic vintage vibes to it which I just loved. I grabbed a pair of my coziest socks and threw a chunky oversized cardigan on to keep me warm and headed downstairs to cook some dinner.

I decided on something simple, some pasta with some meat sauce. I started the water and browning some spicy Italian sausage and within 30 minutes dinner was finishing up. I went to grab the olive oil from the cabinet above the stove but I had pushed it back too far when putting away the groceries. Damnit. I grabbed the little folding stool from the pantry and pushed up against the stove. Downfall of only being a little over five foot, you cannot reach anything. I stood on the stool now able to see easily into the cabinet and noticed there was a bottle tucked in the back I hadn’t see earlier, it was a bottle of liquor, whiskey to be exact. Score. I wasn’t a big drinker but I did drink socially with my college friends and my mom had let me have a drink every now and then once I graduated high school. Mostly I just had beer with friends and wine on holidays with my mom but when it came to liquor I was partial to whiskey. That's all my ex had drank, he was a little older than me and already 21 when we were dating so when I hung out with him I’d drink it too, eventually I developed a taste for it.

I figured it must be a sign, after how emotional today got a little drink to take off the edge might be nice. I grabbed a small glass and a few ice cubes out of the ice tray and poured myself a drink. “Cheers” I said to myself in the kitchen and downed the brown liquid. It burned and warmed my insides all at once, I had never heard of this particular whiskey but it was pretty good. I'd have to keep the bottle for future reference.

I refilled my glass and sipped on it while I plated up my dinner. Without my table I’d have to either stand in the kitchen at the counter or sit on the couch. Hmm. Couch it is. I sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, one of the things I had brought from home. There weren't a ton of local free channels but I was able to find some sitcom that seemed alright enough. I’d have to check out cable providers and see what was available out here. I didn’t watch a ton of TV but there were few shows I liked and I enjoyed having it on in the background sometimes.

After I finished eating I put away the leftovers and started cleaning up the kitchen. I shrugged off my cardigan while I rinsed dishes to put them in the dishwasher. Between the fireplace roaring nicely and the second glass of whiskey I was toasty warm. Once the kitchen was back in order I grabbed my cell to head outside. Now that I had a little extra liquid courage in me I needed to call Jacob before it got too late…

I stepped out and was hit with a brisk breeze. Ooh shit it’s a little cold. I ran back in and grabbed the blanket off the couch since it would cover more of me than my cardigan would and walked back out the back door. Much better. I walked over to the railing and sat down my phone and whiskey glass. It was definitely colder tonight but the chill in the air that was kind of exhilarating. I wrapped the blanket tighter over my bare shoulders and looked out into the dark forest as I stood on my back deck.

The sounds of wind in the trees was comforting, I looked up past the lit string lights and noticed the moon peaking out from behind some clouds. I looked like it was almost a full moon. It really was beautiful here. Okay enough stalling. I picked up my cell and stared at it now feeling nervous again. Come on now or never. Maybe I could just text him? No no I was asking for a favor the polite thing to do is call him. I scrolled down through my contacts and once I was on his number I pressed the green button. Here goes nothing.

[straightupsickfics]

A smol thing for/inspired by @softersteve​ who wanted 18 / squishing the other’s cheek from this prompt list, with some cute reluctant sick person Bucky 💖

This is from an au I started where Bucky lives in a small town in Indiana and is a carpenter/wood worker and Tony is a mechanic who owns an auto repair shop and they fall in love on Bucky’s porch 

***

“...He said that Maura appeared to be shaken up, but didn’t appear intoxicated…” The sound of a familiar voice greets Tony as he walks the length of the driveway and up the steps to where Bucky sits on his porch. 

At midday, the sun is high in the sky, and it’s clear from the look of him that Bucky’s been working since early that morning. His hands and jeans are covered in a thin coat of sawdust, and he just looks... worn out. Tony’s stomach still gives a little flip at the sight of him, though. It’s still new, being with him, but it’s been so easy, slotting their lives together and spending long stretches of the evenings together — sitting on Bucky’s porch and talking about their latest projects, eating dinner together and drinking a beer while the sun set — that it’s become something of a routine. Something to look forward to at the end of even the longest days. 

Today, Tony’s early. Work had been slow all day and he’d decided to close up early and come visit his grumpy, hard-working, true crime-obsessed boyfriend. 

“Working hard or hardly working?” Tony says in greeting, leaning down to brush a kiss over Bucky’s lips. He feels a smile unfurl beneath his lips and grins in response, pulling away. 

“Could say the same for you,” Bucky counters, voice just shy of raspy as he smiles shyly up at him. Bucky’s eyes look even more tired up close, and despite the bright sun, his face is more pale than usual, almost sallow. “Shouldn’t you be at the shop right now?”

“I wanted to see you,” Tony tells him, dropping himself into the Adirondack chair beside Bucky’s. They’re beautiful pieces, each made by hand with the kind of love and care Bucky puts into everything he cares about, Tony was coming to realize. He’s a tough nut to crack, but deep down, Bucky is just about as soft as they come. 

Tony sees it in the careful way Bucky pulls Tony to him at night, smiling softly at him while they eat and talk about nothing; he sees it when he catches him murmuring sweetly to Alpine, his little white rescue cat, and definitely when he Facetimes with his friends from New York, Steve and Sam. The three of them remind Tony of his own best friends, Pepper and Rhodey, also in New York, also keen to give him shit about his personal life at every turn. 

It’s adorable, really, these little glimpses into Bucky’s life, things and people Tony could only hope to one day meet. 

Beside him, Bucky coughs roughly into his elbow, then shoots Tony an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Driving me crazy…” 

Tony looks at him. “You sound a little rough, Buckybot,” he tells him. “Not that I don’t enjoy the whole sexy raspy thing you’ve got going on,” he adds. 

Bucky gives him another little smile, this one bordering on a smirk as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Not if it means you’re feeling bad, though,” Tony tells him. “And if you’re sitting here in the middle of the day, listening to your doom and gloom show—”

Bucky holds up a hand, stopping him. “It’s not a doom and gloom show.”

“I don’t know, listening to stories about murder for all these hours? Pretty dark, Buck,” Tony counters.

This gets him another eye roll. He’d probably get a lecture of the merits of Crime Junkie, too, but Bucky’s eyes get a kind of glazed look to them, bleary and unfocused as his breathing goes shallow. Tony watches as he shakes his head once, quickly, like he’s trying to clear it, before he gives up and brings a hand to his face, pinching off a rush of quick, itchy-sounding sneezes. 

“Hh’mpsh! Hdt’ish! Tshh! Snf!”

“Bless you! You shouldn’t do that you know. Your eyes might pop out of your skull. Or your brain might explode. And then I’ll have to be a guest on a podcast, talking about you to strangers. I’ll have no choice but to broadcast your stubbornness to the whole world.”

Bucky sniffles, then sighs. “You’re insane, you know that?” 

“So I’ve been told,” Tony says, smiling. He leans over, letting his hand rest on Bucky’s knee. “Are you okay? I’m no doctor but you look like you’re getting sick.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, grimacing. He leans down and pulls a box of tissues from beneath his chair, snuffling into them before he replies again. “Might be coming down with something, but I feel okay. Mostly just s-sndeezing. The dust and the sun weren’t helping, so I came up here for a while.”

“Sweetheart,” Tony says, and his voice sounds too soft and sappy even to his own ears, but he can’t help it, not with the way Bucky’s sitting there with his watery eyes and pale face, telling him he feels just fine. He watches as Bucky tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, sniffling a few more times. The rest of his hair is pulled up into a bun the way it always is when he’s been working, and Tony’s struck with the desire to pull it loose, release some of the tension that’s probably building in Bucky’s head and sinuses.

“W-what?” Bucky asks, his voice unsteady as his nostrils flare at the edges. He scrubs at it, but it apparently doesn’t do much because Bucky’s head bobs against an onslaught of another set of sneezes. 

“Hh’Ishhh! Ehtsh! Heh’ISHOO!” The last one slips out, unstifled, and Bucky brings the handful of tissues back up, burying his face into them. 

“God bless you,” Tony says. He gets up then, takes the box of tissues from Bucky’s lap and settles himself onto it, straddling himself over Bucky’s thighs and leaning into the warm weight of him. “You make a cute sick person, you know that?”

“I’m hardly sick, Tony, I might be getting a cold, but I’m not…” Bucky trails off as Tony reaches up and lets his hair down, slipping the hair tie onto his own wrist in the process. 

“Spoken like the stubborn sick person I know you to be, sweetheart,” Tony says, carding a hand into Bucky’s hair a few times and watching his face soften at the endearment. 

“Your face is pale,” Tony points out, cupping Bucky’s cheek in his palm and squeezing playfully. “But I’m afraid it’s true. You’re a cute sick person.” He drops a kiss to the apple of Bucky’s cheek to illustrate his point, smiling as Bucky tries his very best not to smile at the affection. 

“Keep it up, Stark,” Bucky warns, though the congestion and fondness all but negates whatever threat he had planned. He holds up a hand in warning, then leans back and away from Tony to sneeze again. “Hh’Eh...eeISHH’oo! Huh’TshhhIEW! Snf! Sorry,” Bucky murmurs. Tony just kisses his shoulder before continuing.

“...Or what? They’ll be talking about me on the podcast next? God I sure hope they don’t interview my father... the fans will get the entirely wrong idea about me.”

Bucky laughs at this, dropping his head onto Tony’s shoulder to muffle the sound. He rests there for a long minute, and Tony brings his hand back up into his hair, petting the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Hmm...feels good,” Bucky mumbles eventually, leaning back up and looking at Tony. His gray-blue eyes are tired but fond, Tony can’t help but notice. 

“Good,” Tony tells him. “Why don’t you call it a day, hm? Let me take you inside and we can do sick person things. I’ll even listen to your murder show with you without complaint. It’s too hot to sit out here, and the sun has to be bothering your eyes.”

Bucky only hesitates for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay,” he says, clearing his throat a few times. “It’s the Maura Murray episode. Two parts! Even you had to have heard about that case.” 

“Can’t say I have, darling,” Tony says, kissing him once, quickly, before standing up and holding out a hand for Bucky to take. “Enlighten me.”

Bucky leads them inside, sniffling as he scoops up Alpine and tucks them both in beside Tony on the couch. The living room is still a work in progress, all mismatched furniture and throw blankets, but it’s cool and dim and when Bucky rests his head against Tony’s shoulder, relaxing against him, Tony can’t help but think it feels like home.