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Luxury Door Handles India: Combining Elegance and Functionality
Discover the perfect blend of elegance and functionality with our luxury door handles India. Our exclusive collection features meticulously crafted handles that elevate the aesthetic appeal of any space while ensuring robust performance and durability. Each piece is designed with a keen eye for detail, using high-quality materials that reflect sophistication and style.
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Upgrade your interiors with our luxury door handles, and experience the perfect harmony of style and practicality. Whether you're renovating your home or designing a new space, our handles are the ideal choice for adding a touch of luxury to your doors.
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#luxury door handles india#lever door handles#antique door handles#door handles with locks#wardrobe handles#door handles#fancy door handles
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I HAVENT SEEN ENOUGH PEOPLE POSTING ABOUT THIS ON HERE. IM OBLITERATING MYSELF AND OTHERS
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GUYS WHAT IF I DONT ENJOY IT?!?!?!
#dhmis#hehehehejfkdjsnfidnkgf#cries#explodes#goes more insane#does a backflip#does a sideflip#crawls on my tip toes and tip fingers#turns into a puddle#yeah how do you like that#oh yeah thats just want i want to hear#GAGSUDBASKUFMSOFJDKRJCJSIXJD IM PISSING AND SHITTING AND CUMMING MYSELF RIGHT NOW#RAAAGAGAHHHGJGJGJFJFJGG IM GOING TO CRY I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH#DOES A CARTWHEEL INTO FLAMES#OH WAIT I HAVE FIRE PROTECTION CAUSE I HAVE AUTISTIC FRIENDS OOOOHHHH YEAHHHHH TAKE THAT MOM AND DAD#THEN I SUMMERSAULT (WHICH I CANT DO) INTO A PILE OF PLAYING CARDS WHAT????? I GET UP AND START DOING THE MACARENA#IM GOING TO BITE OFF MY OWN HANDS AND THEN EBERYONE ELSES. I TUMMY HAS THE RUMBLIES ONLY HANDS CAN SATISFY#I NEED TO BE SATISFIED PLEASE GOD SOMEONE BUY ME SOMETHING FROM THE DHMIS STORE PLEAAAASSSEEEEEE I WANT EVERYTHING SO BAD#I WANT TO FEEL LOVED BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY I WANT A BRAIN FRIENDS SHIRT OR BRAIN HAT OR RED GUY PATCH OR ANYTHING I JUST#STARTS GNAWING AT THE DOOR HANDLE AND TRIM BECAUSE GUESS WHAT IM FEELING QUITE FANCIFUL RIGHT NOW IS ALL HEEHOO IM GOING UPSIDE DOWN#I START EATING THE DOOR NOW AND YOU CANT ESCAPE AND IM GOING TO PUT YOU ALL IN THE SOUP YEAH THATS RIGHT YOURE GOING STRAIGHT IN THE SOUP#BECAUSE THE SOUP IS FULL NOW I CHOMP AND BITE AND DESTROY EVERY LAST ITEM IN SIGHT AND UNFORTUNATELY YOURE NEXT#IM GOING TO EAT MY OWN ARM IM GOING TO DO IT DONT TEST ME I WILL IM GOING TO#yeah i think this is cool#yay#<3
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"give me a beer, a lullaby, and a word in my ear" -guy at a speed dating event in my dream
#dream log#also had a dream that this green alien came up to me on the street and like wanted me to pick it up and take it somewhere#the like video game objective changed to#changed to go home#but i didnt know where that was so i just started running#but as i. running the alien is like bouncing and it starts blushing#and later when i put in down to kind ageg my bearings its like super wet#between the legs and im like. oh man i think i need to fuck this thing#and i know theirs a game mechannic where you can have sex in bushes and stiff but im like 'no ill just go home first' but when i pick the#alien back up i get a 'failed objective' notification cause i never made it home i guess :(#and another dream. i was back in middle school math. there was a seat that was right infront of and right next to two people i was friends#with plus super close to my crush (other side of my friend) and there was a guy sitting there#but he was like. literally a fly. so i snapped and he just dropped dead.#and i got to sit there. my friend then was like âsee this?â and pointed to her lip#and i wa slike âyeahâ even though i didnt see anything#and she was like âyou can hide a lot of your burdens but you cant hide a hickeyâ and i was like. man. am i supposed to do somehting sbout#that? idk im pretty sure this is a dream. did she actually say this to me before? am i supposed to do somehting now?â. but then the dream#ended#THEN these are out of order but then i had a dream i was in some sort of summer camp thing? people kept going home. my friend M. went home#home and left me a bunch of her clothes. one of the guys asked some sort of question about sleeping with him. and i was like âno? lol.â#then i invited a different guy to come watch me change and that first guy was i guess also in the room and was like âyou know people can se#you through the window right?â and i was like âduh. its ohio. thats kinda the point.â#so. whatever that one means.#THEN last one THEN my cousin drove me to an abandoned trailer to explore and it had âtoo loâ or something spray painted on it or somehting#so then he finished the word to say âtoo longâ or somehting of that nature. and then spray panted the handle of the door blue#and we went in side but the inside was all done up? like really fucking fancy#the kitched was completely lainted in this van gogh style and my cousin goes âthis isnt haunted... its fixed up.â#so wel left. i think be showed me something else before that too but i dont remember#in the summer camp one i spent a long time trying to find these snake/pomegranate earings? they were blue abd green
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Buttermilk
It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au
Part 1 | masterlist
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âIâm not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,â he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. âIâve got a busy schedule and his mom isnât in the picture. I need a real commitment.â
You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is youâre doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; youâre somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position.Â
Yet, it seems like thatâs what heâs looking for, based on the information heâs told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a messâtoys strewn across the babyâs bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that itâs become something of a requiem to single fatherhood.Â
âSo, a nanny?â you ask.
He hems and haws over that for a bit. âBit too fancy for my tastes, but thatâs more like it. It wonât just be watching the babyâI need someone who can help out around the house as well. âUsed to run a tight ship before him, but cleaningâs not been my highest priority these days. Sure youâve picked up on that.â He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache.Â
âWellâŠâ You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish.Â
âI work odd hours, so Iâll be gone a lot; youâll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think thatâs something you can handle?â
A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. Itâs not that you donât think you could handle the job. Youâve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income.Â
âYouâre military, you said?â you croak out instead.
He nods, hums. âBit of a glorified desk job these days. They donât put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.â
You frown at that. âYouâre not that old.â
That gets him to cock an eyebrow. âLove, Iâm over twice your age, easy. Iâm plenty old for a first time father on top of that; shouldâve already been an old hand at this, but Iâve been married to the job for too long.â
You donât ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. Itâs none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. Itâs just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air.Â
âWell, I thinkââ You chew on your words and then backtrack. ââI can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I canââ
âNo need,â he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. âIâm a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and Iâll go over my schedule this week with you.â
The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. Youâd put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, youâre still forced to look up at him.Â
âSure can, MisterâŠâ?â You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that heâs about to become your boss. Already is your boss.Â
âPrice. But John works just fine,â he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic.Â
You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt.Â
âWell, thanks for the job, John,â you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. âI wonât let you down.â
âI know you wonât, sweetheart.â
His words seem like a bellwether for something that you canât yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you.Â
You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.
Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance.Â
You donât know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friendâs dadâs coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.
âDid you hear the Captainâs looking for a babysitter?â
âFor what? To bang?â
âNo, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.â
âNo kidding. The Captain?â
âDidnât I just fuckinâ say that?â
âPrice, you mean? Captain Price?â
âAre you fuckinâ deaf? YeahâPrice.â
âChrist. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.â
âGive it a rest, it happens all the time. Thatâs why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone thatâd be up for it?â
And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities donât knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. Itâs more than you expected. More than you deserve, if youâre being honest. Youâre retroactively grateful that he didnât ask you to name your rate because you wouldnât have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.
Itâs a straightforward gig. John doesnât work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. Heâs only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job.Â
You know better than to put up a fuss. Youâre already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. Youâre learning all sorts of things these days.
To your credit, he couldâve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. Itâs a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before youâve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but itâs worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.
Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysittingâor rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not haveâmight not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so youâll be ready bright and early the next morning.
Babies also smell better than anything youâve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guyâs head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When heâs cradled in your arms, you canât help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. Itâs some good shit.Â
You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John mightâve otherwise missed.Â
âHe started babbling today,â you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You havenât felt this excited in ages. âLook.âÂ
Heâs still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him.Â
âSee?â you gush, mooning over him. You donât have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment.Â
âYeah,â John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. âAinât that something.â
If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you donât pick up on it.
On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, heâs remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesnât nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesnât scold you the day your car breaks down and youâre forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that heâs invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.
He shrugs when you bring it up. âItâs got a lifetime warranty anyway. Iâll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.â
Unflappable. Thatâs the word for it. Itâs like as long as heâs able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you donât feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone.Â
Your only qualmâand itâs hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observationâis that John is more of a physical person than you are.Â
When he wants to move you, he doesâtwo big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you.Â
You donât hold it against him though. You havenât spent much time around groups of men, but youâve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, heâs gentle with you.Â
Itâs just thatâand again, Johnâs the first adult man youâve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopicâyouâre not completely sure whether itâs appropriate for your boss to be so touchy.Â
You donât mean to insinuate that heâs being inappropriate. Itâs just thatâand again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and heâs done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, butâŠâsometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesnât take no for an answer.
Youâre never in any rush to leave. Thereâs not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. Itâs nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what itâs like to go hungry.
Maybe thatâs why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. Youâre subconsciously mortified that youâll eat his food when heâs not gone but not when he offers it to you.
At least dinner feels like something youâve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking.Â
Not to mention youâve developed something of a rapport. Thereâs always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (âback when you werenât even a thought in your mumâs head,â he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations).Â
The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like youâve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, theyâre the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, youâre estranged from your family and youâve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too.Â
Then thereâs the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.
âGo put something on,â John tells you, a warning look in his eye. âDonât make me repeat myself.â
âSorry,â you whisper before slipping off into the living room.
You canât relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadnât even heard him coming; heâs light on his feet for such a big man.Â
The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that youâre afraid youâll buzz right out of your skin.Â
For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.
Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap.Â
Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs untilâ
You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind.Â
âSleep well?â John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before youâve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams.Â
âNot bad,â you squeak.Â
You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.
As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.
#ceil writing#cod x reader#price x reader#price/reader#john price x reader#john price x you#john price/reader#captain price x reader#captain price x you
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Princess Treatment w/ John Price
His workaholic habits do not stop after he leaves base to come home to you...
We already know he's opening up every damn door for you. He has the magical skill of knowing when doors need a push or a pull so he never fails to laugh when you pull a push door. "Tha's why you shoulda left it to me, love. Stubborn thing, you are." He'll reach over your head to push the door open for you, plopping a kiss to your hair while he does.
His masculinity does not get in the way of holding your purse for you whenever you're out together, his big bear hands wrapped around the handle of your little black purse.
He refuses to let you carry your own luggage, doesn't care if it takes him multiple trips to get both of your bags into the hotel or rental house. He'll get all exasperated if you insist on helping. "You had a long drive. Lemme handle it, pet." (even though he's the one that drove...)
There's nothing he loves more than ordering for you at a restaurant. His voice is filled with an unreasonable amount of pride when he says "And for the missus..." before telling the waiter your order.
Speaking of food, if you ever eat anything that needs cutting or even doctoring up, expect him to jump in. "Now, now, doll, you know tha's my job." He'll tsk and gently take the knife from you to cut your steak into bitesize pieces or to butter your roll. Yes, he will go as far as to bring the fork up to your lips and feed you if you don't put up a fuss.
He will absolutely pay for your manicure and then coo when you offer him your hand to show off your new nails. "Real pretty, love... Don't go chippin' 'em now. Come sit."
Price always sets up a nice place for you on the couch or bed, blanket at the ready and pillows right where you like them. "Come on now, Mrs. Price." He'll pat the spot next to him like one would for a dog. Of course, he likes it best when he can be your pillow and personal heater (that man is always warm, always) but sometimes he's got to find a way to coax his little love into his arms and away from chores.
Naturally, he will swat your hands away when you bend down to tug on your heels or tie your sneakers. He'll crouch down to place your foot on his bent knee, patting your calf firmly and leaning in to press a kiss to your ankle once he's done.
If you nick yourself while shaving, he'll level you with a disapproving stare and then insist that he do it for you next time. After all, he has plenty of experience with keeping his facial hair so tidy. "Can't have my woman hurtin' herself, now can I?" You bet your bottom dollar he's using his fancy razors and shaving creams on you, extra delicate to make sure he doesn't mar your skin.
He's terrified to smoke around you after you coughed one (1) time and now he only will take his cigars out on the back porch or in his office with the window open. If you come in, he'll snuff it out asap and usher you out of the room, shushing your protests.
I'll probably eventually add a part two cuz soft Price is everything to me hehe... Can you tell my standards are ridiculously high?? Also, does anyone have an accent writing guide for TF-141?? I am painfully American.
#john price x reader#captain john price#captain johnathan price#cod modern warfare#john price fanfiction#soft john price#john price x you#princess treatment#cod x reader
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Why Your Door Hardware and Accessories Matter: Exploring the Importance of Bathroom Hardware in Home Building"
Introduction
When it comes to designing and building your dream home, every detail counts. Often, it's the small elements that make a big impact on both the aesthetics and functionality of your living space. In this blog, we'll delve into the significance of door hardware and accessories, with a special focus on the crucial role that bathroom hardware plays in the home building process.
Why Your Door Hardware Matters
Your doors are not just functional barriers; they are the gateways to your personal sanctuary. The choice of door hardware can transform a mundane entrance into a statement of style and sophistication. The handle, lock, and hinges are not mere details; they are the first tactile experience anyone has with a room.
The quality and design of your door hardware contribute to the overall ambiance of your home. Sleek, modern handles can impart a contemporary feel, while ornate, classic designs can add a touch of timeless elegance. Choosing durable materials ensures that your door hardware withstands the test of time, maintaining both its functionality and aesthetic appeal.
Enter Ginni Plus, your trusted partner in elevating the importance of door hardware. Our premium selection of handles, locks, and hinges doesn't just promise reliability; it ensures that every interaction with your doors is a tactile delight, complementing the overall design of your home.
Important Bathroom Hardware for Home Building
Now, let's turn our attention to a space often underestimated but undeniably vital ïżœïżœïżœ the bathroom. When building or remodeling a home, the selection of bathroom hardware is a critical step that influences both the style and functionality of this personal haven.
Faucets: The Jewel of the Bathroom Crown
Faucets are more than just water dispensers; they are the jewels of the bathroom crown. The choice between sleek modern designs and classic styles sets the tone for the entire space. Opt for high-quality materials to ensure durability and resistance to water damage. Ginni Plus offers a curated collection of faucets that blend style with functionality, making them an essential addition to your bathroom.
Showerheads: A Symphony of Refreshment
Showerheads are not just fixtures; they are the conductors of your daily symphony of refreshment. Consider options that provide various spray patterns to suit different moods â from a gentle rain-like drizzle to a revitalizing cascade. Ginni Plus showerheads promise an indulgent shower experience, combining water efficiency with a touch of luxury.
Towel Bars and Hooks: A Fusion of Form and Function
Towel bars and hooks are the unsung heroes of bathroom organization. Choosing high-quality, stylish options not only keeps your towels within arm's reach but also enhances the visual appeal of the space. Ginni Plus bathroom accessories seamlessly merge form and function, elevating the utility of these elements to a design statement.
Conclusion
In the grand symphony of home building, it's the intricate notes of door hardware and bathroom accessories that add depth and character to the composition. Choosing high-quality, aesthetically pleasing elements enhances your living space's overall ambiance and functionality.
Ginni Plus understands the importance of these details, offering a curated selection of door hardware and bathroom accessories that marry style with substance. Elevate your home building experience with Ginni Plus, where every detail matters, and every element tells a story of craftsmanship and sophistication.
Also Read : knobs supplier in delhi
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#knobs supplier in delhi#fancy cabinet handle dealer in delhi#cabinet handle wholesaler in delhi#door handle dealer in delhi#handle dealer in delhi#khuti supplier in delhi#kadi dealer in delhi#fancy handle dealer in delhi#main door handle in delhi#bathroom accessories dealers in delhi#premium hardware accessories supplier in delhi#premium knob in delhi
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Cant stop thinking about Logan bending Wades darling little sister (in her 20s) over the kitchen table while Waded out on a mission. That is all I can think about right now
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Insatiable - Logan Howlett x Reader
send me logan requests!
contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. age gap (legal; reader is in her 20's, logan is like... 200 years old.), wilson!reader, dirty talk, slight breeding mentioned
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The only reason you're able to do it in the kitchen is because Wade isn't home, and you'd managed to shut the door on his pathetically endearing little dog. Mary Puppins is probably tearing up Wade's poor excuse for a comforter right now, and Logan is tearing up- well.
You.
Your pussy.
You're bent so far over the counter that your tits are cold, your nipples stiff and sensitive against the countertop. The pressure against them hurts, or maybe it's a lack of other stimulation against them- either way, they're stinging and you wish to right yourself and tug mercilessly at them.
But Logan's weight- not the full load, or you'd be crushed - is holding you down, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the smooth counter for purchase that you'll never find as you're rocked steadily into the cabinets below.
Logan's cock is buried so deep inside of you that you're not sure he'll ever get it out again, but then he does, and then he thrusts back in and you're hit all over again with a sense of shit, I didn't know I went that deep. He's found your limit, stretched your cunt to the breaking point with his impressive length, and his facial hair tickles the side of your face as he takes your cunt from behind.
Your face smacks painfully against the cabinets over the counter and Logan reaches a hand up to cover your forehead, "Shit, be careful. Head down, honey, there you go. Wouldn't want Big Brother finding an imprint of your face in the wood."
"Whaddya think he'd say?" Logan's suddenly snickering, a gruff delight to his voice as he rams his cock inside you once more, thrusting at a steady, merciless pace, "Shit, if he knew my old ass had his sweet little sister pinned up against the counter..."
Wade would kill him. Or try valiantly to, as it's been established before by Wade's best efforts that Logan is one difficult motherfucker to kill. But you don't fancy a bloodbath even if the vessel will survive, so you tuck yourself tight to the counter so that you won't have to explain to Wade why the cupboard door is off its hinges.
Leaning forwards more only pushes your ass out further, and Logan groans, dick twitching, as he's able to thrust more viciously beneath the curve of your ass. He's humping you like a dog, a depraved pace set as he chases an impending orgasm.
"Taking you in your brother's house- aagh, shit," Logan grunts, nose nudging against the back of your neck as he inhales your sweat, "God he's gonna drop his swords on this fucking counter as soon as he walks through the door, not- not even gonna know your tits were smashed up against it. He's gonna get coke from that cabinet in an hour," Logan's voice is strained, moreso the faster he pumps his hips, and all you can do is cry out as he ravages your cunt, "He's never gonna know I made his sister cream up against it. Never gonna know I fucked my fuckin' babies into you here, aah- agh-I-!"
Logan bites, hard against your shoulder, catching some of your neck in the process and introducing yet another blindingly painful sensation that turns into sick, twisted pleasure between your legs. Your cunt is spent, barely capable of another orgasm after you'd already had two fucked out of you before, but it gives you its best shot as Logan's thick, warm cum gushes into you, immediately too much for your poor pussy to handle as it drips down your thighs instead.
Logan relinquishes your shoulder with a low groan, his breath coming hot and heavy as he pants, "You alright?"
"Yeah," You whimper, legs shaking as Logan holds you steady, "I- I don't think I can stand anymore."
"That's okay." Logan hums, gentler now that he's fucked himself calm. He peels you off of the counter, supporting your body weight as he half-walks, half-drags you down the hallway towards his bedroom, "Next round's on my bed, sweetheart. You won't need to move a muscle."
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett imagine#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x you#logan howlett blurb#logan howlett drabble#logan howlett oneshot#wolverine x reader#wolverine imagine#wolverine smut
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toji x reader // sfw!
đđđđ doesnât remember the last time he was gifted something.
âyou got me what?â he asks again, kicking his sandals off at your front door for what seems like the millionth time.
you rise from your couch, the wood creaking slightly as you do so. âjust some stuff for you to keep here so you stop using mine,â you reply, the shrug of your shoulders indicating how little of a deal it is.
in the kitchen, you rinse out the glass youâd been using. tojiâs footsteps are barely audible over the sound of running water.
âthereâs a few pairs of sweats in the hall closet,â you tell him, setting the glass down to dry. âand some other stuff in the bathroom. shampoo, body wash, toothbrushâŠâ
the assassin lets out a small huff, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway. âyou tellinâ me i reek or something?â he accuses, more so to brush off the odd feeling building in his gut.
âmaybe.â comes your playful quip, your head tilting as you rest your weight on the counter and look at him. âbut seriously, you just come around so often,â- his nose wrinkles at that, as he knows he crashes here much more than he should- âthat i figured iâd just get you your own things. itâs not like it cost me an arm and a leg.â
with a yawn you stroll toward your room, lightly poking his chest as you pass him. âplus, you use up all of my stuff, dummy.â
he grunts, his eyes following you until youâre out of sight. âi donât need fancy clothes or any of that crap,â he murmurs to himself, taking a few steps toward the hall closet.
his large hands wrap around the handles, sliding the doors open until he sees a pile of clothes resting on one of the shelves. three black tees stacked atop three pairs of sweats, some boxers and socks in a little box, all for him.
he picks up a shirt without hesitation, the fabric smooth against his calloused fingers. his brows furrow in concentration, maybe unease. this is for him, itâs his, and maybe thatâs why this shirt is the softest one heâs ever felt.
with a gruff exhale, he snatches a pair of sweats and a clean pair of boxers, his steps unhurried as he heads for the bathroom.
the fan hums above him as the lock clicks into place, his eyes immediately darting to the shelves to see the new toiletries. his stuff.
inside the shower, tojiâs shoulders sag.
itâs as if the water is washing away his defenses, the rugged, nonchalant exterior he wears now melting away in the comfort of your shower.
toji pops open one of the new shampoo bottles, taking in the scent and pouring it onto his palm. he wonders if this smell reminds you of him, if you put some thought into each item.
while he rubs it into his hair, he thinks about if he should pay you back. itâs not like he asked you to get him all this stuff, but still.
even when youâd first started letting him crash on your couch, you hadnât demanded much in return.
âjust donât make a big mess and be decent, alright?â he remembers you saying.
and he was just fine with that. free room and board just for something so simple? heâd be a moron to decline.
it was only after around a week that he felt a familiar itch. he wouldnât be in your debt, wouldnât wait for the day when youâd inevitably ask for something.
so, he offered what he always did- himself. thatâs what women usually wanted from him, anyway.
his idea didnât exactly go as planned. if anything, it made him feel more conflicted, made him wonder why the hell you kept him around.
were you just lonely? did you enjoy his company?
âoh, no⊠i donât do that,â youâd said, holding your hands up, flustered but adamant. âyou donât have to sell yourself to me or anything. who does that? like, what?â
the water patters on the tile floor, his body and mind feeling more clear and clean than theyâve been in a long time.
when the faucet squeaks shut, he steps out and snorts as he sees a new, fluffy black towel hanging beside yours behind the bathroom door. he grabs it, rubbing his scarred skin dry and running it through the damp strands of his hair.
the new clothes feel like heaven, truly.
in your room, engrossed by your phone, you barely hear the sound of the bathroom door opening. tojiâs steps are almost silent, his arms crossing over his chest as he watches you beneath the covers.
heâs amused as you snicker at some post, the dim screen lighting up your face in the otherwise dark room.
âlet me crash here, yeah?â he suggests, though itâs more of an order.
youâre startled, rightfully so, hiding your phone against your chest while you sit up straighter. âoh, you scared me! new clothes and you think youâre all that, huh? too good for the couch?â
yet, even as you chide him, youâre peeling back the covers for him, grabbing the extra pillows and moving them out of the way.
a satisfied grunt leaves him as he spreads out on the mattress, careless of the space he takes up. he tugs the blankets over his person, settling in like a big cat.
he curls into you. you donât mind.
while you scroll along with one hand, the other supports his head and absentmindedly strokes the skin of his cheek.
his eyes watch you, his breaths becoming more steady and even. heâd never admit how much it means to him that youâd gotten him new clothes, new toiletries, practically a new home.
itâs more than he deserves, but he finds himself wanting to take as much as he can get.
heâs yours, even if he doesnât know it. and, as the days go by, he wonders if you can be his, too.
#jjk x reader#fushiguro toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x you#toji x y/n#toji x reader#toji fluff#more toji fluff ofc#my heart yearns for him#soft toji my beloved
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Thereâs A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom
dick grayson x afab!reader
aka the professional boyfriend
warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)
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Dick Grayson is a vigilante. Heâs a master martial artist and gymnast. Heâs something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that heâs basically a professional boyfriend. That heâs your professional boyfriend.
And pride really is the right word. Heâs so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when youâre too tired and make you laugh like itâs his job. Heâs absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.
You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dickâs shoulder. âIâm worried the navy one is tooâŠmuch.â You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.
He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, âToo much?â
You look over at him, matching his expression. âItâs really short. I mean itâs cute and I like it, butâŠI donât know, this is kind of a fancy event isnât it?âÂ
He puckers his lips, shaking his head. âShortâs good. I like short.â Yeah, youâd noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.
You laugh, âAnd Iâm sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.â
His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. âThe black oneâs good too.â
You peer over into one of the bags, âOr thereâs the red one with theââ
Dick shakes his head quickly, âNot red.â
You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. âThen why did I get it?â
âJust for me.â He pauses, âOr for something my brother wonât be at.â He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. âNo, the black one looked great on you. And we wonât have to go searching for a matching tie.âÂ
Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.
You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. âWill you please let me hold some?â You frown.
âWill you please hold my hand?â He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You donât notice it, but heâs got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.
You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, âDonât touch that!â followed by him clamoring like youâre about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.
âOh my god..â you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look.Â
âWhat is wrong with you?â You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.
âNot a thing.â He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, youâre surprised he didnât attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.
He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. âWhen do we need to leave?â
âUhâŠâ he glances at the wall clock, âNot till seven.â He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. âYou wanna get something to eat before we go?â
You muse, âThis is the one with those mini stakes, isnât it?â He nods. âNo, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.â
His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips.Â
You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when youâre interrupted by his relentless fervor.
âAh, ah.â He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. âGive me a kiss.âÂ
âDick.â
âJust one.â Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. âThank you, baby.â
You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. âAh, Iâm not new around here. I know where thisâll go if I let you.â
He nods complaisantly, âThen let me.â His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay. Â
It doesnât last too long though because the second youâre back in the room heâs trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though thereâs a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.  Â
He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too.Â
âI wanna marry you.â He murmurs into your neck after a while.Â
You laugh incredulously, âHave you been drinking when I have my back turned?â
ââM serious.â He nudges you off him so he can look at you.
You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. âYouâre being veryâŠâ you scrunch up your mouth to the side, ââŠOstentatious today.âÂ
He barks out a laugh, âWow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?â
You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. âIâm going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.â you say, running your finger over his lips.Â
He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. âLet me marry you?âÂ
You sigh bashfully, âDickââ
âPlease?â He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. Youâre not convinced he doesnât have a superpower in that area.
You know heâs not really proposing right now, heâs too much of a romantic to do it like this. Heâs just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. Itâs working.
âIâd be such a good husband to you.â He kisses your collarbone, âSo good.â He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. Heâs being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to. Â
âMrs. GraysonâŠâ he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. âDoesnât that sound pretty?â
It really does. Youâd be lying if you said you hadnât thought about marrying him before. Heâs nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.
Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. âBuy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ân a big party just for you.â He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.
He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. âCome home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,â He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. âKiss this pretty pussy.â He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.
Youâre not nearly as hesitant on this as youâre pretending to be, and you both know it. But heâs perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend youâre not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. âIâll think about itâŠâÂ
He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.
Heâs trying real hard to land that promotion.
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đ©” reblogging = supporting; likes donât do the job
#dick grayson is obsessed w his gf#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson/reader#dick grayson/you#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x female!reader#nightwing x reader#nightwing x you#nightwing x y/n#nightwing/reader#nightwing imagine#batfam imagine#batfam x you#batfam x reader#dick grayson smut#nightwing smut
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youtube
#walking tour#walk on street#computer market walking tour#walk with me#street walk#market walk#how to make#easy to make#breaking news#hardware market#wholesale market#market update#karachi market update#bohra pir market#door locks#fancy door locks#fancy door handles#karachi wholesale market#sadar market#fancy door market#karachi tools market#tools market#master eye#eagleye#viral video#viral shorts#life hacks#top 10#crime alert#Youtube
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The Truth About Luxury Lever Door Handles: What You Need to Know Before You Buy
In the world of interior design, every detail counts. From the color of the walls to the furnishings, each element contributes to the overall ambiance and aesthetic appeal of a space. One often overlooked aspect is door hardware, particularly when it comes to luxury options. While they may seem like a minor detail, the type of handles you choose can make a significant difference in the look and feel of your home. In recent years, there has been a growing demand for luxury lever door handles, but what exactly sets them apart from their standard counterparts? In this article, we uncover the truth about luxury handles and provide you with essential information to consider before making a purchase.
Understanding Luxury Door Handles
Luxury door handles are more than just functional hardware; they are statement pieces that add a touch of sophistication and elegance to any space. Crafted with meticulous attention to detail and often made from high-quality materials such as solid brass, stainless steel, or bronze, these handles enhance the durability of your doors while contributing to their luxurious appearance.
Quality Craftsmanship Matters
One of the distinguishing features of luxury door handles india is the quality craftsmanship that goes into their production. Skilled artisans meticulously design and manufacture each handle, ensuring that every detail is perfect. From the intricate patterns to the flawless finishes, luxury handles are a testament to superior craftsmanship.
Superior Functionality
While premium door handles are known for their aesthetic appeal, they also offer superior functionality. The ergonomic design of these handles makes them comfortable to use, while the smooth operation ensures effortless opening and closing of doors. Additionally, luxury handles are built to last, providing years of reliable performance without compromising on style.
Customization Options
Another advantage of luxury door handles india india is the wide range of customization options available. Whether you prefer a sleek modern design or a more traditional look, there are luxury handles to suit every taste and style. From different finishes such as polished chrome or antique brass to unique designs and shapes, you can personalize your handles to complement your interior décor perfectly.
Considerations Before Buying
Before investing in premium door handles, there are several factors to consider. Firstly, determine your budget and choose handles that not only fit within your price range but also offer the quality and durability you desire. Additionally, consider the style and design of your space to ensure that the handles will complement your existing décor. Finally, make sure to research reputable manufacturers and suppliers to ensure that you are purchasing genuine door handles.
Conclusion
In conclusion, luxury lever door handles are more than just functional hardware; they are investment pieces that can elevate the look and feel of your home. With their superior craftsmanship, aesthetic appeal, and customizable options, luxury handles offer a level of sophistication and elegance that standard handles simply cannot match. However, it is essential to consider factors such as budget, style, and quality before making a purchase. By taking the time to research and choose the right handles for your space, you can enhance the overall ambiance and create a lasting impression with premium door handles.
#homedecor#luxury door handles india#antique door handles#designer handles#door handles with lock#luxury handles for door#fancy door handles#lever handles for kitchen#main door handles#cabinet handles for kitchen#home dekor#dlux dekor#designer handles for main door
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Bewitched
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Ëâàżà» james logan howlett ⊠bridgerton au series
bewitched masterlist
cw: 1800s mentality on marriage and women, pinning, bickering, enemies to lovers
pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader
a/n: as of right now, i'm not sure how long this series will be but i'm so excited for it! i tried to make the reader as universal as possible but i did have to give her some sort of last name, so if that isn't your thing, you can always change it to fit. after the set up, i'll probably drop the last name.
bridgerton lore: ton (high society), debuting (when you begin dating/looking for a partner), spinster (an unmarried woman)
main masterlist
in early june, everyone returned back to england for this season and whispers of a french woman joining the ton spread around. one morning at breakfast, marie howlett was reading one of the gossip columns aloud to her family when her eldest brother, james walked into join them at the table.
"it says she's staying with her aunt, lady worthington. she is four and twenty and the only child. her passions are literature and painting. apparently, the queen has one of her paintings in her home..."
"she sounds lovely. doesn't she, james?" their mother said, hoping her boy was listening.
"she's a spinster." he says, eating some of the fruit on the table. "that's not viscountess material."
"the queen seems to find her to be diamond material." marie jabs.
james has never fallen for one of the diamonds. sure, their beauty is prominent and sometimes they can hold an intellectual conversation but for the most part they are simply shoved forward so the queen can take credit for their marriage.
"i have more important priorities this season."
"well, this season you should prioritize finding a viscountess." their mother bit at him.
during this time every year his mother gives james the same speech over and over again. the marriage speech. ever since his father died during battle, james has been plagued with not only his grief but also the weight of replacing his father and eventually having to find a replacement for his mother as well. instead of focusing on marriage, james kept himself busy either working or traveling and keeping his family afloat.
"mama, i promise i will find a wife at some point." james sighs. "i just haven't met anyone that can handle being my viscountess."
"what about the red headed girl from last season? you seemed to fancy her quite a bit."
"she married lord summers this past spring."
"and the munroe girl?"
"she's interested in mister brooks."
all his mother does is sigh in response to the news. he takes this as the perfect chance to escape the interrogation.
luckily for james, there was always an excuse to avoid marriage. in the past he's gotten close to making that walk down the aisle but something always held him back. he's never believed much in love or marriage past it's convenience. sure, he believed it was the blueprint of life, to take a wife and start a family but his marriage is seen as a much bigger deal.
all the mamas in the ton were practically throwing their daughters in his direction. at balls, he's always forcing marie to dance with him because if not, he will be forced to socialize with these young unintellectual girls who only value him for his money and title. james didn't want to have to nurture these girls. he would take care of his wife but he wanted someone who was independent from him.
ever since his father died in the war, james has always been guarded of his feelings. especially, when it came to love. when he went with his mother to identify his father's body, james swore on that day that he would never let love destroy him like it did his mother.
"remember, marie is debuting tonight at the first ball of the season." his mother called after him. "don't be late."
"i wouldn't miss it." he smiles at his little sister before dashing out the door and back to his study.
Ëâàżà»
a rainbow of silks are spread across your bed as you try to figure out what to wear tonight. if your mother was here, she would know exactly what would look best on you. it's only been three months since her passing yet the ache in your chest grows stronger day by day.
"what are you thinking of wearing tonight?" your aunt asks, lingering in the doorway.
"i'm not sure yet." you sigh, picking at the pretty gowns. "i like the light blue one."
arguably, it was the prettiest in the pile. so simple, you hoped to blend in among the wash of colors in the room tonight. the boning of the corset poked the left side of your ribs a little but beauty is pain.
as you got ready, the nerves started to kick in. by now you should be on your second or third child and pregnant with the next. why was love taking so long to find you?
ever since you were a little girl, you were a hopeless romantic. dreaming of your first kiss and getting married to your knight in shining armor. back home, there was a cruel joke that you were the girl before the wife. you get just close enough before they end it. afraid that the curse would travel with you.
"don't worry." you aunt hums, brushing your hair. "the queen picked you as her diamond for a reason."
"i know, i know." you nod, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. "i just wish mother was here with me."
"i do too, dear."
"she should've seen me married."
a small tear rolls down your pink painted cheeks. it feels like you let her down by not taking a husband before her illness got worse.
men have it so easy. there's no pressure from society put on them. you can marry at fifty to a nineteen year old if you so please because you know that they will marry you out of fear and desperation.
"who says she can't?" your aunts smile reflected in the mirror. "she's still looking down on you, probably working on sending you a lord or a duke for a husband as we speak."
"amusing." you giggle.
"imagine a viscount or a prince!"
both of you laugh at the possibility. viscounts and princes were usually swept up quickly in high society. all of them probably have pregnant wives by now.
"don't get too ahead of yourself."
Ëâàżà»
the queens ball was unlike anything you had ever seen. beautiful gardens, bright lights, and people gathered everywhere. inside the ballroom, the chandelier lights almost blind you.
like a hawk, lady chamberlain spots you two. she is an older lady and a close family friend. you haven't seen her since you were a little girl, surprised that she was able to recognize you.
"lady worthington and miss bowery, lovely to see you here!" the woman smiled, wrapping her arms around both of you.
"hello, lady chamberlain." you smile, feeling slightly at ease seeing a familiar face here.
"you look marvelous, sweetie." she smiles, taking in your appearance. at least someone appreciated all the bells and whistles that went into your dress for this evening. "truly like a diamond."
"thank you." you curtsy. a warm rose color rises to the surface of your cheeks at her compliment.
"let's go find that viscount i've told your aunt about." she says.
suddenly, she's pulling you and your aunt over to meet everyone.
quite some time has passed and yet you've only met barton's and a few lords. from one eligible bachelor to the next, it was the same process. you introduce yourself, dance, ask a bit about each other, jump into talks of marriage and children. it was all a bit overwhelming to say the least.
there's no news on a prince yet but lady chamberlain was holding out for a viscount while your aunt held out for a duke. meanwhile, you just needed someone with charm and charisma to save you from these godawful men of the ton.
"i'm going to get a drink." you announce, one the music ends.
in one of the dim corners of the room there was a refreshment table where you poured a hefty amount of wine into your glass and down as much of it âin a very unlady like mannerâ as you could before another person could find you.
it wasn't long until someone behind you clears their voice loudly.
"i was unaware that they taught women to drink like soldiers in france..."
you spin around quickly to face the man in front of you. he is gorgeous and... huge. dawned in white puffy shirt and a tight black vest with detailed buttons. he towered over you intimidatingly with a small smirk creeping on his lips from shocked expression.
"i-i deeply apologize, my lord. it was just grape juice." you laugh nervously, avoiding his piercing stare.
"hm..." he hums, lifting his hand up and letting his thumb swiftly glide under your lip to catch the bit of liquid there. you watch in awe as he licks the bit of wine off his thumb with a soft groan. "they must make 'grape juice' different in france."
never in your whole life have you been left so speechless. a gentleman has never done more so than touch your hand, let alone act so scandalous. with a satisfied smirk, the man walks away to join a small group of young women. thank goodness that no one seemed to have noticed.
"miss bowery!" lady chamberlain called after you. "i want you to come meet the howletts."
swiftly, you get back to her as she approach a mother and daughter. both of them were stunningly and wore expensive looking gowns with luxurious jewels. lady chamberlains wide smile only made you grow more anxious.
"meet lady howlett and her daughter, the honorable, marie howlett." lady chamberlain introduced.
"lovely to meet you." you say, bowing gracefully before them.
"where is viscount james?" lady chamberlain asks.
"oh! he should be around here somewhere..." the woman looked behind the two of you until she flagged someone down. âthere he is!â
the moment that you looked up at the viscount, you feared your heart might explode right then and there. silently pray to the gods above that he won't mention your previous encounter.
"miss bowery, this is my son, viscount james logan howlett." lady howlett announces proudly.
"what a pleasure to meet you, miss bowery." james smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.
"as is it for me, my lord." you curtsy politely, feeling hot under his gaze.
a cloud of lust fogs james mind at the words, my lord fell from your pretty, slightly berry colored lips. the lower his eyes drift from your face, the tighter his trousers get. every exquisite curve is highlighted by the way that the silk fell on your frame, reminding him of the goddesses he had only seen in the finest of paintings.
"might you wish to accompany me to a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.
you nod, offering him your gloved hand in return.
the two of you make your way to the dance floor with everyone else. the orchestra begins and you quickly fall in sync with each other.
"how are you enjoying england?" james asks.
"it's quite lovely." you lie.
"better than france?" he questioned with a small tilt of his head.
"no." you giggle softly. "nowhere on earth is better than home."
"i suppose i cannot argue with that."
"have you journed to france?"
"once. when i was younger, i went with my father. he loved france."
"that's why my mother left england. she fell in love with my father when she visited france."
"they must be true romantics."
"oh, most definitely." you smile.
carefully, logan spins you twice. never letting you stumble over your own two feet like most men would.
"i truly am sorry for earlier, my lord. that was completely unacceptable for aâ"
"it's alright, sweetheart." the viscount cut you off with a chuckle. "your secret is safe with me."
james looks down to see your big round eyes sparkle up at him with great appreciation. there's a unique feeling blooming deep in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on.
"i heard from some mamas that you are seeking to wed this season." you say, looking elsewhere as the two of you pull apart.
"seeking is such a complex word." he sighs amusingly.
"i imagine it would be difficult to find a future viscountess."
"you have no idea."
all around you, you can see the women openly fawning over the viscount. some fan themselves while other clutch their jewels with either anger at you or lust for him. any of those women would duel to be in your shoes right now.
"do you have a desire to be viscountess?" his question made your heartbeat increase, pounding in your chest.
as a young girl, you watched your family struggle in order to survive so it would be a lie to say that you don't dream of having a title. you have a father back in france to take care of in his elderly age. but love was your main desire. you would marry a sweet common man as long as he loved you.
"i desire to be loved." you tell him.
the answer caught james off guard. the women of the ton had no issue telling him to his face that they want his tittle or money. none of those women actually cared about love.
"well, my darling, you are quite the fool to be seeking out something as pure as love in a place such as this." james says, pulling you so close that you can feel his heartbeat in his chest and his eyes darken.
"don't be so cock-sure, viscount howlett. i am no fool at all." you glare angrily up at him. "i wish you well on your journey to find such a bird-witted viscountess."
the song ends and you are quick to make an exit. hot on your heels, james follows you outside. perhaps you shouldn't have insulted the viscount to his face but you didn't quite care anymore. this night has been a bust and you aren't any closer to marriage then you were before walking in here.
"miss, bowery..." a man calls, capturing your attention. "would you accompany me to a dance?"
based on the man's appearance, he seems even more important that the viscount. he was definitely the opposite of james. this man wore light grey in places where james wore black. this man had a sweet smile where james had a scowl.
"her dance card is full." the voice behind you threatened.
the gentleman's face fell a little.
"actually, i have one last spot open on my dance card." you smile, showing him the tag tied to your right wrist which had exactly one spot open. "i would love to accompany you..."
"prince harrison." he grins.
you hum, offering your hand. the prince leans down and kissed your gloved fingers before sweeping you off to the dance floor again.
james fumed as he watched you walk away with the prince. lady howlett spots her son alone and walks over to him.
âplease tell me that you did not scare off this seasons diamond, james.â lady howlett asked in a low whisper.
âiâm gonna call a carriageâ he growls, annoyed.
âdear!â
his mother called after him but he couldnât care to turn around and stay here any longer.
Ëâàżà»
on the carriage ride alone, james is stuck with the image of you. your beauty and the pain in your eyes when james called you a fool. oddly enough, james enjoyed the way you bit back at him. he just wishes that he hadnât offended you.
apparently you must not be that hurt if you accepted a dance from harrison of all people. not because he wanted to court you but because harrison was barely considered a prince and was a poor excuse of a man. never having to lift a finger a day in his life. never knowing a single struggle. the prince was insufferable.
perhaps it was in james best interest to forget about the beautiful woman he met this evening. she is this seasons diamond after all, desired by too many. james wasn't known to chase the things he desired.
âââ
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#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#logan howlett#james logan howlett#wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett smut#wolverine smut#hugh jackman wolverine#wolverine angst#logan howlett angst#logan howlett imagine#logan howlett fanfiction#logan x reader#logan wolverine#old man logan#old man logan x reader#wolverine fluff#wolverine one shot#wolverine x oc#wolverine imagine#wolverine x you#logan howlett x reader smut#marvel cinematic universe#marvel#mcu#x-men#bridgerton au
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promiscuous - l. howlett
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/028e8c0f72896f108a60c0ae35591a42/36727045ed489164-03/s500x750/ff46ada63a67e3dff7ce21249382b804aa122339.jpg)
pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader
wc: 1.8k
cw: smut (mdni), kinda mean!logan, reader is wearing a thong, p in v, riding, male masturbation, literally the smallest hint of a degradation kink
a/n: based on this ask!
âwhere the fuck have you been?â
those are the first words you hear the second you walk through the door and a smirk plasters on your face.
mission accomplished.
busy with x-men missions and personal affairs, this last week logan had blatantly ignored you and your desires with all sorts of excuses - ânot right now, doll.â, âcharles is waiting, baby, i gotta go.â hell, youâd started to think he was having erectile dysfunction.
so, to spite him, you did what every other woman on this planet would have done - come home disturbingly late and see what his reaction is.
âat the bar with my friends⊠girlfriends.â you say sheepishly. it wasnât a lie of course. that truly is what you had been doing - having fun with girlfriends at a bar. nothing out of the extraordinary, your clothes werenât even that fancy - casual low rise jeans and a baby tee.Â
well, your tits and ass were definitely covered and that was good enough, at least.
you turn to lock the door and bend down to get your foot out of your boot when you hear logan behind you.
âwith your thong out? or was one of your girlfriends in a hurry when fucking you in the car.â he barks.
you try your best to bite back the loud laughter threatening to escape your throat. frankly speaking, you knew your thong was peeking out and were putting on a show just to spite him even more.
âoh, this?â you ask, grabbing the flimsy string thatâs peeking out of your jeans and pulling it just to snap it against your skin in dramatic effect.
suddenly, loganâs hands are on your waist and before you realize it, he throws you over his shoulder, your feet dangling in the air as you cheekily smile behind him. heâs fuming, hand placed on your ass in a firm grip as he walks towards your bedroom and throws you on the bed.Â
he grabs the waistband of your jeans and roughly pulls them down. next go your t-shirt and bra.
âiâll teach you a lesson.â the threat entices you more than youâd like to admit, and you find yourself getting wetter at the thought of logan throwing you around and punishing you. he settles behind you on the bed, dragging you in his lap by your armpits.
logan pulls at your thong, making the string rub between your folds and tease at your clit, the feeling sending a shiver down your spine. you attempt to wiggle your hips to get more friction, but logan stops you in your tracks as he tugs harder. it hurts deliciously and you canât help but let out a breathless moan.
âsuch a slut.â he groans behind you, grabbing a hold of your chin roughly.
âlogan.â you whimper helplessly, devoting yourself to him in this very moment.
âdonât moan my name, doll. it wonât get you out of trouble.â he says, lying through his teeth. truth is, heâs unbelievably hard and canât handle you speaking to him like that before heâs had a proper fill and taught you a lesson.
âcome on. take it off.â he orders.Â
you oblige, quickly getting rid of your thong and awaiting your next command.
logan studies you, standing in front of him in your purest form, and for a moment you can almost see the utterly obscene thought flash through his mind.
he beckons you with two fingers and you follow, kneeling on the bed again. logan rests his head against the headboard and watches you crawl to him like a lost puppy. he gets rid of his boxer briefs in a torturously slow manner.
âspit.â is what he says next, tone rough and unforgiving.
you hover over his lap, letting a globe of spit fall down and watching it slowly reach the tip of his cock. he smears the saliva and starts out with slow pumps from base to tip.Â
you watch, utterly confused as you reach to replace his hand with yours.
âno.â he barks.
you retract your hand in shame, watching him rub his thumb across the sensitive head of his cock. logan doesnât miss the way you squeeze your thighs at every single grunt of his, practically drooling as you watch him please himself.
logan hisses, head falling back against the headboard as images of you run through his mind, his hand pumping his cock vigorously.
you can see him getting closer and closer to his release, eyes shutting closed from the pain the teetering on the edge brings him. his pumps get faster and faster as he finally comes with a low guttural sound.
loganâs cum shoots out in thick ropes and you can feel your pussy clench around nothing at the sight of his seed leaking out of his pretty tip and landing on his thighs.
âclean me up.â his harsh words take you out of your trance.
you hesitantly lean into his lap, unsure of what to do. you place a teasing kiss on the tip of his cock and he hisses through clenched teeth.
âi said clean me up. donât tease.â
you put your tongue out and lick a long stripe from base to tip while looking at him through eyelashes. he looks unfazed, gritting his teeth to stifle his groans under your warm breath.Â
you put his cock in your mouth and lap up the remnants of his release, careful not to moan around his length.
your tongue runs over his thighs as well, licking the mess he made in his lap.
when youâre all done, you lean in for a kiss, licking the remnants of his cum on your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. just as your lips are mere millimeters away from his, loganâs hand grabs your jaw abruptly
and you freeze in place.Â
âlo, please. jusâ wanna kiss you.â you say, desperate for contact. the throbbing of your pussy canât be ignored anymore.Â
âno. you canât kiss me with that dirty mouth of yours.â
you pout at his mean remark, batting your eyelashes up at him. he stares back at you like heâs totally done with your dirty tricks and his hand reaches behind you to give you a gentle, but urgent slap to the ass.
âcome on. you wanna please me donât you?â he asks, pitying you. finally, youâre given a chance for a reprieve.
you straddle logan, grabbing the base of his cock as you hover over his lap hesitantly. his eyes soften at the sight of you preparing for the sheer size of his cock.
logan grabs your hips to guide you as you slowly sink down on his girth, every inch of him filling your greedy pussy. you let out a moan at the stretch and give yourself a few seconds to adjust.
loganâs small gestures are in sharp contrast with his words and behavior as his hand carefully puts the stray strands of your hair behind your ears. he watches your expression, eyebrows scrunched in pleasure and hands balled into fists at the delicious stretch of his length, and he begins wondering how he got so lucky.
with soft breaths, you begin riding logan, hands propped against his chest. your pussy is eager, sucking him in as you bounce up and down his length slowly.
you close your eyes for a moment before loganâs sharp voice cuts through the air.
âlook at me.â he commands and you oblige, getting lost in his strict, but oh so beautiful eyes as his scrutinizing gaze makes you pick up the pace. you canât help but moan around loganâs cock, the position youâre in allowing him to reach impossibly deep inside you and rub against your gummy spot.
loganâs tone is harsh but it makes you clench around his girth. he doesnât budge, watching you pant, breathless, face red and eyebrows scrunched in pleasurable strain.
the only sounds filling the room are those of your wet pussy taking loganâs cock deeper and deeper.
âlogan, please.â you whine out, hips tired as you ride, chasing your release.Â
he gives in to your helpless demand and places his hands on your hips again, his grip strong and controlling - everything you need right now.
without proper warning, he starts fucking up into you, pace relentless as your tight hole squeezes him like a vise.Â
your moans are incoherent, a mix of his name, futile curses and weak âi need youâs.
âcome on, doll. i know youâre close.â logan grunts under you, watching you play with your tits as he fucks your tight cunt, his anger still apparent. you can feel the delicious pain of the knot in your tummy thatâs about to snap.
âjusâ hold onto me, baby.â you barely register his words, already on cloud nine before his thumb rubs your puffy clit, the action eliciting a loud moan from you as you cum around loganâs cock, your pussy greedily clenching and squeezing him.Â
âfuck, lo. please.â you cry out, unaware of what youâre even begging for. all you know is that you need him close, even closer, you need him consuming you.
âthatâs it. ride it out. âm right here, baby.â logan reassures as you barely hold yourself upright, hands grabbing his shoulders for support as his cock abuses your sensitive hole. heâs chasing his own release, needing to fill you up, to mark you, to feel your warmth embrace him.
âinside. inside, please, logan. i need you.â you murmur desperately, lost in a world where the only thing you can feel is pure pleasure.
his thrusts get even deeper and faster, your words egging him on. with a grunt, he releases his seed inside you. his warm cum fills your hole and you collapse on his chest, loganâs arms wrapping around your torso as the two of you feel the cum trickle down his length.Â
you shift in his lap and feel loganâs hard cock twitch, still inside you, but your tired body chooses to ignore it as you pant in his embrace, catching your breath.
loganâs hands are roaming all over your body, massaging, kneading and rubbing soothing circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into the crown of your head.
âlogan.â you meekly speak, lifting your head to look into his eyes.
âwhat is it?â
âiâm sorry about earlier. it was stupid.â you say, referring to the whole âletâs spite logan and let him fuck you into oblivion!â stunt.
logan chuckles at your shy apology.
âare you kidding? you looked fucking hot, baby. i just got angry thinking about those slimy motherfuckers at the bar staring at whatâs mine.â he says, accentuating his words as he grabs the globes of your ass, squeezing lovingly.
you giggle against his mouth, placing a soft kiss on his lips. his hand grabs your nape and he takes over, tongue entering your mouth in a delicious kiss which makes you moan softly.
you shift in loganâs lap again and are reminded of something.Â
you slowly pull away from the kiss, raising a brow as the corners of your mouth lift up in a small smile at loganâs voice.
âmaybe iâm still a little mad. you wanna take care of that, doll?â
#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x you#logan howlett smut#wolverine smut
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The Recipe for Us
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.
Summary: Bucky sets out to surprise his girlfriend with a simple yet meaningful gesture, but quickly learns that some things are easier said than done.
Word Count: about 9k.
notes: Second Christmas story for the Roots and Branches AU
The hot water streamed over Buckyâs shoulders, washing away the dayâs grime and easing the tightness in his muscles. Sawdust and sweat swirled down the drain in pale rivulets, a tangible reminder of the hours spent at Samâs workshop. He reached for the long-handled loofah hanging on the wall, pausing for a moment as a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Seven months ago, heâd never have imagined himself using something like this. Hell, he hadnât even known such a thing existed. But sheâd gifted it to him after heâd grumbled too many times about sawdust getting into places it had no business being. âJust try it,â sheâd insisted, eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and determination. âItâll make your life easier, I promise.â
At first, heâd been reluctant, because why did he need a fancy shower tool? But now, as he scrubbed his back with the bristled brush, he had to admit that he couldnât shower without the damn thing. It worked like a charm, reaching spots his stiff shoulders couldnât. Another one of her small but thoughtful gestures that made his life just a little better, a little easier.
That thought lingered on his mind as he rinsed off. Christmas was coming up fast, and he hadnât figured out what to get her yet. She was always cooking for him, spoiling him with meals that somehow tasted even better because sheâd made them. Maybe it was his turn to return the favor.
His brow furrowed as he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and scrubbing it over his damp hair. Cookies, he thought, wrapping the towel around his waist. How hard could that be?
The bell above the library door gave a soft jingle as Bucky stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the late morning air. The faint scent of old books and polished wood greeted him, a familiar comfort. He adjusted his jacket, glancing around until he spotted Martha at the front desk.
The elderly librarian looked up from her paperwork and her face broke into a warm smile. âWell, if it isnât my favorite mystery man,â she said, setting her pen aside. âYouâre just in time, I was about to set aside a copy of All the Colors of the Dark for you. Brand-new, hot off the presses.â
Bucky cleared his throat, brushing his fingers on the edge of the counter. âNot today,â he muttered. âI, uh, need something else.â
Martha tilted her head, rising her eyebrows in surprise. âOh? And what might that be?â
He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. âCooking books.â
There was a beat of silence before her expression shifted, and amusement crinkled the corners of her eyes. âCooking books? My, my, thatâs a plot twist I didnât see coming.â
Bucky scratched the back of his neck, suddenly regretting his decision. âYeah, well⊠I just need something simple.â
Martha leaned forward slightly, with curiosity sparking in her gaze. âSimple, huh? Expanding your repertoire, are you?â
âNot exactly.â He tugged at his jacket zipper, fixing his eyes on a spot just past her shoulder. âItâs for⊠someone. A gift.â
Martha chuckled, with a warm and knowing smile. âA gift, huh? Have you already decided what youâre making, or are you here to brainstorm?â
Bucky hesitated, his ears-tinged pink. âCookies,â he admitted finally.
Her face lit up, and she clasped her hands together. âYouâre an absolute sweetheart, you know that? Sheâs lucky to have someone as thoughtful as you.â
He fumbled again with his jacket, slipping the zipper through his fingers as he looked anywhere but at her. âThanks,â he muttered, barely above a whisper.
âDonât worry,â she said kindly, moving to the shelves. âIâve got just the thing for you. A beginnerâs guide, easy recipes, step-by-step instructions. Youâll do great.â
As she handed him the book, Bucky accepted it with a quiet nod, clutching it like it was a secret dossier. âAppreciate it,â he said gruffly before turning toward the door, his heart thudding a little too fast as he stepped out into the crisp afternoon.
Sitting in his truck, he flipped through the pages of the brightly colored cookbook, furrowing his brow as he skimmed the recipes. The instructions seemed straightforward enough, at least none of them required anything he couldnât pronounce. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he realized he had just enough time to swing by the general store before heading back to the workshop.
The bell above the storeâs door jingled as he stepped inside, the warm air carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. He grabbed a basket and made his way through the aisles, collecting the essentials: flour, baking soda, vanilla essence, and a few other things he didnât recognize but trusted the bookâs guidance on.
As he reached the seasonal display near the front, he paused in front of a rack of Christmas-themed cookie cutters. There were stars, trees, and even a set of reindeer shapes. He frowned, holding up two options and debating which would look more impressive.
He was still deliberating when the familiar sound of the doorbell chiming caught his attention. His stomach flipped as he saw her walking in, coat and hair dusted with snowflakes.
Panic shot through his brain. Without a second thought, he shoved both sets of cookie cutters to the bottom of his basket, quickly covering them with the flour and sugar. He angled himself away from the entrance, his heart pounding as if heâd been caught committing a crime.
He took a breath and glanced at his basket. The cutters were well-hidden, but now he was hyper-aware of the faint clinking of metal every time he moved. Muttering to himself, he steeled his nerves and started toward the checkout, keeping his head low and his focus on not drawing her attention.
And that might have worked if Buckyâs frame didnât stand out so much. The low shelves did little to hide him, and before he could edge toward the checkout, her gaze landed squarely on him.
Her face lit up with that familiar, heart-stopping smile, and she made a beeline straight for him. He froze, gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow shield him.
âHi honey,â she said warmly, slipping her hand into his free one. Her touch was light, and casual, but it sent a wave of nervous energy coursing through his body. âDidnât expect to see you here.â
âHey,â he managed to squeak.
Her eyes dropped to the basket with curiosity as she leaned closer. âWhat do we have here?â She peeked in, lifting her eyebrows as she spotted the ingredients nestled at the bottom. âFlour? Sugar? Vanilla ext-
âItâs for Sam.â he cut her quickly, too quickly. âHe asked me to grab some stuff for⊠for the shop. I needed to come here anyway to buy something for lunch.â
âFor the shop?â she echoed, tilting her head.
âYeah,â he said gruffly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. âHe forgot to pick it up earlier.â
Her eyes darted back to the basket. âOkay, but what about you? What are you grabbing for lunch?â
His chest tightened. He shouldâve thought this through. âIâm not hungry,â he muttered, with a clipped tone.
âNot hungry?â she asked, âYouâve been working all day, Bucky. You should eat something-â
Her concern made his shoulders tense. He didnât want her prying, didnât want to screw up the surprise. âI said Iâm fine,â he replied, harsher than he intended.
She blinked, taken aback. âOkayâŠâ
He rubbed the back of his neck, as the guilt crept in when he saw the shift in her expression. Still, the panic swirling in his chest made it impossible to backtrack. âI just⊠I donât have time to explain, alright?â he stated, in a hurried tone. âI need to get back to work.â
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but he didnât give her the chance. âIâll see you later,â he added, moving past her with a quickness that felt borderline rude.
âWait, Bucky-â
âIâll call you,â he said over his shoulder, already heading for the register. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, avoiding the weight of her gaze as he paid and left the store.
Outside, the cold air hit his face, but it didnât ease the heat of frustration prickling under his skin. He hated how his tone had come out. Too rough, too abrupt, but he was incapable of handling it differently.
She stood by the shelves long after Bucky had hurried out, the bell above the storeâs door still faintly ringing in her ears. She replayed their conversation, or lack thereof, in her mind. His curt tone, the way he barely looked at her, it was unlike him. Maybe he was just having a bad day. She hoped that was all it was.
But then a few days passed, and she didnât see him, and the messages were almost nonexistent.
What she didnât know was that Bucky had been using every spare moment to tackle the recipes in that cookbook. Each attempt ended worse than the last: a disaster of burnt edges, underbaked centers, or cookies that crumbled to dust at the lightest touch.
He stood in his kitchen, staring at the latest batch, which somehow managed to be both rock-hard and sticky at the same time. He rubbed a hand down his face, the other gripping the counter as frustration curled tight in his chest. âWhat the hell is wrong with me?â
It wasnât just the cookies. It was the nagging feeling that he was failing at something so simple. The harder he tried, the worse it seemed to get. Maybe there was something wrong with his brain. He threw himself into fixing it, retreating further into his house and unintentionally pulling away from her.
Each time she asked to meet, he had an excuse ready.
âIâm exhausted, darlinâ.â heâd said one evening.
âNot feeling great, the migraine came back,â he told her the next day.
âNowâs not a good time,â was the worst.
When she offered to bring him lunch at the workshop, hoping for at least a few stolen minutes together, he deflected. âShopâs too busy these days,â he had added gruffly. âWouldnât look good.â
Her heart sank every time he brushed her off. She tried not to take it personally, but the doubt started creeping like frost on a windowpane. Had she done something wrong? Was she being too pushy? Too clingy?
Sitting at home with her phone in her lap, she stared at his last message. The usual warmth in his words was absent. She bit her lip, scrolling back through their conversations, searching for some clue as to what had changed.
Eventually, Bucky grudgingly texted Sam's sister to ask for help. He stared at the phone screen, hovering his thumb over the send button. Every fiber of his being wanted to delete the message, but he was out of options. His fingers itched to toss the phone onto the counter and forget this ever happened, but instead, he hit send.
The reply came quickly:
Sure. Meet me at the diner during my break. Youâre buying lunch.
The last part made him groan, but at least Sarah had agreed. She was the only person he could think of who could help him without making it a big deal. Heâd dreaded this conversation from the moment he realized he couldnât pull off the cookies on his own.
When lunchtime rolled around, Bucky made his way to the diner, with his stomach twisting with nerves. He slid into the booth across from Sarah, with tight shoulders and fidgeting hands.
âAll right,â she said, leaning her elbows on the table. âYou dragged me out here, so spill. Whatâs going on?â
Bucky shifted in his seat, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. âI need help,â he muttered.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. âWithâŠ?â
He sighed. âCookies.â
âCookies?â she repeated, clearly holding back a laugh.
âYeah, cookies,â he grumbled, lowering his voice. âIâve been trying to make them for Y/n. Itâs supposed to be a Christmas gift, but I canât get it right. Every batch is worse than the last.â
Sarah tilted her head, her expression somewhere between amused and concerned. âWait a second. How many batches are we talking about here?â
Bucky hesitated, dropping his gaze to the table. âA lot,â he admitted reluctantly. âIâve been working on it for⊠a few days now after work.â
Her eyebrows shot up. âA few days? What, have you just been locking yourself in your house this whole time? Baking?â
The remnants of his grilled cheese sat on the plate in front of him, barely touched. she, on the other hand, was halfway through her fries, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she listened to him stumble through his explanation. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heat. âMaybe. You know already that when Iâm fixated on something I can get-â
âSo let me get this straight,â Sarah interrupted, crossing her arms and leaning back in the booth. âYouâve been holing yourself up in your cabin, failing at baking cookies, and ignoring your girlfriend because youâre too proud to ask her for help?â
Buckyâs jaw tightened. âItâs not like that.â
âOh, no? Then what is it like?â she questioned, crossing her arms.
He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heavy weight of her stare. âI just⊠wanted to surprise her. She always does so much for me, and I thought I could do something nice for her for once. But nothingâs working, and-â He stopped, shaking his head. âNever mind.â
Sarahâs gaze softened, and her teasing gave way to something gentler. âLook, Bucky. Itâs sweet that you want to do this for her. But youâre overthinking it. Cookies donât have to be perfect; they just have to come from the heart, she would love them anyway.â
âThatâs easy for you to say,â he muttered.
Sarah laughed. âYou think I was born knowing how to bake? Trust me, it took plenty of trial and error. And maybe a few smoke alarms.â
Buckyâs lips twitched, almost a smile.
âOkay,â she said, brushing her hands off on a napkin. âLetâs start with the basics. What recipe are you trying to use?â
Before he could answer, the bell over the diner door jingled, drawing both their gazes to the entrance. It was just a regular patron, and Buckyâs attention began to shift back to Sarah. But then, in the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her. She stood just outside the window, frozen mid-step, a paper bag from the bakery clutched tightly in her hands.
Buckyâs stomach dropped. She couldnât hear them through the glass, but the scene must have looked... bad. Him sitting with Sarah, leaning casually across the table, with an easy smile lighting up the booth, while his phone sat untouched, with her unanswered messages still lingering in his inbox.
He swore under his breath.
Her lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something, but then she looked away.
He could see the shift, the moment her walls went up. She adjusted her grip on the bag, straightened her posture, and turned on her heel, walking briskly down the sidewalk.
âUh-oh,â Sarah muttered, flicking her gaze between them. âGood luck with that,â she added dryly, biting into another fry as he scrambled out of the booth.
His long strides closed the distance quickly, but as he reached out to touch her shoulder, he hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment before dropping to his side. Instead, he called her name.
She didnât stop right away, her pace faltering for half a second before continuing, though slower this time.
He tried again and she finally stopped, turning around slowly, eyes bright with unshed tears. The sight hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, the words he had lined up fled his mind.
âI can explain,â he said, stepping closer but keeping a careful distance.
She made a small motion with her head, a tilt that told him to continue. She didnât trust her voice to speak just yet, tightening her grip around the bakery bag.
âI was talking to Sarah,â he began, âAbout... about a problem Iâve been having.â
Her brows furrowed, and he stumbled over his next words. âItâs-itâs nothing serious, just something I needed... advice on.â
âAdvice?â she repeated, with a soft tone but tinged with something sharper.
He nodded, avoiding her eyes. âYeah.â
She exhaled, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled a little. âYou know, I always thought I was the person youâd turn to if you needed help.â Her gaze locked on his, vulnerable yet unyielding. âIt seems like it's not the case lately.â
âThatâs not true,â he stated quickly, words rushing together. âI⊠God, Iâm sorry if Iâve been... distant. Absent. Itâs not you, itâs-â He paused, groaning softly as he tried to gather his thoughts. âI have my reasons.â
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her next words were still calm but carried an edge. âWeâre grown adults, Bucky. This isnât one of those predictable novels where the characters dance around their miscommunication until everything blows up.â She crossed her arms, crinkling slightly the bakery bag . âIf somethingâs going on, I expect you to be concrete with me, not feed me veiled comments or excuses.â
âI know,â he admitted, slumping his shoulders slightly. âYou deserve better than that. I just... I didnât want to mess this up.â
Her gaze softened, but she didnât drop her stance. âThen stop treating me like Iâm someone you could mess things up with, and just talk to me.â
Bucky let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, with a low but resolute voice. "Iâll just⊠come clean."
Her expression stayed guarded, but he could see a flicker of curiosity as he shifted his weight, looking anywhere but directly at her. "I donât⊠Iâm not great at this kind of thing. Talking, explaining. But I know this. You, us⊠this thing doesnât mean anything if itâs making you upset." He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. "Iâve been working on something. For you."
âFor me?â she asked, slightly raising her brows.
âYeah.â He looked at her briefly before glancing away again, twitching his lips with nervous energy. "Cookies. Iâve been trying to bake cookies for you. For Christmas. I thought⊠youâre always cooking for me, always doing things to make my life easier. I wanted to do something for you. Something meaningful." He exhaled roughly, the words spilling out faster now. "But Iâm awful at it. Every batch gets worse, and Iâve been so damn focused on trying to get it right that I didnât even realize how I was shutting you out."
As the story progressed, she could see the tension in his posture, the way his hands flexed and fidgeted at his sides, and his eagerness to make things right even as he stumbled over his words. Her expression shifted, the initial frustration melting into something gentler as she bit her lip, her emotions caught between amusement and tenderness.
âBucky,â she murmured, stepping forward before he could say more. She dropped the bakery bag and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He froze for a moment before leaning into the embrace, hesitantly circling his arms on her back. They stayed like that, wrapped in silence, until she broke the quiet.
"You couldâve just bought me a can of cookies, you know. Then I couldâve used it to put my sewing supplies in there.â
He let out a low laugh against her hair. "Yeah, but what kind of gesture would that be?"
"A less stressful one," she teased, pulling back just enough to look up at him, with a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Maybe," he admitted, his blue eyes searching hers. "But it wouldnât have been the same."
âHow about this,â she began, in a soft yet playful tone. âWe make them together.â
Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard. âTogether?â
âYeah,â she said, her smile widening. âIâll teach you how to make them. Weâll turn it into a little⊠date. Youâll learn how to do it right, and my gift will be spending time with you.â
He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a raised brow. âBefore you argue, think about it. I donât need some perfect Christmas cookies, Bucky. Iâd much rather spend time with you, and make sure you donât burn your kitchen down in the process.â
He hesitated, then gave her a slow nod. âAlright. Weâll make âem together.â Then a determined smile played on his lips. If learning to bake with her would give him another shot at perfecting those cookies on his own later, it was a win-win. And this time, he wouldnât mess it up.
That afternoon, as planned, Bucky arrived at her house. When she opened the door, she couldnât help but smile at the sight of him standing there with two overstuffed grocery bags in hand.
âYou didnât have to bring everything-,â she started, stepping aside to let him in.
âI did,â he cut in firmly, gripping the bags. âIâm the one learning here, and Iâll be damned if youâre the one paying for my mess-ups.â
She chuckled. âDonât sell yourself short just yet. You might have a hidden talent.â
He gave her a doubtful look but didnât argue. Turning fully to her, he gave her a quick, self-conscious smile before she leaned up to kiss him, a soft, reassuring press of her lips against his.
âCome on,â she said, pulling back and taking his hand. âIâve got everything set up.â
She led him to the kitchen, where bowls, measuring cups, and utensils were neatly arranged. A checkered white-and-blue apron lay folded on the counter, which she promptly picked up and handed to him.
âWhatâs this?â he asked, eyeing the apron like it might bite.
âYour apron,â she said simply, unfolding it and holding it up to him. âItâs going to save you from ruining that nice shirt of yours. Plus, it suits you.â
He muttered something under his breath about dignity, but he didnât resist when she slipped it over his head and tied the strings at his back. She stepped back, tilting her head as if admiring her handiwork.
âThere. Perfect,â she said with a grin.
He shook his head, but his lips twitched in a faint smile. âAlright, what now?â
âWell, first,â she began, pulling out a notebook and pen, âwhich recipe were you trying?â
Bucky hesitated, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. âI mean⊠if youâve got a favorite, we could try that instead.â
âNope,â she replied, crossing her arms with a playful smile. âThis is your project. I want to see what you picked.â
His ears turned red as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled recipe card with his handwriting, handing it to her.
She smoothed it out, scanning the list of ingredients and instructions. âAlright,â she said, looking up at him with an amused and encouraging smile. âLetâs see if we can make some magic happen.â
Bucky grabbed an elastic band from his back pocket, pulling his hair back and tying it into a short ponytail. His movements were quick and practiced, but to her, it was a sight worth pausing for.
âYou know,â she said, leaning against the counter with a teasing grin, âyou look ridiculously handsome like that.â
He glanced at her, his cheeks warming as he muttered, âItâs just a hairdo for workinâ. Nothinâ fancy.â
âStill counts,â she replied with a shrug, stepping closer to nudge his arm.
He ducked his head with a quiet huff but didnât say more, focusing instead on the task at hand.
When they started reading through the recipe together, Bucky's brow furrowed in concentration. âOkay,â he muttered, âthis part says a cup.â As he spoke, he reached for a mug she hadnât even noticed sitting on the counter, a large, oversized thing that looked more suited for a vat of coffee than precise measurements. She blinked, then glanced up at him.
âBucky,â she said gently, pointing at the mug, âwhat have you been using for this?â
He hesitated, shifting his weight. âUh⊠one from my cupboard,â he admitted, his tone almost defensive. âThe grey one with the red star?â
Her lips twitched, and she pressed them together to suppress a laugh. âOh, sweetheart,â she said softly, shaking her head. âNot all cups are the same, especially when youâre baking. Itâs not about a drinking cup, itâs about measuring cups.â
She picked up her set of cups, holding them up for him to see. âThese are what you use for recipes. Theyâre standardized so everything comes out the way itâs supposed to.â
Bucky looked between the measuring cups and his oversized mug, and realization dawned on his face. âSo⊠thatâs why every batch turned out so bad,â he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
âBaking is like chemistry.â She added with a chuckle, âThe right proportions make everything work smoothly. I guess you didnât differentiate the size of the spoons either.â When she saw his disappointed face she reached up to gently pat his shoulder. âYouâre not alone. A lot of people make these mistakes when they start. Thatâs why weâre doing this together.â
They moved through the recipe step by step, she perched beside him, offering guidance but letting him take the lead. Bucky tried to focus on the instructions, but each step felt like a puzzle missing a crucial piece. As he measured out flour and sugar, he couldnât help but second-guess every motion, leveling off scoops with exacting care that bordered on obsession.
It wasnât just the baking, it was her watching him. Her eyes followed his hands with a soft patience that shouldâve soothed him, but instead left him hyper-aware of every move he made. He could feel her gaze like a weight, one he didnât know how to carry. His shoulders stiffened further when he noticed a bit of flour scatter onto the counter.
When he started mixing the dough, frustration began to creep in. âThis stuff doesnât want to combine,â he muttered, glaring down at the stubbornly clumpy mixture.
She leaned closer, brushing her hand lightly against his back as she peered into the bowl. Her touch sent a jolt through his body not unpleasant, just⊠distracting. âIt takes a little patience,â she said softly. âYouâre doing fine, Bucky. Really.â
He wanted to believe her, but the self-doubt crept intrusive inside him. What if I screw this up? The thought lingered on a loop, heavy and unwelcome. He worked the spatula harder, tension tightening his jaw and making his movements stiff.
She noticed, of course she did. She always noticed. Setting her utensils aside, she slipped an arm around his waist, pulling herself close to his side. Her nose brushed against his chest as she nuzzled him gently, the warmth of her body cutting through the wall he didnât even realize heâd been building.
âRelax,â she murmured, looking up at him with a soft smile. âYouâre not dismantling a bomb here. No oneâs born knowing everything, and you came today to learn. Thatâs already the hardest part.â
He let out a breath, as her words chipped away some of the tension clawing at him. âYeah,â he muttered, though his movements were still careful and deliberate as if the dough would mock him for messing up.
She tilted her head with a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. He recognized that look and braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what she did next. Without a word, she grabbed his hand, still sticky with half-mixed dough, and brought it to her mouth.
His eyes widened as two of his fingers disappeared between her lips. The room stilled, and his focus narrowed to her. Her tongue swirled over his skin, warm and deliberate, as she sucked the dough clean. His heart thudded against his ribs, his breath catching somewhere in his throat.
âWhat⊠what are you doing?â he managed, his voice raspier than intended.
She released his fingers with a soft pop and a smug expression. âWaking you up,â she teased. âAnd thereâs no way you could disappoint me anyway. Iâve barely been paying attention to the recipe.â
His brow furrowed. âWhy?â
Her lips curled into a grin as her gaze swept over him, slow and deliberate. âOh, I donât know,â she said, her voice dripping with amusement. âBig guy in my kitchen, wearing my apron, looking way too good with his hair pulled back. Take your pick.â
Heat crawled up his neck, but he couldnât fight the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. âYouâre impossible,â he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to the bowl.
When the time to cut the cookies came, Bucky rummaged through one of the bags heâd brought and pulled out a set of festive cookie cutters. He laid them on the counter, and she squealed in delight, clapping her hands together.
âThese are so cute!â she exclaimed, excited.
Buckyâs half-smile turned bigger. âYeah?â
She nodded enthusiastically, picking up one of the cutters shaped like a snowflake. âGood choice, honey.â
His chest warmed at her praise, and for once, he didnât feel quite so out of his depth. They worked side by side together, cutting the dough into cheerful shapes. She was quick, deftly pressing cutters into the rolled-out dough and transferring each piece to the baking tray with ease. He followed her lead, slower but methodical, determined to match her precision.
In what felt like no time, the oven was full of cookies, their sweet, buttery scent already starting to fill the kitchen. Bucky leaned back against the counter, pulling her into his side with one arm. She nestled into him, resting her head against his chest as they both stared at the timer ticking down.
âYouâre getting pretty domestic.â she teased, tilting her head up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, letting her lips linger there for a moment. âSo,â she began, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, âhow are you planning to decorate these?â
He froze. The thought hadnât even crossed his mind. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the trays, panic flickering in his blue eyes. âI, uhâŠâ he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. âI didnât⊠I didnât think that far ahead.â
Her laughter was light but not unkind. âItâs okay,â she said, patting his chest reassuringly. âIâll take care of it.â
âThat wasnât the idea,â he protested, frowning. âThis is supposed to be my thing. For you.â
She sighed. âFine. Iâll teach you how to make royal icing, and then youâre on your own.â
The timer dinged, and they set about transferring the cookies to cooling racks. Once the cookies were ready, she walked him through the steps of making royal icing, from mixing the powdered sugar to coloring small batches with food dye.
At first, his hands were clumsy, unfamiliar with the delicate work of piping, but soon enough, Bucky found his rhythm. He focused intently on each cookie, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he carefully outlined a reindeerâs antlers or added intricate snowflake details.
She stood back, watching with growing amazement. âYouâve got a steady hand,â she remarked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter.
He shrugged, still concentrating. âIâve had practice. Just⊠not with this.â
By the time he finished, the cookies were nothing short of impressive. Each one was decorated with precision, from cheerful Santas to elegant wreaths. He turned to her, brushing a streak of flour from his cheek with the back of his hand. âWell?â She grinned, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. âTheyâre perfect, Bucky.â
The sky was painted in soft strokes of pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Bucky stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping after hours spent hunched over the kitchen counter. âIâll leave the cookies here to set overnight,â he said, glancing at the rows of perfectly iced cookies spread across her counter. âBut I need to head over to the workshop. Got some decorations to drop off.â
âDecorations?â she asked, tilting her head.
He nodded toward the door. âYeah, Sam thought itâd be nice if everyone pitched in this year. Made something personal for the display. Iâve got mine in the truck.â
Her face lit up. âCan I come? Iâll help you set everything up.â
Bucky hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in her gaze was hard to resist. âAlright,â he said, grabbing his jacket. âLetâs go.â
By the time they reached the workshop, the place was dark and locked up for the evening. Bucky fished his keys out of his pocket. âHere we are,â he muttered, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.
The workshop smelled faintly of sawdust and varnish, even in the chill of winter. A few decorations already hung from the rafters: wooden stars, garlands crafted from pinecones, and even a clumsily painted reindeer that had Sarahâs handiwork written all over it.
She wandered further inside, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in the holiday cheer. âThis is so cozy,â she said, her voice echoing softly in the empty space.
Bucky stepped past her, setting a large box on the workbench. She peeked inside, smiling as she spotted a tangle of string lights. âOh, these are perfect! Did you really make these?â
âTheyâre just lights,â he replied with a shrug, and a faint blush on his cheeks.
She picked up a strand and held it aloft, the tiny bulbs catching the last traces of daylight filtering through the workshop windows. âNo, I can tell you put effort into this, they are gorgeous.â
Her words made his chest tighten, with a mix of pride and awkwardness. âCome on,â he said, reaching for the box. âLetâs get these up.â
They worked side by side, untangling the string lights with care. She gently teased him when he accidentally knotted a section tighter, but as they kept at it, she couldnât help but praise him again.
âYouâre so good at manual labor,â she said, handing him the next strand. âCarpentry at Samâs, the cookies earlier, fixing things around my place... and now these lights? Is there anything you canât do?â
Buckyâs lips twitched into a small smile, but her words stirred darker thoughts within his mind. Oh, if she only knew what else his hands were good at. Things that involve a knife, a rifle, or worse. The memories flickered like a shadow across his mind, a sharp contrast to the festive glow they were creating.
âBucky?â Her soft voice pulled him from the spiral.
âHm?â he mumbled, blinking as he looked at her.
âMaybe you could make some lights for me next year,â she suggested.
He exhaled softly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. âSure.â
Sensing the remnants of whatever had crossed his mind, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his chest. Her embrace relaxed him, the warmth of her touch chasing away the cold corners of his thoughts.
âYou still have the ponytail,â she pointed out, glancing up at him with a grin. âI love it.â
He rolled his eyes, though a faint flush touched his cheeks. âItâs practical,â he repeated, focusing on arranging the next strand of lights.
âItâs sexy,â she countered, her grin turning mischievous.
As he worked, her eyes fell on the remaining strand of lights still in the box, and a mischievous idea sparked in her mind.
âYou know,â she began, picking up the last strand, âthese could do more than just decorate the workshop.â
He looked up at her, brow raised. âOh yeah? Like what?â
She shrugged, holding the strand up and letting it dangle between her fingers. âI donât know. They seem sturdy enough to, I donât know... tie something up?â
His head tilted, blue eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the teasing edge in her tone. âYou mean like a post?â
âSure, Bucky. A post,â she replied, quirking her lips into a smirk.
He took a step toward her, closing the gap between them. âOr something else?â
Her grin widened. âThatâs up to you, isnât it?â
He didnât say anything, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable. Without a word, he plucked the strand of lights from her hands and looped it loosely over her wrist. Her heart skipped, as he moved with the careful, deliberate precision sheâd just been praising. Before she could react, he had her wrists gently bound together with the lights, tying them off to the sturdy handle of the workbench vice.
âBucky,â she murmured, tugging lightly at the restraint, âI didnât mean... here.â
His brow quirked, as he leaned back, casually admiring his handiwork. âOh, didnât you?â
Her cheeks flushed, and she squirmed a little, testing the hold. âWhat if someone comes in?â
âNo oneâs coming in,â he said, his voice calm and confident.
âYou donât know that,â she countered, darting her eyes toward the locked door as though willing it to stay closed.
He stepped closer, crowding her space in that way that always made her pulse race. âWell,â he drawled, one hand tracing the strand around her wrists, âyou shouldâve thought about that before suggesting this creative use for my handiwork.â
Her lips parted, a retort bubbling on her tongue, but it fizzled under the weight of his heated gaze. âI didnât think youâd actually... do it,â she whispered.
âThat so?â His voice was low and teasing as he leaned in and his breath brushed her ear. âThen maybe you shouldnât dare me next time.â
Before she could muster a reply, his free hand cradled the back of her neck, pulling her into a rough, searing kiss. He took full advantage of her startled gasp to deepen it, lifting her effortlessly and laying her back on the workbench. Her arms were stretched above her head, her wrists binded to the handle, a tether she couldnât help but tug against instinctively.
âBucky,â she breathed, with a mix of arousal and reason. âWe canât... not here.â
âCanât we?â he murmured, grazing his lips at the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. His hands, strong and sure, settled on her hips as he positioned himself between her legs.
Her protests faltered as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, trailing wet, deliberate kisses down to her collarbone.
âThis is insane,â she whispered, though her fingers flexed against the strands holding her wrists.
âMaybe,â he rasped, his voice rough with need. âBut you donât seem to mind.â Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, inviting his touch as he continued his slow, torturous path down her neck.
As he spoke, his hand traced up her thigh, slipping beneath the woolen skirt sheâd worn to keep warm in the crisp winter air. His fingers traveled with deliberate slowness, brushing over her stocking-clad legs until they reached her mound, cupping it through her already damp panties. She gasped, tugging against the makeshift restraint at her wrists as his touch sent a jolt of heat through her body.
âIn fact,â he murmured, pressing his fingers more firmly against her, âyouâre enjoying it.â
Her breath hitched, and she couldnât summon a denial, not with the way her body was reacting. He smirked at her silence, leaning back slightly to survey the sight of her stretched out on the workbench.
His hands shifted to her hips, sliding her skirt up higher, bunching it around her waist. His gaze darkened as he poked at her clothed entrance, watching the way she arched toward him, needing more. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he let out a low groan.
âThe jacket stays on,â he growled, commanding. She blinked at him, a question forming at her lips, but he shook his head. âItâs cold, and Iâm not letting you freeze on me.â
Before she could respond, he shrugged off his own jacket, tossing it onto a nearby stool. His hands moved to his belt, fumbling with the buckle and zipper in his urgency. âI was gonna take my time,â he admitted, his voice rough with restraint, âbut seeing you like thisâŠâ His gaze raked over her, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her jacket, and the way her legs spread just enough to accommodate him. âI need you now, sweetheart.â
Her lips parted softly âI want you too, Bucky.â
That was all the encouragement he needed. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he tugged them down her thighs, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly before he discarded them onto the floor. His own pants and underwear followed in quick succession, pooling around his boots as he climbed back over her.
The heat of his body pressed against hers was a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His rough hands held her hips as he shifted between her legs and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss, grinding his cock against her slick folds. She moaned into his mouth, instinctively lifting her body toward him, chasing the friction.
âFuck,â he rasped against her lips, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. âYou feel so good, sugar. So wet for me.â
Her only response was another needy arch of her hips, and he growled softly, gripping her thighs as he lined himself up with her entrance. The tip of his cock teased her, as though he was savoring the moment despite his earlier haste.
âBucky,â she whimpered, her voice raw with need, âplease.â
His jaw tightened, his resolve barely hanging by a thread. âDonât be impatientâ he murmured. âI want to-â He broke off, swallowing hard as his cock pressed against her entrance, her heat almost enough to make him lose control. âI want to just fuck you right now, but I didnât prep you. Iâm not risking hurting you.â
She groaned in frustration, tipping back her head against the workbench. In her heated state, her filter was long gone. âI donât care, Bucky. I want it all, right now.â
His blue eyes snapped to hers, darkened with lust but narrowing with a hint of reproach. âDonât say things like that,â he growled with a strained voice. âYouâre making this harder for me.â
Her lips curved into a sly smile, even as she squirmed beneath him. âGood.â
Bucky let out a low, frustrated groan, gripping her hips a little tighter. âYouâre impossible,â he muttered, though there was no real heat in his words. She could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as he fought to stay focused.
He shifted, moving one hand between them to guide himself, while the other kept her firmly in place. Slowly, carefully, he began to push inside, stopping to let her adjust with each inch. Her walls stretched around him, the delicious burn making her moan, pulling her bound wrists reflexively against the lights as she arched her back.
She whimpered his name, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him closer. âMore,â she pleaded, her breath coming in short, needy gasps.
âDarlin' Iâm trying,â he rasped, pausing to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against hers. âBut you gotta let me take care of you.â
Her head tilted, locking her eyes with his, and there was so much trust and desire in her gaze that it almost undid him. âYou are, Bucky,â she whispered, her voice trembling. âBut I need it now.â
His restraint cracked, and with a low groan, he pushed deeper, sinking into her inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her.
Bucky groaned as her walls clenched around him. She mewled softly, tilting her head back, her bound wrists tugging at the lights as she instinctively moved her hips upward, desperate for more.
âSee?â she murmured, brushing his lips with hers. âI told you I could take it.â She teased.
His jaw tightened, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. âYouâre gonna drive me crazy,â he muttered, pulling back just enough to thrust forward again, deliberately slow despite the tension tightening every muscle in his body.
Her whimper sent a jolt of desire straight to his cock as her legs tightened around his hips, meeting his shallow movements. âPlease, baby,â she gasped, her voice trembling with need. âI need you to move.â
âJust⊠wait,â he ground out, his jaw tight as he tried to keep himself in check. His restraint was hanging by a thread, but he was determined to go slow, to make it good for her despite the fire licking at his nerves. The way she shifted beneath him, her hips rolling against his, hot, wet, and utterly desperate, was unraveling him inch by inch.
And then she did it, arching her back, pressing her chest against his, and nipping at his bottom lip before her tongue darted out to soothe the sting. âPlease,â she pleaded, locking her eyes onto his with wild abandon.
He snapped.
With a guttural groan, he slammed into her, hard and deep. She cried out, a sharp sound that made him freeze with guilt.
âShit,â he muttered, his body taut with tension. âDid I hurt you?â
She shook her head furiously, her eyes glassy with need as she squirmed beneath him. âNo. God, no,â she whimpered, her voice broken. âDonât stop. Please, Bucky, donât stop.â
He exhaled slowly, rough and ragged as he fought to steady himself. âYouâre gonna be the death of me,â he murmured, with a strained voice.
He started again, his movements slow at first, but the way her body responded to him, -arching, trembling, pushing- had his resolve crumbling all over again. He tried to quicken his pace, thrust harder, deeper, but the workbench beneath them was unforgivingly hard, and he growled in frustration, halting mid-thrust. With a muttered curse, he pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips, lifting them slightly as he pushed her skirt higher and entered her again, this time setting a punishing pace, the new angle pulling a sharp cry from her lips.
âBetter?â he growled, his voice thick with desire. âYou just couldnât wait, didnât you?â he grunted, gripping her hips tightly as he drove into her.
Her only response was a desperate moan, rolling back her hips against him as though to urge him deeper.
The sight of her body rippling down his, her restrained hands trying to hold onto something, and her flushed face pressed against the wood was enough to drive him wild. âLook at you,â he muttered. âSo perfect like this, all laid out for me.â He pulled back, straightening, and gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks as he plunged into her with renewed force. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as he pushed her higher and higher.
Every time she gasped his name, every shudder that ran through her body, spurred him on. He felt her tense and start to tremble, and he knew she was close. His fingers slid down to where they were joined, brushing against her clit, and she nearly screamed, trembling and spiraling closer to the edge.
âCome on,â he murmured, rough and coaxing. âI know youâre close. Give it to me, sweetheart.â
Her body obeyed before her mind caught up, crying out his name, dragging him into his own release with a hoarse groan as he buried himself deep inside her one last time.
They stayed like that for a moment, with his body draped over hers, ragged breaths mingling in the chilled air of the workshop. He pressed a soft kiss at the back of her neck, and gently nipped the sensitive skin peeking through her jacket.
As the heat of the moment faded, a flicker of practicality broke through the haze clouding Buckyâs mind. His gaze drifted to the polished surface of the workbench beneath her, and the realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. If he werenât careful, theyâd leave an undeniable -and very permanent- mark on the wood.
âShit,â he muttered under his breath, pressing another soft kiss to the nape of her neck.
She turned her head slightly. âWhatâs wrong?â she asked, her voice soft and hoarse from her cries moments ago.
âThe bench,â he grumbled, steadying her hips with his hands. âI didnât think it through. If weâŠâ He hesitated, just the thought of explaining the stain on the workbenchâs varnish was almost as mortifying as the act itself.
Her chuckle was low and warm. âAre you serious?â she teased, her body still pliant under his hands.
âVery. Samâll notice, and Iâm not about to answer questions about this.â
âFine,â she giggled, smirking over her shoulder. âSo, whatâs the plan?â
First, he tugged at the string to sever it and free her from the handle, then, instead of pulling out abruptly, he eased back, hands steady on her hips as he helped her shift, guiding her carefully to sit on his lap. Her knees wobbled, still weak from the ordeal
âBucky,â she began, her voice playful but still breathless, âif this is your way of sweeping me off my feet-â
âShut up,â a soft laugh rumbled from his chest. He adjusted his grip, shifting slightly until he was closer to the edge of the workbench. With a deliberate steadiness, he leaned forward and gently lowered her until her feet touched the cold floor.
She gasped at the chill against her bare toes, instinctively leaning back into his warmth. âNot exactly a graceful dismount,â she quipped, curving her lips into a smirk as her hands found his forearms for balance.
Bucky winced, a hint of pink creeping up his cheeks. âI canât believe you just said that,â he muttered, half under his breath.
She grinned, brushing back a stray lock of hair. âYou can thank the Wild West novel Iâm working on for that one.â
His brow arched as he helped her steady herself. âOh, so you traded the lairdâs sword for the cowboyâs long gun, huh?â
Her laugh bubbled out, leaning into him as her shoulders shook. âYou know,â she teased, poking his chest lightly, âyouâre catching on a little too quickly to these tropes.â
Buckyâs gaze dropped to her wrists, still loosely bound by the string of lights he severed from the bench. His lips quirked into a mischievous smirk as he reached down, gripping the strand and giving it a gentle tug. âOh, maybe Iâm just entertaining the idea of you being my captive, in retaliation for the sheriff messing with my business,â he said, his voice low and playful.
Her laughter cut off with a soft gasp, and she feet her cheeks starting to heat. âY-you talk about your sisterâs novels,â she stammered, narrowing her eyes at him. âBut Iâm starting to think youâve read this kind of thing. As a horny teenager, or⊠I donât know!â
He chuckled. âYou think I spent my teenage years reading romance novels?
âWell,â she said, with a playful tone, ânot everyone had the internet back then, and Iâm sure there was a limit to how many dirty magazines a boy could buy with his allowance. Especially in a small town.â
Buckyâs brow shot up. âDirty magazines, huh?â
She grinned, shrugging as she leaned into him. âWhat can I say? I can totally imagine young, innocent Bucky Barnes, desperate for... enlightenment, flipping through anything he could get his hands on.â
âI didnât-â
âDonât try to deny it. Itâs not like you had endless options. A boyâs gotta make do.â
Bucky shook his head, his ears visibly red as he muttered, âWe are not having this conversation.â
âOh, we absolutely are,â she teased, her grin widening as she poked his chest again, delighting in his flustered expression. âCome on, enlighten me. What did you do for fun in a town like this as a teenager?â
âWorked,â he said, crossing his arms over his chest as if that would end the conversation.
âWorked?â she echoed, incredulous. âThatâs it? No sneaking out, no rebellious shenanigans, no awkward first crushes?â
Bucky sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor as if avoiding hers might shield him from the conversation. âI guess eventually youâll find out,â he muttered, âsince it seems the people of this town love to gossip like itâs a local sport.â
She tilted her head, intrigued by his sudden reluctance. âOh? And what juicy tidbit am I missing out on?â
He hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line before finally relenting. âI was... erm, popular with the girls âround here,â he confessed in a low and gruff tone, like he was confessing a crime.
Her eyebrows shot up, and she barely contained a laugh. âPopular? Like, homecoming king popular or...?â
âNot exactly,â he cut in quickly, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. âLetâs just say I didnât exactly have to grab a magazine to see... you know...â He trailed off, making a vague gesture with his hand that only deepened the flush on his cheeks.
Her mouth fell open in mock shock, one hand flying to her chest. âBucky Barnes,â she gasped, âare you telling me you were the townâs resident heartbreaker?â
âI didnât say that!â he shot back, his ears turning red.
âYou didnât not say it,â she teased, leaning closer with a wicked grin. âNow I need details. How many hearts did you leave shattered? How many windows did you sneak out of at the crack of dawn?â
He groaned, dragging his hand down his face. âIt wasnât like that,â he insisted, though his flustered tone betrayed him. âAnd I didnât sneak out of anyoneâs window, thank you very much.â
Buckyâs hand dropped from his face, his expression shifting into something more subdued. âAnyway,â he said, his voice quieter, âit was a long time ago. Sometimes it feels like it was another life.â
Her playful grin softened at his tone, her teasing instinctively halting as she watched him carefully.
âI left the town when I enlisted,â he continued, glancing away as if looking for the right words. âAnd only came back after fifteen years. When they...â His jaw tightened for a moment before he finished, â...decided I wasnât enough anymore to be serving.â
Her heart ached at the weight of his words and she stepped closer, reaching for his hands as she studied his face. âBuckyâŠâ
He shook his head slightly, offering a small, forced smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. ââs fine,â he said, though the tightness in his tone suggested otherwise.
Her grip on his hands tightened. âYouâre more than enough. To me. To everyone who really knows you.â
He didnât say anything for a moment, just looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile turned genuine, though still tinged with a trace of sadness.
âThanks,â he murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
Suddenly she sneezed, suddenly and sharp, breaking the fragile silence. Bucky blinked as if pulled out of a trance, and his gaze swept over the two of them.
He was naked from the waist down, her feet still bare on the cold workshop floor. His brows knitted together as he tousled his hair, flush creeping up his neck. Without a word, he reached for his boxers, handing them to her in a silent but clear gesture.
She took them, understanding immediately, and began to clean herself as he turned away slightly, reaching for his pants. The sound of fabric sliding and belts clicking filled the space, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.
Once his jeans were on and fastened, he turned back to her with a soft expression. âWe should go. We already did what we came to doâŠâ his lips quirked in a faint, amused smirk, âand more. I donât want you catching a cold.â
She stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. âDo you really have to go back to the cabin?â she asked, âMy house is closer to the workshop. You could sleep a little longer before work... and youâd get a proper breakfast.â
Bucky paused, studying her face as if weighing her offer. âYou trying to bribe me with food?â he asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.
She arched a brow, feigning indignation, âDo I really have to bribe you to convince you to sleep with me?â she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head.
âI-â He opened his mouth, then closed it, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted to the floor. âT-thatâs not what I meant,â he muttered.
She tiptoed and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, âI know, honey,â she murmured, affectionally. âI was just messing with you.â
âStill,â she continued, her gaze searching his as her hands settled gently on his chest. âWill you come? I really missed my man these days of cookie quarantine.â
Every time she called him her man, Buckyâs chest swelled with an unspoken pride. His blush crept up from his collar, painting his cheeks faintly pink as he looked at her.
âYeah,â he said, his voice a low murmur, a small but shy smile tugging at his lips. âIâll give my woman whatever she needs.â
Her grin was warm and triumphant, and she gave his chest a playful pat. âGood answer.â
Bucky chuckled softly, pulling her into a loose embrace. âYouâve got me wrapped around your finger, you know that?â
She tilted her head, with an amused glint in her eyes. âIs that so?â she asked, her voice lilting with curiosity. âWell, if you were a little more selfish, youâd know that you could ask me anything, and Iâd give it to you.â
His brow furrowed slightly at her words, âAnything?â he asked softly as if testing the weight of her promise.
She nodded, her fingers brushing lightly over his chest. âAnything,â she confirmed warmly.
For a moment, Bucky didnât reply. Then he gave her a faint smile, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. âIâll keep that in mind,â he murmured, tracing a soft arc along her back with his thumb.
His gaze flickered to the window where the night stretched on and cleared his throat. âWe should head back,â he suggested. Then, after a beat, his lips quirked into a soft smirk, adding, almost shyly, âMaybe Iâm feeling a little selfish tonight.â
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, the corner of her mouth tugging into a grin. âOh? What does that mean?â
Bucky shrugged, drifting his hand to the small of her back as he gently nudged her toward the door. âGuess youâll just have to come home with me and find out.â
Dividers by: @/saradika
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky smut#bucky barnes fic#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x curvy!reader#bucky x curvy!reader#Lumberjack!Bucky
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âI canât believe youâre squatting in an occupied house, Danny. Thatâs⊠actually isnât that also breaking and entering? Thatâs a crime, isnât it?â
âOne, at least I donât have to pay rent and/or utilities. Two, Tim let me stay. And three, Iâm a vigilante. Breaking and entering is like the basics of being one. Also, theyâre paying me now. This is a legit job now!â
Jazz sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. âWhatever, dumbass. Where is Tim, anyways?â
âHeâs in bed.â
âReally?â Jazz raised an eyebrow and rested a hand on her hip. âThen whatâs that?â
Danny whirled around, making eye contact with a frozen Tim.
âAhah-â
Danny groaned, cutting Timâs awkward laughter and no-doubt bullshit excuse.
âKid, Tim, we talked about this.â
âItâs for the aesthetics!â Tim protested, the argument well worn, but obligingly stepping away from the window sill.
Danny shot Jazz a disgruntled look when she muttered, âWell, doesnât that sound familiar.â
âItâs a school night, Tim.â Danny crossed the room, ushering Tim away from the door. The halfa could probably put down professional babysitter on his resume. If he could handle Tim âclimb out of windowsâ Drake and Tim âsleeps in hard to reach placesâ Drake in the same day, he could handle anything.
Tim puffed up, like a disgruntled kitten. âRobin gets to go out on a school night! And heâs my age! Kinda! And at least Iâm not fighting criminals!â
Again, this is an argument theyâve had multiple times.
âNot for a lack of trying,â Danny muttered, rolling his eyes when Jazz snickered. He made the mistake of looking down at Timâs convincing little sad kitten act and sighed. âAlright, alright. We get two hours of batwatching, then you go to sleep.â
âDeal!â Tim cheered. Jazz grinned, mouthing âweakâ at Danny, who promptly made like his high school self and ignored her.
âGo get your jacket. And some thicker socks, youâre gonna freezing out there.â
âOkay!!â
When Tim was out of earshot, excitedly thundering down the lavish hallway, Jazz tilted her head back and laughed.
âOh, shut up.â
âHow the tables have tabled, huh, Danny?â Jazz snickered.
âYou think you got jokes,â Danny pointed at her with a new mug of coffee. âLaugh it up, but donât forget that youâre his older sister now too.â
Jazz paled. âOh, shit.â
âYeah, thatâs right. Now you gotta deal with two of us!â
âTwo of who?â Tim returned, bundled up in a fancy puffy jacket. Jazz cooed at him, kneeling down to zip his jacket up. Danny, echoing her, magically grabbed a scarf and wrapped around Tim.
âUs, her little brothers. Unfortunately, youâre now our little brother and that means Jazz is gonna mother you like youâre a baby duck.â
Danny ducked the half hearted smack Jazz sent his way, grinning at Tim. The kid had a self conscious smile on his face, bashful at the unprecedented (for him) attention and affection. Dannyâs smile tightened when Tim looked at Jazz for confirmation (which she gave). If it werenât for the fact that Tim loved his parents, Danny would have spirited (hah!) the kid away. Heâs like a textbook case of neglect. Itâs why he keeps trying to sneak out in ways thatâll easily get him caught. Heâs trying to test if Danny would get mad and leave-
âOh my god. Iâm turning into you, Jazz.â Danny said, horrified.
âWhat?â Jazz narrowed her eyes once the statement sunk in. âWhatâs wrong with being more like me? I can actually process my emotions in a timely manner, thanks.â
Danny, stuck in the horror of understanding someoneâs motivations and processing some of his own trauma, shuddered.
Danny picked up Tim and swung him onto his shoulders. âCâmon, Timmy. Letâs get out of here before Jazz gives us germs.â
âOh, thatâs real rich coming from the greasiest vigilante this side of the river.â
âNot true! Green Arrowâs greasier!â
âEh, he doesnât count. Heâs in Oregon or something, right?â
âWho cares? I wanna see Robin!â Tim wriggled, placing his heavy ass camera on Dannyâs head. âHeâs a new Robin! The first one moved to BlĂŒdhaven!â
âTo be a cop, right?â Danny asked.
âYeah. Itâs⊠not great. And kinda ironic.â
âACAB.â
ââ
Batman snuck closer to the glowing green figure that was glancing around the rooftops. Heâs glad he sent Robin home hours ago, because variables in Gotham tended to be dangerous.
He dropped to a crouch behind the figure, who turned around as soon as he did, looking unsurprised. The being had enhanced hearing then, if not enhanced everything else.
âThere you are!â The being scowled at him, but Bruce couldnât detect any actual hostility. Only weariness. âIâve been looking for you for ages.â
Nevertheless, he hadnât survived this long by being careless.
âWhat is your business in Gotham?â He deepened his voice, adding enough gravel to sound mildly threatening.
The being shook their head, white hair unnaturally waving in the air. Like it was under water.
âI live here. I have a bone to pick with you.â Batman loosened his stance, readying to move.
âCan you keep Robin in on school nights?! If you canât, canât you make him go home sooner? My kid brother keeps trying to sneak out of the house to imitate Robin and itâs killing me! Do you know how many times Iâve had to stop him from climbing out of the window? We live on the third floor, man!â
A frazzled older brother. Batman-Bruce grimaced. He couldnât stop Jason anymore than this being could. Also, âYou live here?â
The being scowled, looking defensive. âWhy, I canât? Are you being discriminatory? Because I refuse to take shit from a grown man in a bat-sona.â
ââŠA bat-what?â
The being sighed. âNevermind. Yes. I live here. My name is Phantom.â
âDonât cause any trouble.â Batman warned before hesitating. The being was young, that was clear. He kind of reminded Bruce of Dick, and it made Batmanâs tone soften. âAnd I will try. Robin is resolute.â
Phantom dropped his glowing face into his hands, a move Bruce often wanted to mirror.
âYeah, tell me about it.â
ââ
Sorry guys I really like tired babysitter brother Danny and unnecessarily jumping out of windows Tim. This is before Tim decided to be a vigilante. This is after Dick moves out.
#batman#danny phantom#dcxdp#tim drake#bruce wayne#dc x dp#green arrow slander#for Roy!#but also Tim green arrow copied Batman just a lil#his respect for Ollie went down after Ollieâs less successful playboy billionaire act
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