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itsonlydana · 9 months ago

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"Flower On My Skin" | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

Thranduil gets his hair braided and thinks too much.

warnings/tags: bittersweet, more fluff tho, swf, King Thranduil needs a break

words: 1,9k

an: this is a gift for the lovely @tigereyesf who always comments on my posts on ao3 🤍 the lyrics are from Noah Kahans song "Your needs, my needs'

+ masterlist +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil understands that permitting you to be near him might not be wise. It could very well rank among the least advisable decisions he's made in ages.

But he did, he invited you again and again, sending horses and carriages to transport you ever since he found out you traveled all the way from Dale by yourself whenever he sent a letter.

Until he didn't need to anymore.

Not because you wouldn't come, but because you didn't leave.

Never in a million years would anyone have guessed that the stoic Elvenking would invite a human to his palace on more occasions than his own kind and surely no one would have ever thought that he would start courting them.

Yet here he was, sitting in one of his many blooming gardens, swatting away the hand that was currently trying to gather his hair.

"Stop this," Thranduil's stern voice would've had any other shiver in fear of losing their head, though it only makes you giggle.

"Please, let me braid it again," you stable yourself with your hands on his shoulders and lean over, chest pressed against his strong back.

"No, you little nuisance. I shall not! You know of the meeting I will attend later, we do not have the time."

Even though he can't see your face, he knows you roll your eyes at him, he can feel it in the huff you let out before letting go of him. The warmth of your body disappears as you stand up from the bench and throw one challenging look over your shoulder.

Thranduil watches how you lift the skirts of the gown you're wearing, the finest of silks that you've adorned with little handmade bows from the village, and flop down into the grass. There is not one care on your face that the hems will surely stain and that there are perfectly suitable marmor benches all over the garden and only one of those occupied by Thranduil himself.

You seem to ignore them every time you two spend time out here, he noticed you are much more content with your naked feet buried in the high grass and your hair intertwined with the flowers that grow here.

At first, he couldn't understand the fascination you harbored with nature.

Of course, he had a deep appreciation for the forest surrounding his kingdom, the strong resistance of the trees had been an inspiration for the winding halls, the water flowing through the roots and gifting life and the ever so steady wind reminded someone who lived a thousand years that some things, though they change, never completely disappear.

You, on the other hand, could not be separated from nature in any way whatsoever. There had been the flowers, first only on your side of the bed when he'd invited you to sleep next to him, and one day he woke up to find a vase filled with Astilbe flowers on his nightstand and on his vanity as well.

You also spend most of your day either wandering through the woods (which left him restless and worried until you accepted the sword he had his blacksmith forge for you) or meeting him here in the gardens. He would never tell you but before you, he hadn't walked or maker-forbid, sat there for decades.

Now, he found himself soaking sunshine more days than not, reading Elvish poetry to you while you rested curled into his side with one of his hands brushing your hair, or, chasing you on his Elk through the forest, following the sound of your horse and your laughter.

Your infatuation with nature and the stubbornness of pulling him along made him fall for you, deeply and most ardently and he knew that one day he would need to survive the sight of forests and gardens and flowers without the urge to burn them to the ground for outliving you.

As he watches you examine the colorful flowers and gather them in your lap, he isn't sure if he will be able to contain that anger against the gods if the time comes.

You are oblivious to the dark clouds hanging onto his thoughts, he makes sure that you'll never see the heartbreak he lives through while loving you because he knows, he knows that you would do everything in your power to make him happy.

This is who you are, a human that lives and loves and pours all that you are into those around you, he sees it in the gentleness of your hands cupping the flowers before plucking them, in the way your tongue learned a new language for you wouldn't accept not studying it for an answer if you lived here.

You live to love and love to live.

Thranduil shifts, forgetting that there are guards stationed around the gardens who could see their King doing the unthinkable but he doesn't care.

Not with you sitting a few feet away from him, your dress spilled around you, a full smile on your face as you collect the flowers growing there for you, their little heads turning to you as if you are the sun for them as well, and not just for Thranduil.

If you notice him standing up, you give no sign, you don't even stop humming, and the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at this stubbornness is far too strong to stop it.

"Melethril nîn," he says quietly and his shadow falls over your body. The symbolism and fear of him taking away the sun from you has him clench his jaw. His pain is impatient as if it doesn't know he's going to live longer than he wants to and that it has all the time to break him down.

He quickly shuts those thoughts away behind the sight of you tipping your head back to smirk at him.

This is not the time to dwell on the future, not if he can exist in the moments he shares with you instead of fearing the time when he'll have to think back on them.

"Don't tell me you missed me," you tease.

He scoffs and –surprising you enough to let out a squeak– lowers himself onto his knees next to you.

Eye to eye, he feels much more comfortable, despite the stains that he knows now graze his robes.

"You know," he starts and lets his gaze wander over the flowers in your lap, however, you managed to collect this many of them in such a short time awes him, "the meeting can wait."

You catch onto the meaning instantly, your eyes lightening up even more. The golden rays of the setting sun reflect in them and he reaches forward to cup your face in the palm of his hand and gently leans towards you, capturing your lips in a long kiss that has you gasping.

"Now," Thranduil swipes his thumb over your lower lip, as you separate, tugging playfully at it and giving into another kiss before he continues, "Have your way with my hair, my love. I know you did not collect those flowers for any other reason."

You gasp ingeniously. "You are by far the wisest Elf I've ever met," you say and scoot –maker, he makes a note to get another dress just like this made because surely this will be ruined by the time you leave the gardens– behind his back.

While you gather his hair in your hands, this time without him trying to stop you but relaxing into the soft tugging, you mumble: "So wise, they should make you King."

He chuckles at that. "Ah, but I would need a Queen by my side. Do you know where one could find on–ahhh," his teasing words get swallowed by a sigh as your fingers collect some fine hairs on the side of his head and surely completely on accident run over the shell of his ear to the delicate tip.

"Ooops," you sing and just as his body calms, you repeat the action, even have the gall to scratch the skin with your nails and he melts into a puddle.

His ears burn, not just the one your breath hits but the other one as well and he can feel the blood shoot into his face as well, crumbling the stoic and straight-laced composure of the King who is already on his knees.

"You witch," he presses out between his clenched teeth and hears you giggle. "I should have never told you about that," he murmurs more to himself, trying to regulate his heart beating inside his chest like a wild rabbit on the loose.

You laugh once, a "Pah!" while you tug on his hair, "You didn't tell me," you say and he feels something get pushed inside the braid you are working on, "I found out all by myself."

Thinking back to the night that started this completely outrageous behavior trait of you fiddling with his ears whenever he doesn't pay you enough attention or he says something that teases you a bit too much, he can't tell if you are right or him.

A few years ago he would have shut you down completely because the King would never be wrong but now he grumbles under his breath, agreeing that you must be correct.

Then again, there are many new things that you brought into his life.

He laughs more freely, and not just out of spite of viciously.

He cares more, for you, for his son, for nature and sometimes even for the dwarfs he trades with.

He is formed by you, shaped by your untamable ways of never letting a rainy day ruin your mood.

He is nothing but wax in your hands.

Here, sitting in the gardens and letting you weave flowers in his precious hair, he is no King, he is just a soul yearning for your touch, a flower reaching to bloom in your golden light.

Thranduil's eyes flutter shut as you braid and weave and run your hands over his scalp and through his hair.

He may have fallen asleep, lulled into a trance by the warm sun caressing his face and your voice humming a melody as sweet as any words that you speak, because when you let go of the delicate braids and let them fall into the rest of his hair, he opens his eyes to a pink and purple sunset.

The birds sing their last song and the trees rustle, shaking their branches and leaves as if they would ready themselves for the animals coming to rest in them.

There is a pleasantly chilled breeze that comes with nightfall, one that brings the smell of flowers and grass.

"There," you press a gentle kiss to the skin right behind his left ear, "all done."

For a moment Thranduil is disappointed that you are finished but then he turns to find your smile and all is right.

"Thank you, meldanya," he says, already closing in to express his gratitude with a soft kiss.

You nudge your nose against his, eyes shut in contentment. "Thank you, for letting me. Le ni meleth," you say quietly.

"Always," Thranduil's gaze wanders over you, bathed in rosé and golden hues, the cheeks flushed from the air, your hair wild and untamed, and flowers all over your lap. He grabs a few of them, inspecting the stems and probing them with his sharp nails.

"Let me repay the favor," he effortlessly lifts you, smiling wide at the laugh bursting out of you as he sets you between his legs and onto his robes.

"I want my Queen to wear a fitting crown."

#thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #lotr fanfiction #lotr x reader #lotr x you

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fraugwinska · 7 months ago

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I swear your stories make my heart skip beats❤️🩷❤️🩷 I need some soft spicy Alastor x Female Reader. Maybe a Morning After scenario with Alastor and the reader (waking up together, being soft and cute. Kisses and stuff and maybe a slight continuation of last night😏😏)

After the last stories I was EAGER to write your request, my dearest @alastor-simp. I've accepted my rank as fluff fairy, and I oh-so-love to write these cute, tender moments!!! Thank you for this ask, I hope I did it justice!

For the best experience, I suggest to listen to Ingrid Michaelson's "Love is', which I imagined the radio to play in the story (and listened to while I wrote it)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

We only have Forever

The birds in hell weren't like anything on earth – their songs were not sweet and melodic, but rather ominous and melancholic.

Which is why, when you were woken by an unusual, bright chirping sound, you thought for a split second you were alive again, waking up from an intense, unusually immersive dream.

You shifted, cheeks still pressed into the white, soft pillow and body messily wrapped in cotton sheets, too drowsy to realize that the chirp was not coming from birds, but the little, vintage radio that sat beside the bed in. It quietly came to life, the search for a channel resulting in high, pitchy squeaks and fuzzy static feedback. Which was always the tell-tale sign of a waking Alastor.

The arm around your waist twitched, causing you to sigh peacefully. Your lids fall close and you let it pull you back into the center of the bed, into a warm, waiting body - a soft chest, thinly covered in silky taupe fur that tickled your nose, an underlying, hearty scent of wood and vetiver and the familiar rhythm of another heart drumming against your ears.

You left your eyes closed, relying on the most comforting senses of touch, hear and feel, the latter came into use as the sensation of sleepy, light kisses on the crown of your head that caused your lips to pull into a blissful smile.

"Mornin' my buck."

"Good morning, my doe."

His voice was nothing more of a mumble, still lazy and half asleep, hoarse and slightly deeper than when up and about. When he finally seemed to have picked a radio station he liked, the room was filled with a soft, dreamy song which suited the very same ambiance that was present - happy, in love, slow, silent bliss. It was one of your favorites, and one of the few more modern ones Alastor tolerated.

He ran his slender fingers up your back and shoulders, through the disheveled masses of hair, stroking it gently with his sharp talons, scratching ever so lightly on the scalp. He pulled himself a little more forward, tangling his legs even more with yours in an effort to maximize the connection of your bodies and minimize the space that span between you.

"Hey, easy now or I'll think you're afraid I'll jump up and leave as soon as my eyes open." you teased playfully, as Alastor nuzzled his nose deep in your hair, taking in deep breaths, inhaling your scent and humming in content.

"I had hoped after all my efforts tonight you wouldn't be able to even if you tried, darling."

You flicked his ear in fake indignation, but chuckled and raked your fingers over his back in soft, tender streaks, your fingertips gliding over his spine and sides. He shivered under your touches and melted deeper into you. A rhythmic, shuffling sound joined in with the faint tune from the radio, and Alastor groaned when you purred in lofty pride.

"Damned, traitorous thing...", Alastor scowled, trying to evade the hand that reached for his wagging tail under the sheets.

"Don't you talk like that about my precious friend.", you cooed and caressed the plush fur on his lower back, scratching with nimble fingers close to the base of his tail, the very spot where he was extremely... responsive. Alastor just growled again, missing any angry or mad edge, his tail continuing to thump louder and even quicker and causing him to whine as he failed to stop its excited sway.

"It betrays me."

"No, it only tells me that you're happy."

Alastor tilts his head to brush his lips over your own, almost not touching, a tiny, bittersweet distance between his and your mouth.

"If it's that much more of a conservationist for you, maybe I should stop talking then."

With a faint, sighed chuckle he finally closed the agonizing gap, lips met lips in a slow and flowing embrace, moving almost at the tempo of the song, it's calming beat guiding the cadence and harmony of his kiss. You felt him smile, more relaxed and at ease that his usual signature grin, even though your eyes were closed shut in drowsiness and enjoyment. The slow, lazy, fullness of this morning's intimacy, of your bodies so closely pressed together in ruffled sheets while hell's sun was only slowly rising on the horizon, making out and embracing each other without the need to rush or be somewhere in another hour or so was a rare occasion and therefore worth savoring.

His hands traveled over your hips, up your waist to settle in a gentle, cradling grip around your neck, fingertips grazing the outer edges of the delicate bite mark still there as a reminder of the contrasting feverish passion you both shared last night. With Alastor - It was war and peace, in a circle - hard, unforgiving, passionate desire at the beginning of dusk, and soft, tender and sensual love at the break of dawn. A clash of burning flames and gentle streams, all on an even ground of equals.

You sensed the slight change in the mood, the licks over your parted lips with the warm tip of his tongue soon turned to be deep and demanding, less lazy and more eager movements from his tongue - exploring the insides of your mouth, playfully flicking yours and circling around and between your teeth. His large hand left it's spot in the crook of your neck and pulled on the base of you head, sinking his digits in the tuft of your hair. You moaned softly into the kiss, more of a wanton, sloppy sound rather than anything else and you started to grow flushed, your skin tingling pleasantly under every touch and lick and nibble.

You deeply enjoyed the roughness and depravity you shared in the nights, you really really did. But this, this was what you loved. It was when Alastor wasn't starved for you, endlessly hungry and hasty to devour you but when you were a well prepped meal, slowly cooked and seasoned with care and love that you felt the most powerful connection of your souls - his touches were careful and secure and when he held you in his arms like this, kissed and adorned you like that, every and any gesture or caress spoke so clearly the sentence he had captured your heart with - you are mine and only mine.

"You are saying an awful lot with that body language for someone who wanted to stop talking, my buck." Alastor laughed fondly at your husky breathed words, rolling you on top of him, sheets sticking to the planes of your bare bodies. You threw a leg over him to sit in a straddling position, your face a mere few inches above his as he rolled his hips and swayed your body against his growing length.

“That's the beauty of a loophole, my doe, for no spoken words could express me quite as honestly as this."

Alastor kissed you once more and, now grinning as devilishly as you were used to, let his hands find rest on your hips, ready to start one more of those heavenly nonverbal conversations before you both had to ready yourselves for the hellish world outside of your bedroom.

Again, thank you for suggesting this. And a big shoutout to @minkdelovely, who made my heart skip with her article on 'Pictures of you'. The fluff fairy had you in mind with this, too ;>)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #fluff galore #twinkle twinkle it's the fluff fairy #lazy morning sex #making out with al - a girl can dream

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hotvintagepoll · 7 months ago

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Propaganda

Judy Garland (Meet Me In St. Louis, A Star is Born, Summer Stock)— Judy is the GOAT when it comes to classic movie musicals. The voice of an angel who deserved so much better than she got. She can sing she can dance she can act she's a triple threat. Though she had a turbulent personal life (her treatment as a child star by the studio system makes me mad as hell like Louis b Mayer fight me ((she was made to believe that she was physically unattractive by the constant criticism of film executives who made her feel ugly and who manipulated her onscreen appearance by capping her teeth and using discs in her nose to change its shape and Mayer called her "my little hunchback" like imagine hearing that as a child and not having damage)) she always goddamn delivered on screen and in any performance she gave. She began in vaudeville performing with her sisters and was signed to MGM at 13. Starting out in supporting parts especially paired with mickey Rooney in a bunch of films (she's the best part tbh) she eventually transferred to the lead role. She is best known for her starring role in movie musicals like the iconic Wizard of Oz (somewhere over the rainbow still hits hard and is ranked the top film song of all time), meet me in St. Louis (Judy singing have your self a merry little Christmas brings tears to the eyes she is that powerful), the Harvey girls (she looks like a technicolor dream and sings a catchy af song about trains), Easter parade ( dancing and singing with Fred Astaire), for me and my gal, the pirate, and summer stock ( with pal Gene Kelly who she helped when he was starting out and he helped her when she was struggling). But she also does non- singing just as well like the clock ( her first movie where she sings no songs and is an underrated ww2 era romance), her Oscar nominated a star is born ( like the man that got away she put her whole soul in that and I have beef with the fact she lost to grace kelly ((whom I love but like still not even her best work)), and judgement at Nuremberg (a courtroom drama about the nazi war criminal trials). Outside of film she made concert appearances to record-breaking audiences, released 8 studio albums, and had her own Emmy-nominated tv series. She was the youngest (39) and first female recipient of the Cecil B DeMille award for lifetime achievement in the film industry. Girl was a lifelong democrat and was a financial and moral supporter of many causes including the civil rights movement (she was at the March on Washington and held a press conference to protest the 16th street Baptist church bombings). She was a friend of the Kennedy family and would call jfk weekly often ending the calls by singing the first few lines of somewhere over the rainbow (she thought of them as Gemini twins).She was a member of the committee for the first amendment which was formed in response to the HUAC investigations. Though she died far too young and tragically she remains an icon for her work and her life. As a girl who didn't feel like i was as pretty as everyone else I have always felt a connection to Judy and I just really love her.

Natalie Wood (West Side Story, The Great Race)—She went through so much shit which I know can be said for all these women but Natalie really was a star and her death often overshadows her career and life. She could make you cry, but she also had the capacity to be incredibly funny which I think is lost on people.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Natalie Wood:

Judy Garland:

Judy's voice alone qualifies her for at least top ten hottest HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMEN. She was a truly incredible swing singer, with a stunning voice on top of her technique. Her short dark hair looked incredible in just about any style. Have I mentioned her swagger? I can’t do it justice with words. She had swagger. She was funny as hell, and clever too. Incredibly charming and cool. I adore her.

Her eyes, her voice have bewitched me

I mean how can you beat the one and only Judy? She's beautiful, her smile is contagious, the way she sings with her whole body. You can't help but love her.

youtube

Beautiful woman, love her singing voice. And she can do everything between happy or silly and angry or heartbroken

#natalie wood #judy garland #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4 #Youtube

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 1 year ago

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Marilyn Manson - The Fight Song 2001

"The Fight Song" is a song by the rock band Marilyn Manson. It was released in 2001 as the second single from their fourth full-length studio album, Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death). The album was released to generally positive reviews. Several writers praised it as the band's finest work, and multiple publications ranked it as one of the best albums of 2000. It became their most successful album internationally, debuting in the top twenty of numerous national charts. It was certified gold in several countries, including Canada, Japan, Switzerland and the UK. "The Fight Song" recieved 52,2% total yes votes.

youtube

#submitted #finished #marilyn manson #00s

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sleepisapriviligethatidonthave · 2 months ago

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Fir the MegOp request: TFA Megatron reaction that TFA Optimus is a space bridge repair worker

Finally I found your ask! I spent a century combing through my notifications XD

Aaaaanyways, here it is! Hope you like it ^^

Megatron swung his swords at the Prime, missing by a wire’s breath when the Autobot ducked and returned the attack in kind. It was a familiar song and dance for the warlord by now, though usually their fights were not so… private.

As luck would have it, both of them had answered an energy anomaly in the forest near Detroit. It had been a rather pleasant surprise to find the young Prime all by his lonesome right after locating the Allspark fragment in the middle of a small clearing in said woods.

“Not too shabby, Autobot. A few more millennia and you might stand a chance at defeating me!” he mocked as he kicked his opponent to the ground. It was almost too easy sometimes, but the Prime always pulled through one way or another.

“I have a name!” snapped Optimus as he rolled just out of reach of Megatron’s pede which left a small crater right where he had been a moment ago, “I am Optimus Prime, and you ought to remember that!” he growled and slashed with his axe at the pede, only grazing the thick warframe armour. Megatron couldn’t help but laugh at the feeble attempt to injure him.

It was always fun to see his enemies infuriated at the fact that he didn’t know their names. He did, but one thing he had learned early on in his gladiatorial career was that an unconcentrated opponent was a weak one. That practice of his had helped him all throughout the war and even after that. It wasn’t often that he met an opponent that kept their cool so well in the face of such disrespect.

“Ah, yes, the rank of Prime. The standards for it have fall quite a bit, haven’t they?” he chuckled with a smirk and parried the angry swing aimed at his helm, throwing the Autobot into the air. Megatron watched with a hint of surprise as his foe flipped in the air and landed square on his pedes, ready to resume their fight. “Or maybe not.” he muttered to himself and went in for another attack.

Few survived an encounter with him and lived long enough to tell the tale. Even fewer willingly went against him again, which made fighting the young mech such a delight.

The little Prime never ceased to surprise. He was always so resourceful and selfless – two qualities he had long believed to be extinct when it came to Autobots. He fought rather rigidly, yes, but he knew when to change tactics in order to secure an advantage. That, he could respect, he could use. If only the Prime wasn’t so foolishly loyal to his rusted cause.

Optimus dodged blaster fire with ease as he shot a grappling hook at one of Megatron’s swords, attempting to seize it.

Megatron grabbed the chord and pulled, sending Prime once again flying through the open sky, but this time luck was not on his side. He smashed against a tree, with a loud crack before falling to the ground, heaving.

“You Autobots never learn, do you? You can not defeat me, even the best of you.” he knew that praising him was a contradictive move, but he had earned it.

It came as a surprise to hear the Prime snort and try to stifle a chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Autobot?” the reaction puzzled him. He was about to be offlined and yet here he was, laughing like Megatron had told him the funniest joke in the galaxy.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. It’s just that, if you really think that an academy washout, space bridge technician is ‘one of the best’, then it’s not the Autobots’ standard that has fallen.” snickered Optimus as he looked up at Megatron with a slag eating grin.

The warlord froze in place, his CPU attempting and failing to process the new information.

“What?”

Optimus laughed even harder, wincing when his vents, damaged by the hit he took, expelled a wheezing sound.

Megatron pressed the tip of one of his swords right against the Autobot’s main fuel line, effectively silencing him. “Explain yourself, now.” he growled menacingly.

“What exactly is there to explain? I already told you the truth. I’m not a fully fledged Prime. Officially I’m not even considered a warrior, no one on my team is. We’re space bridge technicians. Our job was to travel around the corners of the galaxy and repair the Autobot space bridge network.”

Megatron looked at the Prime in disbelief, every interaction they had ever had, replaying itself in the warlord’s mind as small, incongruous details about the team of Autobots slotted themselves into place to finally reveal the horrific truth.

They were no warriors, they were civilians who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. That was why the Elite Guard had done next to nothing to help them. To the great Autobot machine they were fodder, disposable.

Disgust and hatred flashed through Megatron’s field, making Optimus flinch minutely when his own tense one came into contact with his.

This changed everything and nothing at the same time which only infuriated Megatron even more. It was dishonourable to fight against someone who could not face you properly in battle, who was not a warrior. It was Descepticon code, something he himself had put into place to prevent unnecessary carnage in the name of keeping Cybertron populated. Overtime, even the worst of the Descepticons had accepted it as law, even he himself had begun to view it as something on which his honour depended.

And here he was tarnishing it in the worst way imaginable.

“You know, if you ask me, I would much rather fight Cons for the rest of my life than go back to the most boring job in the universe.”

Immediately, Megatron’s helm snapped to the location of the voice only to see the bright yellow Autobot speedster sitting on a tree stump, looking at the bots before him while twirling the forgotten Allspark fragment in his servos.

“Personally, I’d rather be a space bridge technician. Bossbot is right, we aren’t warriors, and I’ll be more than happy to go back to doing what I signed up for.” came the voice of the big green Autobot from the other side of the clearing.

“Quit yer whining, will ya? We still need to save Optimus from Buckethead!” barked the team’s medic as he primed his magnets.

“I do not believe Optimus needs our saving.” chimed in the ninja bot who appeared from behind a tree.

Megatron took in all of the newly gathered Autobots, ignoring the last comment. Before, all he saw was a bunch of low-class warriors with lacking training, but now, he saw them for what they really were. It was so obvious in hindsight, he wanted to kick himself for missing it.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Prowl, I really appreciate it.” Megatron snapped his attention back to his original foe, having thought him incapacitated. Clearly, he had miscalculated again, as a spray of foam hit his faceplates, completely blinding him. He tried moving back, only for his pedes to be restrained in Prime’s grappling hook.

Megatron fell backwards with a grunt. As he tried to regain his sight, he could hear the commotion around him.

“Let’s go before he gets back up and hunts us down!” yelled Optimus. His command was met with no complaints and soon enough Megatron found himself alone on the clearing.

He growled and muttered curses as he cut the chord around his pedes. The mission had been a disaster. Of course, he could give chase to the Autobots and try to retrieve the Allspark fragment, but ultimately decided against it.

Once he finally deemed himself presentable, he gave one last glance to the direction in which the Autobot team retreated, sighed, and began the journey back to the Descepticon hideout. He was in no mood to rush back just to deal with his subordinates, so he opted to walk. That way he had some time to mull over the new information he had obtained and formulate a plan…

And think of a way to break the news to his Descepticons without causing a riot.

#megop #megatron #optimus prime #transformers #maccadam #tfa #answered asks #asks #asks open #ask game

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amethystarachnid · 11 days ago

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OPPOSITES - part I

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, tiny bit of angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part II

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: you were raised with strict rules, never once dared to break one of them but the mysterious man you meet at the bar maybe deserves a few rules break.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of alcohol

ᯓ★ AU: 1920s Gangstares

ᯓ★ Request: plz i neeeeeeeed the 1920s one i’ve been binging peaky blinders ( @one-lengthiness36 )

ᯓ★ Since request didn't spicy reader's gender I'll write it as a fem!reader, as I've said in the post

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ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The Jazz Club pulses with life on a humid Friday night, filled with the muted glint of candle-lit chandeliers and shadows that dance to the lively notes of a trumpet solo. The place is alive, but you feel like you’re not quite part of it, like you’re watching through glass. You smooth the soft folds of your dress—borrowed from your friend Anna, who insists that it’s the only suitable thing to wear in a place like this—and tuck a stray curl behind your ear, feeling more out of place than you ever have. The excitement and energy around you only seem to emphasize your own nerves.

When Anna and Lucy had insisted on bringing you here tonight, the “exclusive bar everyone’s talking about,” you’d hesitated. You’d been raised on rules, boundaries, and curfews. Late nights and smokey speakeasies had never been on the approved list. But the moment you’d stepped in here, breathing in the heady scent of bourbon, old wood, and something vaguely illicit, a part of you couldn’t deny the thrill that’s begun to buzz under your skin. You’re in a different world here, and your friends seem to thrive in it.

The club, “The Silver Swan,” has a reputation, and you’d heard the whispers about its owner: a shadowy figure with connections that aren’t exactly above board. Rumors say he’s dangerous, a man who rose through the ranks with a rough, unbreakable resolve. And yet, something about those stories only makes this place more thrilling, as if the Silver Swan is something of a forbidden fruit.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind the bar, looking wide-eyed and uncertain, the fabric of your dress reflecting the dim light in a way that makes you look more like a stranger than yourself. The low, smoky lights give everyone a sort of glamour, making the crowd seem less like people and more like characters from some gripping novel. A soft laugh tumbles from Anna’s lips, and she nudges you, arching an eyebrow.

“See, aren’t you glad you came?” she teases, her voice barely audible over the music. She’s right—you do feel a strange, exhilarating freedom here, your usual reservations fading into the back of your mind.

But then you feel it—eyes on you, unmistakable and intense. A shiver runs down your spine, and you glance around, suddenly alert. Your gaze lands on a man sitting at the edge of the room, half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes are piercing, almost predatory, watching you with a focus that makes you want to look away and stare back all at once.

The man is handsome in a way that’s almost unfair, with dark hair swept back neatly, a sharply cut jaw, and broad shoulders beneath a crisp suit. He’s lounging in a seat like it belongs to him, exuding a confidence that makes your heart stammer. Something about him is familiar, but you really can't seem to remember where you already saw him.

And right now, he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room.

You look away quickly, feeling your face flush, but his gaze is unrelenting. It’s like he’s assessing you, taking in every detail. Even from across the room, the heat of his stare is enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with your dress. Your friends are too busy chatting to notice, and part of you wants to tell them, but another part—one you barely recognize—likes the thrill of keeping it to yourself.

Slowly, almost deliberately, Bucky stands up. He moves with a grace that’s startling for a man of his size, all smooth lines and careful steps. The room shifts around him as people notice, some going silent, others nodding in deference. You try to look away, to pretend you haven’t noticed, but it’s impossible not to track his progress. Your heart beats faster with every step he takes in your direction, a drumbeat echoing louder in your ears as he comes closer.

When he finally reaches you, he stops, tilting his head and giving you the kind of smile that should be illegal in a place like this. He has a magnetism that’s undeniable, as if he could pull you in without a word.

“Good evening,” he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to settle over you. The accent’s faint, a New York drawl that somehow makes every word sound like a promise.

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. “Good evening.”

Up close, he’s even more striking. The lines of his face are sharp, softened only by the faintest of smirks that hovers at the corner of his mouth. His eyes, a shade of blue so intense it’s almost unreal, seem to see right through you. But there’s something else in them too, a flicker of curiosity, as if he’s just as intrigued by you as you are by him.

“Bucky Barnes,” he introduces himself, extending a hand. His fingers are gloved, the leather cool and smooth against your palm. “And who might you be, sweetheart?”

The endearment catches you off guard, and you struggle to remember your own name for a second. “Y/N,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—um—I don’t usually come to places like this.”

His smile widens slightly, a flash of white teeth that’s as dangerous as it is charming. “That much is obvious,” he says, his gaze dropping briefly to your dress, then back up to meet your eyes. “But I’d say you’re fitting in just fine.”

Your cheeks heat up again, and you find yourself at a loss for words. It’s disconcerting how effortlessly he seems to get under your skin, making you feel as though he knows things about you that you don’t even know yourself. The bar seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, caught in a bubble of heady tension.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, breaking the silence. He gestures to the bartender, who looks over immediately, waiting for Bucky’s order with a kind of nervous deference.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yes, please.”

Without looking away from you, Bucky nods to the bartender. “A glass of champagne for the lady.”

The drink appears almost immediately, and you accept it, your fingers brushing against his gloved hand. The touch is brief, but it sends a jolt through you, making you feel both exhilarated and unnerved. You take a small sip, hoping it’ll calm your nerves, but his presence is overwhelming, making it difficult to think clearly.

“So, Y/N,” he says, leaning a bit closer, his voice a seductive whisper, “what brings you to my little corner of the city?”

His little corner of the city. The way he says it is almost proprietary, as though he truly owns every inch of this place, every beat of the music, every glass of liquor poured.

“My friends,” you say, gesturing vaguely to Anna and Lucy, who are engrossed in conversation with each other. “They… they thought it was time I had a bit of fun.”

He chuckles, a rich, low sound that makes your pulse quicken. “And are you having fun, doll?”

The question catches you off guard, and you meet his gaze again, caught by the intensity of it. The truth is, you are. Despite your nerves, despite the fact that you feel completely out of your element, there’s something exhilarating about being here, talking to him.

“I think so,” you admit, a smile tugging at your lips. “Though I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Bucky’s eyes light up with amusement, and he leans in a bit closer, his voice a low murmur. “Well, sweetheart, maybe I could help you with that.”

The suggestion hangs in the air between you, charged with a promise that sends your heart racing. You’re not entirely sure what he means, but the thrill of it, the idea of letting him show you something unknown, is intoxicating.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks, and his voice is so soft that it almost feels like a secret.

“Yes,” you reply before you can second-guess yourself.

Bucky leads you onto the dance floor, his hand firm and possessive against your back, and you can feel the curious stares of the other patrons as he holds you close. He’s surprisingly graceful, moving with a practiced ease that makes it easy for you to follow his lead. The world seems to melt away, leaving just the two of you, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

The song is slow, sultry, and Bucky’s hands are warm through the thin fabric of your dress, guiding you effortlessly. He keeps his gaze on you, unwavering, as though he’s studying every reaction, every flicker of emotion on your face.

“Tell me something, Y/N,” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “Do you always let strangers sweep you off your feet?”

You can feel his breath against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “No,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “I don’t… I don’t usually do things like this.”

He smirks, clearly pleased by your admission. “Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Because I’m not interested in being just anyone to you.”

The words leave you breathless, caught in his intensity. There’s something about him that’s both dangerous and magnetic, and you can feel yourself

being pulled in, the thrill of his attention washing over you.

As the music fades, he doesn’t let go, his gaze darkening as he studies you. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “I’d like to see you again.”

You’re not sure if it’s the champagne, the music, or the heady warmth of his gaze, but you find yourself nodding, your heart racing as you meet his gaze. “I’d… I’d like that too.”

He smiles, and there’s something possessive in it, a promise of things you can’t even begin to imagine. As he guides you off the dance floor, you can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, but for the first time, you don’t care. You’re captivated, ensnared, and in that moment, you realize that stepping into this bar has changed everything.

Two nights have passed since you met him, and you can’t shake the memory of the man with the dangerous smile and the piercing blue eyes. It feels almost ridiculous how one night could stick with you like this, lingering in your mind like a melody you can’t quite shake. His voice, low and confident, keeps playing back in your head, making you feel things you barely understand.

It’s just that he was… so different from anyone you’ve ever met. Mysterious, maybe a little bit dangerous, though you can’t say exactly why. He was a stranger, yes, but you can’t help but feel there was something there—something that makes you want to know more.

Tonight, you find yourself standing outside The Silver Swan, the same bar where it all began. Your heart thuds in your chest as you glance at the door, nerves warring with the thrill of seeing him again. You’d told yourself that coming back was silly, that you didn’t even know if he’d be here. But in the end, your curiosity had won out over reason, and here you are, alone this time, without your friends to distract you.

Steeling yourself, you step inside. The place feels both familiar and surreal, as though returning to a dream. The low lights, the smoky haze, the soft murmur of laughter—it’s all just as you remember. Except, this time, you feel different, like you’re here for something specific. Or someone.

Your eyes scan the room, searching. At first, you don’t see him, and a pang of disappointment settles in your chest. But then, across the room, there he is, sitting in that same dark corner, half-obscured by shadows. He’s alone, nursing a drink, his gaze resting on the crowd in a way that seems watchful, attentive. He’s so focused that you almost turn around, almost lose your nerve. But he catches your movement, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

And just like the first night, he smiles—a lazy, inviting smile that makes your stomach flip.

You take a steadying breath and walk toward him, feeling as though every step is pulling you deeper into something you don’t entirely understand. When you reach him, he stands, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he looks at you.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his voice every bit as smooth as you remember. “Back again, doll?”

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… you didn’t tell me your name. I didn’t know where else to look.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, and you know it. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting back a laugh, but he’s too much of a gentleman to let it show.

“Didn’t I?” he asks, feigning surprise. “Must have slipped my mind.”

You raise an eyebrow, catching onto the teasing edge in his tone, and he chuckles softly. It’s a warm sound, richer than you remember, and it puts you a little more at ease.

“James Barnes,” he says finally, extending a gloved hand to you. “Though everyone just calls me Bucky.”

Bucky. You repeat the name in your head, testing it out. Somehow, it suits him perfectly.

“Y/N,” you say, letting him take your hand. His grip is warm and firm, and his gaze remains steady, holding yours with an intensity that feels almost intoxicating.

“I remember,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. “Been thinking about you since that night.”

The admission catches you off guard, your cheeks heating as you try to keep your composure. There’s no trace of insincerity in his tone, no hint that he’s merely flattering you. And it does something to you, hearing that he remembers, that he’s been thinking about you, too.

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?” he asks, gesturing to the seat beside him. The offer is simple, but his gaze tells you that he’s waiting for something more than just a drink. It’s a silent invitation, one you find yourself unable to resist.

You sit beside him, nodding as he signals the bartender. Within moments, a glass of champagne is set in front of you, the same as last time. The tiny bubbles rise to the surface, and you take a sip, savoring the taste as you try to steady your nerves. Bucky’s eyes never leave you, tracking every move you make with a quiet intensity that sends a thrill through you.

“So,” he says after a moment, his voice soft, “what brings you back here tonight, Y/N?”

There’s a teasing glint in his eye, and you can tell he already knows the answer. But you can’t bring yourself to say it outright. Instead, you glance down at your glass, letting the bubbles fizz against your lips.

“Maybe I was… curious,” you admit finally. “About you.”

The words hang between you, more honest than you’d intended, but his reaction is worth it. His gaze darkens, and he leans in just slightly, his voice lowering to a murmur.

“Is that so?” he asks, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I don’t suppose you know much about me, do you?”

You shake your head, feeling both embarrassed and exhilarated by the question. “No, not really,” you say. “Just that you’re the owner of this place.”

Bucky chuckles, the sound low and amused. “That’s one way to put it,” he says, his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “But there’s a bit more to it than that.”

He leans back in his seat, watching you with a faint, assessing smile. “And you,” he says, “are a little out of place in a place like this, aren’t you?”

It’s not a question, more of an observation, and he’s not wrong. You feel the flush of heat on your cheeks as you give a small nod.

“My friends wanted to show me something… new,” you say, glancing around at the bar. “And I guess I wanted to see more of it.”

“More of me, you mean,” he says smoothly, the teasing lilt back in his voice.

You try to stifle a laugh, knowing he’s right. “Maybe,” you admit.

He seems pleased by your honesty, his smirk softening into something more genuine. The conversation flows more easily now, and you find yourself telling him things you wouldn’t usually share with a stranger—about your strict upbringing, your sheltered life, how your friends are always telling you to try something new, something daring.

“Sounds like you’ve been living under lock and key,” he says, a hint of sympathy in his voice. “Bet you’ve never even snuck out after curfew.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I haven’t, actually. I don’t even know what it feels like to break the rules.”

His eyes glint with something mischievous, and he leans in just a little closer, his voice a murmur. “Would you like to find out?”

The suggestion sends a thrill down your spine, and you glance around, feeling both nervous and exhilarated. “Maybe,” you say, your voice softer than you intend.

Bucky’s gaze holds yours, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. “How about a little tour of the place, then?” he asks, offering his arm. “You don’t get to see the real Silver Swan from the barstool.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before you slip your hand through the crook of his arm. His gaze softens, and you can feel the weight of his attention on you as he leads you away from the bar. The patrons barely look up as you pass, and you wonder if they’re used to seeing Bucky escorting guests through the place.

He leads you down a hallway that seems to stretch on forever, passing doors that look as though they lead to secret places—rooms shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Bucky says nothing, letting the quiet settle between you, and you feel yourself growing more curious, more intrigued by him with every step.

When he finally stops, it’s at a private booth at the very back of the club, tucked away from prying eyes. The lights are low, the shadows casting his face in a way that makes him look almost otherworldly.

“This,” he says softly, “is where I like to sit when I want a break from it all.”

You glance around, taking in the plush seating and the faint scent of leather and bourbon that seems to hang in the air. “It’s… nice,” you say, feeling a little out of breath. “Quiet.”

He nods, watching you closely. “Not many people get to see this side of the club,” he says. “Guess you’re special, Y/N.”

The words are simple, but they make your heart skip a beat. You hold his gaze, feeling that pull again, that magnetic attraction that brought you back here tonight.

“Thank you,” you say, almost whispering.

He leans in, his hand resting on the back of the booth behind you. “It’s my pleasure, doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low, intoxicating murmur. “I meant it when I said I wanted to see you again.”

You feel yourself getting lost in his eyes, the promise in his voice making your heart race. And as you sit there, hidden away from the world, you realize that you don’t care about the consequences or what you’ve always been told.

As the two of you settle into the private booth, Bucky leans back, relaxed, his gaze never straying far from you. The low hum of the club fades into the background, and for the first time, you feel as though you can truly open up. There’s something about him—something magnetic, confident, almost disarming. It’s as though his quiet intensity has created a space where you feel safe, unjudged.

“You know,” he says, after a moment of comfortable silence, “you’re different than most people who come through here.”

“Different?” you echo, taking a sip of champagne to cover the sudden rush of nervousness. “How?”

He smiles, his head tilting thoughtfully. “Most people here, they’ve got something to prove. Or something to hide. They’re running from their lives or getting a break from them. But you? You seem like you’re still figuring out what it is you want. Not in a bad way. It’s…” His voice softens as his eyes sweep over you. “It’s refreshing.”

You can’t help but smile, feeling a flicker of warmth at his words. But that warmth quickly fades into something more bittersweet, a feeling that gnaws at the edges of your happiness. You glance down, fiddling with the stem of your glass as you think of your father, of the tight restrictions he’s kept on you for so long, and the rules you’ve never dared question.

“Maybe that’s because I don’t know what I want,” you murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I don’t think I ever learned how to decide that for myself.”

He studies you in silence, letting the confession linger in the space between you. Bucky doesn’t press, doesn’t pry—just waits, watching you with a quiet patience that feels comforting.

“It’s just…” you continue, hesitating, unsure how to explain the life you’ve led, the one so tightly wrapped in rules and boundaries. “My father has always been very… strict. Growing up, I had a list of things I could do, places I was allowed to go. There were rules about what I could wear, who I could talk to.” You give a short, bitter laugh, almost embarrassed to admit it. “My whole life has been about following those rules.”

Bucky’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening slightly. “He must be real protective of you.”

“Protective? Yes,” you say, nodding slowly. “But it’s more than that. He always said he was trying to keep me safe, but…” You trail off, staring into your glass. “It feels like I was more of a possession than a person sometimes. Like I was something he could control.”

Bucky’s hand rests on the back of the booth, his fingers inching closer to yours as he leans forward. “Must have been lonely,” he says quietly, his voice gentle, understanding.

The truth of it hits you in a way you weren’t expecting. You’ve never been allowed to admit that, not even to yourself, but hearing it said aloud feels oddly freeing. “It was,” you confess, barely above a whisper. “I think that’s why I stayed. I didn’t know any other way to live.”

A quiet moment stretches between you, and then Bucky speaks, his tone warm but filled with a fierceness you hadn’t seen before. “You know, there’s more out there than just following someone else’s rules, Y/N. There’s a whole world waiting to be discovered—by you.”

His words make something tighten in your chest, a thrill mingling with fear. It’s tempting to believe him, to imagine a world where you could make your own choices, live by your own rules. But the thought is daunting, and part of you wonders if you’d even know where to begin.

“I don’t know if I’d know how to live like that,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “It sounds… wonderful, but it’s not easy. Not when I’ve been told my whole life what’s right and wrong.”

“Right and wrong?” he repeats, an amused smirk quirking at the edge of his lips. “Who’s deciding that, doll? Your father?”

You hesitate, feeling a swell of defensiveness and something else—guilt, maybe. “I mean, he’s only ever tried to protect me. He says that the world’s dangerous, and that if I’m careful, I’ll stay safe.”

Bucky’s gaze darkens, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “And what’s that gotten you? Safety? Or just limitations?”

The question hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, you don’t have an answer. You think about your life as it’s been: the curfews, the rules, the carefully monitored friendships, the way you’d once looked forward to every day shrinking into a comfortable, predictable routine. And it hits you that you don’t remember the last time you actually felt alive, felt excited about something. Meeting Bucky, coming back here tonight—these things have pulled you out of the haze that’s been your life, made you realize just how small it had become.

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling that truth in your bones. “I just… I’ve never known any other way.”

Bucky’s gaze softens, his hand moving closer until his fingers brush lightly against yours. “Maybe it’s time to change that,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper. “To start making choices for yourself.”

His words stir something in you, something you’ve ignored for far too long. Maybe it is time. Maybe there’s more for you out there, more than just the safe life your father has laid out for you. The thought is thrilling and terrifying, a leap into the unknown that you’re not sure you’re ready for.

But sitting here, under Bucky’s intense gaze, you feel a flicker of courage.

“What if… what if I don’t know where to start?” you ask, barely realizing you’ve spoken the thought aloud.

Bucky smiles, a quiet, reassuring smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Then start with something small,” he says. “Just one little choice that’s all your own.”

The suggestion feels manageable, like a tiny, contained spark in the face of a bonfire. You look down at your hand, still so close to his, and a thought occurs to you, simple and impulsive.

“Then I choose to stay here,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “With you.”

Bucky’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite name, and his fingers close gently over yours. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes tells you more than words could. It feels as though a silent promise has passed between you, a vow to share this moment and maybe more.

“You made a good choice,” he says, voice low and sincere. “You’ll find it’s not so bad, choosing what you want for yourself.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in the warmth of his presence, you realize that for the first time, you feel free. It’s a small thing, yes, but it’s the beginning of something bigger. It’s a spark, a chance to break away from the life you’ve known, to carve out something that belongs only to you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “For… for making me feel like I could do that.”

Bucky’s grip tightens around your hand, his gaze unwavering. “Sweetheart, you don’t need anyone to give you permission to live your life. But I’ll be here to remind you, as often as you need.”

The weight of his words settles over you, grounding you, anchoring you in this moment. And as the evening stretches on, you find yourself leaning into this new feeling—this strange, exhilarating freedom. You don’t know where this will lead, but for the first time, you’re not afraid of the unknown. For the first time, you feel ready to face it.

The hours seem to slip away as you and Bucky talk, wrapped up in a world that feels like it belongs only to the two of you. Conversation flows easily, and each answer you give, every shared look, every quiet laugh feels like a step further into uncharted territory—a life you never imagined could be yours. With each word, each moment, you feel yourself coming undone, shedding pieces of the careful person you’ve been told to be.

You learn more about him, too, though his answers are sometimes elusive, his stories sketched in broad strokes rather than fine detail. He talks about Brooklyn, about the fast changes sweeping through the city, about what it means to take control of your life and make your own choices, no matter the risk. And there’s a gleam in his eye when he speaks of it, a sort of fierce independence that leaves you breathless.

He notices your rapt attention and smiles knowingly, and just as you start to look away, he reaches over, lifting your chin with a gentle hand. “Don’t go hiding now, doll,” he says softly. “You’ve got that look in your eye, like you’re learning a secret.”

Maybe you are. Maybe tonight is a door opening in your mind, a glimpse into a world beyond everything you’ve been raised to believe. You don’t want to look away. Not now.

The night deepens, the lights around you dimming further as the crowd in the bar begins to thin. You’ve lost track of time, and when you look at him again, you realize you’ve also lost track of everything else—the worry, the rules, the constraints of who you’re supposed to be. All that exists now is the weight of his gaze, steady and warm and laced with a depth you can barely fathom.

“Bucky,” you murmur, his name foreign but sweet on your tongue, “you’re right. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want… more.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but the way he looks at you speaks volumes. The intensity in his eyes softens, a hint of something tender mingling with his usual confidence. You’re close to him now, closer than you’ve ever been to anyone before, and it feels so natural, as though you’re meant to be in this moment, with him.

As if sensing your thoughts, he brushes his hand along your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along your skin. “You deserve that,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of music. “You deserve to have everything you want.”

Your heart is racing, but it’s no longer just nerves—it’s excitement, the thrill of something new, something you’ve only read about in books or dreamed of late at night when no one was watching. Bucky’s thumb pauses, just beneath your lips, and you hold your breath, wondering if he can feel the heat rushing to your face, if he knows just how much you want this.

And then, as if time has slowed, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a featherlight kiss.

It’s softer than you imagined, gentle and tentative, almost as if he’s waiting to make sure you’re alright with this, as though he’s giving you a moment to pull away if you want to. But pulling away is the last thing on your mind. Instead, you close your eyes, letting yourself melt into the kiss, letting him guide you.

It’s your first kiss, and yet it feels like it’s something you’ve waited your whole life for. His lips are warm, and there’s a softness to him that contrasts with his strong grip as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly. You feel his hand cradle the back of your neck, anchoring you to him, and it’s like everything you’ve known has been turned upside down, as if your world has narrowed to this single point of contact.

When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he doesn’t let go. His eyes search yours, and there’s something vulnerable there, something that makes your heart ache in the best way.

“You okay?” he asks softly, a faint, tender smile playing on his lips.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper. “Yes,” you manage, feeling breathless. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

He chuckles softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “Then we’ll take our time,” he murmurs. “No need to rush. Just… let yourself feel it.”

You can feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles on the back of your neck. The kiss has stirred something in you, a hunger for more—more of him, more of this feeling of freedom. It’s a feeling you didn’t know existed, a kind of heady joy mixed with an electric thrill, and you find yourself wanting to savor every second of it.

“I’ve never…” you begin, your cheeks warming as you try to find the words. “This is all so new.”

Bucky smiles, his gaze softening further. “I know, sweetheart. But I’ve got all the time in the world.” There’s a promise in his voice, a quiet reassurance that lets you feel safe, cared for. And in this moment, with him, you believe it.

“Thank you,” you whisper, not sure how to put into words everything you’re feeling. “For… for this. For making me feel like I could do something I’ve always been afraid to.”

He rests a hand on your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin as he studies you, as though he’s memorizing every detail of your face. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that,” he says, his voice rough with sincerity. “If anything, thank yourself. You’re the one taking the chance.”

The world outside this quiet, shadowed booth feels a million miles away, and you realize, for the first time, that you’re not thinking of anyone else—not your father, not the rules, not the life you’d been told to live. Here, with Bucky, you’re allowed to simply be.

As the night wears on, you talk in hushed tones, sharing fragments of dreams, whispered promises, and moments of laughter. And when he kisses you again, it’s no longer tentative or restrained, but warm and inviting, a promise of something more. It’s a gentle pull, a quiet invitation to step further into this new life that’s slowly taking shape before you.

And as you close your eyes, feeling his arms wrap around you, you can’t help but think that this—this feeling, this night, this person—might just be the beginning of everything you’ve been waiting for.

The weeks that follow are filled with secret rendezvous, stolen glances, and a flurry of emotions you’ve never experienced before. Bucky becomes your world, a thrilling, hidden part of your life that you keep safe from prying eyes and questions. You meet him on street corners, take long walks in the early morning hours, and share intimate moments in dimly lit corners of his bar. He shows you parts of the city you never knew existed, places tucked away from the polished streets you grew up on. With every touch, every lingering look, you feel yourself slipping further from the quiet girl your family knows and closer to the woman he’s helped you become.

But Bucky’s expression has grown increasingly serious each time he sees you. One night, after a quiet dinner at his place, he turns to you with a look that makes your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s something heavier behind it. The warmth that always seems to light up his gaze is dimmer, a flicker of worry casting shadows over his features.

The unease in his voice sends a shiver through you. You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “What is it, Bucky?”

He pauses, his jaw tightening before he speaks. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” He meets your gaze, searching your eyes as though bracing himself. “About who I am. About what I do.”

The words make you stop short, your heart pounding as you try to read his face. But there’s no trace of the softness he usually holds for you; instead, he looks almost haunted, caught between protecting you and confessing something you suspect he’s wanted to share for a long time.

“Alright,” you say softly, not letting go of his hand. “Then tell me.”

Taking a breath, Bucky looks away for a moment, as if gathering himself, before he speaks again. “I… I’m not just the guy who owns that bar, Y/N.” His voice drops to a low murmur. “I’m in charge of a group of men—a group that does things your father would never approve of. People see me as… as someone to be feared. I’m the boss of a gang.”

You stare at him, processing each word slowly, feeling the weight of them sink in. The man you’ve fallen in love with—the man who taught you how to live outside the lines, who showed you how to think for yourself—he’s also a feared figure in the world of crime, someone your father would have you believe is dangerous and immoral. But despite the shock of it, you can’t seem to find fear in your heart. Instead, you feel something different, something even stronger.

“And… and you think that changes something?” you ask, barely louder than a whisper.

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, as if he’d expected you to pull away or look at him with horror. “Y/N, this isn’t a small thing. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be mixed up in a life like mine. I can’t offer you the same kind of safety you’re used to.”

You shake your head, your hand tightening around his. “But I don’t want safety, Bucky. Not the way my father has defined it. You’ve shown me a different life, one that’s real. I can finally breathe with you, be myself. And if that comes with danger, then so be it.”

He looks at you, the disbelief in his gaze melting into something softer, something filled with a kind of raw gratitude. “You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick with an emotion he doesn’t quite name. “Because once you’re in, sweetheart, there’s no easy way out.”

You lean into him, closing the space between you, your hand resting against his cheek as you meet his gaze with unwavering certainty. “Bucky, being with you has taught me more than anything else in my life. I don’t care about what you do, or who you used to be, or what other people say. You showed me how to stand up for myself. That’s what matters to me.”

A mixture of relief and disbelief flashes across his face, and for a moment, he seems almost lost for words. Then, as if unable to hold back any longer, he pulls you into his arms, his embrace fierce, filled with a desperate kind of gratitude. You can feel his heart pounding against your own, and the depth of his feeling, the strength of his emotion, overwhelms you.

When he finally pulls back, his hands stay on your shoulders, as though to anchor himself to you, his gaze piercing as it holds yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he says, a quiet, honest confession.

You smile, touching a hand to his cheek. “Maybe you do.”

For the first time, he lets out a quiet laugh, a genuine smile breaking through the intensity of his expression. And then, slowly, he leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s deeper, more intense than any you’ve shared before. This kiss is filled with relief, with unspoken promises and the kind of love that goes beyond the superficial, the kind of love that’s forged in fire.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll protect you with everything I have. I promise.”

You nod, understanding the weight of his words. But you also know that you don’t need protecting, not the way you once thought. Because being with him has shown you that you’re stronger than you ever knew.

And as you sit together in the quiet of the night, Bucky holding you close, you know that this life, complicated and messy as it is, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

maybe a part 2 where y/n's family discovers their relationship? If you liked the story don't forget to like, reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more. <3

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littlefireball · 5 months ago

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ᴡʏ|ꜰᴀᴛᴀʟ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (ᴍ)

ꜱɪʀᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ x ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.4ᴋ

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀʟʟ ꜱɪʀᴇɴ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ:

ꜱɪʀᴇɴ'ꜱ ꜱɪɴɢɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏɴʟʏ.ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ꜱɪʀᴇɴꜱ ɪꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ꜱᴏʟᴇʟʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.ꜱɪʀᴇɴꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜰᴏʀᴍ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟɪᴍɪᴛ.

"Sirens' beautiful voice is like a heavenly melody, graceful and captivating. Its sound resembles the clear waves from the depths of the sea, like the sound of ripples hitting the rocks, filled with mysterious and charming rhythms.

Every time they sing, it's like a magical spell, intoxicating and mesmerizing. A magical incantation, immersed in false happiness and beauty, constantly wanting to delve deeper into the enchanting melodies.

In the end, sailors who are attracted by the song will lose themselves, allowing their bodies to be swallowed by the dark ocean, disappearing into the endless abyss."

As a crew member read out the contents of the old book, the story described in it shocked all the sailors present, creating an atmosphere of unease in the air.

"Where did you get this book?" you asked curiously, playing with the old pocket watch in your hand, curious about the origin of the water-damaged and dilapidated book.

"I found it randomly, just in that chest." The crew member pointed to a wooden box filled with various books. The books had water stains and were worn out, and the wooden box had faded due to the erosion of seawater, losing its original luster and now only displaying a dull vintage color.

"This is just a scary children's story." You scoffed at these unsubstantiated 'stories,' believing that they were strange fabrications made by people in the past to prevent others from going to sea.

"But captain, this story sounds so real…"

"Have you seen them? We've gone to sea so many times, yet we've never heard those so-called songs."

"I swear I have actually heard them!"

"Then why haven't you died yet?" Irritated by their words, you straightforwardly dismissed their baseless statements, clearly showing impatience on your face.

"If you have so much time here to read stories, why don't you go and find some treasure?" Hearing this, the others immediately got to work, leaving the ancient books on the wooden box.

"Boring."

Your gaze fell upon the ship stranded on the shore. It looked completely dilapidated, covered in weathered marks and worn-out wooden textures. The once magnificent painted exterior of the ship had been eroded and damaged over time, revealing a dull wood color and decayed parts.

Part of the ship's deck and stern had cracked due to long exposure to wind and rain, exposing the inner support structure. The sails were dirty, torn, and useless, with some masts tilting and others even breaking halfway.

As you looked at the scene, thinking about the story of the siren, you couldn't help but wonder if the ship had met its demise because of them. Ha~ how could you have such thoughts when you had just scoffed at those stories earlier? Why do you suddenly believe now? Your own mysterious thought process is quite ridiculous.

"How is that possible?" You mocked your unrealistic thoughts, not dwelling on them further, and continued to search the ship for any remaining treasures. You were the only woman on board, also the highest-ranking captain. Since childhood, you had been 'hunting' with your father at sea, searching stranded ships for supplies or treasures, and sometimes finding unexpected treasures.

However, your mother did not approve of you going to sea, especially after your father died in a sailing accident. She feared that you would end up like him, attacked by sirens and buried at sea. You didn't believe in all this talk about sirens. They were just legends. Maybe in your heart, you still refused to admit the fact that he had died a long time ago, which was why you resist anything related to sirens.

"Reporting, captain. We only found these few pieces of jewelry, no other valuable items." You nodded, instructing them to safely store the treasures they found.

"Board the ship! Prepare to set sail!"

As night falls, the moon hangs brightly in the sky, giving off a fascinating moonlight. The sea breeze blows gently across your face, soothing your body and mind. You sat on the deck and enjoyed the moment of relaxation, admiring the endless horizon in front of you.

"How would you say it would be great if someone could sing?" One crew member lamented."Yeah, it would be better if there were beautiful women dancing here." Another man chimed in, hoping that there were beauties to cheer them up and add a little fun to their boring sea life.

It seems that their wishes have been heard by the God of the Sea. A beautiful tone of music came from nowhere, the unique voice full of power, yet gentle like a soft thread, gently stroking the heartstrings.

"A cold wind blows in my frozen heart, When I lean on a small candle, And hold back my tears" (ATEEZ-be with you)

"Wow!What a beautiful voice."

"Yes! Maybe the God of the sea heard our wish! It goes so well with this beautiful scenery." The crew couldn't help but admire this exquisite female voice, and echoed one after another. All the crew members unconsciously indulged in this heavenly sound.

On the contrary, while listening to the melodious music, instead of being lost in it, your doubts arose. "Where does the female voice come from?" There was only one woman on the ship, and you hadn't been singing, let alone having such a wonderful voice. Driven by curiosity, you couldn't help but explore the truth, but the strange sight in front of you surprised you.

The crew, who had lost consciousness, gradually approached the edge of the ship and jumped into the dark sea uncontrollably. The ghostly hands reaching out from underwater dragged their bodies, making them disappear directly into the abyss.

"What…?" Your heart tightened suddenly, and dark shadows appeared in your vision. You helplessly felt fear devouring you. "Are those sirens?! No!!" Despite the fear, your responsibility as the captain reminded you not to sit idly by. You took out the handgun from your pocket and without hesitation, fired at the monsters emerging from the water's surface. Screams of agony rose and fell, and the nauseating smell of blood made you sick.

"What happened? Why weren't they controlled?" The sirens underwater were puzzled. They had never failed before, and it was impossible for anyone to be immune to their singing… unless…

"Is there a woman?"

"A woman? I never thought there would be a woman as a pirate~" Wooyoung swung his fishtail below and swam from beneath the water to underneath the ship, curious about who fired the gun. Throughout history, sailors have predominantly been men, with only a very small number of women, because humans always believed that the presence of women would bring misfortune to a fleet. That's why most sirens are female, and their songs only have an effect on men. Due to this, there are only a few male sirens, who exist solely for reproduction.

Hearing about the presence of a woman made Wooyoung excited and curious. Since he was born, he had only seen photos of human women from the belongings of stranded crew members, and had never encountered a real woman. Although the sirens grew legs during their breeding season, they were still different from human women. He wanted to know what women were really like.

"Fuck!" The bullets were about to run out, but the enemies were increasing. Continuing like this, you couldn't hold on. You desperately grabbed the sleeves of the crew members who wanted to jump into the sea, preventing them from approaching the edge of the ship. But it's too hard to grab them all; stopping one couldn't stop the others, and you could only watch helplessly as another companion perished.

"What should I do… can I only use the cannon?" You knew that firing the cannon was the only way to escape from this predicament, but it meant killing your own comrades. As you pondered, another voice sounded, but this one was relatively deep, powerful, and magnetic - it was a male voice.

"Everything in this world, Hurts so much by your side, Can I come over? Can I do that? Can I hug you?"

His voice was melodious and enchanting, like a gentle breeze that lightly touched your soul, causing you to completely immerse yourself. The hands that had been gripping the crew members' sleeves became weaker, and in the end, your fist loosened, allowing the crew members to jump into the sea. Your feet uncontrollably walked to the edge of the ship, with empty, lifeless eyes, as if the flame of life had gone out.

Wooyoung had a victorious smile on his face, extending his hands to entice you to jump into the water, but unconsciously, he stared at your beauty and became fascinated. You were bathed in the gentle moonlight, like a graceful and beautiful flower, your long hair floating in the breeze, intoxicating. Wooyoung had never seen such a scene before, and for a moment, he was captivated.

Without a moment's hesitation, you jumped into the water, the sound of the water hitting the surface pulling him back to reality. He quickly held onto your sinking body, his hands grasping your neck tightly, wanting to accelerate your suffocation. But in his mind, the scene from just now flashed again, your elegant posture making him lose focus, and your captain's uniform piqued his curiosity about your story.

What's your name? Why do you become a captain? Why do you appear on a ship? Do you have no webbed? What does it feel like to kiss a human…even have sex?

Curiosity compelled him to let go of his murderous intent and gradually release his hand from your neck. But the merciless seawater had already taken away your breath, and your heartbeat felt weak as if it would stop in the next second.

"No… no…" he cried sadly, not wanting you to die like this. He wanted to know everything about you. His scaled hand gently caressed your face, lifting your chin. Without hesitation, he directly kissed your already pale lips. Anyone kissed by a merman could gain the ability to breathe underwater. Your lips touched lightly, warm and tender. You felt a soft sensation from your lips, and then your whole body seemed to float in the water. Oxygen returned to your lungs, and you could breathe again.

You slowly opened your eyes and found the man in front of you kissing you. Surprised, you wanted to break free but he tightly held your wrists, restraining your movement. He left your lips, pleasantly surprised that you had awakened. He smiled satisfactorily and said, "Let me take you back."

Without waiting for your reaction, he carried you in his arms and swam directly into the distance. You were amazed that you could breathe underwater, feeling the gentle and powerful waves passing through your body, a wonderful sensation you had never experienced before. Unconsciously, you held onto his shoulders, pressing against his chest, feeling the only warmth in this cold seawater.

In no time, the two of you arrived back on the shore. His fish tail transformed into legs the moment it touched the land, and droplets slid along the lines of his legs onto the ground. He gently placed you back on the ground and as he looked at your face again, he became captivated once more. Despite being soaked from head to toe, you still appeared so captivating in his eyes.

"You…" Too much information flooded your mind, making it difficult for you to organize your thoughts at the moment.

"I am Wooyoung." Without hesitation, he told his name, imitating human etiquette and extending his hand towards you.

"Y… Y/N. '' Maybe because your brain wasn't functioning properly yet, you involuntarily said your name and shook his hand, covered in scales.

The soft touch of your hand was different from other sirens. There were no hard scales on it, not even the slippery texture that fish usually have. Moonlight shimmered in your eyes, sparkling like starlight, proud and radiant, incredibly enticing. Once again, he examined your attire with curiosity, his curiosity like a string gently plucked by your mysterious aura, immediately bursting into infinite passion and interest.

Everything about you was like a book full of mystery and puzzles, waiting for him to read one by one. Every action, every detail, every expression of yours fascinated him more and more, making him increasingly captivated and unable to escape. As the nature of a male siren gradually revealed itself, his once innocent curiosity turned into evil desire. He didn't just want to know your name, your experiences, your story, but he wanted to know everything about you, to have you completely.

"You are so beautiful, so stunning." He approached you even closer, bending down to maintain eye level with you. His voice was deep and magnetic, like an ocean far away from the world, full of temptation.

"I want you, Y/N." Without giving you any chance to resist, he once again sang a beautiful melody. His words came slowly, like poetry, beautiful and captivating, irresistibly seductive.

With the sound of the song, you once again lost consciousness, letting him take off your clothes, leaving only your wet underwear. The deep and magnetic voice made you indulge in his temptation, unable to resist.

Your skin, unlike the magnificent scales of a siren, was instead pure and delicate, like smooth porcelain, flawless. Under the effect of moonlight, droplets of water on your skin reflected a faint glow, radiating a charming luster, inviting one to touch.

"Oh god, you are really pretty." He lifted your chin, kissing your lips. Unlike the gentle touch earlier, this kiss hid dangerous desire behind it. Lips slowly sealed together, a warm sensation spreading slowly, the friction between tongues making Wooyoung unable to hide his smile. You also responded to his kiss, sucking on each other's lips, occasionally lightly biting each other's lips, alternating between gentleness and strength.

Your hands involuntarily roamed each other's bodies, feeling the ups and downs of each other's bodies. Fingertips brushed over every inch of skin, igniting a burning desire, embracing each other closely, rubbing against each other. His hand glided over your waist, directly caressing your buttocks, the soft touch driving him crazy, occasionally squeezing; his other hand touched your chest, tracing the contours of your nipples in circles.

Your lips never separated, becoming even more frantic, tongues soothing each other. He extended his tongue directly into your throat, wanting to explore everything about you, to taste all your sweetness.

"Ummmm…" You couldn't help but feel a slight nausea, emitting a muffled sound. But your voice didn't stop Wooyoung, instead making him more intense. To him, you were his siren. His firmness couldn't bear it any longer, he urgently needed to enter your body - to mate, he wanted to mate.

"Ride me." Each of his words held a kind of magic, completely enchanting you. He lay on the damp and uneven ground, the sensation of sharp stones pressed against his back slightly discomforting, but he wanted to watch your body as he fucked you.

"Have a seat, babe." You took off your underwear, aiming for his erect member, slowly sinking down. The initial coolness immediately wrapped in heat as you entered, causing you to let out a captivating moan. As you sat down, the sharp stones beneath Wooyoung's body pressed deeper, leaving red imprints, but that didn't deter his desire to fuck you.

You supported yourself on his shoulders, beginning to bounce up and down. "Oh gosh, it feels so good!" He groaned, feeling his cock reach its deepest point as it touched every inch of your skin. The friction between his shaft and your vagina brought heat that made him more excited. Your wet walls wrapped tightly around his cock, each sucking motion stimulating his sensitive nerves.

"Fuck!" The pleasure beneath him fascinated him, he caressed your body, touching your breasts. Not knowing how to remove the bra, he tore it open from the middle, leaving the cups hanging on either side of your chest, swaying with your movements. He cupped your breasts, feeling their softness, occasionally massaging with his thumb.

"ahh~ahh~" The stimulation all over your body gave you goosebumps, every inch of your body bursting with countless sparks. Wooyoung's touches gave you endless pleasure, awakening all your senses, craving his caress.

"Louder, Y/N. I want to hear your voice."

"Ahhhh~fuck~" You released a scream from your throat, which reverberated against the walls of the cave, echoing throughout. "I can't get enough of you." He sat up straight, once again holding your face, lips tightly intertwined, the passionate kiss filling the air with sparks. Your lips and tongues twined and explored, releasing endless desire and passion.

He pressed down on you directly, this time it was your back against the rough stones, the slight pain making you slightly more awake. "ahh~wooyoung" When his name left your mouth, his entire body felt like it had been electrified, a surge of electricity ran through him, his cock twitching inside you. He had never felt such pleasure before.

"Say my name again, Y/N."

"ummm…Wooyoung." Fuck,he loves your moan so bad. His balls slapped you ass clearly as the speed of his thrusts increased with his excitement. There was no interruption in his thrusts, the tip kept hitting you in the deepest part, sperm kept flowing out and soaking your inner walls. The sounds of wacking and squeaking of water and skin slapping skin are mesmerizing, and your body's temperature continues to rise with no sign of cooling off.

"ahhh~ahhh~ahhh~" The friction from the rubbing of the gravel on your back wakes you up, while the pleasure in your lower body continues to take your mind, the double whammy making you dizzy. Unsure if you're awake or continuing to fall for his seduction, you only want more pleasure to replace the pain, letting out a moan in hopes that the man on top of you will try harder.

As expected, his thrusts quickened in speed, the intensity increasing. You arched your back, moaned, the connection between your bodies became even closer. "You are so fucking tight, different from those female sirens." "Fuck!!"He pulled you up, your skin pressed tightly together as he thrust into you. You also moved back and forth in rhythm, each thrust making you hold your breath.

"Ah! Ah! I am close." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, buried your face in his neck, and screamed, your nails sinking into the palm of your hand, eyes squeezed shut, feeling yourself reaching the edge.

"I am gonna fuck my eggs inside your cunt." He also felt that he was about to climax, all the hot streams rushing to the tip of his shaft, about to overflow. With the maximum force, he thrust forward, after a few more thrusts, all the hot streams were released, and you reached climax in a moan.

His eggs creamed your cunt fully, even dripping onto the ground, the sharp stones beneath you stained with white liquid. He had never experienced such a climax, let alone produced so many eggs.

"That's my best sex ever." He pecked your lips and pulled out of your body. You also regained your composure, breathing not as rapid as before, your mind also becoming clear. You could now clearly see the man's face in front of you, his gaze was as deep and cold as the ocean, as if it could see through you completely; his lips were red,a mole on the lower lip and shaped perfectly, slightly upturned, exuding an enticing smile, but also revealing a dangerous aura.

"Wanna come with me?"

"Where?"

"To the sea, where I belong." He returned to the water, his legs transformed into a fish tail, gracefully floating. His body was slim and strong, his skin fair and smooth like a seashell. Wet hair pushed back, droplets shimmering under the moonlight, emanating an enchanting atmosphere.

The mysterious aura and unique charm that radiated from him made you feel like he was a being from the endless abyss. The ocean boiled because of his charm, creatures dancing around him, as if they had already been captivated by his beauty, praising this beautiful and mysterious existence. This was the most mysterious and seductive treasure that you, as a pirate, had ever pursued in your life.

All the animosity, all the doubts vanished long ago. Now you were completely immersed in the whirlpool called him, unable to wake up.

"Come with me, Y/N." He extended his hand towards you, each word seemed to be immersed in the music flowing in the water, awakening your desires and dreams hidden deep inside you. Without any hesitation, you took his hand, diving into the dark depths of the sea together.

From then on, no one knew the whereabouts of you and the crew - just like your father.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez wooyoung #siren

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minstrel-in-the-gallery · 4 months ago

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Why YOU should get into jethro Tull!!

You’ll never run out of things to listen to, with over 200 songs and 23 studio albums!

Each album has a slightly different genre to the last, you can go from blues to prog to folk to hard rock!

Every single member is so darn cute 😭 that’s like an added extra bonus

They’re pretty too 🥰

They have about 1,034,264 line up changes, so you never run out of new musicians to obsess over!

You gain a new friend (me!) and a close knit community on tumblr of regular Tull posters (again, me!)

No one else knows them, yet somehow they were one of the top ranking bands in the 70s. Flex on your family and friends with your cool knowledge! For example, did you know Jethro Tull is in fact not a the lead band member, but rather the name of the band? Cool stuff right 😎

1979 😐

They have amazing musicianship! They’re insanely talented, and absolutely blow your socks off in live performances. Give “Bursting out”, their live album from 1978 a listen, or chuck on a concert from YouTube!

Where should I start?

Well, that depends on you! Because each album is so different, it can be hard to choose. Here are a few helping notes to consider

The 70s were their peak era, any album from this time is gold! Songs from the wood, Heavy Horses and Stormwatch are known as the folk trio. Thick as a Brick and A Passion Play are proggy concept albums. Aqualung is super rocking, Minstrel is acoustic and This Was is blues. Venturing into the 80s and beyond may not be wise for the first time, unless you really like your synth.

Whose who? What’s all this I hear about lineups?

Jethro Tull went through a lot of personnel. Some names you might keep hearing are

Ian Anderson. He’s the main guy, and he’s on every album. Does the flute, singing and weird faces

Martin Barre. Guitarist for almost every album except the first! (And the last 2 but we don’t talk about that.) literal cutest person in the world. His middle name is Lancelot, for crying out loud

Barriemore Barlow. Drummer from ‘72-‘79, insanely talented, loves his short shorts and singlets (in red). Was favoured as a replacement for Bonham in Zeppelin.

John Evan. Piano player, half insane half beautiful mermaid person thing??? His fursona is a rabbit and has a habit of chucking stoves out the windows.

Basically, you can’t go wrong! Enjoy this train wreck of a band <3 (and if I don’t see any Tull dedicated blogs popping up in the next 24 hours I’m hitting someone over the head with my flute)

#jethro tull #Prog rock #progressive rock #am I petty enough to tag other Prog bands lmao #I would but it’s a super long post #blehh #no joke everytime I see someone else posting about Tull I suffer a mini heart attack (of joy)#and have to sit down for a second #lmao I made this on a whim it was literally just gonna be 1 or 2 sentences #need Tull to be the next big tumblr prog thing

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writteninlunarlight-years · 2 months ago

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Poet on the Broadcast

This is another one based on a song; it's a more sappier side of Alastor. It was also written for a close friend, @willowaudreykeyes. They gave me this bittersweet idea in an RP that we are working on. I hope you all enjoy it! Song: Rule#46 - Poet By Fish Inside a Bird Cage

TW: AFAB Reader, death, self sabotage, hallucinations, poor living experiences, violence, Hurt-> Comfort

Time was a cruel mistress indeed, an unrelenting thief that snatched away the very things we hold most dear. With every tick of the clock, she mercilessly stripped us of youth, laughter, and loved ones, leaving only echoes in her wake.

You were no exception. You bore witness to Alastor's fall—the haunting shadow of his demise forever etched in your memory. The freezing winds whipped through the snowy woods as you ran, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Hounds barked, their growls reverberating through the trees, a sinister chorus to the chaos all around you. Gunshots rang out like thunder, each a heavy reminder of the danger that lurked just behind you. Every breath felt like a precious treasure, stolen not just from you, but from the man you loved, who had been a light in your dreary life.

Time granted you fleeting moments of respite, allowing you to catch your breath as you evaded the hounds as your partner wished in his dying breaths. Yet, it also forced you to confront the harsh reality of survival, time and again brushing against death for the sins of your beloved. For the enemies he created and formed in the years he stood by your side.

You lived a modest life, flitting between the opulence of high society and the grit of the streets. Each day was a delicate dance, a balancing act between the world of privilege and the shadows of hardship. But with every birthday that passed, a bittersweet yearning filled your heart—a longing to reunite with Alastor.

Then, just as that desire reached its peak, you closed your eyes letting time take you to the great unknown with the man you lost years ago. Except time no she is a cruel mistress indeed. You were awoken in a different body, younger, in a time that felt both foreign and familiar.

How cruel is time, to gift you this love only to rip it from your grasp again and again? How many lifetimes must you endure, each one marked by the haunting memory of him, always just out of reach?

In this second life, you became a PhD student, a mind lost in the pursuit of knowledge, but also a vigilante in the shadows of the city, fighting for those who had no voice. Yet, the memory of your beloved Alastor lingered, a ghostly echo of a man who was both psychotic and completely yours.

As the years drifted by in this new existence, the lines between memory and imagination began to blur. Why had you been granted this second chance? Was it a blessing or a cruel curse? Was the vision of Alastor beside you, whispered in the dark, merely a figment of a child’s imagination, a way to escape the unrelenting horrors of your reality?

As your birthday came and went once more, a darker fate awaited you. You found yourself thrust into a hellish red landscape, a cruel irony considering you had committed no sins. Roaming the streets of this infernal realm, you quickly adapted, your years spent fighting alongside Alastor sharpening your instincts, allowing you to rise swiftly within the ranks of hell.

Then, four years into your torment, you heard a broadcast that sent shivers down your spine. The Vee's were in an uproar, and you felt an inexplicable pull to the source of their distress. You tuned in, and the voice that emerged from the static struck a chord deep within you. It was a voice you had longed for, a melodic tune you remembered all too well—a voice that transported you back two lifetimes ago, when you would sit by the window at dusk, eagerly awaiting his return.

Could it be? That past life, once dismissed as mere fantasy, began to feel so so close to real. The stories he spun during that late-night special were ones only you knew the other half of, secrets woven into the fabric of your shared existence that you feared were long forgotten to time.

With your heart racing, you began to search for him, following the trail of his voice to a hotel for Hazbins seeking redemption. There, amid a myriad of misfits longing for a second chance, was a figure that made your heart leap—a deer demon who looked so painfully familiar yet foreign, a man shaped by the passage of time.

What is time, if not a relentless force that dulls the senses yet sharpens the soul? It is a cruel teacher, reminding us that every moment counts, that love, once lost, can sometimes be found again.

Driven by hope, you joined the redemption program, longing to get close to the man who resembled the Alastor of your memories. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and as a year slipped by, you found the courage to ask him the question that hung in the air like an unspoken promise.

“Are you Alastor, from New Orleans, 1920s, engaged to Y/N?” The question trembled on your lips, heavy with anticipation. You braced yourself for the lash out, for the fierce anger that had always danced in his eyes.

It was the very fire that had once ignited your passion and fear alike. But instead of a storm, you were met with a soft, bewildered stare. The smile that tugged at his lips was both awe-inspiring and heart-wrenching.

“How do you know about Y/N? Answer wisely, or your screams will be broadcast next for all of hell to hear.” His voice was low, edged with disbelief, and for a moment, the deer demon seemed almost vulnerable—a rarity in any world you knew him in.

“I am Y/N…” Your voice quivered, a fragile thread of conviction woven with longing. You hoped he could see the truth in your eyes, but as his expression morphed from shock to confusion and then to a flicker of spite, you understood that time was still playing its cruel game.

“No, no, you aren’t! Otherwise, you would have found me ages ago!” He stalked over to you grabbing yout collar. He growled in frustration and his grip tightened around your throat, lifting you to eye level, his horns casting ominous shadows. “How dare you pretend to be her? Who told you about that part of my past? Who do you know?”

Steadying your breath, you summoned every cherished memory, every detail only you could recall. The words poured from your honey-coated lips like a sweet symphony, and as he slowly let you down, a fond smile broke across both your faces.

“Lastly, you thought it blasphemous that I would put ice, honey, and lemon in my tea when you made it for me, telling me I might as well not be drinking it anyway.” As you spoke, the memory unfolded like a picture book bare before you, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into a tight lasting embrace.

Was this it? Had time finally allowed you to win? Had you endured enough in this limbo of two unfair lives? This embrace realigned everything that had felt lost for so long, a warmth spreading through your very being.

“I waited for you! I waited for years—ninety long years, my dear!” His voice trembled with emotion as he produced a collection of scripts, each one a fragment of his past, a thread leading back to you. Stories from the early days to the most recent broadcasts, all crafted to help you find him.

“I’m sorry it took so long, Ali… I truly apologize. I would wait a million years to stand beside you. But I am not who I once was. I am broken, scared, and changed by the lives I’ve lived. Would you really want that beside you?” Insecurities threatened to seep into your resolve, but the deeper you delved into the truth of your rough pasts, the more you realized how time had shaped you both.

He looked at you, confusion etched on his face, and then he laughed—a sound free of static, pure and unfiltered. Gently, he pulled you closer, his sigh a whisper of shared pain and understanding.

“You are stronger than you know. When you’re ready to let that strength show, let me guide you. You have every right to be scared; I have walked those same shadowed paths myself. When you’re ready to let go, I will be right here. I will always wait for you.”

At his words, tears welled in your eyes, a torrent of emotions spilling forth. No matter the hardships time had imposed or the years spent apart, you recognized that this love spanned lifetimes—enduring, unwavering. If he was willing to wait for you, then you would fight for him, heart and soul, against the cruelty of time.

Thank you for the support, my Moons~

#x reader #lunarwritings #moons #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you fluff #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor fluff #alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon

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espinosaurusrexex · 1 year ago

Text

Refuge - a small town crime/love story

BuckyBarnes/WinterSoldier x Detective!Female!Reader

summary: You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?

a/n: yeah I've been a sad bitch these days...

word count: 7k

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, killing and dying (as well as vague descriptions), probable misuse of police ranks (I don’t know how it works), little use of “Y/N” (like two times), language, a lot of angst and fluff, soft!Bucky, a hint of touch starved!Bucky, no happy ending, smut (unprotected p in v, soft!smut) !MINORS DNI!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

I recommend playing the songs linked in the text - I listened to them a lot while writing 🧡

Long streaks of crimson soaked the innocent snow beneath your feet.

Whatever happened, it had done so quick. The streaks turned into clumsy blotches and soon there would be evidence of a tired body dragging itself through the inches of snow in vain.

It was too late. You were too late yet again.

Sam threw his hat in the snow with a frustrated groan, his fist clenching so tight you actually heard it pop.

“He’s doing it again,” the officer pressed past his stiff lip, “he’s messing with us.”

“Maybe this time he’s actually gotten sloppy.” Your eyes trained on the dark red contrasting the white.

Something was different about this one. But The Winter Soldier never left his victims capable of running away more than 10ft - it wasn’t his style. So why did this one make it past the tree line?

“Don’t try to sweet talk it, Y/L/N, he knows that we’re on his tracks. And he’s doing this to prevent us from finding him out once and for all.”

Sam’s pessimism could really annoy you sometimes, but it did help solve most of your cases in the past - it turned out that considering the worst-case scenario almost always brought you to the truth. Nevertheless, there was still something off. And you were determined to find out what it was this time.

You turned around and made your way back to the car where blue and red lights silently snook through the woods before you finally turned them off.

“I’m tired of this shit. What are we going to tell Sheriff Rogers? I’m pretty sure he’s about to kick us off the case anyway.” Sam gruffly entered the passenger seat with a frown. He was pissed, and you couldn’t blame him.

“We’re not telling him anything.”

“And how would that work?”

“Just let me talk.” The tires screeched on the tar before you sped out of the woods.

❁ ❁ ❁

Cold. So, so fucking cold.

Bucky’s teeth were cluttering. He didn't know where he was. Nor did he know how he had gotten there. There was barely anything he remembered, really. The past two hours were how far his memory reached and after that? Everything blank. Not blank entirely though. There was fear and darkness but no images, no faces, just unease.

He stumbled past the trees and over roots hiding beneath the thick layer of snow that had accumulated even in the forest. His surroundings looked familiar, but he didn’t know why. His feet, however, seemed to guide him exactly where he needed to be. He didn’t think, just let them be. His hands were aching from the cold, he couldn’t feel them anymore, and his lungs hurt with every icy cold breath. Dusk was already breaking past the horizon, and when the darkness would take over completely, Bucky would be done for.

After another ten or twenty minutes - he really couldn’t tell - Bucky could make out a house sitting at the edge of the woods. There was smoke coming out of the chimney and rising past the threes. The sight alone warmed him a little bit, but his legs were quick to remind him how frozen he really was. He stumbled the distance until he landed on the doorstep.

This was a really bad idea. But then again: he was going to die out here.

His knuckles jammed against the wooden door, and it made pain shoot up his entire arm. But his left one was hurting even more. His whole body was - well... the parts he could still feel.

❁ ❁ ❁

You opened the door, but nothing could have prepared you for what you found. There was a man kneeling on your doorstep. His fingertips peeking out of cut cloves trembling from the cold, his lips broken with blood by the harsh winter wind now nipping on your bare toes as well. The warm light from inside your house illuminated his face and what you saw could have only been described as distress. Eyes laced with fear and helplessness, the man looked up at you. There were snowflakes clinging to his lashes, face pale and lifeless.

“Please,” was the only thing he whispered, but his voice was weak and it made your heart plummet.

“What... what happened?” You stood frozen at the door, bewilderment seeping through your body.

“I-“ But his teeth were cluttering so much you could barely make out his words. You looked past him into the woods and then down the lonely street leading to your house. Nobody there. Another look to the little table by the door, where your gun was hidden. He seemed to be unarmed, too weak to fight, anyways.

God, you hated how your instincts made you check through the whole situation, making the poor man die in the cold outside. But when you were done, and your eyes swayed back to his frame, you exhaled slowly and opened the door a little wider.

“Come in.”

“Th- Thank you- u.” He dragged his tired body over the threshold and crawled to the fireplace crackling in the living room.

You just stood still, closing the door after swiping the woods and the road one more time, and watched him tremble by the fire. After a while - he had stopped shaking - you approached him and he looked at you like a deer in headlights. When he noticed you weren’t doing anything but standing there, he faced the fire again and - that’s when you saw it: dark red staining the back of his head and sticking to his shoulder-long hair. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but he had definitely gotten a good hit.

“Sir, you need a doctor.” Your hand reached for the phone but he was quick to stop it. His ice-cold touch made you shiver.

“No, no doctor.” His eyes looked at you intently, switching left and right. “Please... I just need to warm up. And then I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

You were staring again. Shocked, confused? Something like that. This man wouldn’t be leaving soon, there was a blizzard already hitting the state lines, and it would be here by midnight.

“Please... no doctor.” His voice was only a whisper now but it pushed through to you more than before.

“...no doctor.” He nodded slowly, relaxing a bit. “But... you are bleeding.”

“I’m okay.” He wasn’t. This man was anything but. Though, somehow, he had this weird aura about him that made you want to stay close to him. You weren’t scared or creeped out - you were... intrigued.

Your head dipped to the side. “Who are you?”

He hesitated. “Bucky.”

“What’s your last name?”

“I... I don’t know.” He looked defeated - stressed - but you deserved answers.

“What happened?”

“I-” he looked up again, pain evident in his stare before he closed his eyes. “…don’t know.”

A nod of your head in understanding. He must be tired, exhausted. You’d leave it for now.

“Would you at least let me clean your wounds?” If they were really as bad as they looked you wanted to get him to a hospital before the blizzard hit. Bucky nodded hesitantly but he didn’t move when you inched closer to take a look at his head.

The wounds weren’t that bad. All the blood in his hair made it look a lot worse, but he still needed stitches. He sat quietly as you carefully threaded the needle through his scalp. It wasn’t perfect but it would do.

Bucky didn’t make a sound, not even when you accidentally slipped and poked him, he was quiet.

“You can take a shower if you like - get all that blood off and warm up completely,” you finally whispered when you cut the last thread. All the other cuts on his face merely needed cleaning and the bruises were already forming, so there was really nothing you could do.

“It’s okay. I won’t be staying any longer.”

But when he moved to get up, it was your turn to stop him. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’ll die. Blizzard’s already hit north.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

“You can.” Your hand sank when you noticed he wasn’t making a run for it. “At least until the storm passes.” He just nodded again but a hint of relief flushed through his orbs.

“Clean up, change. I have some clothes that will fit you. The bathroom is the first door on the left.”

Bucky followed your orders and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. You headed to your dresser to get the sweatpants and Hoodie Steve had always stored in there. He wouldn’t miss them, he didn’t stay the night anymore. But now it would serve another purpose.

You made your way back to the bathroom and gave Bucky the clothes, though the door wasn’t closed all the way and you could see the sliver of skin peeking through the crack. His back was littered with red streaks, most likely whip marks, and his left shoulder was scattered in bumpy scarring. He had a metal arm and that was about all you could see before willing your eyes away.

Your gaze wandered to his jacket hanging over the chair and your fingers itched to know more. He was a stranger in your house, after all. A stranger you had chosen to trust, though. But your hands were searching through the pockets before that thought was finished. They were all empty. No wallet, nothing. All you found was a black mask and several compartments for weapons - all empty as well, though.

You exhaled. Who are you, Bucky?

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky let the hot water run down his body. He looked at his left arm, the water hitting with drumming sounds and then repelling from its surface. Despite his lack of memory, he didn’t think it strange that an entire limb of his was missing, well kind of. It was okay - as if he had already coped with it somewhere in the past. The scars didn’t scare him either, or the red lines on his back. They were just there - accepted or not - unbothered.

He closed his eyes and let the water fall on his face. Flashes of a fight lighting before his eyes. Torn between intrigue and horror, it was as if he had opened them.

Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!

He was back. And the shampoo washed from his face in white bubbles. It smelled good. Like you.

Bucky spent another minute under the water before stepping out and looking into the mirror again. What was he even doing? Dragging an innocent woman into this mess - whatever it was.

His hand ran down his face and the towel hung low on his hips when he reached for the clothes you gave him. They were soft and fit him perfectly.

It wasn’t long until he stepped out into your warm living room again. There was a pillow and blanket on the sofa now, and it looked more inviting than Bucky had seen in a while - at least it felt that way. He didn’t say much when he sat down carefully, feeling the soft comforter under his skin, and watched as you handed him a glass of water.

“I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

He just nodded.

“Will you be okay?”

He nodded again. But Bucky didn’t know if he was going to be okay. He was confused and scared and surprised you offered him shelter even though you knew nothing but his name. What a kind woman you were.

You smiled sadly as you shut off the light, leaving Bucky to sink his head into the fluffy pillow. The flickers of flames in the fireplace danced on his skin when he closed his eyes, falling into a well-needed and dreamless slumber.

❁ ❁ ❁

He woke to the sound of dishes clinking the next morning, stretching and catching a new fire with his eyes before he peeked over the backrest of your sofa to your kitchen. He was more rested than he’d felt in a long time. And he didn’t know if it was the sheer exhaustion that had him fall asleep so quickly yesterday, or if, maybe, it had been the faint smell of lavender your sheets hosted. Either way, he smiled when he got up, and it felt a little strange to do so.

“Good morning, Bucky.” You beamed over the stove where some eggs were sizzling, making his stomach grumble.

“Good morning,...” He still didn’t know your name. But it was strange to ask now that he had already slept in your home.

You chuckled as your name passed your lips and Bucky’s lips lifted into another small smile.

You ate in silence then. There wasn’t much Bucky had to say and you didn’t seem to be chatty. Bucky didn’t mind. This, your house, had a certain serenity to it. The faint crackling of the fireplace, the homey smell of breakfast in the air, and the rioting storm pouring in soft flakes around it. It felt peaceful and calm and safe - even if he didn’t know who you were... even if he didn’t know who he was.

The day went by peacefully. At one point, Bucky explored your house. It wasn’t big, but full of memories, he could tell. There were pictures everywhere - some of people, some of places. Souvenirs, crafted things. Smiling faces stared at him as he carefully inspected the mantel pieces and something akin to sadness pulled on his heart. Bucky wished he had memories - ones like you did. Ones with happy people and gifted bookmarks. He was sure he did... somewhere. He was someone, right? He just didn't know how to pull that someone back.

It was strange because he had memories. Faint ones. Some that didn’t feel right. His childhood was completely blocked out. He had tried to remember, and things came back to him in tiny pieces. This night he remembered his last name. Barnes. But then his mind associated it with strange callings of his name - urgent, demanding, unfriendly. It didn’t feel nice - none of his memories did.

His finger drove over the small picture of a dog and then he smiled.

❁ ❁ ❁

You sensed Bucky standing at the door as your head hung low above the desk scattered with pictures and leads. You didn’t bother hiding it from him though. Your house was small - it was almost impossible to hide things properly, especially if the days you spent snowed in kept being as quiet and boring as this one. Bucky was curious. He didn’t show it much but you notice the way his eyes scanned the room, how his brows twitched upon your frame above the files. He would catch a glimpse sooner or later.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky wrung his hands. “Am I interrupting?”

He watched as you shook your head, tracing the rim of your empty beer bottle. Careful steps approached you and then he stood behind you, a tense breath resealing when he most certainly took read through the reports. Except, he didn’t. When you turned, you watched him scan the decor on the walls.

And he didn’t stop until you called his name.

“Yes?” His eyes were piercing even in the dim lamplight - they were pretty.

“Is there something you need?”

He looked a little started at your question, his hands still kneading beneath him. It was hard to believe someone as tall and built as him could be shy - but here he was.

“I just wanted to... uh...” He avoided your eyes. “I remembered my last name.”

You smiled, a small jump in your heartbeat sneaking past you. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Yeah.”

“So what is it?”

“What?”

“Your name.”

“Oh, Barnes, Bucky Barnes.” He smiled. “And I also wanted to thank you... for being so kind.” He got shy again.

But you stood and smoothed your hands over his shoulder, feeling him relax a little. “I’m just glad you are okay.”

“Still, it’s not a given and I won’t take it for granted. So, thank you.”

There was a short silence in which he just looked at you and you wondered what else there was to discover about this extraordinary man before you. You could tell there was so much history and depth behind the ocean blue orbs focusing on you, so much more not even Bucky Barnes could access yet, and that made it all the more intriguing.

Bucky shifted again, and then suddenly yet carefully, leaned in to encase you in an awkward hug. It warmed your heart from the inside out, but It didn’t last long before you could feel the tension return to his back.

He pulled back, disturbed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes were everywhere but on you. “I’ll let you work.” And then he stumbled past you and out the door as you stood and watched him leave, turning back to your desk to see the array of crime-scene photographs littered on its surface.

❁ ❁ ❁

The hallway was spinning when Bucky made his way back to the living room.

A heavy body fell to the snow, hands shielding features, scrambling backward on the harsh white ground.

“Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!”

Bucky’s metal hand collided with a face, releasing a loud cracking sound. There was so much blood. So much fucking blood.

The room seemed to cave in. His chest rapidly rising and falling, Bucky made his way to the kitchen where he fell through the backdoor into feet of snow. The cool on his face calmed him down immediately, hitting him like the memory of it had done. He stayed there for a while, just enjoying the silence of the storm and letting the weather tie him to the ground.

That’s what he needed. A reminder, something to ground him, tell him how vulnerable he was, that there was still something human left in him.

His jaw clenched when he scrambled up again, skin burning from the ice piercing through the air. He was okay, he told himself, he was fine.

He shook his head and made his way to the little hut in the backyard, where he took your axe and began chopping firewood. A little distraction would do him good.

❁ ❁ ❁

After a simple dinner, you retreated to the sofa. Bucky hadn’t talked to you a lot and he felt a little bad you were stuck with him for another day due to the storm. But you never lost a word about it. In fact, you acted so naturally about it, as if he were a frequent visitor in your cozy retreat, one he had grown to associate with comfort and warmth in the short time being.

“What’s your favorite movie?” You crossed your legs next to him.

“I don’t know.” Bucky didn’t even remember watching movies ever. And it made him sad.

“Favorite genre?” You tried again. But Bucky just shrugged with a tight-lipped smile.

“I like rom-coms.” You smiled and Bucky noticed yet again how easy it was to spend time with you.

The TV began to play a generic song, but Bucky was too occupied looking at you. He couldn’t remember but he felt as though he had not experienced this sort of kindness in a long time, and it warmed his heart. But in the back of his mind, there was always that feeling of betrayal lurking in the dark. Because he began to remember things - things that lay not too far in the past and that were horrible, unspeakable really.

He had not pieced them together just yet. Just snippets of memories, pieces of conversations rushing through his mind when he was triggered. And it scared him a little bit. But he didn’t want to lay his burden on you.

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you tired? We can stop the movie if you-“

Bucky shook his head. “No.” He smiled, not wanting you to leave yet.

“Okay.” You whispered before turning to the TV with a smile. As did Bucky.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky woke with an unusual amount of peace. He felt warm and comfortable - well-rested too. The fire was lazily puffing in the chimney and the TV was off. But there was something, or rather someone else he noticed. He looked down, his eyes landing on your frame, tightly tugged to his body. You weren’t cold, even though the room had cooled significantly since last night, and your face looked so peaceful - unbothered. The sight did weird things to his heart. But his response to it was to sling his arms around you tighter, and for the first time in a while, Bucky felt as though he was protecting something rather than threatening it.

A smile snuck on his lips unawares. You stirred, but neither of you loosened their grip.

“Good morning.” Your head disappeared into his chest again.

“Mornin’” he could feel your frown through his shirt.

For some reason, it just felt natural to stay like this. Neither Bucky nor you moved for a while. You just lay there - not talking, not sleeping - enjoying the calm morning, even though Bucky could see the snowflakes rioting outside the living room window.

His hand dragged up and down your back and you sighed.

“What are you doing today?”

You pulled back a little, watching him, contemplating something - he could see it.

“I...” You trailed off, but Bucky stayed silent.

“You know what?” His eyebrows raised as you scrambled off the sofa and extended your hand toward him. “Come with me.”

And he did. You lead him to your office and Bucky was reluctant at first. The last time he was here he had a panic attack. But your hand was still in his, and it calmed him.

“I’ve been working on a case for some time now... but I’m stuck.” You moved to the desk and Bucky followed. “There’s been a murderer tormenting the town for weeks, driving the whole department crazy. I’ve been looking at these files for days. Maybe a fresh set of eyes can help.”

“You... you want me to help you?” This was new.

“Bucky,” your hand landed on his arm and his eyes were glued to the interaction, “we’re stuck in here for at least another day. Why not be productive? And who knows? Maybe you’re able to help me solve this case.” You smiled.

But he was still hesitant.

“That guy killed my partner’s sister. Anyone that can help us even in the slightest is welcome”

He gulped. “Okay, alright...”

You sat down at the desk, spreading out pictures, handing him files, and explaining what you had gathered so far. Bucky listened attentively. And even though he was a little scared to look at the pictures again, he warmed up to the process you guided him through. Everything was labeled and put to memos.

The process and the document brought him a weirdly familiar feeling but Bucky shoved it off to the side - after a while, even enjoying the puzzle you laid before him.

“This one is unusual... why did this victim get so far?” He mumbled.

“Maybe he’s messing with us...”

“Or he was interrupted,” he stated plainly as he grabbed another picture.

You were silent then, and Bucky looked up at you to find you smiling across the files littered on the floor. “You must have some sort of experience, those are some good observations.”

Bucky shrugged. Whoever he had been in the past was yet to be revealed to him, but he did admit that tactical thinking came easy to him.

“Also this,” he pointed at the latest crime scene photo, “these tracks are inconsistent. Normally, he attacks from the left. But here it’s all over the place. Something must have happened to make him stop and change tactics.”

“Something like...?”

“Maybe he got a hit himself. You said the forensic scientist approximated quick deaths. The Winter soldier always kills precisely.”

You nodded. “One hit and they're done for.”

“That takes a high amount of skill. There are not a lot of things that can interrupt these tactics. Except, if he wasn’t capable anymore.”

“There were no indications of the victims defending themselves. They never had a chance.”

“Were there no indications or was it just not tested anymore?”

“The blood.” Bucky watched as you sprung up. “There was too much blood. Some of it must be his!”

Attagirl. Bucky couldn’t help it, a proud smile painted his features. He watched as you pressed the telephone to your ear, a faint beeping caught by his ears, and then you frowned.

“The lines are dead,” you sighed.

“What are we gonna do now?”

“We have to wait out the storm... There’s no way we’re getting anywhere out there.”

His eyes swayed to the window, where a wall of white soft snow fell unrelenting. He nodded.

❁ ❁ ❁

You were on the sofa again, there was nothing to do. The fire was crackling, and you sat next to Bucky with a cup of tea in hand.

The case didn’t stop swarming your mind though. You finally had a new lead, a small hint that could lead to a suspect and you had no way of contacting Sam or the Sheriff’s department. There was likely nobody working, anyway. Maybe Steve, he was crazy like that - he’d gone out in unholy weather when you had a fight once, just to give you space.

Your eyes wandered around the room as your mind went through the case files again, and then, when they landed on Bucky again, a little shiver ran over your skin.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Have you... Do you think it’s possible you were the thing interrupting the Winter Soldier?”

He looked at you blankly.

“You were pretty banged up when you found me.” You didn’t try to insinuate anything, you were just a little worried... and curious.

“There were no other tracks in the snow, though.” His shoulders slumped.

“Oh, I don’t know. I just want to-“

His hand found your knee. “I understand.”

And your eyes locked. “Do you not want to know what happened to you?”

“I’ll remember it eventually,” he smiled reluctantly, “right now, I’m actually glad not having to worry about it too much.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don't know... I just prefer your company instead.”

You nodded and bit your lip to stop your smile from spreading. “I’m glad I’m not alone here, too.”

Bucky looked down, hiding his smile in vain.

❁ ❁ ❁

Icy wind whipped around Bucky when he noticed the man lying in the snow in front of him. He was begging, crying, screaming words he couldn’t make out in the storming winds.

And that’s when Bucky realized he was bleeding. Not Bucky, no, the man. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, drawing a growing circle in the snow - growing darker with every drop seeping deeper into the thick white.

So much blood.

Bucky was confused, and worried, and scared. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, and when he moved to help the man, he scrambled away towards the treeline.

Bucky didn’t follow him. The look of utter fear had shaken him to the bone. What had the man been so scared of? Bucky looked down his body, past the heavy vest to a sleek silver knife wedged between gloved fingers.

He stumbled backward. Almost losing his balance as he sped in the other direction. Away from the man, the blood, the sheer horror of the scene in front of him. What had he done? What was going on?

“You need to wake up!” Bucky’s shoulder shook with your touch.

Suddenly he shot up, shrugging you off until you landed on your butt next to the sofa.

He was sweating, heaving, eyes searching the room until he realized that there was no danger and gore around anymore. Just your cozy living room and you. You.

“You’re okay, Bucky. It was just a bad dream.” Your hands were on him again, his covering yours.

“I’m okay,” he reiterated.

“We’re safe here.” You weren’t. Because Bucky was the Winter Soldier.

The realization hit him like a truck, his hands immediately retracting from your skin. His heart began to pick up its pace again. The memories flooding his brain overwhelmed him to the point of dizziness. But he couldn’t be close to you. Not after he had done the unspeakable. Not after he had killed your partner’s sister. This had become too personal.

“I need to leave.” He stood up too quickly, swaying dangerously before scrambling past you.

“You can’t leave yet. It’s horrible outside.” You reached out to him again.

But he shook you off again. “I can’t stay either.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

Bucky halted, his shoulders sagging. There was no point in keeping it from you. You would find out anyway. And he would leave either way. It was just fair, you deserved the truth, to know you had sheltered an assassin for days.

He turned to you with afflicted eyes. “It’s me,” he whispered shamefully, feeling his eyes fill with tears.

You didn’t ask - just looked at him and swallowed hard. It was crazy how well you had gotten to know each other in the three days you were snowed in. But what was even more unfathomable to Bucky was that you understood. That you knew and didn’t flinch, or scream, or threaten him.

“I... the... my weapons, they’re buried in the woods. It was me, I did it. They made me do it. They–“ A sob broke through his speech.

You stood up to touch him but Bucky stepped back with the shake of his head.

“They can control me,” he uttered and the statement heard out loud made him shiver all over.

You reached out a third time and this time, Bucky didn’t move. He let it happen when your hands encased his cheeks and your lips laid a soft kiss on his jaw. “It’s fine.” Another kiss. “You’re fine.”

“I’m a monster.”

You shook your head with a teary smile.

“They’ll kill me when they find out.” There was no panic in his tone, he had already accepted his fate. The hard part was saying goodbye to you.

“I won't let that happen.” Your forehead pressed to his.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not him anymore. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s heart picked up its pace. Somehow, hearing his name from your lips meant so much more than anything else ever could. And with a taste of hope on his tongue, his hands grabbed your face and pressed your lips to his eagerly.

❁ ❁ ❁

You stumbled back but Bucky held you firmly in his grasp. He sighed into the kiss when you began to move your lips in sync with his, a lonely tear rolling over his cheek and stopping at your thumb.

He was warm and soft, rough around the edges but so sweet. His chapped lips left your mouth; his arms wandered around your body as he held you tightly, face disappearing in the crook of your neck.

Bucky was so full of affection, and passion, you could feel it in every touch he gifted you. You didn’t know how long he had gone without a kind word, without a reassuring smile, but you knew that you would give it all to him in this moment.

“Come here.” His puppy eyes squeezed between your hands, he let you guide his face back to yours where you stole another deep kiss from him.

But you wanted more. Needed to feel him all over - wanted to step into his skin if you could, just to be closer to him.

You guided him back to the sofa until he fell backward with you pressed against his chest. There was not an inch of space between your bodies as your legs tangled slowly. Bucky groaned when his hand tangled in your hair, a soft nudge pushing you to the side until he was almost hovering over you.

“You’re cold,” he stated upon feeling over your goosebumps. And then he, somehow elegantly, rolled the both of you off the sofa and to the carpet in front of the fire.

Your skin was burning deliciously when he removed your shirt carefully, a cool metal hand soothing over the side facing the fire. His hard bulge nudged against your core when his mouth placed soft kisses over your clavicle. Little did he know you weren’t shivering from the temperature in the room, but you wouldn’t protest.

Your heartbeat quickened with every piece of clothing left discarded around you. Bucky was all over you. Lips, hands, legs - a wild entanglement of limbs surrounded every content moan he gifted you and you loved it.

Soft warm kisses placed a firm trail down his body as you worked your way to the hemline of his boxers. You removed them with ease, his hands not once leaving your body no matter how grand your movements. He seemed assured when he could feel you beneath his fingertips.

“Will you stay?” You kissed his hip, hooded eyes looking at him through lashes.

“Anything for you.” His breath was shaky. You moved to kiss his tip, but as soon as your lips touched his red flesh, “But-“ he pulled you up again. “I need you closer.” He smiled.

“Okay.” And then your lips were back on his. His fingers danced around your body until they pulled your underwear off as well.

You parted just to watch as your warm hands guided his tip along your slick folds, his cock witching when he touched your wetness, another shaky exhale escaping his chest.

His eyes held yours when you lowered yourself until he was fully sheathed by you, a heavenly feeling consuming you with the delicious stretch he gave you.

You moaned in unison when you rolled your hips for the first time. Then another, and another. Until you found a comfortable rhythm that had Bucky bury his strong fingers in your hips, guiding you to meet every thrust of his own.

Your name rolled over his tongue as his eyes closed and it never sounded as good as this. He stuttered when you squeezed his cock with your walls, chasing your own high as Bucky fought to hold on.

There was so little talking in this passionate moment but so much felt said at the same time. Every touch of Bucky’s held stories in its wake, every kiss of his lips whispered soft promises to your body. You never wanted to let go again.

Your hand guided his eyes to yours when you felt your insides squeeze unrelenting. Moans being swallowed by another heated kiss, you rode each other through ecstasy. The overwhelming heat of his body and the fire seemed to swallow you whole when your sticky body collided with his only to have Bucky sling his arms around you again.

He kissed your head, whispering sweet nothing to your ear before the aftershocks of pleasure fully subsided.

❁ ❁ ❁

Harsh knocks on the front door ripped you from your desk. You stumbled down the hallway as you tried to get to the intruder faster.

“Y/L/N open the damn door!” You stopped. It was Sam. What was Sam doing here? The storm had begun to soften, but it was still not totally safe out.

A look to your left showed Bucky standing in the living room looking at you with unease written all over him. He scrambled to the wall on the floor when your hand moved to the doorknob. Sam didn’t know. Nobody knew that there had been a man hiding in your house for three days and it would stay that way... for now.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too.” Sam tried to step forward but you blocked his way. He frowned. “The lines went dead and I needed to show you this.”

Sam pulled a crumbled piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the silver star shining in the white landscape around him. It had stopped snowing this morning, and his truck was probably the only one making it through the streets.

Suddenly, Bucky’s face stared back at you between creased paper. He was wearing an army uniform, a proud smile decorating his features as he held his hat in his hands. “What’s that?” You swallowed hard.

“It’s him.” Sam showed the picture further. “His blood sample DNA is all over the victim.”

“The blood,” you whispered upon stealing a glance at your living room. “What... what are you gonna do?”

“That motherfucker killed my sister. And I am not going to rest until I’ve ended his life just as he did Sarah’s.” Sam tried to hide the raspiness in his voice at his sister’s name, but he failed.

You couldn’t blame him. Sarah had been a wonderful person. Her death had come unexpectedly for everyone. Nobody could fathom that anybody wished her harm.

I have his last known location. So are you coming or not?”

“It’s dangerous. The roads are closed off.”

“I don’t care.” You snuck another look to Bucky who was just blankly staring ahead now. He looked tense - frightened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Sam-”

“Don’t even try. This is ending, now.” He stepped back. “So are you coming?” His eyes were piercing. “...or not?”

You nodded with tight lips, gifting one last reassuring smile to Bucky as you reached around the door to grab your jacket and gun. Sam was already starting the car.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” you whispered only to watch Bucky’s chest heave with panic. “I’m so sorry. I won’t let him hurt you.”

The car honked before you could hear Bucky’s answer, shoulders jerking as your head pulled from behind the door.

“I’m coming!”

❁ ❁ ❁

“I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna kill him.” Sam was gripping the steering wheel so tight, you thought it would break. “I’m gonna shoot him in the head, and I’ll watch him die just like he did–“

“Wilson.”

His head snapped to you with fiery eyes. But you were just as upset. The thought of Bucky being killed made you want to throw up. You obviously wouldn’t let that happen. Killing Bucky would do nothing when the actual bad guys were still out there, possibly manipulating a dozen other people into doing their dirty work. Bucky had told you the details he remembered, and it was enough to know that none of it was his fault - and most importantly - that there was a much bigger fish to catch.

Sam clenched his jaw before looking back to the road. The mist had cleared slightly now.

“I don’t think killing the Winter Soldier will solve the problem.” You instantly regretted saying that, because Sam slammed the brakes, making the truck slide on the icy road until it came to a stop. He was looking at you again.

“He killed Sarah. He’s a criminal. A ruthless, cold-hearted serial killer.” There was so much betrayal in his eyes but he averted them again. “Even if I did not have personal reasons... he belongs behind bars at least. But the world would be so much better off if he was just gone.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, really? Then please enlighten me. Because I would really like to know what made you change your morals.”

“You know, you’re not the only one that found out some things while snowed in,” you snapped and watched your partner look down contritely.

“It’s not just him. And it’s not him we need to stop.” You were careful about your next words - you needed to say them but you had no idea how to explain them. “There’s a whole criminal organization behind- ...behind the Winter Soldier program.”

“How?” His teeth were grinding. “How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you that” yet, you added in thought. Though you weren’t sure Sam would ever understand why you sheltered his sister's murderer in your home.

The car fell silent for a moment. But you swore you could hear Sam’s mind working overtime to decide how he would go about this. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached for the ignition.

“You’re lucky I trust you,” He muttered before starting the car again, shoulders still tense, and an ever-growing frown on his face.

❁ ❁ ❁

It had taken a good portion of your energy to explain the situation to Sam without revealing your secret. It was hard and tiring, but you had planned a new strategy to approach the case with your partner. And now, several coffees and hours later, when the sun had already set beyond the woods behind your house, you found yourself on your doorstep with a smile. Because you knew that all of it would be forgotten as soon as you had Bucky back in your arms.

“Bucky, I’m home!” You called out before the door fell shut behind you. But there was something different about the place.

Your eyes scanned the living room - no fire, lights out, and Bucky’s makeshift Bed was neatly stacked by the end of the Sofa.

You smiled, still, he had probably finally decided to accept your offer to sleep in your bed.

“Bucky?” You pushed past the bedroom door just to find the room empty as well.

You frowned. You could have sworn he’d be lying there, waiting for you. But the domestic haze your fantasy cooked up in the few days of isolation the storm had brought you seemed to have clouded your brain.

You tried the hut in the yard last - without luck. But it wasn’t until you came back into your house, sitting on the neatly made sofa that hosted a journey of emotions through the past days that the revelation hit you like a truck.

A tear rolled down your cheek as your hands folded in your lap.

Bucky had come into your life like tragedy - sudden and with the force of an avalanche. He had brought you joy, and confusion, and pleasure, and warmth. Bucky had packed a lifetime of experiences and emotions in the span of three days, and then - just like he had appeared - and much like your initial excitement about coming back to him, he had vanished without a trace.

wow... here we are. I've had this in the drafts for a long time and tinkered on it throughout until it turned out this way. I hope you liked it. Please consider showing this post some love (reblog or comment) if you did - it really helps creators on this plattform! Love ya loads ~ℳ❁

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