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degrowth feels almost like the guilty consciouness of americans and europeans who have truly had it too good too long and you know it ehe but im sorry dude you cannot be fr telling the rest of the world to cut emissions or industrial activity when it barely fucking exists here while you reap the benefits of it all. when development has been cut short and actively prevented in so many places like my home so you mfs can have it easy and not have to compete w us for our own resources. degrowth is suicide for us and mass murder for you. you want degrowth so bad? kill yourself! just kill yourself. do your part or whatever and hopefully well do our part here attempting to make this shithole country better even if it costs us carbon emissions or whatever. as if we werent held back from it at every turn and as if every time weve tried america or canada or europe hasnt swept in to take everything weve produced for themselves.
#m#this is in part kind of an emotional reaction i iwill admit but like#doesnt it seem deeply unfair to you that the us and europe can partake in cheap energy fuel food etc for like a good fat century#at our expense and the moment they see oh hey that actually might come bck to bite us they decide no one else gets to have it that good any#-anymore bc of mistakes they did and egregious extractivism and war so they can have everything they need for cheap#making it harder and harder for the countries they loot and pillage to ever get anywhere near that level of development. its incredible#it just goes on and on and on the wars and the embargos and trade bans and the pseudo green bullshit to excuse themselves
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Mastering the Art of Trading: Overcoming Greed and Impatience
Title: Mastering the Art of Trading: Overcoming Greed and Impatience Introduction:In the fast-paced and dynamic world of financial markets, successful trading is not just about analyzing charts and interpreting data; it’s equally about mastering the psychological aspects that can make or break a trader’s success. Two formidable foes that every trader must conquer are greed and impatience. In…
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This comprehensive blog from Funded Traders Global covers the Price Action Strategy and mastering market trends for successful trading. It begins by defining the Price Action Strategy, emphasizing its importance in predicting future price movements. The blog explores the components of Price Action, including candlestick patterns, support and resistance levels, and chart patterns. It highlights the benefits of this strategy, such as simplicity, enhanced decision-making, and its applicability to various markets.
The blog outlines key principles of Price Action, including candlestick patterns, support and resistance levels, and trendlines and channels. It then focuses on reading market trends, with an emphasis on identifying trends, assessing their strength, and recognizing trend reversals. The importance of setting clear trading goals and effective risk management is stressed, along with crafting precise entry and exit strategies.
Common mistakes to avoid in trading are discussed, including overtrading, ignoring fundamental analysis, and emotional trading. The blog also provides information on essential tools and resources, including recommended charting software, books, courses, and online trading communities to support traders in their journey.
In conclusion, the blog encourages traders to apply the knowledge gained, practice consistently, and continue their education to become proficient and successful traders. Trading is described as both an art and a science, emphasizing the importance of discipline and adaptability in the ever-evolving world of finance.
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Roots and Branches
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.
Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.
Word Count: About 18.6k.
notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.
By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.
The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.
It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.
The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.
For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.
Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.
“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”
She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.
Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.
“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.
The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.
She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.
Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.
Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.
As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.
He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.
He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.
She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.
He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.
Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.
“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.
She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”
Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”
She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”
Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”
She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.
Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.
Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.
She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.
She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”
He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”
She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”
When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.
“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.
She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”
Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”
He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.
Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”
He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.
“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.
He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”
She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”
He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.
He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.
Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.
“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.
His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.
Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.
------------
She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.
It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.
Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.
By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.
“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.
Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.
Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.
----------
Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.
After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.
Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.
At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.
“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.
She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”
“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”
Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”
After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.
Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.
The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.
“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.
The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”
Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”
“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”
Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”
Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.
“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.
She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”
Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”
Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.
“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”
“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”
Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.
Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.
Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”
She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.
The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”
Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”
“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.
Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”
“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.
As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.
“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.
Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”
“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”
Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”
Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”
The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.
Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.
As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.
A storm was coming.
It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.
He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.
Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.
It was shaping up to be one of those nights.
When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.
The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.
“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.
She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.
The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.
The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.
The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.
On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.
One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.
He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.
And then, unbidden, he thought of her.
The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.
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The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.
“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”
She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”
Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.
“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.
They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”
She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”
Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”
“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”
He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”
“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”
He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”
“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”
Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”
“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.
He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.
Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.
And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.
The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.
As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.
She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.
Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”
The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”
His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.
The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.
“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.
She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”
Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.
“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.
“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.
It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.
Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.
“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.
She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”
His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.
“Oh, you don’t have to-”
“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.
She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.
“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.
“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.
She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”
He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.
The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.
One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.
As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.
Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.
There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.
When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.
“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.
She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”
He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”
She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”
There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”
“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”
She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.
“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”
His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.
“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.
As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.
He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.
He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.
He was interested.
Shit.
Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.
On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.
And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.
He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.
What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?
Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.
For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.
Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.
And then there was Bucky.
Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.
Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.
-----------
Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.
So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.
The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.
Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.
“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”
Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.
He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.
“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”
Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”
Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“
“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”
For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”
----------
The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.
Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.
She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.
The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.
By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.
She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”
Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”
Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”
“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.
“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”
She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.
“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”
Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”
“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”
She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”
“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”
She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.
The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.
Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.
Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.
“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.
“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.
“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.
“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”
“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”
He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.
Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.
“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”
“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.
She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”
He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”
“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.
Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.
He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.
That should be illegal.
“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”
She blinked, startled. “What?”
His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”
“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”
As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.
She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”
He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”
“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly
He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”
That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”
The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.
“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.
“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”
Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.
“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”
Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.
Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”
Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”
Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.
“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”
Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.
She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up. “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”
Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.
“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”
“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”
Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”
“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”
Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.
“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”
She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”
Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.
“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.
She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”
He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.
Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.
Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.
She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.
With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.
That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.
She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.
An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.
She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.
Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.
Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.
“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.
He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”
“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”
Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”
“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”
His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.
“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.
Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”
Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”
“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”
“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.
Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”
She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.
“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.
Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”
Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.
Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.
The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.
The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.
What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.
The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.
She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.
Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.
And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.
Don’t kid yourself.
The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.
God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.
Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.
Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.
----------
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.
“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”
Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.
Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.
“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.
It wasn’t Dorothy.
Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.
For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.
“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”
It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.
She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”
Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”
Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”
He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”
As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.
She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.
The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.
Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.
After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.
“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.
He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”
His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.
“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.
“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.
When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.
She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”
Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”
“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”
He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.
“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.
“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.
Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”
He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.
Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.
With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.
---------
The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.
“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”
Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”
He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”
“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”
He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”
“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”
After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.
He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.
“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”
Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.
“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.
He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”
She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”
Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”
Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”
Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.
“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”
Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”
“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”
Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.
Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”
He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”
Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”
“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”
As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.
She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”
He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”
Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.
His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”
She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.
Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”
“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”
“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.
She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”
“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”
Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”
He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”
“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”
“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.
He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”
She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”
That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.
Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”
His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”
“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.
Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”
She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”
“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”
She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”
Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”
Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”
A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.
She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”
Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”
She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”
He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.
She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:
Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.
A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.
The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.
She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.
She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”
She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”
She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”
They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.
“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.
Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.
As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”
His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.
“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.
He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”
Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.
She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.
His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“This too clingy for you?”
A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.
Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.
“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”
His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.
Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”
Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.
His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.
The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.
Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”
She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.
He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.
His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”
She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.
She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.
“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.
Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.
“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”
Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.
“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”
She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.
He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”
A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.
He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”
Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.
Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.
“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”
Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”
His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.
“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”
Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”
Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”
Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”
Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.
Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”
He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.
“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”
Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.
“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”
And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.
“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.
“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.
His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”
Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.
The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”
She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.
Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.
“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.
She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.
“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”
Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.
“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”
“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”
Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.
Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.
His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.
“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.
Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.
“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.
She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”
Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”
With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.
For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.
A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”
Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”
She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”
He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.
“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.
She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.
He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.
“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.
Dividers by: @strangergraphics
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky smut#bucky barnes fic#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes#fatws bucky#bucky barnes fanfic#the winter soldier x reader#winter soldier x female reader#winter soldier fanfiction#bucky barnes x curvy!reader#bucky x curvy!reader#Lumberjack!Bucky
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Baby Fever Angst
F1 Masterlist
Charles Leclerc Play Pretend - He's Lightning McQueen. You're Elle Woods. But, when Charles misses you, he makes it known that perhaps your career isn't as important as his wishes to start a family Part Two - Lightning McQueen realises he misses Elle Woods. Or, when Charles finds out your goals always had him in mind, he realises he should've done the same
Daniel Ricciardo Bedtime Stories - For the past six years, you've been dreaming of a future with Daniel. Until one silly little interview shatters every illusion Part Two - Daniel made a silly little comment that lost him everything. Over a year later, he tries his hardest to fix his mistakes
Fernando Alonso ~ COMING SOON Toy Cars - Step dad Fernando Part Two
Lewis Hamilton Tantrums - After 10 years together, Lewis keeps pushing back the date on when “forever” can start. Realising that forever applies to her job and not their relationship, she makes it clear that she’s had enough Part Two
Lance Stroll Pocket Money - Since the start of the relationship, fans have been convinced you're only with Lance for his money. When he mentions your future in an interview, they accuse you of trying to baby trap him Part Two - After some time apart, you and Lance realise your love and future mean more than fans' hateful comments
Lando Norris Princess Party - Lando enjoys participating in all night life has to offer, particularly with his best friend. When Y/N falls pregnant after one drunken night, he panics. After all, why should he trade a club party for a princess party? Part Two - After a drunken night with his best friend, Lando ran away from the consequences. Over the next eight months, he's reminded that he made a huge mistakes
Max Verstappen Lullabies - Six months ago, Max walked out of your life after a conversation about your future. When you find out he' ended up in a's dating Kelly - who has a child - you work through your emotions in the best way you know how; revenge music Part Two - Max left without letting you fully explain. Nearly a year later, he realises he made a mistake when he thinks you're moving on
Oscar Piastri Growing Pains - When fans begin commenting about your future plans, Oscar begins to worry that your long-term relationship is preventing you from truly experiencing life Part Two - Oscar thought leaving was the best thing for you, but quickly realised he cannot function without you
#formula 1 imagine#f1 imagine#formula one imagine#formula 1 social media au#f1 social media au#f1 masterlist#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#daniel ricciardo imagine#daniel ricciardo x reader#fernando alonso imagine#fernando alonso x reader#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#lance stroll imagine#lance stroll x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#baby fever angst
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5H Placements and It's Related Notes 🫶🩷🫣
(These observations are based on the whole sign system, sidereal charts and all obs are subject to change with other aspects in the chart, so don't conclude anything with a single placement, take whatever that resonates and leave the rest,hope you enjoy giving it a read, take it lightly!) ❤
This post includes the topics:
Planets in 5H, 5H placements who should be careful with gambling and addictions, 5H Planets and Children (Part 1) and BONUS POINTS
(I'm glad to make a post after a long time but I swear I felt extremely tired and half slept through it lol, so if u notice any English mistakes, look past it lmfao 🤣🤣🫠)
Let's start with planets in 5H:
5H SUN - Late pregnancy can be seen, either by their own decision or medical condition. Even if the sun is exalted, 5H suns are prone to argue and have difference of opinions with their father and the same could happen to them with their children, kids might be rebellious. Can be advantageous in terms of landing govt jobs. If u r in medical field, this placement can bring fame. They won't hesitate to do anything that makes them happy, they're adamant and stringent in pursuing the things they like, even in love, they might like the chase but also feel like their ego is hurt if the love is not reciprocal.🧡🧡🧡
5H MOON - They can be constantly thinking abt real estate, buying lands, generally constant thinking abt future.They have this urge to succeed in arts, fine arts and literary industry. Can be interested in agriculture, in this generation, they can be the ppl who like to have indoor plants or do terrace gardening as hobby.🩵🩵🩵
5H MARS - The multi-talented, independent, cool person in ur neighborhood. They have the enthusiasm to learn new things everyday, they hate to say 'idk', instead they put much efforts to learn various things.They don't get demotivated after failures or give up, the tendency to fight it all until the end can be seen. The downside is that in a love relationship, they might take hasty decisions on both entering and leaving a relationship.♥️♥️♥️
5H MERCURY - Jack of all trades, the difference between mars and mercury here is that mars puts hardwork to learn many things but mercury playfully masters educational knowledge and extracurricular. That one internet kid explaining physics equations and painting like a pro at 7yrs old🥲 They actually enjoy doing it, likes to feel intelligent for the love of the knowledge and not for fame or ego boosting. As kids, they could've been the ones showing magic tricks to other kids at school 😭😆 They're great at performing magic tricks as mercury is a playfully cunning planet.💚💚💚
5H SATURN - They might feel competitive with relatives, that feeling to become the best in their family will always be there. They would want to provide a luxurious life for their kids but feel bad or blame themselves if they couldn't do that. They are introverted and have hard time involving in leisurely enjoyments, so they can be seen as a boring or a very serious personality among their friends. They focus only on their own family and constrict their other circles, whether it be interacting with neighbors, friends, colleagues etc, they could be the type to go to office and come back straight home everyday religiously. A point to remember is to not expect too much from children and be satisfied with your old age life with them w/o having any expectation, whether it be materialistic or emotional needs, depending on yourself is the key.💙💙💙
5H VENUS - Lovely person, period. They are the people who always seem to be happy and try to make others happy too. Women with this placement have the girl's girl type of friendships where the girls are truly by their side. Can be known for their perfume like a signature or use a generous amount of fragrances like their life depends on it. The downside is to be careful in love relationships, this can give multiple relationships if Jupiter or 7H lord is not aspecting it. They could change hairstyles, dressing sense frequently, even updating the next model of their mobile phone even when it's perfectly working. Even if they're not rich or couldn't afford the rich stuff they like, they would still buy things that atleast appears rich, the end note is that they like to display their refined taste. Their hidden secret could be that in one point of time, they could've had an obsessive crush on a person with huge age gap or in a taboo type of relationship.🩷🩷🩷
5H RAHU - That one person who never listens, they question each and everything earning angry response from their parents or authoritative ppl but they really don't understand why other ppl are getting upset bcoz they will be lyk, 'What happened? I just wanted to know why🫠' but others might feel lyk they just like to oppose every little thing deliberately w/o much reason. If you have this placement and feel like you've to keep your relationship a secret, then it's definitely a bad relationship for you, it might be a forbidden fruit. We all would've done few things that we hide from our parents but this placement can enlarge that list, their parents just don't know abt a lot of hidden things they might do, this doesn't mean they're doing some criminal activity, this just means that their household can be traditional or strict and they could do some outrageous things that won't sit well with their parents.They might question religious practices, traditions and God, if this rahu gets lots of aspects from others, this could also develop into a God complex personality.🤎🤎🤎
5H KETU - The recurring but less spoken part abt this placement is the fate of easily getting caught for their mistakes, they would feel lyk their friends are doing much more errors but they're escaping, but this person gets caught red handed. Hence refrain from saying lies, gossiping or deliberately committing any mistake bcoz ur name will come up in speakers while those with u would get away with it🔊 😭🥲 Don't think my friends are here, we're doing it together, if something goes wrong, you would become the one carrying the blame, so be cautious and do a favor to exclude yourself from circles who drive you in wrong ways, doesn't matter even if it's just a minor thing. Even though you are generally a reserved person, problematic men would come to you in the disguise of matching your taste, they could look like they're matching your taste but like a serpent, after their skin sheds, they would become a different person who can damage ur very idea of luv (this is not to scare u, this is a friendly reminder to be cautious of chameleon like ppl when entering relationships). There's another point to remember, u would find it difficult to differentiate between good and bad ppl, so even if a good person approaches, you would lose them or upset them tremendously due to ur suspicious nature, you could question them a lot, asking for constant reassurance to the point of frustration. The good side of this placement is being talented in occult sciences and deep thinking ability, the tendency to pick up a thing and learn abt it from the roots. They would be blessed by ancestral God, praying in their ancestral temple often will be beneficial.🩶🩶🩶
5H JUPITER - 9th aspect of Jupiter falls on ascendant, hence they would be religious, have optimistic outlook on life, even though they're lucky, they themselves wouldn't trust in it, they r the type of ppl who think their own hardwork will get them to great heights. Even if this 5H Jupiter is debilitated, since he aspects and strengthens the ascendant, all ill effects can be overcome by this person, they have an unwavering strong personality to do so. They've taken this birth to enjoy the fruits of their past lifetime, so simply refraining from damaging distractions would keep them lucky in all endeavours.💛💛💛
(I know that I wrote very less for some planets above and more for others but it's just how my brain worked in the moment, I'll reblog and let u know if I add more or write extra about the less written placements in another post 🥺🩷)
5H placements who shouldn't be involved in gambling/sharemarket or any games that revolves around the concept of luck/guesses and be careful with any type of addictions or relationship with wrong ppl:
Saturn, mars, rahu, ketu, waning moon in 5H
5H sun (only) if in conj. with the above mentioned planets.
5H lord is Saturn or Mars and it is exalted.
5H lord conjunct with a debilitated planet or itself being debilitated.
5H- Pregnancy and Children🥹🩷:
5H SUN - Your children might want to get out of your embrace pretty soon, they want to fly high, go out and explore this world when you're not ready to let them go from ur grip. They could argue with you about how they want to be more expressive and enjoy everything life has to offer, u want the same for them but the sun being your natural soul significator, it feels like you're letting go a part of ur soul. Your child could be a natural leader, a sunshine in disguise. You can conceive late, you could enjoy lots of lovemaking sessions but the number of children can be less, mostly one or two, if two, the elder child will assert their dominance to the younger one, doesn't mean they would rule over them but they'll definitely show that they're the elder one and demand respect, but on the other hand, they're protective of their younger sibling too.❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
5H MOON - If u r a woman having this placement, learn to say NO and discuss about pregnancies, whether you want another baby or not. Eventhough this is a nice placement, later it can sometimes manifest into being treated as a baby making machine with or without being realized, so be ready to question yourself whether YOU want it. These mommies can be very affectionate and want more babies but learn to consciously differentiate between whether you love the act or you really want to raise babies as 5H being house of romance and lovemaking too, don't mix both in an emotional entanglement. Waxing moon will give smooth and normal delivery, waning moon can give some difficulties but probability of normal delivery can be high. You can have a loving relationship with your children, they can be homebodies too, the children can prefer the cozy home environment where you create a loving atmosphere. You can have more number of children, possibly many females or the first one being a girl baby.🥹🫶💙
5H VENUS - Your children could be a pain in the ass if you aren't well settled but this placement it is highly unlikely that you don't accumulate wealth over time. With this, you yourself will be bling-bling, you would double that for your child. This can manifest into you matching outfits, handbags, coolers and hairbands with your kid. During pregnancy itself, you could buy a lot of things beforehand for the arrival of the kid (which is common) but the things you buy might be overboard. These ppl are also prone to feeling inferior about how your body changes after childbirth, can do mommy makeover. You could expect lots of gift giving love language from your partner during pregnancy, on the downside, refrain using pregnancy or the child as a point to demand any luxuries from spouse. As venus aspects 11H, you could especially buy a car after first child. Possibility of female children is more.😍🥰🥰
5H MERCURY - Your children could be the type to recite about how their day was as soon as they come to you from school, as this would be the type of atmosphere you would've created. You would've established a safe and open communication space for your children where they feel comfortable with sharing. One thing you should remember is, when ur child says something to u alone and lets u know that they don't want u to tell it to the other parent, either you don't tell or share it with ur partner w/o ur child's knowledge according to whatever ur parenting technique is, but the point is to NOT betray ur child's trust when they TELL something bcoz u would be a person who has an amazing communication with ur partner too, u might be lyk besties gossiping together, this could make the child feel like you're not on their team or u and ur partner exclude them (which can be hilarious but it's a CHILD). U can have an equal number of male and female children but the gender of the first baby can be guessed here based on the aspects 5H receives.😃🤗✨
5H MARS - Your children will try to take care of u in their own way but don't do the parenting mistake of ordering them around, definitely not gonna work out here, it's either their way or highway. Number of children might be less, one or two male progeny can be present. More possibilities of delivery being medically assisted, even if it's not c-section, some medical assistance could be given to help. Your child can mirror you a lot, if you get frustrated and throw your phone, they might do the same bcoz they actively pick up patterns and copy them enthusiastically (all kids do that to an extent but with this placement, ur kid can be alert in taking in the environment shaping their behaviour). As a child, ur kid can be competitive but can be very anxious too, the nervous energy will be high if mercury is making aspect or conjunct, teach them calming exercises and encourage. You could be the mom who's fit even after a delivery, santoor mummy. On the downside, remember to not fight with your partner excessively infront of kid as 5H mars is a love-hate relationship, just every aspect of romance including the act and arguments everything is explosive, it can result in your kid disrespecting your partner.🫶😸💖
(I'll write the remaining planets in this list in the new post or add it here and reblog, I just got too tired, periods suck I swear 🫠😭🤗🩵)
EDIT: Find the remaining planets here! 🥳❤️🔥
BONUS POINTS FOR TODAY:
5H Placements who have the ability to guess what's gonna happen in the near future and protect themselves & their loved ones from unfavorable events are---
5H stellium, many planets in 5H lord's nakshatra, 5H lord exalted, 5H ketu 🥳🥰 (Fire ascendants to an extent if their 5H lord is not debilitated)❤️🔥
Even though Jupiter is male planet, if it's in 5H, the person has higher chances of having more number of female children but incase of aspects, if Jupiter aspects your 5H, higher chances of male children is present. This is an exception when it comes to 5H being putra sthan and possible gender of babies guessed based on the gender of the planet present there.🥳✨♥️
NOTE: I'll make another post for ppl who have empty 5H, on how to interpret 5H themes based on their 5H lord placement and aspects, this post is focused on having planets in 5H 🩷🫣
That's all for now sweeties, hope u liked it! 🩷🩵
Let's Learn and Grow Together 🥰
With Love-Yashi ❤️🔥🫣
Masterlist 💖
#astrology#blogs#astro community#astroblr#astro observations#birth chart#natal chart#astro placements#astro notes#vedic astro observations#sidereal astrology#vedic astrology#astrology aspects#sun in 5th house#moon in 5th house#venus in 5th house#mars in 5th house#mercury in 5th house#jupiter in 5th house#saturn in 5th house#rahu in 5th house#ketu in 5th house#rahu ketu#5th house#5th house placements#astro girlies#astrology community#children in astrology#vedic astrology observations#astrology observations
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So what are Will's flaws?
Is Will totally perfect in every way? Is he a jealous saboteur? Or a secret third option... neither. Let's discuss Will's flaws and nuances!
1. Emotional suppression
Will avoids his problems. He hates talking about both his emotional and physical danger because he doesn't want to be treated differently. From a young age, he was taught by Lonnie that he shouldn't express his emotions because that makes him "sensitive" and "weak." So now he likes to hide.
This emotional suppression causes his feelings to worsen over time. Once he finally lets it out, he explodes. Instead of healthy conversations, he says and does things that he'll probably regret later. He blows up at Mike, he yells at Jonathan, he destroys Castle Byers, he shows his hand (what about us?)
Will's avoidance doesn't only have consequences on him, but others. If he had told someone he was feeling the Mind Flayer earlier, they might've been able to save some of the Flayed. But he couldn't tell someone because that puts him in a place of emotional vulnerability. That's exactly why he waited until after he fought with the boys to mention the supernatural. He traded one vulnerable situation for another, allowing him to avoid opening up about his true feelings. It was a distraction.
This also doesn't let others to heal from their altercations. Both Lucas and Mike try to apologize to Will, but he brushes them off. Will thinks he doesn't deserve consideration. The walls he puts up forces others to hold onto their own guilt, leaving a sore spot in their relationship. We can see this soreness in Will and Mike's relationship in s4. They never healed from the rain fight. Well... not that Mike tried to apologize after the Mind Flayer debacle. Again, distraction on Will's part.
Will’s inability to handle change is also due to him bottling up his feelings. His trauma and suppression makes him stuck in the past. He doesn’t let himself move through each day where these emotions would be felt.
It's interesting how Will is deemed the emotional one when his sensitivity is actually a result of him keeping his emotions in. Once that dam is opened, it's hard for him to stop. He breaks, just as he fears.
2. Self-hatred
And all that emotional suppression leads to Will internalizing other people's view of him. Will's self-hatred stems from bullying and his father's abuse. He thinks he's to blame, that he's a mistake. As more people distance themselves from Will, he believes there's something wrong with him.
When he thinks he deserves mistreatment, his relationships crumble more. They're unable to reconcile. True forgiveness can't be achieved if he doesn't think he should be apologized to in the first place.
Will's hatred is the reason why he tried to sacrifice himself in s2 to save his friends. He doesn't think he deserves to be saved. This makes him an easy target for Vecna. It's very likely that Will's self-hatred will factor into his upcoming supernatural plot.
The more Will hates himself, the more he hides, the more he suppresses his emotions.
3. People pleaser
If Will is anything, he's a people pleaser. He's selfless. So much so that this is the first thing we find out about him. While admirable, it actually leads to more bad than good. His people pleasing tendency goes hand in hand with his emotional suppression. Will doesn't like to take up space and inconvenience other people.
Will's never ending effort to please others leads to him making assumptions. Wrong assumptions. Whether it be letting Max join them on Halloween or pushing Mike to give a love confession, Will tries his best to use his mediator role to give people what they want.
But he doesn't know what they want, does he? Will wanted to make Dustin and Lucas happy, but this created a rift with Mike. He thought Mike was itching to profess his love for El, but that wasn’t what either of them needed. In an attempt to help, he's making it worse.
He must be successful sometimes, though, because there's an expectation from his friends that he'll fulfill their needs at the flick of a wand. This vacancy from Will makes him a pushover. They think they can make fun of him and he'll just take it because that's what he does. When Will finally stands up for himself, they're shocked. That's out of character for him. It's like they want to say: “Why isn't he letting us be mean to him? :(”
Mike even expected Will to tell him that his own girlfriend was being bullied. Will's people pleasing explodes in his face. So now when he's unable to read their needs and fix it for them, he's to blame. Will takes on the weight of their problems too much. While it's good that they rely on him, there shouldn't be pressure for him to judge their every whim. But it's not exactly their fault because Will set the stage for this behavior.
Weirdly, Will's need to please others is the reason why he didn't call Mike. He thought Mike wanted nothing to do with him, so he didn't reach out. There he goes assuming things again! But Will was there, waiting for the rare occasion where Mike did want him. He went so far right that he ended up left.
Will's behavior towards El is also an instance of wrong assumptions. Will didn't like being treated differently in s2, so he assumed El would feel the same way. He used his own experiences to inform how he should treat others. Babying El would make her feel more ostracized. Instead, he offered emotional comfort, similar to the comfort he received, after the bullying. This doesn't really help her because she doesn't have the same emotional mechanics as Will.
So Will assumes things, pushes his own wants down, and lets people walk all over him all in the name of being pleasant.
4. Freeze, fly, fight. In that order!
When Will is scared, he freezes. This flaw is so significant that they talked about it textually multiple times. I'm not sure I would consider it a flaw since it has saved him more than it's harmed him, though.
The few times Will has decided to fight instead of freeze, he was kidnapped and possessed. Confrontation isn't an option for him. His body believes he'll be put directly in danger if he does anything but freeze/fly. Fight is only used as a last resort.
It only really enters flaw territory when it's an inconvenience. He froze during the sauna test, when El was being bullied, and when he should've shot the creature in the shed. Will is unable to help himself and others when he's scared.
When he snaps out of it, he cries and feels guilty for being so hesitant. He wishes he could do more but he can't. This wraps back around to his self-hatred.
5. Jealousy
When his best friend of 10 years that he's in love with starts to ditch him for some random girl, it's not shocking that there would be some jealousy! Will is the silent jealous type. His jealousy doesn't really manifest into resentment or outward action against the other person. Unlike a certain someone...
Will only shows it through rolling eyes, a snarky comment here or there, or an outburst at his most emotionally vulnerable. I mean, if Will really wanted to see El crash and burn, he could've kept his mouth shut the entire Rink-O-Mania day. Or he could've ignored her in the courtyard as she picks up the pieces of her project. But he didn't.
The worst we've seen Will's jealousy was during the rain fight. He called El stupid. There's no beating around the bush, he was in the wrong for that. But this came out of Will because his emotions were at an all time high. Why? Emotional suppression!
A lot of Will's snarky comments towards El are out of genuine confusion. He doesn't understand how El can have exactly what he wants, but she's willing to ruin it by lying. Unfortunately, he later learns that exact lesson. He's envious that she can do what Mike hates without major repercussions, while he's somehow blamed for her lies. And why does he get blamed? People pleaser expectations!
Will waited until a quiet moment to inform El of her mistakes. Will's goal isn't to humiliate El. He doesn't let his jealousy lead to resentment. Instead, he tried to (snarkily) lead her to make better decisions because it's not fair! It's not fair that she can have it all without working for it!
And now we're back at self-hatred. Some of his jealous moments make it bubble back up. He bends his painting, something he put his blood, sweat, and tears into, because he isn't enough for them. Their ideal day is without him. Will's art is an extension of himself. He's aiming his anger back at himself by hurting his art.
All of his flaws connect back to his low self-esteem in some way. This is why it's important for Will to receive and accept love in his life. A big part of his arc is self acceptance.
So there it is in all its glory! All of Will's main flaws in one post. What did we learn? Will suppresses his emotions, hates himself, pleases others to a fault, freezes, and is green with envy. And he wouldn't be Will without 'em!
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Malleus who is pining after you...
🩷 summary: Cohesive blurbs about things Malleus would do and what he would be like if he were pining after you. ༶༶༶ 🩷 warnings: gender neutral reader, unedited, pretty much just a stream of my thoughts, lots of romance, fluff, pining, and there is a single smut paragraph with masturbation as he reads a romance novel in the library ༶༶༶ 🩷 word count: 3.1k because he's the love of my life
🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… confused, and left with no other option but to approach (a proud, hysterically laughing) Lilia, begging for an explanation as to why he feels so weak in your presence. Pouting as he awkwardly opens up to the old bat about how when he’s with you, his heart races and he stumbles over his words, even though he’s used to being so sure of himself. He trained diligently to be calm and collected as a future King should be, so why is it that a magicless human is able to bring him to his knees seemingly without even trying? How come none of his previous favorite activities feel as good as daydreaming about you or spending time with you?
🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… now feeling more assured after his conversation with Lilia. Coming to terms with the fact that even someone like him can feel love, and it happened sooner than he ever anticipated. Still nervous and unsure of his feelings, but no longer afraid. He feels grateful that he could be gifted with such potent and beautiful emotions for the first time in his life, and he’s especially happy that he fell in love with someone as amazing as you. Now that he’s in love, he wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.
🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… mind in a constant state of disarray after being swept up in your hurricane. Battling against himself ceaselessly to stay focused on the task at hand as his thoughts desperately crawl their way back to you in spite of his better judgment. No matter what he’s doing, he can’t help but fantasize about what it would be like if you were there with him. As his pen taps against the paper on his table, his breathing quickens, unable to stop himself from wondering what it would be like to look over at you studying right alongside him, instantly enchanting the monotonous task with your bright presence. If he’s in a store, he always spends extra time looking around for objects you might like, smiling to himself as he imagines your reaction. If he’s in a conversation, he thinks about how you might interject, and how the conversation would be better thanks to your input. When he’s happy, he wants you to be the first one to know, hoping he could share in his excitement alongside you.
🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… coming to terms with the highs and lows of loving someone who doesn’t know you love them. Pacing around his room, celebrating and replaying all the moments he made you smile. Hyping himself up whenever you ask him to spend time alone. He also chastises himself whenever you two share an awkward moment, or if he makes a joke that doesn’t land, letting the moment haunt him. Wishing he had done things differently, reassessing the situation and himself so that he could grow into someone worthy of you. The most dreadful moments are times he sees you having fun without him, getting dragged along by your other friends. Jealousy and despair rage through his veins as he works to convince himself not to feel angry toward you, reassuring himself that you don’t know any better – it was an honest mistake. You simply don’t realize how much it means to him to be in your presence, because he’s too afraid to let you know. He’s too afraid to gamble your love, only wanting to confess when he’s sure you have the highest chance of accepting him. He’s not willing to go back to a life without the love he feels for you. Tears well up in his eyes as he retires early to his bed, desperately wishing you would hold him in your arms and take the pain away. Longing to hear that you love him, too – that he doesn’t have to feel this way anymore. Closing his eyes and letting the tears fall like silent prayers, hoping with every fiber of his being that you won’t curse him to a lifetime without your precious affection.
🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… randomly showing up at Ramshackle dorm. He’ll use any excuse in the book to show up unexpectedly, at the very least, hoping to see your face, but also betting on the fact that you’ll invite him in. He’ll ask to borrow items a fae wouldn’t need. He’ll steal things from your backpack just so he can return them. He hopes he can catch you alone, so that maybe he can get closer to you, or at least learn something new. There are also times where doesn’t want to bother you, but feels too weak-willed to deny his overwhelming desire to bask in your presence. He stands outside, taking solace in being close to you, even if you don’t realize it. Letting a comfortable sense of calm come over him as he stands outside under the moonlight, feeling the breeze through his hair, content to know that you’re upstairs sleeping peacefully in your room. Taking care to protect your building just like a gargoyle would. He’s convinced himself that Diasomnia is simply too far away from where you are, and what if something happened to his beloved child of man and he wasn’t there to protect you? Such a thing would torment him as long as he lived. So, he stands guard outside your room, just in case you need anything. He can at least do that much. He feels honored to be your protector, even though you’re completely unaware.
🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… sitting beside you on a bench outside. His whole being overcome with butterflies, heart pounding out of his chest, feeling lightheaded as your hand slaps his thigh – your head thrown back in laughter from what he just said. He’s completely captivated as your melodic laugh reverberates through his soul. Unable to stop glancing at the way your thigh presses against his, feeling the electricity as your shoulders brush. Trying to memorize the way you look and sound in this very moment. He feels the air leave his lungs as your eyes meet his. Feeling like time has stopped as he stares into your eyes, trying to commit their beauty to memory. He feels his cheeks flush as he quickly turns away, not wanting you to see how flustered he is. You grab his shoulder, laughing, pulling him back toward you as you ask him to tell another story. He grins, trying to remember what it was like to breathe normally, and he obliges your request. A moment has never felt so magical, and he swears he'll remember the feeling until his last breath.
🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… spending hours in the library after class reading romance novels as a form of research for how he can make the best possible impression on you. He originally read these books out of necessity, desperately trying to avoid going to Lilia for more intimate advice. However, he finds far more enjoyment in the books than he anticipated, getting giddy over the words on the page as he imagines the story unfolding with the two of you as the protagonists. His eyes widen and his body temperature flushes hot when the tale takes an explicit turn, finding it harder and harder to keep his composure as he reads further. Feeling his throat go dry at the thought of doing such things with you, he tries to calm himself down, fanning his face with the book. He imagines the way your lips would taste and the softness of your skin, how you might sound moaning his name, how it would feel to be inside of you. He can hardly stand the tension as he reaches down and palms his lonely cock through his pants, letting a desperate moan escape from his lips as he struggles to hold himself back. He quickly looks around to make sure no one is there, then returns his attention to the book. He almost feels guilty for imagining his innocent beloved in such a naughty way. He wants nothing more than to be respectful to you, so it seems wrong to undress you and pleasure you in his mind, yet his needy, aching cock convinces him otherwise. He closes his eyes and continues to massage himself through his clothes as he lets the scene unfold in his mind. He imagines how you would look beneath him, panting and writhing in pleasure as he thrusts into you. He wonders if you would like it if he were to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer as you ride him, or if you would prefer if he were to pin your arms above your head while he fucked you into the mattress. His breathing quickens as his fantasy intensifies, feeling his body tighten up as he nears his climax. The pleasure is so intense, he feels unable to stop himself from going over the edge despite the uncomfortable circumstances. He lets out a quiet groan as his hips involuntarily thrust into his hand, feeling himself release into his pants. As he comes back to reality, his face burns red in embarrassment at the fact that he just did that in the library, but also with the realization that he wants to do all of that and more with you.
🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… sitting down with Sebek’s parents to interview them about their human/fae relationship. He wants to feel completely prepared and educated about all the pros and cons. He desperately wants to have the best chance of winning your affection. He asks them what it was like when they first met, how they handled the differences in their species, and how they confessed their love. He wants to know everything. He listens intently to every word, taking detailed notes and asking questions when he doesn’t understand. He asks about the most challenging parts of their relationship, and how they overcame them. He asks how they knew their love was true, and how they know it still is. He wants to feel as confident as possible that he can make this relationship work, because he knows it will be his last. If he loses you, he would never be able to love another, so he needs to take all the steps possible to ensure a life by your side. He desperately wishes his own parents could have been alive to walk him through it, but in their absence, he is grateful to have the first couple of their kind as a support network. He thanks them profusely, even going as far as to hug them and offer gifts, insisting on returning their time and effort tenfold for the advice and kindness they gave him. Sebek's doting mother cries a little, telling him that he has grown into a fine young man, and that he deserves to find happiness. The fae Prince flushes in embarrassment, offering her a heartfelt thanks and bowing his head respectfully. As Sebek's parents see him out, they tell him that if he ever needs anything, they're there for him, and to not hesitate to contact them if he has any questions. They can't help but smile to themselves as they watch the normally confident Malleus walk away, his shoulders and head drooped down in nervousness as he contemplates his future. They hope that you and him will find eternal bliss in each other's embrace.
🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… walking around Briar Valley, getting to know his future subjects. He wants to know how his fae subjects feel about the presence of humans, how they might feel if there were to be a human ruler alongside him, and if they would be willing to accept a human/fae child as their next heir. He will do what it takes to prepare his subjects for the new age, trying to get ahead of any problems before they arise. He is especially curious about the older generations, and what they might think of him as a leader. He doesn't want to repeat the mistakes of the past, and he wants to honor his parents' legacy by creating a safe, secure future for their kind. He wants to bring about a world where humans and fae can coexist, where children of both species can grow up with mutual respect. He goes out of his way to form relationships with the humans who reside in Briar Valley, diligently learning how best he can serve them as the future King. His purpose is to make his kingdom a safe haven for humans to live in hopeful anticipation that you'll one day soon choose to live there with him. He listens to his human subjects' concerns, offering advice on their difficulties, and promising to enact new legislation that would benefit them. He makes it abundantly clear that he values the human residents of his kingdom and is committed to ensuring that their lives are better than they were before. He tells them that their children will not only be able to live in harmony with the fae, but that they will thrive. He wants to give them a world that you would be proud to call home. He is eager to show you that he can be a great King, and that he is worthy of your love and affection. He feels a sense of pride when he sees the humans' faces light up as he shares his plans for the Kingdom once he takes the crown.
🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… appearing before his grandmother Maleficia’s throne, secure and ready to finally confess to you. Unwilling to let anything else stand in his way, he begins telling her – not asking her – with the utmost respect and authority, leaving no room for discussion that he has fallen hopelessly in love with a human. He needs her to trust him – her only grandson – as he gives his heart and devotion to a member of the very species that took everything from her. His hands are shaking yet his eyes never falter, his determination to love you against all odds burning bright in his heart. He has made up his mind and he won't be taking any objections. He tells her about you, your kindness, your charisma, and your integrity. He wants her to know how lucky he is that a pure-hearted being like you would have chosen someone like him to befriend, to place your faith and trust in. He eagerly explains all the ways you've changed him for the better, and how he wants to devote his life to protecting you, and growing by your side. There has never been another that can light up the night sky with the same level of brightness as your beautiful smile, or whose laugh could fill the vast empty space between the stars. He tells her he wants to give you the best life he can possibly provide, and he hopes she will come to accept and love you just as he has. She sits in shock, unable to respond. The anger she feels is indescribable, as she can't believe her grandson, her own flesh and blood, could betray her and his mother like this. She thought she raised him better than this – to be stronger than the temptation of a human. And now, he stands before her, looking her dead in the eye and telling her he wants to be with one of them. She can't bear the thought of losing him, yet she knows it's inevitable if she were to deny him his wish. The look in his eyes is something she has never seen in him before – pure conviction. She can’t control him any more. His love for you has given him a strength she never knew he had. As much as she hates to admit it, he is happier than she's ever seen him. The confidence in his voice, the glimmer in his eye, the determination in his step – it reminds her of her daughter. Malleus always bore a striking resemblance to his mother, but he has never looked more like her than he does right now, defying Maleficia's wishes in pursuit of happiness. She knows she can't change his mind, so she sighs and waves her hand dismissively, telling him he can do as he pleases. The anger in her veins dissipates as Malleus begins to walk out of the throne room, and she feels compelled to tell him how proud his mother would be, despite it all. She tells him that his mother hated humans, but she loved him more. Malleus can't help the tears that escape his eyes, thanking his grandmother for her blessing, feeling accomplished and complete. Now all that's left is to tell you.
🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… breathes new life into the cold castle, ready to fill the halls back up with love for the first time in centuries. Gazing up at the blank castle walls, smiling to himself as he imagines them adorned with picture frames of the two of you on your wedding day, or of you holding your child together for the first time, or even just simple, happy memories like picnics or holidays. He feels warmth in his chest as he pictures the two of you standing by the window, admiring the sunset and reminiscing on all the years you've spent together. For the first time in his life, he comes to see the castle not as a prison, but as a home. A place where the two of you will live out the rest of your days, raising children, and creating beautiful memories that will be cherished forever. Every room he passes elicits a lovely new vision. He steps into the study, one of his favorite places as a child, running his fingers along the ancient bookshelves, excited at the prospect of rereading old favorites with your head nestled under his arm, the two of you snuggled up on the cozy couch. He peeks his head into the ballroom and music begins playing in his head as he imagines holding you close, feet gliding as you two spin around the room, the candles surrounding the area casting a perfect glow on your blissful smiles, as you lose yourself in each other's eyes. In the dining room, he envisions the two of you sitting across from each other at the grand dining table, flashing flirty eyes in each other's directions, stealing the last bite from each other's forks with kisses and laughs. As he wanders aimlessly through the long, winding hallways, the past merges with his vision of the future, and the two mix perfectly. It's difficult to feel alone anymore. It's no longer the chilled, looming emptiness that Malleus knew before. Now, it's a sacred, protected place that is waiting for your life, and love, to be poured into the rooms until it's finally brimming with the warmth and laughter of family again. All you have to do is say yes.
Oop, I just spent the past 8 hours straight working on this start to finish. Idk if I'm proud of it. I am exhausted. Usually I write complete stories, but I wanted to try my hand at writing my thoughts in a more raw format. If my editor were here, she would never allow me to write paragraphs this long, but I don't feel like waiting for her to edit. It's 2 am and I just want to free myself and release this into the world. Hopefully I don't regret this in the morning. Sorry for any grammar mistakes or weirdly long sentences. If you enjoyed, first of all, thank you! Second of all, if you want more content like this, please let me know! Currently, I only write for Malleus, Leona, & Fellow but feel free to come convince me in my ask box to get invested in other characters. I’d love to hear your thoughts about your faves or my faves. 🩷 Erica Malleleothreesome
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst malleus draconia#malleus draconia smut#twst malleus#twisted wonderland malleus x reader#malleus draconia#twisted wonderland malleus#malleus x reader#malleyuu#twst imagines#my writing
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╰ ﹒ (sorta) long awaited PART 2 to this DEAN BLURB. 🍋🟩
i'm shit at writing a second part to any standalone FICS or BLURBS so i'm rlly sorry if this isn't the 'makeup sex' type blurb yall were lookin' for <3
⎯⎯ warning(s) smut | emotional vulnerability | strong language | semi-public sex | rough sex | praise kink | dirty talk (yum) | jealousy | overstimulation | POSSESSIVE!DEAN | power dynamics | mirror sex. ఌ︎ EIGHTEEN PLUS! ADULT CONTENT | minors do NOT interact.
the bar is loud, filled with the familiar hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. you sit at a table near the back, surrounded by a few of your close friends—hunters like you, women who know the life, know the dangers, and are just as good at blowing off steam after a successful hunt. tonight, the drinks flow easily, and the laughter comes even easier. it's rare to get a reprieve like this, to have a night off where you can just relax and enjoy yourself. you deserve it. you know you do.
but even as your friends trade stories and jokes, your mind keeps drifting. keeps circling back to him. DEAN WINCHESTER. it's been weeks since you left him in that motel room, since you walked away without an explanation, with only a hastily written note. you haven't spoken to him since, haven't called, haven't reached out. not because you didn't want to. GOD, you wanted to. but fear held you back. fear of what he felt, of what you felt, of how everything had changed with those three words he'd let slip between gasps of pleasure.
i love you.
you still hear his voice in your head, still feel the way his body had tensed beneath you when he realized what he'd said. you'd thought about calling him a hundred times, a thousand times actually, to tell him you felt the same. that the reason you ran was because you were scared—scared of how much you loved him, how deeply you'd fallen without even realizing it. but every time you picked up the phone, you hesitated, and the moment passed.
now, sitting in this bar, surrounded by friends, you can't help but wonder if you made a mistake. if walking away from him was the worst decision you could've made. but before you can spiral any further, you hear it—a laugh. a deep, familiar laugh that sends a shock of recognition through your entire body.
you freeze, your drink halfway to your lips, as you turn your head and see him. DEAN WINCHESTER. standing at the entrance of the bar, his brother, sam, by his side. dean doesn't see you at first, too busy scanning the room, probably taking in the scene out of habit, always the hunter, always alert. but then his eyes snap to yours.
it feels like the air is sucked from the room. your heart stutters in your chest, and for a moment, you can't move, can't breathe. he looks just like you remember—broad shoulders, brown leather jacket, that chiseled jawline you've traced with your fingers more times than you can count. but there's something in his eyes, a flicker of something raw and unresolved, and you know he's thinking about that night, about the last time you saw each other.
he doesn't move. neither do you.
but his gaze lingers on you, even as a blonde woman sidles up to him, clearly trying to get his attention. she's pretty—tall, curvy, the kind of woman who turns heads in a place like this. but dean barely spares her a glance, his eyes locked on you like he can't tear himself away. you feel a surge of something hot and uncomfortable twist in your chest—jealousy, anger, desire. god, you miss him. you miss him so much it hurts.
and it's not just him. it's the way he made you feel, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way his hands felt on your skin, rough and gentle all at once. the way he'd held you that night, the way he'd said he loved you, like it was the most natural thing in the world. like he couldn’t help it.
you tear your gaze away, pretending to focus on the conversation at your table, but your mind is spinning. your body is buzzing with the awareness of him, of how close he is, of how much you want him. but the thought of facing him, of having that conversation, of admitting how you feel... it terrifies you.
so you do the only thing you can think of. you excuse yourself, telling your friends you need to use the bathroom, and slip away from the table, weaving through the crowded bar until you reach the small, dingy restroom at the back. you close the door behind you, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, and lean against the sink, staring at your reflection in the cracked mirror.
your heart is racing, your skin flushed, and all you can think about is dean. about the way his muscles flexed under that leather jacket, the way he looked at you like he was starving for you. heat pools low in your belly, and filthy thoughts flood your mind—thoughts of him pressing you against the mirror, fucking you from behind until you're a mess, just like he did that night in the motel.
you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but it's no use. your body wants him. you want him.
and then the door creaks open.
your eyes snap open, and you see him—dean, standing in the doorway, his eyes dark with that same hunger you feel. he steps inside, closing the door behind him, locking it with a click. your heart pounds in your chest, and you can't move, can't speak, as he crosses the small space between you, his body heat radiating off him in waves.
he doesn't say a word. he doesn't have to.
his hands are on you in an instant, rough and desperate, pulling at your clothes, as you do the same to him. his leather jacket hits the floor, followed by your shirt, your jeans, his belt clinking as he yanks it free. his breath is hot against your neck, and he's whispering in your ear, his voice low and gravelly.
"you're such a bad girl for leaving me like that," he growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. "but god, y'feel so fucking good... s'perfect."
his words send a shiver down your spine, and you can't stop the whimper that escapes your lips as he spins you around, pressing you against the mirror. your breath fogs the glass as his hands grip your hips, his body pressing against yours from behind. he wastes no time, thrusting into you with a force that makes your knees buckle, but his strong arms hold you steady, keep you grounded.
you're a mess beneath him, a blubbering, trembling mess as he fucks you hard and fast, his hips pistoning into yours with a desperation that matches your own. he's everywhere, all at once—his hands, his mouth, his body consuming you, and you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel.
"you're mine,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive in your ear. "you've always been mine."
and it's true. you know it's true. you've always been his.
you lose track of time, of how many times you come, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, your body shaking with the force of it. by the time he finally pulls out of you, you're spent, your legs trembling, your breath ragged. but dean takes care of you, cleaning you up, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he helps you back into your clothes, his touch gentle and tender, so different from the roughness of moments ago.
when you're both dressed, you turn to him, your eyes meeting his, and without thinking, you pull him into a kiss. it's not like the others—it's not fueled by lust or desperation. this kiss is soft, slow, full of something deeper, something you've been too afraid to admit 'til now.
when you finally pull away, dean looks at you, his eyes searching yours. "what was that for?" he asks, his voice quiet, vulnerable.
you take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "i love you," you admit, the words catching in your throat. "and i'm sorry for leaving you like that. i was scared. but, fuck… i love you too, dean. i always have."
the smile that breaks across his face is like sunrise, brilliant and beautiful. he pulls you close again, pressing his body into yours. "yeah?"
"yeah," you whisper back. "turns out you're kind of hard to resist, winchester."
he laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where you're pressed against him. "good thing i'm not trying to resist you anymore either, sweetheart."
when you eventually make your way back to the bar, sam takes one look at your slightly disheveled appearance and dean's stupid grin and rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. your friends are also giving you knowing looks, and the blonde from earlier has long since found another target.
none of that matters, because dean's hand finds yours again, and this time, neither of you are running anywhere. he also pulls you close to him again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a promise of something more.
something real.
꣑୧ UNOFFICIAL TAGLIST. @anqeliclust @aileenunfiltered @embarrasingmf @stereotypicalbarbie @ninii-winchester @suckitands33 @ohheyguyss @spxideyver @artyandink @titsout4nicholas 𓂃 ݁ 𖦹
#꣑୧ writings.#dean winchester#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x fem reader#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester blurb#dean winchester x you#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester imagines#dean imagine#dean smut#dean winchester angst#dean x female!reader#dean x y/n#dean x reader#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester imagine#dean x you#dean angst#dean fluff#supernatural#supernatural x female reader#supernatural smut#jensen ackles#jensen ackles smut#jackles
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Chicken Soup for Carmy
⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️ harsh language, sexism and violence in one scene (not from Carmy). Hurt/comfort, fluff.
A/N: I’m literally feral for this man. I’m sick atm and I started thinking about taking care of Carmy while I was making chicken soup. Bonus combo with Carmy protecting you from an asshole customer. Not proofread bc my brain is rotting. Plz be nice this is my first time posting a fic 🥺
-
It was cold. You braced yourself against the harsh Chicago wind as you made your way briskly down the street. After a late night phone call from your brother sent you into a spiral, you couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning all night until finally, at 4am, you flung off the covers and got dressed. It wasn’t a surprise that you’d come here. This place consumed all your mind and your heart since you started working here a few months ago. You used your key to unlock the door in the alley, sighing with relief as the warmth of The Beef welcomed you inside. It was quiet, the lights were down, it was peaceful. You slipped off your sneakers trading in your kitchen clogs and tucked your things safely away in your locker. You tied your handkerchief on your head as you moved. It was so comforting, the routine of The Beef’s prep work. You felt so at home, moving from the prep area to the walk in, diligently beginning the tasks that didn’t need to be started for a few more hours. He would understand. You thought to yourself as you began to prepare fresh stock for the day. He was a man after your own heart, your boss, Carmen Berzatto.
Avoidant, chaotically emotional, one wrong thing away from a complete meltdown, that you both disguised as workaholic tendencies. As you finely chopped onions, your mind quieted. Everything was shut out except for the task at hand. Your brother’s angry voice on the phone accusing you: “you never come home! You don’t even care about us! You can’t take come take care of your own mother?!” was drowned out by the rhythmic pound of your knife on the cutting board. You were in the zone.
Until a voice startled you out of your bubble. “Chef?” You jolted, looking up at the man before you. Carmy’s hair was messier than usual, the bags under his eyes were deeper and more purple. His lips were parted with each soft breath he took. He gave you a quizzical look. “What are you doing here?”
“I uh-” your mouth felt dry and you tripped over your words, as usual when he set those intense blue eyes on you. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Carmy nodded, not pushing you any further. All he said before moving toward the office was a simple: “Heard, Chef.”
You watched him go, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the labor of his normally spry step. There was no mistaking it, Carmen was sick. You stared at the office door for a long moment before you made up your mind.
You set a heavy bottomed pot on the stove with some olive oil. Your hands moved with well practiced efficiency as you chopped garlic and onions, celery and carrots. The garlic and onions went in first. Then the celery. A sprig of thyme and a dash of white wine. While that simmered you quickly seared some chicken breast and chopped it into perfectly bite sized pieces. All into the pot with chicken stock and water, tightly covered to develop the flavors. Next came the pasta. You cracked eggs into the well of flour, mixing and kneading until it became a smooth golden dough. You carefully, tenderly rolled the dough and cut it into thick, short noodles. A bath in hot water to cook, then they too joined the pot. In no time at all, you were ladling a generous portion into a bowl. You set a toasted piece of chibatta on the side, grabbed a spoon, and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle your nerves. Softly, you knocked on the office door.
“Yeah?” His voice responded.
“Chef?” You entered, nervous. Words failing you as they so often did in his presence, you set the bowl before him. Carmy’s eyes widened. The aroma made his mouth water. He looked to you, gaze softening. “You made me chicken soup?”
Your cheeks grew warm. “Y-yeah, I mean chicken soup always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”
Carmy couldn’t believe you. You noticed? He smiled at you. You were so beautiful. You were always so confident and sure on the line, delegating with efficiency, respect, and authority. He had hired you the second you stepped into The Beef. Your resume was impressive but there was something in the way you carried yourself that truly earned the golden reputation you had in the culinary industry. But you were different with him, in the occasional moments like this where it was just you and him. Shy, almost bashful, gentle, and soft. He loved it. He wanted more of it. He lifted the spoon, bringing a bite to his lips.
“Gotta get a little of everything.” You muttered, eagerly awaiting his response.
Carmy shot you a sideways smile. It was good. No, it was better than good. The warm broth slid down his throat and each bite exploded with a depth of flavor he couldn’t believe. It was pure comfort. It reminded him of being a little kid staying home sick from school. Curled up on the couch while Jerry Springer played, eating crackers and ginger ale until his mom would bring a bowl of chicken noodle soup. But this soup, your soup, was more than that. People always talk about cooking with love but he swore he could taste it. Each ingredient had been so carefully handled. Perfectly chopped vegetables, moist and flavorful chicken. The warm feeling in his chest grew as he inspected the bowl.
“Did uh, did you make this pasta fresh?” He asked, eyeing you.
“Yeah, it’s better that way.” You blushed.
“Thank you, chef.” He said. “It’s really, really good.” Carmy looked down, suddenly feeling heavy. The fear of closeness set into him and all he could think about was how he’d fuck this up. “You-you didn’t have to make this for me.”
“Oh, it’s okay!” You insisted. “It was no big deal.” You began to leave, giving him one last truthful smile. “I like taking care of you.”
“I like taking care of you.” Your words rattled through Carmy’s mind all day. Throughout all of lunch, prep, and dinner he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said. The soup you had made was the first thing he’d eaten in too long. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him and you’d just done it because you noticed he wasn’t feeling well. No motive, no games, just tender love and concern.
Love.
Carmy shook his head to try and shake the thought from his mind. No, no, no there was no way you actually cared about him. Not like that. You were just being nice.
That’s just who you are; nice. You were always so kind. The way you’d help Marcus workshop pastries, the way you’d make Tina laugh and listen to her talk about whatever trouble Louis had gotten in, how you’d encourage Sydney and remind her that she can do this. Even the way you’d throw snark right back at Richie or how’d you’d always set aside a portion of Family for Fak and Sugar, even Pete. You were always thinking of others. Carmy wasn’t special.
Yeah. Not special.
Carmy insisted the thought as he scrubbed the grill. Not special. Not special. Not special.
“Carmy?” There you were. You were always there. You had a thick denim jacket on, bag on your shoulder, knit beanie pulled down over your hair. Your brow furrowed at the sight of him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Carmy shook his head. “I’m fine… you uh- you heading out?”
You shrugged, hoisting your bag a little higher on your shoulder and eyeing him skeptically. “Yeah. Are you?”
“Yeah, in a bit.”
You chuckled, more exasperated than humorous. “No.”
“What?” Carmy asked, confused.
“No, you’re leaving too.” You insisted. You were feeling bold. Months of long looks and his hand on your lower back every time he passed you had culminated tonight.
You had taken over the front for Richie while he ducked out to take a call from his daughter. You’d insisted. It was slammed for dinner but everything was going fairly smooth until an irate customer approached you.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He’d asked, slamming his plate onto the counter.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean are you retarded or something?” He continued. You were stunned into silence. You had never had anyone speak to you like that. “How hard is it to make a fucking sandwich? I know your tits are bigger than your brain but Jesus fucking Christ it’s not hard!”
“I-I…” you were shaking. “I’m sorry that you’re not satisfied, sir. If you like, we can-”
“Not satisfied?!” He screamed. “How can I be satisfied with this piece of shit!”
He hurled the sandwich at you. It hit you in the chest, toppings and sauce splattering everywhere. Before you even knew what was happening, a blur of messy curls shot past you. Carmy launched over the counter, tackling the man. His fist collided with the man’s face over and over while Richie and Fak rushed after him. There was a cacophony of yells as Richie pulled Carmy back. “Get your girl!” Richie yelled. “Cousin! Go get your girl!”
Fak and Richie dragged the man out and threw him into the street. Carmy’s hands grasped your cheeks.
“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He wiped the sauce splatters from your brow. “Look at me.”
Carmy burned with anger as he watched you shake. Your white shirt and blue apron were covered in the sandwich. He imagined what you would do for him if he was in your position. How you’d care for him, how you’d tend to him… so he tried to do what you would. Gently he guided you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist. He practically carried you to his office where he sat you on the couch and quickly went to grab a clean shirt from his own locker. You were in the same place he left you when he returned. Carmy knelt before you, taking your face in his hands once more.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Tears welled in your eyes and you collapsed into his arms. He smoothed his hand over you back, repeating “it’s okay” over and over again. He felt like he was on fire. The feeling of you clinging to him, nuzzling your face into his neck, the smell of you, how you fit in his arms… it was too much. He wanted to run away and never speak to you again. He wanted to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to scream. He wanted to feel your lips against his. He wanted to find the piece of shit that yelled at you and rip him to pieces. He wanted your chicken soup every time he was sick.
All those feelings were closing in on Carmy once again as he stared at you across the kitchen. You still had his t shirt on. You were looking at him expectantly.
“Sorry, uh… what did you say?” Carmy’s voice was softer than he expected.
“I said I’ll walk home with you.”
“Oh, no that’s okay. Ive got to-“
“Carmy,” you stepped closer. Your voice was firm but so tender. “You need to get some rest. Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.”
He couldn’t help but smile back at you. “Alright…” he conceded.
The two of you braced yourselves against the cold and hurried down the sidewalk side by side. You argued about who would walk who home. Carmy insisted on walking you to your apartment but you protested on the grounds that he’d just go back to the restaurant once he dropped you off.
“Fine,” you gave in. “But you have to call me when you get to your place so I know you made it home!”
Carmy looked at the ground, smiling. The warmth in his chest from your soup was steadily turning into a molten pool of lava.
“Heard.” He grinned. You wanted to know he’d made it home. You wanted to make sure he rested. I like taking care of you.
“Well, I’m just up here.” Your voice stopped his thoughts from spiraling before it could even start. Carmy’s brow furrowed. “What?” You asked, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.
“You live over there?”
“Yeah? Like a block down?”
There was a beat of silence before Carmy let out a breathy laugh. “I live right there.” He pointed to the building on the other side of the street.
“No shit!” You laughed in earnest. Your hand came to rest on his arm. “Guess I’m gonna be walking you home more often.”
Carmy’s entire body was on fire. He could imagine the tingle of your soft hand on his skin through all the layers of clothing. He wanted to hold you close again like in his office, but this time you wouldn’t be crying. A deep pit opened in his stomach. How long before he made you cry? How long before he fucked it all up? Until you hated him and quit the restaurant and everything fell apart because he-
“Hey,” your voice. Always your voice that brought him back. When he looked over at you it was like everything but your face faded into a blurry background. You were all Carmy could see. “Do you want to come to mine? I haven’t eaten and I KNOW you haven’t either.”
Carmy’s heart fluttered. “O-okay.” He started, his confidence rising when he noticed your hand was still in his arm. “Only if you let me cook you something.”
“Ooh,” you smiled. “I’d never turn that down!”
Carmy chuckled, feeling lighter for the first time in years as he walked so close beside you that your shoulders brushed. “It won’t be as good as your chicken soup.”
#the bear#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy the bear#carmy x reader#carmy x you#carmy x fem!reader#hurt/comfort#sickfic#carmen berzatto fluff
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octavinelle won the poll, so here y’all go
cw: yandere octavinelle x reader, marine researcher au
It was your legs, they said, which first enraptured them.
They’d never seen human legs before, not so close that they could reach out and stroke across the lustrous skin. Their slimy, web-like hands squeezing the plush of your thighs, sliding down to drag their sharp claws gently over your calves, before moving to your feet, fascinated by the rotation of your ankles.
You’d shuttered at the touch, but back then, you’d told yourself that all their curiosity would be worth indulging in if it meant completing your research project. You were just lucky to have encountered mermen actually willing to work with you.
But that was the thing - it was never just a simple touch. Azul was better than the twins, but even he pushed your boundaries when he knew he could get away with it.
It was a simple trade, a quid pro quo: they’d teach you about mermen, and you’d teach them about humans. It was entirely fair, Azul had said, that if you were poking around in their business, they should be allowed to understand yours as well.
Unfortunately for you, they were all hands-on learners.
A question from Jade about hamstrings turned into a graze of claws along your thigh, exploring wherever he wished. At the beginning, you might’ve assumed he was the most normal of his group. He’d feigned respect, apologizing for the inconvenience, but the glint in his eyes and the serrated teeth peeking out behind his gentle grin made you think twice.
Azul’s ‘fascination’ about mammalian swimming capabilities was his excuse to get you into the ocean, his tentacles poking and prodding at your flesh curiously. He’d even generously offered to carry you in his many arms: only once he’d forced you too far out into the ocean for you to fight against the current, of course.
Floyd didn’t care to keep up the same pretences as Jade and Azul. If he wanted his part of the exchange to be dragging you out into the ocean and watching you struggle until he swooped in to save your exhausted body from drowning, he’d do it. He’d laugh in your face too, making sure to take his sweet time getting you back to shore, while being sure to make himself comfortable cuddling you into him when you were too tired to tell him to give you some space.
Even then, you’d tell yourself it was worth it. Not just listening to them, but really living with mermen gave you the chance no other researcher had ever had.
Sometimes it wasn’t so bad.
You had to admit, Azul’s surprising neediness sent a pang of guilt to your heart for being separated from him for so long on the days you returned to your lab to report your findings to your supervisor. You’d let him cling to you those days, his tentacles gripping across your entire body, as you reassured him that you wouldn’t just disappear one day.
Jade was a surprisingly good listener and a thoughtful conversationalist. He was perfectly content to let you ramble and complain about your manipulative boss or terrible pay, as long as you allowed him the pleasure of resting your head on his lap, his fingers combing through your hair, unexpectedly mindful of his claws.
Even Floyd had his good days, when he was satisfied by you hanging onto his shoulders, his arms gripping your thighs as he gave you a ride across the coast, ensuring he stayed high enough up for you to comfortably keep your head above water.
You’d become so comfortable with them, it was hard to see what was becoming of your relationship with the mermen. The change from low-tide to high-tide went unnoticed, as you sank into the depths, not realizing your mistake until there was nothing left for you to do but thrash helplessly.
It began when Azul started bringing you gifts. He’d gotten progressively more shy, the more he got to know you, the savvy businessman front he’d thrown up falling away to something else. He wasn’t really any less manipulative, but this time he used his emotions to prey on your kindness instead.
You were lucky enough to have gone into your research knowing more about mermen courting rituals than the average human, giving you the sense to try and put up boundaries between you and Azul. No matter how much you cared for each other, your relationship was one of professionalism, as upon your initial agreement.
Azul had only pouted and proceeded to sulk. How could you not accept his gift of a iridescent seashell? He’d gotten it just for you, it was beyond rude to reject it after all the trouble he went through. And here he was, presenting it to you without the expectation of anything in return. That was rare for him, to be so altruistic.
He’d suggested he might be tempted to hide away forever with his embarrassment, forcing you to accept his gift, despite your hesitancy. Your boss had been very clear that messing up this project meant the termination of your job, and that wasn’t something you could afford right now.
The shell certainly was beautiful, but that only made things worse. Azul absolutely insisted that you keep it with you at all times, so to keep him happy, you’d strung it on a neckless to wear.
Spotting it on your neck only made Floyd pout, and the cycle of upsetting and caving to the needs of your mermen began again.
Jade wasn’t as jealous as Floyd, so he didn’t demand anything extra of you, even after noticing the ‘claim’ Azul had placed on you with his courting gift. He was perfectly happy to watch you squirm under Floyd’s attentions, though.
Floyd had insisted that it wasn’t fair. Azul had gotten to breach that line with you, cross a boundary you’d set for them long ago. That meant you must favour him, right? That wasn’t very nice of you, Shrimpy. Better do something to make it up to him, to show Floyd that you like him just as much as Azul.
Careful, Jade had warned, Floyd tends to be much less…kind, when he doesn’t get what he wants.
That was all it took for you to cave, allowing Floyd to push back your shoulders so that you laid flat against the wet sand, the waves brushing gently against your ankles every few seconds.
He quickly pushed up beside you, slimy hand taking your cheek in his palm and brushing his thumb across your lips as he turned you to face him. You’d only had a second to catch a glimpse of his thrilled look before he crashed your lips against his own.
Soft lips parted your own and a long tongue pushed into your mouth, his sharp teeth almost catching on your flesh.
Floyd pulled back after he was satisfied, grinning at you and promising to come back with a special treat for you later, before diving back into the ocean and disappearing.
A soft chuckle reminded you that you weren’t alone. Floyd always was impatient, Jade had admonished. You’d barely noticed him creeping closer. But now that you’d given his brother and Azul something, he’d admitted to feeling left out.
A kind soul like yourself would hate to let that go on, wouldn’t you?
As your shoulders were gently laid in the sand once again, it was Jade’s form which hovered over you this time.
#tw: yandere#twst x reader#azul x reader#jade x reader#floyd x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#octavinelle x reader#azul ashengrotto#jade leech#floyd leech#twst#twisted wonderland
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Soon you'll get better - S.R
Spencer Reid x Fem!reader
Summary: Spencer's life was perfect until one dreaded visit from the doctor. Your life was measured in only seconds, you have cancer.
Warning: inaccuracies in the medical parts, cursing, no happy ending
WC: 2.8k
Angst
A/N: listen to so many songs for this, mainly Dark Paradise by Lana Del Rey and Soon You'll Get Better by Taytay.
____
Spencer basks in the feeling of you in his arms even though he is trying to hold back his tears knowing he only has a few moments left with you here on Earth. Worrying about losing you is different when he knows he is going to lose you.
Your hands were intertwined as he kissed your knuckles, God, Cancer's a bitch. Spencer held you tightly as he heaved a sigh, his eyes were glossed and he felt bile rise in his throat.
He stifled his sobs knowing that you needed your sleep. Whatever thing he had done in the past, it couldn't have been that bad to make him deserve this kind of treatment from God. Was it because he didn't believe him?
He finds himself praying every night, desperate people find faith so now he prays to God hoping and begging to make you live longer. Longer until your hair turns grey.
"Soon you'll get better" he whispered as if it were a prayer "You need to" his voice cracked as his tears continued to flow, you slept peacefully unaware of his dilemma.
You've been together for so long, 5 years dating then later on married for 3 years. His life was perfect for so long but one visit from the doctor destroyed his world.
Spencer said you should get it checked, you thought he was being dramatic but he insisted anyway.
The morning after the news, he wished it was a dream when you sat him down on the bed, worried in his voice when you grabbed his hand and grief he felt when you spoke.
"I- I have cancer," you said, swallowing hard when his grip on your hand loosened.
"What?" He whispered, heart in his throat every second you give him silence "You can't be serious, Angel" he said in disbelief, standing up from the bed to look at you properly, and when he read your behavior his heart dropped.
You shook your head as you held back your tears, you needed to be strong for him. Raking his fingers through his hair, his breathing becoming more shallow as he looked for any indication that this was all just some sick joke, you liked pranking him, it's a horrible prank but he would forgive you.
"I have Osteosarcoma..." Spencer felt his breath hitched at your words. He had a question at the tip of his tongue but he didn't feel like questioning it afraid of the answer.
If it's stage 1 or 2 it might be curable he held on to that hope, clung to it like it was his lifeline. Sensing his question through his eyes, you answered.
"It's stage 3 Spence" you muttered, your voice thick with emotions. He staggered backward, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.
"The doctor must've mistaken your scan for somebody else's o- or there must be an error, yeah that must be it" he stammered, his mind going faster than his mouth knowing that Doctors make mistakes like that but he knows the statistics of doctors making mistakes when giving the results are slim to none.
And when you didn't reply, he cried. His hand flew to his mouth a sob forcing its way out. You immediately stood up and engulfed him in a hug as you cried, you felt his shoulder shake against you, his sobs becoming more broken the longer he hugged you.
You barely see Spencer cry, but when he does cry the sound of his cries goes straight to your heart, this time he sounded so broken and alone and you made sure to make him feel less alone by whispering 'I'll be okay'
Spencer felt stupid for crying, he should be the one comforting you not the opposite but he couldn't help it, the thought of you leaving him destroyed him, he would trade anything else if it meant saving your life.
Spencer felt his world crashing that night, he cried so much he felt like he might pass out.
---
Baking was always your favorite it makes you feel at peace but now you need assistance as you cook which doesn't only make you sad, it makes you more burdensome to Spencer. You smiled at Spencer as he leaned himself on the counter.
He had a frown on his lips as he looked at you "Are you sure you want to stop your chemotherapy?" He asked and you sighed as you washed your hands getting the sticky dough off your hands.
"Come here, darling," you say softly. He pushed himself off the counter and made his way towards you, immediately engulfing you in a hug.
He held you delicately afraid that if he touched you tightly you'll vanish. "If money's the issue- it's not even an issue, love" he muttered as he trailed kisses to your shoulder and your neck.
You chuckled "It's futile, Spence. You of all people should know that, I did chemo for 5 months and it didn't work" you whispered as you nuzzled yourself into his chest. You thought the chemo did you justice only to know that it got worse. Chemo didn't work.
Spencer knew, of course, but he'd like to think that little hope could somehow save your life even if the percentage laughed at his face.
"I know... But it makes you stay here longer" he ran his fingers through your skin, from your hands to your arms. He noticed your skin change every time, it became more pale and his heart couldn't handle it.
Every day he can't stop himself from thinking that it might be your last and it's killing him. He doesn't know what he would do if you were to be gone from his life. The family you created was something he treasured so dearly in his heart and he got used to loving you so much that it became his oxygen at some point.
You smiled sadly "Okay... I'll start again" you finally said. He pulled away from the hug to look at you properly.
"you mean it?" He asked, and you laughed at his shocked expression "Yes, Spence I mean it, cross my heart hope-" he clasped his hand to your mouth making you laugh even more.
"Don't you dare finish that" he said and he had a small smile on his lips. You licked his palm and successfully made him pull away from you.
"Oh, stop acting like it disgusts you, you kiss me plenty of times" you grumbled when you saw his disgusted face.
"That's not what I'm worried about, I didn't wash my hands and you just licked it!" He exclaimed. Your heart swells in adoration at his statement.
You laughed and Spencer committed that to memory, carved it in his mind. Seeing you laugh and not hunch yourself in pain is refreshing to Spencer, he can't bear seeing you in pain.
----
You were tucked beside Spencer on the couch your head on his chest, dried tears on your cheeks as you heaved in a sigh. Every movement you make feels like torture.
Spencer didn't know what to do he felt helpless, but having him by your side throughout all of this had brought you comfort more than ever.
You dragged your hands across his chest rubbing gently the movement brought small pain to your joints but you didn't mind. He grabbed your hand, stopping your movement as he rubbed circles on your skin.
"You okay?" He asked, gentle as ever.
You hummed "I'm fine" you mumbled.
Lie. He knows you're in so much pain right now and he wished, God, he begged to make it all go away. Make it go away as easily as the wind takes the leaves.
"I love you" you whispered, his heart flipped out of fear. His lips parted then closed and you felt him hold you closer.
"Please don't make it sound like it's gonna be the last time you'll say it" his breath shuddered as he said it, lips trembling and voice cracking. He had felt his heart break a thousand times when you said you loved him.
You saying 'I love you' doesn't feel the same anymore, it feels different. He wants it to feel warm, not cold, and not think it will be the last.
You frowned "I'm sorry, I don't mean it to sound like that, Honey" Spencer wanted to cry but he already shed so many tears through his sleepless nights as he felt you press against him at night and think that he wouldn't be able to hold you this close for a long time.
"Don't apologize" he mumbled and kissed your forehead, his kiss lingering a bit longer.
Your hair was shorter, you insisted that he cut it and he remembered you laughing when he cut it too short. If your hair wasn't falling off every time you pulled it, you would've been so mad but at that moment you didn't care.
When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you cried and Spencer didn't hesitate to hold you in his arms and kiss every inch of your face.
"You look beautiful, you are beautiful, my gorgeous and brave wife" he whispered.
You cried and buried your face in the crook of his neck "You don't have to say that" you cried.
"It's true and I'm not letting you go until you believe it" he insisted and you've been stuck with him for a few hours before you believed him.
You watched the stars after that and he pointed to every constellation he sees and you listened, committing his voice into your mind.
----
Spencer listens to the monitor of your heart as he watches your chest rise and fall. His hand rests atop yours, his brows knitting together in concern.
The Doctor said he needed to be prepared. He's not. He can't breathe when you flutter your eyes open.
"Spencer?" You uttered slightly panicked, your throat dry as you looked around the room.
Spencer sniffled before clearing his throat "I'm here, Angel" he said softly as he met your gaze.
He sees you visibly relax and that brings comfort to his already broken heart.
"Hi," you sighed.
"Hey," he whispered. At that moment he didn't think you were in pain or under the dim light of the hospital. He remembers it like it was the first time meeting you all over again.
He sees your skin warm and vibrant again, your hair falling effortlessly over your shoulder, and your laugh sounds more alive. He thinks you'll sound and look like that if he lets you go.
His throat tightened and he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bopping as he looked down on your intertwined hands. You're the light of his life, but staying means your flame will eat itself up.
"Come here, please" you pleaded as you patted the space next to you, and Spencer had a hard time declining.
He climbed on the hospital bed, making sure to be as careful as ever, when he was comfortable he engulfed you in his arms.
It was silent for a while then he heard your weak voice "I don't want to leave" but he felt you were leaving already.
"I don't want you to leave either" and he broke down like the first time he found out your life was only to keep for a fraction of a second.
You wiped away his tears, fingertips shaking slightly "I love you until the day that I die, whether it'll be today, tomorrow, or the next day but I'll love you beyond death itself" you choked out.
Spencer cupped your face, he's accepting it even if it's painful, he had to.
"I love you, more than anything else in this world" he sobbed, locking his lips with yours. When you parted he rested against you, nose touching, he savored that feeling.
Loving you was easy, letting you go on the other hand is a different story. He thinks he won't be able to, not for a long time, not forever at all.
"I want you to know that you are so so loved, Spence. I have spent the majority of my life dreaming of loving someone and that so happens to be you and I wouldn't have had it any other way" you muttered, your breathing becoming more labored as you spoke.
Spencer pursed his lips as he closed his eyes tightly. He can't explain the pain he feels right now, can't explain how much it fucking hurts. You heard his sobs and you felt your heart crack.
"I can't do this without you" he stammered.
"Yes you can, you did it before" you mumbled, and he shook his head.
"That was before I got to meet you, my life didn't start until I met you" he whispered, sniffling, his eyes bloodshot from crying.
"That's not true" you insisted.
"It is" came his immediate reply.
A comfortable silence followed then you spoke again.
"Can you read to me please?" You mumbled.
He smiled and nodded "Sure, sweetheart" and so he read until you fell asleep. He didn't sleep, he lay awake on your deathbed wishing every moment was longer.
You flatline at 2:38 a.m he didn't call out for the doctor, he knows they can't save you so he held you closer and he cried to the point where he felt like throwing up.
Your body was cold, lifeless, and limp. He couldn't handle it so after an hour he finally called the doctor. Watched on the sidelines as the nurses checked your pulse and watched their eyes change in realization.
The doctor shook her head as she covered your whole body with the white sheet. Spencer looked away as he made his way to the bathroom.
He threw up, and the bitter taste lingered when he got out. His gaze grew lifeless as the hour passed. Derek picked him up from the hospital and the only thing Derek could describe him was 'he was a walking corpse'
....
The first night after your death, he wished he would dream of you but he didn't.
The next morning he woke up in an empty bed, and everywhere he walked around the house he could see any reminder of you.
Picture frames, flowers, vases, letters, mugs, and the list goes on.
When he makes breakfast he always prepares two plates and when he realizes that he is alone he spirals for an hour long or longer.
And when he goes to sleep he hugs your picture, wishing for the slightest amount of warmth from your things as he can but receives coldness in the form of an empty bed.
But when he finally dreams of you, he doesn't want to wake up.
You were sat on top of a hill, flowers surrounding you, your back facing him but he felt like you knew he was there so he sat down next to you.
Your hair wasn't short anymore, you weren't pale and most of all you didn't look like you were in pain. Your eyes were shut but you had a smile on your face.
"You need to eat more, Spence" you muttered with a smile as you meet his gaze. His eyes welled with tears when he heard your voice.
He tackled you in a hug and you yelped laughing as he looked down at you. You grin adoringly at him as you cupped his face with both of your hands.
"I can only see you once, my love," you said and he felt his heart drop, he wanted to see you every day.
"Are you in pain?" He asked as his knuckles graze your cheeks.
You shake your head "No" and he smiles "Good" he whispers as he lets a tear fall from his eyes. He was so happy to hear that.
"I love you so much," he said as he trailed kisses from your forehead, nose, cheeks, and to your lips. You giggled "I love you too," you said but this time your I love you didn't feel cold and it didn't feel like a goodbye.
"I want to be with you," he said through tears, you wiped them away gently your fingertips no longer shaking and that made him so happy.
"Soon but not now" you replied.
"Can I at least stay with you until I wake up?" He asked pleadingly.
You chuckled and nodded making him smile. His head was now resting on your lap as you played with his curls.
"Can you read to me, please?" He requested.
"Of course, my love" you whispered and he basked in your sweet voice, he wished he could record it so he could listen to it when he misses you which is every second of the day.
He didn't know how long he stayed with you but when he woke up you were gone and for the first few hours he just sat there and looked for your warmth again.
Spencer felt a part of him was taken away from him ever since you left.
He wanted you back, he wants his wife back.
---
Dividers from @cafekitsune ;D
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds#spencer reid angst#spencer x reader#x reader#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x you#catsushizz writings#angst#derek morgan
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new article/q&a about Nico Hischier just dropped.
best tidbits below:
Q: What moment in your life would you like to experience again? A: The moment when I stepped onto the ice before my first NHL game.
Q: Common misconception about hockey players? A: That goalies are a bit crazy for standing in goal and letting pucks get shot at them.
Q: Which sports star's training would you like to follow? A: I would be interested to know how Roger Federer trains.
Q: What title would you give your biography? A: From Little Valais to Big New York
Q: Last time you cried? A: After the World Cup final there were emotional moments and some tears were shed. I had never played in a final before, now I know what it feels like. And when you lose, the motivation for the next time is even greater so that you don't experience that feeling again.
Q: What didn't you eat as a child that you like to eat now? A: Onions! As a child I hated them, my mother was not allowed to cook anything with onions. And today I love them.
Q: Most emotional locker room moment? A: Difficult, because there were a few. Emotionally, it's not easy when players are traded during the season or coaches who have been with the club for a long time have to leave. These are not pleasant conversations as a team. In contrast, the moment when the playoffs are clinched, for example, is very special. That's why there is no one moment; in the locker room it's a rollercoaster of emotions.
Q: What advice do you give to young players who dream of the NHL? A: Don't be afraid to make mistakes, because you learn from them. Go your own way, have fun in training and in games.
Q: Are you afraid of getting older? A: No, I try to have the attitude of looking forward to what is still to come.
Q: Four weeks in a monastery or in prison – what would you choose? A: To the monastery, of course
Q: What could you never be persuaded to do? A: A dance competition
Q: What household chore do you put off the longest? A: Vacuuming
Q: What prank have your teammates played on you? A: In the locker room, your helmet is always on the top shelf. They put a cup of water underneath it. If you take your helmet off the shelf, you pour the water on your face. I found out a few years ago that this is a popular joke.
Q: When can you laugh at yourself? A: When I’m in a good mood I can always laugh at myself
Q: What are women better at than men? A: Oh, in many things. They are better at coordinating things, they can absorb a lot of information better and faster. Luckily there are women.
#Nico Hischier#New Jersey Devils#NJ Devils#Devils#NJD#if anyone wants access to the article just DM me#its been archived so you don't need to pay#love that Nico loves onions now#also his answer is literally just that one meme#WOMEN#his biography title!!!!#buddy YOURE IN NEW JERSEY THO#but Ill allow it#vacuuming secretly messy Nico headcanon continues to grow#tbt Bratter saying he had to wash Nico's dishes for him#I didnt include all the questions FYI
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Cover Art - L. Hughes
main masterlist || l. hughes masterlist || taglist
synopsis: Luke finds out that he's on the cover of his favorite childhood video game. inspired by seeing the pictures of the Hughes for the cover of NHL 25
word count: 1.3k
warnings: this was written in like half an hour so probably spelling mistakes.
The summer was slowly winding down. The fun and excitement of the lake house, started to turn into the dreadful packing and cleaning that came at the end of a not long enough summer. Most of the hockey players that had been inhabiting the house had left, heading back to their respective cities for the upcoming pre-season training. The Hughes brothers were doing everything they can to soak up the last couple of weeks before they were back living across North America.
You were sitting on the dock, your book carelessly left half open across your lap as you scrolled through social media. The calming sound of the water playing as background noise as you soaked up the morning sun. Jack and Quinn went to the rink for an early morning skating session, leaving their younger brother asleep in his bed. You didn’t blame the elder Hughes brothers, it was like waking a bear when it came to getting Luke up.
The quiet pad of feet on the wooden dock, pulled you out of your tik tok trance. A smile graced your features as you watched Luke, his hair disheveled peeking under the hood of the red Devils sweatshirt he put on, paired with black Devils gym shorts walk towards you. He plopped down unceremoniously in the chair next to you, squinting out at the water.
“Did they leave me again?” His voice was thick with sleep still. You nodded your head, “Assholes.”
You chuckled, putting your phone down next to you, “I think they would have an easier time waking the dead than you.”
“Rude,” He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. You shook your head and stood up, knowing that your boyfriend needed to have a meal in his belly before he fully woke up.
“C’mon, I’ll make you breakfast.” You held your hand out to him, which he took. Luke sat down on one of the barstools as you moved around the kitchen to find what you needed to make breakfast. First thing you did was pull out a bowl of fruit, placing it in front of him.
“I think you should leave your suitcase and stuff here,” Luke said, picking out some grapes. He could never tire of you fitting into the lake house like you owned it. It was your second summer here, and it already felt like you had been here from the beginning. After last year, you had left some of your things here, so it would be easier to travel back once the season had ended.
“I already did leave some stuff here,” You responded, grabbing the carton of eggs out of the fridge.
“No I mean, like all your suitcases. Just leave them here like we do. We can get you new clothes and stuff back in Jersey.”
You turned and looked at him, “We do not need to buy me a whole new wardrobe when we get back to Jersey. I can take stuff back and forth.”
“Yeah,” He shrugged, “But you’d be like. . . moved in here. . . like the rest of us.”
“Luke Warren Hughes, is this you asking me to move into the lake house?”
“Well, if you-” Luke’s words were cut off by his phone ringing, his agent’s contact displayed across the screen, “Hold that thought, I gotta answer this.”
You nodded, watching Luke as he walked quickly out the backdoor, answering his phone. You couldn’t help but watch him as he paced around on the back deck. Even though Luke was locked into his contract for another couple of years with the Devils, you knew that nothing was for certain. It had been a difficult summer, watching as some of Luke’s closest teammates were traded away and shuffled around the country. He was never one to get over emotional about things, but you knew that some of these trades had him feeling sad.
When he came back inside, you did your best to pretend that you weren’t staring out the window at him, continuing to cut fresh veggies for an omelet.
“What was that about?” You asked calmly, your heart beating erratically in your chest.
“Chris, he uh. . . he said that EA sports contacted him,” Luke shoved his hands in his pockets. You looked up at him, “They’re working on the new edition of NHL 25, and they want me and my brothers to be on the cover.”
“What?” You asked in surprise.
Luke shrugged as he said again, “They want me on the cover.”
“Baby, you’re going to be on the cover,” You watched as the excitement slowly started to fill his eyes. A pink blush arising on his cheeks as the weight of the phone call and your words resonated in his brain. The video game that he had been playing since he was a child. The video game that he spent hours playing with his brothers, his best friends, and teammates, wanted him on the cover.
“I'm gonna be on the cover,” Luke smiled.
“You’re going to be on the cover!” You rounded the kitchen island, and all but jumped into his arms, wrapping your own tightly around his neck. Luke buried his face into the crook of your neck, “I am so, so proud of you.” You lifted his head and looked into those hazel eyes you loved so much, “You deserve this. You worked your ass off all season to prove yourself.”
“Yeah but there’s better-“
“No,” You shook your head, “There’s no one better for the cover. You proved that you aren’t in the league just because your last name is “Hughes”. You proved that you’re in the league because you are worthy of it. And you did it all on your own.”
“Not all on my own,” Luke shook his head, “I couldn’t have gotten through the rookie season without you. Especially when Jack got hurt.”
You remembered those weeks where Luke let the outside noise seep into his head. He hardly ever scrolled through social media comments but you had caught him scrolling through twitter, searching himself up and seeing what random people were saying about him. You watched as all the doubt filled his mind and it didn’t help that the Devils weren’t having a great season. But slowly, you pushed away those feelings, reminding Luke every day as he went to the arena that he deserved to be there. That he worked just as hard as anyone on the team, and he was just as good as anyone on the team.
“Well baby,” You smiled, running your hands through his curls, “You made it and you’re on the fucking cover of NHL 25!”
“I’m on the fucking cover,” Luke smiled, grabbing you by the thighs and lifting you up, your legs wrapping around his torso, “Forget breakfast, I wanna celebrate.”
note: do you think Luke knows how proud the whole hockey community is of him? Like he's not just Jack and Quinn Hughes' little brother. He is Luke Hughes, Calder Trophy nominee, and cover player for NHL 25. I am so excited to see what this season has in store.
#Luke hughes#Luke hughes fic#Luke hughes imagine#Luke hughes fan fiction#Luke hughes x reader#Luke hughes x oc#luke hughes blurb#lh43#hockey fic#hockey fan fiction#hockey imagine
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