#not that i would have budged before but still

[kiame-sama]

The amount of fist fights / guilt trips / theft among the romantic yanderes family would have over the HAE! Darling hybrids childrens gifts, or any of their possessions is ridiculous. Like I can see Falena trying to coerce Cheka/ his wife into handing over a drawing one of the twins made only to pout when they won't budge. He may have even tried with one of the lioness guards who promptly checked him 😌. Rook's family would definitely just sneak in to get the driderlings baby teeth, and not have an ounce of shame if caught by him or Vil 😭. I wouldn't put it pass our beloved sassy shinigami king to swipe clay monstrosities his hybrid descendant made from someone else in the family and pulling the "ancestor privileges"/ "I'm one of the great seven I've earned this" card to defend himself. 🤣 I'm curious to see your take on them and the other boys families in this scenario. 🌻 anon

The family of the Romantically intentioned Yanderes are always fighting over the half-human young and the Human themselves.

Falena is constantly trying to take the twin cubs out for a day with "Uncle" but has yet to succeed because that means he has to contest with the Lionesses and with his own wife. Meanwhile, his Wife is happily watching over the twin cubs and Cheka is trying to be the best older cousin he can be to the little cubs. Any drawings made by the cubs will be evenly distributed among the Lionesses, lord help anyone who tries to take those drawings away. Leona, Falena, Checka, and Falena's Wife Serabinii all have lockets with a small clipping of the twin cubs' fur inside so they can keep the cubs close to their hearts.

Rook's family is shameless and will often try to take the baby fangs and baby teeth of the Driderlings after they shed them. They will only act shameful is if it is the Human who catches them acting like this, but if it is Rook (or Vil if in a poly relationship) they don't care in the slightest and have zero shame. More often than not, his siblings or his parents (ESPECIALLY Rook's parents) will abscond with one of the 7 Driderlings any time they visit and Rook has to go retrieve them from his family. Where it had been only a handful of family would show up for the holidays or celebrations before the Driderlings, now the ENTIRE family shows up to see the Driderlings. It has become a whole production to see the new family members and The Hunts have never been closer.

Kalim's father is OBSESSED with the new Genie infant and is thrilled that they took so well to the Diamond Lamp. A Genie can only be killed if their lamp is destroyed, so a Diamond Lamp means the new Genie infant may as well be immortal against most other species. Most Genies have quite a bit of magic when they are born, Kalim having the most promising magic from birth (even though he is almost always deadly when making wishes) but the new infant is even stronger than Kalim was as a baby. His hair and nails are equally colorful (with his nails being chips of diamond due to his bond with his Diamond Lamp, like how Kalim's nails are literal gold due to his bond with his golden lamp) and trimmings of the Infant's hair or nails are also high value items that others would kill for.

Papa Hades is so proud and so overjoyed one would think it was HIS infant and not Idia's. He is constantly hovering and wanting to carry the little Shinigami infant at all times, almost all negative effects of his Human-born addiction relieved due to holding the little half-human. Funny thing is, the baby likes Papa Hades more than Idia, but the Human is still the infant's preferred caretaker. As one of the favorites, the Half-Shinigami infant makes all the things for Papa Hades and Papa Hades refuses to share any of these crafted monstrosities.

Vil's Father Eric is absolutely adoring of his little grand-chicks, loving their little fluffy feathers and taking care of these raw-chicken looking hatchlings. He will often be found singing lullabies to the chicks and sleeping by their little cradle-nest with a smile on his face. He is so proud of his son Vil and of these little puff-ball chicks that he will often make soft cooing noises when around them and has already made a photo album of the chicks. Any 'threat' (anyone who isn't Vil, Grim, or the Human) trying to mess with the chicks will have to face off with a furious Eric who will not hesitate to attack and brutalize the interlopers with his talons. 100% has a "World's best Grandpa" mug and will often take the chicks out to the park for a bit of sunshine.

Riddle's mother will try to get back into Riddle's life once she realizes he has had a foal with the Human. Riddle will not hesitate to send her packing or even kill her if she tries to take his Foal by force. Riddle's father is actually the parent Riddle allows in to see his Foal and it helps mend the gap between them made by Riddle's mother. The Clovers- Trey's parents- are the stand in grandparents for Riddle's foal and they adore the Unicorn Foal with all of their hearts.

Malefica and Maleficent are as proud as can be as they adore and nuzzle the Dragon hatchlings. Any shed scales will be kept and split four ways evenly among the three Dragons and the Human. The scales are brightly colored and more valuable than gemstones, so of course the Dragons want to immediately add them to their Hoards. Even the little baby fangs will be added to their respective Hoards. Both female Dragons will have already started individual item hoards for the infants of gemstones that match their scale colors, magestones that match the scale colors, fine cloth, quality metals, and anything else the Hatchlings show interest in. Of the shed baby scales, Maleficent makes four necklaces using the scales as pendants. She keeps one, so she always has the clutch close to her heart, and she give the other three to Malleus, Malefica, and the Human.

Azul's parents adore and spoil the daylights out of the Octo-babies and will buy specially made sea-glass octopus pots for the babies. Not to mention the fact that his parents will brag to EVERYONE that they have beautiful children that inherited so much of the Human's features that they are the beauty of all Merfolk. There are several aquatic Kingdoms/Queendoms that are looking to have the Octo-babies marry into the royal family.

[jhyoos]

Off Limits

chapter two : maybe this time

soccer player vi x talis reader

mentions: player vi, besti ekko, romance, lesbianism, modern au, college au, drama, abby tou, ellie tlou, (they’re coming i promise) cheerleader reader, mention of sex, pierced reader, caitlyn being a bitch

notes: grab some snacks yall

The next morning, as you stood in front of your mirror getting ready, you ignored Jayce completely. He had tried apologizing more times than you could count—knocking on your door, lingering outside your room, calling your name softly—but you refused to acknowledge him. Even when he sighed in frustration, muttering something under his breath as he walked away, you didn’t budge.

Once dressed, you headed downstairs, the scent of warm butter and sizzling eggs greeting you as you stepped into the kitchen. Your mom stood at the stove, her hair still slightly damp from a shower, humming softly as she flipped pancakes. You hadn’t seen her in a while—she had been away on a business trip in L.A., and part of you had missed her presence.

She turned to you with a warm smile as you sat at the island, watching her cook.

“How was your first day of school, mi corazón?” she asked, carefully plating food.

“It was good, Mom,” you replied, picking at your nails absentmindedly.

She gave you a knowing look. “Did you make any new friends?”

You shrugged. “Mmm, not really,” you admitted. “I did see Ekko, though. And his little girlfriend, Jinx. She’s really sweet and pretty.”

Your mom’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there.” She placed a plate in front of you, the smell of eggs and toast making your stomach grumble. “What about that cheer tryout video? Did you get accepted?”

You sighed, stabbing at a piece of scrambled egg with your fork. “Don’t know yet. They haven’t said anything.”

She reached over and squeezed your hand. “You’ll get it. I believe in you.” She pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back and grabbing a set of keys from the drawer. She placed them on the counter in front of you.

“The car’s parked outside, right in front. It’s new,” she said. “Just don’t forget to wash the dishes before you leave.”

You nodded, still chewing your food.

She gave you one last smile. “Have a good day, sweetheart.” Then, with the jingle of keys and the soft click of the door, she was gone.

Just as you were finishing your breakfast, Jayce came downstairs, already dressed with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He barely spared you a glance as he headed for the door.

“If you’re coming with me, let’s go,” he announced flatly.

You didn’t reply, only reached over and jingled the car keys your mom had left for you. He rolled his eyes before walking out of the apartment without another word.

Once you were done eating, you cleaned up the dishes like your mom had asked, grabbed your bag, and made your way to campus.

The day had been going surprisingly well. Classes were straightforward, and during your break, you decided to head to the library, taking advantage of the quiet space to get ahead on your studies. You sat at a desk tucked in the corner, your laptop open, completely focused on the screen as you typed out notes.

You barely noticed when someone sat down across from you. Assuming it was just another student there to study, you ignored them. That was until your laptop was abruptly shut, you moved your hands away just in time.

Your gaze snapped up, and there she was—Vi, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, an unreadable expression on her face.

Before you could even react, she spoke first. “Where did you go after the party? I was looking for you.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Liar,” you scoffed. “You were too busy exchanging saliva with some other girl.” You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. “And on top of that, you didn’t even do the one thing you said you would—distract Jayce. He caught me.”

Vi sighed, shaking her head. “That’s why you haven’t been answering my texts?” She tilted her head, smirking. “Did you actually think this was something?” She let out a short chuckle. “I just wanted a good fuck, baby.”

Your jaw clenched. “I know this might sound surprising, but so did I.” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “But it’s kinda a turn off when the girl you show up with is kissing someone else before the night’s even over.”

Vi’s smirk faltered slightly, but you didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, you reopened your laptop, the screen blocking her from your view.

“Have a good fucking day, Violet,” you muttered before refocusing on your work.

Vi hesitated for a moment, as if considering saying something else, but then you heard her scoff softly before standing up and walking away.

After your last class, you made your way home, already hearing the pounding bass of loud music as you approached the door. You sighed, knowing it was most likely Jayce and his friends, which meant the apartment was about to be a chaotic mess.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you flipped through the mail in your hands, tossing most of it onto the small table by the door like you always did. But one envelope caught your eye—the school’s logo printed neatly in the corner. Your breath hitched as you flipped it over, fingers tightening around the edges.

This was it. The results from your cheer tryout.

Cheer had been your passion since middle school, something you threw yourself into completely—until your senior year, when your dad died. You knew you couldn’t keep up with the demanding schedule, so you let it go. But after moving back home, your mom had encouraged you to give it another shot, and you did. You needed something to keep yourself busy, something to feel like you again.

You walked into the living room, distracted as you worked to tear the envelope open. Your bag slid off your shoulder, landing in its usual spot beneath the coffee table. Just as you finally got the letter free, something small and crunchy smacked you right in the forehead.

“The hell?” you muttered, glancing up.

“You’re blocking the TV, dude,” Jayce said flatly, a controller in his hand.

You rolled your eyes but froze when you noticed who was sitting beside him. Vi.

Your stomach twisted as you quickly took in the rest of his friend group—mostly butches and one twink. You looked back at Jayce before stepping aside, muttering under your breath as you finally unfolded the letter.

“Don’t you guys have better shit to do? Like study or—” Your voice cut off abruptly.

Your eyes scanned over the words again just to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

Congratulations, you have been selected as a member of the Arcane Lions Cheer Team.

Your hands trembled slightly as the realization settled in.

“Jayce, read this,” you said, shoving the letter toward him.

He paused the game, ignoring Vi’s groan of protest, and took the paper from you, standing up. His eyes darted across the page, and soon, a wide grin spread across his face.

“Congrats, sis. You’re a Lion,” he said, clapping you on the back.

You smirked. “I’ve been a Lion, dumbass. But thanks.”

Snatching the paper back, you pulled out your phone. “I’m gonna take a pic and send it to Mom.”

Jayce held onto the letter for just a second longer, teasing you before finally letting it go.

From the couch, Vi leaned back, stretching her arms over her head as she smirked. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you at all the functions,” she teased. “Thank god cheerleaders don’t cheer for the soccer team.”

You scoffed. “I don’t wanna be around you.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed straight upstairs, ignoring the way Vi’s smirk faltered just slightly as you disappeared down the hall, over hearing their conversation.

“Damn Vi i never seen you fumble so hard”

“I taught my sister well.”

Your first day of cheer practice was absolute hell.

The sun beat down mercilessly as you and the rest of the squad ran suicides up and down the football stadium bleachers. Your legs burned, your lungs screamed, and the insane body workouts that followed only made things worse. Every squat, push-up, and burpee felt like a personal attack. But the real kicker? The person barking orders at you all, making sure you pushed past your limits, was her.

The blue-haired girl from the bonfire. The one Vi had kissed.

And, of course, she just had to be the cheer captain.

You clenched your jaw and kept your head down, forcing yourself through every miserable rep. You weren’t about to let Caitlyn see you struggle. She was already making you work twice as hard as the others, calling you out whenever your form faltered, ensuring you knew exactly who was in charge.

By the time practice finally ended, you felt like you had been hit by a truck. You wiped sweat from your brow, chugging water like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Just when you thought you were free to leave, the team was ushered into the locker room to get measured for uniforms.

You were exhausted, body sore, and the last thing you wanted was to stand around half-dressed while someone took your measurements. But you endured it, standing in line as tape measures wrapped around your waist, bust, and hips, trying not to think about how much you hated being scrutinized like this.

Just as you were about to grab your bag and head out, Caitlyn stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“You’re Jayce Talis’ little sister, right?” she asked, her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours.

You forced a polite, fake smile and nodded. “Yep. That’s me.”

Her gaze flickered over you, eyes dragging from your face down to your torso like she was assessing your worth. “I expect the best out of you since you’re the sibling of a top athlete here.”

Before you could respond, she reached out and grabbed the waistband of your shorts, tugging them slightly to peek inside.

Your body tensed, a flash of discomfort shooting up your spine.

“You’re gonna have to take that belly ring out during games,” Caitlyn remarked, her tone casual, like she wasn’t just invading your space. Then, she tilted her head, smirking. “What else do you have pierced?”

You hesitated for a second, shifting uncomfortably before mumbling, “Um… my nipples.”

Caitlyn hummed. “Figures.” She finally let go of your shorts, stepping back. The movement of the shorts snapping back onto your body hit your belly ring which made you hiss from the sudden pain. “Nothing some boob tape won’t hide, I guess.”

You exhaled, hoping that was the end of it, but then she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.

“Oh, and I’ve heard about you… from Vi,” she said, her smile saccharine but her eyes sharp. “Stay away from her, or I’ll make your experience here a living hell. Okay?”

She patted your shoulder mockingly before turning on her heel and walking away like she hadn’t just threatened you with a sweet smile on her face.

You stood there for a moment, fists clenched at your sides.

What the fuck had you just gotten yourself into?

The warm water had washed away the grime of practice, but not the lingering frustration in your chest. Your muscles ached from the brutal workout Caitlyn had put you through, and the last thing you wanted was to deal with any more bullshit.

You stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels provided and wrapping it around yourself. The locker room was mostly empty now, just the faint sound of water dripping from the showerheads and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You dried yourself off quickly, rubbing the towel over your arms and legs before slipping on your underwear.

As you reached behind your back, struggling to clasp your bra, the locker room door swung open. The sound of laughter and footsteps echoed off the tiled walls.

You glanced up in the mirror.

Vi.

And, of course, she wasn’t alone. A handful of girls from the soccer team trailed in behind her, still riding the high of their practice. They were loud, chatting and joking amongst themselves, but Vi’s attention was locked onto you.

Her gaze swept over you in an obvious once-over, a slow smirk pulling at her lips.

“Damn, Talis,” she drawled, leaning against a row of lockers, arms crossed over her chest. “You got a nice body.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to snap at her. Instead, you focused on finally securing the stupid clasp of your bra, your fingers fumbling slightly in irritation.

Vi didn’t seem to care that you were ignoring her. If anything, it just encouraged her.

She tilted her head, eyes lingering a little too long. “Is that a belly ring?” Her smirk widened. “That’s hot.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, grabbing your sweatpants and stepping into them.

“Vi, I don’t have time for you and your bullshit,” you muttered, pulling them up your legs and tightening the drawstring.

Vi just chuckled, like your attitude amused her. Like you weren’t still pissed off at her from the bonfire.

You refused to let her get under your skin. You refused to let her think she could flirt her way back into your good graces.

Not this time.

Vi stepped closer, her presence looming just as you pulled your cropped black shirt over your head, the fabric hugging your body snugly. The heat of her proximity made your skin prickle, but you kept your focus on adjusting your sleeves, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted.

“What are you doing later tonight?” Vi asked, her voice smooth, almost casual, like she hadn’t just put you through hell the past 24 hours.

“Homework,” you replied flatly, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder.

Vi didn’t take the hint. “How about I see you tonight?” she offered, her tone dropping into something more suggestive. “Your brother isn’t gonna be home, which is perfect.”

You finally turned to her, eyes narrowing in disgust. Did she really think she could just waltz in here and pretend like nothing had happened?

You scoffed. “Why don’t you ask your little girlfriend that was threatening me this morning?” you said, tilting your head. “You know, the blue-haired girl… cheer captain?”

Vi shrugged, that cocky smirk still plastered on her face. Like none of this mattered. Like you were just another game to her.

That was it.

You stepped closer, meeting her gaze with unwavering intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight, Vi, okay?” you said, voice cold. “I’m not your little plaything. I don’t have low standards for someone like you.”

Her smirk twitched, but she stayed silent.

“You kissed another girl while you were with me—God knows what else you did—and you expect me to run into your arms?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Get the fuck over yourself and get your head out of your ass. I don’t want you. So stop bothering me.”

Before she could respond, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the locker room, leaving her standing there, speechless for once.

After finishing your classes for the day, you made a quick stop at Dutch Bros, treating yourself to an iced coffee before heading home. The caffeine was much needed after the grueling cheer practice and the long lectures.

When you stepped into the apartment, the smell of food immediately hit you. Jayce was in the kitchen, standing by the counter, focused on making himself a sandwich. His broad frame blocked most of the counter, but you could see the neatly stacked ingredients—deli meat, cheese, lettuce—laid out beside him.

“Oooh, make me one, please,” you asked, setting your drink down on the island.

Jayce glanced up at you briefly before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Thank you, housewife.”

Jayce rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, just continued assembling your sandwich like the “good” big brother he was.

As you leaned against the counter, sipping your coffee, he spoke up. “Are you gonna come to the soccer game tonight?”

You sighed, already knowing there was no escaping it. “Yeah. I have no choice—Jinx is driving.”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, she’s just like her sister. She doesn’t let up.”

That caught your attention. You furrowed your brows, setting your coffee down. “Who’s her sister?”

“Vi,” Jayce answered plainly, as if it were common knowledge.

Your eyebrow shot up instinctively. You let that piece of information sink in for a moment before scoffing. “Honestly… not even surprised.”

Jayce smirked as he slid the plate with your sandwich across the counter.

Then, after a pause, he hesitated before speaking. “Are you still mad at me about the party?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then go ahead and lash out on me.”

You set your sandwich down and stared at him, your jaw tightening. “If you yell at me and degrade me the way you did at the party, I will cut your dick off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll be coughing it up,” you said, voice calm but laced with venom.

Jayce winced but didn’t interrupt.

“You know how I feel about people accusing me of relapsing,” you continued, your grip on the plate tightening. “And I especially hate it when you or Mom do it. A stupid Cayman Jack isn’t gonna make me relapse. I’m not that fucking weak.”

Jayce sighed, his expression shifting to guilt. “Right. I apologize.”

You exhaled slowly, picking your sandwich back up. “You’re forgiven.”

Jayce glanced at his phone, checking the time before grabbing his sandwich. “I gotta go—meeting with the coach before the game,” he said, taking one last bite before leaning down to kiss your cheek.

You hummed in acknowledgment, still focused on your food as he made his way to the door.

Just as he pulled it open, he nearly ran into Jinx, who had her hand raised as if she were about to knock. The two of them froze, staring at each other in mutual awkwardness before Jayce finally stepped aside, allowing her in. Without another word, he closed the door behind her and left.

Jinx turned toward you with a playful grin. “Hello, (Y/N),” she greeted, plopping onto the stool beside you.

You glanced at her, swallowing the last bite you took before returning the smile. “Why are you here so early?”

“I wanted to get food first, but clearly you have that figured out,” Jinx teased, eyeing your sandwich.

Your chewing slowed as you glanced down at your plate, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about eating in front of her. You placed the sandwich down with exaggerated slowness, making her snicker.

“I’m still hungry, though,” you admitted. “Let me change, and then we can go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jinx said with a mock salute, watching as you rolled your eyes and dashed up the stairs.

The game started, and within minutes, you understood why the entire school had shown up. Your team wasn’t just good—they were insanely talented. Jayce commanded the field with pinpoint passes, Ekko’s footwork and kicks were pure finesse, and Vi? She was everywhere. Aggressive, quick, and completely in control, she weaved through the opposing team like she was made for this. Together, the three of them were an unstoppable force, dominating the game like a well-oiled machine.

You and Jinx cheered every time they scored, and the entire bleacher section erupted with each goal. The energy was electric, and even though you weren’t exactly a sports fan, you couldn’t deny how exciting it was to watch them play.

When the game ended in an easy victory, the stands emptied out, but the buzz didn’t die. Whispers spread quickly—there was a party tonight. Caitlyn Kiramman’s house.

Jinx nudged you with her elbow. “You coming?”

You scoffed. “Absolutely not. But you should go—with Ekko.”

She rolled her eyes, but you didn’t miss the way her lips curled into a barely-there smile.

As the two of you waited near the locker room gate, the team finally emerged, still high off their win. Ekko spotted Jinx immediately and wasted no time slinging an arm around her, pulling her into a hug. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them.

But before you could comment, a weight settled around your shoulders. You stiffened, turning your head to find Vi standing there, her arm lazily draped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your jaw tightened. “Was me telling you off in that locker room not enough?”

Vi gave you an easy grin. “We can’t be friends?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine.” You let her arm stay there—until her hand drifted lower, groping your chest.

You scoffed, shoving her off. “What the fuck?!”

Vi held up her hands in mock innocence, her smirk unrepentant. “I had to. They were sitting so perfectly.”

Your glare could’ve set her on fire. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”

Vi only laughed, grabbing your pointing finger and giving it a playful squeeze. “Walk with me. Please.”

You stared at her for a long moment before exhaling sharply. “…Fine.”

She wasted no time grabbing your hand, leading you away from the crowd toward a more secluded spot behind the bleachers.

“I wanna try again,” she said once you were alone.

You narrowed your eyes. “Try what again?”

“Taking you out.”

You snorted. “Be for real.”

“I am serious,” Vi insisted. “We can try again at the pool party tonight.”

You blinked at her. “Caitlyn Kiramman’s house? The cheer captain? You want me dead, don’t you?”

“I talked to Caitlyn,” Vi said smoothly. “Told her we aren’t gonna see each other anymore. She’s cool with it. And…I told her to leave you alone.”

You eyed her skeptically. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

Vi shrugged. “Believe what you want. But I handled it.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “…What about Jayce?”

“He’ll be too busy with Mel,” she said easily. “They’ve got a date tonight. He said he’s ‘gonna get lucky’ or whatever, so he’s definitely not gonna be there.”

You hesitated, mulling it over. “…Alright. But I swear to God, Vi, if you embarrass me, I will never let you live it down.”

“Fine,I promise,” she said with a chuckle. Then, before you could react, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

You barely had time to process the warmth before she pulled away, grinning. “I’ll pick you up at 8. Have a swimsuit on.”

And with that, she walked off, leaving you standing there—flustered and way more interested in this party than you’d ever planned to be.

taglist <3: @mommymilkers0526 @rhian88 @wrappedinvines @nanajustnana-a @prettybunnyscorner @s7nburn @ghutzz4gutz @pornoangelz @veladeangl @chaengluva @hauntedbydreams @taurtel @lorasdolly @catvi6luvr @savedforlaterr @eggphobic @alex-thegiraffeboyy @artfairyyyyy @jordynhartley2001 @ellieslefttit @h0n3yf0rlif3 @rizzscary @bjjeweledx @cherrybomb2298 @brooks-lin @vintagekarma @ags-artnstuff @axolotl-arsonist @mingitheii @baylegend6 @kiiramiz @lez-zuha @jupitism

[bluebvrry]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PROMISE ⋆

Synopsis -> all those waiting for 5 years in vain. Hearing her name doesn’t make you go all fluterry and flustered anymore, instead it makes you growl in hatred

Pairing -> non-idol!giselle x non-idol!f!reader

Genre -> angst, lovers to strangers (?)

Warnings -> angst,3.6k WC, Karina is being mentioned, yelling, Karina is just a sweet caring boss, hurt hurt hurt, lmk if I missed anything that wasn’t mentioned

A/N -> boomshakala another angst 🤓 wanted to post this story before I start the first chapter of the series, ALSOOOOO if you want a continuation please lmk or if you have continuation ideas lmk🥹, was lit listening to “slow dancing in the dark” by Joji and it would lowk go well with this imagine buh I got that planned for another one 😌😉

You stared blankly at the small, velvet box on your dresser, the engagement ring Aeri had given you before she left gleaming in the dim light of your room. It had been months since she'd departed, leaving you with a promise to return and a heart full of longing.

You remembered the day she left like it was yesterday. You had stood in the airport, clinging to each other as tears streamed down your faces. Aeri had whispered promises in your ear, vows to return to you as soon as she could. And you had sworn to wait for her, to never leave her side once she came back.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that had settled in your chest. You had tried to stay busy, to distract yourself from the ache of Aeri's absence, but nothing seemed to fill the void.

You opened the box, running your thumb over the intricate design of the ring. It was a symbol of Aeri's love for you, a promise of the future you were meant to share. But as you gazed at the ring, you couldn't help but wonder if that future was still within reach.

The years had dragged on, each one a painful reminder of Aeri's absence. Your friends had tried to intervene, setting you up on blind dates and attempting to coax you back into the world of the living. But you had refused to budge, your heart still stubbornly holding onto the hope that Aeri would one day return to you.

Your parents had grown tired of your moping, their patience wearing thin as the months turned into years. They had urged you to move on, to find someone new and leave the past behind. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. The thought of loving someone else, of replacing Aeri in your heart, was unthinkable.

So, in a desperate bid to escape the suffocating weight of your hometown's expectations, you had made the decision to leave. You packed up your belongings and moved to a new city, one where no one knew your name or your story. It was a fresh start, a chance to begin anew and leave the pain of your past behind.

But as you stood in your new apartment, surrounded by unfamiliar walls and the echoes of silence, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were still waiting. Waiting for Aeri, waiting for the day when she would finally return to you. And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you wondered if you would ever be able to move on.

As you settled into your new life, you were determined to start fresh and leave your past heartaches behind. Getting a job was the first step, and you were thrilled to land a position as a secretary for the CEO of a large and prestigious company. Your new boss, Ms. Yu, was everything you had hoped for and more. She was kind, compassionate, and genuinely cared about the well-being of her employees.

From the moment you started working for Ms. Yu, you were struck by her warm and approachable demeanor. She took a genuine interest in getting to know you, asking about your background and your goals. She made sure you felt welcome and supported, and you found yourself looking forward to coming to work each day.

As you worked alongside Ms. Yu, you began to notice the way she interacted with the other employees. She was always available to listen, offering words of encouragement and guidance whenever needed. She fostered a sense of community and camaraderie within the office, making everyone feel valued and appreciated.

Despite the demands of her high-powered position, Ms. Yu remained humble and kind, never once making you feel intimidated or afraid to approach her. You found yourself feeling grateful to work for someone like her, and you couldn't help but wonder what her story was. What had shaped her into the compassionate and empathetic leader she was today?

You nodded attentively as Ms. Yu briefed you on the meeting, taking mental notes of the details. You had worked with her on numerous occasions, but this meeting seemed particularly significant. The fact that she needed you by her side suggested that the stakes were high, and you were determined to provide her with the support she needed.

As you arrived at the five-star restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. The opulent decor and impeccable service were a testament to the establishment's luxurious reputation. You smoothed out your dress, making sure you looked professional and composed, before following Ms. Yu to the private dining room where the meeting was to take place.

You stood beside Ms. Yu, sipping your glass of water as you waited for the important client to arrive. The private dining room was elegantly decorated, with soft music playing in the background. You checked your watch for what felt like the hundredth time, wondering when the client would show up.

Just as you were starting to get impatient, the door swung open and a figure stepped inside. Your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with the person, a face you never thought you'd see again. Your mind went blank, and you felt like you'd been punched in the gut.

The person's eyes met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You could feel the air thickening with tension, and your heart racing with anticipation. And then, your gaze drifted to the person standing beside them, and your world came crashing down...

You felt like you'd been hit by a ton of bricks. Mrs. Uchinaga? Married? The words echoed in your mind, refusing to sink in. You couldn't believe that the Aeri you once knew, the Aeri you had given your heart to, was now standing in front of you, married to someone else.

You tried to maintain a professional demeanor, but it was a struggle. Your eyes kept drifting back to Aeri, taking in the subtle changes in her appearance. She looked older, wiser, and yet, her eyes still sparkled with the same mischievous glint you remembered.

The woman beside her, her wife, seemed kind and gentle, with a warm smile that put you at ease. But you couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy, of resentment, towards this stranger who had taken Aeri's heart.

As Ms. Yu began to discuss the details of the meeting, you found yourself zoning out, your mind consumed by thoughts of Aeri and what could have been. You felt like you were stuck in a nightmare, unable to wake up from the pain and heartache that threatened to overwhelm you.

As the meeting drew to a close, you couldn't help but feel like you were in a daze. You had barely spoken a word, content to let Ms. Yu handle the negotiations while you struggled to process your emotions. Aeri's presence had thrown you off balance, and you couldn't understand why you were still feeling this way after all these years.

You caught Aeri's eye once, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw a glimmer of recognition, of understanding. It was as if she knew exactly what you were thinking, exactly how you were feeling. And then, just as quickly, the moment was gone, leaving you wondering if you had imagined it altogether.

But you didn't imagine the look of guilt and regret that crossed Aeri's face. It was a fleeting expression, one that she quickly masked with a neutral smile. But you saw it, and it left you feeling even more confused and unsettled. What did it mean? Was Aeri regretting her decision to leave you all those years ago? And if so, why was she here now, married to someone else?

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as Ms. Yu's hand rested on yours. It was a gentle, comforting gesture, but it caught you off guard. You nodded hastily, trying to play it cool, and assured her that everything was fine.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Ms. Yu asked, her voice low and concerned. She leaned in closer, her eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

You nodded again, trying to reassure her. "Yeah, everything's fine, Ms. Yu. Just a bit...distracted, that's all."

Ms. Yu's expression softened, and she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "If anything's bugging you, I'm right here, okay? You can always talk to me."

You smiled weakly, feeling a bit flustered by her concern. "Thanks, Ms. Yu. I appreciate it."

Ms. Yu's hand lingered on yours for a moment before she turned her attention back to Aeri and her wife. You took a deep breath and tried to compose yourself, but your mind was still reeling from the shock of seeing Aeri again.

As the meeting drew to a close, Aeri's wife stood up, smiling politely. "It was lovely meeting you, Ms. Yu. And...Y/N," she added, her eyes flicking to you with a hint of curiosity.

Aeri stood up as well, her eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment. You felt a jolt of electricity run through your body, and you quickly looked away, trying to break the spell.

Ms. Yu smiled warmly, standing up to shake hands with Aeri's wife. "The pleasure was mine. I'll have my assistant send over the contract details by the end of the day."

As the two women exchanged pleasantries, you couldn't help but steal glances at Aeri. She seemed...different, somehow. More poised, more confident. But there was still something in her eyes, something that hinted at a deeper emotion.

You felt a pang of curiosity, wondering what had brought Aeri to this point. What had she been doing all these years? And what was the story behind her marriage to this woman?

As the meeting drew to a close, Aeri's eyes locked onto yours, and she spoke up, her voice low and husky. "Y/N, I'd like to talk to you privately."

The word "privately" was emphasized, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. Ms. Yu looked at you hesitantly, seeming to weigh her options. After a moment, she nodded. "Alright, I'll wait for you in the car. Take your time."

You nodded, feeling a sense of trepidation. What did Aeri want to talk to you about? You stood up, smoothing out your dress, and followed Aeri out of the private dining room.

She led you to a more secluded area outside of the restaurant, a small garden surrounded by tall trees and vibrant flowers. The sound of gentle chirping and soft rustling of leaves filled the air, creating a sense of tranquility.

Aeri stopped in front of a small fountain, her back to you. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. You felt a pang of curiosity, wondering what was going through her mind.

"Aeri?" you said softly, breaking the silence.

She turned around, her eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you just stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

"I'm sorry," Aeri said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry for what happened between us."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked at her. You had waited so long to hear those words, to hear her acknowledge the pain she had caused you.

"Why did you leave?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

Aeri took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving yours. "I was scared, Y/N. I was scared of my feelings, of what they meant. I didn't know how to process them, how to deal with them. So I ran."

You felt a pang of sadness, of regret. You had loved her so much, and she had thrown it all away.

"Why are you married?" you asked, the question tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop it.

Aeri's eyes dropped, and she took a deep breath before answering. "I thought it was what I wanted, what I needed. But the truth is, Y/N, I've never stopped loving you. I've never stopped thinking about you."

You felt like you'd been punched in the gut. Aeri still loved you? But what about her wife? What about the life she had built without you?

You felt a surge of anger and hurt as you confronted Aeri. "So all those years of waiting were for nothing?" you asked, your voice rising in indignation. "Five years of my life, wasted on waiting for you, and it was all for nothing?"

Aeri tried to interrupt, but you cut her off, your emotions pouring out of you like a dam breaking. "Y/N, please—"

"No, Aeri, you listen to me!" you exclaimed, your voice growing louder. "Do you have any idea how long you've made me wait? Thinking that you'd come back to me, that you'd make good on your promises? My friends tried to set me up on blind dates, but I refused, because I was holding out for you. My parents scolded me for moping around the house, telling me to move on, but I said no, I'm waiting for Aeri. And all this time, you were out here living your life with someone else?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you thought about all the years you'd wasted, all the opportunities you'd missed, all because of Aeri's broken promises. "I moved out of my hometown because the stares of pity were too much to bear," you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. "I couldn't take the constant reminders of what I'd lost, of what you'd taken from me. And now, you're standing here, telling me that you still love me? After all these years? After everything you've put me through?"

Aeri's face went pale, and she took a step back, as if she'd been physically struck. She knew she was wrong, that she'd hurt you deeply, and that there was no excuse for her behavior. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She just stood there, frozen in silence, as you poured out your heart to her.

The sound of your own voice, loud and angry, was like a slap in the face, shocking you out of your emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but your heart was still racing, your mind still reeling with the implications of Aeri's words.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aeri spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. "Y/N, I...I don't know what to say. I was wrong to leave you like that, to make you wait for so long. I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you."

You looked at her, searching for answers, but all you saw was regret and sorrow etched on her face. You didn't know what to say, either. A part of you wanted to forgive her, to take her back, but another part of you was screaming to run away, to leave her and her broken promises behind.

You stood there, your face buried in your palms, as the weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You had forgiven Aeri, but the pain and hurt she had caused you still lingered, a constant reminder of what could never be forgotten.

"I've forgiven you," you murmured, your voice barely audible. "But it's not something I can forget that easily."

Aeri took a step closer, her eyes filled with a deep sadness, but you immediately backed away, your hands still covering your face. You couldn't bear the thought of her touching you, of her trying to comfort you. It was too much, too soon.

You slowly lowered your hands, your eyes locking onto Aeri's face. You stared at her, your expression almost expressionless, as if you were trying to mask the turmoil that was brewing inside you.

"I need to go," you said finally, your voice firm but quiet.

Aeri nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "Okay," she said softly. "I understand."

You turned and walked away, leaving Aeri standing alone in the garden. You could feel her eyes on you, watching you, but you didn't look back. You couldn't.

As you walked towards the parking lot, you could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You had thought that confronting Aeri would bring you closure, but now you realized that it had only opened up old wounds.

You spotted Ms. Yu's car in the distance and quickened your pace, eager to escape the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm you. As you reached the car, Ms. Yu looked up at you with concern etched on her face.

"Y/N, are you okay?" she asked softly.

You nodded, trying to compose yourself. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lied.

Ms. Yu looked at you skeptically, but she didn't push the issue. Instead, she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Aeri and the past behind.

As you sat in the car, staring out the window, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Would you be able to move on from Aeri, or would the memories of what could have been continue to haunt you? Only time would tell.

As you sat in the car, your mind began to wander, replaying the previous encounter with Aeri over and over again. You were oblivious to Ms. Yu's concerned gaze, too caught up in your own thoughts to notice her watching you.

The car ride seemed to pass in a blur, with you zoning out and losing all sense of time. You didn't even notice when the car pulled up to your front door, it wasn't until Ms. Yu spoke up that you snapped back to reality.

"We're here," she said softly, her voice gentle.

You looked up, feeling a bit disoriented, and saw that you were indeed parked outside your apartment building. You thanked Ms. Yu, feeling a bit embarrassed for zoning out on her, and stepped out of the car.

As you walked into your apartment, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. You were finally alone, free to process your thoughts and emotions without anyone watching. You freshened up, washing your face and changing into something comfortable, before collapsing onto your bed.

You plugged in your headphones and put on some music, letting the familiar melodies wash over you. You stared up at the ceiling, feeling a sense of numbness wash over you.

As the music played on, you found yourself getting lost in thought. You couldn't stop thinking about Aeri, about the way she had looked at you, about the things she had said. You couldn't help but wonder what could have been, what would have happened if she had stayed.

The music seemed to fade into the background as your thoughts consumed you. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of emotions, unable to escape the tidal wave of feelings that threatened to overwhelm you.

As the hours passed, you remained frozen in place, lost in your own thoughts and emotions. The music played on, a constant companion in your solitude, but you barely even noticed it. You were too caught up in your own world, too lost in the memories of what could have been.

As the hours passed, you slowly began to feel the weight of your emotions lifting. The music had changed, shifting from a melancholy tune to a softer, more calming melody. You felt your eyelids growing heavy, and before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, the room was dark, the only light coming from the moon outside your window. You rubbed your eyes, feeling a sense of grogginess wash over you. As you sat up, you realized that the music had stopped, and the room was quiet.

You looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings of your apartment. It was a reminder that life went on, that even though Aeri was back in your life, you had moved on. You had built a new life, one that didn't revolve around her.

As you swung your legs over the side of the bed, you felt a sense of determination wash over you. You knew that you couldn't change the past, but you could control the future. You could choose to move on, to leave the memories of Aeri behind.

You stood up, feeling a sense of resolve wash over you. You walked over to the window, looking out at the city below. The lights twinkled like stars, a reminder of the possibilities that lay ahead.

You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of closure wash over you. You knew that you would always carry a piece of Aeri with you, but you also knew that you were ready to move on.

As you turned away from the window, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You knew that you would be okay, that you would find happiness again. And with that thought, you smiled, knowing that you were ready to start a new chapter in your life.

[heliosunny]

Hi hi!! Can I request a yan! Jing yuan with an assistant reader? Like manipulative Yuanie. Thinking about how he’ll have one of the people who are your colleagues overload you with work so he can swoop in and save you like he was your “knight in shining armor”. Having you fill out lots of paperwork so you’ll have to work overtime and stay with him more is definitely something he’d do!

I think yan! Jing yuan would also take you out on ‘business dinners’ as he’d like to call it. 🤭🤭

I also wanted to ask do you take nsfw requests? Or maybe you can make a rules list too please!

Mwah ❤️ I hope you have a good day!!!

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Assistant!Reader

The workload had been suffocating lately. Stacks upon stacks of paperwork found their way onto your desk, each page demanding your immediate attention. Your fingers ached from gripping the brush for too long, eyes burning as you struggled to keep up. It didn’t make sense how your responsibilities had doubled out of nowhere.

"Ah, still working?" A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

Jing Yuan leaned against the doorway of your office, golden eyes filled with amusement as he took in the sight of your disheveled state.

"You're overworking yourself" he chided, stepping in. "That’s no good. If you collapse, who will assist me?"

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing your temples. "I don’t have a choice. These reports need to be done before the deadline."

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully, gaze flickering over the piles of documents. "Strange. I was under the impression that some of these tasks weren’t meant for you…"

His voice was light, almost casual, but something about it made your skin prickle. Before you could respond, he reached out, plucking a report from the top of the stack.

"Ah, this one" he mused, flipping through the pages. "This should have been handled by your colleague. How peculiar."

Your brows furrowed. Had you really been doing work that wasn’t meant for you? It made sense now—why everything had felt overwhelming lately.

Jing Yuan sighed dramatically, setting the papers aside. "It seems someone has been overloading you, either by accident… or design." He tilted his head, white strands of hair slipping over his shoulder as he offered a sympathetic smile. "I’ll have to look into this."

"For now" he continued, "why don’t you take a break? Stay a little longer with me. I was just about to have dinner—perhaps you’d care to join me? Consider it a business dinner, of course."

You shook your head, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders. "I appreciate the offer, General, but I can’t. I still have work to finish."

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes flickered with something unreadable before he let out a soft chuckle. "Ah, such diligence. It’s admirable, really." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "But overworking yourself won’t earn you any favors, you know."

Still, you refused to budge. "I’ll manage."

Jing Yuan sighed, feigning defeat. "Very well, if you insist." He straightened, a small smile playing on his lips. "At least allow me to lend a hand. I can ease some of your burdens—"

"No."

The word left your lips firmer than expected. His smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze, something unreadable yet sharp.

You didn’t give him a chance to press further. With a quick bow, you excused yourself, diving back into your work before he could weave his words around you again.

By the time you finished, the lights are already on. The cool night air biting against your skin. You exhaled, finally free from the suffocating weight of paperwork.

Or so you thought.

Jing Yuan was leaning against one of the pillars near the entrance, arms crossed in an almost lazy manner.

"You’re late" he murmured, pushing himself off the pillar. "I was beginning to worry."

"General? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Working until this hour—alone, no less? That’s hardly safe."

"I can take care of myself. How old do you think I am?"

Jing Yuan tilted his head, his amusement growing. "I don’t doubt that. But even the strongest warriors aren’t invincible." He stepped closer. "If you had accepted my help earlier, I wouldn’t have had to wait for you like this."

"You—waited for me?"

Jing Yuan let out a soft hum. "Of course. What kind of superior would I be if I let my hardworking assistant wander home alone at such an ungodly hour?"

His logic was twisted, you knew that. But the way he said it, the way his voice dripped with gentle concern, made it difficult to argue.

"Come," he said, placing a hand on your back, guiding you forward. "I’ll escort you home."

-----

The moment you stepped into your office, dread settled deep in your stomach.

More paperwork. MORE PAPERWORK?

The stacks had doubled—no, tripled overnight. Piles upon piles of documents sat on your desk, some even spilling onto the floor. It was impossible. There was no way this much work had suddenly appeared unless…

Your mind flickered back to the conversation from yesterday. Jing Yuan’s words echoed in your head.

"It seems someone has been overloading you, either by accident… or design."

A sinking feeling settled in your chest, but you shook it off. You didn’t have time to dwell on suspicions, not when you were buried under all this.

You spent the morning frantically working, but no matter how fast you went, the papers never seemed to end. By midday, your exhaustion became unbearable. Your pride screamed at you to push through, to handle it yourself, but reality was much crueler.

You needed help.

And you knew exactly who to ask.

Reluctantly, you made your way to Jing Yuan’s office, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. The guards outside barely spared you a glance before letting you in.

Inside, Jing Yuan lounged comfortably behind his desk, golden eyes lifting lazily as you entered. His lips curled into a knowing smile.

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise" he mused. "To what do I owe the honor?"

You hesitated. Even without looking at him, you could feel his gaze, sharp and expectant.

Taking a small breath, you finally spoke, voice quieter than intended.

"I… need help."

The silence stretched between you for a moment, thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, Jing Yuan chuckled.

"My, my," he drawled, resting his chin against his palm. "So even my diligent assistant has limits. How adorable."

Your face burned, and you instinctively looked away.

"I would never abandon a subordinate in need," he said smoothly while walking over to you. "But…"

You tensed as he stopped just inches away from you, his presence overwhelming.

"I have one condition."

You swallowed. "What is it?"

He smiled. "You’ll sit near me while we work. That’s all."

That was… it? No outrageous demand, no unreasonable request?

Sensing your hesitation, Jing Yuan leaned in ever so slightly, his voice a soft murmur. "Surely, that’s not too much to ask?"

You bit your lip before reluctantly nodding. "...Alright."

Jing Yuan’s smile widened. "Good."

Without another word, he led you to his desk, gesturing toward the seat beside his. The placement left little space between you, the close proximity forcing you to feel the warmth of his presence.

"Now," he said, handing you a brush, his fingers grazing yours for just a moment too long. "Let’s begin, shall we?"

As you dipped the brush into the ink, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had fallen right into his trap.

The quiet scratching of brushes against paper filled the office, the occasional rustling of documents the only other sound. You sat stiffly beside Jing Yuan, fully aware of his presence as he worked leisurely beside you.

It wasn’t just the closeness that unsettled you—it was the way his eyes would flicker to you every so often, studying you between strokes of his brush.

"You’re quite tense" Jing Yuan noted, voice laced with amusement.

You didn’t look up. "I’m just focusing."

"Hmm." He leaned back slightly, stretching. "I wonder… do I make you nervous?"

Your fingers twitched slightly around the brush, but you forced yourself to keep writing. "Of course not, General."

Jing Yuan chuckled, clearly entertained. "No need for such formalities. We’re spending so much time together—surely, you can call me Jing Yuan?"

You hesitated, but before you could think of a response, he smoothly shifted the subject.

"I must say," he mused, "this is quite an improvement. If I had known all it took to keep you close was a bit of extra work, I would have arranged this much sooner."

You turned to him, only to be met with his usual easy-going smile.

"Just a joke," he reassured lightly. "Unless… you’d rather I keep you overworked? I could make sure you need my help every day."

There it was again. That subtle pressure wrapped in velvet words.

You swallowed hard and forced a polite chuckle. "That won’t be necessary."

Jing Yuan exhaled as if disappointed. "Pity."

Hours passed, and despite his slow, deliberate pace, he finished his portion faster than you. He hummed, watching you struggle to keep up.

"You’re still working?" he asked, feigning concern. "You really should take a break."

"I can’t afford to. There’s still too much left."

Jing Yuan hummed in thought. Then, as if struck by an idea, he leaned in slightly, his voice a near whisper.

"How about this?" His tone was warm, coaxing. "I’ll help you again tomorrow… but only if you have dinner with me afterward."

"You deserve a meal after working so hard," he continued, resting his chin on his palm. "And it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Just the two of us, away from all these dreadful reports?"

It sounded harmless enough.

Reluctantly, you nodded. "Alright."

Jing Yuan smiled, pleased.

"Good" he murmured. "Then it’s a promise."

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the Xianzhou Luofu in a soft, warm glow. Lanterns flickered to life as you walked beside Jing Yuan, your exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders. He had insisted on walking with you, his usual lazy smile in place, but there was an unmistakable satisfaction in his gaze.

You had been too drained to argue.

The restaurant he chose was far from the usual places where officials gathered for formal meetings. It was intimate, the kind of place that felt too personal for just work.

"You didn’t have to pick somewhere this… refined" you murmured, hesitant as you stepped inside.

Jing Yuan chuckled. "Nonsense. You deserve a proper meal after all your hard work." He guided you to a private table tucked away from prying eyes, his hand lingering just a second too long against your back.

As you sat down, a waiter arrived almost instantly, as if they had been expecting you.

"Order whatever you like," Jing Yuan encouraged, waving a hand dismissively. "Consider it a reward for your dedication."

You hesitated before cautiously selecting something modest. The last thing you wanted was to feel indebted.

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, ordered without restraint.

"You know" he mused, "I admire your work ethic, but I do wonder—do you ever take time for yourself?"

"I don’t have much choice. The workload has been… demanding."

His golden eyes glinted. "Ah, yes. It seems someone keeps piling too much on you, doesn’t it?"

You glanced at him suspiciously, but he merely took a sip of his wine, his expression unreadable.

"It’s a shame" he continued, "how easily people take advantage of you. Always so responsible, so eager to prove yourself… It makes you an easy target."

His words struck a nerve—not because they were wrong, but because he was speaking as if he weren’t the very person orchestrating your exhaustion.

"You make it sound like I’m helpless" you muttered.

Jing Yuan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Not at all. You’re quite capable… But even the strongest warriors need someone to protect them sometimes."

There it was again. That gentle, insistent push—reminding you that he was the only one who truly saw you, the only one who cared enough to step in.

Your meal arrived, breaking the tension momentarily. You focused on eating, but Jing Yuan never stopped watching, his gaze following every small movement you made.

"You should eat more" he remarked at one point, nudging a dish toward you. "You push yourself too hard. It worries me."

"This is just a business dinner" you reminded him, almost as if you were reminding yourself.

"Of course," he agreed easily. "Just business."

But the way he poured you another drink, the way his fingers brushed against yours with each small gesture, told you otherwise.

Jing Yuan was in no rush to leave, drawing out the meal with casual conversation and idle remarks about work, yet every topic always circled back to you.

"You should rest more." "You work too hard." "It must be exhausting, always carrying everything on your shoulders."

His voice was gentle, warm, the perfect balance of concern and admiration.

“I should head home” you finally said, setting your chopsticks down. “It’s getting late.”

Jing Yuan tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes studying you in silence. Then, he sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair.

"I suppose you’re right" he said, sounding almost disappointed. "I wouldn’t want to keep you from your much-needed rest."

Relief flooded you—until he added, “I’ll escort you.”

You tensed. “That’s really not necessary...”

"I insist."

You swallowed your protest, knowing that arguing would only drag this out longer. With a quiet nod, you allowed him to walk you home. The city was quiet at this hour, save for the occasional passerby. Yet somehow, despite the openness of it all, you felt cornered.

Jing Yuan didn’t speak much, but the silence between you was anything but comfortable. When you finally arrived at your door, you turned to him quickly, hoping to end the night before he could push further. "Thank you for the dinner, General."

Jing Yuan smiled. "No need to be so formal. After all," he reached out, lightly brushing his fingers against the back of your hand, "we're much closer now, aren’t we?"

Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could step back, he withdrew his hand with a chuckle.

"Rest well, I'll see you at work tomorrow."

With that, he turned and walked away, his figure slowly disappearing into the night.

-----

Jing Yuan had been in a good mood that morning.

You had shyly asked for his help, relied on him, and even allowed him to walk you home. His patience was paying off, you were already beginning to lean on him, just as he had planned.

So when he strolled into the office, humming softly to himself, he expected to find you waiting for him, as usual.

Instead, what he saw made his easygoing expression freeze.

There you were, standing beside another officer, chatting casually as if the exhaustion from yesterday had never existed.

Jing Yuan’s sharp eyes immediately honed in on the scene—on the way you nodded, the small laugh you let out at something the officer said.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

The lazy, pleased expression he had worn all morning dulled into something unreadable.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his presence casting a long shadow as he approached.

Your conversation stalled the moment you noticed him. The officer beside you stiffened, standing at attention.

"Ah, General!" the officer greeted with forced politeness. "Good morning."

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, they remained on you.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly, but there was no warmth in his voice. "I hope I’m not… interrupting anything important?"

"No, we were just talking about-"

"Ah, I see," Jing Yuan interrupted "And here I thought you had your hands full with work."

The officer looked between the two of you, sensing the tension. "I should get going" he mumbled quickly before excusing himself.

"Was something wrong?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, shaking his head. "Not at all," he said lightly, stepping closer. "I just found it surprising."

"Surprising?"

"That you still have the energy to entertain idle chatter… after all that work."

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Jing Yuan placed a hand on your shoulder—gentle, yet firm enough to root you in place.

"Come now" he murmured, voice as smooth as silk. "There’s still plenty to do, isn’t there?"

In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t pleased.

And he wouldn’t let this slide.

The tension from the morning never fully left.

Jing Yuan acted as if nothing had happened, his usual lazy smile in place, his voice carrying the same smooth, amused tone.

But you could feel it.

The real punishment began soon after.

It started subtly.

Your workload, already overwhelming, suddenly doubled.

Requests that would usually be divided among the other assistants somehow all ended up on your desk. Forms, reports, urgent documents—all requiring immediate attention, all piling up at an alarming rate.

By noon, you could barely breathe under the pressure.

Still, you pushed through, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle.

But just as you were starting to make progress, Jing Yuan’s voice interrupted your focus.

"Ah, this one’s incorrect." he mused, holding up a form you had completed earlier.

You blinked, frowning. "But I—"

"Fix it for me, won’t you?" he cut in smoothly, placing it back on your desk.

You stared at the document, confusion creeping in. You were certain you had filled it out correctly. But when you reached for another, you saw that the one you had submitted before, the one he himself had approved, was suddenly filled with minor errors.

Mistakes that hadn’t been there before.

Had he… altered them?

Before you could question it, he spoke again, his tone light and teasing.

"It’s unlike you to be so careless" he mused, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you. "Are you perhaps… distracted?"

He was toying with you.

And yet, what could you say?

Accusing him directly would only backfire.

So, you swallowed your frustration and forced yourself to keep working.

By the time evening arrived, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. You could barely think straight, your hands aching from the relentless writing. Just as you were about to gather your things to leave, a shadow fell over your desk. Jing Yuan.

"You’ve worked so hard today" he said, his voice like silk. "Why don’t I treat you to dinner again?"

Your body screamed for rest, but you knew—this wasn’t an invitation.

It was a test.

And you already knew what happened to those who disappointed him.

So, with a quiet nod, you accepted.

And just like that, he won again.

-----

I think I'll update some rules if I have time.

For now, I don't receive NSFW content, it's a bit challenging for me in that field. :3 I rather focus on what I'm capable of doing rather than accepting all requests and giving you unwanted results.

[nomsfaultau]

It was like trying to hold water in cupped hands. Sanity trickling out no matter how tight Tommy pressed his fingers together. Another drop splattering on the bathroom floor. Another second closer to when he finally murdered Tubbo.

Tommy couldn’t trust that his longing to turn Tubbo instead was anything other than vamperic hunger tempting him. Those words Tubbo said pounding in his head over, over, he knows I wouldn’t leave him. He was scared to ask what Tubbo meant by that, if he even understood what the horror of eternity really entailed.

Tommy knew it wasn’t fair, for him to make this choice for Tubbo. But he couldn’t bear to know Tubbo’s answer. Philza had been right about how cruelly selfish a vampire’s love was.

But he wouldn’t be Tubbo, just like Tommy wasn’t Tommy anymore. He was killing his friend either way.

Though a last desperate instinct was screaming at him to run in the handful of moments before dawn and his sanity broke, Tommy couldn’t. What would they do to Tubbo? Close enough to protect his friend was too close to be safe. Surely whatever torture they inflicted would be crueler. 

He could tell the moment Tubbo woke by the hitch of his breath. By the creak of the bed he could picture the arc of Tubbo’s body as he stretched, tongue curling with a yawn. The scruffy mess of fluffy hair covering bleary eyes. The flutter of his tantalizing heartbeat. The scurry of nearby prey made his mind skitter out of grasp, and Tommy covered his ears miserably.

But this might be the last time they had together, or had at all. He wanted his friend so, so badly, never mind what that want entailed. All that came out was a low whine at first, and Tommy couched to clear his parched throat. “Big T?” he made out.

“Bossman!” It hurt how excited he sounded. At once Tubbo raced to the door. It refused to budge, stuck behind the rubble of the broken tub, and toilet, and sink, and drawer, and cabinets, and ripped up floor tiles, and every last shred of protection that Tommy could scrounge up. A useless bastion, constructed as it was by Tubbo’s bitter enemy.

“I don’t have much longer, Tubbo.”

“Oh.” A shift, as he unconsciously stepped back. Trepidation laced his voice, soft like he was scared of hurting Tommy. “Can- can you hold out just a little longer?”

Tommy choked on a sudden sob. It was the first time Tubbo had begged for his life, but it wouldn’t be the last. Level now, not scared, yet, eventually screamed when it was too late for Tommy to understand it. But he heard it now, while it could still hurt.

“It’s okay!” Tubbo rushed out. “I don’t need much more time. Just- how long do I have?”

“I’m so sorry Tubbo.”

“Don’t be, just tell me.” It was abrupt, almost a snap. Because of course this was so, so much worse for Tubbo. Tommy shrunk in shame.

“Maybe a day. Two. Didn’t mean to scare you there. Just meant…I won’t be to do this anymore. Like: talking, thinking. Pretending to be a person. The blood I took from Phil wasn’t enough.” He’d licked every last drop off the bathroom floor.

“You bit him?” What kind of monster would do that? Reluctantly, Tommy confirmed. But Tubbo only laughed lightly. “Nice. Reckon it hurt?”

“Um. Probably, I bit the finger clean off.”

“Permanently?”

“Nah. It’ll regen.” Unless it got in sunlight. Not that Philza was stupid enough to.

Their conversation was nice enough, though lulled frequently, both of them distracted. But Tubbo forced the topic to be light, upbeat, and Tommy wouldn’t ruin it for the world. They ignored what was to come. They had to. And so the friends talked about movies they wanted to see, and old childhood memories, and pretended to make weekend plans for a future that didn’t exist. He could hear Tubbo pace, full of energetic life despite it all. The rustling of something or other. It did something funny to his back brain, like dangling something in front of a cat. The conversation listed to the side as it became harder to concentrated 

He slipped deeper into the familiar haze. His last wound was too long ago, but he was running out of fresh areas. And maybe Philza was right, that his desperate attempt to postpone Tubbo’s death had really only hastened it. Without blood the healing was slow. But he had time. Plummeting fast, so so much quicker than last time as the brief high petered out. Tubbo’s conversation came in random bursts, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he had nothing to say or if Tommy was losing his grasp that quick. 

The scent of fresh blood burst into his nostrils, and in a blink he was at the door, inhuman strength blurring limbs as he ripped away the mounds of ruins barring the door.

Tommy caught himself on the threshold. Claws sunk in deep as if that could hold himself back. Too eager. Alarm bells ringing. Tubbo, stop, protect-

“You can drain animals, right? Cause I’ll feel stupid having gone through all this effort if not.”

The days of holding himself back nearly crumbled as Tubbo opened the door. It only grew worse as the human immediately drained seeing him, horror captured in round eyes. The feeding hiss poured out of Tommy’s throat automatically. And a blur as he lost control, and teeth sinking into flesh, and sweet fresh blood.

What was he eating? The question was small in his head, drowning. So unimportant. He was finally fed. But persistent in a way that was annoying.

What was he eating? Who was he eating?

Tubbo. Tubbo what if it’s Tubbo stop you can’t Tubbo no Tubbo- but he couldn’t pry his jaws open even as he began to panic, the world was a blur of blood. How much had he drunk? Was it already too late?

“Philza did that to you?”

It wrenched Tommy’s focus out of the blood thirst fueled spiral. Meat squelched in his hands as he unclenched his pulverizing grasp, staring vacantly at the dead rat turned to bloody pulp. Yes. Philza did this to him. Turned him into something so desperate it would eat a dead rat.

Unsure of how he got here, Tommy slowly looked up to Tubbo as the human gently knelt before him. As Tubbo reached for him, for an irrational moment Tommy thought he meant to steal the rat before he was done, and clutched it protectively to his chest. But Tubbo carefully ghosted over the deep gouges and bitemarks in Tommy’s arms. “He- in the bathroom, he was snarling so much and I couldn’t protect you since you wouldn’t open the door! And look at you! you’re half dead!”

He stared at Tubbo in utter bewilderment. “I am dead.” After months of broken bones and pulverized flesh from escapes casually dismissed by his coven, Tommy couldn’t understand why Tubbo was so upset, using ripped sheet strips at once to wrap up injuries already beginning to recover with the recent feeding. The Jawless One alone was proof enough a vampire could survive no matter how mangled. How quickly he’d unlearned sixteen years of human education upon the subjects of pain and lethality. Philza, Technoblade, and the Jawless One were swift teachers.

“It’s fine really,” he assured, uncomfortable with Tubbo’s empathy. “It’ll heal with more blood.”

Tubbo thrust his wrist forward. “Here. Dessert? You can control it now that you’ve had the rat right? So it’s fine.” Tommy shook his head adamantly. Huffing, Tubbo rolled his eyes. “You judge dying children for needing transfusions do you? Innit literally just a blood donation?”

“No.”

“Why? You homophobic, too? Cause that’s the only other reason someone’s refused to let me donate.”

“I’m not homophobic!” Tommy laughed. A mistake, since Tubbo shoved his wrist into Tommy’s open mouth. He froze on soft skin, then spat it out. “Ew! You’re gross from not bathing for so long. Nooo thanks. Plus I think it makes me more homophobic if I do eat a gay person.”

“Why? Scared to suck another man?” He laughed as Tommy shoved him back. “Come onnnnn just a small amount? Not too much, since I haven’t eaten either and might pass out.” Tommy stared at the corpse, then glanced to Tubbo as he wiped the blood dripping off his chin and licked his stained hands. Uh. Tommy grabbed the rat by the tail and shoved it in Tubbo’s direction. Tubbo pulled a face. “No thanks big T. We don’t have a way to cook it. I don’t need to be dealing with diarrhea while we- are trapped in here. Anyway. Uh. Quick question I’ve only just now thought of this very second: how good is vampire hearing?”

“It’s- pretty good. Why?” Tubbo’s head jerked to the door. “Wait you think they’ve been listening to us the whole time??”

Tubbo gave him a ‘seriously dude!?’ expression then announced, “what? Why would they? Especially after we were saying nothing for days. Surely it’d be boring.” He rolled his eyes while tapping a finger to his pursed lips. But…if Tubbo had been measuring his words the whole time, why risk letting Tommy know his line of thought now? Well, besides the fact he finally felt sentient again. Amazed, he asked Tubbo how he managed to kill the rat. “Well, human hearing is just good enough I could barely hear them at night. So that’s why I wondered if it was driving you nuts, too,” he covered. “I had some crumbs in my pocket. Not enough for me, but Mickey over there couldn’t help himself. Didn’t know what was coming when my trap kicked in!”

“What trap?”

“…waiting until it was close enough and braining it with a giant book.”

“You’re a genius,” he said, and meant it.

Tubbo grinned. “Definitely! Here, now that you’re normal again you can help me make a trap. You’ll have as many rats as you want, bossman.” Only, he winked. And then winked again as Tommy stared at him blankly. Then nudged Tommy with his elbow. Then sighed in defeat, and dragged Tommy to the bathroom, pointing repeatedly at the window. 

Tommy shook his head furiously. Tubbo nodded just as furiously. Tommy shook his head even harder, blurring at inhuman speeds. Scowling, Tubbo stalked back out, seizing something and dragging it in. At once Tommy’s eyes were transfixed by the stake in his fist. It took a second to rip his gaze away to the long coils of tied together cloth strips. Tubbo lifted the heavy tangle of objects tied to the end for weight, swinging slightly. Pain stakingly -uh, not literally- he pantomimed actions until Tommy cottoned on. A zipline? Well he supposed it made sense, Tubbo couldn’t exactly fly. Philza had surely counted on Tubbo being slow, weak, a liability that would ensure their quick recapture. 

The vampires had underestimated Tubbo. So had Tommy. He eyed the stake casually shoved in one of Tubbo’s pockets. 

“You weren’t making the- just in case I…?”

Tubbo blinked at him. “That…wasn’t what I designed it for, no.” But by the hesitation, it became so. Tubbo tried to apologize through eyes alone for granting the only hope that had kept Tommy going. 

“Good. Good. The fact you had it made me feel better.”

Tubbo’s expression was horrible. “Welp. Is what it is.” 

With Tommy’s help, he broke the window out of the frame to maximize the size. Tubbo tingled the escape efforts, already there silently pantomiming the next step as if having run through it mentally hundreds of times. He grinned wildly, sticking his head out the window to survey the shadowed plummet below. Past the most to the dark forest and beyond, the horizon stretching out. 

And then he hesitated for the first time, turning back. “Can you?” Tubbo asked, haloed in sunlight. Just the verge of dawn, before the full brunt of day would bear down. The confidence that he glowed with flickered, uncertainty growing. All the questions he couldn’t have asked, scared of being overheard and his plan revealed. Because, truly, it was a plan only a human could make.

And, well. Tubbo wouldn’t leave without him.

Tommy grinned. “Naw, it’s a myth. Just irritating.” The way Tubbo beamed at him, full of hope, had to be more than worth the lie. 

I had a dream about vampire dark sbi, where Tommy was turned into a fledgling against his will and was desperate to escape. His coven had other ideas however, and so Tommy was constantly getting hunted down by Philza, Techno, and the Jawless One.

oh. Were you you expecting Wilbur? No that dude is problematic, and my dream presented the ideal solution: replacing him with a monster made of long mangled limbs and a ripped off jaw that dangles on a thread of viscera. So I’m just sayin, here’s how 4/4 can still work-

[marginofthought]

Sam and dean newly in a relationship and didn’t have sex yet cause every time they reach to that point they fight about who will top . Sam insist that he should being taller and all and the fact that he never bottomed before but Dean knows his baby brother is a perfect bottom so he wouldn’t budge and he slowly but surely with actions , domineering position slide it in sam subconscious (he jerks him while he pins him facing the wall , tease sam to the point of break the order him to hump his thigh if he wants to cum cause that’ the only way he’s gonna let him cum ….. ) and sam crack gradually until dean take him and it feels so good he never wants to do it other way again

I hope I understood you correctly anon, please correct me if you meant it differently. 

I feel like especially if we’re thinking early seasons Sam would argue just because he knows it eggs Dean on, just to annoy his brother and be bratty. And if we’re talking early seasons I feel like Dean would play along, let Sam think he might budge just this time, tease him and get him to the edge before telling Sam he can choose: either he let’s Dean fuck him or he can hump Dean/get himself off - no matter what, he has to choose one of Dean’s options. Sam chooses the latter a few times but then one time he just gives in, sick of having to get himself off when Dean is right there and it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before. So he lets Dean manhandle him and acts like he doesn’t feel Dean’s fingers in his crack until he is face down and barely has room to wiggle.

And yeah, okay, whatever Sam thought it might feel like it wasn’t this, because this is amazing even if he’s reluctant to tell Dean because he can picture the smug grin and Dean doesn’t need the ego boost.

(Dean still makes Sam ride him until he comes - why should Dean do more work if Sammy has just learned how to submit to him?)

[angealywealy]

Genesis is already asking me what I'm going to get him for Valentine's Day. There's still a little less that a week before I have to answer that question, and I'm not going to budge one bit until then, no matter how he tries to pry it from me.

Of course, I already have his gift. What kind of partner would I be if I didn't put any thought into what I gave to him?

As I type this, he's blowing up my phone, convinced he'll get me to break. The joke's on him, he does this every year, and I've gotten particularly good at resisting his temptation (if you know what I mean).

Goddess forbid he learn a little patience.

[tothestarsinvelaris]

I don't understand how people can consume all of the books in the Maasverse and still think the next ACOTAR book will be anything other than Elriel.

The crumbs are all over the place.

She loves to do the whole "opposites who fit together perfectly" thing:

darkest night & stars eternal

ice & fire

silver & gold

dark & light

night & day

death & life

Azriel and Elain are death & life, dark & light, dusk & dawn, shadow & sunlight.

[skrunksthatwunk]

really fun letting all of my favorite shows take turns being the "i can't think about it i can't think about it i can't think about it!!" bingewatch during finals season/associated crunch times. they're being inducted into a society

[starman-john-tracy]

Pink Hair, Does Care [RP]

scramjettracy:

“Ha no, that one wasn’t the fish. Grandma bought it me because some retired pilot endorsed it.” Scott choked a little on the overwhelming cloud “the Gs must have taken out his olfactory nerves.” Scott pauses in his attempt to pick up glass shards using a pair of intact bottles as tongs and finds himself lost a moment, remembering his Mom’s arms around him as he breathed his panic and humiliation into her shoulder, much as John just had just now. “Gordon didn’t understand why I was so gutted… poor kid. I should have laughed it off but…” Mom had understood. “I had a date… prettiest girl on the cheer squad, only asked her out for a dare.” The sound from the shower could have been amusement or sympathy. Scott decided either worked for his current running-distraction purposes. “Slightly panicked when she agreed to be honest.. Anyway I spotted she had an autographed picture of this rock star stuck in her locker, he had spiky blue hair so… I figured… well. Yah. Mistakes were made.” If he thought back, his teenage self had probably been more worried what his friends would think if it went badly than whether the girl actually enjoyed it. Whatever it was, he’d got himself in a spiral and it had been the first time he’d cried on his Mom in years. And, as it turned out, the last too. He cleared his throat, John didn’t need to know any of that. “She told me she had an ill-advised purple dye incident the night before the wedding she met Dad at and the rest was history… I’m sure there’s a photo somewhere.”

"Lacey Hackett?" John remembers, because of course he does. "Blond, ninth grade?" The bathroom is filled with hot steam and the sharp smell of shampoo and desperation as John scrubs his fingers frantically through his hair. The shower water rushing down the drain is a promising neon pink, but his skin, with the heat turned up to practically boiling, is rapidly looking the same. "Did you ever actually get that date?"

He sticks his head out of the shower to look at his brother, foamy bubbles in his hair and pinks streaks staining his fingers. John catches sight of his blurred, alien reflection in the steamy mirror and finds it's like a stranger is staring back at him. Though no longer so neon, the limp wet strands, dark with water, are more of a dusky rose.

That's still... quite pink.

"I bet Mom pulled it off a hell of a lot better than us." John sighs, then ducks back in, scowling like the dye is mocking him personally with its stubborn refusal to fade. He squeezes another dollop of clarifying shampoo into his palm, weakly hoping for the best as, frustration etched across his face, he goes in for round two. Building up a lather between his palms he starts rubbing his scalp in frantic circles - hoping for some miracle against the relentless pink. The dye just won't budge though and the more John scrubs, the more his scalp starts to hurt.

He sticks his head out again to miserably appraise the mirror. Oh, maybe it is starting to look paler... or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

[vunblr]

Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Word Count: About 18.6k.

notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.

By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.

The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.

It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.

The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.

For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.

Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.

“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”

She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.

Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.

“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.

The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.

She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.

Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.

Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.

As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.

He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.

She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.

He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.

Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.

“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.

She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”

Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”

She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.

Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.

Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.

She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.

She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”

He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”

She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”

When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”

Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”

He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.

Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.

He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”

She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”

He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.

He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.

Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.

“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.

His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.

Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.

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

She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.

It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.

Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.

By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.

“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.

Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.

----------

Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.

After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.

At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.

“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.

She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”

“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”

Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”

After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.

Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.

“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.

The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”

Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”

Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”

Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”

Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.

“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”

“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”

She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.

The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”

Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.

Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.

As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”

The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.

Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.

As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.

A storm was coming.

It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.

He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.

Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.

The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.

She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.

The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.

The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.

On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.

One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.

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

The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”

She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”

Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.

They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”

She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”

Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”

“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”

He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”

“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”

“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”

“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.

He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.

Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.

And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.

The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.

As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.

She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”

The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.

The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.

“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”

Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.

“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.

It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.

Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.

She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.

“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.

“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.

She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”

He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.

The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.

One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.

As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.

Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.

There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.

When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.

“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”

She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.

“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”

His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.

“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.

He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.

He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.

He was interested.

Shit.

Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.

On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.

And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.

He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.

What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?

Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.

For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.

Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.

And then there was Bucky.

Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.

Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.

-----------

Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.

So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.

The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.

Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.

“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”

Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.

He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“

“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”

For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”

----------

The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.

Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.

She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.

By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.

She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”

Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.

“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”

Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”

She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.

The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.

Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.

Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.

“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.

“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”

He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”

“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.

She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”

He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.

He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.

That should be illegal.

“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”

“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”

As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.

She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly

He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”

The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.

“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”

Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.

She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up.  “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”

Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.

“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”

Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”

He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.

Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.

She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.

With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.

That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.

She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.

An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.

She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.

Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.

“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.

He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”

“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”

Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”

“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”

“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”

She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.

“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.

Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”

Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.

Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.

The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.

The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.

The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.

She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.

Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.

And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.

Don’t kid yourself.

The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.

God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.

Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.

----------

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.

“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”

Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.

Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.

“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.

It wasn’t Dorothy.

Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.

She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”

Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”

He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”

As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.

She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.

The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.

After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.

“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.

He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[sttoru]

sukunas fav concubine being bullied by the other concubines?? maybe they push her into the fountain 👀👀👀

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. being bullied because you’re sukuna’s favorite concubine is nothing out of the ordinary. when sukuna finally notices the harassment you’re going through, he doesn’t hold back.

wc. 2.2k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. fluff, angst (hurt to comfort). heian era. bullying. one mention of d.ecapitation. vile language. reader gets called ‘brat’. beta reading? what’s that

“she’s got nothing going on for her,” “right? i don’t get what he sees in her,” “tch—he’s only using her for her body anyway,” “duhh. he can’t be pleased by her looks. i mean, she’s really ugly. i bet he thinks of her as just ‘nother hole to use. . .”

and the shushed gossips continue. the concubines hanging around the garden have noticed your arrival, though do nothing to stop badmouthing you. they couldn’t care less if you hear what they say.

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the ruthless sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you. you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we’re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you. it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you���ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you cannot blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine. in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him. you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces. the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurt a little. he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder. you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“what a brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure. he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into something else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“you’re staying in my chambers tonight.”

[nochepsicodelica]

The door to your shared bedroom creaks open, and Toji is greeted by the sight of you sleeping. It's five in the afternoon and you're bundled up in the covers, soft breaths exiting through your mouth because your nose is congested. You look all cozy, like a hibernating bear, on his side of the bed. It would be a more adorable sight under different circumstances, but this is the product of you catching a cold.

Toji sets the small bag filled with your medicine and other little things he hopes will make you feel better, on his nightstand. He crouches down in front of you and brings a noticeably cooler hand to your heated cheek.

"Hey," Toji calls, gently pinching your cheek. Your hearing must be muffled, because you don't budge and remain in your deep sleep. "Ma," he tries again, shaking you by your shoulder this time. You stir and attempt to roll over in the other direction, towards the center of the bed, but Toji keeps you steady by tugging on the blanket you're cocooned in. "Wake up, mama. Just for a little. I got your stuff. Medicine, snacks— you probably won't be able to taste them, but they're there."

You open your eyes, and simply blink. The room is darker and more shadowy since you went down for your supposed nap. It's been hours, but your body still feels so tired and your head is pulsing.

"How are you feeling?" Toji asks.

You were trying to say "so so", but no sound came out, so it seemed like you were mouthing the words instead. You felt the effort your vocal cords made, but your voice was shot. Nothing is audible unless it's strained. A huff and a roll of your eyes let Toji know how bad of a time you were having.

"Gotcha," Toji responds to your attempt to speak, a soft smile on his face.

He stands up from his crouched position and turns to the bag on his nightstand, rummaging through it to grab the box of medicine at the bottom and your water bottle. He sees you untangling yourself from the covers and sitting up to rest against the headboard, in his peripheral vision. Your hair is messy, some of it is stuck to your forehead from how much you've been sweating, even though you've felt cold the whole time. You can't breathe properly out of your nose, and your throat is sore. Your entire demeanor just screams "sick".

Toji offers you two gel capsules and twists the cap off your bottle of water, before handing it to you as well. You toss the pills into your mouth, and wash them down with a swig of water. In an attempt to clear your nose, you sniff a few times, getting absolutely no change in your ability to breathe through your nose.

"Go back to sleep. I'll get you some soup for when you wake up, 'kay?"

You nod and set your water bottle down on Toji's nightstand, before you slide back down the bed and shift comfortably onto your side. The blanket is wrapped around you, again, and you're ready to shut your eyes. Toji comes closer, crouching down like he did when he woke you up.

"Mm-mm," you hum, the sound cracked and barely audible, a response to Toji leaning in and trying to kiss you.

"Come on, ma. It's been a whole day. Just one. A peck?"

"No," you whisper, only able to communicate verbally in this hushed voice.

"Oh. You want me to have two?" He says, with a playful smirk.

You give him a deadpan expression and shift in the blanket, bringing it up to cover your mouth.

"Okay, fine. Just one."

You shake your head, minimally. Just enough so that you don't shake your brain and make your head hurt even more, and he still gets the message.

"Be nice, mama. Just one, then i'll leave you alone--" he pauses, briefly, "--until I come back with your soup. Then you gotta give me another one. You know, Toji Tax."

You roll your eyes and huff. The Toji Tax is just Toji's way of getting extra loving from you. There's a Toji Tax on just about everything he does for you, so you're not surprised that your sickness doesn't exempt you from it.

Your reaction showed the signs that let Toji know that he's about to get what he wants. The barrier you raised over your mouth is lowered, your involuntary pout now on full display, ready to be kissed whenever Toji's ready.

"Don't look too excited," Toji jests. He chuckles at the gloomy expression on your face. You look absolutely miserable in this state. It's adorable, and while he would love to keep teasing you, he decides to move faster so that you can get your rest.

It starts with a peck—as promised. He's slow with separating his lips from yours, to keep the contact with you going for as long as possible. Then he goes in for another one—just as gentle and delayed in separation. You still haven't done anything to stop him, so he keeps going in for more and more, each kiss more fervent than the last. Within seconds, he's barraging you with quick kisses, back to back, as if to make up for the last twenty-four hours he went without feeling your soft lips against his. He's getting closer, almost climbing into bed with you, so you hum and turn your head. He starts following your movement, like an eager puppy, chasing after more of your kisses.

"Don't care if I get sick, ma."

You hum in disapproval and push his face away when he starts leaning in, again. Quickly, you cover your head with the blanket and roll to the other side of the bed.

Toji sighs, a mischievous smirk lingering on his face. He got way more than he expected, but when it comes to you, he can never have enough. He stands up from the awkward position he got himself into while he chased after your lips, and looks at your bundled up figure, now out of his reach.

"I'll be back, doll. Gonna go get your soup, but remember... Toji Tax."

[maskedbyghost]

lets continue our talk about situationship!Simon, where this bitch grovels for monthssss

_______________________________________________

situationship!simon starts sending you text messages. before you could expect something like "you up?" or "come to my office.", but after you broke things off with him, simon started sending you heartfelt text messages, apologizing for his past behavior. “i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us,” he texted one night. “i realize now how much i hurt you, and i’m truly sorry, love. i understand if you need space, but i wanted you to know how much i regret everything.”

along with his messages, simon started sending you small but meaningful gifts. he remembered how you’d joked about his tea obsession once and that you’d mentioned you only liked chamomile. to your surprise, he found the best brand of chamomile tea and even packed it in a nice box before delivering it to your room.

he even started to open up more. during a late-night phone call, where you could clearly hear that he was drunk, simon said that he started seeing a therapist. “i’m workin on understandin my issues and changin for the better. i want to be better, not just for you love, but for myself. i hope you can see that i’m tryin to change.”

when you asked him to stop calling you love, he refused. “i can’t help it. you’re mine in a way no one else could be, and i don’t want to pretend otherwise.”

as simon keeps showing up with gifts and heartfelt messages, you can’t help but wonder if he’s being real or if he’s just trying to win you back before breaking your heart again.

you still go on dates with other people, and simon is tormented every time he sees you leaving the base in those pretty dresses—dresses he wishes were just for him. he follows you, quietly lurking in the corners of the restaurants or bars where you’re out with your dates. oddly enough, most of the guys you go out with either get transferred to another base or stop calling you after just one date, and you’re doing your best not to blame simon for it. but you know it's him. and he is not sorry at all.

almost every day, simon texts you, asking you out on dates and planning special things for the who of you. all you have to do is say yes, but each time, you refuse. it breaks his heart every time, but it also makes him more determined to try even harder. he knows he deserves this treatment from you.

back when you and simon used to train together on base, it was a special routine you both enjoyed. now, you’ve started asking other guys to help you with exercises, and it drives him wild with jealousy. watching their hands on you makes him see red. after your training sessions with them, simon invites these guys to spar with him. it quickly becomes clear that he’s using these sparring matches as a chance to take out his frustration and anger, landing a few extra hits just to make his point.

despite everything, you still won’t budge, and it’s only making simon more frustrated. the truth is, it’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist him. his persistence is wearing you down, and the more he pushes, the more you find yourself struggling to stay strong.

simon invites you to one of his therapy sessions, saying his therapist thinks it would be helpful for him and his progress. during the session, he opens up about his struggles and insecurities, laying everything bare. as he talks, you start to feel sympathy for him. it’s clear he’s determined to change and work on himself, and you see how genuine his efforts are.

one night, you were preparing tea in the kitchen when a girl you know from the base asked for simon’s number. she mentioned she was interested in him, which made you jealous. you snapped at her, making it clear that he would never be interested in a girl like her. simon overheard the whole thing and couldn’t help but smirk to himself. it was clear you still had feelings for him, and he took a bit of satisfaction in that.

later that night he sent one simple message to you: "that's my girl. i belong to you, and you only."

after that message, simon stepped up his game. he started sending you lots of sweet texts and little gifts, and even took care of some of your paperwork. it was hard to ignore how much he was trying, and you found it tougher to resist him as he kept showing you how much he cared.

a few months after managing to ignore simon as best as you could, you caught a nasty cold and were stuck in your room. you only texted price to let him know you needed a few days off because you were sick, and got back in your bed trying to sleep that cold off. a few hours later, as you were still trying to fall asleep, you heard your door open. simon walked in, carrying a bunch of bags, a worried look on his face.

“i came as soon as I could,” simon said, worry in his voice. “i brought you soup and medicine.”

simon didn’t leave your side for days. he only went back to his room to grab more clothes and shower. he was insistent on helping you with everything, even assisting you with your showers in the most respectful way possible of course. he’d sit in a chair next to your bed, and you felt a pang of guilt seeing how much he was giving up for you. you even tried to convince him to go get some rest, but despite your protests, he somehow ended up in your bed, gently spooning you as you slept.

simon would whisper sweet things in your hair, thinking you were asleep. you heard every word as he softly talked about how much he missed you, how sorry he was for everything, and how he wanted to make things right. even though you were sick and exhausted, his words touched you deeply.

once you were feeling better, you found simon sitting alone in a common room, lost in thought. you approached him quietly and gently kissed the side of his face. with a soft smile, you whispered, “take me on that date you promised.”

_______________________________________________

@daydreamerwoah

[chuluoyi]

✎ heaven's fury

- gojo satoru x reader

sometimes you forget that your husband has burdens as the strongest sorcerer alive. when he goes back home from a bad day and you're the first person he comes contact to, you're made aware of it once again

genre: angry!gojo, a bit of hurt with looots of comfort and fluff !! it’s self-indulgent too🤭

note: i knooow i said i'll post gojo angst next, but i forgot i have this in backburner too so... this hurt/comfort goes first :') based on an anon's request. loosely takes place after baby!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sukuna's vessel is a threat— he must be executed as soon as possible!”

“The more we put this off, the greater the risk he poses to society!”

“Gojo, you can't delay his sentence any longer—!”

Weak. All of them. They always make excuses. Trying to pin blame on someone else.

The jujutsu world he lives in… is wretched. Gojo Satoru thought he knew that well already, or at least knew enough to not get riled up over it.

Apparently not.

“Gojo-sensei? You look scary...”

Typically, he would mask his clear disdain with sharp-witted jibes, but he reached his limit this time. Especially since they had been pressuring him relentlessly to execute Itadori Yuji for at least five times a week, each week.

. . .

“Satoru, oh, you're home already!”

At the end of it all, he went home with the worst of moods. It served as a reminder—of his deep-seated contempt for weakness and how burdensome he found the task of protecting the insufferable to be.

“Satoru...?”

And it's because of their weakness that Suguru—

“Satoru, are you—?”

“Just fucking shut it!”

And that was when he saw you, standing before him with wide eyes, cradling your—his—precious baby in your arms, who was sound asleep.

“Huh…?”

Satoru immediately tensed up, realizing his mistake. And what hit him even harder was— is that a flicker of hurt he saw flashing across your face?

If so, then you quickly blinked it away because in the next instant, your face lit up with a warm smile— kind of forced, to his dismay. “Welcome home, Satoru.”

Something inside him churned, his heart started to ache, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth then.

There you were, as accepting as ever, and he cherished you for it.

But not tonight. Not for this. You didn't deserve any of his misplaced resentment.

Damn it. Damn it all!

In response, he offered you a subtle nod and headed to the bathroom, thinking a shower might help clear his foul mood away.

Contrary to what Satoru might think, you didn't really hold anything against him.

You were surprised, yes, because he was usually such a ball of energy even when he got back from intercity missions, but more than the hurt, you would understand if now, he was pissed some way or another.

Your husband is still a human. He is entitled to be upset on some days.

After ensuring your son was comfortably asleep in his cot, you returned to your bedroom to find Satoru already in bed, facing away from you. Hmph... now that you thought about it, this silence between you was unacceptable.

“Satoru.” You poked his side, but he didn't budge and still had his eyes shut. You arched an eyebrow. “Satoru? You can't be asleep.”

“…” No answer. Okay, let's try something else.

“Honey, talk to me? Hmm?” you decided to swallow the heat on your face as you addressed him more intimately. Mind you, you didn't usually call him that. He was the one in charge of pet names.

“…” This shithead. That's it.

“Satoru, my tummy hurts—”

“What?” In an instant, he flipped over, abruptly sitting up. “What hurts—”

Seizing the opportunity, you tugged him by the neck, and both of you tumbled onto the bed, with him landing on top of you. Satoru instinctively held himself up and cushioned the back of your head with his hand so you wouldn’t crash into the headboard—his blue eyes wildly flickering, searching for any sign of discomfort or harm.

“You good?” he made a face upon realizing your ruse.

“You won’t talk to me otherwise,” you noted with a hint of annoyance. But then your eyes softened into a concerned frown. “Satoru… what’s wrong?”

Once again, Satoru felt hollow. You were worried and it reached him. “It’s nothing,” he replied, looking away, trying to downplay his fury.

You pulled him close, his head against your chest, and though he was stiff and taken aback at first, he released a reluctant sigh and instinctively snuggled closer, finding comfort in your embrace.

“There, there…” you soothed with a smile, gently running your fingers through his hair. “Feel better now?”

He let out another sigh against you, returning the hug and nuzzling his face against your chest. His body heat enveloped you like a blanket.

And after a while...

“...’m sorry for yelling at you...” he muttered with such regret it made your eyes widen. “Didn’t mean it.”

The slight prickle in your heart dissipated at once, hearing his muffled voice.

“Mm-hmm, I know.”

“Really.”

“Mmm, really, really.”

He held you a little tighter, breathing in your scent, and you kept stroking his head. He looked so despondent it warmed your heart, and made you want to pet him. “Our baby loves being held like this too,” you giggled fondly. “You big baby… you’re just like him.”

Your husband let out a soft grunt against your chest, exhaling deeply.

“Whenever you’re ready, talk to me, yes?”

And so after several more pats on his head, Satoru finally told you everything, about how the higher-ups were relentlessly pressing him to put an end to Yuji, the new kid he recently enrolled to the jujutsu school.

“They're just some paranoid old fools—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“—stinky, cringey, looks depressed most of the time—”

“Heh— now that's just plain disrespect.”

“Yuji is just clueless and just has a lot to learn,” Satoru grumbled sullenly. “They didn't even teach him a thing and incapable to— how dare they? To keep him ignorant and then murder him?”

...oh.

And at that moment, you found clarity. Why he got so worked up, why he got irate this time whereas he was usually insensitive.

First, it was because of your tragic youth. No one protected Haibara from his unfortunate incident and was there for Geto when he needed it the most—which still haunted him to this day.

And secondly, because he himself is a father too. No one deserves their youth being taken away. That has been his moral compass, and the sense grows even stronger ever since the baby was born.

It made something inside you flutter.

“Satoru...” you breathed out, smiling, squeezing him affectionately. “You’re ... a kind person.”

“Huh?”

“You take it upon yourself to mentor those kids,” you mused. “Just look at Megumi and Yuta; they've turned out just fine.”

Truthfully, Satoru didn't consider himself as kind as you made him out to be. At times he felt like he was doing it because it was right, sometimes he thought it was for fun, and at other times, he simply didn't feel like seeing more deaths or wrong paths. And he was sure if you had asked Megumi whether he was a good teacher or not, the grumpy boy would only roll his eyes.

But then, just as he looked up at you, the prettiest smile blossomed on your face, and you said to him—

“And as your wife, I’m... proud of you.”

The way you sincerely told him that made his breath catch in his throat, and his heart pound a little faster.

The woman who has become his everything. This unabashed, pure love you show him.

“Sweets, I—” he suddenly rose, back to on top of you. But his voice faltered, remembering the way he coldly snapped at you earlier. “I...”

You looked up at him innocently. And he swallowed the shame because he had to tell you too.

Because you were so, so incredibly precious to him, and he wanted you to know that.

“…love you,” he mumbled, his beautiful eyes meeting yours with no hesitation. His cheeks were burning, tinted with a shade of pink—and you out of all people knew best that him being embarrassed meant as good as him not being horny—

But before you could point it out, he leaned down towards you, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. There was no trace of the man who was hungry for your body— it was just a long, chaste kiss that contained his feelings for you.

And when he pulled back, both of you were panting slightly, trying to catch your breath. Then, he pursed his lips, his eyes glittery—somehow reminding you of your baby's face just before he cried out for his milk.

“I wanna pay for my sin. Wanna cuddle you too.”

And so you let him. He held you close, his arm under your head and you traced lazy lines on his chest, feeling contented and somewhat giddy.

“You feel that bad, huh?” you chuckled, noticing his continued gloominess.

“I am,” he puffed out his cheeks before pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Because if anyone else dares to tell you off like that, I'll wreck them on the spot.”

“Hmm, how romantic. But come to think about it... you did look a little scary though...”

At that moment, he felt his heart drop, his eyes instantly rounded in alarm, looking at you with dismay.

“No, no, I'm not scary! Wifey, I'm your devoted and loving husband!”

Epilogue

Your morning started with your baby's cries. When you glanced over, Satoru was gone from your bed already. Curious, you made your way to the baby's room, and what you saw there caused you to raise an eyebrow.

"Satoru... what are you...?"

He turned to you with an expression so heartbroken as he rocked his wailing baby. "He keeps crying, I don't know why..."

However, your attention was drawn more to his disheveled appearance. Messy hair, slitted eyes as if he hadn't brushed off sleep, and most of all, the dark eyebags under his eyes.

"Uh, Satoru... give him to me."

When he did, your baby calmed down almost instantly, his sobs turning into light sniffles, and your husband could only scratch his head in confusion.

"Why...? When I tried to look at him, he cried even harder—"

"...no offense, but if I were a baby and someone who looks like a panda holds me up, I'd get scared and cry too."

Satoru let out a theatrical gasp, clutching his chest as he hovered over your baby—

"Nooo! Papa didn't mean to scare you—!"

...but to his horror, your baby turned away from him, hiding his face in your chest instead.

[imaginedisish]

I'm Not In Love (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Okay, so this if my first fic in over a year, and it's also my first Wolverine fic...so please be kind. I'm just getting back into the groove. Expect it to possibly be a little rough. This is big time inspired by "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc. This fic is also thanks to a request I got from an anonymous user! Thanks for the idea, anon! Hope it's okay! Enjoy guys.

Summary: After harboring a crush on Logan for months, things finally come to a head while on an overnight mission.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. There's like no plot here just smut, Unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), AFAB reader, Sizekink!(this was a specific size kink request, and so the reader is therefore described as being smaller than Logan/his shirt being big on her), cursing, praise kink, OOC!Logan (just putting this out there because I haven't seen the X-Men movies/read X-Men comics in forever and I'm probably giving him terms he doesn't use/having him act in ways he might not typically), feelings, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, one bed muahaha, probably grammar errors, think that's it?

Word Count: 3,162 I got carried away

He was driving you absolutely crazy. Logan. Logan fucking Howlett, with his cocksure attitude and self-satisfied smile. Maybe it’s the way he thinks he’s always right. Maybe it’s that stupid stubbornness, that prowl he does when he walks across a room to meet you. To mock you. His whole being towering over you—his musky, pine-scented cologne filling your lungs. He’s everywhere—and not just metaphorically—literally and physically. His giant frame shadows yours, and you can’t help but admit that there’s something about it…something about him. 

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung